Teeba Brandeh snorted, sounding like Yoda. “Then apply them
to Arrad, Jedi. He’s in need of your help.”
Yes, Arrad was. He had broken bones and split, spoiled muscle
and some kind of growing pressure on his brain. Seated beside the
young man’s cot, Obi-Wan felt his courage falter. Oh, Vokara Che.
Inspire me, Master. And then, reaching for his dwindling reserves of
strength, he plunged himself deeply into the Force.
WATCHING OBI-WAN DRAG HIMSELF back to awareness, Anakin felt a
rising fear. Only trained healers were supposed to work on injuries
like Arrad’s, and they were meant to use special crystals so they could
safely contain and focus their energy. Two experienced healers on the
war’s front line had crippled themselves doing what his mentor was
trying to do now.
What were you thinking, Obi-Wan? This isn’t your job.
Beside him, Teeb Rikkard hugged his ribs in silent distress. On
his other side Teeba Jaklin rocked on her heels.
At long last, Obi-Wan opened his eyes.
“My son,” said Rikkard, pushing forward. “How is my son? Will
he live? Have you healed him?”
Obi-Wan dragged a shaking hand down his face and nodded.
“Yes, Teeb. He’ll live. He’s not mended entirely—his broken bones
are still knitting. But the wound in his head is dealt with, and the
bleeding in his belly.” He took a deep breath and let it out hard. “He
must stay quiet with Teeba Sufi awhile yet.”