The Slumbering Princess
Chapter 1
"My father was a navigator on a spice freighter, and Mom says he promised that someday when he saves up enough money he's going to come back and buy us both and take us back to Corellia with him." The younger slave children gathered around Peyna murmured in awed envy, but the older ones snickered scornfully.
"Yeah, right." Seek threw a handful of sand at her, which she ducked with the quick reflex of one used to dodging blows. "Like that's ever going to happen."
"He will! He promised." But Peyna had been disappointed by far too many broken promises for her voice to hold much conviction. She turned to the boy sprawled beside her in the little clear area behind the slave hovels where the group of children had gathered in the precious few minutes of free time between the end of the work day and suns-set. "What about you, Anakin? Did your mother ever tell you who your father was?"
Anakin shrugged. "Oh, I didn't have a father."
Seek laughed. "Of course you did. What, does your mother not know who he was? Or which one?" He snickered, elbowing the boy next to him, who joined his taunting laughter.
Anakin abandoned the pile of sand he had been idly shaping into a pod race arena. "No, I never had one at all." He met the mocking stares of the older children, bewildered. "What's so weird about that? Lots of kids don't have fathers." He turned to his best friend for support. "You don't have a father, right Kitster?"
Kitster squirmed. "Well, not anymore. But… yeah, I used to."
Seek shook his head in disgust at the younger children's ignorance. "Everybody had to have a father. That's how babies get made in the first place."
Shella, a Twi'lek a year or two older than Seek, spoke up. "Not Amebans. They don't even have babies; they just split in half."
"Well, okay, not them," Seek admitted. "But most species kids have to have a mother and a father. Twi'lek's do, right?" She nodded.
"What about Rodians, Wald?"
Wald wasn't a slave, but he often hung out with the slave children. "Yes, mother and father both." The children nodded sagely, and a bit enviously. He was one of the few of them that actually lived with both of his parents.
"See? Most species. And definitely humans."
Anakin shook his head stubbornly. "Not me."
Seek peered at him. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?" Anakin was starting to feel defensive, but at the same time inquisitive.
"About men, and women, and how babies get made…"
Anakin's expression remained blank, although his face was starting to burn with embarrassment that there was apparently some highly interesting and important bit of information he was ignorant of. At least a few of the other younger children also looked baffled.
"About sex, dummy!"
Sure his cheeks were flaming as bright as Sebulba's racing silks, Anakin shook his head. "No," he mumbled. But intense curiosity overpowered shame at his ignorance "Tell me."
Seek and the other older children tittered and drew into a closer huddle around Anakin. "You've seen men and women kissing, right?"
"Yes, of course, but what's that got to do-"
"Well, sometimes after they kiss, they do other stuff…" Seek, with many interruptions and additions from the other children, proceeded to give Anakin a thorough and – although crude and embellished – reasonably accurate account of the biological facts of reproduction.
Anakin listened, fascinated and disgusted by turns. When finally they fell silent, he ventured, "You're sure that's the only way…"
"Absolutely." Seek nodded emphatically. "Well, except for clones. You're not a clone, are you Ani?"
"I don't think so…"
Kitster spoke up. "He can't be a clone of his mother, or he'd be a girl. So even if he were a clone, he'd have to have a clone-father."
Anakin shook his head, bemused. He struggled to reorder his understanding of the universe around this new knowledge. "So my mother must have… done that. With someone."
"She might not have wanted to." They all turned to Peyna, who'd remained quiet for a while. "You remember Nainee?"
Anakin nodded. Nainee had been an older girl, another of Gardulla the Hutt's slaves, like Peyna. She'd been sold and taken away from Mos Espa a couple years before.
"A man paid Gardulla a lot of money so he could do that with Nainee. She wouldn't stop crying afterwards. Then he talked Gardulla into letting him buy her and took her away with him."
Anakin stared at her in horror. Then he ducked his head and bit his lip, his hands clenching to fists in his lap. If anyone had dared do that to his mother…
Even Seek was subdued after Peyna's story. None of them could quite look at each other any more, so great relief greeted the first call in to dinner. The children quickly scattered to their various homes.
Shmi could tell Anakin was troubled as soon as he dragged his feet through the door, in marked contrast to his usual bounding rush. He ate hungrily, for food was scarce and he never got quite enough to satisfy the needs of his growing body, but his normal enthusiasm was missing. She waited patiently, for she knew eventually he would spill his concerns to her.
