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Hearts of Darkness - Book III

Note: The authors left this story as a work in progress in the spring of 2000 and have no plans to finish it as of the time it was archived.

Back to Book III, Part 1

Chapter Thirteen: Pertubare
An uneasy touch of fear

The weather was mild, the tall grass dry, whispering against their leggings and packs as they made their way through. As the taller of them, so recently the master, the teacher, Qui-Gon took the lead, breaking a path through steppes grass that came nearly to his hip. The wind blew ceaselessly, and they came to an unexpected outcropping of hills, a good place to stop for a bit and eat.

"Do we need to press on?" he asked Obi-Wan quietly, uncertainly. Heard it in his voice and marveled; just a few short lunar cycles past, he had been sure, and Obi-Wan had been wounded, hurting. Now, Obi-Wan had regained both health and strength and gained something new, something that frightened him badly, were he but honest with himself. There was a distance in the hazel-blue eyes, although Obi-Wan was still affectionate, still loving. That distance frightened him more than anything else, when they made love, he pressed his fingers into fair skin, willing Obi-Wan to stay with him, to be with him, silently begging Obi-Wan not to slip away. Into Grayness.

Obi-Wan looked around the land, tilted his head as if listening. "I think we can stop for a bite to eat and a bit of rest."

Faint smile, but that distance, oh, that distance made Qui-Gon feel cold, though the wind itself was mild. "Good," he murmured and shifted his pack off, hastened to assist Obi-Wan with his.

"It's all right, beloved, I've got it." Sweet smile, and Obi-Wan's eyes returned to the hills for a moment. "They're coming to meet us."

Qui-Gon's gut roiled. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know how Obi-Wan knew that. He himself only scarcely sensed the shift and flow of the Force on this planet. "Who is coming here?"

That distant gaze again. "A people held captive and persecuted," he murmured, not looking at Qui-Gon. "They will be our greatest allies."

A chill catwalked down Qui-Gon's spine; he shook it away, crouched to open the pack. "Ah, well, we have an amazing choice of survival rations purloined from the Republic," he said, with mock cheer. "Three different varieties of some kind of stew, and another--" Suddenly, there was a low vibration under his boots, he put his hand to the ground and frowned. "Obi-Wan." Looked up at his lover and saw a beatific expression that badly frightened him.

Obi-Wan turned to look at him, and those eyes were almost ablaze with certainty, with something akin to excitement. "They're coming."

Rising, he took a step forward, took hold of Obi-Wan's shoulders, frustrated and terrified at once. "Who is coming?"

That smile again. For the first time in all the years they had spent together, he wanted to wipe that smile from Obi-Wan's face, knew it was fear and leashed it ruthlessly. "Who?"

"The Navache, beloved." As if it were self-explanatory.

As if on cue, riders began to appear over the crest of the further hill. Fine beasts he had never before seen, four-legs, blunt muzzles, sharply lifted ears, and he stood still, watching them, let his right hand fall to the butt of his light saber. "Are you sure, Obi-Wan?" Sharply.

Watching as the numbers of riders increased, a veritable flood coming over the hill. The first few came over the crest of the hill on which they stood, he flinched briefly and stood protectively as the animals spread apart, as if a wave had parted to go around them.

One of the riders stopped, a handsome man of Qui-Gon's age, dressed in what looked like leather leggings and a richly embroidered tunic. Strong facial features, prominent nose, and eyes as dark as night -- the long hair was dark, with threads of silver woven into the long plait that fell down the rider's back. He addressed Qui-Gon in his tongue; it had a vaguely familiar sound, but Qui-Gon could not understand him.

Obi-Wan smiled at him, touched his hand to Qui-Gon's forehead. "It's a derivative of Alshen."

His head ached suddenly, but the hash of sounds began to take on shape, even if the accent was decidedly odd.

The lead rider looked almost impatient. "Tevachin Kai Vishnar ni Tierlin am I, leader of Kai Vishnar sept. The Wise ones have sent us to you to guide you safely."

"I am Qui-Gon Jinn," he told the leader, and Obi-Wan stepped forward, smiling.

"And I am Obi-Wan Kenobi."

All eyes focused on Obi-Wan intently, someone said something inaudible, but the tone was reverent.

And Qui-Gon felt the chill again.

"We will go with you," Obi-Wan told them confidently. "And you will take us to the Wise ones. And to the children."

One of the riders gestured ritually, the leader gave him a look to flay skin from flesh. "Get hence, ni Kashin."

The young man's head bowed. "Your pardon, ni Tierlin." Humbly. "And yours, Vishnar's Child."

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "No need, no offense was taken, ni Kashin."

The relief on the young man's face was open.

"Come, we have mounts for you," ni Tierlin told them. "And the wind smells of the Steppeslords. We must hurry."

Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, put a hand out to his arm. "It's all right, beloved," Obi-Wan told him. "This is where we're meant to go."

The chill came again, and even his robe did not keep it away.

Qui-Gon was stiff by the time they dismounted in the riders' encampment. Encampment might have been too temporary a word for it, these people lived in bright pavilions woven of some heavy fabric, but patterned in ways that suggested subdivisions within the sept.

The leader, ni Tierlin, led them to the largest of these pavilions and gestured. "My home is open to you, Vishnar's Star, and to you companion, Kwigun."

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan correctly gently. "My thanks, ni Tierlin."

Qui-Gon dismounted, no happier now than he had been earlier, followed ni Tierlin and Obi-Wan into the pavilion. Screens or thin partitions of woven wood divided the pavilion into separate chambers; ni Tierlin led them to one in the rear. An older man, his hair nearly all silver, waited there, a metal torque worn around his neck.

"My uncle, ni Pashir," ni Tierlin told them and offered them cushions upon which to sit.

Groaning inwardly, Qui-Gon lowered his aching body to the cushion, watched as Obi-Wan sat down with the supple ease of youth and once again felt that formless dread.

"My use name is Heilin," ni Tierlin told them, taking two steaming cups from his uncle. "My uncle is Tevachin's shaman. We are to take you to the Wise ones tomorrow, but it is a long ride and we felt a good night's rest would be helpful."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Who exactly are the Wise ones, Heilin?"

Heilin looked at his uncle, who shook his head. "You will see, Vishnar's Star."

Obi-Wan smiled. "My use name is Obi-Wan, Heilin."

Faint smile. "Be welcome among the Navache, Obi-Wan. The clans have all been told of your coming, you will find welcome among any of us. You must beware the Steppeslords, however. They kill outlanders on sight, and they are not overfond of us." Brief wry look back at the shaman. "To put it mildly. The Wise ones have always been among, although they are not Navache. For generation upon generation they have been here, tending our women in childbed, teaching our healers. And that is all I may tell you, the rest you must learn for yourself." His eyes moved to Qui-Gon. "We have an ointment that will ease your discomfort. Ekinas are our life, but for those who are not accustomed, they can prove . . . " Brief grin. "Uncomfortable."

Qui-Gon nodded uncomfortably. "That would be a kindness."

"Some of our women have been interested in seeing you; I will send one to you." Casually.

Obi-Wan shifted. "That won't be necessary, Heilin." Firmly, and with the faintest edge, the faintest loss of that distance.

Qui-Gon's mouth went dry -- same sex pairings were anathema in some cultures, but Heilin only nodded, smiled. "So, you are ish'karin?" He gave his uncle a meaningful look. "As was foretold."

Another chill brushed Qui-Gon. He sipped his tea, aching in muscles he had forgotten existed. And in his heart. A warm hand curved around his wrist, Obi-Wan's hand, and he glanced up.

"I'm all right, beloved." In Standard.

He looked into Obi-Wan's eyes. Finally nodded, not trusting himself to speak. This was all beyond his knowledge, all beyond his skill. But he had to trust what the abbot had said --more, he had to trust Obi- Wan.

Heilin was watching the interchange closely. "Here, we have a warm place prepared for you, comfortable. I will bring you something for your evening meal shortly, and if you like, we can heat water for a bath."

"That would be a kindness," Obi-Wan told him, smiling again. "A great kindness."

Heilin nodded at him, offered Qui-Gon a faint smile and rose. "This way, then." As he led them, he looked over his shoulder at Qui-Gon. "Fear not, you will soon be riding the ekina as if you were born to it. Like us." White teeth flashed in a grin.

Forcing a smile, Qui-Gon nodded. But the malaise in his muscles was spreading to his heart and soul.

Somehow, he wasn't sure a hot bath was going to be a cure.

The room they'd been given was spacious and surprisingly comfortable. A private section, set apart from the main area, as if specially built for them. Obi-Wan marveled at the ingenuity of the design, makeshift walls covered with hanging tapestries, lush in shades of deep crimson, covered with brilliant stars.

Vishnar's Star. A six-pointed beauty of pure light and Obi-Wan immediately wondered about the words of the Wise Ones, but pushed his musings aside. All things in all good time, he thought, turning his attention back to Qui-Gon who had just exited the bath and was still wincing as he sat on one of the many cushions provided.

