Master Apprentice
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XXVI
Maera gazed over at the ward quickly. It was her nature. All her movements were swift and short, like a small, dark bird's. Three days of unrelenting labour had left her face worn as an old coin, fine lines drawn around her blue eyes and mobile mouth. Once each of her charges left the bacta tanks, they were transferred to the Temple Infirmary, now securely in the hands of the invasion force. Nearly every bed had been filled and she was forced to commandeer quarters for the rest. Finally, she was able to leave Syrene and return to the planet's surface. She replaced her clipped steps in the cramped sickbay of the ship to equally swift little steps in the ward.
She pushed a few tendrils of wavy hair out of her face. Accustomed as she was to pain and suffering, she had never in her years experienced anything quite as grotesque and pathetic as the injuries suffered by those rescued from the Guardhouse. Normally compassionate, if brusque, she exclaimed in savage satisfaction when Jax had contacted her with the news that the last of the Guardhouse occupants was free. She grimaced and laughed shortly, knowing all too well her brother's means of liberation. Fortunately, she didn't have to worry about morgue duty.
She marched down the hallway at her usual quick pace, heedless of the beauty surrounding her. The Temple's transparent walkways gleamed in the morning light, all pale gold shimmering above Coruscant's glittering traffic. She stuck her head into a small chamber, still darkened by a shade.
"Are ya awake, lad?"
There was no answer.
Maera closed the door gently. "Obi-Wan, are ya awake?"
The bed was empty. She looked around quickly, finally picking out a shadowy form on a chair in the corner.
"Obi-Wan, it's only me."
"Who are you?" The whisper barely carried across the room.
"Maera Dubh. An' I'm your Healer. Now let me look at ya, lad." In her experience, there was no sense coddling a patient, no matter what the trauma.
"Lad?"
"Please leave me alone."
"Nonsense!! Now come over here!! Ya were perfectly capable gettin' to tha' chair!"
Slowly, the figure emerged into the light.
At once, she could see what Qui-Gon had valued in the boy besides his power in the Force. He was beautiful. The silvery transparent eyes were almost unnaturally large and long-lashed, framed by brows that seemed painted in sepia ink. Even circled and sad, those eyes were exquisite pools of light, now green, now grey-blue.
"Oh, stop it, boy!! I've seen much worse. Now let me have a look, eh?"
Silently, he came into the light, shuddering a little as it touched his wan cheek and ducking his head, as though to hide. Gently, Maera lifted his right wrist, felt for a pulse, using all her considerable skills to read deep into his mind. He remained utterly passive, and made no attempt to shield from her at all. That was not good. She pursed her lips and shifted her grip to his hand.
"Sit down, Obi-Wan."
He sank onto the bed, staring dully at his knees.
"Can ye not look at me, laddie? I'm a hard old biddie, but na that bad to look upon!" Her voice was gentle, and so much like Qui-Gon's in treble. When he looked up, his eyes were too bright.
"It'll be all right. Qui-Gon's taken th' Temple."
A little furrow creased between those beautiful brows. "What? How?"
She snorted. "He didna tell ya anythin', did he?"
Obi-Wan shook his head, then ducked it down again.
"Brainless, stubborn mule of a man!! He's been plannin' this most o' his life, child. Takin' back the Jedi. Makin' 'em what they used t'be. Hasn't he trained ya at all?"
The boy nodded, his eyes shifting between her piercing gaze and the floor in confusion.
Maera bit back a string of curses that Obi-Wan would have recognised as Qui-Gon's favourite epithets.
"Obi-Wan, y'see, he knew you were th' one. The strongest. The one he was meant t'train."
Still as a statue he remained. She squeezed the long fingers gently.
"We're a silent lot, we are. But my brother is the worst of 'em!! Damn the man for not tellin' you aught!"
"Brother?"
Maera dropped his hand and began to pace about the small room like a ruffled sparrow hawk.
"The ghods damn that fool!! Yes, Qui-Gon's my brother. Twin brother t'be exact, an' you can tell where th' brains i' the family went!! Oh, of all the stupid, idiot things he's done!! You're a smart lad, Obi-Wan. You must've known something."
"Something...once...I asked. That question in his eyes..." The soft voice drifted away and his gaze turned inward again. He shrugged.
Maera took a deep breath and sat down beside the young man.
"Ya know he's trained and powerful. Ya must know that!!"
He nodded.
"How d'ya think he got tha' way?"
Obi-Wan shrugged. Maera lifted his chin gently. "Have ya never heard o'rogues?"
Again, the boy shrugged. It was not the time. She changed the subject.
"Well, that'll keep. Meantimes, how're ya feelin'? Anythin' hurtin'?"
Another shrug, and he shook his head. "No. I'm all right." His voice was flat and unemotional, but she could sense the chasm of despair within him, the growing disconnection and confusion overwhelming him.
"Do ye remember wha' happened, lad?" Her voice was very gentle.
"I-I was angry and had too much to drink. Then, there was a man--I thought it was Master. He--he..." The young face contorted and white teeth clamped down on his lower lip.
"Shhh. It's all right. You were kidnapped."
"You mean Master didn't send me away?"
Maera thought she would choke.
"You thought that?! Oh, Obi-Wan!! Qui-Gon would never do such a thing. T'anyone, least of all, you! How could ya think such a thing!?"
Obi-Wan's head was bent, the bright stubble of his head catching the dim light. She could not have known he was hiding under a phantom curtain of hair. She had never seen him before Qui-Gon had laid him down in the sickbay, a dying whisper of light and life.
"He was angry after the party. Said I had reverted to type, that I was ..."
Maera chalked up another reason to blast her brother into oblivion when she got the chance. His temper was well-known, but that this gentle creature could imagine such a punishment for simply being himself made her furious.
