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Hearts of Darkness - Book II

Back to Book II, Part 1

Chapter Seven: Miasmata
The poison spreads

The process of infection never ceased to amaze him.

A single cell, one infinitesimal germ was all that was needed to lay waste an entire body, leading it to a slow, painful death. Corruption in stages, septicity multiplying, defiling . . . destroying with an almost vengeful purpose of being.

The process of fear also never ceased to amaze him.

Terror could be spread as easily as any disease. Down it would trickle throughout the body whole, festering beneath the skin in places, oozing freely in others -- virulent, noxious... transferable

Even the mighty and supposedly incorruptible Jedi could acquire its taint and spread it beyond their own limited realm, corrupting everything within their reach. So afraid of the Darkness they were that even the greatest and most powerful were not immune to its soul-devouring power. It ate them alive as a Rancor might devour its first meal after a long starvation.

How amazing.

And he didn't even have to lift a finger -- they'd done this to themselves. How utterly astonishing.

If he were capable of true laughter, the irony of this alone would make him burst forth with it and it would ring through the byways of the cold corridors of space itself. But there was no time for laughter. Now was the time for action.

For an opportunity as this only presented itself once. If at all.

The door to his quarters softly buzzed open. "Supreme Chancellor Palpatine?"

"Yes?"

"The emergency session is ready to convene Your Excellency."

"Thank you, Terack. Tell them I'll be there momentarily."

"Yes, Your Excellency." A short bow and the door buzzed shut.

Oh yes, infection was indeed a wondrous thing.

May the wounds be ripped wide open and the poisons drip where they may.

The next few days were, perforce, quiet. Qui-Gon insisted that Obi-Wan eat small amounts frequently, let him sleep as he wanted, which was frequently. There were still nightmares, still moments of fugue, but they were lessening, Obi-Wan came back to himself more quickly.

The compulsive bathing continued, but as he insisted on being very nearby--that is, hovering outside the shower--it did not include the removal of any of Obi-Wan's remaining skin. The raw spots began to heal, and the morning before they landed on C'hai T'an, he stood Obi-Wan before the mirror, wrapping his nightrobe around him. "Look," he murmured and wrapped his arms around Obi- Wan. "Look how much better you are, love. You've been sleeping well--" Not such an untruth as it might sound, given that first night. "And you've been eating better, no, don't be afraid to look, you're starting to look like yourself again." And he nuzzled Obi-Wan's hair, coaxing the young man's face around to look.

Obi-Wan stared at his own reflection as if he feared it, then seemed to relax. "I look normal." Almost marveling.

"Nearly so." He brushed a kiss along Obi-Wan's temple. "Still a bit thin, but much, much better."

Obi-Wan frowned, tugged at the nightrobe. "But this still remains."

Qui-Gon's arms loosened. "You haven't looked for a while, love. They are only scars now, pink healing skin." He pushed the robe aside slowly, felt Obi-Wan steel himself. "You see? No worse than any of mine, would you say?"

The frown deepened. "Was it ever there? Did I imagine it?"

"No. Mace saw it, do you remember he had the healers come and take care of the scars properly." He brushed a fingertip over the nearly healed skin. "You see?"

After a moment, Obi-Wan took in a shuddering breath. "At least I didn't imagine it." Wanly.

"No, I told you that you were not going mad." He hugged Obi-Wan again. "We'll be landing soon, and I want you to eat some breakfast, it will take a bit to get to the monastery."

"I will if you will." Not quite sullen, almost...grumbling.

It made his pulse speed a little in relief. "Oh, I think I can manage that." He smiled into the mirror, got the very phantom of a smile in return, the first he had seen since...since before Maul had taken them.

He hoped there would be more, but now that he had concrete reason for hope, he could wait patiently.

He thought.

Obi-Wan was silent again on the journey through the city, but there was nothing of the automaton about him now, to Qui-Gon's relief. Upon their arrival at the monastery, Qui-Gon was directed to the retreat where, it appeared, the abbot was assisting with the laundry.

The old man looked up at him, eyes narrowing. "Didn't I send you away?" Irascibly.

"No, you sent me to seek my correct path," Qui-Gon told him. "I cannot say I have found the only correct path, but I believe I have found one."

The abbot's eyes moved to Obi-Wan, standing pale and silent, just behind Qui-Gon. "Well, you aren't completely hopeless," he growled. "And this, is this your padawan?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon moved back a pace, put a gentle hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I must ask sanctuary, I'm afraid, I have left the Order."

Two of the other monks in the laundry stopped and looked at him, their expressions curious.

"Sanctuary?" The abbot's eyes rose. "Are you declared rogue then?"

"Not that I know of. But if I read the Council's temper aright, it could happen. And they have not treated Obi-Wan over-kindly."

A scowl that gentled when the abbot looked at Obi-Wan. "Well, I told you they were fools. Come, then, I'll find you rooms."

"A room, if you please," Qui-Gon told him apologetically.

A keen look and the abbot nodded. "Come with me, then."

"I'm tired," Obi-Wan whispered. "Can we rest soon?"

His heart constricted at this, the first sign of fugue all day. "Yes, love, very soon." Soothingly and he put his arm over Obi- Wan's shoulders, guided him after the abbot.

There was some delay while the abbot sent one of the initiates to prepare a room. "Come," he told Obi-Wan, with surprising kindness, standing in the doorway of an airy common room. "You and your master come in here and have tea, you can rest here while the room is readied."

"That would be wonderful," Qui-Gon agreed and got a sharp look.

He half expected to be whacked, grinned when the abbot turned to lead the way. Sun shone in the tall windows, glinting golden on the polished wooden floor, dust motes dancing in the light. There was a low couch on the far wall and the abbot turned, took hold of Obi-Wan's shoulder lightly. "Why don't you lie down, I'll teach your master some more lessons."

A blank look, but Obi-Wan nodded, moved toward the couch and sat down, his expression suddenly doubtful.

Moving after him, Qui-Gon looked down, smiled. "It's all right, I'm not going anywhere, love. He'll probably hit me with his stick if I don't give him answers he likes."

Wide eyes. "He hits you?"

He laughed softly. "Not really. It's their way of teaching thick- headed initiates. I probably would have learned more quickly as a padawan if the Jedi used the same method."

"I don't think I want to be an initiate," Obi-Wan muttered. "Are you sure it's all right?"

"Very sure." He crouched, patted Obi-Wan's knees. "It may take a while, and you look tired."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Are you going to talk about me?"

It was such an unexpected question that he was taken aback. "I-- if he asks me, Obi-Wan, I will answer." Gently. "If you wish, you can sit with us instead."

A long look. "No." Faintly. "What will you tell him?"

"Only what is relevant to our arrival here, love." He put his hands over Obi-Wan's. "Only that."

Faintest trace of relief, of something near embarrassment, and Obi-Wan ducked his head. "All right."

"Are you all right?" Softly. "Shall I sit with you?"

Obi-Wan's head came up, that determined chin. "No. I'm fine." Shakily. "I'm just tired. I'll rest a bit." Suddenly uncertain.

He leaned forward, brushed a kiss over Obi-Wan's knuckles, lifting each hand in turn. "Good. I'll be right there at the table." He glanced over his shoulder, saw the abbot accepting a tray from yet another initiate, a steaming pot of tea. "Would you like some tea before you sleep?"

"Maybe later." Obi-Wan shifted in his robe, took it off and lay down on his side, head pillowed on one arm. Rising, Qui-Gon laid the robe over him. Took off his own and layered it on top, thinking of someone who was not used to the thinner air or the coolness of the mountain.

Obi-Wan's eyes closed as he watched, and two fingers tugged Qui- Gon's robe closer.

It undid him, he turned back to the abbot with eyes stinging. The old man gestured to a bench and Qui-Gon took the seat, accepted the tea when the abbot poured t.

"What did they do, back at the temple." No irascibility. Quiet voice, focused gaze.

"I don't know. I don't know all of it. They left him alone, they did not tell him I was sent away, and--I don't know, it sounds like his healers were less than competent."

The abbot sipped at his tea. "Rather more than that." Drily.

Qui-Gon looked at him, frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, someone has been using Force." Irascible again. "You're allegedly a master, can't you see it? Can't you feel it?"

He turned and stared at Obi-Wan's sleeping self. It had never occurred to him, he had been so fraught with worry, he had not even used Force, save to ease Obi-Wan to sleep. "I've used it to help him sleep a few times on the trip here," he began, frowning.

"Pah, Jedi are fools. Someone has meddled with his mind and spirit, Jedi." The abbot's expression was fierce. "After all that gabble about darkness, someone has been using it."

His stomach took a lazy roll. "No," he whispered, thinking first of Mace Windu, but that made no sense, Windu had helped them get away from the temple. Who then?

"Yes," the abbot told him irritably. "Not all Force sensitives are with the Temple or on the Dark side, Jedi."

Acid rose in his throat. "Someone did this to him deliberately." And he went cold, almost icy. "Someone who knew how he had been hurt."

"No doubt." Dry tone.

All he had ever believed in seemed to crumble, his entire life seemed a waste. He put the cup down carefully. "Someone on the Council." Faintly.

"Well, it would seem likely." Still dry. "Perhaps even Master Frog."

