The Rhythm of the Heat
by sidewinder (sidewinder72@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG
Archive: m_a, author's homepage
(http://members.aol.com/amyaallen/sidewinder.html)
Category: erm...Point-of-view (Obi-Wan) And songfic. Sorry
'bout that, I know some people hate 'em...just can't help
myself sometimes.
Notes: See sidewinder listen to Peter Gabriel all day. See
sidewinder get drunk. See sidewider finally break through her
writer's block. I have no idea if this makes sense or not, I
just ran through it in one burst and figured it was one of
those 'post it as is or lose the mood' fics. More than anything
I'm just damn happy to have finished anything I've started for
the first time in months.
Feedback: Did you get it? Let me know. I'm not sure I did.
Disclaimer: Song lyrics (c) Peter Gabriel. Nothing belongs to
me except the hangover I'll have tomorrow.
// Looking out the window
// I see the red dust clear
// High up on the red rock
// Stands the shadow with the spear
We've been walking for two days. This world is dry, and hot,
and I don't know why we're here. My master tells me nothing
except "You will understand in time."
/In time./ How much time? Another two days? Two weeks? Just how
long will we keep walking like this? The sun is hot and the red
earth crumbles under my feet. We walk and walk and I see
nothing but more scorched earth ahead of us. I would argue with
my master, question our need to be here and where we are going,
but I am too tired and too hot to speak. My world has
drawn to focus on nothing but following Qui-Gon, the sound of
his boots crunching into the dry soil as we walk on into this
desert.
// The land here is strong
// Strong beneath my feet
// It feeds on the blood
// It feeds on the heat
The silence between us is not uncomfortable; it is simply
there. I wonder what Qui-Gon is thinking. I wonder about a
great many things as we cross the great desert of Bel'alle.
I wonder when we will next stop for a drink of water.
I wonder about the prickling along the back of my neck, the
vague sense of urgency in the Force, and if that is what
propels my master along this path.
But it is not my place to question him. It is only my place to
follow.
// The rhythm is below me
// The rhythm of the heat
// The rhythm is around me
// The rhythm has control
// The rhythm is inside me
// The rhythm has my soul
Our third day on Bel'alle. Qui-Gon is already awake when I lift
my head from the makeshift pillow of my robe. He is dressed in
only his leggings, silhouetted in the morning sun. I watch as
he goes through the movements of The Seeker--a complex
series of katas he has not yet taught me. I watch and I feel
the Force gathering around us, within him, as he opens his arms
wide to the skies, to the rising sun.
A bird cries out nearby. As the echo fades, I realize I hear
another sound off in the distance.
A pounding rhythm. Machinery? Somehow I do not think so. The
records for this planet mention only pre- technology species
dwelling here.
Qui-Gon lowers his arms and then turns to me. "We must be
moving soon," he says. "It is almost time."
/Time for what?/ The question is on my lips but I do not speak
it. Instead I shake the dirt and sand from my hair and rise,
resigning myself to another day of mystery and sore feet.
// The rhythm of the heat
// The rhythm of the heat
// The rhythm of the heat
// The rhythm of the heat
The pulsing sound grows louder. By midday I can no longer
contain my curiosity. "Master, what is that sound? Is that
where we are heading?"
"Yes, Padawan. And you will discover its origin soon enough."
At nightfall we have still not reached our destination,
although the beat now sounds closer. It pounds and echoes
across the land. All day I have heard it, felt it stronger and
stronger, scared and drawn to it at the same time. /What is
it?/ I wonder. Qui-Gon will not tell me. We sit at our campsite
and eat our rations, then meditate. The rhythm will not leave
me even as I try to clear my mind. It does not leave me even
when I lay down for sleep. The rhythm has become as familiar as
my heartbeat.
I dream of the rhythm. I dream of many strange things- -of
songs I've never heard, of places I've never seen, all in time
with the beat of distant drums.
I dream of my master as I have often dreamt of him of late. His
heartbeat matches the rhythm of Bel'alle as we make love on a
bed of dried earth and mud.