Swallowing her anger, she patted his hand. "Don't ya ever think it, love. He talks a good game, but he wouldn't hurt ya."
"He hit me." The choked little whisper echoed the pain and shame in his heart.
"He's a bloody moron. Ya lived with him near a year. Ya know how it is wi' him!"
Obi-Wan finally looked up and met her eyes, his own welling full.
"No, I don't. I don't know anything anymore." His face twisted and he turned away, unable to speak.
Tryyl and Kared-Ty had managed to get Qui-Gon out of the Council chamber before he completely collapsed in exhaustion. Forty-eight hours of unremitting tension, without sleep or solace and even his resources crumbled. Still, they had to fight him every step of the way back to his Temple quarters. Finally, Tryyl got him to at least settle into meditation, where he remained for hours in a state of paradoxical sleep, neither awake nor completely unaware, like cat apparently dozing before a mousehole. It helped to rest his troubled mind and taxed body.
Mace and his battalion remained sequestered in the Senate complex, while the attack forces manned the environmental controls on the planet to force compliance. The fleet, stretched thinner than Jax would have liked, spread out over the planet, their targets carefully noted for maximum efficiency.
When Qui-Gon emerged from his meditative trance, he forced himself to check the fleet status, his ground forces, comlink after comlink with each battalion commander. All the while, his heart pulsed and ached until at times he thought he could not draw another breath. The long hours crept by as he meticulously checked and rechecked every detail, every target, arranged for the Senate meeting and finally keyed in the code to the sickbay. When one of the droids answered and informed him that Maera was on the floor, would he like to leave a message, he growled in frustration. Cursing under his breath all the way, he stalked through the Temple complex to the infirmary, sending droids and assistants flying in his wake.
He nearly collided with his sister halfway down the corridor that led to his Padawan.
"And just where th' hell do you think yer goin'?" She planted herself in front of him, neck craning up on her five-foot frame.
"I'm seein' my Padawan, woman. Get outta my way!" he growled without looking at her, his eyes straining as though able to see into that dim chamber through the walls.
She gave him a hard shove backwards. "Oh no yer not!! You're not goin' in there like tha'!!!"
His eyes hardened as he stared down at her. "Be off wi' ya or I swear I've always thought ya needed a clip to th'jaw..." the words whistled through his teeth.
"No, you're not!!! An' this is my ward. I'd not let ya anywhere lookin' like tha'!! Ya'd scare the Sith Laird himself, ya cretinous great oaf!"
"Like what, you..." His voice trailed off as he got a good look at his reflection in the twilit corridor wall. His hair hung in stiff knots, caked with dried blood that cascaded down his tunic, staining the fabric with splotches of red-brown. The faint metallic smell of it clung to him like a sickly sweet cloud. His face was streaked and dappled with more of the deathly war paint. He stopped, one hand rising to his cheek, suddenly remembering Obi-Wan's first night on Remwara; the night his mare had nearly died foaling; the night he'd come to bed near dawn and covered in blood.
Maera watched her brother's blue eyes go soft and tired and grabbed hold of his arm.
"C'mon. Don't give me any of yer lip."
Qui-Gon submitted to a quick trip to the sonics and a change of clothes before stubbornly insisting on seeing Obi-Wan. Maera was not sure the boy was ready to face his Master, but there was no holding her brother back once he'd straightened that inflexible spine. She wrinkled her nose, making a deep grunting sound, like an old woman trying to coax a reluctant donkey. He was impossible when he was in such a state, and she had no desire to make his job worse. The strain of the invasion, rushed forward by so many days; the agony she had seen in his eyes when he carried his Padawan into Syrene's sickbay were all telling on him. Worse still was the shadowy fear behind the blue eyes, a fear she understood too well. She could only hope that Obi-Wan was, indeed, as strong as her brother thought him. He would need all that strength and more to recover from his eighteen hours of hell.
When Qui-Gon finally entered the small room, Obi-Wan had fallen asleep, curled on his side. The first thing that struck his Master was how young he looked. Somehow, the loss of his hair had at once aged his face and made it heartbreakingly childlike. Moving silently, Qui-Gon pulled the chair close and sat for a good while, simply watching the shadows that crossed the boy's face, even in slumber. Rage had given way to a kind of paralysed pity and the big man was glad to just sit there in silence. He reached out one hand and gently, ran a finger down one cheek. There was a fine shadow of beard on it, paler than the ruddy stubble of his hair but just as bright.
He stared at the shaded window with unseeing eyes. All his life, Qui-Gon had lived with fear and uncertainty. His early childhood had been spent in virtual hiding, moved from one Remwaran sector to another by his clan to hide him and Maera from the Finders. His years of clandestine training in the deepest parts of Remwara's far western provinces had only hardened a nature grown callous to fear. He lived in the moment, knowing always that the moment might be all he possessed. The rogue group, based on Remwara and other planets near by, descended from the renegade Jedi who fled the trumped up consequences of the Marigenata Wars five hundred years earlier, were Jedi. The training was intact, but they were as changed as their accepted counterparts at the Temple. Loosely affiliated by training and purpose, they were fiercely tribal. It had taken years for Qui-Gon, Mace and a handful of others to sort out the clan feuds and squabbles to make this invasion possible. It was his life's work and should have been his shining hour. Instead, he felt closer now than ever before in nearly half a century to the scared five-year-old cowering under the shielded floorboards of a half-rotting hovel, listening to his mother pay with her life for her children's safety.
What good to gain the Temple, if he were to lose his heart? He pushed the thought away. It was no time for that sort of weakness, he reasoned. Still, that dull ache inside him grew every time he looked down at the sleeping boy.