Realization nearly made him vomit. He rose unsteadily. "Perhaps." Swallowing acid and bitter bile. "But why?"

The abbot shrugged. "Sit, Jedi." Almost kindly. "Put your head down on your knees for a moment before you wake the boy. Given his condition, this is not the time for him to learn of this."

"This makes no sense." He did put his head down for a moment, on the table. Cool, polished woodgrain against his forehead. "Why?"

The abbot shrugged. "Who knows. I told you things were out of balance. We will take one step at a time, and the first step is to make sure the boy heals."

He sat up again. "Why do you care, I thought you were z'rakethi."

The abbot gazed at him benignly. "Fool Jedi, z'raketh does not entail indifference. Only detachment."

His composure was too badly rattled to puzzle that out. He took up the cup again, his hand trembling, sipped at it in silence until the initiate came to tell the abbot that their room was ready.

Obi-Wan awoke just as the sun's rays were starting to lower toward the western mountains. He peered sleepily around and was surprised to find that he'd been moved to a spacious room -- airy, light and comfortable.

Tried to remember getting there, then gave up with a sigh. It seemed impossible, but he was forgetting things at a frightening rate, even events that had happened but a few hours before. Of course it was possible that his master hadn't even bother to wake him and simply carried him there tucking him beneath the covers with his usual care.

The thought at once warmed and annoyed him, pricking at his pride, but he knew for the moment at least, his pride would have to wait.

There were other, more pressing, issues at hand.

Such as the vague feeling of impending disaster that was crackling through his entire being. It was a sinister spark of prescience, a tell-tale flash of Force warning that had neither shape nor substance and he'd felt it often enough before. For years he'd known he was one of the Force sensitives who had this special foresight and he'd chosen from a very early age not to develop it. It was a dangerous power, extremely difficult to master and put to any sort of safe or practical use, so he'd conveniently ignored it.

Besides, the future, even if glimpsed, was always in motion -- ever unsure. Why bother with trying to change it or mold it to ones liking? There was a greater chance of causing more irreparable damage than good, so it was better to let events unfold as they must and stay focused within the present.

And the present now insisted on his healing above all other things. He still felt confusion, fear and pain, and creating the necessary objective distance from it as to remove it from his soul was imperative.

Not only for his well-being, but Qui-Gon's as well.

He knew his master was hurting. He could almost taste the guilt that engendered every thought, every action. It was a destructive emotion and he hated to think he was the cause of it. The sole cause of that pain, along with so many other problems.

The feeling of uncleanliness returned in a breathtaking rush and Obi-Wan closed his eyes tightly, fighting it. He knew he should feel glad for having regained the presence of mind to fight the madness that was still threatening his soul, but at the same time he was so terribly weary of it all. It would be so nice to let the foul stream take him down its inevitable path and leave him a senseless and crazed being, blissfully unaware of his own insanity.

Of course, there was a very good chance insanity didn't work like that. Obi-Wan had the terrible feeling that the insane knew they were mad and that terrible double-edged hell certainly wouldn't be an option worth exploring.

No, it was better to fight. Better to fight and lose than to just let himself drift away down a path from which there might be no return.

He owed that much to himself -- and to his beloved.

A wry smile quirked the corners of his mouth at that thought. Beloved. Odd to think of Qui-Gon in those terms again, and he wondered what it meant. Did it mean he was getting better or worse, allowing himself to think of his master in those terms again?

The past few nights, sleeping curled up against Qui-Gon had engendered the only true rest he'd known in weeks. Yes, the Force commands pressed into his conscience had helped him find peace within the darkness, but the love and warmth and sheer power emanating from the body next to his had helped much, much more.

Or so he hoped. Another small stab of panic hit and he took a deep cleansing breath. The distant, hateful voices were starting to whisper in his ear again, not yet forming words but certainly gaining in strength and volume. There was a long road to go, but as Obi-Wan opened his eyes and focused on the soft stream of sunlight hitting the far wall of the quiet room, he heard another voice as well.

A voice of hope and encouragement. Sounding very much like Qui- Gon's.

Taking another deep breath, he focused harder and forced himself to relax. Let all the voices wash over and through him, allowed the feelings of guilt and unworthiness to pass by, allowed all forebodings to fade from his mind and allowed sleep to finally take him back into its welcome folds.

Everything in its time, he chanted silently. Everything in its own time.

And whenever that time came, it would have to be good enough.

Obi-Wan ate a decent dinner for a change. As neither initiates nor monks, they ate in their room, a large, pleasant place with a splendid view of both the mountains and the retreat gardens below. Heavy curtains to shut the chill of the windows out at night, but Obi-Wan sat in one of the window seats, gazing out at the sunset, at the way the light changed, slanted down over the mountains before the sun slid behind the peaks.

"It's pretty here."

He looked up from unpacking their things, unreasonably reassured by the fact that Obi-Wan had made comment on anything. "It is," he agreed and came to stand beside the window seat, still holding a stack of tunics. "Very pretty."

Obi-Wan looked up at him. "You're upset about something." Subdued.

He considered lying. Sighed. "Not with you, love. Something troubling has occurred to me, and I need to work it through in my own mind before I discuss it. All right?" He touched Obi-Wan's eyebrow lightly.

"All right." Obi-Wan looked out the window again. "It's peaceful, too." Still quietly.

He nudged Obi-Wan, slid his hip onto the small space when Obi-Wan shifted. "Yes," he agreed softly, letting some of that peace into his soul. "It is."

Obi-Wan leaned against him, and oh, he treasured that small contact, that small sign of returning health.

Someone had tampered with his padawan, with Obi-Wan's mind and heart and he could not allow himself to think of it, not when his most important task was here. He put an arm around Obi-Wan. "It's cold here at night, I'm glad I brought some warm things as well."

Obi-Wan turned his head, looked toward the big bed. "Lots of blankets. I thought a monastery would be more...more severe."

"The Herresians live simply, but practically," Qui-Gon murmured. "Catching pneumonia from cold would not be practical." A faint sound of amusement. Not laughter, not yet, but it lifted his heart, eased the pain of betrayal. "Besides, the abbot knows quite well that I am possibly the most hopeless of candidates for initiation." Another faint sound, like the first, then a yawn. He chuckled, patted Obi-Wan's chest. "Time for bed, I think. The mountain air is tiring at first."

"Because it's thinner, I suppose." Another yawn. "I ate too much, I feel like I'm going to pop." Faintly surprised note underlying the grumbling.

"You ate just right." He rose, made room for Obi-Wan to shift and get up, tugged the curtains closed and moved to the next window.

When he turned, Obi-Wan had already removed his boots and was curled up on the bed, almost dozing. It made him smile, he moved to the bed, took hold of the end of Obi-Wan's braid and tickled his nape with it, getting a faint protest. "Do you want your winter nightshirt?"

"Hmmm?" Another yawn. "That would be very nice." Sleepily.

He obliged, turned and found his own, undressing quickly. There was a small heat unit in the corner; he went to it and set it on low, felt the heat begin to radiate quickly.

"Do we need that?" Drowsy voice.

He turned, saw Obi-Wan had gotten into bed, smiled. "It's on low. Believe me, this is a luxury, it's very cold in the morning here, never mind it is spring. These old bones ache at times in the cold."

"You aren't old." Dismissively and Obi-Wan's eyes closed again.

Still smiling, he picked up their discarded clothes, put them on a chair and got into bed. Almost immediately, Obi-Wan nestled closer, let himself be held. "Sleep well, love," he whispered and used the barest touch of Force to dim the light.

Obi-Wan sighed, nestled closer again. No fugue episodes since they'd awakened him in the initiates common room, earlier in the day. He'd been lucid, if diffident, and they had very nearly had a real conversation just now.

It was a good omen, Qui-Gon's heart insisted. And for once, perhaps because of the peace of the monastery, his mind was in agreement.

And because he really was very tired, he closed his eyes, gradually relaxing until Obi-Wan's breathing was slow and regular, and only then letting go himself.

The storm that woke Obi-Wan was almost unnaturally violent.

Blinding shears of lightning followed immediately by huge, shattering claps of thunder. He looked around sleepily for a moment, then winced as another burst lit the room as if it were daylight. Shivered at the terrible sound that followed and curled into the arms that were tightening around him.

"Well, this is quite a storm. We should be glad we aren't stuck outside as we usually are." An edge of jest in Qui-Gon's voice and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile.

"Does our new status mean we're through with camping, Master?"

"I hope so. Unless the abbot decides I need a good dose of the great outdoors in the evening as well. But I'll make sure you'll be exempt from that particular whim." A light kiss brushed against his forehead.

Obi-Wan sighed. "If you are outside, I don't think I'd wish to stay elsewhere." Felt the smile against his cheek and it warmed him nearly down to his toes. Old emotions were stirring again, and he felt a slight prickling of fear along his spine, but he didn't pull away. It simply felt too good ... too right to retreat just yet.

A kiss, followed by a murmur against his forehead. "Have I told you how dear you are to me? Or is this a bad time?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his heartbeat quickening in his throat. "There is never a bad time for that, Master." Shyly and he couldn't help the warm flush that filled his cheeks.

