Master
Apprentice  Archive
Out Into Freedom
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The Swab's name was Qui. Most people didn't call him by name, of course, since he was no more than a worthless slave. He had lived here, in the Queen's prison, for most of his life, more than forty years now. In that time, some of the guards had developed a fondness of sorts for him, or at least a tolerance.
His job was simple. Carry food and water to those prisoners allowed to have it, swab blood and human waste off the stone floor before it became too malodorous, and occasionally help the master-torturer subdue a struggling, recalcitrant prisoner so that his punishment could be carried out.
Most people didn't consider Qui very intelligent. He had had no formal education, that much was certain. He didn't use big, fancy words, although he understood most of them, and he always seemed to be a bit too slow, a few steps behind everyone else. But Qui had a secret. No one but he knew what went on in his head, how he could sometimes feel other people's emotions, read their intentions. It had spared him a lot of abuse over the years, knowing as he did which people to avoid and how to keep from crossing the others. He knew when to kneel, when to grovel, when to hold his tongue. He knew how to survive.
He hadn't seen sunlight in years, not unless you counted what few rays filtered in through the small, high-set, barred windows. He was allowed only minimal clothing. Short pants that stopped above his knees and, in the cold season, a thin, sleeveless shirt. He was always cold, it seemed. But no colder than the prisoners who were always kept naked.
Since he was a slave and not a prisoner, he was not locked up at night. The prison was considered inescapable, so he was free to come and go within it. He wasn't fed quite enough, everyone assuming that he ate as much as he wanted of the prisoners' rations. He never did it, though, not unless someone was too ill or injured to eat. Then, he happily finished the food off.
He was too thin for his height, although he was shorter than most of the guards. His face was kept smooth shaven, his hair cut short for ease in maintenance. The keepers didn't like him smelling unwashed, but he was rarely given an opportunity to bathe, and then only in a puddle of cold water. But, at least he was better off than those he tended. For no one ever left the Queen's prison alive.
This morning, a new prisoner had been brought in. It was a common enough occurrence --- the Queen's laws were strict and her punishments severe. Something about this one was different, though. Qui had felt him when he arrived. Felt him in his head, a strange, buzzing sort of almost-noise between his temples. He moved as close as he dared so he could see him.
He was beautiful, Qui thought, though he had never thought a man could be beautiful. He stood in the shadows and admired the newcomer's fit, muscular body. Despite the bleeding lash marks the guard was even now inflicting on his back and thighs, he was magnificent. His hair was red-gold hair and hung to his shoulders, the front pulled back and held with a plain leather tie. His face was young and handsome and innocent in some way that Qui didn't understand. The clothes that had been stripped from him before the master-torturer had hoisted him up by his wrists had been strange; robes and tunics and trousers of earthen browns and creams. Odd. Qui had never seen anyone dress like that before. And that silver metal tube they had removed from his belt. What was that, he wondered? A weapon? If so, why hadn't he used it to free himself and prevent the lashing? Watching him hang there, Qui winced. He knew well the pain the flaying whip caused. But, he didn't sense that much pain from the newcomer. That was odder still.
He didn't know why this one fascinated him so. He had seen hundreds of hopeless, hapless souls over the years. He had watched them suffer, watched them die. He had felt the pain of many of them. Watching now, as the man with the blue-green eyes and the red-gold hair hung from the shackles, his wrists and back bleeding, Qui longed to go to him, longed to try to ease his pain as he was sometimes able to do his own after a punishment. But, he didn't dare. If the master- torturer found out, he would be the next one under the lash. Tonight, though, when the keepers had gone to bed . . . Yes. Tonight, he would come back, if only to see more of this intriguing stranger.
He jerked his eyes away from the strange, alluring young man at the sound of footsteps. It was Gregorri, one of the few guards who had ever treated Qui with anything better than contemptuous disregard.
"You should be working, Qui," the tall, pot-bellied man said in a tone of gentle reproach. "Not standing and gawking."
