Grand Master
by Lilith Sedai
Part 2 - Abhaile
Qui-Gon's withdrawal left Obi-Wan plenty of time to compose a message to send to Yoda, informing him of their plans and of Qui-Gon's progress. He sent it as soon as they dropped out of hyperspace, then settled back, his fingers drumming lightly on the console as he surveyed Abhaile.
The green disc floated serenely in the void, dominated by heavy polar ice-caps, much of the snow-pack tinted an odd brownish-grey hue. A good fraction of the planetary surface showed cyclonic activity, heavy swirls of clouds dropping rain. Obi-Wan ran a cursory enviro-scan, and frowned at the results. The planet showed heavy tectonic activity along a seam in the crust-- as they crossed the terminator, he could see the red glow of a wide crescent of active volcanoes. Vicious streaks of lightning stabbed through the ash clouds they pumped into the atmosphere from their summits. The brilliant volcanic colors sent a chill down his spine, reminding him of Palpatine.
That many eruption events meant a tremendous release of ash, which would have serious environmental consequences for this world, and would explain the color of the ice-caps. Obi-Wan keyed the intercom, patience finally giving way to necessity. "Qui-Gon, can you come up to the cockpit for a moment?"
There was no answer, but in a few moments Qui-Gon's quiet footfalls notified Obi-Wan of his arrival. "Look at that." Obi-Wan gestured at the viewscreen. "We may already have our answer as to what's wrong with the Djinn."
Qui-Gon made a murmur of surprise and took the copilot's seat. "You may be right. I wonder how long this has been a factor-- none of the records I've accessed indicated volcanic activity of this magnitude on Abhaile."
"If this is an unusual phenomenon, they'll have entered a period of significant global cooling: torrential rainstorms, widespread crop failure, increased hardships for winter existence in polar and subpolar areas." Obi-Wan tapped at the comm. "Nobody's answering our hails. We don't have landing clearance."
"I'll have to handle that." Qui-Gon exchanged chairs with him and renewed the request. He persisted for nearly an hour, bargaining at length in the liquid language of the Djinn, before obtaining grudging permission to land. He directed their ship toward the beacon with a sour twist to his lips.
"We've been given clearance to dock on what was once my clan's territory," he explained. "It's been broken up and distributed to three others, none of which particularly want to see me return, regardless that I don't plan to challenge them for it. We were given leave to land by the smallest faction. I suspect they believe we'll be a significant inconvenience to the other two, and that they may benefit from my return-- not in a gain of their own, but in the other clans incurring larger losses at my hand."
Obi-Wan winced. Not an ideal homecoming.
"When we land, you'll have to stay close to me. As an offworlder, you have no clan affiliation to protect you. You have no rights at all. If you're harmed or robbed, the law will be indifferent. If an accusation is levied against you, you'll be punished for the alleged act without benefit of trial." Qui-Gon stared at him soberly. "For this reason, if I could, I'd forbid you to make planetfall, much less leave the ship."
"Would it help if I claimed to be your paramour?" Obi-Wan flashed him a mischievous grin.
Qui-Gon glanced at him swiftly, unreadable. "It wouldn't. Same-sex unions are not legally binding on Abhaile, though I'm not sure how they're otherwise regarded socially. Also, Djinn law doesn't recognize sexual liaisons with outworlders."
"What if I were your chattel?"
"That's a given," Qui-Gon responded stiffly. "That is to say, it's how you'll be treated by the other Djinn-- and it's the only way I can claim a legal right to protect you."
"Chattel it is, then." Obi-Wan nodded. "They'll have to pry me from your side with a crowbar." Again he tilted a mischievous grin at Qui-Gon, who only frowned in response, too worried for levity.
"I've prepared these for us." Qui-Gon reached into his pocket and brought out broad squares of cloth, which Obi-Wan realized had been torn from sheets, neatly hemmed, and meticulously dyed with the ink from a writing stylus. "These bear my clan mark." Qui-Gon folded one into a triangle and tied it around his forehead, then arranged it so that it held back the lanky strands of his lengthening hair, the clan mark showing prominently.
The other, its sigil much smaller, he whipped into a tight roll with the rune showing, and bound it about Obi-Wan's upper arm. "A chattel isn't permitted to wear the clan sign on his skin, or on his head. It's something akin to blasphemy to put a clan mark on an offworlder at all. But it will warn others that you're under my protection."
"That's the mark from your tattoo, isn't it," Obi-Wan realized, and Qui-Gon nodded tightly.
"I'm honored," Obi-Wan said softly, and Qui-Gon blinked at him, surprised.
"You weren't raised a Djinn, no, but I know you." Obi-Wan smiled fondly. "This mark is important to you. You'd value the Djinn culture even if you hadn't been born into it. And I know, too, that you don't burn your bridges lightly." He adjusted the band slightly, pushing it higher up his arm. "You want this culture to accept you-- and what's more, we need it to, so we can help them. I'll do my best not to damage your standing."
"You're a fine Jedi, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly.
"So are you." Obi-Wan spoke firmly. He raised a quelling hand to forestall Qui-Gon's swift breath of disagreement. "And you always have been, no matter what the Council may have thought at one time."
"Master Raksen did you no favors in condemning you the way she did," Obi-Wan continued. "She's one of Dooku's adherents, I suspect, as Master Bulq was. If you'd actually returned after Lisyl, of course the Council would have scolded you, but the Order would have welcomed you back and helped you recover." He regarded Qui-Gon for a long moment. "Yoda still considers you a Jedi, you know. He left the head chair vacant for you on Xinune. We all did. You are the leader there."
Qui-Gon's eyes widened, then he frowned, studying his hands carefully as he considered a reply. "When I left Xinune, there were no Jedi in residence. Those whose path led them from Coruscant to Xinune follow Yoda's leadership, and your own. Not mine."
"They will, one day." Obi-Wan felt the Unifying Force singing with the truth of his words. "They know we followed you."
Qui-Gon inhaled, a long, slow breath, and Obi-Wan saw his shoulders straighten subtly with pride and resolve.
He suppressed a smile, returning to the controls. "We've got turbulence upcoming; there's a cyclone on our flight path. Strap in."
The storm was enough to rattle their teeth, but not much more, and as they emerged from its leading edge, the atmosphere lit up with gold, clouds shading through every hue to deep cherry red as the light faded near the terminator.
Obi-Wan whistled softly. "Incredible," he murmured, smiling at Qui-Gon. "I suppose it's all the particulates in the air."
Qui-Gon nodded absently, sparing a brief glance for the display, but keeping most of his attention on their descent as they tracked the homing beacon to their landing platform. "We'll be arriving shortly. Sensors indicate the region is in mid-spring cycle, with a current temperature a degree or two below the freezing point of water. Expect sleet."
Obi-Wan nodded. "You'd better get some warmer clothes on, then; leather's a terrible insulator. I'll handle the descent."
"Call me up here if you need to speak to anyone." Qui-Gon slipped out.
Obi-Wan allowed himself a wide smile, now that Qui-Gon wasn't there to see it, wondering precisely what his old master would think of the rest of the clothing Yoda had seen fit to send for him. He was irritated with his discovery, if the sound of doors thumping from the crew quarters was any indication.
Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, finessing the trajectory as they sailed into cloud cover again. Sleet began to rattle on the viewscreen, but there wasn't much warmth in the atmosphere, so the turbulence was more lateral than vertical, strong winds buffeting them.
He sensed rather than heard Qui-Gon's return and resisted turning to look, squinting instead through the reduced visibility to make out the lights of a landing area. All he found was a single flashing beacon. He let the autopilot steer them in, and the ship settled itself near the pole, landing gear engaging with the characteristic dull thump of metal on earth rather than the sharp clang of metal on metal.
"We're here, I think." He turned at last, and found Qui-Gon standing uncomfortably behind him, once more clad in the layered tunics and robe of a Jedi Master. Yoda had even remembered his preferred shades of color, and he looked very like the master of Obi-Wan's memory, except for his shorter hair and the addition of the clan kerchief he wore over it.
Qui-Gon frowned at the warmth in Obi-Wan's eyes, uncomfortable, looking away in embarrassment.
"You look good." Obi-Wan rose briskly. "I'm afraid we haven't been met."
"There's a settlement two kilometers away." Qui-Gon held out a data pad. "I scanned the area as we descended. There aren't any maps in the Republic databases, but we'll have this to work from, at least."
"It won't be an enjoyable walk in this weather, and we've no local currency."
"The Djinn value precious metals and gemstones in addition to government currency." Qui-Gon reached into his pocket and held out a small pouch. "I took the liberty of raiding Tiran's private cache."
"I should have known he'd be prepared." Obi-Wan grinned. "Though I suppose we're at risk of paying for our night's hostelry a hundred times over, if we can't make change."
"This seems a calculated insult. Sent to the end of nowhere, in the sleet, not to be met." Qui-Gon shook his head. "We aren't walking." He sat down at the comm.
It took another hour, during which Obi-Wan grew steadily more concerned by Qui-Gon's shortening temper, but at last he raised an answer-- an actual person, not merely recordings or text.
"My apologies, taoiseach. We were dealing with a raid." The voice that answered Qui-Gon's hail sounded harried. "Someone will be out to transport you shortly."
"We'll be ready," Qui-Gon bit off the words and shook his head, terminating the transmission. He turned to Obi-Wan, visibly releasing irritation. "We won't go out until they arrive."
The transport that finally growled up through the sleet was primitive, ground-based, and rode on tracks rather than wheels. Gathering Obi-Wan with a look, Qui-Gon let down the ramp and they strolled out into the cold together.
Qui-Gon folded his arms, serene, waiting beneath the overhang of the ship until the driver got out of the transport and dashed over, shielding his head from the sleet. He dressed much like Majnun, but he was swart, his face brown under long dark hair and heavy brows.
"Your presence honors us," he said to Qui-Gon, shaking moisture off his hair. "I'm Janu. Will it please you to accompany me?"
"Certainly." Qui-Gon acknowledged. "Come, Obi-Wan."
The Djinn's eyes darted to Obi-Wan, carefully noting the mark tied about his sleeve and flashing with an unfriendly light, but he didn't speak, turning to rush back to the transport. They followed him through the sleet and soon settled into the rear seat of the transport, which jostled them roughly as they turned toward the settlement.
"I was supposed to come out to get you earlier, but Failbhe launched a raid on our stores, and all able-bodied men were called to defend." He addressed the remark solely to Qui-Gon.
"Are such raids common?" Qui-Gon kept his voice neutral.
"I'm afraid they are. When none have enough to eat, rules of polite society and clan alliances go by the wayside. Failbhe know they're stronger than we are, and they believe they can take whatever they will."
"Your stores consist of?"
"Livestock and preserved foodstuffs. We lost half our herd-- most of them females carrying calves. Without them, more of our people will starve next winter."
Obi-Wan winced at the matter-of-fact tone in the man's voice.
"Crops have been failing, I assume, leaving you dependent on meat to survive."
"Yes, when we can get it." The man slewed the transport around, skidding on the sleet and narrowly avoiding a tree. "I'm afraid you'll find our hospitality short. We've no fuel for the fires, either-- fortunately, this is a temperate day. High spring, you know." His voice thickened with irony.
"That won't be a problem," Qui-Gon assured him. "I'll make do."
They skidded their way into the settlement, plowing through what Obi-Wan judged would be ankle-deep mud in the streets, and stopped in front of a ramshackle stone building. Its windows were glazed, but cracked.
"We get earthquake activity even here, sometimes." Janu ushered them in. "I'm afraid our taoiseach won't have time for you yet. I'll return to bring you before him later this evening."