He'd borne the discomfort of their journey with his usual stoicism, but Obi-Wan could sense his unease, both physical and mental. The physical could easily be taken care of, but the mental -- that worried him greatly. Qui-Gon had been the strong one throughout their recent trials, but Obi-Wan couldn't predict how much longer would he'd be able to hold up beneath the strain of what lie ahead. He was a proud man, that much Obi-Wan knew, and a delicate balance would have to be maintained, especially now . . . during these, the most important days of all.

There were so many things Obi-Wan wanted to say, so much he wanted to explain, but it was impossible. How could he explain something he himself understood so little of?

All he had at that moment was faith, in himself . . . and in his love for Qui-Gon. To Obi-Wan, it was as clear as sunlight and he didn't know what assurances he could possibly give to his beloved. It seemed impossible, as if he were asked to explain what the word "blue" meant or describe a piece of music using words alone.

All he could do was give reassurance through touch and the comfort of his love, but luckily, Obi-Wan couldn't think of a task more welcome or pleasant.

He smiled at his lover, but received only a worried look in return. Slid over and caressed a pale cheek. "Are you . . ."

"I'm fine," came the short reply. Qui-Gon shifted, the discomfort still obvious. "Just fine."

Obi-Wan smoothed a bit of damp hair away from Qui-Gon's forehead and brushed a kiss along his brow. "As am I, beloved." Sighed. "Remember love, I am as ever, your Obi-Wan, nothing more, and certainly nothing less. Please trust me"

A heartrending look. "I . . . I do. " Shrugged. "It is this place, love. Never before have I felt the kind of stirring in the Force I feel here. It is . . ." He paused. "Surreal. Strange. Unknown to me. For the first time in many years I feel lost. Lost within an element I should know and understand all too well."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I feel it too. This isn't a part of the Force we've been trained to deal with, Qui-Gon. It's full of hidden currents, of unresolved questions . . . of auras the Jedi have denied the existence of for thousands of years, fearing taint -- fearing darkness. But there is no darkness here, love, there is only the unknown. And if we are truly seekers of knowledge, isn't this the ideal place to begin?"

Another sigh. "I suppose so."

Obi-Wan smiled at him and retrieved a bottle of massage ointment from their pack. "Now, onto more important things. I've been neglectful of you and you haven't even corrected me for it." Admonishing tone and he heard Qui-Gon snort with laughter. "Now lay down and relax. I think it's time this padawan took proper care of his Master."

Qui-Gon obeyed with a groan, stretching his long body out over the cushions. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is so." Obi-Wan began to rub the balm into tense shoulders and heard a long sigh. Ran his fingers across the knotted muscles along Qui-Gon's spine, feeling them ripple beneath his touch. Bending, he kissed the nape of Qui-Gon's neck, receiving a satisfied murmur in reward.

Continued to knead sore muscles until they grew soft beneath his touch. Another kiss, placed between Qui-Gon's shoulder blades and Obi-Wan leaned up toward his ear. "Turn over," he said, smiling.

Qui-Gon obeyed and he set to work, smoothing his hands over soft skin, brushing lightly over sensitive areas, bending to kiss other, more responsive, spots. Heard a contented sigh and moved lower, breathing against warm skin between caresses.

"I am always your padawan," he murmured. "Always your Obi-Wan, no matter what fate lies before us."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "I love you," he whispered. Half protest, half plea. "I love you so very much, my Obi-Wan."

"I know," he replied and there were no more words as he worked his way lower, nestling between strong legs, kissing his way past arching muscles, nipping and licking warm, secret places, ones that he knew his lover liked best.

How well they knew each other Obi-Wan thought hazily, as the body beneath him undulated and shivered. He reached out with his tongue, lapping lazily at velvet flesh, delighting in the heated, tightening response. Salty, bittersweet delight, and Obi-Wan took in all his mouth could hold, then relaxed his lips and throat, taking in even more, gently sucking all the while.

Heard a gasp when he hummed against the flushed skin and he repeated the motions with a bit more force. Was rewarded with wordless pleas and strong hands holding the back of his head, urging him on. He obeyed their silent command and took Qui-Gon's cock deep within his throat, swallowing him whole, feeling his lover's heartbeat against his cheek, tasting the sea upon his tongue.

His Master came with a shudder, crying out his name and he closed his eyes against the sweetness of the sound. Only for you, he thought, holding onto Qui-Gon tightly, refusing to let him slip away. All of this is only for you, no one will ever be able to touch me so. Never again.

Obi-Wan rested his head against Qui-Gon's thigh, breathing hard. Listened to his lover's pulse and felt the content, the sheer clarity of his new existence flood him again, washing away all traces of unease and doubt.

If only he could do the same for his beloved. If only he could.

Qui-Gon was still stiff in the morning, groaned inwardly as they emerged to see their host leading the damnable, if handsome, ekinas toward them again. "More riding." Resigned.

Obi-Wan laughed softly. "It's quicker than walking, beloved."

He looked at Obi-Wan, warmed by the affection in his lover's voice. "There is that," he agreed and stretched his shoulders. The Force on this planet still tugged uneasily at his senses, but he was able to let his unease rest.

"We ride," Heilin told them soberly.

"To the Temple," Obi-Wan said softly. "To meet with the Wise."

Heilin nodded soberly. "Precisely."

Sighing again, Qui-Gon put his foot into the stirrup, swung up onto his mount and allowed himself one small moment of pleasure, watching Obi- Wan's grace as he did likewise. There was some evanescent memory lingering in the back of his mind, something he was sure he should remember, but the odd sensations persisted, even if he was able to rule his unease.

The ride, as Heilin had promised, was long, but the massage the night before had loosened the stiffness, and by midmorning, Qui-Gon found himself able to enjoy their surroundings: lush rolling grasslands, verdant and green, It was planet spring, not yet the heat of summer that would turn the grass dry and brown, and as they rode, the land shifted, trees becoming thicker, the hills flattening out somewhat.

And then, suddenly, they were there, coming out of the woods into a clear space, a small stone structure which seemed almost to have grown out of the rocky cliff behind it. Bright pavilions surrounded it, Qui- Gon saw children emerging from several of these, various ages and sizes, and they looked no different from any of the children he had ever observed at play in the Temple.

Reining in, he stared again. Saw a familiar face and shook his head to clear it. Here, at the Temple, his senses were even more troubled, almost to the point that it was hard to clear his thoughts; surely, he thought, this familiarity was part of that--but no, he knew the young man who stood with a knot of children around him. "Vidalin?" Incredulously. "Vidalin, is it you?"

The young man gently guided the children aside and started toward him, almost running. "Master Jinn! Oh, by the Force, it is good to see you here! Have you heard from Master Windu? Is all well at the Temple?"

His gut knotted. "Vidalin--" Glanced back at Obi-Wan, who was gazing at the children with a distant expression. "Obi-Wan?"

"It's good that they are here," Obi-Wan told him, that strange, disconnected voice. "Here we will build a new Order and a new Temple." Hollowly.

A chill touched his nape, he felt it shiver down his spine and turned back to Vidalin, swung down from the ekina. "I have sore news," he told the young man quietly. "Master Windu and many others are dead. Master Yoda has fallen to Darkness and taken many with him."

Grief twisted Vidalin's face, he turned away for a moment. "What are we to do here? We have no senior knights, how can we protect the children if Master Yoda searches for us?"

He had no wisdom to offer, but put his hand on the young man's shoulder. Only a few years older than Obi-Wan, Vidalin had only just passed his trials, if his memory served. "We must take care that none of the fallen find us."

"We must take the Star to meet with the Wise," Heilin told him, dismounting. "I fear you are not to enter, Qui-Gon Jinn."

Qui-Gon turned, frowning, ready to protest, but Obi-Wan dismounted, smiled at him reassuringly. "It's all right, beloved. Don't fear for me, I'll be fine. Why don't you go with Vidalin?"

His frown deepened. "Yes, I will." But his unease had blossomed again, as if the Temple itself had awakened it. "Obi-Wan, be careful."

That luminous smile again. "Be assured of it."

Heilin gestured and led Obi-Wan toward the front doors of the temple; carved in obscure symbols, they deepened his unease. But . . . Obi-Wan was no longer fragile, Obi-Wan was confident and certain of his path, and he could not gainsay it.

Turning back to Vidalin, he spoke abruptly. "Come, who is in charge here, Vidalin?"

"We have a few of the creche mothers," Vidalin told him shakily. "About ten knights, and sixty children. These women, Qui-Gon, they call themselves the Altenka."

That memory ceased evanescence and became solid, a warning in his mind that made him whirl back toward Obi-Wan. . ..but it was too late, the doors shut solidly as he turned.

The Altenka, he thought and rubbed his forehead. "Do you have any dealings with them?"

Vidalin nodded, his mouth flattening. "They avoid the knights; but they assist the creche mothers in caring for the children. We have so many, and so few adults, Master Jinn."

Obi-Wan, he thought and closed his eyes briefly. "Show me," he told Vidalin hollowly. Forced himself to smile at a child who stood nearby, clearly apprehensive of the riders. "Perhaps I can be of some help."

It was all he could do. But his thoughts were inside the building.

The Altenka.

Repressing a shiver, he followed Vidalin toward the pavilions.

The temple's interior was far less impressive than the gardens that surrounded it. It was sparsely furnished, bordering on uncomfortable, and Obi-Wan took in his surroundings with a sharp, critical eye. Stretching out around him with his feelings and the Force as he'd been trained to do since childhood, he was surprised when a group of beings emerged from the shadows, previously undetected.