"Yes, sir," Qui said in his most respectful voice, lowering his gaze. "I was just wondering about something, that's all."
"Well?"
"This new one," Qui said, pointing. "What is his crime?"
"He insulted the Queen, from what I hear. Must have been some insult, too, since she's sentenced him to the Wheel." It was a good thing Gregorri moved on then, so he didn't see Qui as he dropped to his knees, clutching his temples in agony. It wasn't often that he had a vision of the future, but when he did, they were most often excruciating. This one was no different. He squeezed his eyes shut, pounding on his head with both hands as he tried to stop the images rolling one on top of the other through his mind. The new prisoner, tied down spread eagle on the hard floor. The heavy iron Wheel, rolling back and forth across his helpless limbs, crushing and splintering bone until his arms and legs were little more than gelatinous tentacles, oozing blood where the splinters had penetrated flesh. The exquisite skin, pale and bruised and torn, the innocent, handsome face twisted into a grimace of agony as he screamed and screamed and screamed.
"NO!" Qui cried out, unable to bear the vision. But it didn't stop.
He saw the broken, twisted limbs being braided through the spokes of the very Wheel that had mutilated them. Woven in and out as if they were boneless --- which they might as well be. The screams of pain were hoarse now, inhuman sounding since the throat had long since been stripped raw. The hands would be drawn through to the front, as would the soles of the feet, the naked genitals exposed, so that passerby's could add their own, lesser tortures to the dying man. The head, secured tightly against the spokes, the eyes, stitched open so that the crows could feast on the eyeballs. And then, the Wheel, hoisted up in the courtyard so that the prisoner hung head down, the blood running to his brain supposedly keeping him conscious longer, suffering longer.
Qui pounded his forehead against the stone wall in front of him.
Days, the victim would suffer. His fingers would be twisted and broken, the nails ripped out, by anyone who chose to add to his misery. His feet would be burned or cut or stabbed, his genitals pierced and twisted and skinned. Anything imaginable could be done to him as he hung there helpless, suffering indescribable pain --- anything but kill him. A guard would be nearby to assure that much.
By the time the unfortunate man finally succumbed, he would be unrecognizable as human. Between the spectators and the insects and the mobbing crows, there would be little flesh left. Each time he passed out, the guard would shock him awake with ice cold water. There would be no reprieve for him until the very end.
Qui pressed his head against the wall, feeling the echoes of the vision die away, tears of anguish running freely down his cheeks.
"Are you all right?" a voice asked from nearby. It was a soft voice, a gentle voice, almost like music. Qui could have sat and listened to it all day. He looked up, blinking as he tried to focus. It was the new prisoner who had spoken to him, the blue-green eyes filled with concern despite the pain he had to be feeling.
"I ---" He broke off, not knowing what to say, knowing he shouldn't say anything. It was forbidden for him to speak to a prisoner. But no one had ever shown concern for him before, not like this.
"I asked if you are all right."
Qui nodded jerkily, dragging the back of one hand across his wet cheeks.
"Why are you so troubled?" the prisoner asked him.
"It is nothing," Qui managed to say. He had to stop talking to this prisoner. If he was caught, the punishment would be severe. But, he couldn't help himself. "A dream."
The prisoner with the blue-green eyes nodded slowly. "It was the future you saw. But a wise man once told me that the future is always in motion. Nothing is certain until it happens."
Qui shook his head. "There is no future here. Only pain and death."
"How long have you been here?" the prisoner asked.
That brought the Swab's head up. "Why do you care?" Even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew they were the wrong ones. They sounded cold, harsh. He hadn't meant them that way, but he led a lonely life and was unused to conversing.
The stranger didn't seem offended. "I care about all men," he said in his gentle, lilting voice. "And you, especially."
"Why?"
"Because we are much alike."
Qui almost laughed at that, but he didn't. Laughter had been beaten out of him many years ago. "We are both doomed, yes."
"Who are you?" the prisoner asked.
"I am nobody. A slave."
