The Gathering Storm
by Gail Riordan
Title: The Gathering Storm
Author: Gail Riordan (wander@rathriordan.org)
Fandom: TPM
Rating: G
Pairing: Q/O
Series: Tales of the Hedgehog Jedi 1
Category: AU/AR adventure
Summary: A Jedi rescues a lost child.
Archive: Master-Apprentice
Notes and Acknowledgements: Posted in pieces on LiveJournal, helped out by Lori, cheered on by BlackRose and Cicirossi and Lorrie. Inspired by Lori's Padagecko and the Qui-hedgie I was gifted with for my birthday. Obi-Vole has now joined him. The cute critters ate my brain.
First published in full in 'Force of a Different Color'
Tales of the Hedgehog Jedi
Seed the First
Once upon a time, in a place far away, but not so different from our own, there was a gentle, green land filled with wonders. There were meadows and streams, hedgerows and fields and forests. In the middle of this pleasant country was an old walled garden.
Many creatures called the garden home, though some roamed far and long between visits. There were busy, nosy squirrels, clever mice and patient badgers. Plants grew in profusion, food and flowers, herbs and grass and trees. The scent of green and growing things twined in the air with the plash and chuckle of the streams and fountains that wound through the grounds.
The high grey walls marked a place of peace, where foxes and pheasants could hold converse together, and all observed the truce that had been established uncounted years before.
This garden was the heart and homeplace of the Jedi, the makers of the truce, the keepers of the peace. Any one could aspire to join the Order, from the smallest ladybug to great tined elk or thick-furred bear. No petition of entrance or assistance went unheard, but few aspired to, much less attained, entrance into the higher ranks past Gardener, Messenger, Healer or Nurturer.
No, Knighthood was not for everyone. Knighthood meant danger, and sleeping without a nest, travelling far away from home and hearth and siblings. Knighthood meant facing Snakes, and Defending the Walls of the World, not just the walls of the garden.
No-one knew better, or felt that responsibility more keenly than the newest-made knight of the Jedi Order: Qui Yr Jinn, the Hedgehog Jedi.
Seed the Second
Newly knighted Qui Yr Jinn was standing the traditional Dawn Watch, keeping an eye on the winding down movements of the nocturnal denizens of the garden, the slowly waking up one of the diurnal. All the flittermice were home, even the smallest and most exciteable.
It had been a quiet night, and looked to be a quiet day. That could change in an instant, he knew, and kept his prickles fluffed and his eyes sharp as the sky gradually lightened and the mists gained form, touched with rose and gold and purple-stained shadows.
Something was coming. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow or next week, perhaps not even in his lifetime, but something was coming. There were rumors of Darkness growing in the Forest Beyond the Fields, chattered reports of Snakes in the grass where such dangers had been long dispelled.
The Jedi were needed more than ever. Only last month a nest of dormice had sought sanctuary in the garden from increasingly predatory owls, and the sight of Mace Wind-hoo, pada-owl to Master Meles and one of Qui's best friends, had nearly sent them into a panic. It wasn't right that people be afraid of Jedi like that. It made him wonder if perhaps the Treaty of Truce itself were in danger.
And he was a Knight now. Sworn to defend the defenseless, such as those poor frightened dormice. Sworn to defend the Treaty, and help the garden grow, all the Sunlit Land prosper.
The sun was coming up, the muted hues of night giving way to the warm wash of colour and light that was day. The larks were beginning to sing their morning orisons.
His meditations had given him peace and the stirring of the waking garden renewed his hope. Something dark was coming, but with light and faith and hope, he would face it with both courage and honour, should it so fall to him.
For now he would celebrate the dawn, and give his own thanks.
Seed the Third
Far over the Wild Hills beyond the forest, in the gloom of a dank cave, a Presence brooded. The peace and prosperity of the lands watched over by the folk of the Garden offended him. Shrieks of pain and fear were the music his ears craved, not the murmurs of brooks and the contented chattering of herbivores.
The Jedi had had it easy for too long. They had grown fat and slow and careless in their peace. It was time, past time, to challenge them.
He would be the supreme power in the land. He would feed on the fear and anguish of the soon to be downtrodden masses. And he would revel in the destruction of his making.