"Thank you, Janu." Qui-Gon nodded to him, regal. When he departed, the two of them looked about the building.
"He wasn't kidding about the accommodations," Obi-Wan muttered. Not only were the windows broken, but daylight showed through the stone wall in places where mortar had crumbled. The floor was made of earth, mostly dry except under a leak in the roof, and a single moldy cot stood on one side of the room. It was long enough for Qui-Gon, and extremely narrow for two. An empty fireplace completed the decor, its throat streaked with soot, but there was no wood anywhere to be seen.
Qui-Gon reached into his pack and pulled out a small area heater, setting it near the cot. "Would you care to gamble on who gets the floor?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "That would be the chattel's place."
"We could share the cot," Qui-Gon suggested, his voice suddenly hesitant. "That is, if you don't mind."
"It'll be very close quarters." Obi-Wan stepped over, trying to hide the sudden flush of arousal that slid over him. "But I think we might fit, if we cooperate." He chuckled suddenly. "Do you still snore?"
"Like a rancor, I assume." Qui-Gon shook his head. "Is that really the worst that worries you?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan answered him immediately, voice soft. "It is."
"You'd sleep with the last Dark Lord of the Sith." Qui-Gon's eyes searched his, uncertain.
"I already had sex with him. It wasn't so bad I wouldn't try it again." He let a lopsided smirk escape.
"Rape isn't a joking matter." Qui-Gon turned away quietly.
"Darth Mallaigh didn't rape me." Obi-Wan stepped up behind him. "Even a Sith can't rape the willing. I seem to recall you noticed that, at the time."
"You're too charitable."
"And you aren't a Sith anymore, if you ever were." Obi-Wan put steel into his voice. "Trust in Yoda's judgment, if you won't trust mine." He paused. "I'll gladly sleep on the floor, if it makes you uncomfortable to share. But I'm not afraid of you." He slid his hand into the crook of Qui-Gon's elbow, pulling him around, forcing the man to meet his gaze. "Guilt isn't a productive emotion, and yours is unfounded in this case. Let it go, Qui-Gon."
Qui-Gon swallowed hard, lifting his hand, and cradled it around Obi-Wan's cheek in a tentative caress, thumb brushing near his lips. Obi-Wan let his eyes close and turned to kiss it, mouthing softly at the pad, listening to the slow hiss of Qui-Gon's breath as he inhaled. He could feel the man teetering on the razor's edge of control, but did not want to break it. Qui-Gon needed to re-learn his self-discipline, and Obi-Wan would not press him to move before he was ready.
He opened his eyes and subsided, letting his heart shine in his open gaze. Qui-Gon stared at him for a long moment with lips parted, eyes hazy with desire, before his hand fell.
A tap at the door broke the spell; they separated and Obi-Wan answered the knock, standing back as he opened it, allowing Qui-Gon to take the lead.
A stranger stepped through-- an older man with a hard face. Like Qui-Gon, he sported blue eyes and a tall, strong frame, but there was no redeeming softness to his face.
"So the renegade taoiseach returns." He surveyed Qui-Gon coolly. "You've become one of the Republic's enforcer thugs, I see. With another in tow." His eyes evaluated Obi-Wan as well, lingering for a moment on the band he wore that bore Qui-Gon's sigil, then dismissed him. "You've come to tell us we can live together in a world of peace and plenty, if only we accept offworld rule, no doubt."
"Becoming a member of the Republic is not a condition for receiving humanitarian aid, nor does joining the Republic require submission to the Republic's rule." Qui-Gon faced him calmly. "It gives qualifying worlds a voice in the Senate, and the right to protection as needed."
"Abhaile needs no protection."
"Abhaile needs humanitarian aid, and guidance in developing agricultural resources that won't fail in colder climes."
The man's eyes grew flinty. "So you, all but an outworlder, think you can call all the chieftains together and show us what fools we are by providing simple answers to our problems."
"You're free to take whatever label you wish." Qui-Gon didn't back down. "I would only label you a fool if you won't accept your brother's help when you need it." He paused. "Ki-Gün Djinn is ainm dom. Cad is ainm duit?"
"Kelonaht." No friendliness leavened his tone. "Mo'r Kelonaht, taoiseach of Failbhe."
"It's my pleasure and privilege to meet you." Qui-Gon gave a polite half-bow. "I look forward to working with you for the good of Abhaile and our kinsmen."
Kelonaht scoffed, and turning, walked out without another word, leaving Qui-Gon to shake his head with frustration.
"I wonder if he orchestrated the raid on Lathurna," Obi-Wan murmured softly when the man had entered his transport and gone.
"I'd say there's at least a 50% chance," Qui-Gon acknowledged. "The raiders must have represented either Failbhe or Ruidhri. I don't like seeing so much enmity here. If we're to succeed in helping the Djinn, we'll need to help them overcome clan hostilities and persuade them to work together. They won't be able to accept outsiders until they accept one another."
"If they're all as stubborn as you, that'll be an uphill fight."
"They're going to need a demonstration of good faith, something to give them hope, and an incentive to unite," Qui-Gon murmured thoughtfully.
"Do you have something in mind?"
"Yes, if I can arrange an opportunity." He would say no more, and they settled in to meditate while waiting for Janu's return.
The Lathurna clansman arrived well after nightfall, still seeming agitated.
"My taoiseach will see you now." He ushered them out, driving them a surprisingly short distance down the settlement's main road, to a lodging only slightly larger than their own, though it seemed in better repair.
He ushered them in, and left them standing in a half-furnished, candle-lit anteroom where another swarthy Djinn sat at a battered metal desk, holding a writing stylus and studying a paper ledger with a faint air of well-controlled desperation.
He set it aside after a long moment, looking up at them. A thin line creased his brow as he surveyed Obi-Wan, and it deepened when he moved to Qui-Gon.
"Ki-Gu"n. I am Sala, who leads Lathurna. Why have you come back to Abhaile?" He cut through any pretense at pleasantry, standing and moving from behind his desk. "They say you are Jedi. This means little to me; I have no information on your outworlder ways. But for a vanished clan chieftain to resurface, and to call a gathering-- I would like to feel hope, but I have none left in me after today's raid."
"I am both Jedi and Djinn. I mean to bring you hope, and more." Qui-Gon stepped forward, crossing his wrists and offering to clasp the taoiseach's hands. He received a matching clasp in return, though the man eyed him warily.
"Why have you brought an outworlder with you, wearing the sigil of a Djinn clan?" He did not include Obi-Wan with as much as a glance.
"He assists me. I require his services frequently." Qui-Gon glanced aside to Obi-Wan. "The sigil lets others know he is under my protection." His voice sank half a tone lower, a subtle, implicit threat.
Obi-Wan remained unruffled, agreeing with the summary in all important essentials, but did not speak since he had not been addressed. He might as well be invisible, he thought wryly, but it didn't really sting-- he'd feared far more hostile treatment than this.
"Rumor has it you are a sorcerer, capable of great destruction." Sala faced Qui-Gon courageously, his fear only evident in the defiant tension of his posture and the pugnacious tilt of his chin.
"I am a Jedi," Qui-Gon repeated quietly. "I am capable of many things, in service of both war and peace. I hope to demonstrate some of the latter for you, so that you will trust me and support me in my quest to help our kinsmen."
"What would you do to aid the Djinn?"
"Whatever I may. But let us begin with a demonstration." Qui-Gon stepped forward and took up a small item from the taoiseach's desk-- a wooden seal, meant for marking documents by impressing a carved design into hot wax. He held it in his hand, closing his eyes.
Obi-Wan felt the Living Force stir, and closed his own eyes, the better to feel what Qui-Gon was doing. The master channeled energy into the wood, which began to swell, absorbing water out of the air-- and then pushed forth branches from the tiny knotholes in the grain, which slowly sprouted green leaves that curled out toward the light of the tallow candle.
"Your sorcery is impressive." Sala's eyes glittered in the candlelight as he lifted the seal from Qui-Gon's palm, ruffling the leaves with his fingertip.
"Do you still have seed to plant your fields?"
"We do."
"I would consider it a personal favor if you will invite the leaders of the other local clans to come to the fields nearest this town at dawn tomorrow. Bring enough seed to sow a field that covers as much ground as this settlement. To show my good faith, I will ensure that tomorrow night, your entire clan will sleep with full stomachs."
"Can you grow enough food that way for our entire planet?" Sala's eyes gleamed.
"I cannot," Qui-Gon admitted. "But I have other methods of helping. If the clans will accept my guidance in this, I can arrange for food deliveries to feed everyone until crops can be raised, and I can see to it that you plant crops that do not die when it frosts, and raise beasts that will bear two calves where others carry only one-- and that will put on more meat, even though they require less food to thrive. Highly advanced medical technology is available, too, far beyond what the Djinn have developed-- all of these things are possible without Abhaile having to join the Republic. Jedi scientists may even be able to reduce the tectonic activity that is changing the climate."
"We will not accept charity from offworlders."
"Will you let your children die of starvation instead?"
Sala looked away at that, his face somber. "I will summon the other leaders, as you ask." He turned abruptly and went back to his work. "Janu will come for you in the morning."
Qui-Gon bowed and collected Obi-Wan with a glance, and they went out.
"That went rather better than I'd hoped," Obi-Wan commented as soon as they were back in their lodging. "I didn't know you could do things like that."
Qui-Gon colored faintly and he looked down at his feet. "I could have revived the wood of the seal even when you were my apprentice, I think. But cultivating an entire field would have been beyond me, at least before we--" he fell silent, making an apologetic, half-embarrassed gesture, and Obi-Wan blinked, rapidly realizing which memory Qui-Gon planned to access for aid in manipulating the Living Force so powerfully.
"I'll definitely look forward to providing assistance tomorrow, then, if you need it." He couldn't hold back his amusement and anticipation; Qui-Gon's eyes rose and locked with his, a spark of desire crackling almost tangibly between them.
"Shall we go to bed?" Obi-Wan dared to step up, brushing his fingertips against Qui-Gon's face. "You'll need your rest before attempting such a feat."
"You're right," Qui-Gon agreed. "Do you plan to let me sleep?" His voice was soft, his breath warm against Obi-Wan's fingers.
Obi-Wan felt his insides whirl delightfully-- the moment felt perfect; Qui-Gon was very much himself, warm and gentle, and he was so tired of hesitating! "I think you'll sleep very well if I do what I have in mind-- and I believe you might find it very helpful in the morning." He stepped slightly closer, nuzzling gently at Qui-Gon's throat.
Qui-Gon paused at that and pushed him back just enough to look at his expression, a faint frown line forming on his forehead. "Obi-Wan, that's not why I want--"
"I know it isn't." Obi-Wan silenced him, lifting his face to brush Qui-Gon's mouth with a kiss: a soft touch of lips, slow and shallow, but sweet.
"We haven't much room, but I'd like to show you something." Without warning he felt diffident and shy, both terribly young and also shamefully jaded, knowing he would be drawing on the experience he had gained during his time as a prisoner of Dramacore, and feeling soiled by it suddenly-- not wanting any hint of that ugliness to lessen the moment for Qui-Gon. "It's something you ought to love; I don't think you could manage anything like it in your toy room--" words suddenly failed him, and he avoided Qui-Gon's gaze.
"It's all right," Qui-Gon murmured softly, sensing Obi-Wan's shame as it shivered a discordant note through the Force energies that surrounded them. "Don't think about that. Be in the moment with me." Qui-Gon stroked his hair, leaning in to press a kiss against his forehead.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, pushing away his nervousness, smiling up at Qui-Gon as he gently pushed him back, guiding him down to sit on the edge of the cot. He knelt gracefully before his old master, slipping between his knees, and tilted his face up for a kiss, which Qui-Gon gave-- slow and sweet, teasing Obi-Wan's mouth open with his tongue and exploring gently inside. The kiss ebbed and flowed for long minutes, liquid heat building between them until Qui-Gon broke it at last, nibbling softly at Obi-Wan's lower lip once, then again, before pulling back.
