Lineage VIII

Chapter 26

The Council sat in silence for a full minute after Qui-Gon Jinn announced his firm intention to seek out the Shaman of the Whills, morning light spilling thickly over the mosaic floor, caressing each detail of the floral motif with a wistful touch. Obi-Wan kept his eyes down, feeling the weight of the Councilors' perturbation as a pressure closing around his spine.

Something was wrong. He could sense it, though he did not understand its cause.

At last, Mace Windu steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, dark eyes liquid with regret… and something else. "No," the Korun rumbled.

Qui-Gon's head came up, lightning flashing in the Force. "What?"

"Heard our decision, you did, Qui-Gon," Yoda chuffed. "Denied is your request. Seek this Shaman you will not."

The tall master shifted his weight, a subtle lapse into battle-ready stance. Beside him, his apprentice winced.

No master! Not again!

But the silent plea was, as always, ignored. Qui-Gon Jinn had been defying the Council's dictates since before Obi-Wan's birth. He wasn't about to stop now.

"Your reason?' the tall man curtly demanded of the Grand Master.

Yoda's gimlet eyes slitted into dangerous crescents. "For your own good, and that of your Padawan, do we make this decision. Your place it is to submit."

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Of course Master Yoda had chosen the worst possible tactic – likely on purpose. The mention of obedience did nothing to mollify the Order's resident maverick. In fact, it pushed him over the invisible edge of his tolerance.

"Strange," he remarked, with deadly calm. "My decision was predicated upon the same considerations."

Mace Windu reached his limits in the next heartbeat. "Your considerations do not outweigh the authority of this Council or the wisdom of our entire tradition, Jinn. The Whills are heretics and dabblers in questionable practices. No good purpose can be served by seeking them out. Especially," he growled," With a younger member of this Order in tow. The Council forbids it."

Qui-Gon scoffed impatiently. "None here have ever bothered to study what little is known of the Whills. I checked the Archives records – your judgment is based on ignorance, in violation of the second pillar."

Obi-Wan cast a desperate pleading glance upward at his mentor. To accuse the Council of violating the principles of the Order was… outrageous.

And Master Yoda's snort of contempt amply conveyed his opinion of this pronouncement. "Overstepped yourself, you have, Qui-Gon. Silent, you will be."

A resentful nod, and the rebel subsided, a muscle in his jaw leaping visibly.

Blood rushing in his ears, Obi-Wan assaulted his teacher's mental shields again. Master, please! This was not going to end well.

The Grand Master shimmied off his chair and stamped forward, gimer stick clacking harshly against the marble floor as he made a full circuit about the inside of the circle, grunting irritably with each shuffling step. He halted when his peregrination brought him back round to face Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice.

There, he peered upward, a horrible scowl marring his rumpled features. "Sense your intentions, I do. Go in defiance of our word, you will. Stop you I cannot, Qui-Gon Jinn. But hear this: disobey in this and you renounce your place in this Order. Enough have we endured of your insurrection."

This time Obi-Wan's protest was accompanied by a sudden intake of breath. Qui-Gon caught his eye, but only a fey light sparked behind the tall man's gaze, a cold determination freezing his features into a displeased frown. Courage, Padawan.

The young Jedi's heart leapt against his ribs. It was not an ordinary fear that coiled in his breast; did Qui-Gon even comprehend the ultimatum laid before him? Would he truly embrace apostasy to further his own goals? The broad chamber seemed to shift beneath his feet, circling idly with the planet's motion.

"Padawan Kenobi."

His attention jolted abruptly back to Master Windu, who was now leaning forward in his chair, a glower stamped upon his dark features. "Yes, Master Windu."

"Did Master Jinn explain the nature of this quest to you?"

Obi-Wan blinked, a weight settling in his gut. "No, master."

"I assume you agreed to accompany him, nonetheless."

But of course he had. "Yes, master. It is my place," he added, willing the intimidating Korun to see the obvious. What Padawan would not follow his master without question or objection? Such trust was the foundation of their mutual oath, and thereby the foundation of the Order itself. A flare of hot approval from Qui-Gon; an icy whiplash of anger from Master Yoda.

The Padawan drew himself up. "It is my place," he repeated.

He could feel Yan Dooku's penetrating stare resting upon him from behind, the Sentinel's silent and aloof scrutiny burning a hole in his composure.

Master Yoda slammed his stick into the floor again. "Abuse such loyalty you do, Qui-Gon," he rasped. "Drag down others into your folly, you will. Selfish."

Qui-Gon stirred, hands dropping to rest upon his hips in manifest disgust. "I have heard enough, my masters," he growled. A short bow, conveying little respect and less submission.