Obi-Wan's lashes fluttered and the great eyes fastened on his Master at once. A look of incredible pain etched itself into a face he sought to hide in the pillow, one hand raised to cover his shorn head.
"Don't look at me." he choked.
"Obi-Wan, listen t'me."
The beautifully rounded head shook into the bedclothes.
"Obi, I should've told ya. I know tha'. But there was so much at stake. Ya were safer if ya didna know." Qui-Gon took a deep breath.
"It's all right, lad. All's gone well. I just have to deal wi' the Senate and all's finished and done."
The silence throbbed in the small room.
"Obi, he's dead. An' Zath. The ones who did this have paid and more. It won't ever happen again. Not t'anyone, ever again."
Slowly, the Padawan sat up, his head still deeply bowed, refusing to look into his Master's eyes.
"So that's what this was about?" His voice was faint.
"Yes, lad. Tha's what it was all about. Oh, Obi-Wan, I'm so---"
The boy straightened, one hand raised in a sad parody of his former, imperious self.
"No, Master. I don't need to hear that you're sorry." He took a long deep breath and finally looked into Qui-Gon's eyes. His own were suddenly so old.
"My world was here, Master. All I ever knew. I thought I could find some balance, but you left no room for that. Now that world is gone and my place is gone with it. "
Obi-Wan looked at the sunset glowing through the paper shade for a while in silence, then turned back to Qui-Gon.
"You are my Master, so I must ask you. But I do beg you to consider this and grant my request."
"Anything, Obi-Wan. Anythin' at all." Qui-Gon struggled to keep to pleading out of his voice. There was a chill in the room that had nothing to do with the temperature.
"I wish to die." Obi-Wan's eyes had turned inward. "You have your honour. I have mine. I beg this of you, Master. Please let me die. You owe me that much."
Qui-Gon recoiled as if a snake had bitten him. "Wha'?" he stared in open-mouthed horror at Obi-Wan. A great churning began somewhere in his gut and raced upwards into his brain. When it found his mouth, he exploded.
"F'ghods sake, boy!! I didna do all this t'watch you snivel away into a corner!!"
The boy watched him with quiet eyes. "Who did you do it for Master? It wasn't me."
Qui-Gon was out of the chair and flung himself toward the door, not trusting himself to stay a moment longer.
"Fine. Then die and be damned t'ya!"
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor and Obi-Wan sat, his hands folded quietly in his lap, watching his fingernails curiously as though he had never seen them before in his life.
XXVII
Maera Dubh stomped through the halls towards her brother's quarters, her small face white, angry red spots glowing on her cheeks. She and Qui-Gon had fought over nearly everything for as long as she could recall, but never had she been more furious with him than she was at this moment.
The boy was shattered. He sat in his room, staring at the wall as though his brain had been emptied. Inside, he was cold. She could feel the frozen desolation of his soul, emanating from him in chill waves. Her presence was less than any help: she was too like Qui-Gon. Racking her brains to think of someone who might be able to help Obi-Wan, she activated the surveillance in his room and gently made sure he was not disturbed, but not left entirely alone either. It would have to do for the moment.
With every step, she muttered all the things she wanted to say to her Sith-damned brother before she choked him. To have left that boy with no idea of his plans, to make him party to a coup he didn't even know was occurring was unthinkable. Worse, to half-train him and abuse him for his life at the Temple? She thought that there must be steam coming out of her ears she was so angry.
Every word deserted her as she entered his chambers.
Qui-Gon was slumped in a chair, staring blankly ahead of him, so like his Padawan that she was speechless. His face was carved of stone, all hard line and shadow, frozen in a mask of pain. Only his eyes were alive, red-rimmed and burning, the tears streaming into his beard, a silent, ceaseless rain. His normally straight shoulders were slouched in defeat. He didn't move or speak or even seem to know she was there. The aura around him radiated a misery too deep for any words, too vast to be articulated.
Maera sat down across from him and hesitantly reached out a hand to touch his. It was ice cold.
"Qui-Gon? Qui-Gon?"
"He wants t'die." his whisper cut through the still air like a razor.
"Wha'?" Her brow furrowed. What in all hells had happened in that room?
"He says he wants t'die."
// Wha' does tha' mean?!! //
He was more unshielded than she had ever known him, his entire being swallowed up in grief.
"This is all my fault. If I'd not left him alone...dammit, I knew Zath hated him, but I didna think...I should've...I should have known..." His tears continued to spill, his voice a choked rasp of agony. The comlink buzzed and he ignored it.
Quietly, she picked it up.
"Yes?"
"Maera? Jax here. We've a problem. Where's Qui-Gon?"
"Later, Jax. Please. Can ya not handle it?"
"No, Maera, I can't. There's a Republic fleet on its way from Dantooine. Let him know we've got t'get this settled before they make orbit. If they decide t'fight, we're outnumbered. Badly."
She set the small instrument down and looked over at her brother. He hadn't moved. "Did ya hear tha'?"
"I heard."
"Well, man, what are ya gonna do?"
His tall body shuddered like a tree bending in a gale. He looked at her sidelong through his hair.
"I must see Obi-Wan, Maera. I must."
"Qui-Gon, please!! The boy's in agony. Let him heal a little." she pleaded softly.
"There's na time." He rose wearily, for the first time looking every year of his age. For a moment, his hand covered his mouth, stifling the sobs she could see tearing at his throat. "I've run outta time and luck, this time."
He smiled grimly.
"Arrange it. Don't tell me ya canna do it. Just make it happen. And don't let him do anythin' stupid until I see him." He turned and walked from the room heavily.
Obi-Wan had curled up on his side, looking out the window. Someone had opened the shade to Coruscant's winking bright night and he watched the sparkle of the traffic like a trail of stars against the midnight sky.