"My Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon's voice had hoarsened, and he raised his hand. It shook as it cupped against Obi-Wan's cheek, caressing his face. Qui-Gon's eyes were soft and dazed, pure sapphire blue; his mouth half-open, tongue wetting his lower lip.
"Yes." Obi-Wan took courage from the love and vulnerability in Qui-Gon's expression, and slid his hands under Qui-Gon's robe, moving it off his thighs. He slowly unfastened the clasp of his belt, sliding it off and setting it aside on the floor. The portable heater baked a comforting warmth into his back, and he was aware that he eclipsed its golden light, leaving most of Qui-Gon's body in soft shadow.
He removed Qui-Gon's sash, folding it and setting it on the foot of the bed, then gently opened his master's clothing-- long stoles, outer tunic, inner tunic, soft layers of growing warmth parting to let him in.
Qui-Gon's bare belly was warm under his hands, and he gently leaned in and kissed it, dipping his tongue into Qui-Gon's navel and tasting salt there. The big man jerked, a breath catching in his throat; his hands fluttered near Obi-Wan's head, unsure where to settle.
Obi-Wan drew back, sliding a hand down to run his palm along the hefty ridge that stretched Qui-Gon's leggings. Qui-Gon groaned deep in his throat, and a shudder ran through him. His hands finally settled on Obi-Wan's shoulders, still trembling.
Obi-Wan bent and reverently kissed along the cloth-covered shaft, breathing heat through the thin fabric, working to build Qui-Gon's anticipation. He could feel a faint damp spot over the tip, so he licked the cloth there, letting Qui-Gon see his tongue move against the fabric. Qui-Gon's hands tightened unconsciously on his shoulders, and his body shuddered as he struggled against the urge to thrust.
Obi-Wan nipped lightly as he moved back upward again, barely letting his teeth be felt, each slow, delicate bite making Qui-Gon's hips jerk. He stroked his hands along Qui-Gon's thighs, loving the feel of taut muscle and tightly harnessed power in the big body, and the knowledge that he would be the first to do this for Qui-Gon.
"Lift your hips," he purred, and slid Qui-Gon's leggings down to his knees. He deftly managed the waistband, keeping it from tangling with Qui-Gon's cock-- which bobbed up eagerly when he freed it from its prison, nudging softly at his chin.
He caught the thick shaft in his palm, laughing softly. "Hello there," he purred, and licked across the bitter-salt tip before Qui-Gon could anticipate what he might do.
Qui-Gon groaned out loud, his hips jerking reflexively; Obi-Wan re-settled himself comfortably, replacing his hands on Qui-Gon's thighs to hold him in place.
"My master," he murmured, gazing up, and their eyes locked. He dipped his head, softly resting the head of Qui-Gon's cock on his lower lip, and held Qui-Gon's gaze as he went down, slow and steady, opening his throat to take the thick erection fully, finally nestling his nose into the wiry thatch of hair at the base.
Qui-Gon gasped, and his hands fluttered free again in a silent frenzy of sensation, then settled on Obi-Wan's head, thumbs stroking his temples and his jaw, feeling how it stretched to accommodate him.
Obi-Wan remained still for a long moment before he pulled back up, sucking firmly as Qui-Gon slid out. He let the head lie on his tongue for a long moment, and began to fuck his own mouth with Qui-Gon's cock, a slow, patient rhythm-- inviting Qui-Gon's hands to guide him, to speed his pace.
Qui-Gon moaned softly, thighs shifting with restless want, but his hands remained passive. Obi-Wan slowed his pace, humming softly around his mouthful.
"Please," Qui-Gon gasped, his voice a husk of breath. "Please, Obi-Wan..."
Obi-Wan slid back up, fluttering his tongue, strumming at the sensitive spot just at the base of the head, then withdrawing and teasing around the foreskin with his tongue, dipping inside as much as he could.
"Show me how you want it. Use your hands," he murmured, kissing the tip. "You won't hurt me." He slid one hand under Qui-Gon's balls, rolling them softly in his palm, and then slipped back down over Qui-Gon's cock, moaning his pleasure at tasting Qui-Gon, his mouth stretching as Qui-Gon filled his throat.
Qui-Gon stroked his face, fingers threading into his hair, and he gently pressed Obi-Wan down, then freed him to rise again; after a few moments they found a rhythm. Obi-Wan purred to feel those hard hands guiding him, his own erect cock beginning to ache inside his leggings as passion built. "Mmmm," he moaned, but would not release Qui-Gon's flesh again, licking at the shaft as he rose and fell, his lips wet, salt and heat filling his mouth.
Qui-Gon's breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling; Obi-Wan gazed up at his face, rapt. Qui-Gon's lashes were wet, his eyes shut; his face looked younger, transformed with pleasure, his mouth open and his tongue visible as he licked his lips again and again, visibly struggling to contain the sounds he wanted to make.
Obi-Wan gently squeezed Qui-Gon's balls, and sucked harder; Qui-Gon rewarded him with a desperate cry, bucking up. Obi-Wan stilled his head, inviting Qui-Gon to fuck his mouth. After a moment's hesitant surprise, Qui-Gon complied, thrusting his hips up, his hands tightening, the left bracing behind Obi-Wan's neck and the right cradling his skull, trembling fingers splayed.
Obi-Wan whimpered, his cock surging-- he craved this, craved Qui-Gon's power, his mastery, his strength. He brought his hands behind Qui-Gon's ass, urging him on, and Qui-Gon surrendered with a low cry, pushing harder, raising himself to his feet and tipping Obi-Wan's head back.
Obi-Wan moaned and opened for him, bracing his hands behind Qui-Gon's thighs. They quivered under the strain, motion growing fast and jerky. Obi-Wan managed to open his eyes in time to see Qui-Gon's face when he came, his wild cry loud in the small chamber, his body locked in shuddering spasms as he spent himself in Obi-Wan's throat.
Obi-Wan swallowed eagerly, kneading Qui-Gon's ass, loving the abandoned look on his face-- the pure beauty of his surrender, the strength and glow of the Living Force filling his aura, the vulnerability of him even as he held Obi-Wan prisoner within the cradle of his powerful hands.
At last Qui-Gon recovered enough of his wits to remember Obi-Wan needed to breathe, and he hastily drew back. Obi-Wan followed, gently milking the last drops from him, savoring them, letting them wet his lips, blissfully licking Qui-Gon clean as he watched, panting for breath.
He smiled up at his old master, sultry, his own erection half-forgotten in the wonder of watching Qui-Gon's pleasure; for a moment, it had almost slipped his mind that they were no longer master and padawan.
Qui-Gon drew him up and crushed him in a hug so fierce he thought his ribs might break. He nestled his body against Qui-Gon blissfully, pushing his still-needy cock against one bare, solid thigh.
Qui-Gon reached for him, taking his mouth, but then drew back, momentarily startled by the unexpected taste of himself on Obi-Wan's lips.
"Sorry," Obi-Wan grinned, unable to help himself, but Qui-Gon's eyes darkened, and he kissed him again in spite of it, hand sliding into his leggings and wrapping around his needy cock.
Obi-Wan moaned at the feel of the big hand wrapping around him, eyes closing, and he spared a last moment of coherence to regret the tiny cot, wishing they could lie down together and simply forget everything except the need to love one another.
Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan upright and onto his lap, both of them wary of the rickety cot and the awkward angle. He stroked slowly, as if testing the heft of Obi-Wan in his palm. "I've grown too used to toys," Qui-Gon breathed against his ear. "I never knew how good you would feel."
Obi-Wan moaned, lifting his hips for more, and Qui-Gon kissed the moans from his lips, inhaling his breath. He seemed to remember how Obi-Wan had guided him before, and settled into the pattern-- rather slower, teasing him, drawing it out.
Obi-Wan's hand caught his wrist, fingers tightening with a mute plea, and Qui-Gon speeded his strokes gradually. His tongue explored in Obi-Wan's soft mouth, thrusting into him-- a quiet promise for the future.
Obi-Wan quickened for him, pushing his hips up urgently, and Qui-Gon wrapped his free arm around Obi-Wan's back, holding him upright as their muscles began to tremble with strain.
"Please," Obi-Wan whimpered against his lips, and Qui-Gon took mercy on him. He tightened his hand, tugging up relentlessly, quick and hard and strong, his callused thumb sliding over the tip of Obi-Wan's cock. It was too good now to last; Obi-Wan felt his balls drawing up, and gasped into Qui-Gon's mouth as sensation crashed through him. He exploded under the firm pressure of Qui-Gon's palm, nearly bucking himself right off Qui-Gon's lap.
Qui-Gon swallowed his cries, strong arms supporting him, and smiled against his face as Obi-Wan tore his mouth away to gasp for breath, sagging into him.
Obi-Wan's wits were so shattered he couldn't ever remember quite how, but Qui-Gon cleaned him up, took his boots and his belt off him, and maneuvered them onto the bed with Obi-Wan's body tucked into the crook of his own, the wings of his robe enfolding them both. Blissfully sated, they slept.
A crashing sound woke Obi-Wan, and before the echoes faded, he was already on the floor, barefoot, with the hilt of his lightsaber in his fist. His stiff muscles shrieked from the rapid movement after spending all night motionless, crammed into the narrow cot with Qui-Gon. Before he actually ignited the lightsaber, he abruptly realized where he was, and understood Janu was knocking.
"We'll be right with you." He snatched for his belt, hastily putting himself together again, and was aware of Qui-Gon doing the same right behind him.
In moments they were dressed and headed out to the field in Janu's crawler. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon ate swiftly, taking emergency rations from their belts. The energy between them was good-- Qui-Gon felt calm and balanced, and his aura was an even, rich green.
"Will you have a ration bar?" Obi-Wan politely offered one to Janu, who sneered at him. Qui-Gon quietly took the bar and proffered it on his own palm; only then would their guide accept. Obi-Wan sighed.
A small knot of people awaited them, heavily cloaked against the brisk morning wind, but the sky had cleared and Obi-Wan could see the ice was already melting, even before the sun rose. It was a more auspicious way to begin than he had hoped.
Qui-Gon emerged from the crawler, his bearing regal as he strode forward. Obi-Wan heeled him closely, effacing himself by remaining mostly behind Qui-Gon's body. The chieftains scowled at them suspiciously, but Qui-Gon ignored it, his voice brisk.
"Thank you for coming, my brothers. Your presence is appreciated. I would like to demonstrate some small part of how I can help you provide for our kinsmen."
"Offworld scum." Kelonaht spat to the side. "A dark sorcerer with his filthy catamite, bringing a pocket full of parlor tricks and a lot of sly talk, just as Majnun warned."
Qui-Gon stepped in front of him, eyeing him levelly. "Perhaps you should wait to judge me until the children of Lathurna sit down in front of full plates tonight, Kelonaht."
"Even Sala admits you can't grow enough food to feed us all," Kelonaht scoffed.
"Should those I can feed starve because I can't feed everyone?" Qui-Gon's voice cracked like a whip. "You underestimate me if you think I am limited to parlor tricks. Majnun knows better."
He turned away, glancing aside to Sala, who stood next to his vehicle, with a heavily armed guard of ten men. Sacks of coarse weave lay on the exposed bed of the crawler. "Are those the seeds?"
"Yes." Sala stared defiantly at the others.