At their head stood a wizened woman, tiny and stooped with age. Her eyes were sharp, keen as a single ray of starlight in a black veiled sky. Everything about her was layered in shades of gray; her hair . . . her robes, even the pallor of her skin.

She was surrounded by a group of females, also robed in gray -- taller and stronger looking, but far less imposing. They wore their hair shorn closely to their scalps giving them a decidedly harsh look, utterly devoid of any common female vanity.

They stared at him, their expressions stony. Unyielding.

Obi-Wan bowed politely and felt an immediate stir in the Force. Waves of suspicion and anger, tinged with something that was not quite Darkness, but yet, he felt none of the familiar traces Light he'd grown so accustomed to over the years.

It should have put him on his guard, but to his great surprise he felt completely comfortable in their presence, as if he'd belonged there. Always.

The old woman spoke, her voice harsh with years. "You are welcome, Jedi Kenobi."

He bowed again. "Thank you." He glanced once more at the knot of women who stood behind their leader, motionless and silent.

The crone touched his arm lightly. "Mind them not, my son. This is quite possibly the first time a Jedi has been welcomed into a temple of the Altenka and I fear my daughters are a bit uneasy. But then again, that would only be natural, wouldn't it?"

Obi-Wan started slightly. Altenka. Where had he heard that word before? A legendary Force-sensitive Order, mentioned in the stories from his history lectures. A footnote from the first Great Wars, existing during a time when Sith and Jedi battled one another for control of the galaxy, in the holy names of Darkness and Light.

It was a fight to the death, a bloody war of absolutes . . . a choice to be made for all eternity. The galaxy was fated to exist within the shadow of either Darkness or Light, all creatures living in a universe where never again would there be made room for compromise of any sort.

But the Altenka were neither Light nor Dark. They believed in balance, and physical manipulation of the Force was strictly forbidden to them. They'd claimed neutrality during the first years of the War and eventually ended up on the wrong side of both factions. Finally, shunned by the victors, hunted to extinction by the losers, they were presumed exterminated from the galaxy long before the very concept of a Republic had even begun to emerge.

They were supposed to be nothing more than a storybook tale -- a myth. The first beings to recognize the Force and its potential. Calling themselves The Ancient Ones, The Blessed .. . The Oldest of All. Rejected by most as charlatans and fakes . . .and in some unfortunate cases, executed as witches.

Their fire was to have been extinguished long before; faded into an area that no Jedi dare tread . . . the razor's edge that lie between the Enlightened and the Fallen. An edge upon which no creature could possibly exist without eventually succumbing to one side or the other.

But here they were. Living quietly on some faraway planet, revered by a primitive peoples as The Wise Ones, notable as midwives and healers, but otherwise hidden from the Jedi and rest of the galaxy.

Force-sensitive creatures in exile. Just as he and Qui-Gon were.

"I am honored . . ." Obi-Wan hesitated, not sure of what title was appropriate.

She smiled, showing aging teeth. "You may call me Mother. Or, if you like . . ." The shrewd eyes narrowed. "You may call me your Destiny. For, my dearest son, as you will soon find out . . . that is exactly what I am."

She held out a withered hand to him and Obi-Wan offered his arm, trembling slightly beneath the surprisingly strong grip. She bade him forward and he followed her into a labyrinth of gray hallways, a seemingly endless maze of bleak mortar and stone.

A maze Obi-Wan vaguely wondered if he would ever emerge from again.

How vast could an Empire possibly be?

The man who stood looking out over the night skies of Coruscant knew he would never be able to count the exact number of planets and stars he now held within his Dark grip, but in his heart, he knew they would never be enough.

He still thirsted. Thirsted in a soul that had been born and bred for this role, possibly since the beginning of time. He'd placed his faith in Destiny all along, and finally had been rewarded. He was Emperor now, and nothing, not even the hated Order, was left standing in his way.

He should have been content, if not for the nagging hunger that now plagued him day and night. Along with the vague feeling that there was something, some minor detail that he'd overlooked, these emotions both conspired to give him aching, uneasy days coupled with long, sleepless nights.

But ah, those minor details, they were so like the stars that filled the dark skies. Seemingly infinite, but the Emperor Palpatine knew they were a balancing force, easily capable of overthrowing the carefree, the inattentive . . . the careless.

He thought of Yoda. Always believed to be an unsurmountable obstacle to power, the ancient Jedi Master had fallen so easily into Darkness that Palpatine himself had been shocked . . . at first.

But, hadn't the old one himself fallen victim to a mere set of details? Watching over an entire Order, guarding it against the smallest intrusions of Darkness, could it not be said that the decrepit creature had finally given up the fight, let himself be swept away by his fears, ones that must have been more numerous than the stars above?

Palpatine pondered this for a moment, then smiled. Yes, it had all been in the singular details, hadn't it?

Not least of which was the fate of a certain Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Palpatine knew the young Jedi was still alive . . . somewhere. He'd long attuned himself to the boy's presence, noting immediately that his ultimate potential lie somewhere far beyond the ordinary. How unfortunate it was that his fool apprentice Maul had failed, but then again, it had cemented beyond a doubt that this boy was worthy of note.

Worthy of conquest.

There were stirrings in the Force this night, stirrings against the Darkness. Light tentative brushes dancing along its edges and Palpatine knew they could be coming from no other source. He would have to attend to them immediately, take the boy under his wing and tap into the power young Kenobi would soon discover to be his own.

The infinite and inestimable power of the Grayness.

But first Palpatine would have to be rid of two undue influences, one from each side of the equation. The first would be the old doddering Jedi who still held sway over the boy, the weak and foolish Master Jinn, a man so set in his teachings and outdated ways as to be laughable.

The next would be to rid himself of his unexpected rival . . . the fallen Master Yoda. The time was soon approaching when the old adages would apply and he would have to take swift, decisive action.

More than two Sith could not exist in so small a space, even if that space were the size of a galaxy. The universe itself was too small for the both of them, and it was imperative that one of them meet their ultimate fate. And soon.

For the final taking and the turning of young Kenobi would be the end result of five millennia worth of waiting for his brethren, the Sith. Vengeance would be theirs at last, and the true Fate of the galaxy would at last reveal itself.

The Chosen One, indeed.

Palpatine smiled, a ghostly death's head grin. Oh, the Chosen One shall bring balance that was certain. And by doing so, at last, all the galaxy shall learn upon which side the scales had been tipped in favor of for far, far too long.

All Palpatine had do was find him. And once that was accomplished. . .

The details would no longer matter.

Chapter Fourteen: Diaphoresis
Diaphoresis

Traitors have a peculiar smell all their own.

The sharp scent of fear, mixed in with the ranker smells of greed and denied guilt. They are a desperate breed, coming in all sizes and species, and can convince themselves of almost anything, rationalizing even the greatest of betrayals.

Such as a Jedi turning against the tenets of the Code itself.

The Emperor Palpatine stared, then smiled, at the Jedi before him, crouching and bent with the weight of his greed. He'd asked for the audience humbly at first, then with demanding tones better suited to a nobler creature. He stood before Palpatine, both boldfaced and trembling, offering his information with its cost outlined well in advance.

Smelling very much the traitor.

"Qatur, they are sure to be on Qatur," he rasped, peering around him nervously as if the walls themselves would betray him, just as he betrayed his fellows. "I remember Mace Windu discussing it once as a hypothetical refuge in case of an extreme emergency. He said there was a peculiar Force shielding available there, but would not elaborate. I'm almost sure that's where he would have sent the refugees."

Palpatine nodded. Smiled again. "Wonderful. You have done very well, my friend."

The Jedi shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't do this out of equanimity, your Highness. I expect to be rewarded."

"Oh, you will be rewarded," Palpatine promised. "You will be rewarded very well indeed." He raised a casual hand.

The traitor knight blinked, then clutched at his throat, swallowing convulsively. The muscles in his neck worked helplessly and he reeled, then fell to the floor, unable to draw in enough air to muster a scream.

The smell of fear grew thicker throughout the Imperial chamber, coating the air with the bitter scent of sheer terror. The knight held his hand forth, pleading wordlessly with eyes that bulged from their sockets, silent pleas issuing from dark blue lips, until at last, all movement ceased.

As all the while, Palpatine merely smiled.

The Emperor rose with a peaceful, satisfied expression. Stepped over the dead Jedi and stood in front of his chamber windows, peering out over the infinite, shimmering blanket of stars.

Qatur. He'd never heard of it.

A world not yet aligned with the Empire, housing a peoples unaware of the privileges an Imperial alliance might bring them.

He would have to do something to correct that.

Perhaps a personal visit would be in order. Surely his presence would be impressive enough to convince all but the most recalcitrant of world leaders to join the Empire and if it didn't . . .

There were always other methods of persuasion.

The Emperor Palpatine took a deep, satisfied breath. Grimaced slightly at the dank smell of death that was already starting to permeate his chambers. He glanced back at the corpse that lay sprawled out on the otherwise pristine floor.

Pressed his comlink, requested a particularly hungry looking governor to come and attend to his scheduled meeting . . .

Still smiling his death's head smile.

