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- Fingertips resting on Bohle’s fever-heated arm, he closed his
- eyes and let the Force take him under. The Force in Greti quivered in
- response. He breathed in. Breathed out. Found his precarious center.
- “Greti,” he whispered. “Think of your mother’s hand unharmed.
- Can you do that for me? Can you see it in your mind? The way it was
- before the accident?”
- “Yes,” she said, her voice small. “I can see it.”
- “Hold that image, Greti. Relax your body. Release your fears.
- Feel yourself floating in a warm, safe place. See your mother’s hand.
- See her smiling instead of suffering.”
- Restless, breathing harshly, Bohle tossed her head on the pillow,
- her pain like a wildfire. Obi-Wan pressed his palm against her cheek
- and gently, inexorably, imposed his will upon her.
- Hush, Bohle. Be at peace. Don’t fight me. Feel your daughter beside
- you. Feel her love. Let go of your terror. Let me in… let me in…
- With a familiar, warm rush he felt himself plunge deeper into the
- Force, felt its power flood through him. Never knowing exactly how
- he did what he did, he made himself a conduit and let its mysterious
- strength soak into the sick woman’s body. Dimly he heard Greti gasp
- as the Force stirred ever more strongly within her, instinct guiding her
- fledgling powers.
- A slow, deep shudder racked Bohle head to toe.
- Somewhere a woman shouted in protest. “No. Stop. What are
- you doing? You’re going to kill her. Stop!”
- “Have no fear,” he answered dreamily. “No harm is being done.”
- He could feel the Force working through Bohle’s sick body,
- grappling with the rampant infection. And then he was gasping as an
- echo of her sickness sounded through him, as he became a conduit for
- her pain. Heat scorched his blood. A vise closed around his skull. His
- hand burst into a bright and blinding anguish. He heard—felt—Greti
- whimper.
- I’m sorry, Greti, but she needs you. Hold on.
- This was a fight as vicious as any battlefield encounter. The infection
- was his enemy, Bohle’s recovery his goal. Caught up in the
- struggle, he didn’t care what it cost him, didn’t care that it hurt him.
- He cared only to win.
- Fight with me, Bohle. Don’t give up.
- If only he were a true healer. To have that power now, to know
- he could undo this awful infection as effortlessly as he could deflect a
- volley of blaster bolts…
- Come on, Kenobi. Make her better.
- And then he felt it—the shift, the change in Bohle’s blood. It
- wasn’t a cure, not completely—but it was change enough to give
- her a fighting chance. Pulling himself free of the Force, he saw that
- Bohle lay still now, her chest rising and falling slowly and steadily.
- Then Greti, tears drenching her face, moaned and collapsed across her
- mother.
- Teeba Sufi, with Brandeh beside her, pushed him aside. “Get out
- of the way, Jedi. I want to know you’ve not harmed her.”
- He half tumbled, half slid off the stool and backed away. His left
- hand still hurt. Bohle’s fever lingered in his blood. Teeba Brandeh
- scooped Greti into her strong arms and held the child close, letting the
- little one weep against her shoulder.
- On her knees beside the cot, Teeba Sufi felt Bohle’s cool forehead.
- Then she stared at the partly healed wound in the woman’s hand
- and the clean, firm flesh of her arm. No trace of that greenish streaking
- poison remained. The village healer looked up, her brown eyes
- narrowed.
- “She’s mostly mended.”
- Obi-Wan nodded. “I know.”
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