Where was he to go? What was he to do? He wasn't sure that he really wanted to die. To never feel the sun on his face again, never laugh over a cup of tea or see the blossoms of springtime?
He did not think about the Guardhouse. It seemed a horrible nightmare and he was so completely detached from it, he would have sworn it had never occurred, but for his rough scalp. It was better not the think of it. He had only the vaguest idea what Qui-Gon had meant by "taking the Temple". That was a cipher and he ignored it.
Qui-Gon had given his permission, hadn't he? Accordingly, Obi-Wan knew he should be preparing himself. He should be brave and face death rather than dishonour, but the thought was scarcely any comfort. His Master had rejected him and surely, the Temple would no longer want him. If not death, what was left for him? Most likely, the Temple would sell him off as a pleasure slave or worse, a bedslave for some dreadful sub-level brothel. He couldn't see himself walking Coruscant's streets, a common prostitute. Besides, the Temple would require him to repay all his years of training. He would never get out of debt unless someone paid it for him. He didn't have a thing to call his own, not even his body. He could try to find a patron or lover, but that was a pipe dream: all Coruscant society must have heard of his fall by now. No one would want a despoiled and ruined Padawan. Even if someone should take pity on him or desire him still, the social pressure would be unbearable for them both. He didn't want to be brave and he didn't want to die.
Unbidden, memories of his months on Remwara kept flooding his tired brain, making him weep without sound, the tears slipping down his face into the pillow in silence. He could not help that he loved his Master. He hadn't expected love when he was purchased. He had known that he would be honoured, cherished, valued. At least, if he'd been purchased in the normal course of Temple life, he would have been assured those things. Nothing had been normal for him since his auction, nearly a year past and he had changed. He wanted more. He wanted to love his Master and he longed to be loved in return.
A little sob caught in his throat and he buried his face in the bedclothes. Maybe it would be better to die than to feel so lost and cold and unwanted...
Maera sat morosely in the ward, toying with a stray bit of bandage she had picked up off the floor. Qui-Gon had gone to the Senate to join Mace and the negotiating teams. He would not do the talking there: his presence was strictly a formal threat. She snorted. In his current state, he couldn't threaten a house cat!!
Meanwhile, the Kenobi boy lay on that narrow cot, crying his heart out, and she had no idea how to comfort him. He probably hadn't even begun to register the horror of his ordeal yet. That would take weeks with a soul healer. Unfortunately, the only Healers in the Temple complex were her own staff, trained to handle wartime injuries. She couldn't trust the Temple Healers with him under the circumstances of the invasion.
His body was still fragile from that creature's assault. They brought it to her, dead, for analysis and she was relieved to discover it to be a relatively harmless sub-sentient species from Ketasia. Used to the warm spawning currents of its native rivers, it had been cruelly trained to use human bodies as a substitute. Poor creature, it had had no idea what it was doing as it had burrowed itself into Obi-Wan's helpless body. It was only trying to stay warm and do what it had been trained to do in order to get that warmth. For the thousandth time, she thanked every deity she knew that the Guards had been systematically eliminated.
Nervously, her small fingers played over the datapad, searching the Temple records for someone who might be able to help the lad.
Obi-Wan had cried himself to sleep again, and woke deep in the night. The shade was closed again, and only the dim glow of the nightlight illuminated a figure sitting beside him on the chair. He started, huddling back into the sheets with a soft, inarticulate little moan.
"It's all right, Obi-Wan." Kal's voice was soothing.
The boy raised himself up on his elbow, brows knotted. "K-K-Kal?" he stammered. "Kal?" A kind of wild excitement made him tremble uncontrollably as he launched himself forward into the Creche-Master's arms, clinging to him in a strangling grip.
For a long time, Kal held Obi-Wan and rocked him gently in silence. It was blessedly familiar, and this time, his tears were a healing release. Kal had virtually raised him; had held him close when he scraped his knees as a child; had dried his eyes when lessons had been too hard or when punishments had made him cry in shame and hurt. Here, Obi-Wan felt safe.
When his tears were all used up, Kal raised the lights to a low level. Obi-Wan's eyes were swollen with weeping, his face now softly obscured with downy red-blond beard. Kal smiled and rubbed his cheek gently.
"Look at you!! All grown up on me!"
Obi-Wan smiled, then his face grew solemn and still. "Kal, what's happened? No one's told me anything."
"First things first. How're you feeling? You were in bacta for almost two days. We thought we'd lose you."
The boy nodded. "I feel---I don't know. Weak. My legs are shaky, but I think I'm all right."
Kal watched the inward turn of his eyes with concern, but nodded brightly. "Good. Things are different now, aren't they?"
Obi-Wan's face fell and his gaze went dark and sad.
"I don't understand," he whispered.
Kal sighed softly. "Not now, child. You need your rest. Tomorrow, we'll talk more and you should try to meditate on things, as you used to, remember? And Obi-Wan? Remember that there are always more paths ahead, if you look hard enough."
The tall Creche-Master slid into the narrow bed and Obi-Wan curled up in his arms automatically.
"Now try to get some sleep."
Exhausted by tears, the boy rested his head on that trusted, familiar shoulder, drinking in the comforting presence, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Morning in the Temple gardens was bright and sunny, the winter chill making the light dance brilliantly off the evergreen shrubs. The camellias were blooming, their perfect flowers nodding rose and red and white in the breeze.
Obi-Wan knelt on the wooden veranda that stretched out over the garden's pond, wrapped up in his traveling cloak against the brisk air. He had begged one of the assistants for plain clothing and wore a simple beige robe, sashed in pale blue. The hood was pulled far forward to hide his face.