Led through a long maze into the very heart of the Temple, Obi-Wan found himself in a shadowed room, empty save for a small altar covered with black lace and a huge throne, carved out of a single great piece of shalestone. The cell was windowless save for a sliver of skylight, and he stood within the gray dusk that surrounded him, waiting . . . and wondering.

He had been in that chamber before.

Perhaps in another time, another life even, but its dark walls were familiar to him, filling him with a muted deja vu that was all but palpable. Airborne dust glittered within a single shaft of sunlight and he watched it float and refract, each shimmering touch belying a room full of fragments, representing countless numbers of stars and worlds, all of them known to him in some way or another.

Yes, he had been there before, but how long ago?

Memories flared, remembrances of battles won and lost, bloodstained earth and crimson waters laying beneath his feet. Faces, some beloved, some despised . . . all of them now remembered. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and saw it again, scene after scene flashing behind his eyelids, holofilms playing in rapid succession, blurring . . . fading, then sparking to life, clear and undeniable.

Had he been drugged somewhere along the way, or was it simply the surrounding air that evoked these dormant recollections, these hidden parts of his soul. He shook his head and opened his eyes, unwillingly leaving the visions behind. There was much to be learned, but for now, the present must be attended to.

The gathered women stood in a precipitous row behind their leader as along the walls stood the Navache, ni Tierlin at their front. All of them silent and watching. Waiting.

"Ten thousand years previous," began the ancient Mother, as she sat on her rough hewn throne, her strident voice echoing throughout the gray chamber. "... the Altenka were formed in the name of the Force, seeking not power, but true knowledge of both Light and Dark, unafraid to look into its abyss, yet refusing to wield its power until the Chosen One was revealed unto us."

Obi-Wan turned his gaze up to meet hers, hearing words he'd heard before. They echoed like the rote of a child's poem, at once prosaic and unforgettable.

"He would be a male child, our only Equal among men and through him would balance be restored. He would come to us as a healer of the great rent torn by war and the Altenka would rise forth, existing in perfect harmony with the true Living Force." The Mother stared at Obi-Wan while she spoke, unblinking, her laser sharp eyes never leaving his, burning into the very recesses of his conscious mind. "Revealed in a time of absolute Darkness, his vision would encompass both Jedi and Sith, and he would create the new and everlasting Order. The eternal, unchallenged leader of the Altenka, he is both Mother and Father, Vishnar's Star . . . The Son of Suns."

She paused. "But first, The Test must be passed. Over the millennia, some have tried, and all have failed. These failures are outlined in prophecy, but their numbers are unknown." Her voice lowered to a rough whisper. "Thus beware Jedi, as the cost for failure is eternal death. You must be certain, for there will be no return from the place you will be cast into if you fail. The test of the Chosen One is a test of unerring knowledge and perfect faith."

"What is the test?" Obi-Wan's voice was strong. Unafraid.

The laser bright eyes narrowed. "To earn your place upon the throne, you must take the Crinthblade and kill the leader of this Temple."

An ancient carved knife was revealed from beneath its lace covering and immediately Obi-Wan could hear it speak to him in tongues unknown, a silent language, one filled with prophecies both terrible and bright.

Obi-Wan picked it up, cradled it within his palm and listened to it speak.

It spoke to him of Death . . . and Redemption. A risen Order, triumphant and harmonious, bringing the shining gift of peace to the galaxy whole. It was too great an opportunity to be denied, too clear a Destiny to be overlooked. He wrapped his fingers tightly around its handle and approached the throne.

There could be no turning back.

//. . .you must take the Crinthblade and kill the leader of this Temple . . . //

Obi-Wan stepped up, and held the knife to the throat of the Mother.

She stared at him, unflinching.

Obi-Wan hesitated. No, no . . . this was not right, he thought. This is the road to failure. Something, there is something I am missing. Is she the true leader of this Temple?

Or am I?

// . . . it is a test of unerring knowledge and perfect faith . . . //

Obi-Wan blinked, closed his eyes, then turned the blade and pointed it toward his own breast.

More memories flashed, images of darkened cells, evil faces painted red and black. Of words carved into flesh and bone, of peaceful worlds destroyed -- a dying friend's trembling touch. The laughing eyes of small children, bright and beautiful, embracing their smiling mothers, dusty golden hair shining beneath the furious halo of Tatooine's desert suns.

Memories of the first . . . and last time he made love to Qui-Gon. Warm kisses and caresses beyond counting, a nestled womb of perfect trust along with murmured promises, so many passionate vows -- made only to be broken.

There was pain then, the terrible pain of severing the bonds between himself and his beloved, bringing his shields down for what could be eternity. A part of his soul, of himself, torn away by his own choice, the sacrifice seemed almost too great to bear, but he would make sure that Qui-Gon's final memory of him would not be of pain, but of the love they shared, and would hopefully share eternally as one within the balanced Force.

But for now . . .

He pressed the blade to his heart and called out with his soul.

//Forgive me beloved.//

He drove the knife home.

A scream rose from the gathered Altenka, a mixed cry of terror and elation. They fell to their knees, foreheads to the floor, their cloaks quivering around them in trembling folds of gray. The Navache followed suit, prostrating themselves at length along the stone floor, not daring to make a sound.

The test had been passed.

"Behold," whispered The Mother as she looked upon Obi-Wan's fallen body, as the blood slowly pooled at the foot of her gray shale throne. "Behold Vishnar's Star . . . the Son of Suns."

The padawans were almost embarrassingly happy to see a Temple Master, Qui-Gon found; he called the older ones together with the knights and the creche mothers, told them what Bant had told him.

"If Master Yoda has fallen," young Ventris asked, her expression shocked and apprehensive, "What are we to do?"

"Master Windu sent you to safety to begin the Order again." Gently, and he was making assumptions, but from what they had told him, it seemed to have been Mace's plan. "Obviously, the Force has led us here to join you."

He only wished he knew that to be so; indeed, Bayard, a knight nearing thirty, frowned at him. "But Master Jinn, the Force is strange here. And these women treat us as if we are anathema, because we are Jedi. Surely, Master Windu cannot have meant us to begin again here."

"Perhaps that's exactly why," Qui-Gon said slowly, thinking about it. "Perhaps because he knew something about this planet that we do not. What better place to begin again than the last place the old Order might expect."

After a moment, Bayard nodded, his expression still troubled. "Where is Obi-Wan, Master Jinn?"

Taken aback, he looked over his shoulder. "The Navache have taken him to see the Altenka." The doors to the temple remained stubbornly closed. "They believe him to be the fulfillment of some prophecy of theirs, they call him Vishnar's Star."

Bayard's eyes widened. "The Chosen One," he said softly. "Master Jinn--"

He sent out a tendril of thought, of query, along the link he shared with Obi-Wan. At first, he felt nothing, only shields--against him!--and then there was stubborn determination, the lightning sense of comprehension, and he sought further. . ..

Felt Obi-Wan's life force suddenly wink out like a candle flame. "NOOOO!!" Unaware of anything but that void, he turned toward the temple in disbelief. "NOOOOOOO! OBI-WAN!" Ran toward the doors, heedless of the Navache who tried to stop him, who tried to hold him back.

It was wrong, it could not be true, not after all they had endured, not after all that had happened, it could not be true. He could not allow it to be true. He hammered at the doors, shouting Obi-Wan's name, a mixture of rage and grief and he could not tell which was paramount, but he had to get inside.

The doors remained unmoving, though his hands hurt, and they bore him down, calling urgently to one another. Bayard, somehow, was above him. "Master Jinn," holding his head, "Master Jinn, they say they don't want to hurt you, but you must stop!"

The void filled his heart and mind. "Obi-Wan!" He struggled again, felt Bayard's fingers touch his face, struggled against the touch of Force he felt, struggled against the sleep that Bayard forced on him.

"You must stop," Bayard murmured again, eyes wide and shocked. "Sleep, Master Jinn."

Obi-Wan, he thought, dazed, arched up under the hands that held him, roaring in fury. "Let me go!!"

More Force, and then he was helpless against it, borne under by Bayard's skill and carried into darkness. . ..

Whispering. Whispering. Qui-Gon lay very still, listening to it, careful not to move and alert the watchers that he had awakened.

Obi-Wan. Gone, at last, after all their struggles, the absence of his beloved was like an open wound in his chest, in his mind, in his heart. It took all his strength to lie still, to be cunning, to pretend to sleep, when all he wanted to do was howl with grief and loss.

". . ..I don't understand, why did Obi-Wan kill himself?" Soft voice, a woman's voice, one he didn't recognize. "Are you sure that these women didn't do it?"

"I trust the Navache, and they were there to witness it." Bayard, sounding exhausted. "They sit vigil with his body now, Rilka. I don't know why."

"Suicide." Tremulously. "Everything is falling apart, Bayard."

Bayard was silent. "Keep a watch on him, Rilka, he should sleep a while longer yet. I am going to sit the vigil with the Navache and the Altenka. I don't want Obi-Wan's body dishonored."

A soft sound like distress. "I will," she murmured. "Oh, Bayard, what are we going to do here?"

"We'll think of something," he told her.