"Give them to him, and you won't have a harvest at all," the third taoiseach spoke suddenly.
"I've seen what he can do," Sala said stubbornly. "I'll risk it."
Qui-Gon inclined his head gravely and turned from them, staring out across the fallow field toward the rising sun. He raised his hands, and Obi-Wan felt the Force stir at his call.
He went forward and knelt before Qui-Gon's feet, ready to lend his power as it was needed.
He watched as Qui-Gon extended his arms, and rows began to plow themselves, the soil slicing open and mounding up, moving in neat parallel lines toward the end of the field. He repeated this when he had finished, working the soft damp soil until the clods were shattered, then furrowing it the same way.
This was the easy part, Obi-Wan knew; simple telekinesis. He had seen Agricorps techs do the equivalent many times, and had watched them tuck the seeds into the furrows just as Qui-Gon did, neatly spaced, then cover them with loose earth.
The next phase would be harder.
Behind them, the clan chiefs murmured, but Qui-Gon ignored them all, deepening his concentration.
For this, he must draw deeper-- replacing the action of sunlight with pure Force, bringing moisture wicking up through the ground, infusing the seeds and plants with the energy they needed to produce a crop.
As Obi-Wan watched, the field sprouted, tiny green leaves pushing upward and spreading. Qui-Gon's progress then slowed just as the natural growth of the plants would have, but the Living Force still thrummed around him. Obi-Wan could feel him reaching for his memories, and twined his own joyful thoughts with Qui-Gon's, feeling their power mingle and deepen, though neither man moved.
The sun rose its own width, and then as much again; seedlings stood a hand tall, and began to stretch. By noon, heads had formed on the grain, and over the afternoon, they filled and ripened. The chieftains remained, watching; now their conversations were hushed. Obi-Wan spared half an ear, filing his impressions away for later study, but retained most of his focus for what they were doing-- his body was alight, glowing with pleasure, and he could feel the heat of Qui-Gon behind him, equally intense.
Eventually the sun moved behind them, and their shadows stretched long over the field; the grain stalks yellowed, ripening, the soft sough of the wind making their heavy, drying heads hiss together as they shifted and danced, flowing over the subtle folds of the land.
Finally Qui-Gon released a deep, low sigh and lowered his hands, resting for a moment, re-settling himself. He raised them again, and the grain toppled, stacking itself into sheaves.
Obi-Wan heard the growl of engines, and looking up, he saw storage trucks trundling out along the wet road to receive the harvest. Sala was grinning, fierce and joyful; Kelonaht's expression was positively thunderous. The third chieftain glanced back and forth between them, then at Qui-Gon, his forehead creased in a frown, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
Qui-Gon swayed very slightly, but Obi-Wan was there to bear him up, sliding under his arm to lead him from the field.
"That is why I used to have you sort and manipulate sand," Qui-Gon murmured to Obi-Wan. "It builds fine control and prepares you for mass work at the molecular level."
"I'll keep that in mind the very next time I'm on a beach."
"I hope you recall there's a beach very near the Palazzo." Qui-Gon reluctantly silenced his teasing as they neared the chieftains.
"A token of what is to come," he said to them, straightening away from Obi-Wan's subtle support.
"Thank you, Taoiseach. Sala bowed. "My clan is at your service."
"You honor me." Qui-Gon returned the bow formally. Sala might be only one ally, and from a relatively minor clan. But he was the first, and to reach one meant that others would likely be receptive, also.
"I trust Lathurna will not find today's harvest targeted by raiders." Qui-Gon looked blandly to Kelonaht and the Ruidhri chieftain. "It would be regrettable, indeed."
"For whom, I wonder?" The taoiseach of Ruidhri muttered wryly.
"For all concerned, I am certain." Qui-Gon's voice remained mild, but he directed a diamond-hard stare at Kelonaht. "Most especially the raiders."
"Tomorrow begins the gathering of chieftains. Raiding is forbidden during the gathering," Kelonaht said easily, but his eyes lingered on the trucks, where Sala's people shuttled back and forth, heaping the sheaves of grain onto their beds.
"Your demonstration was most instructive." The taoiseach of Ruidhri bowed, not so deeply as Sala. "I will see you again at the gathering." He turned and strode away.
"I too have business to attend." Kelonaht's smile stretched, bright and false. "Rather more important than spending all day letting grass grow under my heels." He bowed mockingly and left.
"Sala, will you require a guardian for the harvest tonight?" Qui-Gon asked, an implicit offer to be that guardian.
"No, I think not," Sala murmured. "He has our beasts; his kin are fed. He will wait to see how the gathering proceeds."
"Then will you accompany us to the gathering tomorrow, in my ship?"
"Yes. I am honored." Sala bowed again, and drove away with the grain trucks, leaving Janu to return Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to the settlement in his crawler.
"Take us to our ship," Qui-Gon directed. "But contact us immediately if there is any disturbance tonight."
"Yes, taoiseach," Janu agreed. "This I will do."
Qui-Gon braced himself against the sway of the crawler, gazing out through the windshield toward the setting sun, which caught in the volcanic particulates and aerosols in the atmosphere, setting the entire sky aflame with brilliant red and orange light. The day had gone well enough, but he was troubled in spite of his success.
He'd expected resistance; that wasn't it. Instead, what troubled him were the muddy undercurrents in the relationships he observed among the three chieftains, especially Kelonaht. It was increasingly obvious that Failbhe was behind the raid on Lathurna; they were the most powerful local group, and Kelonaht seemed by far the most aggressive of the three leaders.
Even more bothersome were Kelonaht's emotions toward Qui-Gon. He'd expected hostility and mistrust, but the Failbhe leader's feelings were far more complex, involving a mixture of fear, triumph, and hatred-- and there was a sense of knowing expectancy in the others as they observed him with Kelonaht, as if they believed some secret was about to come to light and make the situation worse.
Perhaps it was; the Force whispered with somber import, not yet loud enough to discern hidden truths.
Obi-Wan shifted against him as the crawler hit a hole, and Qui-Gon steadied him automatically, provoking a flash of smile as warm as it was brief.
As usual since Palpatine's death, the fresh evidence of Obi-Wan's unjudging love shook Qui-Gon to the core, provoking a complex mix of love, lust, and guilt in him. Obi-Wan's hand slid over his, a subtle caress, comforting. He accepted it, even as he worked to channel away the lust, releasing it into the Force. Lust was a complicated feeling, too closely related to the darker feelings he had not yet fully purged. They lingered, barely concealed beneath the veneer of serenity and calm that he wore like the Jedi clothing Yoda had sent him: an ill-fitting shell, uncomfortable and undeserved, something of a falsehood.
Janu dropped them at the ship, and Obi-Wan keyed the ramp, turning to glance back when Qui-Gon did not immediately follow.
"What's troubling you?" He stepped back out to Qui-Gon's side, his clear eyes intent.
"I'm not sure," Qui-Gon equivocated, focusing on the least personal of his thoughts. "Something about Kelonaht. There are secrets hidden there."
"You think he was behind the raid."
"Yes, and likely much more." Qui-Gon folded his arms inside his robe. He looked out over the land; the thick haze caught the last rays of the setting sun, transforming the air to a mist of shimmering gold.
"It's beautiful. It's a pity that it's also deadly to the native populations." Obi-Wan shook his head, squinting into the sun. "I haven't sensed a single large animal in the wild since we arrived."
"It's likely they've either frozen during the winters, or been eaten," Qui-Gon answered him soberly. "That too will wreak havoc with the environmental balance."
"It's a lesson to any sentient being," Obi-Wan agreed. "We mustn't close ourselves in and maintain stubborn self-reliance out of false pride. We must ask for help before we damage ourselves beyond repair."
Qui-Gon tilted a wry brow at Obi-Wan. "With so much wisdom to share, you should take a padawan."
"I never thought you would be the first to nag me to take a padawan learner." Obi-Wan's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I always thought it would be Yoda, and that he would thump me with his stick if I hesitated-- not to mention grabbing me by the ear and dragging me off into a training bond with some poor, hapless child."
"As he did to us?" Qui-Gon smiled faintly. "He does have an annoying tendency to be right." He resisted the impulse to turn to Obi-Wan and reach for him.
"Then perhaps I should be glad he hasn't brought it up." Obi-Wan responded comfortably. The last sliver of sun fell behind the horizon, and the wind freshened, biting through their robes. "Will you come in, or should I leave you out here to think?"
"I'll come in shortly."
Obi-Wan nodded acquiescence and departed up the ramp. Qui-Gon let his eyes follow until he was gone, drinking deep of Obi-Wan's unconscious grace, and his apparent comfort with himself. He had felt that same calm certainty himself, once.
He turned back, raising his hood against the wind, watching the horizon shade from fierce crimson to faint, fading purple. The Force had no further message for him, only vague, shifting unease, so he turned and went up the ramp to share a ration bar with Obi-Wan and retire politely to his solitary bunk, accepting a kiss, but declining the implicit offer of a shared bed.
He was weary, and he had much to consider.
Sala arrived with the dawn, and they settled his small retinue in the hold, inviting him up to the cockpit. He sat and watched the landscape streaming beneath them with keen interest as they flew toward the equator on a direct heading for the coordinates of the gathering.
"Were there any security issues in the night?" Qui-Gon asked.
"No. I've left the majority of my able-bodied men to ensure there won't be any while we're gone, either. Kelonaht will be bringing his more aggressive clansmen with him, I think-- it's traditional to bring a number of the chief's nearest kinsmen to the gathering of the clans." Sala looked down at a glittering lake, watching a flight of migratory birds rise from it, his eyes alight. "I haven't seen a flock of game birds like those in more than ten solar cycles."
"As we get nearer to the equator, I suppose the crop failures haven't been as severe, and their numbers haven't been thinned so much by hunting," Qui-Gon commented, watching for Sala's response.
"It makes sense. Not that any of us in the higher latitudes would know." Sala's mouth narrowed, bitter. "Our requests for assistance have fallen on deaf ears, unless we can accompany them with substantial sums of money or valuable goods."
"Taoiseach Sala, forgive me for speaking," Obi-Wan said abruptly. "But perhaps a different perspective might be helpful."
"Go ahead, offworlder." Sala mastered his dislike and gave Obi-Wan his sober, but polite, attention.
Obi-Wan paused, carefully composing his remarks. "It seems your culture places value on kinship bonds above all else. Yet, your clans do not help or trust one another. If resisting offworld contact and assistance is so important to you, perhaps emphasizing kinship would be a useful point of leverage to increase cooperation among the clans."
"There have been occasions when the clans came together." Sala shrugged. "We united, many generations ago, and drove away the Hutts who had invaded our world, seeking to exploit our planetary resources and enslave our people. But when they were gone, little remained but our determination to keep offworlders away."
Obi-Wan's eyes sought Qui-Gon's, and Qui-Gon stepped in, taking over.
"I was not aware the Hutts had a history on Abhaile."
"I'm sure they don't care to boast of it," Sala said drily. "It cost us many men, but we drove most of them away, and killed the rest. We took their technology and computer information to augment our own. Since then, most offworlders attempting contact or landing have been warned, and if they did not heed the warning, they have been killed."
That seemed consistent with the Jedi records Qui-Gon had accessed when researching his heritage.
"Tell me what you know of Kelonaht," Qui-Gon changed the subject mildly.
Sala's eyes flashed at him with alarm. "I know little of him personally. He succeeded his father twenty years ago, when the old man's health declined. He has lived up to his legacy-- he's a strong leader, ambitious, aggressive, and successful. Since Failbhe acquired--" he hesitated, then pressed on. "Since Failbhe doubled its holdings, they have enjoyed relative wealth, but they aren't satisfied with it. He is always seeking more."