He remained silent as she cleared away the dishes and brought out the mula fruit she had been saving for a special treat. The fruit was small, not even as large as her fist, and slightly shriveled, but still sweet. She turned her half on her plate, hiding the place where she had pared away the patch of mold that had allowed her to bargain the price down to the merely extravagant. Anakin smiled as she set his half before him, and ate it with something more like his usual enjoyment. Reluctantly he savored the last small bite, and then set his fork down with a sigh. He turned to her with worried eyes. "Mom…"
"Yes, Anakin?"
"After work today, some of the kids were saying… I mean, they were talking about… about… fathers." He said the word in a rush.
Shmi froze, understanding smile fixed on her face. She had known this day must come, eventually. Sooner or later Anakin would start to ask questions. All children did. And all parents struggled to find the right answers. But Shmi's task was much more difficult than most parents'. She swallowed, steeled herself, then sat down beside him and nodded her encouragement.
"And when I told them I didn't have one, they said I had to, and they told me…" He poured out the shocking revelation to her, flushed with embarrassment, comforted that she neither withdrew in horror nor laughed. "Is it true, Mom? Is that where babies come from?"
She sighed. If only it could be that simple for her. But she smiled reassuringly. "Yes, Ani, it's true."
His eyes dropped. "And Peyna said…" His voice fell to a whisper. "…sometimes girls don't want to, but men make them… Is that true too?"
Shmi would not lie to her son, though her heart ached that he must confront the ugly truths of the universe so young. "Yes, Anakin, it is." She hastened to add, "But when both people want to, when they love each other, it can be very beautiful, Anakin. It is a wonderful thing, to share your body with someone you love, to conceive a child together."
He looked up hopefully. "So did… did you… I mean, who…?" He blushed and looked down again.
She found, much as she wanted to be honest with him, that she could not explain, not when she didn't truly understand herself. She stared down at his tousled blonde hair. For a long moment there was silence.
Anakin squirmed, embarrassed, and twisted toward his sleeping chamber. "Never mind, Mom. I shouldn't have asked."
Shmi caught his chin in her hand and turned his face up to hers. She gazed into his bright blue eyes, so different from her brown ones. "Anakin. It's all right." She took a deep breath. "I wanted a child to love, Anakin, and you came to me. Does anything else really matter?"
The intensity of the love and trust shining up at her from those eyes dazzled her. He shook his head, mutely, and she allowed him to slip away to his room.
Later, after he'd tinkered for a while with his latest project, he readied himself for sleep and crawled under his covers. She came and sat on the edge of his bed, brushing the tousled hair out of his eyes. For many years this had been their nightly ritual, but lately he'd protested he was old enough to go to bed on his own. It had been a while since she'd had the pleasure of watching his tired body relax into sleep. But tonight they both felt he needed her presence.
"Would you like me to tell you a story?" He loved to listen to her stories. She would weave fantastic tales for him, of times long ago and places far away, to free his imagination, at least, from the dreary bonds of reality. She drew on her memories of the traditional tales her own mother had told her, passed down for generations, freely adding to or altering the stories as her mood dictated.
"Yes, please." He snuggled closer to her.
"Let's see…" One of the old folk tales leapt into her mind. "I don't think I've told you this one before. This is the story of the Slumbering Princess."
Her voice took on a dreamy, singsong quality. "Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, before the Republic or even space travel, on some world like Alderaan or Naboo where they still had kings and queens, a royal princess was born. The King and Queen were overjoyed, and decided to throw a grand festival for her naming ceremony. All the most important people in the country were invited. Many powerful good fairies lived in that country, and the King and Queen invited them all. But one, terrible, evil fairy also lived there, and the King and Queen chose not to invite her, because they feared her, and did not want her evil presence to cast a shadow on the festivities.
"The day of the festival arrived, and all was grand and glorious. One by one all the visiting dignitaries came forward and presented their gifts to the infant princess, gold and jewels and other treasures. Then each of the fairies came forward with magical gifts. They endowed the princess with beauty and grace, a quick mind and a strong body, talent and good fortune in whatever task she set her hand to. And all the people rejoiced that their kingdom was blessed with the extraordinary person the Princess would grow up to be.
"But near the end of the ceremony, when almost all the gifts had been presented, a shadow fell across the assembled company, and a chill of foreboding touched every heart. Into the hall strode the evil fairy, terrible to behold, tall and deadly, robed and hooded in black. She climbed the steps to the dais, and glowered down at the Princess where she lay in her cradle. Then she fixed her stare on the King and Queen and spoke.
"'You did not see fit to invite me to your celebration – '
"'We forgot,' stammered the King. 'It was a terrible oversight. We are sorry…'
"'But I have come anyway,' she continued, ignoring him. 'I, too, have a gift to give your daughter.' She turned back to the baby, who had begun to cry. 'Truly as she grows she will display all the gifts she has been given, and will be lovely, and talented, and strong. And so she will come to womanhood. But on the day before her first child is to be born, she will burn her finger in a candle flame – and die."