"Your name," the man persisted. "What is your name?"
"Qui."
"I'm Obi-Wan."
"What are you? You're different from anyone I've ever met."
"But so are you," Obi-Wan said. "Different, I mean. Yes?"
Qui shrugged, not answering. That was his secret.
"I am a Jedi Knight," Obi-Wan said. "And you, Qui, are strong with the same Force that I serve."
The swab shrugged again. "I know nothing of such things."
"Why did your vision upset you so, Qui?" Obi-Wan asked.
"I know how you are going to die," the Swab said, shuddering with remembered horror. "It --- is the worst of the death sentences."
"Yes, I know," Obi-Wan said, his voice still so soft and soothing. It was like, Qui thought, being bathed in sunlight. He shook his head harshly. Such silly sentiment . . .
"You couldn't know," he told Obi-Wan. "You've never seen it."
"I saw it in you mind," Obi-Wan said, his eyes studying the thin, scarred face. "And I see other things, too. Your compassion, your caring . . .
Qui gasped. "How --- "
Obi-Wan smiled. Hanging there by bloody wrists, his toes not touching the floor, his back and thighs shredded by the lash, and he actually smiled! "The same way that you know things about people, Qui. Through the Force. As I said, we are much alike."
Qui shook his head frantically. No! He would not listen to this! If he knew this much about this man, this prisoner, he would never be able to bear watching his agonizingly slow death! He put his hands over his ears. "No!" he cried. "I can't hear this! I can't!"
"SWAB!"
The shout rang like a thunderclap off the stone walls. Recognizing the voice, Qui dropped to the floor, prostrating himself, as if that would help him now.
"Swab!" the master-torturer said again, stomping closer until his boot toes were all Qui could see. "Why are you talking to this prisoner?"
"I --- I ---" Qui swallowed hard. Nothing he could say would keep him from being punished.
"Get up!" he was ordered.
He struggled to his feet, keeping his head bowed low in respect, not daring to look into the dark eyes above him.
"Don't punish him," Obi-Wan said, and Qui's heart nearly burst at the sound of it. "It was my fault ---" His words were broken off with the sharp sound of flesh impacting flesh.
"Silence!" the torturer ordered. He grabbed a handful of Qui's matted hair and jerked his head up. "I could have you skinned alive or broiled over a slow flame for this disobedience." He moistened his lips, his eyes narrowing as he looked up and down the length of the body in front of him. "But, I find my tastes run in a different direction today." He turned. "Gregorri! Take this worthless Swab to the guard room and chain him over a table." He glanced at Qui again. "And throw a bucket of water over him. He reeks!"
"Yes, sir," Gregorri said. He caught Qui by the arm and towed him away.
"Be strong, my friend," Obi-Wan called after him, his voice a little slurred now by the damage the blow had caused.
Qui felt tears rolling down his face again. Gregorri shushed him, thinking, undoubtedly, that they were from fear of what was soon to happen. But, they weren't. My friend, the prisoner had said. My friend . . .
"You shouldn't have broken the rules, Qui," Gregorri said as he towed the unresisting Swab to the guardroom. "You know better. What got into you?"
Qui hung his head. "I don't know," he lied. "I was lonely."
Gregorri pushed him through the open door. "You know what to do, Swab," he said, already disassociating himself with this man that he was about to abuse.
Without a word, Qui stripped off his tattered pants. He watched, still silent, as Gregorri fetched a bucket of water from the corner. The guard stepped close to him and sniffed. "Star and planets, Swab! You do stink!" He poured the water over him --- once, twice, a third time --- until the bucket was empty and Qui was soaked and shivering.
"Alright, Swab. Over the table."
Qui shuffled forward, delaying as much as he could. A sharp blow between his shoulder blades hurried him along. The top edge of the massive wooden table hit him at the top of his thighs. He bent forward over it, arms over his head and spread wide apart as he had been taught. He closed his eyes as Gregorri wound course ropes around his wrists, drawing them towards the opposite corners of the table with enough force to nearly dislocate his shoulders. Once they were securely tied, the guard kicked the Swab's legs further apart. The ankles were lashed with more of the same, biting rope, to the table legs.