"You are dearer to me than my own life." Another kiss, this one lingering at his temple. "I want to do things right this time, love, and to be honest with you always. I want to avoid the mistakes I've made in the past and have you well and whole and happy beside me from now on. No matter what may come of all this -- whatever may follow."

He shivered at the touch, the warm lips against the pulse that was beginning to throb, but not unpleasantly. "I will always be happy beside you. Whatever may come, whatever may follow." Small voice and the arms pulled him more tightly against a broad chest, where he could hear a strong heartbeat that matched his own.

Another soft murmur. "Love. Dearest and precious love."

The power of speech left him. Oh, it is warm and wonderful here he thought, burying his face against Qui-Gon's neck. Please, he prayed, never let us leave this place. Even its storms are wonderful and perfect.

Another burst of thunder and even the accompanying twinge of foreboding that followed didn't frighten him. He was safe -- safe and warm and loved beyond measure. He would be able to put away the past, work through any pain and find his balance once again. Together, with Qui-Gon.

Whatever may come -- whatever may follow.

This Council meeting was shaping into something no better than the last, Mace Windu thought grimly, listening to the debate over whether or not he had been right in sending Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon to C'hai T'an. Of course, he had done nothing of the sort, but he was disinclined to admit to that in Council these days, or even to his fellow Council members.

He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't like it, had even had a quiet word with Chancellor Palpatine and with former Chancellor Valorum. He hadn't even liked doing that, but there was a definite disturbance in the Force, and he himself greatly doubted that it had anything to do with Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon.

Except insofar as Yoda's determination to declare Qui-Gon rogue and Obi-Wan turned.

Worst of all, he was seeing signs that this debate had spread outside the Council; there was tension in the temple corridors, passionate debates between Jedi, no sign of serenity or that the Code itself was being considered.

Even the padawans at the temple felt it, particularly the older ones. There had been an actual fistfight between two of the younger boys in the temple gardens, and once he had stopped it and summoned their masters, he had been appalled to see one master strike his apprentice.

The healers could offer no reason for Obi-Wan's breakdown, but Master Osaksia had listened to his questions and pondered. "Influence there may have been," finally, after long thought. And the little healer had gazed at him worriedly. "I could not reach him, Master Windu. It was like there was a shield between us, and I could not reach him."

He hadn't liked that either. He'd worked to find out why he had not learned of Qui-Gon's absence and Obi-Wan's need, and found nothing. No messages astray, as he had suggested, no reason for Yoda to have left the boy alone overnight in empty quarters.

He felt no better about it today. And while he debated silently with himself, Yoda sat like a green basalt idol, his face impassive, listening to the debate.

"I say that Qui-Gon's actions were the result of grave concern for his padawan," Saesee Tinn insisted. "And nothing more than that. I will not, I cannot in conscien measures in this instance. Completely aside from the fact that I know the abbot at the C'hai T'an monastery, and if either of them had gone Sith, he would know it. I contacted him last night and he assures me that they are there and that Obi-Wan's condition is indeed improving."

Yoda's ears tipped down, his eyes narrowed. "Be silent." Whiplash voice.

Windu opened his mouth, felt the resonance of Force in the room and Saesee Tinn abruptly crumpled, gasping. Horror froze him for a moment, he backed away slightly, preparing himself--he had never expected to have to defend himself in Council, his brain seemed to be moving slowly, processing events too slowly. Much too slowly--Ki Ad Mundi was shocked, bent to assist his fellow Council member;

"There is only one tainted here," Yaddle rose, pointed across the room to the eldest Jedi of them all, to Yoda. "Release Saesee Tinn!"

Yoda sat unmoving, but even Windu, not so strong in detecting currents, could feel the power that radiated from him. When a hand closed over his arm, he nearly leapt, turned to see Adi Gallia and Yarael Poof at his side.

"We must warn the temple," Adi Gallia murmured. "And the crèche, the children....can you feel it, Mace?"

He nodded, chilled, looked back at Yaddle, whose face was a grim mask of concentration. "It is Yoda." Bleakly. "I had suspected, but I didn't want to believe"

"You were closest to Obi-Wan during this," Yarael murmured. "Go, Mace, you and Adi both, he is Eldest and strongest, and I think the crèche, at least, must be evacuated."

The air in the room seemed to thicken. Saesee Tinn writhed on the floor, seeking air desperately, and Ki Ad Mundi, poor conservative Ki, was still not certain what is happening.

Yaddle moved toward Yoda, still focused, still concentrating.

"Go," Yarael insisted, "I will stay and try to stop him, but the children must be protected from this. The Force alone knows what he will do when he has finished here."

Adi Gallia tugged at his arm, he moved toward the door and the battle of wills had so absorbed everyone else that their movement went unnoticed.

Yaddle stood straight, one hand still outstretched in accusation, but one ear drooped, her breathing was audible from the door; he pressed the control and Adi went through first, he paused and look back to see Yaddle's other ear tip backward and then, horribly, she simply exploded.

Mentally reeling, he turned, slapped the door control and seized Adi's arm. "Yaddle is dead." Tightly and he hurried her to a run.

As they went through the corridors, they gathered those knights he knew to be still untainted by whatever had infected Yoda and was spreading quickly through the Order.

Adi was sure of a few as well, knights he did not know personally, and some few were pilots.

He would not leave any of them here in the temple; the Chancellor had dismissed his fears, he could not count on the support of the Senate, but he sent the pilots ahead to mobilize the few ships the Order itself commanded.

He sent the older padawans for ground transport; with ten toddlers and almost twenty children between the ages of four and twelve, they needed it.

There was a growing feeling of dread, of wrongness, and even the little ones were affected, clinging to their crechemates and their caregivers as if terrified.

"But I don't understand." Ranessa, one of the crèche masters, a plump and kindly woman of middle years, stood in the middle of the infants' room, surrounded by wailing toddlers. "Master Yoda has turned?"

"You must trust me," he told Ranessa and picked up one of the little ones, a boy who immediately calmed under the touch of his mind. "We are going to have an adventure, little one."

"I'll take him, Master Windu." Vintok, a fairly new padawan, only fourteen years old, offered his arms. "Garrit has the first transport running and we're getting the older children into it."

"Thank you, padawan," Mace told him. "Take him to the transport, and send some of the others in here, we need to move and move quickly."

Vintok obeyed.

Ranessa looked around helplessly. "You, Janna, get Dolf."

Mace picked up another child, calmed it, handed it off as another young padawan appeared, Jensie, a sturdy girl of fifteen or sixteen.

"I can carry two, Master Windu," she told him, and grinned at his doubt. "I'm from a big family, you see, and they come to visit often."

He looked down, saw one little girl sucking her thumb, her small face wet with tears. "There," he muttered and picked her up, brushed his mind across hers. "Take her, Jensie, and hurry."

Adi Gallia appeared in the doorway, saw what he was about and began to assist. "Can you feel it?" she asked him quietly.

He could indeed. That dread had increased, and just as Yaddle's death had diminished his sense of the entity that had been the Council, he had felt another death.

"It was Yarael." Softly.

He briefly closed his eyes, hugged the small boy he lifted. "Yes, and Saesee."

"There will be too few of us to stop him," she whispered and handed off another child. Ranessa and her aides managed the rest; he drew his lightsaber to guard the rear as they moved out of the temple.

No one tried to stop them, although there were some few who regarded the strange procession with frowns.

Whatever carnage was still taking place in the Council chamber, Windu reflected, it had not yet spread.

But they did have to hurry nonetheless. "Go," he told the padawan at the controls and slammed the hatch closed, turned to regard small faces. The older children were pallid with terror and a few were weeping silently, clinging to each other or to the padawans or knights in this vehicle. Adi had gotten into the second transport; he wondered if it were the same there.

"Well," he told them heartily. "I know this seems strange, but you must think of it as an adventure. Our good knights and padawans are going to take you somewhere on a journey, like a holiday."

The younger children listened and brightened; the older children knew they were being coddled and watched him doubtfully.

He reached out, ruffled the hair on a boy of perhaps ten, crouched and murmured. "We must keep the little ones calm, lad. Will you help me?"

The boy gazed at him, nodded solemnly. "Where are we going?" he asked Windu softly.

"Someplace where you will all be safe." Windu felt a pang. It would have to be somewhere unexpected; there was a planet, outside the boundaries of the Republic, a peaceful and agrarian place, and it was not widely known.

Ard'rian. Green world, temperate climate--a new temple must be founded there, although that in itself was a frightening thought.

Still, not as frightening as what already had happened.

Briefly, he regretted not having had the time to send a message to Qui-Gon. It would have to wait until they were in space.

Force grant that they get there.

Chapter Eight: Incarnadine
Shades of crimson pool

Leaning over the navigation console, Mace Windu locked the destination coordinates and flight plan in, sealing them away even from the pilots. Two ships, and he had divided precious passengers between both, fearing to risk them all in one ship.

"It is not because I lack trust in you," he told the knight at the helm, "I cannot risk having them take it from your mind."

Padja, the knight, looked up at him, nodded briefly. "Master Windu, what in the names of all the gods has happened?"

"The worst possible thing, Padja Lyrt, Master Yoda has fallen to the Dark side." Crouching, he keyed in the code that only Council members knew, activated the weapons grid. "You now have arms, Padja. I hope you will not need them, but these children must survive, as must all of you. You may well be the last of the Jedi if we fall here."

