Private Be All My Sins Remembered

[Jend-Ro Quill]

FERRYMAN'S REACH
PAGODON
THE SCAR WORLDS


All day and into the night, Quill read alien scripture and drank milky caf to keep dread at bay. He half wanted Tilon to get home soon, get the confrontation over with — and half wanted the boy to stay gone. Neither desire lent itself to Quill liking himself much.

He flinched as the stormlock let in a cold wind. Pagodon's chill was nothing next to Hoth, Quill's previous home for many years. But flinch he did.

Far out by the edge of town, a ferryman played a lonely flute. The door sealed. Quill put the book back on its shelf and faced his old Padawan reluctantly.

"You come in with that refugee boat?" Quill asked, as if everything was normal.

Unlike Quill, Tilon still owned and wore a Jedi robe. The pale young man shook snow from his outer robe and hung it on the coathook beside Quill's knit cap. Tilon mustered a grim smile. "From the Dac diaspora. Quarren and Mon Cals and Amphi-Hydrus. Pagodon's a lot colder than their last water world."

"And a lot safer," Quill agreed, or at least he meant it as agreement. He lingered awkwardly in the aperture between his home's library and entryway. Tilon ducked past him into the kitchenette and turned on the caf maker.

"It would have been nice to have you there," Tilon said at last.

Even though Quill had expected that exact sentiment, even those exact words, no response came to mind. And of course Tilon would take silence as brewing resentment. That interpretation, and the conflict to follow, would stem from Quill's flaws and Tilon's youth as a much-abused Sith acolyte. Inevitable as a midnight freeze.

"A Jedi ceremony's no place for me," Quill said brusquely. "You know that, son."

Tilon's turn to flinch. "It wasn't about you," he said. He took out a stringy cord — his freshly removed Padawan braid — and tossed it on the counter for them both to look at or ignore. Quill caught a whiff of burnt hair. "This was my day, Master, my one and only, and I was there alone."

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

A retort sprinted out, so fast that Quill couldn't be sure he hadn't prepared it at some level. "I don't believe in the Jedi way or institution anymore. Tilon, it's painful to watch you give your whole life over—"

"The little shit foster Sith that always got the side-eye from the other Padawans, and there I was, getting my Jedi knighthood at sixteen. Today was everything and I was alone." Tilon jutted a finger at Quill and met his gaze, not just square but level. He'd grown tall. "You shouldn't have done that to me, Master."

"I'm not your Jedi Master."

"You're certainly not my father. So where does that leave us, Jend-Ro Quill Sagget? If I can't count on you to be there for me, what am I to you?"

Despite the anger and grief radiating from Tilon, Quill found himself impressed. Tilon was in control, speaking his emotions honestly but not letting them take over. No yellow in his eyes, no creaking in the walls, no sparks around his fingers.

The caf maker dinged. Tilon let out a long breath and poured two cups. He took his black with synthetic sugar, and gave Quill's just the last of the tauntaun milk. As they'd done so many times before, they took their mugs and went back to the library.

"You've become my friend," Quill said. "You might be my only one. I'm sorry I wasn't there for your knighting. You're right: I made it about me. I suppose I haven't healed as well as I want to admit."

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

Tilon's caf was much hotter than Quill's, but the young man drank it quickly, using the ancient Jedi art of tutaminis to keep from scalding his tongue. "Thank you for saying that," he said, and steam poured from his mouth and nose. He chuckled a little. The last of the tension broke like rotten ice to a breaching ravinak. "And I'm sorry if—"

Quill waved him off. "No, don't reciprocate the apology. A Knight you are, but between the two of us, I'm certainly the one who should know better. My father — a Raskava, I've told you the story — taught me never to apologize at all. Fifty years since I've seen his face and he's still in here." He tapped his heart. "So much for being my own man. But I can try to make it up to you, if you'll let me."

Tilon's head tilted. "You'd try flow-walking."

Quill blinked. "Good intuition. Yes, that's what I meant. We look back together, watch your knighting as it happened. I reach out, you find you sensed my presence at the time, and you were never alone after all. It's not exactly time travel, but it's...what?"

"The thing's done, Master," said Tilon. "Undoing our mistakes is an illusion. We're still who we were." The young Jedi — once a Sith like Quill had been a Raskava — smiled wistfully. "We'll never not be who we were. Go on, drink your caf. It's a cold night out on the ice. We should check the new arrivals are settled in."


—END