"There." A sharp slap on his bare buttock followed the word. "All ready." Gregorri bent down to peal back one eyelid. "Now, be a good boy and scream pretty for us, will you?"
Qui nodded shakily, trying to prepare himself. Sometimes, if he tried really hard, he could distance himself from this. He'd certainly had enough practice at it. He tried to relax, especially his anus and back, knowing that they would suffer the most injury.
Heavy footsteps announced the arrival of the master-torturer. A wicked slap-slap-slap sound let Qui know that he had brought his favorite toy with him. Eyes still shut, he shuddered as the thin leather thongs of the whip trailed up his thigh. Then, too suddenly to prepare for, the hard, thick, braided handle was shoved up into him.
It tore a cry from him. Not that he tried to suppress it. He had learned that the less sound he made the longer the abuse would continue. Let them know they hurt him. It would satisfy them sooner.
"You like that, Swab?" hot breath whispered against his ear. "Tell me you like that."
Qui unclenched his jaw. "I --- like it, sir."
The whip handle was shoved deeper and twisted. Qui could already feel blood trickling down his leg. "Tell me to do it harder," the voice said.
Qui pulled in a shaky breath. "Please, sir," he said, knowing he had to obey if he wanted to survive this. "Do it harder, please."
There was the sound of harsh laughter in two different voices from behind him and the whip handle began to pump in and out, feeling as if it were pounding clear up into his belly. He willed himself to relax. This was not nearly as bad as it would get, he knew.
He was fucked with the handle until blood ran freely down his legs. He could hear the steady drip of it on the stone floor, even over the course breathing of the two men behind him. Finally, the whip was jerked out and replaced by something much bigger. The blood helped ease the passage a little, but he still felt himself tearing again. The master-torturer was not a gentle man. He pounded into Qui with all the strength and stamina he possessed, and he possessed a good measure of both.
It was a long time before he came. He pulled out finally, only to shove Gregorri up into his place. The guard might have tolerated Qui, might even have liked him a little, but it was no reason for mercy. The Swab was a slave, meant to be used. And use him he did, finally falling forward onto the damp back beneath him. He was pulled away a moment later, and the master-torturer took another turn. Having satisfied his initial need, he was even rougher and slower to come this time. Qui felt himself bruising inside from the pounding he was taking, bruising on the outside from the harsh grip on his hip. It went on for a very long time.
As much as Qui hated it, as much as it hurt, he hoped it wouldn't end. Maybe, this time, they would fuck him until he lost consciousness or until they were too tired to continue. Because after the fucking always came the beating.
The enormous cock pulled out of him at last and the first stroke of the lash fell a few seconds later. Qui struggled to relax and breathe through it. But each down stroke of the whip whistled through the air, and invariably he would tense at the sound. He let himself cry out as each cutting, stinging blow left its mark on his naked buttocks and lower back. The last few strokes were aimed, as always, at the bleeding anus. As the thin leather lashes, now wet with his blood, struck deeply between his butt cheeks, the ends would sometimes curl beneath him and strike his balls. His screams intensified with the agony of it.
Finally, it was over. The master-torturer lifted Qui's head by a fistful of hair and stared into his red-rimmed eyes.
"Break the rules again, Swab, and I'll have you spitted and skinned and left for the crows to finish. Understood?"
Qui knew better than to try to nod, not wanting to lose any hair. "Yes, sir," he managed to croak out. With a curt nod, the man released him and stepped away from the table.
"Cut him loose, Gregorri. But throw a little salt water over him first. I don't want him stinking like blood and infection."
"Yes, sir."
The salt water burned through the raw welts, sizzled in the torn flesh of his anus, and Qui screamed all the way through it. But Gregorri had the decency to rinse it off with a bucket of cold, fresh water. It didn't help much, but it did help. Then, his hands and legs were released and Gregorri helped him stand.
