Anakin tried again to tell her to lie still and save her strength, but the words simply wouldn't come out of his mouth. 'I'm so proud of you, Annie. So proud. I missed you so much.'
'I missed you, too, Mom, but we can talk later…' 'Now I am complete,' Shmi announced then, and she looked straight up, past Anakin, past the hole in the ceiling, to the shining moon, it seemed.
Somewhere deep inside, Anakin understood. 'Just stay with me, Mom,' he pleaded, and he had to work very hard to keep the desperation out of his voice. 'I'm going to make you well again. Everything's… going to be fine.'
'I love…' Shmi started to say, but then she went very still, and Anakin saw the light leave her eyes.
Anakin could hardly draw his breath. Wide-eyed with disbelief, he lifted Shmi to his breast and rocked her there for a long time. She couldn't be gone! She just couldn't! He pulled her back again, staring into her eyes, silently pleading with her to answer him. But there was no light there, no flicker of life. He hugged her close, rocking her.
Then he laid her back to the floor and gently closed her eyes. Anakin didn't know what to do. He sat motionless, staring at his dead mother, then looked up, his blue eyes blazing with hatred and rage. He replayed all of the recent events of his life in his head, wondering what he might have done differently, done better, to keep Shmi alive. He should never have left her here in the first place, he realized, should never have let Qui- Gon take him away from Tatooine without bringing his mother along, as well.
She said she was proud of him, but how could he deserve her pride if he could not even save her?
He wanted Shmi to be proud of him, wanted to tell his mom all about the things that had come into his life, his Jedi training, all the good work he had already done, and most of all, about Padme. Oh how he had wanted his mom to get to know Padme! She would have loved her. How could she not? And Padme would have loved her.
Now what was he going to do?
The minutes slipped past and Anakin just sat there, immobilized by his confusion, by a budding rage and the most profound sense of emptiness he had ever known. Only when the pale light began to grow around him, making the low-burning candles seem even thinner, did he even remember where he was.
He looked about, wondering how he might get his mother's body out of there- for he certainly wasn't going to leave it to the Tusken Raiders. He could hardly move, though. There seemed a profound pointlessness to it all, a series of motions without meaning.
At that time, the only meaning, the only purpose, that Anakin could fathom was that of the rage building within him, an anger at losing someone he did not wish to give up.
Some small part of him warned him not to give in to that anger, warned him that such emotions were of the dark side.
Then he looked at Shmi lying there, so still, seeming at peace but covered with the clear evidence of all the pain that had been inflicted upon her poor body these last days.
The Jedi Padawan climbed to his feet and took up his lightsaber, then boldly strode through the door.
The two Tusken guards gave a yelp and lifted their staves, rushing for him, but the blue-glowing blade ignited, and in a flash of killing light, Anakin took them down, left and right.
The rage was not sated.
Deep in his meditations, peering through the dark side, Master Yoda felt a sudden surge of anger, of outrage beyond control. The diminutive Master's eyes popped open wide at the overwhelming strength of that rage. And then he heard a voice, a familiar voice, crying, 'No, Anakin! No! Don't! No!'
It was Qui-Gon. Yoda knew that it was Qui-Gon. But Qui-Gon was dead, had become one with the Force! One could not retain consciousness and sense of self in that state; one could not speak from beyond the grave. But Yoda had heard the ghostly call, and in his deep meditative state, his thoughts focused as precisely as they had ever been, the Jedi Master knew that he had not been mistaken.
He wanted to focus on that, then, perhaps to try to follow that call back to the ghostly source, but he could not, overwhelmed again by the surge of rage and pain and… power.
He made a noise and lurched forward, then came out of his trance as his door opened and Mace Windu rushed in. 'What is it?' Mace asked.
'Pain. Suffering. Death! I fear something terrible has happened. Young Skywalker is in pain. Terrible pain.'
He didn't tell Mace the rest of it, that somehow Anakin's rush of agony manifesting in the Force had tapped into the spirit of the dead Jedi Master who had discovered him. Too much was happening here.
That disembodied familiar voice hung profoundly in Yoda's thoughts. For if it was true, if he had heard what he was sure he had heard…
Anakin, too, had heard the voice of Qui-Gon, imploring him to restrain himself, to deny the rage. He hadn't recognized it, though, for he was too full of pain and anger. He spotted a Tusken woman to the side, in front of another of the tents, carrying a pail of dirty water, and saw a Tusken child in the shadows of another nearby hut, staring at him with an incredulous expression.
Then he was moving, though he was hardly aware of his actions. His blade flashed and he ran on. The Tusken woman screamed, and was impaled.
Now all the camp seemed in motion, Tuskens rushing out of every hut, many with weapons in hand. But Anakin was into the dance of death then, into the energy of the Force. He leapt far and long, clearing one hut and coming down before another, his blade flashing even before he landed, even before the two Tuskens recognized that he had jumped between them.
A third came at him, thrusting forth a spear, but Anakin lifted an empty hand and set up a wall of Force energy as solid as stone. Then he shoved out with that hand, and the Tusken spearman flew away, fully thirty meters, smashing through the wall of yet another hut.
Anakin was off and running, off and leaping, his blade spinning left and right in a blur, every stab taking a Tusken down, writhing to the ground, every slash putting a piece of a Tusken on the ground.