"The Senate will not allow that--"

"Master Yoda is more than 800 years old, his command of the Force has always been extraordinary." Windu put a hand on Padja's shoulder. "As soon as I am off, seal the hatch and take off. May the Force be with you all."

Padja nodded, turned back to the command console. His padawan, a lithe Mer'taki woman, was already murmuring the checklist items.

Pausing near the ramp, Mace looked back, looked longest at the children, the only hope he had at the moment. Go with the gods as well, he thought and hurried down the ramp, called, "Clear" and the ramp began to rise, the engines began to hum in initial phase.

Nearly running, he cleared the pad, met Adi Gallia and some few of the other knights were had insisted on staying. To his horror, he also saw the boy Vintok and the girl Jensie.

"They refused to leave their masters," Gallia murmured to him. "And the others are coming."

The second ship began final preparations, he heard the engines enter initial phase. "We must keep the battleground where we want it, and away from these pads," he told her tightly. "And keep the young ones back."

Gallia nodded. "I thought we might go below, at least delay them long enough to let the ships lift off. Do you think that they will involve the Republic fleet?"

"I cannot think they would dare, but worse things have happened this day." He looked directly at her. "But I left them both armed."

Gallia's head bowed briefly. "We need to move."

He turned, beckoned to the knights and briefly gave orders.

Plo Koon led the party of knights who approached, all experienced, all older. Windu spared a thought for his own group, only a few of whom had actual experience in battle beyond drills and tournaments and their trials.

He and Gallia were two who had. He counted two more, glancing over his shoulder, nodded at them to be ready and moved toward Plo Koon. Schooling his expression to impassivity, he met the other Council member dead on, blocking the advance of the others with his body. "Plo Koon," he said clearly. "Why have you come here?"

"You know quite well, Mace Windu. You and these others have fallen prey to the Dark Side, Qui-Gon has contaminated you, and you these others. Will you surrender peacefully?"

He gazed at the being who had been a friend, a fellow on the Council. "What has happened to Saesee Tinn?" Softly. "And what of Yaddle's death?"

Something moved behind Plo Koon's steady gaze. "Yaddle attacked Master Yoda, he but defended himself."

Windu's chest tightened, an emotion deeper than sorrow, deeper than anger. "And what of Saesee?"

"That is not your concern."

Which meant that either Saesee too had been drawn into the shadowed power of Yoda's mind, or that Saesee was dead.

He felt hollow, moved back. Far above them, he heard a ship lift off and stepped back, drawing his lightsaber in one smooth motion. "I am afraid we must remain opposed."

Plo Koon's expression twisted, he raised a hand. "Take them!"

Windu brought his lightsaber up to block the first strike, and battle was joined.

He heard the second ship lift off, it drove him forward in the steps he had not danced for years, true battle, to the death, as it must be.

He had rather be dead than fall himself, and Obi-Wan's condition was so clear to him now. Too clear -- and he had no desire to end up in like condition.

In the morning, Obi-Wan woke when Qui-Gon rose, leaned up on one elbow to regard him, still flushed with sleep. "Where are you going?"

Qui-Gon pulled his tunic over his head, sat down on the edge of the bed and let his fingers close gently over Obi-Wan's wrist. "Just out to the gardens." He laughed softly, more at himself than at anything else. "I help him weed the plots."

A faint frown. "Oh. I'll come with you."

"If you like. Or you can go back to sleep, whichever you wish." Gently and he leaned in slightly; Obi-Wan drew back, not quite a flinch, but settled when Qui-Gon kissed his temple. "We can get something to eat on our way out, I think."

Another phantom smile. "That sounds good. Some tea, do you think?"

"Absolutely." He reached for his leggings, rose to put them on. "And they make very good honey pastries in the refectory."

Obi-Wan sat up. "What a strange thought." Musing. "There are still honey pastries."

It was an odd thing to say; he paused, fastened the waistband of his leggings, considering Obi-Wan's tone. "Yes," he finally said, "And sunshine and gardens full of both flowers and vegetables and fruit." Very softly.

A quick sidelong look. "I don't think he's inside me anymore."

"I didn't think you did." He sat down on the bed again, shifting to face Obi-Wan directly. "You're getting better every day, love. Give yourself time to heal--"

"I know that." Almost snappish. "That's not what I meant. I meant, I don't hear his voice any longer, that I didn't dream about him. He's gone."

It gave him a chill again. "He was never in you."

Sullen look and Obi-Wan got out of bed, went in search of his clothing.

Troubled, Qui-Gon watched him, sighed and reached for his boots. He supposed it was a good sign, this show of temper, but it worried him. Worried him more in view of what he could now detect, now that the abbot had drawn his attention to it. "Obi- Wan," he began and then thought better of it. "Why don't you meet me downstairs."

Obi-Wan turned, still untangling himself from his nightshirt. "No, I'll only be a moment." Strained voice. "Don't leave without me."

So, things still stood there, Qui-Gon thought wearily and pulled on one boot, then the other. "No hurry, Obi-Wan, I'll wait." Easy tone, far easier than he felt. He needed advice badly, and the abbot was apparently the only one equipped to give it to him. Moreover, the abbot was the only one he trusted.

He was no longer sure who Obi-Wan trusted.

He needed to tell Windu of his suspicions, or at least that Obi- Wan had been influenced by someone.

Windu was on the Council; he hoped that meant that Windu could determine what truly had happened after he had left Coruscant on retreat, what had happened to Obi-Wan.

"I'm ready." Nervous tone.

He looked up, smiled. "Good, I'm hungry. And if I am, I know you must be."

A shrug, a glance away from him..

Back and forth, back and forth, he reckoned that would be how it went. Only Obi-Wan knew what he had endured inside his head, Obi- Wan and whoever had done this to him. He just needed to be patient. "Obi-Wan," softly and he held out an arm.

A hesitation and then Obi-Wan came to him, he hugged his padawan tightly. "I won't leave you again," he murmured. "Never fear it."

There was no answer, but Obi-Wan's held him tightly, as if seeking reassurance that words could not give.

No cure for that but time, he told himself and closed his eyes. And time they had.

The abbot, as Qui-Gon had expected, was in the gardens. Not weeding, but pruning the decorative floral section of the garden, cutting back cystarina and the brilliant flechette blossoms. He glanced up at them, straightened and studied Obi-Wan. "Good, I was beginning to think you weren't coming, Jedi." To Qui-Gon, but still studying Obi-Wan, who shifted uncomfortably under that regard.

"I was hungry." Qui-Gon half-smiled. "What have you for us to do?"

The abbot handed the pruning shears to Obi-Wan. "You can help me cut back the dead growth for the new." This time to Obi-Wan. "There's another pair of shears on the wall there, Jedi. I'm going to have my tea."

Obi-Wan took the shears awkwardly, glanced at Qui-Gon questioningly. "What do I do?"

"I'll tell you." The abbot guided him to one of the flechette shrubs. "You see these dead blossoms? Cut down here, where the stem forks away from the branch. If we don't prune them, they don't continue to blossom, you see."

"Here?" Obi-Wan bent. "Like this?"

"Exactly like that," the abbot approved. "I'm going to put your master to work over here, on the cystarina."

Picking up the shears, Qui-Gon went as directed, keeping a watchful eye on Obi-Wan's expression. The abbot left them so, returning in moments with a cup of tea; he sat cross legged on the garden path, watching them work, silent for the moment.

Obi-Wan worked silently, gradually losing himself in the task, his expression going focused and distant.

He'd seen that expression during drills, and it eased his heart somewhat. At least until Obi-Wan blinked suddenly, as if awakening, blinked and went still, shivering.

""What do you see, young Jedi?" The abbot's voice, very soft.

Obi-Wan shuddered. "I see him." Not a whisper, but very faint. "Red and black."

Qui-Gon started toward him, stopped at the abbot's upraised hand, heart thudding; the flechette was brilliant red, shot through with black, he should have thought, he told himself.

The abbot frowned at him forbiddingly. "He's not in your head, young Jedi. He stands before you, and you are armed. What do you want to do to him?"

Oh, he did not like this at all--another step forward and the abbot did more than frown, he felt Force surround him, hold him back.

"What do you want to do to him?" Again.

Obi-Wan's face twisted and the shears flashed out, stabbing, cutting. A low growl came from his throat; the sound raised gooseflesh and it drove Qui-Gon forward against the Force shield that held him back.

"Feel your hate, young Jedi, feel it and let it flow through you," the abbot told Obi-Wan. "Let it go."

"Stop this," Qui-Gon demanded harshly. "Don't do this to him!"

Cursing, almost incoherent, oblivious to him, Obi-Wan was destroying the flechette bit by bit, his face a mask, so utterly unlike the young man he had helped to raise, to teach, to train that the chill of fear returned.

"I did nothing to him," the abbot told Qui-Gon and sipped at his tea calmly.

Qui-Gon stopped fighting the Force shield, closed his eyes, tried to flow into the shield; it gave slightly, he took another step forward and was held again. More concentration, and a little more give, and then the cursing stopped.

He opened his eyes again, terrified.