"Follow the rules from now on, Qui," the guard said, holding his arm until he was steady on his feet. "I don't want to have to break in a new Swab, okay?"
"Okay, Gregorri."
"Good. Now, get out of here and get back to work. And there will be no food for you tonight."
"Yes, sir. I understand, sir."
Qui stumbled out of the guardroom and managed to make it to his thin sleep pallet before he collapsed. He spent several minutes trying to soothe the terrible throbbing ache before he dragged himself to his feet once again. Some of the prisoners hadn't had water all day, and he was terribly thirsty himself. He filled a bucket, drank all he could, then limped off to do his evening chores.
It was late that night, well past the setting of the double moons, before Qui saw Obi-Wan again. The man still hung in his shackles, though now his chest and arms were also covered with lash marks and a dark purple bruise marked one side of his mouth. He raised his head when Qui approached with a bucket of water.
"I could use a drink, my friend," Obi-Wan said.
Qui shook his head, keeping his gaze low so he wouldn't have to see those intriguing eyes. He didn't speak as he dumped the bucket on the floor beneath the prisoner, diluting the blood that had collected there so that he could sweep it away.
"They hurt you," Obi-Wan said. "They used you and then they whipped you. I felt it."
That brought Qui's head up sharply. He glanced around, though of course the guards had long since gone to bed.
"Why does that surprise you?" Obi-Wan asked. "Can you not tell when others are hurting?"
"Sometimes," Qui admitted hesitantly. That brought up another point. "Why aren't you hurting?" he asked in amazement, wincing as his eyes fell on the bloody gashes the whip had left.
"A Jedi can control pain." He cocked his head, his blue-green eyes seeming to see right into Qui's soul. "But you know that. You can do it, too, can't you? You did it today, or tried to, while you were being raped."
"It is not rape to use a slave."
"It is rape if you are unwilling."
There was no answer for that, so Qui didn't try. This man, this Jedi, knew nothing of life at the prison. He knew nothing of hopelessness and despair, but he would. All too soon, he would.
"I'll be leaving soon, Qui," Obi-Wan said. "I want you to go with me."
Qui shook his head. "The only place you are going is to the Wheel. And you will be a long time dying." He closed his eyes. Oh, how it hurt him to say that, but he knew it was true. Everyone died here, it was only a question of how soon and how long the dying took.
But Obi-Wan was speaking again. "No, Qui. I am not going to die here. Neither are you. We're leaving, tonight."
"But, there's no way! The shackles, the walls ---"
"I can release the shackles, with the Force. And I think you know a way past the walls, don't you?"
Qui felt an icy hand tighten around his lungs. How did this man know that? No one knew about the tunnel, the one with the grate at the end with the missing bar. No one! Qui sometimes went there late at night, after his work was finished. The illusion of freedom that it offered was a balm to his heart, easing away the images of torture and death. But, to actually crawl through to freedom! It was impossible!
"It's all right," Obi-Wan said, his tone soothing. "I know you're afraid. I won't let anyone hurt you again." There was that smile again. "You're the reason I came here, to this prison. Did you know that?"
Qui's brows pulled together. "You were brought here because the Queen sentenced you."
Obi-Wan chuckled, an amazing sound amid the reality of the prison. "True. But, I LET them bring me here because I could feel you. I knew you were here, suffering, and that you were strong in the Force. I came here to get you out."
"Everyone suffers here. There's no way out." Qui started to shuffle away, carrying the empty bucket. He had other work to do, and no time to listen to the ravings of a man obviously driven mad by his treatment.
"I'm not mad, Qui," Obi-Wan said. When the Swab turned toward him in amazed wonder at having his thought plucked out of his head, the Jedi nodded. "Yes, I heard what you were thinking, as plainly as if you'd spoken it aloud." He smiled again. "You broadcast rather loudly. It is something I will teach you to control once we leave this place."