"Since my parents perished, and Failbhe took over most of Neishan's holdings?" Qui-Gon guessed.
Sala nodded, his discomfort growing. "I was only a babe at the time. Kelonaht would have been a teenager."
"Do you know what happened?"
"Very little." He shook his head. "Mostly what I was later told. I did not know an heir had survived the raid."
"A raid?" Qui-Gon seized on the word.
Sala shook his head, startled. "I thought you knew, taoiseach."
"I was told my parents perished in an accident."
Sala hesitated. "I will go into the hold and fetch back the oldest of my men. He may be able to remember things I can't." He went out.
Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, compassionate, but Qui-Gon shook his head. "This won't increase my grief for parents I never knew. But I need to know what actually happened, and who was involved." It was true, if not a complete disclosure-- in the back of his head, a flicker of fury had kindled at the idea his parents might have been killed for personal gain. He carefully pushed it away.
"Yes. There might still be a threat, a threat to you."
"Yes, especially if Kelonaht believes I mean to reclaim my position and raise a new clan." Qui-Gon gazed at the corridor, where Sala was returning with a white-haired elder.
"Be at ease, mo athair." Qui-Gon offered the man his own seat. "Have you anything to tell me about the destruction of Neishan?"
He hesitated, shooting a look at Obi-Wan, who rose graciously and excused himself, departing from the cockpit.
"It was long ago, taoiseach, and I was not there. But the story is well-known among my generation. Your parents were cursed, some said." He twisted his hands in the fur trim of his coat. "They were married young, and everyone expected them to lead the clan in prosperity. It was not a large clan, but it was a proud and honorable one." He gave Qui-Gon an anxious glance, and Qui-Gon kept his features calm and friendly, encouraging him to continue.
"The curse is one many clans have endured-- your family could not produce an heir. Children were conceived and born, but..." he swallowed hard. "Forgive me, taoiseach. But I speak truth: they were accursed. They all died before they ever came of age, one after another."
Qui-Gon sat very still. "I see. What form did their deaths take?"
"They were cursed by sorcerous spirits. The spirits pursued them, casting objects about with invisible hands, setting fires, making mischief in whatever way they could. One burned when the nursery ignited, though there were no lamps inside. Another was killed when a beam from the ceiling fell on his cradle. There were two others, as well. They were older, but they also died before they came of age. One boy died in a crash while racing skimmers. The other child fell while trying to swim a river in flood stage. They said she meant to save her pet tarq, who was trapped when the waters rose."
Powerful Force-sensitives, their talents manifesting among those who did not understand or know how to help or train them. Qui-Gon rose and paced the cockpit slowly, aware that his fists were clenched.
"As the curse deepened, clan members fled, hoping to escape the anger of the spirits. Soon only your father's closest kin were left. And then your mother conceived again. It should have been a time of joy, but all the people in the area were afraid, from every clan-- for spirits are capricious, and no one knew who might become their next target.
"Near the end of her term, offworlders came. They were dressed much like you are, now. They told the taoiseach your father that they must take you, or you would likely not survive to become a man." He hesitated. "It is said they were sorcerers, and your father summoned them himself, in desperation. The spirits had already begun to bedevil your mother, and her child was not yet born. He feared he would lose her as well as the child."
Qui-Gon's fists tightened. "And then?"
"A healthy male child was born, and received the clan mark-- you, taoiseach. But the clan chieftains resented the offworld sorcerers, and they feared the spirits' anger would increase and spread to their people. Men moved in secrecy against your father for bringing the sorcerers to Abhaile. I do not know who. I was not asked to be among them. You must believe me!" His hands twisted tight with fear.
"I only saw the destruction, afterward. None of your remaining family and kin survived, and your clan dwelling was torn stone from stone. Many of us believed the child had also perished in the raid. The offworlders were gone as well, and your family's lands were split among the local clans, each claiming a share according to that clan's power. It seemed the spirits were satisfied; they left us in peace."
"I thank you for this information." Qui-Gon heard the distance in his voice. Anger was no longer a candle flame, but a powerful blaze, threatening to ignite his calm and devour it. The man sat shivering, unable to meet his eyes. "You may go. No harm will come to you from sharing this."
The old Djinn scuttled out, and Qui-Gon resumed his seat, checking the consoles with deliberate care. The gathering area was just beyond horizon, and he transmitted his request for a landing assignment, fingers stabbing the keys hard.
"Qui-Gon, are you all right?" Obi-Wan's quiet voice heralded his approach, and his hand fell lightly on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "I must confess, I listened from the corridor."
He considered. "No," he said simply, and Obi-Wan sat next to him, quietly supportive.
"When we've landed, we should meditate together."
"If there is time." He maintained iron control over the wrath, containing it.
"We'll make time, if we must," Obi-Wan answered, unshakeable. "I need it, too."
"It may take more than meditation to purge my anger," Qui-Gon admitted reluctantly.
"We could spar."
"We've a day of difficult political maneuvering ahead of us." Qui-Gon received a response to his request, and fed it to the navicomp, transmitting acknowledgment. "In light of this information, I see I've made crucial missteps that will have to be dealt with."
"Would it be best if I stayed on the ship?"
"Best to go on as we've begun; I don't want anyone claiming you've been running about committing crimes while we weren't together. And they will have to deal with offworlders at some point-- just as they'll have to cope with 'sorcery' now that I've begun my work by using it."
"Majnun would have made our Jedi powers impossible to conceal, regardless. You've acted to balance what he hopes to use against you."
"This is larger for me now than saving the Djinn from themselves," Qui-Gon said abruptly. "I'm going to have to try to persuade them to let the Jedi take their Force-sensitive children."
Obi-Wan grimaced. "Just when I decide you've bitten off more than you can chew, you devour another plateful."
"You know as well as I that my brothers and sisters should have been recruited and taken to the Temple. Clearly, they were strong in the Force."
"It's not unusual for older Force users to become overconfident and take on situations too dangerous for them to handle, especially if they lose focus at a critical moment. But children dying in the cradle?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "That isn't usual."
"Most Jedi are more gifted in the Unifying Force than the Living Force. It tends to manifest inside their heads, whereas the Living Force tends to channel itself outward. The creche masters had great difficulty with me, if their complaints are to be believed." Qui-Gon gazed into memory. "Evidently, they are."
"You're among the stronger users of the Living Force in Yoda's memory, I know." Obi-Wan acknowledged. "Perhaps the rarity of the ability owes something to its apparent dangers."
"We'll have to watch for it in our facility. Maybe the Djinn will be more likely to allow their children to train there, with another Djinn in charge."
That made Obi-Wan smile with such warmth Qui-Gon felt his belly flutter and turn over in response. It went a long way towards dispelling his anger.
They set down at their assigned landing area, amidst a wide field of other ships, many of them small and in dubious repair. Obi-Wan nudged him, pointing off to one side of the viewscreen.
"A luxury sail barge," he murmured. "Do you suppose...?"
"That is the place where the clan chiefs gather." Sala entered the cockpit, responding unexpectedly to Obi-Wan's words. "It's a relic of our occupation by the Hutts. We find it safer to remain in motion while the meetings occur. The itinerary is randomized by computer, to lessen the chance of raids."
"A wise precaution." Obi-Wan answered him calmly, as if the interaction were unsurprising. Qui-Gon nodded approval; perhaps other Djinn would soon find their xenophobia was founded in habit and prejudice rather than in reason.
"What will be expected of me at the gathering?" Qui-Gon inquired as they disembarked and set out for the sail barge, which was already boarding passengers.
"As the chieftain who called the gather, you'll be expected to present your reasons after roll-call. Of course, there will be a problem with establishing your credentials-- you hold the position de facto-- by virtue of being the last marked member of the clan. But you were not selected. Considering that they honored your call for the gathering, it's largely a formality, but some will protest your right to speak, and you may be asked to submit to a test of your fitness." He glanced aside at Obi-Wan. "He will not be admitted to the gathering."
"I disagree," Qui-Gon said mildly, and Sala shrugged.
"I suppose stranger things have happened." He suddenly grinned. "I wouldn't want to be the one to tell you he can't enter."
"That person will be unfortunate," Qui-Gon agreed, and looked ahead calmly as they mounted the ramp to the barge. He could feel both Obi-Wan's pleasure and his trepidation.
Sala's party entered unchallenged, pausing to watch as Qui-Gon presented his credentials to the small knot of guards who waited at the entry.
"No offworlders permitted." One guard extended a pike in front of Obi-Wan, snarling at him with distaste.
"He is mine and I require his assistance." Qui-Gon remained serene.
"Rules are rules."
"I see that every other clan chief is permitted to have a kinsman for a companion. I have no native clansmen to accompany me. He is my chosen assistant." Qui-Gon carefully kept his tone reasonable, even as his irritation grew.
"He's a sorcerer."
"I'm a sorcerer." Qui-Gon pointed out reasonably. "Would you like to witness a practical demonstration of my power?"
Suddenly the guards bristled with weapons; Qui-Gon became aware that Obi-Wan had shifted, letting his robe fall back to expose his lightsaber. He reached out carefully with his mind, soothing Obi-Wan wordlessly.
"Any of you who likes may attempt to harm me." He let the ghost of a smile play around his lips. Obi-Wan stiffened subtly, his hand now quite near the hilt of his lightsaber, but Qui-Gon didn't move, staring calmly into the lead guard's eyes. "I won't retaliate with deadly force, but I will remember."
A thin haze of sweat broke out on the man's brow, though his eyes didn't flicker. He lifted a commlink to his lips and spat out a code, then received one in return.
"I am told you may enter," he said stiffly, and the guards stood aside.
"Thank you. Come, Obi-Wan." He sailed through, working the sweep of his robes for all they were worth.
Sala chuckled low in his throat. "Didn't even make a threat, and he still had Anait pissing down his leg," he muttered to his own aide, who laughed aloud as they went in, following the curve of the corridor around the port side of the barge and looking for unoccupied berths.
"I believe Sala thinks he's hooked his skyhopper up to a hyperdrive," Obi-Wan murmured in Qui-Gon's ear, amused.
"A decision that would far more likely be disastrous than fortunate," he responded wryly.
Thanks to the speed of Tiran's yacht, they had arrived early and had a good choice of rooms. After short deliberation, they picked a pair of small cabins adjacent to one another near the bow of the ship-- not as large as some, but well-suited to their needs. Each was tiny but functional, with two stacked bunks and a restroom facility en suite, though without a shower or bath.
Summoning Obi-Wan with a glance, Qui-Gon went out to inspect the barge, hoping to gain insight into the methods of the gather. As was typical of the Luxury class sail barge, a central deck had been left open for group recreations, with blast-shielded shutters hung all around its circumference, which could be raised to arrange for viewing. The Djinn had installed rows of seating, arranged in concentric ovals and facing the stern of the ship, where the room's end terminated abruptly in a bulkhead that concealed the ship's steering mechanisms and emergency thrusters. A dais stood before the bulkhead, ready to accommodate a speaker.
He estimated the room could hold two hundred people comfortably, perhaps three hundred and fifty if standees packed in around the chairs, standing shoulder to shoulder.
"Cozy." Obi-Wan's voice was rich with wry amusement, sending a soft flare of desire through Qui-Gon. He pushed it away relentlessly-- later.
"I wonder how many clans there are. Surely this won't be large enough for every clan leader on Abhaile."
"Perhaps the smaller, weaker clans don't always send their leaders."
"Or the larger, more prosperous ones may believe my call is beneath their notice." Qui-Gon was aware of hostile stares from other clan chiefs and their comrades, split more or less evenly between himself and Obi-Wan.