Letting his eyes open to slits, Qui-Gon found he was inside one of the Jedi pavilions, in a private partition. A small lamp glowed nearby, something cannibalized from the ships; he stared at it, almost unseeing, until his eyes began to ache, closed them again.

Obi-Wan was dead. His beloved was dead. Suicide.

What could have driven Obi-Wan to such an act of desperation; the young man who had assured him the night before had not been shadowed.

It had to be something the Altenka had done to him.

He began to tremble, thinking of it. Had they roused those memories in Obi-Wan's mind? The legends spoke of such things, of Altenka powers and the methods they had once used. It was too much to bear, thinking of Obi-Wan, alone in his mind, facing Maul's darkness, facing Yoda's manipulations, suffering to the point of suicide.

The young man he had taken from Coruscant had been very near suicide. In his arrogance, he had thought that the danger was long past.

He had not reckoned with the Altenka.

Vengeance was meaningless. He did not want vengeance. He wanted Obi-Wan.

He got up from the pallet, moved toward the pavilion's entrance; the girl, Rilka, moved to stop him. "I am still sleeping," he told her, gesturing toward the pallet. "You need not worry."

"I need not worry," she agreed, somewhat dreamily and sat back down on the grass.

Ghosting his way past the other pavilions, he drew the early twilight around him like a cloak, masking his presence, hiding himself; Obi-Wan's body had been laid out before the temple, a canopy of shimmering fabric raised over the bier. There was an honor guard of Navache; he deflected their attention and leaned over the pale, lifeless face. "How I have loved thee," he whispered and bent to kiss cold lips. His vision blurred, and he moved blindly, kissed waxen eyelids, pressed his cheek against Obi-Wan's hair. "I am so sorry, beloved." Brokenly, humbly. "I cannot go forward without you."

There was no answer, no miracle of life renewed. He had not expected that there would be.

He touched Obi-Wan's face one last time. "I cannot," he murmured again. "They will have to find their own way." Turning, he walked away from the bier, from Obi-Wan's still form, and away from the temple.

Grass whispered around his boots. He paused, considering; there was a hint of rain from the east. He dropped his robe, dropped his lightsaber and belt, removed his boots and then turned in that direction.

He could not go forward without Obi-Wan. But he could seek his fate.

So let it be, he told himself distantly, and began to walk.

One of his knights had died. Yoda had felt that death like a pinprick on one of his extremities, had turned his consciousness in that direction only to find. . ..nothing.

Palpatine.

So here he was in the Imperial Palace, only to be told that the Emperor had been called offworld rather suddenly.

"Called offworld where?" he demanded and the chamberlain almost cringed away.

"I don't know, Master Yoda." Thin voice. Fearful voice.

It touched some savagery deep, deep inside him. "Find out, you will," he snapped, putting a twist of Force on the words.

The chamberlain fled.

He took a chair, leaned forward on his stick. Obi-Wan's continued existence was like a canker in his soul, and it ached, oh, how it ached, and the Emperor had promised him that finding the brat would be a priority.

In the corner of the room, a figure moved toward him, out of the shadows. He leaned up, peering, saw a lithe and nubile figure, wearing little more than diaphanous white silk. Ah, yes, he had forgotten, Amidala, the young Queen of Naboo, now the Emperor's concubine. She looked far different than the composed and serious young Queen these days, nipples pressed against the pale, nearly translucent silk, face painted like an expensive courtesan. "I can tell you where he's gone," she whispered and knelt before Yoda, hands linked in a silent plea. "I will tell you, if you give me more."

Dispassionately, he studied her face, saw the faint signs of dissipation marring her beauty and youth. What was she now, only fifteen? "More of what?"

Her hands unfolded, rested on his lap. "More of the solathe," she whined, "He left me without any, Master Yoda, I can't bear it, please, I will tell you everything I know. He doesn't tell you everything, but he boasts to me when he comes to me at night."

That pricked his vanity. He rather prided himself on his knowledge of the Emperor, on the watch he kept over the Emperor. On his control over the Emperor. "What can you tell me, child? I see every move he makes." Palpatine was growing as transparent as the silks Amidala wore, he rather thought. A man hungry for power and more power, and yet still with the weaknesses of the flesh.

Slender fingers stroked the fabric of his robes. "He doesn't tell you everything," she repeated and almost writhed against him. "Please, if give me more, I will, I swear it."

That savagery stirred again within him. Reaching out with Force, he gripped her soul. "Tell me now, you will!!"

A sharp cry, terrified eyes, and he remained unmoved. From a wise and serene Queen, she had become little more than a bed toy, addicted to solathe; it would be a mercy to end her suffering, he thought, but not until she had spoken.

"He's gone to Qatur!" Gasping against the pain and she writhed against him now, the silks coming open to reveal a few telling bruises on ivory flesh. "To find the Temple children. One of your own knights told him!"

He loosened his hold on her. A traitor, that was it, a traitor who had chosen the Emperor over his Order. Ah, well, that took care of his missing knight. "Qatur," he repeated and closed his eyes, casting his memory back in time. A younger Mace Windu, telling him of a strange world where the Force did not behave as it did on other worlds. That was it, Qatur, and he could almost see it in his mind's eyes, almost reach out to it and. . ...

By the Force, Obi-Wan himself was there! He could feel that canker in his soul twist, more pain, more ache, and his rage swelled. "Qatur." His voice was soft. "So that is where he has gone."

She did not flinch away, but pressed closer against him. "Please, Master Yoda, can you get me solathe?" Eyes shadowed by pain. "I cannot bear it."

Roughly, he pushed her away, she fell backwards and collapsed, weeping. "Please! I can tell you other things, too! He has destroyed my Gungans, all of them, he had them brought like livestock here!" Pushing herself up, she leaned forward, the silk pulled taut against her breasts. "He had them slaughtered, Master Yoda." Faintly sly look in those beautiful eyes now. "Are not the Gungans distant relatives of your species, Master Yoda? He had them slaughtered and butchered and served in pastry at the last Imperial Banquet, Master Yoda. Did you partake?"

Staring at her, Yoda felt his gorge rising. He had eaten the flesh of sentient beings. . ..no, he would not believe it. "Lies, these are." Hoarsely.

"The pastries were shaped like Imperial sigil, the sun, with the rays extending." There was definite malice in that too bright gaze now. "Full of Gungan flesh, and a very good rada sauce. I believe the Senator from Aldebaran asked for a second serving."

She, too, had gone bad, like Palpatine, he thought, almost dispassionately. Rising, he stepped clear of her, began to walk away.

"No, please." A change of tone, more pleading, more whining, an edge of desperation. "Don't leave me here, take me with you, I can tell you many things. I need my solathe, Master Yoda, he left me without any!"

Yoda stopped, considering. Turned to regard her. "Dead already, you are," he mused aloud. There was no cure for solathe addiction. All her beauty would soon be gone, particularly if Palpatine had tired of her. Her integrity was gone, all her wisdom, and what was she now but a rather better dressed and cleaner whore, like those in the seediest part of the city, near the spaceport, selling her sex for another dose of forgetfulness?

It would be a mercy to kill her, he thought again, and reached out with the Force. Because she was little more than a child, and because she had once been good, he made it as painless as possible, reached within to crush her heart. A strangled cry at the pain, and wide eyes, staring in disbelief, and she lay crumpled on the floor.

Closing his eyes, he reached out to Qatur. Yes, that world had some strangeness about it, but he could feel Obi-Wan burning brightly, an ember in the heart of an almost dead hearth fire. As he held Qatur in the palm of his hand, he felt that ember flicker out, almost cried out aloud in disappointment, but wait, there was something . . . something not quite right about it. He would not be robbed, he swore, he would not! The brat was to be his, and he would have Obi-Wan, one way or another.

The ember was not completely out, he thought and resisted the urge to crush Qatur in his hand, slowly released the Force he had used to sense it.

As an afterthought, on his way out, he put an end to the chamberlain, still lurking in the corridor outside.

Obi-Wan, yes. But Palpatine, he thought grimly, was next.

Chapter Fifteen: Fides Obscura
The price of blind faith

//Obi-Wan was walking.

Walking beneath a harsh blue sky that held no hint of rain, walking through burnt, bitter fields destroyed by thirst. Further on were the towering mountains that stood like a row of kings guarding the horizon, stone lords impervious and powerful with their emerald forest cloaks slung across mighty shoulders, white clouds of hair spun wildly at their peaks.

The smell of endless fires; dark, thick and acrid filled the air, burning his nostrils. Obi-Wan tried to shake the scent away, but it clung stubbornly, as an unwanted reminder of war and strife.

He looked up and the creature he once knew as Maul stood before him, cleansed of Darkness, free of the red and black markings that had once scarred him from head to foot. Obi-Wan was surprised to feel no fear, no anger at the apparition. It was as though they'd been there together always, standing side by side for all eternity simply unaware of the other's existence.

Until now.

Maul smiled at him. "I'm glad to see you, Jedi. It's a pleasant day today. Will you walk with me?" he asked shyly.

Obi-Wan considered for a moment, then acquiesced. The dead grasses whispered beneath their boots as they walked side by side through the fields as their robes -- one black, one white, brushed against one another at the hem.