Already his scouts were reporting back to him of the success of the early forays. Creatures being turned to the dark, their innate appetites set free from the weak constraints of the Treaty. Blood spilled, fur torn, plants uprooted and left to rot.
Oh, the Jedi would respond to each call for help, offer succor and aid to each of the distressed who asked. But that would do them little good in the long run. No, he knew there was none to match his dark purpose, however strong they believed themselves to be.
They would all fall at his will. All, from that wretched toad Yoda to the smallest padasquirrel.
His resolution demanded a sign, and outpouring of dark purpose made manifest. And what better way than to use the weather? He would make a Storm. An excess of wind and water, mist and lightning.
The very things that marked the turning of the seasons, made life and growth so disgustingly simple for his enemies would be turned against them.
They wouldn't know what hit them.
He rubbed his cold pink-grey hands in glee and turned deeper into the cave to begin his preparations.
As the sun set, the Evening Watch made note of the great piles of cloud growing in the north and west. The low light painted them purple and grey-brown, colours of menace. The fitful breeze that had skittered uneasily about all day had died, and now there was a silence, a stillness like a held breath.
Qui Yr Jinn, junior-most of the Knights given to Watch to the North, whispered a hope that all under his care would stay safe and well, and prepared himself to meet the oncoming Storm.
Seed the Fifth
Fast Simi the Sparrow flew, buffeted by the dark wind and slashing rain, but allowing nothing to turn her from her course.
She was worried. The report she carried from up the river was serious, and the damage she could see this close to the Garden was worse. Many creatures that lived along the banks of the streams and rills were in danger, and the river was already washing out soft places that had before been safe. She remembered the knob of land crowned with mallow that sheltered the Kenobi family and feared for them, as well as for their small son. Her errand was urgent, but once unburdened of her news, she would lead others to aid the voles.
Her fears were justified, and as she flew back to the bend in the river, heralding the squad of the Evening Watch that had turned out at her call, the water had already bitten deeply, exposing roots and rooms. But they were in time to help all up to safer and firmer ground, even the ancient and voluble grandmother bundled in shawls.
All the lower levels and store-rooms had flooded, too fast for any salvage but of life, and the whole side of the bank would soon be washed away. Still the tenacious, deep roots of the mallow held fast, keeping the upper bank stable.
The voles clustered together, a bedraggled group, red and brown and grey muddied and wet. But where was little Obi-vole Kenobi? If he had been able to follow her directions, he should have made it home as fast as she, carrying her other errand.
None had seen him. Owen and Liss, still holding their carry-pouches, peeped out from behind their parents, worried and abashed. Straight home they had come, as Obi bade them, chased by the rushing water, and it looked like supper would be what they themselves had brought home with them.
Suddenly there was a tearing, rumbling sound, a fearsome noise even over the lash of the wind and the thunder of the water. The storm and the river had taken their home. Had it taken Obi-vole as well?
Distraught, Simi looked to the Knight who had led the detachment of Watch, who was even now guiding the family further up the slope. "Sir! There is one yet missing! He may be but delayed on his road, but I fear he is in danger. I told him to take the apple path, but he is not here."
The hedgehog Knight looked up at her, his steady gaze calming. "I will search. Where did you leave him?"
Obi-vole was lost.
He had made his careful, slow way out of the sheltering thicket of branches, fighting the wind which whipped twigs and leaves wildly. He could almost feel the malice in the storm, and it frightened him badly. Up. He needed to go up the bank, along the unfamiliar high path. The river-path was gone.
Once on the ground the going was no easier. The soft loam now muddy and slick, tangled with stems and raw, exposed roots. The muck caught at him, and plucked at his tail, his fur, and even his small, clever feet were hard pressed to find safe purchase. He hoped all the tiny creatures of the soil had found safe places to hide and wait, the rolly-polleys and the beetles and snails.
Night had now fallen completely, and everything looked strange and menacing, larger and colder in the grim, black clamor of the storm. Pebbles turned under him, sending him tumbling and sprawling, dazed. The hard air pushed at him, chilling him through. Where was he? Rain and wind were all about him, and the river roared, too near. Up the bank. He must get up the bank.
