XIV.

"What are you thinking?" Quinlan growled to Qui-Gon. Ciaràn swung his feet out from under the crossed blades and stood, still dizzy but with the world evening out around him. He felt strained sinews that would only get worse tomorrow. Pity how hurt one could get simply from the ground. This was the last place and time where he wanted to be wasting energy.

"I'm serving justice," Quinlan growled. "Serving the Republic."

Qui-Gon was as calm as if he were sitting in the Temple. Ciaràn thought that maybe the old Jedi was only ever as calm as when somebody held a saber to his throat. "This justice is starting to look a lot like revenge. Do not erase what I have worked for here, my friend. Ciaràn, tell him who you are."

"I'm Ciaràn," slipped out quietly, and then the words came faster and louder like an avalance gaining momentum. "I killed Obi-Wan. I slaughtered him." He felt his brow pulling down into tight furrows, his lips pulling up from his teeth at the memory of the final blow. "I enjoyed it, wanted the taste and the small of his death—"

Quinlan had been preparing, sinking into his center of mass, and at that last word he forgot Qui-Gon entirely. He leapt for Ciaràn.

His lightsaber had to swing wide out of its earlier alignment to get anywhere the Zabrak, so before it could Ciaràn turned into the attack and hit Quinlan just below the elbow. Another strike with his open palm and the saber dropped out of Quinlan's hand to the ground, the green blade retracting. Quinlan kept moving. He struck at Ciaràn's neck with the hand that wasn't numb.

Ciaràn met his hand with his elbow and pulled Quinlan over his shoulder. He couldn't remember whether Sidious or Drallig had taught him this throw. The Kiffar's back hit the ground with an abrupt tamping sound, ending the momentum begun at his saber strike. Without bothering to gesture Quinlan called his lightsaber to him with the Force, but Ciaràn was already on him. It felt effortless to drop, driving a knee into Quinlan's sternum in the process, and clamp down on the Kiffar's wrists. Ciaràn felt his foe's fingers clench in his grasp as Quinlan tried to reach for his lightsaber.

It was hard to speak instead of just squeeze, pushing the spidery fingers scratching at his palm down into the dirt and to their breaking point. Maul would not have thought beyond that. Ciaràn focused on Quinlan's face.

He said, "I enjoyed killing him. I'd enjoy killing you—"

Quinlan got a knee up and pushed at Ciaràn. The Zabrak pressured down on his wrists but Quinlan surged and grabbed a fistful of the tunic over his shoulder; they flipped. Ciaràn felt his teeth snap together as his back hit the ground. Their momentum kept going as they headed for the edge of a hill, and Ciaràn slammed an elbow partially against the ground and partially against Quinlan's shoulder. He pinned the Jedi again.

"Let me finish," Ciaràn snarled. "I enjoyed that death and Qui-Gon had to live with that, had to look at me every day and remember it. I owe him for that. I've learned from that. From everything else in the Jedi Code, rules, books too—but it's still all wrapped up in one lesson."

He rolled aside to let Quinlan get up.

The Kiffar lay flat for a moment, face set in a glower, before standing and picking up his saber hilt. He stared from Ciaràn to Qui-Gon.

"Go back to the Council," Qui-Gon said evenly. "Leave Alyce with the ambassador on the way. Tell Yoda what happened here." He spoke again after meeting two uncertain stares. "Ciaràn and I will stay here. We have much to discuss."

"Are you really going to let this happen?" Quinlan growled. "Obi-Wan was your apprentice. You're acting like he was a stranger."

"No…the reason I can do this is because of how I knew him. Obi-Wan was no ideal of justice. He was a boy. I like to think he would have wanted a life to be saved instead of taken."

The two Jedi looked at one another evenly. Three heads turned as they heard footsteps and a panting Alyce charged up the hill. She stopped between Ciaràn and Quinlan as if deciding which to hit in the knees. "N-no fighting!"

Ciaràn saw Qui-Gon try to resist a smile and didn't know whether his lips were curling with disdain or the same mirth. A quick chuckle replaced all the stale air of the fight. Alyce's neck ruff flared.

"Come on," Quinlan growled. "I'm dropping you back in the capital."

"What about the fugitive?" the girl asked.

Ciaràn felt his hackles rise, but there was no reason for him to act on the anger. Maul would have always found attack simplest. Ciaràn….did not want to see Qui-Gon and Quinlan fight because of him. He could sense his past training beating at him like a bird, but it was just that—a past, a fragile feathered thing he could toss out into the sky and watch it dwindle as it flew away. He didn't have two personalities, or a monster under his bed.

Yes, the Council had forced Ciaràn on Maul at first, but since then he had chosen for himself. Darth Sidious' commands in his head still seemed as loud as when he'd been called in their direction after he fought the bounty hunters. He was not sure what it would be like to face the Sith Lord. Maybe that was why Qui-Gon wanted them to stay on Alderaan—so that that confrontation never happened.

But the Council had manipulated him, so he didn't feel too keen on going back to them either. Qui-Gon, though, had hidden his pain even as he trained the man who killed his protégé. That was power that Ciaràn could admire and Maul could covet without understanding.

Ciaràn knew that his struggle with himself was not over, but Alderaan was a good place to have it.

He looked into Quinlan's eyes, forcing his own features to smooth into a relaxed expression. He knew that his face looked like—still was—a Sith mask to Jedi eyes. That could not be changed now. Perhaps new lessons could be learned in those branching patterns. "Forgive the trouble I've caused," Ciaràn said. He couldn't resist adding, "As I can forgive the Jedi's actions."

Quinlan simply nodded, his dreadlocked hair shifting around his grass-stained shoulders. "Let's go, Alyce."

"Take the ship Ciaràn brought here," Qui-Gon said. "It belongs to the Temple. It would be best if the Scimitar remained here."

Alyce said what Ciaràn imagined everyone was thinking. "But you said that ship belonged to the dark side. It's heavily armed!" Well, he hadn't thought that last part.

Quinlan was resolute. "We're not leaving a weapon on in your hands."

Qui-Gon said softly, "You're letting the dark side turn you into one."

"No. I know where the line is drawn." Quinlan paced forward, called his lightsaber to his hand with enough bitter force that Ciaràn heard the smack of it against his wrapped palm.

"It's not that simple, young one. We're beyond sides here."

Young one, Ciaràn noted. Which one of us does he mean?

"You've stepped over," Quinlan said. "You've forgotten our teachings from concentrating so hard on your role as master. That ship will just pull you further down. Come with me, Master Qui-Gon." Quinlan activated his lightsaber. "Or I'll begin to think you've stepped too far."

Qui-Gon shook his head, looking down sadly, but when he raised his blue eyes they were shards. "No, Quinlan. We're not going anywhere."

Quinlan's saber tip dipped. Ciaràn activated the orange lightsaber he'd stolen from a Jedi so long ago. Its hilt felt short, and hidden compared to the double-bladed lightsaber Maul had known. Light in his hands it felt unwieldy and useless.

Quinlan charged toward Qui-Gon.