Obi-Wan was on his knees, staring at the destruction he'd wrought. Then, with shocking suddenness, the rage melted away, he flung himself face down on the ground, fingers clenching in the soil, his body shaking convulsively.

Hoarse racking sobs and the damned shield would not move again, and the thrice damned abbot sat sipping tea. "Let it go," the abbot finally advised Obi-Wan. "Let it all come out."

"Let me free," Qui-Gon demanded. "Damn you, what are you doing to him?"

"More than your Jedi healers managed," the abbot snapped at him. "If you let the surface of a wound heal over before it has drained, it festers. It has festered too long in him. And we must tear it open and let it drain. You cannot encourage to let it heal over again, Jedi."

"Damn you!" He tried to find composure, to reach the Force again, but was held still, helpless again, watching Obi-Wan suffer.

"Perhaps," the abbot agreed. "Your kindness and affection are all very well, but they cannot heal him, he must heal himself."

The sobs ebbed, slowly, painfully. He stood listening, fists clenched so hard that the tendons stood out, that his very bones ached.

It seemed to take a very long time.

Finally, the abbot set the cup aside. "Young Jedi, he was never inside you." Softly. "Someone else, yes, someone who wanted you to believe that you were haunted, tainted by your encounter with your assailant. Someone who feared Darkness so greatly that they turned against you, meddled with your mind."

Obi-Wan pushed himself upright, eyes puffy and reddened, stared at the abbot. "He was never inside me, was he?"

The abbot gazed at him for a long moment. "You know the answer to that, if you seek inward, young Jedi."

Ducking his head, Obi-Wan swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "My name is Obi-Wan." Faintly.

The abbot almost, almost smiled. "What is your answer?"

Obi-Wan shuddered, wiped at his face again. There were leaves stuck in his hair, he brushed at them; shook his head. "He was never inside me."

The abbot did smile then, and the shield eased, melted into nothingness; Qui-Gon dropped the shears and strode forward. Saying nothing, but brushing a stray leave from Obi-Wan's temple, he crouched beside him.

Obi-Wan blinked at him in surprise. "He never was."

"No." Qui-Gon's throat felt raw. "He was not. And I believe the abbot is correct, someone was meddling with your thoughts, your mind."

Another blink. "Who?"

"I don't know. I believe it wasn't Mace, and that's all I can believe at this moment."

Obi-Wan studied him. "Did you know? When you came for me? Is that why you came?"

"No. I came because I could not stay here." He touched Obi-Wan's face briefly. "And once I arrived, I was too concerned about you, I did not have my wits about me, or I would have detected it earlier."

Distant look again, as if Obi-Wan were replaying events in his mind. "I don't remember." Frustrated tone. "I just remember feeling..." A hand came up and rubbed a dirt smudge on Obi-Wan's cheekbone. "I don't know."

There wasn't anything useful he could say; he kept silent instead.

Obi-Wan sighed, considered the dirt on his hands. "I need a bath. And I'm tired again."

Qui-Gon nodded.

"Well." The abbot rose, picked up his cup. "I never cared for that particular flechette. Red and black, pah. Go and bathe, Obi- Wan, and rest. I'll put you to work some other time."

Obi-Wan looked at him, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Thank you, I think."

A placid smile in return and the abbot moved back toward the kitchen door. "And as for you, Jedi, go and meditate on the merits of inaction."

Qui-Gon frowned. "I have a name, too, abbot."

The abbot turned, eyes merry. "I supposed as much."

His mouth curved unwillingly. "My name is Qui-Gon."

The abbot inclined his head. "Good. I will be sure to use it when I wake you in the morning." Turning again, he vanished into the kitchen.

A faint sound from Obi-Wan's throat. "Did he really hit you?

"Repeatedly." Qui-Gon sighed. "You'll enjoy the bath, it's piped in from the mineral springs." He rose, felt the ache in his wrists and hands from his struggle with the shield, held out one hand to help Obi-Wan up.

Obi-Wan accepted it, brushed at his clothing and glanced at the remains of the flechette "I've murdered a flowering shrub." Bemused.

He couldn't help it, his mouth quirked. "How do you feel?"

A quick look up at him. "Saner." And that was all.

He briefly clasped Obi-Wan's shoulder. It was a start, at least.

He hoped.

Waking, Qui-Gon was conscious of an almost peaceful feeling. Obi- Wan's head was on his shoulder, one hand tucked under his chin-- not the face of a child any longer, but of a man, one dearly beloved, and all the disasters of the recent past had stripped his own defenses against that emotion away.

Rightly so, he mused and let his eyes close again, shifted slightly for comfort's sake and felt Obi-Wan likewise shift, still more asleep than awake. Sweetness, oh, to have Obi-Wan against him, safe and warm and trusting again, and he rubbed his cheek against soft hair that was already beginning to go out, threaded his fingers through the unbound lock that was Obi-Wan's padawan braid. Soft, so soft and Obi-Wan stirred, put his arm over Qui-Gon's chest.

"Is it morning already?" Muzzily.

He smiled. "Nearly so. You don't need to wake up yet, love."

A sigh and Obi-Wan nuzzled him, shifted higher and tilted his face up. "Oh. Good."

Just the barest trace of humour under that and it undid him, he turned his head, brushed his mouth over Obi-Wan's forehead. "I do love you," he whispered. "Before all the gods, wise or unwise, I love you, my Obi-Wan. I thank all of them that you are here with me."

"Is it unwise?" Faintly.

"I don't believe so. I refuse to believe so." He shifted again, they both did and his mouth brushed lightly over Obi-Wan's, he touched the strong line of his padawan's jaw, brushed fingertips over his cheekbone. "You are so beautiful to me, you know, you always have been. Determined and strong--and so very dear to me, love. Never doubt that."

Wide eyes studied him, beautiful changeable eyes. "You gave up your knighthood for me?" As if Obi-Wan just now understood, and perhaps that was so.

"I would have given up much more, love." Tenderly and he kissed Obi-Wan again, not demandingly, just gentle kisses that flowered into more.

Slim body in his arms, warm and pliant, and despite everything he had been through, there was trust, and even a bit of need in those kisses; he exerted iron control, let Obi-Wan lead, stroking his fingers through soft hair again and again.

There was time. They had their lives stretching out ahead of them, never mind that his pulse had sped, that his body was responding to this sweetness. One hand slid under Obi-Wan, cupped the hip pressed into the mattress; warm soft fabric of the nightshirt, muscle and bone beneath it, and the bone was no longer so prominent, even the few days of relative healing had made that much difference.

Obi-Wan pulled back, not precisely a flinch, but a kind of diffidence, he sensed apprehension and anxiety, and throttled his own desire ruthlessly. "Mmm," he murmured. "You feel so very nice to hold, my Obi-Wan. Never did my imaginings tell me how nice, I'm afraid."

Brief, diffident look, almost a smile. "So you imagined this?"

He smiled. "Yes, although I confess, I quelled them quickly. Perhaps that's why they fell short of the reality."

This time, the smile took genuine shape, the first smile he had seen in, oh, a small eternity, since before he had left Obi-Wan on the ship, since before Maul had trapped them. His heart soared at the sight, it was all he could do keep from pulling Obi-Wan close against him. Instead, he traced an eyebrow delicately, smiled in return.

"I did, too." Whispered confession. "Thought about this." As if embarrassed, Obi-Wan turned his face into the pillow.

Leaning forward, Qui-Gon kissed along the visible cheekbone, kissed the corner of one eye and then moved down, kissed a spot underneath Obi-Wan's ear and rubbed his beard gently there.

A small sound, not quite laughter. "That tickles."

He chuckled. "That's the idea."

An arm went around his neck, Obi-Wan turned his face back and took a kiss, not diffidently exactly, but cautiously, as if fearing the outcome.

He returned it, again letting Obi-Wan control the intensity; no stranger to carnal matters, he was nevertheless startled at the spike of desire and need he felt, ruthlessly leashed it and shifted to pull Obi-Wan over him.

He could feel the shadows that had lately inhabited his padawan's mind and heart, feel apprehension and arousal along their bond, threatening the nascent health and desire. "There is no hurry," he murmured into the kiss, gently nipped Obi-Wan's lower lip. "We have nothing but time, love, and I will give you whatever you need or want."

Drawing back, Obi-Wan studied him, he felt the faint questing along their link. "You want me." Bittersweet tone, but also--his padawan's, not the broken young man he had found on Corsucant.

"I love you," he corrected, "As one adult loves another, and that includes desiring you, my beloved. But even if that desire is never requited, it will not end my love for you."

Obi-Wan shivered, almost smiled again. "I don't think that will happen. I just..."

"You need time to heal." He touched the tip of Obi-Wan's nose, put his other arm around the slender waist. "Physically and here." Tapped the strong forehead. "As do I."

More study of him, more questing. "You feel guilt." Softly. "You feel like you were to blame."

This time, he smiled, bittersweet. "Yes, beloved. Even the K'rya Shar cannot remove that guilt. Even knowing that there were no other options--leashed like an animal while you suffered, how would I not feel guilt?"

Sighing, Obi-Wan kissed him again, gentle kiss. "I don't know." Put his head down on Qui-Gon's chest. "I can hear your heartbeat."

He cupped the shape of skull beneath the soft hair, riffled his fingers through it, then stroked the soft skin at the nape. "A good thing, I hope." Lightly.