// Drawn across the plainland
// To the place that is higher
// Drawn into the circle
// That dances round the fire
// We spit into out hands
// And breathe across the palms
// Raising them up high
// Held open to the sun
More walking. More unspoken questions. Sweat trickles down the
back of my neck, under my robes and tunic. The sun is hotter
than the day before and the horizon shows more of the same--dry
earth, far away mountains. And still the rhythm continues,
calling us ahead. My fingers tap against my side in echo of the
complex beat. My mind wanders, and the Force tells me there is
something ahead worth all of this--the heat, the endless,
monotonous hours.
I wish Qui-Gon would tell me what it was. Or maybe he does not
even know.
// Self-conscious, uncertain
// I'm showered with the dust
// The spirit enters into me
// And I submit to trust
Sunset. It is beautiful, the sky a reddish-pink, purple and
gray clouds overhead suggesting we might have a rare rainfall
tonight. And up ahead, I see something--something different
from the sand and rock and earth.
Smoke.
And as we continue onward, as the pink fades into purple and
blue and then black, the smoke leads us to a fire. And voices.
Cries and chants that echo the rhythm which has been calling to
us. A band of people circling around a bonfire. Perhaps forty,
fifty of them--it is difficult to see exactly how many in the
darkness. Each one carries a drum and beats out the rhythm that
has not stopped for days. Their bodies are slender, humanoid,
covered with glowing paint, ornaments which rattle and ring as
they dance around the fire. One lone figure beats upon a
massive rock to the right of the fire; each strike of his large
stick against the rock sings with a sound that seems to
reverberate through the Force.
I turn to Qui-Gon in surprise. His eyes focused on the fire, he
finally explains. "The rock sings only once every seven hundred
years. It speaks to those who gather here to celebrate the
rhythm of the planet."
"The Force..."
"Yes. It is strong here. This is the pulse of the Force. Come,
Padawan."
// Smash the radio
// No outside voices here
// Smash the watch
// Cannot tear the day to shreds
// Smash the camera
// Cannot steal away the spirits
I follow my master toward the fire. The others do not seem to
notice us; they are too deep into their singing, their dance,
their celebration. I watch as they circle around, my body
swaying to the beat that screams of life and joy, of everything
that makes up this universe. I inhale the bitter smoke and
dimly am aware that my sense of the world around me is
shifting--the beat grows louder, the words of the chanting more
insistent. It is unbearably hot; I notice the others wear
nothing beyond their decorations; why should I?
I lose my robe, my tunic. I join the circle of life and
celebration, clapping my hands to the beat of the Force. I
start to join the chant, even though I do not know the words I
am speaking. It doesn't seem to matter. I understand enough
that it is a celebration of the rhythm, the rock that sings to
us for this moment alone.
The moment. From somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember
my master's teachings, his urgings to live in the moment, not
the future, not the past. In this place, I think I finally
understand. There is no past, no future here. Only the rhythm.
Only this moment of celebration, of song and dance, of the
Force swirling around us.
I know Qui-Gon is near; I can hear his rich voice joining in
the chorus. I can feel his signature in the Force, the beat of
his heart in time with the beat of the rock, of the planet. I
swirl and dance, and when I find myself in Qui-Gon's arms,
dizzy and wet with sweat, I lean my head against his chest and
listen to his heart.
// The rhythm is around me
// The rhythm has control
// The rhythm is inside me
// The rhythm has my soul
I wake up and immediately know something is wrong. I can't
place it at first, but then I understand.
Silence.
Complete silence.
The rhythm that has been with us for days is gone. I sit up in
alarm and look all around. All I can see is the smoldering ash
of the bonfire. The others are long gone. The rock stands alone
and silent.
Qui-Gon lies naked only a few inches from me, asleep on his
robe.
Did we...? Could we have...? I can't remember. I can't even
remember the exact beat of the drums which has been with us for
days, let alone what happened last night. My mouth is dry and
tastes like dirt and sweat, blood and smoke; my limbs ache in
ways that could be explained by any number of activities.
And oddly enough, none of that matters. I stand and stretch,
letting the hot sun fall upon my bare skin head to toe. The
prickling sensation along my neck is gone; all I sense in the
Force is peace.
The moment calls to me. I run through the katas of
Tranquility and wait for my master to awaken.
End
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