Before him was a tray of flowering camellia, a spray of bristly pine hung with tiny cones, and several long branches of silken-grey pussy willow. There was a kettle of cold water, clippers, a small roll of wire, and a flat vase of dark slate. One slender hand rested lightly on the edge of the tray, the other limp on his knee.
This had always been Obi-Wan's favourite garden in Coruscant's winter months. The orange and golden flashes of the big carp caught the dancing light, creating silver eddies in the water's blue depths. The scent of the air was clean and sharp, fragrant with moss and evergreen.
Qui-Gon watched him from the shadows of the pavilion, so still and silent he seemed part of the landscape. The aura pooling around Obi-Wan was utterly peaceful; the unmistakable reaches of deep meditation, untouched by pain or fear or emotion.
Slowly, the young man reached down and lifted the raspberry red spray of flowers. The hood fell back but he never noticed, holding the gnarled stem in both hands, his eyes reflections of the breeze-shivered water, luminous and far away. A slight smile lit his face and he laid the branch down, stroking a silvery bud of willow gently.
He lifted the pine branch, running delicate fingers over the long needles.
For the first time, Qui-Gon began to understand that, although the boy's training was as unlike his own as water from flame, the ends were similar. Such a little thing: to reach out over the distance that divided them, and yet it had seemed so vast. Fool that he had been, not to see what was so clearly before him. Worse fool he, to have thought, in his arrogance, that there was only one path.
Obi-Wan lifted one of the willow branches, rubbing the silken buds against his cheek, his eyes encompassed in the silver of their fuzz , the pale blue of the water, the deep green of the drifting water plants, moving lazily in the currents. His movements were slow and liquid as he wound a bit of the wire around the stem and gently coaxed it into a sinuous curve before pushing it down onto the spikes of the vase.
He repeated this three times, each branch balanced to reach heaven, mid-heaven and earth. It seemed to his watching Master that he was dancing with them, a dance that created a microcosm of nature itself. There was a long pause as he lifted the end of the pine bough and held it against his face, inhaling its fragrance deeply. The deepening of his meditative state carried a soft note of sorrow, a gentle breath of winter dreams. He clipped the end and carefully placed it in the vase, cutting a spiked, twisting arc across the muted willows.
Finally, he cupped one of the short boughs laden with those perfect, berry-red blossoms and their darker buds enclosed in pale green cocoons. Gently, he pulled off a few stray leaves and placed it in the vase, gradually building a miniature of the great bush nodding in the breeze behind the little pond.
He was left holding one open flower and his face looked very sad. He closed his eyes, the blossom filling his open hands.
Qui-Gon moved in complete silence, dropping gracefully before his kneeling Padawan. Gently, he lifted the flower from Obi-Wan's hands, replacing it with a pale scroll, bound in red ribbons.
The beautiful eyes fluttered open and met his quietly, without surprise. Qui-Gon did not speak, he simply glanced down at the scroll. Laying the delicate paper on his knees, Obi-Wan untied the ribbons and slowly unrolled it.
Hand scribed, the bold lettering proclaimed that Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan to Qui-Gon Jinn, was hereby manumitted, a free man, signed by Lord Jinn and the Temple Council. He was free. Free.
The breeze ruffled Qui-Gon's hair and blew across the water, making the pine trees sigh and shiver.
A lone tear sparkled down the Padawan's cheek, splashing onto the letters and streaking through the black ink. Another threatened to follow, but Qui-Gon caught it on the petals of the flower, raised it to his lips and reached out one hand to touch the boy's cheek in a gentle caress. He smiled, tucking the blossom into his tunic, then rose and disappeared as silently as he had come, leaving Obi-Wan to gaze over the trembling waters with wide and wondering eyes.
XXVIII
There was nothing in the garden to indicate the turmoil of a world turned on its head. Obi-Wan still knelt, watching the shifting sunlight on the water, trying to reconcile the giddy concept of freedom with an ache so deep inside that he could not have spoken for the choking lump in his throat. His confusion was complete. He knew Qui-Gon still wanted him: every sense he possessed told him that the last thing his Master wished was to lose him forever. But freedom? Freedom to do what? A thousand scenarios flickered through his mind, but he only wanted one. He could find work, to be sure. His training in the arts, in language and etiquette and culture was priceless. Any branch of the government would be glad of his expertise, but would those branches or that government still exist? His entire world was crumbling into dust and his heart was breaking with it. Where would all this beauty be in the months ahead? This lovely, rarefied world, with its fine lines and delicate shadings trembled on the brink of a great chasm and Obi-Wan could not bear to see it disappear forever. He had not known how much he missed it until he had come back home.
What of his heart? Would that, too, be trampled underfoot in the wake of Qui-Gon's great changes? He didn't know. He had reached out with every particle of his soul, had known Qui-Gon was watching him, long before the tall form had cast a shadow across his face in the morning light. He had sensed desire, pity, and something more that he did not dare name.
Quietly, he rose, taking the vase to one of the Winter Pavilion's alcoves and placing it before a small stone carved with his favourite poem.
"The flower blooms and greets the sun, a shadow falls."
/ A shadow indeed, but falling is action. / His lips tightened and his shoulders squared. There was little sense mooning about to watch and wait. He knew what he wanted and the only way to get it was to act.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and walked out of the garden in search of Qui-Gon.
He moved silently through the crystalline hallways until he came to the great Rotunda in the centre of the Temple High Tower. He pushed the hood of his cloak down and closed his eyes, feeling for Qui-Gon's presence. He was concentrating so hard he did not sense the person behind him.
"Well, well, if it isn't our favourite "Perfect Padawan"!!!" Bruck's voice was silken.
Obi-Wan turned slowly and faced Bruck with quiet eyes.