Another soft sound, almost real laughter. "I think so." Two arms went around him, hugging him. "It certainly comforts me."

He laughed out loud, knew Obi-Wan could hear the rumble of it in his chest and felt comforted himself. "You delight me."

A sigh, but not an unhappy one. "I'm sure I don't know why. I'm not the most convenient person to have around."

"Convenient? What a thing to say." He gently poked a rib. "As if the people we love must be convenient."

This time, it was laughter, rusty and startled. "Will the abbot want us in the garden again?"

He chuckled, stretched beneath the slimmer body. "I suspect so. Do honey pastries have a more attractive sound this morning?"

Obi-Wan's head lifted, and there was another true smile. "Believe it or not, I think I'm actually hungry."

"And I am lazy, I think we will take our time." He touched the tip of Obi-Wan's nose again. "Unless you'd like to escape me and go steal some of those pastries while I bathe?"

"I can wait." Long look, a hint of trepidation. "Would you--would you like company in the bath?" Very nervous voice.

"As long as you promise not to drown me." His own heart sped a little; but he was a man, and a man of middle years, he could wait, he was no longer under the influence of anything but his own thoughts. Although, he privately admitted to himself, Obi- Wan, wet and sleek, was a powerfully intoxicating image.

"I think I can promise that." Obi-Wan smiled again, suddenly unshadowed. "Can I wash your hair for you? I have to admit, I have even imagined that."

Joy bubbled up inside him. "You may indeed. What a luxury--" and he stole a quick kiss. "I think I may enjoy the result of your imaginings, my love."

Diffident grin. "Of course, you have to tell me yours, now."

"Indubitably." He smiled again, ran his palms over the fabric on the back of Obi-Wan's nightshirt. "And this right now encompasses one of them."

Pensive look suddenly. "I think mine are more lurid."

Ah, he could not have that. "Oh, this is but one, love. I didn't say the rest weren't lurid."

The faintest hint of relief over the link, then amusement, then embarrassment. "If you say so."

"I do indeed." A gentle smack on the curve of backside. "Now, to that bath, shall we?"

"I need to shave." A long thoughtful look. "Will we ever go back to Coruscant?"

"I cannot, love." He touched Obi-Wan's jaw, rubbed his thumb on the determined chin. "And until we know for sure what happened there, you should not."

"I don't want to." A sigh, then another grin and Obi-Wan shifted off him, sat up. "I'd rather stay here and murder shrubbery."

He grinned suddenly. "I confess, I do like the abbot. Damn him, he's right more often than he's not. It's quite humbling."

"Being hit with a stick can't be elevating either," Obi-Wan said, his tone droll.

He was still laughing when they both got out of bed.

The fighting was fierce, and Windu soon found his little ragtag army pressed back against the lift that would take them to the pad; worse, some had fallen, including Adi Gallia.

He would have to grieve later, if they survived, a matter of which he had some doubt.

K'esh, the girl Jensie's Master, shifted forward, parrying a blow, to take an opening, but it was a feint, he cried out as Plo Koon leapt in; blades clashed with a sizzling sound, and K'esh fell, his arm simply sliced off, his blade spinning away.

Before Windu could prevent her, Jensie darted forward, her own light saber humming to life. "NO!" he shouted, and spun to protect, to desperately strike; Plo Koon's face twisted in battle rage, an expression he had never seen on the other, he parried, whirled, and another of Plo Koon's knights slipped through and killed the girl as he engaged Plo Koon.

So this, he thought distantly, letting rage overwhelm his determination, this was Darkness, and now they would all fall; Gallia was dead, and Plo Koon would not spare them, the talk of surrender was nothing more than justification for slaughter.

He struck, heard the quenched sizzle as he hit flesh, and Plo Koon fell back a step, his face further tightening with pain. He drove Plo Koon back again, strike upon strike, calling on his last reserves, and felt savage satisfaction as the older knight showed the first, faint desperation.

Another cry behind him, a child's, a boy's, and he knew Vintok was dead; they didn't scruple to spare the young, he was grateful for Gallia's insistence in the council room, prayed that the two ships made it through without pursuit.

Another strike, he parried Plo Koon's counterstrike, felt his rage powering each of his movements and let it carry him forward, let it drive his lightsaber forward and through until Plo Koon screamed in rage and pain. A swift thrust through Koon's guard and his blade seared a mortal path, the scream was the sound of mortality--

And he himself was spitted on the same kind of agony, only from behind.

Ah, he thought distantly, so rage had its weaknesses; he fell to his knees, heard another outcry from behind him. Ah, Qui-Gon, he thought vaguely, you were right; his thoughts melted like ice in the sun, he felt something cold against his face and closed his eyes....

Figuratively speaking, Qui-Gon had been holding his breath for an entire day, since he and Obi-Wan had shared their bath in the morning.

Obi-Wan had been entirely proper throughout. Nervous, perhaps, would have been a better word, at least at the outset, but he had managed to behave well, which had lowered the tension. Indeed, he had found having his hair washed an entirely luxurious experience and had teased Obi-Wan that he was no longer going to settle for doing it himself, which comment had gotten another shy smile and soft laughter.

He had returned the favor, and taken pleasure in doing so, had washed Obi-Wan's back for him, which was all he truly trusted himself to do without letting his hands wander. That self- discipline had paid, Obi-Wan had relaxed under his hands, had emerged from the bath with something almost resembling cheer to go in hunt of honey pastries and tea.

More gardening in the morning, and some assorted tasks around the retreat to pay for their keep, and then they had walked in the hills; they had not gone far, he was still far too conscious of Obi-Wan's tendency to tire easily.

But once dusk came, they returned to their room and Obi-Wan's appetite was far more in keeping with what it should have been. Obi-Wan sat beside him on the low divan after, leaning close, but staring into the fire almost dreamily.

Reaching out, he smoothed a stray lock of hair back. "What are you thinking, love?" Very softly.

Obi-Wan glanced at him, smiled. "Nothing, really, just watching the flames." He came into Qui-Gon's outstretched arms, hugged back and laughed, startled, when Qui-Gon tugged him down, stretching them both out to laze. "Oh, this is nice."

Reaching back, Qui-Gon tucked a pillow under his head, snugged Obi-Wan more closely against him. "It is." Gentle kiss on warm lips and he drew back, not pushing, so careful not to push.

Obi-Wan gazed at him for a moment, almost pensive, and leaned in to return the kiss, with equal sweetness, and grew bolder after a moment, his tongue brushing Qui-Gon's mouth. He let his lips part, welcoming that, felt desire flare to life again and slid his hand up under the undertunic, felt warm silky skin and the ridge of rib beneath.

Warm and alive, silky and smooth, save for the shape of bone and he moved his hand up, felt the curve of spine and slight rise of buttocks, the barest trace of bare skin under the waistband of Obi-Wan's leggings. And more kisses, countless kisses, and oh, desire was something he had hidden from himself for too long, and Obi-Wan's mouth was sweet, the weight of him was sweet, and the arousal that twinned his own, swollen flesh pressing against him, was more than sweet, it was fire and delight.

He stroked Obi-Wan's back beneath the tunic, hardly dared to shift or move, hardly dared to act on his need and hunger; it didn't matter, just when he began to think it would be safe to act, Obi-Wan jerked back, away from him, flushed and clearly apprehensive about what he'd begun.

Qui-Gon stilled instantly, smiled a reassurance, despite the throb in his flesh. "What is it?"

Obi-Wan pulled away from him, sat up, rubbed a shaking hand over his face. "I can't." Whispered.

Qui-Gon sat up, cupped a cheek with one hand. "Then we shall not." Easily.

A shaky indrawn breath. "You aren't angry?"

"I am not angry." Calmly, and he leaned in, kissed the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth. "You cannot believe that I want this at your expense, can you?" Very, very softly.

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, took in another shaky breath. "No." Very small voice. "But...but I wanted to. I just...I just can't."

"Will you come back and lie down with me? I promise, Obi-Wan, I shall not push you in this." His tone was faintly wistful, he tried to firm it, but Obi-Wan came to him again.

Seated in the corner of the divan, he sighed, not altogether resigned, but determined nonetheless. "It still feels very good indeed to hold you."

Soft, tremulous chuckle. "Really? In spite of my idiocies?"

He tugged the long lock of hair, still unbound. "No idiocies here, I didn't choose an idiot." A little nip at Obi-Wan's jaw. "I chose you."

Another chuckle, but Obi-Wan settled back, eventually relaxed enough to doze.

It took a great deal longer for Qui-Gon's body to settle down.

The sun was warm against Obi-Wan's face as he leaned against Qui- Gon's knee, not quite dreaming, but not quite fully awake. He was in a state of utter and boneless relaxation, one he hadn't enjoyed in what felt like years.

Such a peaceful moment, and so hard to believe he was actually alive to enjoy it.

So much time wasted, and yet so many wonderful things ahead. It made him nearly dizzy to think of it all -- it was surrounding him like a dream, a perfect one he had no wish to wake up from.

They had all the time in the world, Qui-Gon and him, and tonight... oh, tonight there were so many possibilities awaiting them there in the dark.

So many.