Another slide of stones and a gust of wind and he was sure he wanted to go the other direction, against the storm. Away from the roiling water.
A tough, slick arm caught him, a root, and he grabbed at it, his tiny claws clinging fast. Over the smell of rain and mud and crushed greenery came a faint sharp scent. Oak. He must be at the root of the Great Oak that stood well below the turn of the Wall.
Oh, but he was far from home. He hoped that the Sparrow had made it back to the Garden. He wished he could fly like she could. Wet and chilled and frightened, Obi-vole huddled under the arching root. If this was the Oak, and if the root was sound, then he might be able to climb it, up to the trunk. He thought one of the branches reached out and then drooped low, stretching into the meadow beyond the apple mead. It seemed his only hope.
Shivering with cold, he struggled up the gnarled root, keeping close to the bark and out of the wind's grasping flurries. The great tree creaked and groaned around him.
The trunk was a little easier, the bark grooved and seamed with age, offering stout purchase to vole-feet even sodden and mossy. Up he went, out of the reach of the river at last.
But not, alas, of the wind.
The long branch was still as he remembered it, a spreading, aerial path to the meadow. The wind had torn away many leaves and smaller branches, and it swayed and waved alarmingly. The creaking was louder in the branch, and there was a shudder that made it hard to cling to the younger, smoother bark. The end of the branch swayed and dipped, touching the ground before whipping high again. If he did it right, he could leap off just at the right moment.
The wind had other ideas. Just as he readied himself to jump, a stronger gust snatched at him, tore him from his precarious perch and flung him out into the windy darkness.
Seed the Sixth
The weather had worsened, and there was a palpable malice in the shriek of the wind, the glower of the clouds. The rain fell in sheets and torrents. Qui Yr Jinn felt the cold seeping through his cloak, though the tough fabric was still keeping him dry. It was hard to move or even breathe in the turmoil, but discomfort and difficulty were the least of his worries.
Close to the ground he went, using nose and ears and the subtle sense of 'presence' that his Jedi training had honed (but was a part of every wild creature, small or large) to seek the lost vole-child. In the murk his eyes were nearly useless. He followed the path simi had advised, first helping the Kenobis up to the high, protected way, but then turning from the lights of the Garden to the long slope of tangled vine and brush that led to the apple-mead. He quartered the path, nosing into every thicket and sheltered place, lest he miss the object of his search.
Once under the trees the underbrush was thinner, the grass close-cropped and now flattened under heavy drops of rain. There was little cover other than small rootlings and root-hummocks. The hedgehog made faster progress with better visibility along the straight expanse. But it appeared that Obi-vole had not made it up to the mead at all. Qui's heart felt heavy, fearing for the boy.
Time felt short, the search urgent. Not stopping to look around the bases of the last few trees in the line, he hurried down the bank to the hawthorn thicket Simi had described. The child had indeed been there, but no longer. The rising water of the river was very close, lapping at the lower branches.
But he knew, somehow, that the grasping water had not prevailed. There was a sense of determination that led away, up and at an angle to the river's edge. Carefully, hopefully, Qui held to the thread of feeling-scent-will, fighting against the wind that whined despair in his ears, the rain that filled his eyes.
"Hold on, child. Let me find you."
The Sentry Oak was just ahead in the gloom, great roots anchored deep in the ground. The faint sense-thread glimmered in his mind. Up and under that particular root. The space was almost dry, thickly mounded with leaf-mould. He huddled in the small comfort for a long moment, gathering himself, absorbing the wet-earth-oak scent, the creak of the ancient wood, the rattle of shifting, tossing branches.
From here the glimmer went up. The young vole had climbed up into the tree, where a hedgehog could not go, not in this wind and weather.
Before despair could overtake him, Qui realized the child had only climbed to the lowest of the immense branches, a long and crooked way that led up the slope of the bank and all the way to the edge of the meadow. In no danger from the flood, then. But his sense that time was short, danger imminent was greater now, not less.
"Ah, child. You are a brave one. Be brave and strong for a little longer," Qui thought to himself as he pushed through the tough stems and brambles. It was a difficult climb, even for him. Determination saw him through, and soon he was over the edge, the branch protesting the battering wind above him.