"I was once like you, you know," Maul confided pleasantly. "Full of hope and ambition, inspired by the sophistry of my Masters the ones of the Light. Wonderful speakers they were, with thousands of years of teaching and triumph and history on their side." He sighed. "But that's the problem with history isn't it? The winners get to write all the books."

Obi-Wan nodded. Heard the shrill laughter of children and saw a pavilion filled with tiny, hopeful youngsters who, when they saw him, took off as one running like the wind and disappearing over the far hills toward the mountains, faster than the eye could follow.

"They failed me in the end," Maul continued. "All the while convincing me offhandedly I'd failed myself. I then took a new Master, the one that was Darkness. As it turned out he was no better, no worse than my old Masters, just different." A shrug . . . followed by a hint of sadness.

A snatch of chanted song rang out and Obi-Wan watched as a choir of ebony and crimson angels tumbled to earth, spotting bloodlace upon the soil. He sidestepped carefully and they melted away, taken back into the dead ground from whence they had come .

"In the end," Maul continued after a moment, "None of that mattered. My faith in both of them was blind; misguided. I saw nothing of the truth until it was far too late to realize we should take no Masters but ourselves and question all others who would tell us otherwise."

Obi-Wan peered at Maul. "Is that why you are here? To tell me the truth?"

"No." A small smile creased Maul's features, along with a touch of amusement. "Actually, I just came to tell you that I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

Obi-Wan considered him for a long moment. The scent of rain was in the air then, sweet and clean, whispering of rebirth. Whispering of life.

The Jedi nodded. "Yes, and I, too, am sorry. I think we've both made the same mistakes."

It was then that the sky above them opened and the rains began in earnest. Rolling bursts of thunder and torrents of fresh water washed over them as Obi-Wan peered up into the sky and smiled. He opened himself to the deluge and it filled him, with neither Light nor Darkness, only with knowledge, bright, perfect and pure.

It was then that Obi-Wan Kenobi knew he was alive and finally, blessedly, free.

He held his arms out and spun, laughing, beneath the rains for what could have been a moment or a lifetime. Looked around for Maul, but he stood in the distance, at the edge of the blossoming fields, far past the chasm of life that yawned just a step beyond Obi-Wan's reach.

Obi-Wan waved him on, beckoning him to follow, but Maul shook his head. Called out to him over the deep rolls of thunder. "One more favor, my friend?"

Obi-Wan agreed joyfully. "Yes?"

"My name is T'seratz. T'seratz Falkz. When you return again, would you please remember me as that?" He looked away, somewhere far past the burnt fields, past the stone monarch mountains. "If you could, I would like that very much."

Obi-Wan Kenobi smiled joyously as the chasm continued to beckon. He took the final step toward it. "Yes. Yes, I will. I promise."

There was no reply as the chasm's light devoured him, but then again, Obi-Wan already had all the answers he'd ever needed.//

The storm was not letting up. Standing up in his stirrups, Stefan, Goten's son, cursed his father, his father's overlord, and the new, mysterious, distant Emperor who had offered them both alliance and the tools to defeat the gods rotted Navache.

The ship had been found three days earlier, but it had been stripped of supplies and was empty; the outworlders had vanished, which meant that they were doubtless with the Navache. His father had raged about that, so here was Stefan, out in the rain with a handful of his father's armsmen, trying to find outworlders in a raging storm.

Lightning cracked above, uncomfortably near to them; Stefan saw the pale outline of a man on the nearby hill, arms raised to the sky as if beseeching the gods.

"There," he called over his shoulder, as the thunder rolled. "Did you see that?"

One of the younger armsmen made the sign against evil, but his father's captain, Rolf spurred forward, leading the way.

The man was drenched, barefoot, clad in strange garb that marked him as one of their quarry, but he offered no weapon, no resistance when Rolf dismounted and took hold of him. "Have you seen my padawan?" he asked vaguely, his accented Standard difficult, but not impossible to understand.

"Padawan?" Rolf looked up at Stefan, his face a pale smudge in the rainy darkness.

"Bind him and put him behind Egil," Stefan told Rolf wearily. "You, where is your companion?"

"Far away," the man answered softly, "Far away and gone from me, my poor Obi-Wan, I have failed him again."

Perhaps even partial success was enough to get them inside and warm again, Stefan thought. "Hurry, Rolf, before we all catch our death. I'll take him back to the manor, let my father and Lord Odo question him."

"Yes, m'lord," Rolf told him.

Stefan pulled the hood of his slicker more closely around him, watched as Rolf chivvied the man into the saddle behind young Egil. So very strange, there was no resistance at all, only the constant broken murmuring about Obi-Wan, his lost beloved.

It made Stefan shudder; perhaps the Emperor sought these men for the crime of lying with one another. It was an uncomfortable thought, but he shoved it away, as he shoved all thoughts that did not align with his father's will. "Home," he told Rolf shortly, and turned the horse in that direction.

With any luck, his father would be temporarily satisfied with partial success. And if this companion was gone or, as the murmuring suggested, dead, his father would discover that, too.

And have something to present to the Emperor when summoned before him in a hand of days.

He could only hope.

The vigil besides Obi-Wan's body continued into its second night. A silent circle of Knights and Navache eyed each other warily while the Altenka knelt before the bier, their heads bowed, their long cloaks spread out around them like the gray wings of ancient, exotic birds.

The knight named Bayard stood at the head of the gathered Jedi, his expression grim. Qui-Gon had been missing for over a full rotation and hopes of finding him alive were fading fast. He tried to remain hopeful, tried to retain his Jedi calm, but the multiple tragedies around him were unfolding too quickly -- too many, too fast.

The padawan Ventris walked up, a pair of scanner glasses clutched tightly in her hand. "Master Jinn is not within scanning range, Master. I've climbed to the peak of the nearest plateau and can find no trace of him." She paused. "Except for this." She pulled a pack from her shoulder and handed it to Rilka. Inside it were Qui-Gon's robe and belt, lightsaber and boots.

Rilka examined the items for a moment. Bowed her head, suddenly looking ashamed and tearful. "This is my fault, Bayard. I should have kept better watch over him."

Bayard shook his head angrily. "No, this is no one's fault. This place is damned. I don't understand why in Sith's name Master Windu sent us here." His fists clenched. "There are so many things I don't understand anymore. Now there is no one left to guide us, to help us. If Master Yoda has fallen, how can we trust in his teachings. How can we trust in anything?"

Ventris blanched. "There is always the Force, Master . . ."

Bayard grimaced and turned toward the bier where Obi-Wan's body lay, still covered with a shimmering shroud. Looked at it with eyes that shone too brightly in the dull moonlight. "Ah, the Force. With its Light and its Darkness and everything that could possibly lay in- between." Bitter voice. "I've always believed, I've always obeyed, so why do I feel as though everything I've ever been taught is scorning us? Laughing at us, mocking us straight into the grave while ever we cling like fools to its falsehoods."

Rilka touched his arm lightly. "Faith, my friend. We may have lost our fellows, but we cannot lose the one thing that binds us to them still."

"And what is that? Death, be it realized or imminent?" Bayard turned toward the looming plateaus and swallowed hard. Wiped a shaking hand over his face. "We must gather our resources and try to find Master Jinn." Grimly. "If exposure to the elements doesn't kill him, the Steppeslords surely will."

Rilka shuddered, but nodded in agreement. "I'll gather the others and begin our preparations."

Her departure was interrupted by Heilin's deep voice. "Hold outworlders," said the Navache quietly. "Before you prepare to do battle, why not wait until Vishnar's Star awakes? He will find your missing Master, and you will have no need to fear the Steppeslords or anyone else ever again."

Bayard blinked, then glared at the tall Navache. "Are you mad?" he growled. "Have you -all- gone mad? That man who lies there isn't asleep, he's dead. He is not going to lead anyone anywhere except poor Qui-Gon to his death. And if what you say is true, if he has taken his own life, then his selfishness has hurt us all." Bayard brusquely pushed his way past Heilin, but was stopped in his tracks by a gentle, yet strong hand holding onto his arm.

The Navache didn't raise his voice, but continued to speak in the same calm, quiet tones. "You should believe, friend Knight. The circle is nearly complete, the end to all our trials is near." Gently. "Remember, you Jedi are not the only ones who have suffered. Stay, at least until the dawn. If nothing has transpired by then I will send a group of my best warriors with you. But stay, for one last night."

"Madman," Bayard murmured angrily, but stood his ground. Heilin was right; there could be little accomplished in the dark and they could certainly use the help of the more experienced Navache riders and trackers.

Even if it were only to find another one of their own, dead by either his own hand or the hands of the Steppeslords. And from what little he knew of the Steppeslords, Bayard could only pray for Qui-Gon's sake, it would be the former . . . not the latter.

It could be the only hope any of them had left.

"Have you ever met my padawan?" The prisoner smiled at Lord Odo, and Stefan felt the faintest chill. "He was brave even as a young boy, he offered to sacrifice himself on Bandomeer, but I could not allow it. So brave and so young, and it tore away the fears I had wrapped around myself, I saw that Xanatos' fall was due to his own flaw, and not to my teaching. Obi-Wan resisted Darkness always." Grief twisted the man's expression. "I failed him again and again, I did, I allowed Maul to take him, I found no way to stop it, I allowed myself to be sent away when he needed me most, and it nearly destroyed him."