A loud murmur from the far end of the garden roused Obi-Wan from his reverie and he sat up quickly as a monk he'd never seen before ran into the courtyard, practically skidding to a stop before them. Bowing shortly, he frantically gestured for them to rise. "Please Jedi, come quickly. One of your own is here and is not well."

Qui-Gon was up first and Obi-Wan followed, both striding quickly.

A robed figure was supported by a monk on either side and the abbot was barking orders throughout the garden. A thin trail of what appeared to be blood stained the grass a brilliant blue as the figure took a short stumble backwards and the hood fell off, revealing the features -- two huge eyes set within a placid, amphibious face marred by a decidedly unhealthy gray pallor.

The round eyes brightened a bit at the sight of two Jedi. "Obi- Wan..." Weak voice, fading.

Obi-Wan stared for a moment, shocked. Ran forward, nearly knocking down a monk in his haste and blanched at the sight of a badly injured sword arm. A good half of the injured Jedi's right limb was missing and what remained was infected straight down to the bone.

He caught his breath and then embraced the robed figure as she slowly crumpled to the ground. "It's all right, Bant." he murmured. Choked, hollow voice. "It's all right."

And all around them, the sky turned dark.

Chapter Nine: Hecatomb
Disaster strikes...

The Council chamber was dark, save for the faintest illumination of moonlight and starlight.

Yoda, eldest of all the Jedi, sat brooding, nearly motionless, his eyes blind to the chaos left in the chamber, his gaze fixed distantly on the youth who had escaped his grasp.

Obi-Wan was irredeemably tainted, he told himself, and must be destroyed. Already, in a short span of days, the young man's corruption had spread, necessitating the events of the day just past; like a surgeon, he had wielded those knights still loyal to him like a surgical laser, destroying and cutting away infection.

The source of the infection remained out of his reach, but not for long. Bitter, oh, bitter, to know that his own padawan had become corrupted as well, that Qui-Gon had turned rogue, had fallen; evil was cunning, deceitful, and Qui-Gon, ordinarily wiser and more detached, had fallen into that snare.

Mace Windu, even less likely to fall, had fallen likewise to the young man's wiles, had come to believe that Light was Darkness and Darkness Light.

It was a pity that things had come to such a pass; he could not allow it to continue, there were still Jedi out in the far reaches, they must be protected.

Thus, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon must be dealt with ruthlessly, no softness or sentiment left over.

Nodding to himself, Yoda rose, slowly walked across the Council chamber, his path somewhat impeded by various body parts still strewn bloodily about. Truly a pity, he told himself again, but he must speak with the Supreme Chancellor.

The two must be retrieved from C'hai T'an.

The tapping of his stick echoed as he left the chamber and the door slid shut on the silence of the dead.

Obi-Wan looked up from his fallen friend and turned to Qui-Gon with pleading eyes. "Master . . . "

But Qui-Gon had already lifted the wounded Jedi into his arms and was striding toward their quarters, yelling out orders to bring bandages and warm water -- lots of it. Obi-Wan followed and together they helped the young Jedi into the bed.

Bant coughed and caught her breath before speaking. "Obi-Wan, Master Jinn, I thank you."

Obi-Wan shuddered at the sight of Bant's mutilated arm as Qui-Gon carefully trimmed off the remaining bits of sleeve. Watched his master's features turn steely, obviously preparing himself for an operation that would have been better suited to a battlefield than a holy retreat.

Qui-Gon motioned toward his bags. "Obi-Wan, please fetch me the medi-kit."

Bant shook her head as Obi-Wan hastened to obey. "No, Master Jinn, there is no time. I am dying and must speak to you of more urgent matters while I still have the breath to do so."

Qui-Gon shook his head, touched her mouth lightly. "Hush padawan. Be still. You will not die if we can help it."

Another weak shake of the head. "Please, Master Jinn." Pleading look toward Obi-Wan. "Obi-Wan, my dearest friend and schoolmate, will you listen please? I came here to warn you of a great danger. There has been a terrible disaster on Coruscant." Trembling, tearful voice. "Master Jinn, Obi-Wan . . . Master Yoda has turned to Darkness."

The medi-kit fell from Obi-Wan's hands.

Qui-Gon swallowed audibly. "How do you know this padawan?" Softly, but his hand trembled as he reached for the medi-kit.

"My master and I were called into Council by Master Yoda himself two days ago. Due to a repair on our ship, we arrived a bit later than expected and were surprised to find the halls and chambers empty. Master Yoda was alone and he spoke with my master at length, telling him how Obi-Wan had turned, and how you, Master Jinn, were now a rogue in league with him." A small shake of her head. "I interrupted and said that I did not, and would never . . . no, never believe such a thing."

A hitching breath, and Obi-Wan knelt beside the bed, taking the long gray fingers and twining them between his own, his eyes far too bright in the room's dull light.

"My master silenced me and Yoda began to instruct him to go with me to this monastery where I was to convince Obi-Wan that it would be safe for you both to return to Coruscant. To use our friendship to lure him back to the Order." She took a labored breath. "It was then I saw the body of Master Tinn lying dead beneath the darkened Council windows."

Qiu-Gon went pale, but nodded at her to continue.

"I tried to point this out to my master, to convince him to flee the chamber with me, but it was too late." A tiny sound, a bit like a sob. "That was when my master turned on me, accused me of taint and drew his saber." Tears rolled down the sallow, sunken cheeks. "Forgive me, Master Jinn, but I had no choice but to defend myself."

Qui-Gon shook his head, regarded her sadly. "There is no need to explain padawan. You, did what you felt you must."

"I didn't do a very good job of it, I fear. The battle was lost in a matter of moments and I was forced to flee. I made my way to the landing port where our ship was docked and it was there I saw the carnage." Sobbing voice. "Oh, Master Jinn . . . my dear Obi- Wan, what horrors didn't I see that day? Dead knights, sabers still clutched in their hands, their bodies draped over padawans, most of them barely out of the schoolroom, cut down in half. There were Council members laying there as well . . . Master Gallia and I think, Master Windu." A hollow whisper . . . haunted. "At least I think it may have been him. The body no longer had a head."

Obi-Wan felt as though he were going to be sick, but he drew in a deep breath and forced his features to relax. "Think of it no more, dearest Bant. At least not until you are healed." He picked up a cooling cloth from the fallen medi-kit and gently wiped down the pale gray forehead and tear-stained cheeks. "You will stay here with us and when you are well enough we will find sanctuary elsewhere, if it so pleases my master."

The huge ochre eyes regarded him sorrowfully. "No, my wound -- my entire body is infected now . . . I can feel it. I will not see morning, dear Obi-Wan. But I am not afraid to die. Remember, there is no death -- only the Force." The soft voice turned wistful. "I am a little sad that I will never be a knight though. That is my only regret."

Qui-Gon straightened, his face ashen but composed. "Padawan . . . help her to her knees." Hoarsely.

Obi-Wan scrambled to obey, and a moment later he was supporting the trembling frame of his oldest friend as Qui-Gon drew a small ceremonial knife from his belt. "As you have passed through trials of fire, testing both your commitment to the Order and the Light, and have not been found wanting in either, I confer upon you your Knighthood, as befits the Order of the Jedi." With this, he carefully cut the silken cord that was sewn to her tunic in lieu of a braid. Presented her with it and Obi-Wan helped her tie it once, then twice around Qui-Gon's wrist, securing it with a short twist.

Both he and Qui-Gon helped her back into the bed and Obi-Wan bit back the tears that were threatening. The long, thin fingers entwined with his again, and he squeezed them tightly. "Congratulations, my friend," he whispered. Kissed her forehead gently. "See? I knew you'd be knighted first."

He received a small smile in return. "No one is more surprised than I." Her eyes widened suddenly and she gasped with pain.

Qui-Gon bent and retrieved the medi-kit, pulling out the hypoderm and a painkiller. Administered it quickly and the pain in Bant's features retreated, her body visibly relaxing.

The sun was setting on C'hai T'an and Bant's eyes slowly closed. "Remember me, dear friend," she whispered as the last rays of golden light faded from the room. "But forget my fate."

One final, quiet breath followed and it was there in the overwhelming silence that Obi-Wan gave up his tears. Qui-Gon's arms encircled him, held him tightly as he wept, but he found little comfort even within that warmth. He was cold again; bitterly cold and afraid.

Afraid he'd never again know the meaning of peace.

The smell of the funeral pyre still clung to Obi-Wan's cloak.

He let it slide from his shoulders and tossed it aside with distaste. Knelt in front of the fireplace and stared into the flames. Saw Bant's body still outlined within the dancing embers and was forced to turn away.

His eyes were dry, he had no more tears left to cry. There was death and darkness everywhere now, even in the room he'd found happiness in less than a day before.

Obi-Wan shivered, feeling the evening chill and more. The room seemed much smaller than he remembered it to be and a wave of claustrophobia washed over him. He tried to shake it off, let it pass over and through him, but it refused to abate.

Memories were returning; memories of another freezing room, one filled with darkness and horror. A room where he was held, naked and chained and terrified.

No, not now, he thought desperately. He'd been so close to healing and with this new threat there could be no more time wasted on fear. The danger was greater than it had ever been, greater than he or Qui-Gon ever dreamed it could be and their survival depended on his sanity.