He spoke with such confidence, such surety, that Qui began to feel something he hadn't felt in as long as he could remember --- hope.
"You say you can release the shackles," he said, hearing the slightly challenging tone in his voice and not bothering to hide it. "Show me."
"Very well," Obi-Wan said. "But you'll have to help me, I'm afraid. After hours of hanging here, I'm not certain my legs will support me at first."
With a last look around to make certain no guard had decided to take a late night walk through the prison, Qui stepped in close and slid his arm around the Jedi's waist, wincing as he felt the bleeding, swollen welts the whip had left. He turned his eyes to the wrist manacles and watched in amazement as they snapped open. Obi-Wan dropped into his encircling arm, gasping as his numb feet hit the hard floor.
"How ---" he started to say, aware that his jaw was hanging open. He closed it forcefully. He looked down into the blue-green eyes. Down quite a ways, actually. He hadn't realized how much shorter this Jedi was than he.
Obi-Wan was speaking. "Do you know where they took my clothes?" he asked. "And my lightsaber. I would very much like to retrieve that before we leave."
"You're clothes are by the incinerator. I haven't burned them, yet. I don't know about any lightsaber --- wait, was that the silver tube they took from your belt?"
"Yes." Obi-Wan was growing steadier, pushing himself free of Qui's hold. "Do you know where they would have put it?"
"If they knew it was a weapon, it will be in the supply room."
"Could you show me?" Obi-Wan asked.
Qui felt a sudden chill run through him as he realized that he was actually helping a prisoner to escape. If they were caught, it would be the Wheel for both of them. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered. A comforting hand settled on his arm.
"Qui, it's all right. I know you're afraid. But I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."
The Swab opened his eyes and his gaze locked with the Jedi's. A strange sense of peace washed over him. Suddenly, he wasn't afraid anymore. He nodded. "Can you walk? It's not very far."
"I can walk."
Even so, Qui kept a supporting hand on Obi-Wan's arm as they hurried down a dim, torch-lit hall to the supply room. Obi-Wan stepped inside and glanced around. Then, he held out his hand and the strange silver tube FLEW into it! Qui had never seen anything like it in his entire life!
Obi-Wan chuckled again at his reaction, but softly. "I'll teach you how to do that, too," he said in a hushed voice. "Now, show me this tunnel of yours."
It took some time to reach the tunnel, longer still to walk clear to the end of it. By the time they reached the grate with the missing bar, Qui was hurting again. His mind, distracted by the thought of escape, could no longer concentrate on keeping the pain at bay. He slumped to the wall just inside the grate.
Obi-Wan's hands were immediately on him. "It will be better soon, my friend," the young Jedi said, and amazingly the pain began to recede. "Once we're on my ship and headed away from here, I'll heal both our injuries. Until then, I'll do the best I can to keep you from suffering. All right?"
The Swab nodded. "Where are we going?"
"To Coruscant," Obi-Wan said. "To the Jedi Temple."
Qui blinked. "Are there more like you there?"
"Yes. A few." The blue-green eyes seemed to darken, and Qui felt a wave of sadness from the young man. "Not nearly as many as there once were."
"Can you really teach me how to do things?" Qui asked. "I'm not very smart."
Obi-Wan clapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, you're smart, Qui. Otherwise, you wouldn't have survived in that hell hole for so long." He smiled as if at a fond memory. "My former Master would have said you are too old to be trained. But you just have to learn how to learn, that's all."
Qui nodded silently. This was all happening so fast. So many new things all at once, so much risk, so much hope, that his head was nearly spinning with the magnitude of it. But, he trusted this Jedi, and he had never trusted anyone in his whole life before. Though it drew oddly at his face, he smiled.
Obi-Wan reached up to run a gentle hand along Qui's scarred cheek. "Let's go home, my friend." Without another word, the two slipped through the broken grate and disappeared out into the dark night. Out into freedom.
(The End, at least for now. I could be persuaded to write more of the story if anyone is interested . . .)