Stefan shivered, despite being warm and dry. The prisoner was neither, bound in a chair, clothing still sodden, bootless feet on the cold, stone of the cell.

Lord Odo frowned, examining the small blade he held. "Where is your companion?"

Suddenly serene again, the prisoner smiled. "He's at the market, you see, with Anakin. He's getting stronger everyday, my beloved, and is nearly whole."

The man was mad, Stefan thought, and felt unwilling pity.

Lord Odo stepped in front of the chair, leaned forward. "Where is your companion, outworlder?" Evenly. "The other man, where is he?"

"The storm would not take me," the prisoner murmured and his face twisted again, hopeless sorrow. "By the Force, I tried, I tried to pull the lightning to me, but it would not obey."

Goten stood with his arms folded, scowling. "This is pointless."

"He is feigning madness," Odo muttered and drew the tip of the small, sharp dirk along the prisoner's cheekbone lightly. A thin red line appeared and began to seep blood.

Stefan's belly roiled, he didn't dare glance at his father, who would only be angry with his weakness. What purpose in torturing a madman, he wondered, and swallowed hard against the acid in his throat.

But the prisoner's gaze cleared, became lucid. "Kill me," he told Odo, "I do implore you. Kill me, I cannot bear this pain."

"You will wish you were dead if you do not tell me where your companion is," Odo snapped. "Tell me."

"He is gone." And then, racking sobs shook the tall frame. "I failed him, he is gone." Lucidity evaporated. "He is so beautiful, my Obi-Wan. Have you ever met him? So strong and good, and yet I did not wish to take him as padawan. Even as a boy, his bright soul shone through, and I was too afraid for too long. Oh, how I wish I had not waited."

Odo used the blade again, along the other cheekbone. "Speak sense, damn your hide!"

"Blood and fire," the prisoner's voice became dreamy. "That was Coruscant when Mace died. I saw it in a dream, did you know? I did not tell Obi-Wan. He felt the death of billions, it was too much for him to carry."

The knife flashed, there was a scream of agony and bright blood dripped down the prisoner's face from where one eye had been.

Standing quite still, Stefan swallowed hard, tasted acid again, stolidly stared at a point just beyond the prisoner's head.

There was another scream. And it was only just beginning . . .

The first thing Obi-Wan Kenobi saw was the rising sun.

Red sky at morn, crimson fingers streaking across Qatar's bright blue sky, reaching past the horizon. He blinked, flicked his tongue across lips that were cold and dry, felt his sluggish blood churn to life, pumping through veins that were all but collapsed.

The old Jedi teaching sprang to his mind, unbidden.

//There is no Death, there is only the Force.//

At least they'd gotten one thing right.

Obi-Wan tested his muscles, found them sore, but not too much so and slowly sat up. Pushed aside the thin shroud that draped the flower covered bier and peered out over the grassy pavilion stretched out before him alongside rolling hills of green. Stood, gained his balance easily and began to walk toward the far peaks that beckoned.

Where he knew that Fate was waiting for him.

He carefully stepped past the kneeling Altenka, prostrated Navache and shocked, terrified Jedi, knights and padawans alike. They parted like a wave before him as he walked, their faces pale. Only a tiny girl, one of the creche children, ran up to him and tugged on the hem of his cloak, her eyes wide.

"Master ... " Her small voice carried through the silent breeze.

He absentmindedly caressed her cheek and continued to walk.

"Master ..." The tiny girl tugged on his cloak again and pointed at Obi-Wan's face. "Crying ... hurt?"

Obi-Wan blinked, then wiped warm wetness away from his eyes. Looked down at his hand and saw a smear of blood where there should have been the salt water of tears.

In a heartbeat he realized what had happened to Qui-Gon.

//Beloved ... no.//

Anger filled him and he made no move to fight against it. Serenity could walk hand in hand with righteous rage, this much he was certain of now. He looked up, tasting the air around him, searching for signs.

His love was not yet dead. But if not retrieved soon...

Obi-Wan sensed other presences as well. The Dark Lord, the Emperor was very close and upon his heels followed Master Yoda, once a bright star of Light, now shriveled and bent toward the Darkness. They came not in unison, but divided, separated by hatred and at odds over the need for power. The power to hold an entire galaxy in the palm of one hand, to allow it to either live or die by that hand, that was the nature of the command they craved.

Neither one of them were going to get it, of that Obi-Wan would make sure.

For that power was his now, and his alone. His by birthright and prophecy -- accorded to him by Fate and the Force.

He turned back to the gathered and motioned with his right hand. "Follow me." It was a single, irresistible command and they rose as one. Filed slowly behind him as he made his way to the Temple to begin the plans for the final conquest.

The time was upon them all now and the true battle was close at hand.

At long last.

Chapter Sixteen: Descent
The beginning of the end

The prisoner had been given into Stefan's charge. He suspected that this was a matter of shifting blame, since Lord Odo had not managed to wring any answers from the unfortunate outworlder. He wasn't at all sure how the Emperor would respond to this usurpation of prerogatives and it made his stomach knot; it felt like a stone somewhere behind his breastbone.

The best he could do was see that the prisoner survived until the Emperor's arrival. To this end, he summoned a healer to the small, dank cell in the cellar of his father's manor, and ordered slaves to make the cell as clean as they could make it. He also, almost as an afterthought, ordered dry clothing and warm blankets.

The healer, Ser Gottfried, was less than pleased by what he found. "Who did this?" he demanded of Stefan, and when Stefan told him bluntly, pressed his lips together in a flattened line. At least, Stefan thought grimly, there would be no further recriminations from the healer, and Gottfried worked silently with ointments and bandages and hot water.

The prisoner was silent throughout, seeming but half-conscious, but when Stefan had to assist Gottfried in removing the wet, dank clothing, he took hold of Stefan's arm. "Of your mercy," hoarsely, "End this. Kill me."

Gottfried gave him a long look, but said nothing.

"I cannot," Stefan told the captive shortly. "You aren't to die."

A small sound, not quite a moan. The long, lanky body was scarred here and there, all healed wounds; he would be willing to bet that this man had once been a warrior of some kind and felt that unwilling pity again. Blinded and captive and wandering in his wits; it would have been a mercy to kill him, but the man's fate was not in his hands.

With his patient warmly clothed again, Gottfried eased him back onto the cell's narrow cot, murmuring something indistinct, carefully tucked blankets around the long body. Then, scowling, he looked back at Stefan. "Will there be more of this? I will not keep this man alive only for torture, Lord Stefan."

He nodded, finding it in him to admire the healer's adherence to his oaths. "I think so. I do not know for certain. You must hope that the Emperor arrives before there is more."

"Emperor?" The man's head turned, he smiled at Stefan, a ghastly death's head smile. "Is there an Emperor now? The Republic is no more?"

Stefan swallowed hard. "There is an Emperor. He has offered us alliance."

Harsh laughter, riding the thin edge of hysteria. "Ah, my Obi-Wan, perhaps this is why. I salute you, my beloved, you have escaped them yet again." Coughing took the place of laughter and Gottfried scowled again, opened his kit and took out a vial and an injector.

The coughing and the laughter stopped when the needle penetrated flesh. Stefan looked away, his gut roiling again, cursing the fate that had left him his father's heir after his brother's death. "See to it that he survives," he ordered Gottfried brusquely and all but fled, seeking fresher air and sunlight.

Even that wasn't enough to clear the fear from his heart, but it would have to suffice.

The darkness was now complete, not merely of the spirit, but of the flesh. Suddenly amused by that thought, Qui-Gon let laughter bubble up, let it break free. Z'rakethi? Not precisely, but he found he cared little about what had been done to him, or what would likely be done to him soon. He could feel the malignance approaching this world, was grateful that Obi-Wan was no longer vulnerable to it.

He had failed Obi-Wan again and again during this odyssey; only a fool would have supposed that he could protect his beloved from both Yoda and the Emperor. Laughter turned to tears suddenly, and the salt burned raw flesh, agonizing pain. He welcomed it, finding in it relief from the tearing grief and loss. "Beloved," he said aloud, "Would that they had killed me. The Light side of the Force willing, they will yet, and I will join you."

He hoped. He could no longer find real sanity or faith in any of what he had been taught, in anything he had lived.

Save for Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan was gone.

That brought laughter again, antic hilarity, and he let the brief moment of sanity slip past him, sank gratefully back into the chaos that had swallowed him up.

He wondered, dimly, if anyone could tell him where Obi-Wan had gone....

It was the largest star vessel Stefan had ever seen on the surface of his home world, the largest and certainly the most dangerous, at least in appearance. Squatting on precious meadowland, it seemed almost to cast a dark shadow over the men standing guard at the foot of ramp, men of the Imperial Guard, their uniforms an unfortunate scarlet.

Among his people, scarlet was the color of mourning; Stefan found himself wondering if there was an omen in that, turned almost involuntarily to regard the prisoner who rode behind him.

The outworlder's hands were bound to the saddlehorn; the healer's bandages hid the ruin of eyes that would never see again. For part of the way the prisoner had sung quietly to himself, but a clout from of the guardsmen had silenced him.

Now, he swayed silently in the saddle, but with an enigmatic smile that made Stefan long to administer another clout.

