Lush and green and peaceful, Mace thought. Qui-Gon wouldn’t have cared for this.
The cremation spot between four-meter statues of winged guardians was one of the most honored locations in Naboo’s royal cemetery. Qui-Gon Jinn’s body rested atop a wooden pyre, his hands folded across his mighty chest. In one sense, it was the perfect place for his mortal remains to be consumed in flame, here where so many great warriors had been laid “to rest.” There was no real way around it, but Mace suspected Qui-Gon himself would have enjoyed the irony.
The Jedi Master had met his end at the hands of a Sith while helping Queen Amidala liberate her planet. Death was always and ultimately a private affair, but a Jedi’s death often became a matter of public mourning and official sobriety. So the funeral pyre was attended by key dignitaries from the Galactic Republic, the Jedi Order, and the people of Naboo.
Mace Windu did not dwell upon the city of Theed’s natural beauty, all flowing water and greenery, but it did not deceive him. His face may have been peaceful, but his heart roiled with the realization of the real implications of Qui-Gon’s death: the return of the Sith.
Qui-Gon’s former Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, dressed in the ceremonial plain cloth of traditional Jedi robes, was speaking of his mentor, but Mace heard only snatches of the eulogy.
“He was the greatest friend imaginable, for any who knew him. A mentor who saved my life more times than I would want to remember, a man of deep wisdom and a warm heart. He seldom smiled, but when he did, it was like the sun emerging from behind a thunderhead . . .”
And so he continued. It was all sincere and all true.
None of it comforted Mace.
Obi-Wan had killed the mysterious Sith, a feat of skill that made Mace proud. So their adversaries were not the immortal monsters some feared, but creatures of flesh and bone. Flesh could be seared, and bones broken . . .
His thoughts had drifted in that direction when he felt a gentle nudge from Master Yoda at his side. The Grand Master Jedi was a fraction of his size with twice his wisdom, Mace was convinced. If there was anyone in the galaxy whom Mace Windu looked up to, it was this little green titan.
Even a hint of Yoda’s disapproval caught Mace instantly, and he snapped his attention back to the ceremony.
Obi-Wan had just finished recounting Qui-Gon’s wisdom, dedication to the Force, and commitment to his personal version of the Jedi Code. As a symbol of respect, in sync with the others, Mace drew and triggered his lightsaber. All were raised high in a bouquet of sacred fire, casting a reverent glow over the gathering.
Queen Amidala then added her thoughts as the lightsabers blazed. Mace later remembered something about sacrifice and duty. The rest slipped from his mind. Even in one so young, the familiar cadences of politicking had been learned by heart. Politicians were necessary, he understood, but politics was not his natural mode of thought and emotion. He considered it an art of compromise and deception, one that could be, and had been, corruptive to those walking a higher path. It was ironic that politicians so often mocked the warriors, then demanded they bleed to correct political misfires.
Some even thought that the Jedi should lead the Senate. That was another potential disaster. Power might not corrupt absolutely, but it was like sun and rain, facilitating the growth of whatever lurked in a soul’s shadows. Mastery of the Force was already temptation enough.
The funeral concluded with a traditional Jedi ritual: Master Yoda ignited the pyre with Qui-Gon’s own lightsaber. As flames rose, the attending Jedi collectively meditated, focusing their energy on Qui-Gon’s journey into the Force.
This, finally, resonated with Mace Windu, in tune with that deep sense of calm within him that some mistook for detachment. Enemies who had mistaken that calm for weakness had paid with their lives more times than he wanted to count, but fewer than his future dictated.
Something was coming, he had no doubt. The return of the Sith portended greater conflicts ahead. And the Jedi had just lost one of their stoutest allies.
As the flames dwindled, aided by special potions within the wood and within Qui-Gon’s body itself, naught remained, save ash.
Mace bid a silent goodbye to his old friend and comrade. Then, while the others milled about and conversed, he returned to his ship as soon as decorum allowed.
Public mourning was not his way.