High Heavens (Star Wars - Luke Skywalker)

XXXV - Maddening Silence

Mara could avoid the gossip circulating the village, but she couldn't escape the stares. 

From the moment she returned with a lightsaber on her belt, scrutiny had increased tenfold. Everywhere she went--whether it was to join a scouting party or even fetch water from the well--someone else's eyes followed. The first few days, it had been unbearable. Now, it was just plain annoying. 

The attention didn't stop with the adults, either. Alek and Wynora proved the impossible by becoming even more standoffish with Mara, even despite her efforts to strike up conversation with both at dinner. Denit, on the other end of the spectrum, was impossible to shake. He had a million questions from the get-go, and every day he only seemed to find more. 

Where did you get a lightsaber? Are you a Jedi? Is that why you left Alderaan? Why did you hide it? Why have it now? Why, why, why... 

"You just gotta give it time," Strata said to her, kneeling in the grass to gather handful of violet-hued berries from a bush. "People will adjust. I did, didn't I?"

Hardly, Mara wanted to say, but she held her tongue. "I just don't like all the attention."

Foraging parties like this were an easy way to get away from most of the scrutiny. Mara volunteered for any opportunity she got to leave the village. Today's party consisted of her, Strata, Tiernan, and Alek and Wynora. The latter two stuck to themselves, as usual. Mara wasn't sure she had ever seen them apart. Tiernan bounced around on his own. content with his own company as he scoured through the undergrowth for berries and mushrooms. Mara envied that from him; she felt like she had been venting to Strata about her problems since they left. 

Her fingers brushed over the lightsaber, hanging limp at her belt. "I should have left it on the ship," she said.

"If you ask me, Tiernan made the right call, telling you to bring it." Strata stood up, carelessly wiping purple fruit stains onto her cream-colored pants. "You never know when we'll get into another pickle like we did on Coruscant with Calla."

Mara didn't need a reminder about Calla. Carrying the lightsaber now was a visceral reminder of what had happened on Coruscant: Mara had failed Calla. She couldn't shake that feeling. Surely, she would fail someone again, and she feared it would happen soon. 

Paranoia, she told herself. Pointless paranoia she developed as a result of being a rebel at age fourteen and a spy at fifteen. 

"The goal is to avoid any more altercations," Mara said, voice far steadier than her mind. 

Strata snorted. "Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Commander."

Mara straightened up. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?

"Nothing," Strata said with a shrug. "I'm just saying you could afford to loosen up a little. We've been here for weeks and you still act like a commanding officer is going to bark at you for being out of dress code. Don't you think it's nice, having a bit of freedom?"

Mara thought about it. "Yeah," she finally said, not sounding thoroughly convincing. "I guess so."

It had been a bit of a relief to surrender some responsibility to the older figures in the village, like Dusty and Delta. It gave her a narrow amount of space to be a real teenager--or at least, a shadow of one. She ate dinner with Tiernan and the others every night, now. She had even finished a whole mug of Denit's brew, last night, although it had been a tedious experience.

But outside that narrow gap, the rest of her worried about her place. Who was she, when she wasn't Captain Nevaeh? No--Commander Nevaeh, now. General Dodonna had bestowed her a great honor on Yavin IV. A responsibility. Wasn't it selfish to relinquish that so quickly?