"Ki-Gu"n." Majnun's voice interrupted his thoughts, and they turned to face him together, composed. "I see you managed to intimidate the guards."
"I'm glad you've come." Qui-Gon ignored his rudeness.
"I have to hand it to you. You've got balls." Majnun studied him coolly. "What is your purpose here? If you mean to keep me from the cats, you've neglected to realize this gathering won't last long."
"I mean to help our kinsmen, in such a way that your offworld mercenary activities will no longer be necessary."
Majnun smiled a little, ice-blue eyes hard. "Perhaps I'm like you, and I've developed a taste for offworld affairs." His eyes traveled pointedly to Obi-Wan, who remained still, controlling his expression perfectly.
"Then I will still help our kin." Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "And I will continue as needed to keep you from the cats."
"Will you re-establish Neishan?" Majnun speculated, again glancing at Obi-Wan. "That one won't bear you any heirs. Not that a half-breed offworlder could take over a Djinn clan."
"That is not my purpose here." Qui-Gon shook his head. "And if you've become as sophisticated in the ways of offworlders as you would have me believe, you know more of the Jedi than to think that."
"I know enough of the Jedi to know they cast you out after the murders you committed."
"Qui-Gon is a Jedi Master in good standing." Obi-Wan defended him quietly. "By authority of Grand Master Yoda of the Jedi High Council."
Majnun's smile widened. "Then the Jedi are an amoral pack of opportunists, after all."
Qui-Gon put a quelling hand in front of Obi-Wan before he could speak. "The Jedi are not yours to judge."
"Your defense of those who use you is very entertaining." He laughed. "But as an amoral opportunist, I intended it as a compliment."
Qui-Gon dismissed the mockery easily. "Surely you do not grudge me this attempt to help our people."
"If help is what you intend, no." Majnun's eyes narrowed. "But you have already betrayed me once, Ki-Gu"n. You will not find me so trusting this time."
Qui-Gon stepped forward, well inside Majnun's personal space. "I honored my blood ties."
"None of my kinsmen had a living after you took the cats," Majnun spat. "We didn't have a pot to piss in, brother."
"You still had your cocks to piss with; none of our brothers died with the others on Lisyl. You would do well to remember that." Qui-Gon took a deep breath, reclaiming his calm. "And I have come now to make amends for taking your livelihood."
Majnun scoffed. "You'll never get the clans to listen, even if you're sincere."
"It would help if you supported me."
"Supported you?" Majnun laughed again. "You're lucky I even bothered to come cast my ballot against you." He turned on his heel and strode off, with an ostentatious lack of hurry.
"That could have gone better," Qui-Gon commented drily.
"And it could have gone worse. There's a lot of posturing in this society," Obi-Wan murmured. "I think you still have a chance. He never directly stated his opposition."
"He's spread plenty of tales of the carnage on Lisyl."
"And so far the fear they've provoked has been useful." Obi-Wan grinned a little. "We may as well use their fears in addition to exploiting our own."
"You have a point."
They retreated to their cubby to await the evening; as the hours stretched, the corridor became noisier. Qui-Gon used the time to meditate, working to dispel and control his anger over his family; as evening fell, he slowly surfaced and became aware of Obi-Wan watching him, soft-eyed and silent, the faintest smile touching the corner of his mouth.
It humbled him, even as it shivered him to the tips of his toes: the way Obi-Wan had simply surrendered his mistrust, and the steadfastness of him in the wake of his decision. The purity of his passion, and his willingness to go forward, leaving the past. The way the knight's warm, wise eyes still somehow resembled the bright and innocent gaze of Qui-Gon Jinn's teenaged padawan, so deeply afflicted with adolescent lust and star-struck hero worship, which Qui-Gon had so abjectly failed to deserve.
"You're brooding," Obi-Wan murmured. "And I would say the man who destroyed the last Dark Lord of the Sith deserves a bit of hero worship, as long as he doesn't let it go to his head."
Qui-Gon shook his head, not sure if he were more exasperated with himself for failing to shield his thoughts, or with Obi-Wan's compliment.
He rose, stretching his long muscles slowly, then stepping forward to lay his hand against Obi-Wan's cheek. The young man's beard was surprisingly soft against his palm, and he slid his fingertips slowly through it, up to his cheek, until one finger covered the freckle beneath his right eye.
"I don't think you're infallible, you know." Obi-Wan looked at him quietly. "I'm not sure I did then, either." His hand rose to twine with Qui-Gon's. "You may remember me questioning your decisions even as a padawan of thirteen, no matter how much it annoyed you." His smile stretched, a little lopsided. "What actually humbles me is your courage to do what you think is right in spite of the cost."
"You have it, too." Qui-Gon watched, heart filling, as Obi-Wan nuzzled into his palm and kissed it. "And don't try to tell me I taught it to you; you had it before we ever met."
Obi-Wan shook his head, chuckling, and raised his voice an octave. "Rebellious you are, young Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon's defiance, I sense in you!"
Qui-Gon laughed. "Need that, you do not!"
Obi-Wan's eyes sparkled with laughter, but he stepped back, gazing over Qui-Gon's shoulder. Qui-Gon turned, finding Sala standing in the doorway of their stateroom, looking faintly baffled.
"It is nearly nightfall."
Qui-Gon nodded, straightening his robe, and followed the Lathurna taoiseach down to the central deck, where a roar of conversation indicated that most of the clan leaders were already in their places.
Sala stood back as Qui-Gon went in, forcing his way through the crowd and stepping up onto the dais. The talk continued, stubborn-- if anything, increasingly raucous in some areas of the room.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and reached out to the Dark Force, just enough to channel a series of lightning flares to stab around the barge in rapid sequence. The resulting thunderclaps rattled the bulkheads, green-tinted white flares blinding everyone through the windows. The concussion effectively drowned out all conversation, leaving a silent and staring group.
What had once been an almost inconceivable immersion in darkness felt easy, almost natural, and he hoped that the benign intent behind his action counted for something; none of it touched a target, and no harm was done. He pushed away the seeking tendrils of darkness along with his guilt, dispelling them into the Force, and they obeyed him.
Avoiding Obi-Wan's worried frown, Qui-Gon stared back at them, moving his gaze around the room for a long moment, equally silent, before beginning to speak quietly.
"My kinsmen, as the last remaining member of Neishan, I have invoked the right of a taoiseach to summon you here today. Abhaile and the Djinn are in great need. I hope to use my unique position as the only Djinn among the Jedi to assist you in overcoming the natural disaster that has brought our proud culture so low that the best and brightest of us must leave the homeworld and sell their time to offworlders in order to bring home food and medicine to our children."
A mutter arose at that-- protests that he, a sorcerer and all but an offworlder himself, would presume to lead them; that he would presume to say 'our', protests against proclaiming himself a taoiseach. Qui-Gon forced himself to perfect calm, ignored the muttering, and continued to speak.
"I am aware of the predations of the Hutt on our world, and I agree: no such offworlders should ever be permitted on Abhaile. The Hutt who invaded Abhaile were despicable; they sought only to exploit its resources and people to their own gain. But the Djinn may do business with offworlders in such a way as to remain fully sovereign over this world, permitting only carefully chosen offworlders to set foot on our soil, and limiting their influence over the clans.
"Doing this need not lessen our Djinn heritage or pride; we have many valuable services and products we may trade for assistance. There are those who need our animals and crops, as we need theirs. There are those who can give us valuable minerals and technology in exchange for our own. No longer will the Trade Federation prevent exports and imports passing along the shipping lanes; recent shifts in power have left them unable to stand against the Republic. Abhaile stands to benefit from this. Make the Republic your ally-- you do not have to join it, or bow to its rules, if you choose not. That is a matter for all to vote on, not for any single Djinn to dictate.
"In exchange for shipping a few freighters of water from this world to Coruscant, you stand to buy enough food to feed the hungry for many months." Qui-Gon spoke over the rumble that greeted his statement. "I offer my services as a mediator and advisor, to help insure that your dealings and treaties with the Republic are fair and mutually beneficial, and do not leave my kinsmen in an unfavorable position. I have been trained by the Jedi in such services, and have performed them for many worlds. Having the Republic as an ally can, in fact, help you keep undesirables like the Hutt away from Abhaile." He looked around for a moment, weighing their mood.
"And I offer a further service to you. Too many of our children die, as my brothers and sisters died-- as I almost certainly would have died, without the Jedi who took me to Coruscant for training. The Jedi can save your children; we can train them to use their powers, as I have learned to do. As Grand Master of the Xinune Temple, I will personally oversee the training of any Djinn child sent to the Jedi, and ensure that child is given a chance to return to Abhaile upon completion of training, if the child wishes to serve the clans.
"I know some of you have this same power, within you-- there are Djinn who can heal, who can sense the location of water underground, or who can bring rain, or tell the future-- dozens of talents spring from this same source. I know those of you who have these gifts fear for the lives of your children. You have also been told to fear my powers-- instead, I ask you to take hope from them. They are the same powers that many of you have, or that others have who have helped you." He brought his speech to a close, bowing formally.
He did not quite dare to look at Obi-Wan after going so far as to claim the title of Grand Master of a group of Jedi he had never seen; he did not want to find either awe or disapproval waiting for him there.
There would be time enough for that particular uncertainty later.
He found Kelonaht's sour face waiting for him; the man stepped forward as their eyes touched.
"You are no taoiseach. Kelonaht's voice cut like a blade; it was enough to silence the room. "You are the remnant of a failed clan, fled in disgrace, never chosen by your brothers to lead them. You are an offworlder yourself despite your blood-- listen to you! Listen to how you would change us, as blithely as a child building foolish futures. You are a sorcerer, planning to take our children from us and make them into dark magicians and offworlders like yourself!"
All eyes turned to Qui-Gon, expectant.
"Very well, son of those who killed my clan." Qui-Gon projected calm even as he felt his anger stirring, beginning to build. The air seemed to suck from the room at his words, and he let the dark Force encourage it, building the tension as he stepped forward to the edge of the dais. "You will now present a counter-proposal, I trust, telling us all how you will feed our brothers and their children, in your wisdom." He paused for effect.
"I will not sell us into the slavery of the Republic. My brothers and their children would rather die free than live slave." Livid, Kelonaht scowled at Qui-Gon, stepping up onto the dais. "And you will answer for the insult you have given me, offworlder."
"Your brothers can decide and speak for themselves." Qui-Gon's voice cracked like a whip. "And I speak truths, not insults."
Kelonaht stalked forward, scowl murderous. "You will not--"
"Gentlemen." A bored drawl halted Kelonaht. "Before this gets any further out of hand, I believe our friend here should prove for once and for all that he has a right to call himself a taoiseach and address the gathering of the clans-- prove that he is a Djinn, not an offworlder." Majnun smirked, the expression positively gleeful. "Swim the River of Light, Ki-Gu"n, and bring back proof that you survived to reach the heart-- bring a shard of the light back to us here. Only then will you satisfy me that you have a right to call yourself a Djinn, and speak before the clans like a man."
A roar of approval rose from the room, along with a few derisive catcalls.
"Very well," Qui-Gon agreed, trapped. "I will swim the River of Light."
Majnun reclaimed his seat with a satisfied half-smile, and even Kelonaht subsided with a reluctant scowl.
"We will divert, then, to the head of the River." Kelonaht sent a commanding glance toward another tall Djinn, who went out toward the control center. "It will not take you long to fail, I think."
"We shall see," Qui-Gon said, "and then we shall meet again here." He stepped off the dais as the group began to disperse to their staterooms.
To his dismay, Sala was shaking his head, his face tight-set. "They mean to be rid of you, taoiseach. Very few survive the attempt to swim to the heart; even fewer have brought back a shard. This course is not wisdom."