A crack! and he fought his instinct to curl and hide. Now the branch was whipping and groaning. The force of the wind was staggering as he ran out into the grassy bowl, away from under the old oak. Following the thread of the vole-child still, but now with eyes and sense straining after a storm-bourne speck. There -- tossed from the end of the treelimb, a tiny light tumbling up, and out, and down.
His heart clenched at the inaudible impact of child to sodden earth. Marked well the spot, and prayed that the ground was drenched enough to be soft.
Seed the Seventh
It was certainly muddy enough to hinder running feet. Qui raced toward the tiny limp scrap, more grey than red with chill and wet. As he reached him he could see that he was no longer even shivering.
"I've got you," he whispered as he caught him up from the soggy ground, peeling away the wet grass stems tangling the child.
He felt one tiny choked breath, but not a second. "Ah, no, little one, no! Hold on - breathe for me, please. You've been so brave and so strong this long. Just a little longer. A little more." He gathered the mite of a creature to his soft grey waistcoat, rubbing gentle circles on his back with one paw while the other held his cloak snug and warm about them both.
"Live, little one. Please live. Breathe. You are safe now."
The wind was gusting again, and the driving rain making the muddy ground slick and treacherous. They could not stay here, but neither did he dare to move.... With resolution he dug his hind feet as firmly into the grass roots as he could and curled all the way around the vole-child, not caring the least that his prickles were poking holes in his cloak and the rain was soaking into the short fur beneath. Cloaks could be replaced. This little one could not. This little one was special.
There was a flutter against his chest, a blunt, cold nose stirring against his fur. "Yes, child, live," he willed. "Live." The flutter was followed by a wheeze, and a gasp, and then a pair of minute sneezes.
"That's it, Little One. It's alright now. I have you safe." Trustingly the small body in his arms relaxed and began to shiver. Qui continued rubbing gently. "I know it's cold, but in just a minute or two we'll go find a better place to stay out the storm."
Seed the Eighth
The vole-child was breathing steadily now, and while still very wet (as Qui was himself) he was warming nicely. Qui sighed deeply in relief. Safe.
But the rain was still coming down in wind-driven torrents. The middle of the open meadow saw them at the weather's mercy. The short, flattened grass offered no protection for either of them. The moan of the wind was loud, and over it he could hear the distressed creaking of the Sentry Oak.
Gathering his cloak closely about him, and using a corner and one paw to cradle Obi-vole, he hobbled as quickly as he could on three legs. Up the slight slope of the meadow, far from the Oak. The long limb that Obi had run along was about to break from the strain and Qui wanted them well away before it fell.
Indeed, he had not gone far before there was a great tearing sound, and the ground shook with the thud. The Oak was strong, though old. The loss of one branch would not destroy it. Qui kept going.
The roar of the river was dim in his ears, and he kept it to his left as he went. Down the bank was no answer. Angle back toward the ridge and hedgerow? There were trees ringing the meadow, any of them might offer shelter. But he hoped to find the end of the aisle of apple trees. They would be closer to the Garden there, and he recalled a group of lichen-covered boulders that slept with their feet in the grass near the lane.
Even this wind would not shift those rocks, and the deep crannies would be dry and quiet, soft with old leaves.
Seed the Ninth
Between and under the mound of rock was indeed dry, and the deep spaces sheltered many storm-displaced creatures. When Qui made his way in, carrying the sleeping vole-child, space was quickly made for them.
They waited out the rest of the spring night in the quiet company of the other creatures. There were no quarrels or disagreements even between those naturally predator and prey; all held to the Truce, and many were even more courteous than they were ordinarily, feeling the menace behind the furious weather.
For many hours the storm continued to rage, and dismaying sounds occasionally made their way to the sharp and worried ears of the Jedi hedgehog, but indeed the rocks were solid and safe. No flood or fury disturbed them.
Obi-Vole slept, watched over by all. Now quite dry and warm, he curled trustingly in the corner of Qui's cloak, a small fold nestled close against his cheek. There had been no more sneezes, and Qui was increasingly sure that he had found him in time, and despite the terror of being tossed through the air and thrown to the ground, no great damage had been done. Undoubtedly the child was bruised and would be stiff and sore, might perhaps have strained or broken something, but there was no scent of blood, and no distress in the soft, regular breath. Further exploration could wait until morning.