"You look like a scarecrow!!" The other boy's laugh was low and nasty and very pleased. "Didn't you enjoy your little vacation with the Guards?"
Obi-Wan tilted his head to one side, wondering at the venom that twisted Bruck's face into an ugly mask.
"It's all over Coruscant proper." The pale blond hair flew back as he laughed shortly. "They should have let you die, but this is much more fun!!"
Bruck's eyes were icy, lit with cruel intent as he circled Obi-Wan. "Everyone's talking about it. They're going to sell you off tonight to the "Crimson Pillow" if no one gives them another offer. That pimp, Krayton, thinks you'll be just lovely for offworlders!! Well, after the Guards, that should be easy for you!!"
The tall blond boy leaned in close to whisper in Obi-Wan's ear. "Of course, it might not be as much --- fun? And you'll have to spend some time at the Healers." Bruck, like all his other age-mates knew how Obi-Wan dreaded the Healers. The low voice gloated.
"Krayton wants you looking pretty. I hear that procedure for growing your hair back hurts like hell. Especially since he's ready to put you to work next week. Don't you want to know what else he'll have done to you? I wonder...?"
Silently, Obi-Wan slipped one hand into the sleeve of his robe and touched the scroll hidden there.
Bruck circled back around to face him, his lips curved in a nasty smile.
"Here. I thought you might like these. Just a little farewell gift from me to you."
He shoved a pair of elaborate, long hairpins at Obi-Wan, the kind worn by the lowest class of prostitute, gaudy with coloured ribbons and tinsel.
Obi-Wan was left, holding the sharp steel pins in one hand, as Bruck strode away down the corridor that echoed with his laughter.
Qui-Gon listened with half an ear to the bickering High Senate Tribunal until he could take no more. The endless minutiae and tangents were making him mildly insane. Finally, he rose, looming in the chamber like a dangerous predator over a squabbling flock of chickens.
"Enough o' this!!" he shouted. "I've done wi' your blather. Either ya work with my negotiators or I'll turn this Sith-damned planet into a ball of frozen dirt. My demands are clear. I want a workable solution to the slavery question. There's trade advantages aplenty for a treaty so I suggest ya pay attention. An' I'll not compromise on th' Temple. It's mine. I own the damned thing and I'll tear it to the ground if I like."
Mace bit back a desire to laugh aloud. Jinn was good, a gambler through and through. He knew exactly when to terrify with bombast and when to trust to diplomacy. His outburst would speed things along. Certainly, the negotiations would be delicate. There would be no way to simply outlaw slavery in the Republic territories: the economy would collapse. A long-term solution leading to complete emancipation would require a very sweet pot. Some of the Out Rim planets in the Rogue Force were trade prizes, laden with valuable minerals, ores and goods. Tax-eased contracts with them would sugar the deal nicely. As for the Temple, Mace had his reservations. There was much to commend the Coruscant Temple. It would require cooler heads than Qui-Gon Jinn's to make a smooth transition from training playthings to training warriors.
Obi-Wan was still standing in the Rotunda, staring down at the garish pins with sad eyes, lost in his own thoughts. He heard footsteps and slid into the shadow of a pillar.
The footsteps stopped.
"Obi-Wan?" Senator Palpatine's voice was soft. "Whatever are you doing here, boy?"
Obi-Wan looked up at the Senator, smiling at his former sponsor with undisguised delight. He was gently enfolded in an embrace and sighed against the Senator's rich robe, suddenly feeling oddly safe and a little sleepy. "You shouldn't be out of the wards."
The boy's great changeable eyes were soft.
"It's not proper for you, of all people, to be wandering about. Are you quite well now, lad?"
He nodded, searching the familiar blue eyes for something of their old affection. It glowed back at him but with it, he saw a kind of icy calculation, a detached scrutiny that frightened him. He bit his lip nervously.
"I know, child, it's very sad."
He nodded again, studying the stern features under his lashes. His face was raised by a cold hand.
"Hmmm. Of course, your hair must be grown out. You look hideous." His head was turned first in one direction, then the next. "Yes. Hideous."
Try as he might, Obi-Wan could not hide the tears in his eyes. The Senator patted his shoulder absently.
"Yes, yes, I know how hard this is for you." He shook his perfectly coiffed grey head sadly. "That barbarian left you to be ruined by his own servant!! Shocking! Just shocking!! And to make the Temple pay him for his own negligence." Palpatine cupped the young face between his hands. "Such a terrible shame."
The cold fingers stroked his cheeks gently and Obi-Wan felt a surge of hope and relief. If his former sponsor still cared about him, perhaps things were not so bad, after all. The gentle touch emboldened him and he reached up to touch the caressing fingers with a grateful smile.
"Yes, truly a great pity. I would never forgive myself if I allowed you to be sold off so cruelly."
Obi-Wan bit his lip again.
"You hurry back to the wards, my dear, and tell Kal to bring you to the Healers. I'll buy you as a pleasure slave. That way you won't ever have to worry about those vulgar peddlers from the sub-levels."
Obi-Wan froze, his eyes clearing in shocked confusion. His mouth opened a little, then shut as the Senator turned his face to one side again.
"You've such lovely bone structure. I look forward to seeing the rest of it properly attended to." The blue eyes raked down his trembling body with custodial avarice. Obi-Wan shivered as though he had been doused with ice water.
"You will be a lovely entertainment at my banquets and you know most of my friends will have such appreciation for your beauty. At least some of your training can be of use. Lift up that robe. I want to see your feet."
Obi-Wan clamped down on his lip fiercely, and obeyed, raising his robe to show his slender feet in their low sandals.