"With this she whirled her cloak about herself and vanished. The Queen snatched the child from her cradle and held her close. The King called for his guards to come and seize the evil fairy, but it was too late. She was gone. There was a great uproar and clamor, as all present exclaimed over the evil fairy's curse.
"Then, among the chaos, the last good fairy, the only one who had not yet presented her gift, stepped forward. She was very old, and very powerful, and very wise. She took the Princess in her arms, and the child quieted at her touch. She studied the girl's face, and a hush fell over the crowd as they waited to hear what she would say.
"Finally she looked up and addressed the King and Queen. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I cannot undo what has been done…'"
Shmi's voice faltered, and the rhythm of the tale was lost as the words she spoke burned on her tongue. She fell silent.
Anakin looked up at her curiously. When the silence had lasted a long moment, he spoke. "Then what happened, Mom?"
But Shmi did not hear him, for she was too deeply lost in her own thoughts. She understood, now, why she had chosen this story to tell tonight. She sat beside her son, and she remembered…
Shmi's hand shook with weariness as she ladled the thick stew from the enormous cauldron. Beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks as she retreated from the heating unit toward the counter where the long line of her fellow slaves waited to be served their one substantial meal of the day. She made her fingers, stained purple from the long morning of peeling tubers and knuckles scraped from the long afternoon of grating roots, clutch the hot bowl tightly, for the head cook had threatened her with dire punishments if so much as one drop of stew spilled and was wasted. She believed him, for Jabba the Hutt's compound was notorious among slaves for the capricious brutality of its discipline. Three days ago, when she learned she'd been sold to Jabba, she had barely been able to contain her horror. Her last owner was not the kindest she'd ever had, but he was tolerable, and now, after her first day laboring in Jabba's slave kitchen, her previous life seemed almost luxurious by comparison.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she longed to devour the stew she carried, though it was dull grayish-brown in color and lacked any spices or flavorings to enliven its bland nutrition. But the drudges of the slave kitchen, lowest ranking in the hierarchy of the compound, were not allowed to eat until all the other slaves had been served.
The head cook glowered at her to hurry, so she quickened her steps as much as she could while still keeping them smooth enough that the stew did not slop. At the head of the line a tall blond man waited, chatting and laughing with the group clustered behind him. As she reached across the counter to hand the bowl to him, he glanced over at her and smiled. She caught her breath, dazzled by the light in his grey-green eyes, washed by the warmth in his flashing grin. As his fingers, reaching out to take the bowl, brushed hers, she snatched her hands back, releasing the bowl before he had a good grip on it. It tilted and crashed to the ground, and she stared down in horror at the spreading puddle of stew.
He bent to pick up the bowl an instant before she did. He winked at her, jerking his head to where the head cook was approaching, hand going to the short whip at his belt.
Straightening he grinned and shook his head in bemusement. "Well, I'm just a clumsy bantha today, aren't I?" He pressed the empty bowl into the head cook's hands. "I'm so sorry. That was all my fault. Let me help clean it up."
"No, no." Shmi was startled to see the head cook act almost obsequious. Surely the blond man was another slave. Only slaves ate here, after all; Jabba's free servants and employees ate in a different dining hall. The cook whirled on her. "Girl! Get him another bowl!" Shmi hurried to comply, the cook's eyes hard on her back. She knew he suspected she had dropped the bowl, and seethed with frustration that he was prevented from punishing her by this kind stranger assuming responsibility.
Carefully this time, she handed the man his bowl. His hands closed over hers. "You're new here, aren't you? What's your name?"
"Shmi," she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes.
"I'm Kern." He smiled, and refused to release her hands until she returned a trembling smile. "I'll try not to spill this one!" He turned to his waiting friends with a sardonic joke at his own expense, and Shmi hurried to fill more bowls and pass them out.
She watched him, as she passed food to the endless line of hungry slaves, her actions quickly becoming mechanical. He was not loud, or flashy, but people swirled around his center, drawn to him like moonmoths to a floodlamp. No sooner had he seated himself at a table then it filled with others, men and women eager to bask in the glow of his easy charm.
It wasn't me, she thought, throat tight with irrational disappointment. He's like that with everybody.
Soon he finished his meal and rose to leave. Only two-thirds of the long line had snaked its way past Shmi. As he passed her, he caught her eye with his quick, flashing grin, and mimed holding a bowl tightly in front of him. Despite herself she giggled, and waved him off with a shooing motion. She tried to concentrate on her work after that, but every now and then the image of his conspiratorial smile would slip into her mind's eye, and her eyes would sparkle and the corner of her mouth tilt up.