"Have those who returned received respect?"
"To return with a shard would make you a chief of chiefs," Sala said simply. "But to fail will kill you-- or so I assume. A few who have turned back speak of the dead men suspended in the River. It is said that if you do not have the heart of a chief, the very waters turn to stone, and you will lie entombed there forever."
"Then it's a good thing I have the heart of a chief," Qui-Gon said calmly, provoking a worried chuckle from Obi-Wan and a headshake from Sala. "Tell me all you know of the River."
"The River wells up at the verge of the Sable Sands, quite near here. It courses across the land for many miles, growing as it encounters tributaries. The system feeds the lower half of this continent," Sala explained. "Without the River, it is believed that much of this continent would be desert. Its waters are blessed-- where they flow, life thrives. Or it did, before the eruptions began." He led them into his own stateroom, still speaking.
"Plants that receive this water grow tall, and animals who drink it are healthier than those who do not. The farther the water passes from its source, the less noticeable this is, as other tributaries mingle with it and dilute its strength. Throughout the continent we pump the waters to many places, and they feed the clans, and our crops and animals." His face twisted. "Lathurna has never had such good fortune. Our water comes from lakes that were formed by glacial retreat, and from rainfall.
"Those who have returned from the River without a shard have not ventured far-- and none have obtained a living shard in my lifetime. They say there is a channel beneath the sable sands, from which the water comes. Most say the channel is dark; they agree that it is just broad enough for a man to slip through at its narrowest point. Some few speak of light; they say the deeper you go, the more the light grows. But then they saw the suspended men, and their courage failed."
"Suspended men?"
"Dead men, floating motionless in the water-- perfectly preserved, frozen as they swam." He shrugged helplessly. "I know no more, taoiseach."
Obi-Wan shot a tight glance at Qui-Gon, eloquent of everything he would not say in front of others. Qui-Gon acknowledged it with the barest tilt of his chin, returning his attention to Sala.
"What should I take?"
"Tradition has it that you make the venture carrying only a knife, to help you harvest a shard."
"Qui-Gon--" the urgency in that voice made him smile. Obi-Wan had always had an uncanny ability to guess what he was thinking.
"The Force will guide me, Obi-Wan. I won't need my lightsaber."
"Or a breathing gill?" Resignation and irritation combined in Obi-Wan's tone.
"I will make the swim as other Djinn have done before me."
"I'm sure you will. Taoiseach Sala, please excuse us." Obi-Wan gave the man a bow, but for all his politeness, his glance at Qui-Gon was sharp. "Qui-Gon must meditate to prepare himself for his ordeal."
Qui-Gon followed him, waiting until their door closed before speaking.
"Obi-Wan--"
"Don't start." Obi-Wan turned, his blue eyes crackling with emotion. "I already know your 'will of the Force' lecture nearly as well as I know the Code."
Qui-Gon swallowed the words, grimacing wryly.
"We spoke earlier about fallibility." Obi-Wan steeled himself visibly, his eyes sober. "Have you noticed that ever since we reunited on Xinune, the will of the Force seems always to involve you offering up your life in some kind of pointlessly difficult, martyred self-sacrifice? Is it the Force, or is it your own egotism, Qui-Gon? Do you really believe you're the only possible hope of salvation for everyone you meet?"
"Twice is not--"
"Perhaps you're right; twice isn't proof of a pattern. But nonetheless, it disturbs me. You've always listened to the Force in your own particular way, Qui-Gon, and what troubles me, both then and now, is how much you seem to believe that your way is the only right way. The only possible right way." Obi-Wan began to pace, quietly agitated.
"As I told you some time ago, you could have come back to the Jedi after Lisyl, but your own sense of pride prevented you from even considering the possibility. And yet, you do not seem to consider that you might have made an error in judgment. When I was your padawan, you rarely acknowledged the possibility that you could be wrong, and now it's worse than before. You haven't ever discussed your options with me; you simply make your choices and expect me to accept them as if they are self-evident." He turned away to hide his expression, and Qui-Gon could only hear the enforced calm of his voice as he continued.
"You're right more often than you aren't; I'll grant you that. But no one is always right, and the more you believe you are, the less you will truly listen to the Force's guidance. I worry that your hubris will lead you to needless destruction one day."
"You're distressed because this situation dictates you must be passive."
Obi-Wan rounded on him, jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped there. "I'm distressed because you don't seem to care for my input."
"Should I have stopped the meeting? 'Pardon me, assembled kinsmen, but I need to consult for an hour with my offworlder companion before I get back to you on whether I'll swim the River of Light?'"
"No. But you didn't tell me anything of your plans before we arrived, and you didn't speak with me regarding the assistance package you evidently have in mind for the Djinn-- I could have brought you up to date on Jedi and Republic policies, by the way, had you bothered."
Qui-Gon blinked. "I'm sorry. I fully intended to enlist your assistance in drafting the agreement."
"It's a start, but it's not enough." Obi-Wan lifted his chin. "I'm no longer a padawan, Qui-Gon. If I'm to be your partner, to be the Master of the Order to your Grand Master on Xinune-- if you want the future with me as your lover that you once said you hoped for-- you must learn to treat me as an equal. And that," he took a deep breath, "means we'll sometimes disagree, and you'll have to face the possibility that sometimes you're wrong; the possibility that I disagree with you and am right. We need to learn to work together, which means you should include me in making decisions, and trust my judgment, and agree to compromise."
"The will of the Force is not something I can ignore--"
"No. But you are not the Force. Nor are you the sole instrument of its will." Obi-Wan turned away from him again. "Either you can learn to compromise, or you cannot. I understand this, Qui-Gon. But you should understand that this issue will not simply go away if we ignore it. I'm not a child, not a padawan learner. I'm a Jedi Knight, a trained and competent instrument of the Force's will, just as you are. Your arrogance will divide us, if you cannot let it go."
"I'm sorry." Qui-Gon stepped up behind Obi-Wan, letting one hand fall on his shoulder and slide down to clasp his arm. He took a deep breath, struggling to release his pride. "You speak truly. But since I was first knighted, I have had no other authority I trusted enough to answer to except myself and the Force-- not even the High Councillors have always commanded my respect. It will not be easy for me to learn to think differently-- and I may not always be able to agree, or compromise. We must speak of this again, when we have more time."
"If there is ever time." Obi-Wan remained stiff, gazing at the bulkhead without softening. "If you don't willfully run to your martyrdom before learning to trust in me."
Qui-Gon sighed, tilting his head to rest against Obi-Wan's, not quite confident enough to nuzzle in and kiss his neck. "I will do my best to survive swimming the River of Light."
"See that you do." Obi-Wan's voice was a little gruff, defensive.
Obi-Wan's gruffness, his obvious emotion, gave Qui-Gon courage. "When this is over, I hope there will be time to finish this discussion. I hope there will be time for many things," he said, and nestled in carefully until his cheek touched skin.
Obi-Wan sighed and gentled against him slowly, relenting. "I suppose this wasn't the best time for me to bring it up."
Qui-Gon chuckled a bit ruefully, sliding his arms carefully around Obi-Wan, trying to say with touch and nearness the things he couldn't seem to find words for. "Truth is neither right nor wrong. It simply is, and it needs to be known."
Obi-Wan's body shifted within the circle of his arms, a silent laugh just audible in the rush of breath from his mouth. "You always sound as if you're speaking in aphorisms."
"Do I?" Qui-Gon nuzzled at Obi-Wan's ear, relishing the sigh he elicited. "Then maybe I should talk less and listen more often."
"That's an aphorism I can agree with." Obi-Wan's hands came up and clasped around his wrists, locking himself loosely inside Qui-Gon's embrace.
Qui-Gon kissed the ear under his lips, brushing his lips along the velvet-soft shell and relishing Obi-Wan's bone-deep shiver of response. He resisted the impulse to speak, savoring the feel of Obi-Wan's warm body instead-- the silk of his hair, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the calluses on his hands, wrapped lightly around Qui-Gon's own wrists, and the simple peace of being together, a luxury that was still too new to be taken for granted. He sank into it, stilling himself and centering on the contentment, and felt Obi-Wan do the same.
Before Qui-Gon was ready, the barge slowed, banking into a turn, and came to a halt. Obi-Wan's shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh, and he released Qui-Gon's arms.
"I don't suppose I can convince you to tuck away a breathing gill where nobody will see it."
Qui-Gon started to refuse, then reached to his belt and extracted the small cylinder from its holster. "You have," he said quietly, doffing his robe and pressing it into Obi-Wan's arms. He pulled up his tunic and stoles, amused by Obi-Wan's expression of startled approval as he slipped it into the waist of his leggings and arranged it to lie inconspicuously parallel to his penis.
"Thank you," Obi-Wan said softly. "I know you won't use it unless you must."
Qui-Gon merely reached out and took his hand, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm and then folding his fingers closed over it.
"I think I should leave you in Sala's custody, for your safety while I'm gone," he murmured. "At least nominally, it should provide you with legal protection."
"That would probably be for the best," Obi-Wan agreed. "At least he can bring himself to speak to me."
Together they went out, finding the Djinn chieftains lined up along the exterior viewing deck, gazing down impassively. A crew extended the gangplank down onto grassy turf, next to a deep, still pool. A thick rill of clean water ran from one end of the pool off through a shrubby grassland; on the other side of the pool, dunes of black sand rose in gradual stages out of the grass, growing taller as they rolled in slow ridges toward the horizon.
Lit from behind by the setting sun, the sand was so black it seemed to reflect almost nothing, just a faint silvery sheen showing at the crest of each dune where the light was strongest. The shadows of the dunes stretched nearly to the pool, but there was still enough light to see to the bottom of the standing water, where a dark area showed the channel of the spring vanishing into the bedrock of the land.
Qui-Gon turned to Sala, who had come out to see him off, and hovered nearby, face sober.
"Taoiseach, I ask you to take legal custody of my companion and my possessions while I swim."
"I will keep him safe in trust for you," Sala agreed. "And I will see to all your other possessions as well."
Obi-Wan stepped to Sala's shoulder, his eyes lingering on Qui-Gon's until he forced himself to turn and stride down the gangplank. At the edge of the spring basin Qui-Gon stopped, resisting the impulse to delay. He peeled off his tunics and belt and set them on the grass, then unfastened his boots and hauled them off as well, leaving only his leggings. He passed his lightsaber to Obi-Wan directly, unwilling to leave it on the turf.
"Is there a ceremony?" he asked Sala.
"No. We will wait for you to emerge until a day has passed."
"A full day?" Qui-Gon gazed at the shadowed underwater passage.
"None have ever returned after more than a day."
"Fair enough." Qui-Gon stretched his shoulders, feeling the cool springiness of grass between his toes.
Sala extracted his own knife from his belt-- a wicked 25-centimeter steel blade, single-edged but razor-keen-- and pressed the hilt into Qui-Gon's palm. "May the light smile on you, Ki-Gu"n."
"Thank you, Sala. And on you." Qui-Gon nodded, then took the blade between his teeth, sharp edge outward, and dove.
The water was cold, but absolutely clear. Qui-Gon kicked, aiming for the mouth of the dark channel, swimming quickly. If people had survived to come out nearly a day after entering, there must be air available somewhere below the surface, but there was no guarantee of when or where he would find it.
Entering the channel, he felt the current grow stronger, and he reached out with the Force, but all he could sense was the shaft that lay before him, arrowing down through tumbled boulders deep into the ground. There were no fish or plants, only stone and water. The light faded as he swam forward, leaving him in darkness as the channel began to narrow; he had to stop stroking with his arms, pulling himself forward by handholds instead, taking care to avoid hitting his head on the rough ceiling.