"They'll be lovely moulded to a dancer's shoe. Make sure Kal sees to it. Five inches, no more. And tell Kal I want your hair floor-length. I'll contact him later to arrange for a new wardrobe after we sell yours." The chill voice stopped and his head was lifted once again.
"Tut!!! Don't start those waterworks, my boy! Be brave!! It's more than you could expect, under the circumstances. Surely a place in my home is better than what that sub-level scum has planned for you, unless you like forced androgyny and clients by the number! You know I'll be good to you and you'll find your duties less than arduous, I'm sure! I'll see that you have proper quarters and a servant to attend to you. Hmmmm...you'll need one, and a driver once your feet have been arched..."
Obi-Wan barely heard the rest of the sentences for the roaring in his ears. A pleasure slave!! It was a mercy compared to Krayton's sub-level brothel, but he cringed at the idea of servicing dignitaries who had once vied for his attention. The humiliation was searing. He would still be nothing more than a toy, given by his Master as a gesture of goodwill to any guest. He struggled to contain his hurt, pride stiffening his spine. He would not, could not let the Senator see him cry.
Palpatine stroked the white cheek possessively. "Yes, you will be just lovely. Make sure to tell Kal to get you to the Healers immediately. I will send my servant to fetch you tomorrow evening. That should be enough time. Now you go back and have them get you ready. You see, I won't abandon you."
Somehow, Obi-Wan managed to choke out "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," before he started down the hallway back to the ward. How he was managing to make one foot move in front of the other, he didn't know. He was ice-cold with shock and pain. His mind kept repeating over and over, 'pleasure slave'. He walked slowly, unseeing.
He thought of Jiki. Jiki had been his best friend, three years older, who'd teased him, and laughed with him and taught him all the best places to buy forbidden sweets. Jiki had never been auctioned. No one had told Obi-Wan why: he was far too young for such stories, but there was a rumoured lover. Whatever the case, Jiki had been sold off as a pleasure slave. A month later, Obi-Wan had been in one of the public gardens for a viewing party and had seen Jiki in a high, droid-drawn carriage. His head seemed weighted back by the bronze-gold hair cascading loose to his heels. Obi-Wan had run over to talk to him and was shocked at his pallor. He was even more shocked by the tiny, arching feet in their embroidered slippers that peeked from beneath Jiki's brilliantly coloured robe. A dancer's foot, the hallmark of the pleasure slave: a pretty phrase for a brutal custom that shortened the Achilles tendon, removed more than half the bones and length of the foot and broke the arch into a perfect, permanent crescent. The slippers had blocks set in the toe, for a pleasure slave could only walk en pointe and the cut tendons made only the shortest distances possible. Pleasure slaves never ran away; their feet were too crippled to allow much more movement than a short dance or a swaying stroll across a room. Jiki had been a brilliant kata dancer. Now, so soon after the surgery, he couldn't even walk. His heavily made-up eyes were sad and he pulled at a long spice-pipe as he spoke to Obi-Wan. He said that it had hurt terribly, the hair and his feet, but he was getting better. Then the chaperon had grabbed Obi-Wan by the arm and angrily pulled him away. He was given a beating overseen by his own sponsor and many hours of extra lessons as punishment for talking to a commoner in public. He never saw Jiki again.
Obi-Wan stared out of the transparent hallway down towards the ground level labyrinth of the city far below the Temple. His head felt thick and fuzzy. He couldn't remember what he had been looking for in the Rotunda.
Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan somewhere in the centre of the complex, and strode down the halls quickly. Something was nagging at him, pushing him to find the boy; a vague hunch in the back of his mind said so clearly, "Find him. Find him quickly." He doubted there could be any further trouble in the Temple, but dared not ignore such a feeling now. No, never again would he willingly dismiss any fears he felt on Obi-Wan's account.
He passed a few Temple Masters and nodded brief greetings as they shuffled past him, nervous fingers clutching at their robes, frightened eyes following his long strides. His eyes strained down the hall, in search of the boy, while his mind cast a wide net about the Complex. There was so much about the Temple he did not know. He knew from Kal that the Masters were almost all retired-Padawans who had either purchased or won their freedom. Every one of them had the means to live at the pinnacle of Coruscant's high society, yet so many had elected to return to the Temple and give freely of their time and means to pass on a legacy he had only begun to appreciate. He made a mental note to speak to Kal about it later: the Creche-Master had been an invaluable contact and a friend. Without his help, Qui-Gon might never have found Obi-Wan.
His mind sped along with his long legs through the high-domed crystal corridors. / Aye. An' perhaps it would have been better for the lad if I'd never taken him. / Qui-Gon grimaced. He hoped beyond hope that Obi-Wan had seen his freedom as a gift. It was such a risk. Gambler or no, the lad was one prize Qui-Gon was not prepared to lose.
Qui-Gon stopped for a moment and rubbed his circled eyes. He was so tired he swayed on his feet, held upright by a lifetime of hard training and a backbone made of steel. Exhaustion made the bright winter sunlight glinting off the hallways and windows dance, a sparkling counterpoint to the neat lines of level traffic. He rubbed his face again and continued in search of Obi-Wan.
He found himself in the great Rotunda, gazing around the high pillars in awe despite himself. The weight of so many years lifted this place beyond the moment and even Qui-Gon Jinn was stunned by its austere beauty. This part of the Temple was ancient and whispered of long ages of Jedi, of change and time and the ebb and flow of history. He shook his hair out of his face. When exhaustion made him prey to such fancies, it was time for a long nap!
"Our conquering hero, indeed."
Qui-Gon whirled around and barely suppressed a sigh of relief. It was only Senior Senator Palpatine. Just as he registered the name, another wave of nagging worry for Obi-Wan flooded through him and he stopped, eyes narrowed.