The light came slowly, grey and sourceless, creeping into the dim shelter of the rocks. Wet, white and cold after the close and huddled warmth of the crowded den. The wind and rain had finally stopped not long before dawn, and now it seemed all the world lay shrouded in fog, muffled and hushed.
Wisps of white threaded in between the stones, and the air grew hazy. As the light increased, the storm-bound creatures made their way out into the meadow one by one, in search of home, food and family. Perhaps the mist was a mercy, shielding from view the broken branches of the trees, the flooded coves and washed out dens. The silence lay heavy, but with it was determination. It would take far more than weather to defeat or even truly damage the Garden. And this each creature knew.
Qui helped organize the exodus from the rock shelter, aided by a Badger-matron, of those who needed help, knew their homes were lost or too damaged to return to, or had been separated from parents or mates. The Garden was the natural place for succor and reunion, and thither they would make their way.
The vole-child was still curled tightly in and on his cloak, and Qui had let him sleep as long as he wanted, but now it was time to be going. As he leaned down to check on him, bright black eyes opened and blinked.
"You're not Grandmama," the small voice piped.
Seed the Tenth
"You're not Grandmama," the small voice piped.
The hedgehog smiled at the sleepy surprise in the young one's voice. "No, indeed. I am Qui Yr Jinn, Jedi and Knight, at your service."
The wide eyes opened even wider. "Obi-Vole Kenobi, at you and yours," was the nearly reflexive response. It seemed only the folds of cloak kept him from scrambling to his feet to do proper respect.
Qui's smile deepened. "I am honored. But now it is time to be up and going, if you are awake and well." He watched carefully as Obi gingerly unwound himself from the fabric and stretched. His movements were a little stiff, but not painful, and soon the vole was bouncing and scampering about as small children were wont. It almost made him feel old, though he was not even to mid-span for his kind. He was very grateful that indeed Obi had taken no hurt from his unexpected flight through the air.
Soon they were venturing out into the fog. The damp condensed on whiskers and eyelashes. Obi's thin red coat was little protection from the chill. One corner of his cloak was already torn, so Qui ripped it the rest of the way, and offered the triangular piece of wool as a wrap.
"I would not have you catch a chill, and we have a journey still before us."
Obi took it eagerly, "Thank you!" He wrapped it over his shoulders and back, tucking the ends into the carry-strap of his pouch. "Oh! I hope the herbs survived the night! Grandmama will need them especially now, with the cold." He stopped to check, burying his nose briefly in the pouch. He looked up with a cheerful grin, "Bent, but all still there."
"I am glad." Qui led them along the alley of the apple trees, the mist making ghosts of the trunks. "I fear she will indeed need any comfort you can give her, though your presence alone will do much." He gentled his voice. Putting off the news would make it no easier to bear. "It was well that you were able to get back up the bank. The river was rising fast, and by the time I met Simi and she had found your family, your burrow under the mallow was washing away. All your family are safe, though. Simi and several padasquirrels were helping them to the Garden."
Obi-Vole stopped and looked up at Qui. "Gone?"
He stopped as well. "I am afraid so." Opening his tattered cloak, he gathered the vole-child to him, offering what comfort he could with a hug. "But all your family, your mother and father and siblings and aunts and cousins and Grandmama and all are safe, and you will see them soon. You were the one everyone was worried about."
"'m sorry they were worried." Muffled against the grey fur of his waistcoat.
Qui ventured another hug. "I am sure they will all scold you, but I will not. You had thought for another, and did very well to give the message to Simi and climb the tree to get up the bank. It was a worthy thing, and very brave."
"Good like a Jedi?"
Qui could barely hear the soft query. His heart filled with pride and warmth. This young one was more than worthy. "Oh yes."
"I want to be a Jedi. When I grow up." Still soft, confiding. "But I don't think my Mama would like it."
"And a fine Jedi you will make, if you decide to take that path." Qui hoped he would. The Force was very strong and bright in him. He would be quick and eager and a joy to work with. But he understood the concerns of parents too. "But it is not an easy way, and not undertaken lightly."