As a Jedi, he could hold his breath far longer than the average human, and so far he was in no distress. But the farther he dove, the more he began to wonder how anyone without Jedi abilities could survive such a swim. There must be air pockets concealed somewhere nearby.
Cold water pressed against him steadily, flowing out into the spring basin. He squeezed his shoulders through a narrow aperture, kicking, and felt the channel open up around him. Swimming upward, feeling cautiously ahead, he was gratified when his hand broke the surface, and he rose after it, cautiously tasting the air, then filling his lungs.
The chamber was small, judging by the echoes. Reaching up with his knife, he could just scratch the ceiling. He treaded water and let his body acclimatize to the cold, breathing deeply to re-oxygenate his blood.
As the moments passed, he realized the tunnel was not steeped in pitch blackness; faint light was revealed as his eyes adjusted, a dim glow coming from farther within the earth, as Sala had forecast. Gazing down into the water, he thought he could make out bones-- long white femurs, curving rib bones, and the rounded dome of a skull. As his eyes acclimated, he saw the gleam of metal from a dropped knife. Some hapless Djinn had not been fortunate enough to find the air pocket, or perhaps the water had been higher and there had been none.
When he had regained his breath, he prepared himself again and dove, pressing forward toward the heart of the river.
As he swam, the dim light increased, and he could see that the stone through which the water flowed was obsidian, as black as the dunes of the desert. The rocks at the bottom of the passage were familiar-- rounded river stones, black, just the size to fit into his palm. They were exactly like the one he had given to Obi-Wan, which had been his own since the Jedi brought him to the Temple on Coruscant.
The growing light brightened as he wriggled around a narrow bend in the passage and drew up short, hanging onto an outcrop.
Before him, the passage widened into an underground lake, and the clear waters showed several men hanging suspended at various depths in the wide pool. Despite the noticeable current, nothing about them moved-- their hair and clothing failed to ripple in the water, and unlike the skeleton he had spied before, they showed no sign of decay.
Fear surged through him-- rather more than he would have thought; he was no stranger to death. But something about the motionlessness of the bodies, and their perfect preservation, set his instincts clamoring with unease.
There is no death. There is only the Force.
He eased forward, working to release his emotions into the Force, but they refused to disperse, increasing his discomfort with every stroke. Still not feeling the need to breathe, he planned a route through the bodies, one that would keep him as far from each of them as possible.
The light was very nearly too bright now, shining around the nearest body with such an intensity that he was forced to squint, his heart hammering without warning, and he realized he was in a state of low panic, agitation building with unnatural speed. The water felt like sludge around him, slowing him to a crawl, and a roar of brightness reeled through him, dragging him down.
Darth Mallaigh stalked through the Jedi Temple, and wherever he went, death blossomed like a poisonous nightshade, its sickly sweet scent filling the air along with the reek of blood and burning. He defeated the pockets of resistance one after another, his master at his side, their blades carving through opponents without difficulty, as they worked their way up to the Council chamber.
Obi-Wan stood before him there, alone, lightsaber in hand and tears on his cheeks. They reflected the crimson of Mallaigh's blade. He could hear Palpatine laughing behind him, laughing and goading him on. "Kill him, my apprentice, and the Jedi Order will be no more!" Qui-Gon prayed for Obi-Wan to fight, lifting his saber, but Obi-Wan dropped his guard, giving up, just as Tahl had done--
Horrified, Qui-Gon jerked himself out of the false memory, his heart pounding with anguish. The water was so bright he couldn't see, and he could barely move his hands and legs. No longer fluid, the substance was thickening like slush turning to ice, and he fought it, wasting air as he struggled to thrash his way free, but still it clung to him. Panic wastes oxygen, he told himself, and he worked to release his fear to the Force, reaching for serenity, willing his heart to slow. The clutch of the water loosened as he calmed, letting him slip through it once more-- slowly at first, gaining agonizing inches, putting the first hanging figure behind him.
Psychoreactive agents in the water? Qui-Gon theorized, but he could feel another wave of dizzy emotion surging through him, and it rolled him under even as he kicked desperately forward, trying to make as much progress as he could.
He froze in place, completely immobilized by pure light as the water solidified around him. Cut off from any source of oxygen, he suffocated gradually, lungs straining, unable to draw anything at all as the liquid turned to stone about his body. Above, standing on the green, Obi-Wan waited, pacing through the long night, but he did not emerge. The Djinn watched, hands on their weapons, waiting.
When the next evening came, they converged on the offworld invader in their midst. Obi-Wan fought brilliantly, both Qui-Gon's lightsaber and his own in his hands, but the Djinn were too many, and they were warriors. They surrounded him, and before long, a stun beam penetrated his defenses. He collapsed, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth, and they fell on him, knives flashing.
Qui-Gon jerked himself free of the illusion again. This time was worse. He could barely squirm against the grip of the crystalline substance that bound him, but he forced himself not to kick, not to thrash-- to preserve precious oxygen as he waited for calm. The solidifying action of the water seemed to block whatever psychotropics were influencing him, letting him emerge from the hallucinations, giving him time to recover-- if he had enough oxygen to survive the process.
Eventually the substance relaxed, and he pressed forward again, the gelatinous water slowly loosening its grip on him-- he made it past another three frozen figures before turbulent emotions started to build in him again, and he could feel the inevitable hardening of the water that surrounded him.
Qui-Gon stopped when he could swim no further, reaching for the Force, working against the insidious tide of emotion, but once again, agitation and anger took him.
The cats lay dead about him, scattered as they had fallen, their skins gone. Their blood soaked the earth, crusted over the rocks of their favorite basking ground, staining the stream an ugly red. Maj'lis alone lived, twitching feebly; Qui-Gon could see his lungs moving slightly through the great gash in his belly where poachers had skinned him alive.
Qui-Gon stepped forward, stomach heaving, brain seething with rage, to administer the only mercy he could, his lightsaber flashing and diving as he ended the cat's suffering. A laugh echoed from the ridge, where the poachers' ship hovered.
Seeing him, the men hauled the cats' skins up the loading ramp, guards pointing blasters casually toward him. Rage built swiftly, overwhelming reason. He launched himself forward with all his might, seeking vengeance, and they were no match for him. His blade vivisected the men with brutal precision, leaving them to suffer and bleed.
He drank their screams greedily, glad to let his fury ease the pain, willing to give himself to it, if only he could kill them all, and never know the anguish of having failed his pack--
Qui-Gon choked and would have flailed, but crystallized light held him fast, blinding him. He did not know how long he had lost himself, but his breath was gone. He could see himself in his mind's eye, suspended here, waiting for the next person who came to brave the River--
It would be Obi-Wan, he realized. Obi-Wan would not wait for the Djinn to strike. He would come to find Qui-Gon, to try to bring him out alive. Obi-Wan would face this as well, if he did not defeat it himself.
As his consciousness slid away from him, sparkles coalescing in front of his vision, Qui-Gon pushed away the fury of the last hallucination and reached for the love Obi-Wan offered. He remembered the gentle peace he had felt, holding Obi-Wan aboard the barge.
The water softened just enough to allow him to move. With fast-waning strength, he forced his limbs to work, an agonizing slow-motion race as he struggled to force his arm through the dense crystal to reach his breathing gill. His fingers closed around it, moving faster as the water began to replace the crystal. He spat out Sala's knife and fumbled the gill into his mouth. Air filled his lungs, and he could have sobbed with the relief of it-- humid and sour with the tang of the gill's chemicals, it was still one of the sweetest things he had ever tasted.
He saw the knife falling, slowly, and clumsily missed his attempt to catch its hilt; it slid out of reach, then fell swiftly as it left the area where the water had hardened. He let it sink, looking upward. Only a few feet above him, a yard or two further on, the surface shimmered, promising an air pocket, and he kicked for it with relief.
Surfacing, he spat the gill into his hand, dashing water from his eyes.
The source of the light lay before him: a tall column of crystal formed an island in the midst of the pool. Water trickled along its length. It shone from within, pure and pulsating, a light of clear white-gold, like the radiance from a young star. Where the water ran, the stone shaded from ebony to clear crystal, so pure that the stone was indistinguishable from the water itself.
Around the feet of the column lay tumbled fragments and stalactite shards, shading from glass-clear to dull black; as he watched, a new shard fell from the roof, rolling nearly to the water. It was clear, living crystal, and soft light glowed inside it, shining an invitation to him. He could feel the Force strongly, and sense that the crystal lived, somehow-- not sentient but aware, responding to his presence.
His curiosity and wonder did not seem to provoke the same crystallization matrix as negative emotions did, and that was a relief. If he could continue to break the visions and then channel his emotions into positive areas, he might be able to escape without serious difficulty.
Qui-Gon swam forward and clambered onto the lip of the column where it spread out in the water, then took up the fallen shard, which gleamed softly in his hand, smooth and heavy. A core of radiant light pulsed in its heart, taking up the rhythm of Qui-Gon's own pulse. It felt inexpressibly good to hold the shard, sending peace and well-being through him; with it in his hand, he might have no trouble at all with negative emotions as he departed.
He glanced around the cave, which seemed to be a natural formation, its polished obsidian walls gleaming, a faint sheen of golden light scintillating across them. It was inexpressibly beautiful, a place of pure peace, a Light Side nexus that rejected dark emotions entirely, freezing any source of anger or fear and locking it away before it could reach the heart.
Humbled, Qui-Gon set his palm against the thick column of light, and it pulsed with him, sinking peace deep inside his soul, accepting him.
He could not tell how deep the water went, but he thought he could see the opening of another passage near the bottom of the pool, behind the crystal column. It would have to wait for another explorer; he had what he had come for.
Replacing his gill between his teeth, he slid back into the water, steeling himself for a renewed ordeal, but as he had hoped, the shard eased his fears. The current pushed him forward without further resistance.
Soon he ducked below the surface to find the entry passage, the shard in his hand lighting his way as he swam through the tunnel and up toward the surface. Removing his gill, he replaced it in hiding before he emerged into the pool and kicked for the surface, holding the shard aloft in his fist.
The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, leaving only a brilliant orange glow suffusing through the sky, and the crystal in his hand gleamed, lighting the faces of the Djinn who stood waiting for him. A low gasp echoed through their ranks, their eyes fixed, as one, on the shard.
Obi-Wan stepped forward, extending his hand, and Qui-Gon caught it, scrambling up as Obi-Wan helped haul him out of the pool.
Sala held out a bowl, half-full of river water. "We must immerse it to keep it alive," Sala murmured, reverent, and Qui-Gon laid the shard in the basin at his prompting. The glass bowl caught and focused the glow from the heart of the shard, which waxed and grew bright. Eerie shadows danced on Sala's face as he gazed at the crystal fragment, then raised it high in both hands for all to see.
Qui-Gon lifted his head, staring around at the glittering eyes that watched. "I am Qui-Gon of the Djinn, taoiseach of Neishan, and you will hear me," he said simply, and found Majnun's face among the crowd, stopping there, meeting the man's eyes with a challenge.
Majnun inclined his head, accepting. "We will hear you, chief of chiefs." His lips curved upward with wry approval.
Kelonaht spat a curse and whirled, stalking away into the barge.
Sala started up the gangplank, bowl in hand, but Qui-Gon lingered, letting Obi-Wan towel him briskly with his own tunics and help him into his robe. Obi-Wan fell in at his side before he too began to climb. "You were right," he murmured in his lover's ear, the clamor of the Djinn chieftains drowning out his words. "I needed the gill, and I need you." There would be time for the details later.
Obi-Wan smiled.
PART III - Epilogue
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