"Senator."
"I must say, Lord Jinn. You quite took us all by surprise."
Qui-Gon smiled crookedly. "I'm sure I must have. Senator, I'm lookin' for---"
"Obi-Wan. Of course. You do know that he will be sold tonight."
Qui-Gon stopped, and eyed the patrician face closely. The Senator's expression was one of bland concern, a true politician's countenance.
"Is tha' what they're sayin'?"
"A pity. But why ever would you be looking for him? I must say, you made quite a fortune of that mess. Making lemonade from lemons, eh?"
The oily voice slid over Qui-Gon's consciousness, slippery and sticky.
"An' who thinks they're sellin' anyone around here?" Jinn shifted his weight to one hip, his head thrown back, eyes steady in quiet challenge.
The Senator was unfailingly, irritatingly polite.
"The Temple Council, of course."
"Of course. Well, they'll na do anythin' without my permission, ya know. I own the whole damned complex. Them too, I suppose." He laughed shortly. "Then again, they already know tha'."
"Really? I had no idea. I must adjust my schedule and meet with you in future then."
Qui-Gon looked down his hawk nose at the falsely smiling face. "Let's dispense wi' pleasantries, Senator. No one's bein' sold around here without my express permission. And certainly na' Obi-Wan, considerin' he's a free man."
To his credit, Palpatine merely raised an eyebrow. "I see. How fortunate for him."
Jinn drew himself up to his full height and took a few steps forward. Every nerve ending was screaming danger at him; something dark whirled around them, making him off-balance and afraid.
// You're very sure of yourself, aren't you, Jinn. //
Qui-Gon felt the blood freeze up in his veins, his face going chalk-white. Like lightening, he struggled to raise his shields but was rooted in place, watching Palpatine emerge from the shadows in a cold grip of terror.
The richly embellished blue robes seemed to swim on a figure that was shriveling before his horrified eyes. The dignified face wizened and shrank, outstretched hands becoming clawed talons. Qui-Gon was gasping, drawing in deep breaths, fighting to regain his centre as he came closer and closer to an evil so palpable he could taste it.
Fool!! You fool!! His mind was screaming as he forced one arm to reach for his sabre. It was pulled out of his hand to land, clattering on the marble floor.
// Yes, you are a fool. And you've come to a fool's end. Did you really think I would allow you to wreck my world, you pathetic thug? I've ruled here for longer than you can imagine and I'll continue to rule long after I've turned you into dust. //
The voice in his mind dripped venom and pounded relentlessly against him. He was struggling to breathe and wrenched himself free of that dark grasp with every bit of his strength. The effort sent him flying backwards into one of the pillars and he sagged against it, gasping, blood beginning to run from his nose. He exhaled, seeking to find calm, to regain some control.
// I will have it all, Jinn. As I have for a thousand years. It's all mine. This world, your precious Jedi, the Temple, the boy. Mine. All of it."
Qui-Gon opened his eyes and threw himself to one side in time to avoid a searing flash of light that burst from those gnarled and shrunken claws. He fell heavily on one knee, gasping at the crackling pain.
// Yes, more power than you can imagine. What is it you wanted? The Jedi? Oh, they will continue just as they are. Silly toys to be played with. Our keepers of culture.// The hateful voice erupted into a truly terrifying cackle of laughter.
// The boy? He's mine, Jinn. He always was mine. By tomorrow night, he'll be serving at my banquet table. You thought to take him from me? Idiot! //
Another lightening flash tore into Qui-Gon. His head snapped back, vision blurring as blood vessels in his eyes burst and flooded his sight in a sea of scarlet. His heart stopped, then started, his mind beginning to blank. He would not survive and he could not fight. Despair was overwhelming him. // Obi-Wan. // he thought, distractedly. // Obi-Wan. //
He struggled to rise up on his knees, determined to meet death as close to standing as possible. The dreadful eyes of that mummified creature were the only things alive in it, the often-cloned body shriveled to a husk containing a millennium of evil. Through the red mist of his blood-filled eyes, Qui-Gon could only watch and wait for the final blow.
He could sense the darkness drawing nearer, being pulled into that hideous wizened thing and drew in a deep breath. Then, suddenly, it was gone. The darkness screeched and shrieked in his mind and fizzled out like a dying ember.
As he sank to the floor, Qui-Gon watched the shrunken form freeze, bright ribbons and tinsel nodding from either temple as it pitched forward.
Obi-Wan was curled in a dim alcove of the reading room, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. He had pulled his feet up onto the bench and hugged his knees. His mind felt fuzzy, the way it used to when he woke after a long banquet of drinking. There had been something he had been looking for in the Temple corridors, but he couldn't remember. He rested his chin on his knees and stared at his feet, wondering how much it would hurt to have them so terribly altered.
He thought about the katas. The katas...a nagging at the back of his mind kept at him, needling him. Katas...ancient warriors...
His head snapped up, eyes wide as he felt a wave of agony and despair. Qui-Gon!!
He raced towards the Rotunda at blurring speed.
He only saw a small form swallowed in a mass of blue velvet, forks of crackling light arcing across the room to where his Master struggled to his knees, blood running into his beard and mouth.
Obi-Wan did not pause and he did not think. In one effortless move, he somersaulted forwarded, plunging each of the wickedly sharp hairpins into either side of the creature's skull, then vaulted over it to Qui-Gon's side.
Qui-Gon looked up through a growing ruby darkness to see Obi-Wan's face above his.
"Master? Master, please."
Qui-Gon reached up one hand, stretching his shaking fingers to touch the boy's cheek before he lost consciousness. His last memory was the dewy wetness of Obi-Wan's tears on his fingertips and the sound of that soft voice calling his name.