But the chill was edging closer.

Obi-Wan could hear his master moving through the room, quietly packing their meager belongings. Nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the soft folds of a robe drape over his shoulders.

Looked up questioningly at Qui-Gon. "Master?"

Saw the misery and exhaustion lining his master's face, making him look older than years would suggest. "Put that on. Before you freeze." Tired voice.

Obi-Wan blinked. He'd heard those words before. In that cold cell, the one that still haunted his nightmares, waking and sleeping. His mouth went dry.

"You should get some rest." Qui-Gon's mouth tightened and his expression was unrevealing.

Obi-Wan sank down onto the cold stone floor and began to tremble in the silence that followed as his master knelt in the room's corner, turning away from him to meditate. Deju vu, that undefinable feeling of having been there before, of being trapped in that very moment suddenly overwhelmed Obi-Wan and something deep within snapped.

He rose. Furious. "No." Practically snarling. "I don't want this ... this ... thing," he cried, tearing the robe from his shoulders. "This doesn't help me; this isn't what I need, damn it!" His entire body shook and the raging tenor of his own voice shocked him. "You ... you of all people should know better than that!."

Qui-Gon rose, his expression shocked. "Obi-Wan ..."

"NO!" It was a scream. Straight from the soul. He held the robe's main seam taut and yanked at it with shaking fingers. Heard the first bits of cloth tear and the rest followed as the cloak ripped in half beneath his trembling hands. He threw the pieces aside as Qui-Gon stared at him, his eyes filled with fear. With agony.

But it was done; over before Obi-Wan even had time realize what he'd done. The pieces of Qui-Gon's cloak lay puddled on the floor at his feet, now useless and rent. He looked at his master through watering eyes, unable to speak.

"Should I go?" Qui-Gon's face was but a pale smudge in the firelight; his voice a mere whisper. "Please, Obi-Wan, tell me if ..."

"No." Obi-Wan choked. Turned away on unsteady limbs, hardly able to see. "I will go. I ... I will return later. When we are ready to depart." He faltered toward the door, his legs feeling as if they were unraveling beneath him.

"But ..." A protest, but he waved it off.

"No. I can't. Not now -- perhaps not ever," he whispered, before he made his way from the room and back into the courtyard where he prayed he might be able to breathe again.

Standing there in their room, Qui-Gon found himself unable to move for the pain that clawed at his belly. He, too, had felt the echoes, but too late, not until Obi-Wan's grief and anger had broken free.

In vain, he told himself that he had turned away from Obi-Wan in the cell to attend to his own rage at what had happened; guilt choked him, tasted like the copper of blood on his tongue.

He had failed Obi-Wan again and again, had failed him and done as much damage as Maul had done.

But wallowing in guilt and agony gained them nothing; he would not fail Obi-Wan again, he could not. Would not allow him to be taken.

Forcing himself to focus, he finished packing their bags, carried them downstairs in search of the abbot and found that worthy sitting in the garden sipping tea, Obi-Wan a short distance away, seated on a stone bench, his head in his hands.

He didn't dare approach, moved instead to the abbot.

"They will be coming for you." The abbot's tone was matter of fact. "I have spoken to my cousin, he has a small ship for you."

Still reeling mentally, Qui-Gon nodded, abruptly remembered himself. "I have credit chips--"

"Keep them, you will need them later." The abbot sipped at his tea, smiled without humor. "The Jedi Temple keeps an account here on C'hai T'an for the retreat; the ship's cost came from that." He reached into his robe, withdrew another chip. "And this is the remainder."

Qui-Gon nodded again, looked over at the slumped shoulders of his padawan. His throat ached uselessly, there was nothing comforting to say, nothing he could do; he had done too little, too late, and as to what he had done before....

Bant's ashes were scattered, they must leave and leave quickly, before other Jedi appeared, intent on taking them back to Coruscant.

He would die before he allowed Obi-Wan to suffer that. Which was, he supposed, Yoda's aim, and thus must be deflected. "We'll leave this afternoon."

The abbot took another swallow of tea. "Have a care, Qui-Gon Jinn. They will seek your death at any cost, because you are protecting Obi-Wan." Long, narrow look. "You really don't see it, do you."

He tore his gaze from Obi-Wan. "See what?" Irritably. "I see he is at risk, I see I must not allow him to be taken."

The abbot snorted. "You Jedi, can't see what's under your very noses. Remember your own Prophecy? Of the child meant to balance the Force?"

Frowning, Qui-Gon looked back at Obi-Wan, nodded. "Yes."

"The problem is that you Jedi have always seen things in binary," drily, "Yes/No, Dark/Light, On/Off." The abbot waved a hand vaguely. "Your lad there fits the description of the Chosen One. He has the capacity for balance." An almost ferally amused look. "If things were not so dangerous for him, I should take him as initiate, he is far more likely to achieve z'rakethi than most."

He blinked. "Obi-Wan? That's--" Stopped suddenly, thinking. Why else would Obi-Wan have been chosen by Maul's master, he thought, and his pulse sped suddenly.

The abbot was eyeing him narrowly. "Must I hit you again?"

Feeling a bit dazed, Qui-Gon shook his head. "No." Faintly. "We had best leave. I thank you for all that you have done for us."

"Go." The abbot waved his thanks away. "And remember what you have learned here."

"Unfortunate it is."

Palpatine nodded and took another sip of tea. Took a long searching glance at Yoda and could hardly resist smiling as he looked. The frog-like creature was truly touched with Darkness; it had already worked its way into his features, distorting them into a gruesome parody of their former calm appearance. He looked like a darkened gnome -- green, bent and twisted to his very core.

"But dealt with, it must be."

"Shocking," Palpatine murmured. He sighed. "Luckily we are prepared for just such an emergency. The Senate has always had this power, but my predecessors were always either too whimsical or weak-willed to avail themselves of it."

A crooked brow quirked. "Power? What power is this?"

"Oh, the declaration of martial law, of course." Palpatine's tone was light -- breezy. "Galaxy wide, the set up of a truly central government, a command post so to speak. Normally, such a thought wouldn't have ever crossed my mind, but this is indeed a most unforeseen and . . . lamentable . . . event." He looked at Yoda intently, carefully gauging his response. "I'm quite sure that with your support, the Senate will have no choice but to agree to its enforcement."

Yoda gazed at him and for a moment Palpatine felt a slight thrill of fear run down his spine. The Jedi Master was tiny in stature, but very great in power. Not true Sith, no not ever, but powerfully Dark nonetheless. A battle between them would cause no end of problems, especially if Palpatine's true ambitions were to ever come to fruition.

"Destroyed Obi-Wan must be. With him, his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn." The green eyes narrowed. "By any means necessary."

Palpatine smiled. "Consider it already done, my good friend. The Senate has weapons at its disposal that can do the job quite handily." He poured another cup of tea. "In fact, they have already been dispatched." His expression darkened. "Neither will escape, have no fear."

The gnome closed his eyes. Sighed deeply. "No escape, no retreat. An option this is not."

Palpatine smiled. "No. No indeed."

Sitting in the initiates' common room, the abbot lifted his head, feeling the disturbance in the Force. Ah, well, Herres had said that life was eventful even for those who had achieved z'raketh. In the city, Port Control would doubtless be noticing the presence of the ships. Would doubtless be reacting, each person according to their strengths and weaknesses.

He looked at the initiates, some playing a casual game of N'rati, some talking idly. To speak of what he sensed would cause fear among these, who had not reached z'raketh. So he sat, sipping tea, even as he felt what took shape in the darkness of space above them.

Smiled as he saw the blow that was to come.

Qui-Gon pulled up the small ship's shields as he watched the Republican fighters approach. Fired up the weapons systems and prepared to do battle with them, but was surprised when they passed right by and flew straight into the tiny planet's atmosphere.

Was even more surprised at their hasty exit.

"What are they doing?" Obi-Wan's voice was hardly above a whisper.

"I don't know," Qui-Gon replied, but his throat tightened. He'd heard rumors of certain weapons, hidden in secret storage chambers of the Chancellor's Office, but even if those rumors were true, surely the Senate wouldn't...

He felt a whip's crack of prescience and instinctively raised the back shields to full power ... and waited.

The explosion that destroyed C'hai T'an was nothing compared to the rending eruption in the Force that nearly tore his away his conscious mind as a billion lives came to an abrupt end. It was all Qui-Gon could do not to lose control of the ship as it was buffeted and rocked within a massive shock wave that was quickly followed by a furious storm of shattered rock, water and fire.

Watched with dread as Obi-Wan fell to the floor and screamed in agony. He was shielding his face with upturned palms, as if blocking out some unfathomable horror; an incomprehensible holocaust. But, then again, wasn't that exactly what it was?

An entire planet destroyed. A billion lives stolen from the fabric of the Force.

All at once.

With a shaking hand, Qui-Gon managed to punch the hyperdrive accelerator and the sky became a blur of radiance, a quiet place tangled within a string of stars. There was light ... light everywhere, but as Qui-Gon knelt and gathered his sobbing padawan into his arms, he knew that this light was just an illusion.

And that Darkness had truly devoured the galaxy whole.

END OF HEARTS OF DARKNESS: BOOK II

On to Book III