"Get him down," Stefan's father growled. "And wait back here with him."

Lord Odo gave him a long look, glanced at Goten and nodded, his mouth thinning out. "Although what the Emperor hopes to learn from a madman..." Bitterly.

Stefan nodded and dismounted, moved to supervise the guardsmen. "The Emperor wants him unharmed," he told Kenag, his father's captain. "Make certain they handle him gently.

Kenag arched an eyebrow, but nodded.

Unharmed, Stefan thought and shuddered again, remembering what lay under the bandages. He wondered privately what the Emperor would think about that, found he didn't want to know.

His father and Lord Odo were approaching the long ramp that led into the bowels of the star vessel. He suppressed the desire to shudder again and took hold of the outworlder's arm. "Here, this way."

"The sun still shines," said the outworlder, sounding surprised. "The wind still blows--and he is here. I would offer you my pity, but I have none left to spare."

This made as little sense as anything else the outworlder had said and Stefan ignored it, joined his father at the foot of the ramp and looked up into the shadows.

A man stood there clad in regal robes, a thin gold band worn around his brow. The Emperor then, he thought, but the man's face was subtly wrong in ways that he couldn't quite define.

The outworlder laughed softly. "My death is come."

"Be silent," Stefan hissed.

The Emperor gazed at them without speaking, but even when he smiled, that wrongness remained. "Lord Odo, Lord Goten," he greeted them. "You have brought me that which I have sought. You will be rewarded."

"Rewarded how?" Odo demanded sourly. "This is a lunatic, Majesty, how can he be of use to you?"

The Emperor's smile grew broader. "That doesn't concern you, Lord Odo." His teeth showed briefly, and the smile felt dangerous to Stefan. He fought the instinctive desire to back away, straightened his shoulders instead. "Qui-Gon Jinn," said the Emperor, then, more sharply. "What has happened to his eyes?"

Odo and Goten shifted apart, and Stefan recognized his father's immediate desire to distance himself from Odo's recklessness.

"I was questioning him, Majesty," Odo muttered, "And he would not answer as to the whereabouts of his companion, the other you sought."

The Emperor moved down the ramp, a slow and unnerving glide that pushed Stefan beyond courage; he took a step backward after all, tugging the outworlder with him.

The outworlder, however, was not cooperating. He jerked his arm from Stefan's grasp, and smiled just as broadly as the Emperor. "You," he said quietly, and his tone was both joyful and knowing. "You've come at last. I can't tell you how glad I am."

There really was something wrong with the Emperor's face, Stefan realized with growing horror. Something wizened and ancient seemed to peer out of the Emperor's eyes, as if the face he saw was only an illusion, a mask worn to protect. Protect those who looked upon on it, he thought a little wildly, and glanced away.

"I wonder how glad you are, Qui-Gon Jinn." The Emperor stood close, an arm's length from the outworlder and that was too close, Stefan's heart was pounding, it was hard to get a deep breath and he hadn't the slightest idea of why.

"Lord Odo," said the Emperor, "You disappoint me."

"Majesty, I sought only to serve you." Unctuous tone, as if Odo were rethinking his approach, but the last word was choked off.

Stefan looked, regretted it. Odo's hands had flown to his throat, strong fingers wrapped around--gods above and below, Odo appeared to be strangling himself while the Emperor looked on, serene and untroubled, save for those occasional flashes of ancient evil that made Stefan's knees tremble.

"Father," he whispered, beyond shame, "Father, let us leave this place."

The Emperor's gaze fell on him and he shrank back. "Go, then," he told Stefan, almost kindly. "Tell your people that the Emperor brooks no disobedience, boy. Tell them what the punishment can be."

Goten stood stock still, white as erhas flour. "Majesty," he ventured and took a step backward.

The Emperor turned to him. "You, my lord, are not excused."

This time, the Emperor's smile was enough to tear a small, nearly unborn shriek from Stefan's throat. He fled, beyond shame, beyond sanity.

"Take the prisoner inside," he heard, and that was all.

"Crude," Palpatine's voice was soft. "But effective."

He casually examined the gouged tissue, ran a thumb across a bit of protruding bone. "But a Jedi Master doesn't need eyes, does he, Master Jinn?"

"You're too late, I'm afraid." A horrible sightless grin. "He is gone, I am gone ... nothing remains. Nothing at all." Laughter bubbled up then, hoarse and mad, and Palpatine felt the first flickers of rage start to smolder.

"Where? Where is he?" He kept his voice low, but filled it with Force, the Dark Force he knew, and let it crawl into the mind of the helpless man before him. He felt the psychic flinch, and was pleased.

But he felt something else as well -- hopelessness, anguish ... madness. It was obvious that Qui-Gon was not faking his condition; delirium looped through the Jedi's whole being as a wild, twisting creature might, with a relentless will of its own.

This was not what he expected.

"My Obi-Wan is gone, and soon I will follow." The smile broadened. "They wouldn't do it, but you, oh, I've ever had faith in you. You will not disappoint me."

Palpatine felt his cheek twitch, his iron control slipping into anger. He allowed it to feed before reigning it in. "I don't believe you. Your kind was bred to lie, that is without doubt." He felt out with Force again, stronger this time, and began to explore the hidden parts, breaking down the weak shields that held themselves in place by mere habit alone.

It was a ruthless exploration; no thought, no memory was left unturned. The Jedi writhed beneath the mental assault but made no move to defend himself. There were whispers, begging for death, begging for release, but those too could be a trick. The man would sacrifice himself for his beloved, of that there was no doubt. Any Jedi Master would sacrifice himself for his padawan, it was the strongest part of their bond ...

The bond.

Palpatine smiled. The bond, the one forged between Master and Padawan. That could be explored as well.

He focussed his energy into trespassing that sacred place with all the power he possessed. Only then did Qui-Gon begin to fight, but he was weak ... far too weak for the power that assaulted him. The shields were easily knocked away, and Palaptine felt the tendrils of Force reach out, seeking ...

Victory. "He lives." Quietly, but with vindictive triumph.

Qui-Gon blinked and gaped blindly, a gruesome parody of surprise. He shook his head. "No ... but ..." The calm acceptance disappeared and terror twisted through the ravaged mind and Qui-Gon rose, reaching blindly, flailing desperately. "No!"

Palpatine easily sidestepped him and laughed. "You wished for death, I think it would be unbecoming of an Emperor not to grant you that wish." A smiling pause. "Particularly when you've served him so well."

Another anguished cry and Palpatine raised his hand to motion to his guards. He would make it quick, only because he wished to waste no time in obtaining his true goal. There was mercy in efficiency, he thought drily, still smiling as Qui-Gon blindly lunged forward once again, desperation lining his haggard face.

Another miss and Palaptine turned to his guards. "Kill ..."

He never finished the order.

A blinding flash of Dark Force tore into his mind, monstrous and blinding, and Palpatine tottered forward, the nerves in his face suddenly going slack. His guards backed away from him in fear and he reeled, screaming in agony.

Oh, this ... what was ...

The Darkness fell then, complete.

Still in orbit around this world, lost for too long, Yoda smiled to himself. The victory had been snatched from Palpatine after all; it only remained for him to make it his own. "Take the ship down," he told his pilot.

The pilot ducked his head, turned back to the controls of the ship; narrowing his eyes, Yoda tasted the pilot's fears and judged them good. A little terror was a good thing; too much, and he risked having to destroy the tools he kept at hand.

It was a pity about Qui-Gon; he could have used the man's strength, but no, it would be better this way. Despair, grief, and guilt were like spices now to the otherwise bland fare of those who bowed before him.

The universe would be his, with no one to gainsay him once the boy was destroyed.

His smile grew and the ship descended into atmosphere.

"There is a gathering to the south." Heilin's voice rose over the winds blowing through the Northern plains. "Ti Naarck has said as much; he has seen the Steppeslords prepare their mounts for the hard terrain."

Obi-Wan nodded, but said nothing. A great stir in the Force, a rent in the shroud that was Darkness had taken him by surprise, but only for a moment. Eelks eat one another; it is their nature, so what of it?

There is always a larger fish, and soon the ocean would become far too small for any but one. He kicked his mount into a steady trot and his followers flowed behind him through the high blue grasses. Jedi, Navache, Altenka, they walked as one, as they were always meant to be.

Save for one of their number, and he would soon be with them.

"My lord," said the Mother, riding to his left. "The word is yours to give, but know that we are ready to serve."

Obi-Wan smiled. Serve all will, and when the battle is done, balance will be gained. This was the prophecy, the one the Jedi had misunderstood, the omen the Dark Ones had never accepted, but its time had come.

A rider galloped toward them, it was another Navache scout. He signaled to Heilen and spoke quickly, his hands pointing toward a nearby ridge.

Heilen turned to Obi-Wan. "Master, he says that a ship, an offworlder's ship lies just beyond. No Steppeslords are in sight, but there are guards at its ramp."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Well done." He turned to the gathered. "It is time, my friends." Felt again a quiver of Darkness; almost seeing it descend. "Our time ... it is come."

The wind blew again, the only sound as the gathered turned toward the ridge. Touching his boots to the sides of his mount, Obi-Wan rode toward Qui-Gon and the future.