Obi snuggled against him for another moment, then stepped away, but stayed close. "I know. And I'm still too little." They began moving through the dim white air again, seeking out the tree roots and brambles that marked the way. "Everyone is all right? Owen and Liss aren't in trouble, are they? It was my idea to go herbing."
"They are fine." Qui reassured him. "I think it best that we go straight to the Garden, don't you? Then we can get you fed, and properly dry and looked after."
Obi was perking up again, the spring returning to his step after the news both good and bad. "OK. I've never seen the Garden."
Another ghostly thicket loomed, and after passing under it, the ground dropped away slightly and the air seemed to lighten. There was a faint gold tinge to the mist as the sun began to rise in earnest.
"Where will we be staying? Are there lots of people who's houses got taken by the river? Are there other children?"
Recovered in very truth. "I do not know, but as soon as the storm blew up, the hospitalers started making ready." (The Council, especially Yoda the ancient bullfrog, had seen the need and set everyone to work as best suited their abilities.) "It may be crowded, but there will be warm and dry places for everyone." He glanced down at the red and brown mite scampering beside him. "I expect there will be other young ones as well. You will have to introduce me when you are settled."
He paused, sighed, then went on. "I do not know how many were harmed by the storm. I hope it is fewer than I fear."
Obi-Vole flicked his whiskers and looked up at him. "I hope so too. But the Jedi will make it better. That's what we do."
"Yes, child. That is what we work for. But you are not a Jedi yet."
"I know. But I can help too." Obi tucked the corner of wool that was threatening to come loose back in place and said with the unassailable logic of childhood "And I have a Jedi cloak. So I will be for sure."
Qui chuckled. "I believe you will be."
Trustingly, Obi stayed close. He was remembering more of the night before, and the terror and fury of the wind and rain and feeling helpless and lost. But he hadn't been forever-lost. Knight Qui had rescued him.
(He remembered: the deep safe rumble that was not the storm, the soft damp warmth that smelled of life and light. The tickle of breath and life. His Knight.)
Down the slope of the beech-path, and along the path beside the storm-swollen Stream of Laughing Water. The Front Gate was only a little further. as the high wall and old stone towers came into view the silver mist was lifting and color returning to the world.
Whatever the toll of the malice-driven weather, at least this one, this irrepressible vole-child, had not been lost.
Seed the Eleventh
The safe return of Obi-Vole Kenobi to the bosom of his worried family was witnessed with joy by many, and was an interlude of happiness for many after the night of fear and unremitting effort against the storm. Qui would have faded back and let Obi be the focus of rejoicing, but the child insisted on introducing him to all his family, and they, in turn were full of thanks and questions, each one apparently feeling the need to hug and bow and generally carry on in gratitude.
Eventually, Mama Kenobi took charge, and bustled about getting everyone re-settled in their temporary homes before taking Obi off to be seen to by the healers. Finally, Qui was allowed to return to his own nest.
But before Obi was quite out of sight around the corner, he slipped from his mother's grip and dashed back "You'll come see me, right? And I can come see you too? They won't send you anyplace yet will they?"
"Certainly I will come see you. And I have plenty of work right here, so, no, I don't believe that the Council will be sending me on any distant missions for a bit."
"Good." That settled, Obi bestowed a last hug and whisker-flick on his Knight and bounced away, back to his remarkably patient mother. "Bye!"
"Force be with you, Obi. I will see you soon." Qui watched as they rounded the bend in the path and were gone from sight. He hadn't yet given the least thought to the idea of taking a Padawan, being still a new knight, but the idea had now been planted. It would require much thought and meditation, and there was much needing doing that required solo venturing, but that sober knowledge did not dim the image that he saw.
Someday, in the not too far distant future, he, Qui Yr Jinn, Jedi Knight, would have Obi-Vole Kenobi as his Padawan Learner. He smiled at the thought as he made his way between the flower beds.
They had survived the storm, and life continued. The Garden shone green and bright in the sunlight, rainbows and prisms of light sparkling off the wet drops clinging to twig and leaf and blossom.
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