"You have been warned," Mace shot after him as he stormed toward the exit and the lifts, cloak billowing at his heels, the Force churning in unrest.

Obi-Wan lingered behind, even as the tall man disappeared into the antechamber.

"More to say, have you, Padawan?"

The tower was surely breaking free of its foundations, giddily swaying in the heights. He dropped to one knee. "Masters," he began, willing the desperation to leave his voice.

Yoda's ears drooped. Mace Windu's eyes softened. There was a faint ripple of pity within the Force's seething currents.

"Master Qui-Gon is … not himself. Please, I beg you, do not impose this choice upon him. He is a loyal servant of the Force and deeply committed to the …Jedi path." He almost said to the Code, but that would indeed have been stretching truth to the breaking point. "And he is my master."

Yoda closed his eyes, shoulders slumping as he grumbled some private imprecation deep in his throat.

Mace exhaled. "You disrespect your master by speaking thus," he pointed out.

"It's not disrespect… it's the truth, Master Windu." He would do anything, dare anything, to save Qui-Gon from the terrible fall opening before his feet. He was sworn to protect the man, was he not?

"Attachment," Yoda declared, without explanation. "Subtle are its snares. Honor your training and your master you do, Obi-Wan, but reverse this judgment you cannot."

Defeated, he hung his head. "He is my master."

The ancient Jedi took a step forward, leaning heavily on his cane. "Follow him you may. But know this: share in his fate you will, if such you choose. Leave the Order willingly would you?"

No. Never. Not if it cost him his life. He looked beseechingly at the Grand Master, but the tiny master did not relent. "He is my master," he implored once again.

"Then go to him," Mace Windu sighed. "You will not sway this Council."

Obi-Wan found his feet, though vertigo seized him. He bowed, unsteadily, and took his leave, the Force roaring discordantly in his blood, laying siege to the numb ramparts of his heart.

The largest training salle's observation balcony held a throng of spectators late that same morning.

"Stars' end," Jedi Knight Feld Spruu muttered, peering over the railing at the battle royale unfolding below.

Beside him, Cin Drallig only smiled, a secret amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth, deepening the lines about his eyes. "Yan has a certain style, certainly," he agreed. "Seldom will he engage anyone so openly. If I did not think such a thing impossible, I would say his feathers have been ruffled a tad."

The Twi'Lek grinned impishly. "Then Master Dooku had better watch himself or he'll end up plucked and roasted."

"Hm." The swordsmaster would on any other occasion have thought this prognostication highly dubious – but as he watched the mock combat playing out below, he reconsidered his opinion. Dooku's present opponent was fighting like a very, very dangerous man.

"And whose fool idea was it give Kenobi a shoto, anyhow?" Feld idly mused. "He's a pain in the pula enough with just one blade."

An aggrieved newcomer shouldered his way through the crowd and squeezed between the swordsmaster and the Twi'lek. Ben To Li's eyes narrowed as he beheld the all-out melee below. "So it's true," he grunted. "I'll have his hide."

But Master Drallig laid a hand on the healer's arm. "Peace, brother. You cannot keep a fish from water nor a bird from the skies without breaking its heart. Besides, Yan will see to the hide part."

Though it did not necessarily seem so.

"By the Force," Knight Spruu chuckled, lekku quivering as Dooku's young dueling partner ducked beneath a swift decapitating strike and came up against the older man's thigh with a reverse cut on the left, longer blade sweeping into a bind on the opposite side. The Makashi counterstrike went wide; the Sentinel barely escaped a singeing to his groin; the contestants spun and rolled apart, facing off again with mutually bared teeth, both faces slick with perspiration, the Force roiling with deadly enjoyment.

"I'm not patching him up again if he tears that ligament," Ben To grumbled, and then departed in a huff.

The tall blue-skinned Knight craned his head about, surveying the small crowd of spectators. "Where is Master Jinn?" he wondered.

Cin Drallig shrugged, and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "He's missing the fun – but maybe that's for the best, my friend."

At that moment, the protracted battle came to a fiery conclusion, the whirling green blade and the paired sapphire lightning bolts colliding in a final cataclysmic clash, shrieking and spitting their combined fury until, marvelously, the shoto blade withdrew from a bind, the younger combatant executed a tight backflip in mid-air, parried a downward strike on his raised right-hand saber and simultaneously drove the point of his shorter weapon past the Sentinel's guard and under the last rib, a killing blow by the rules of tournament.

Dooku stumbled back ward, eyes wide, and made a stiff bow.

Obi-Wan stood, eyes glittering with triumph, and made a deeper obeisance, the two 'sabers disappearing into their hilts on a dissonant chord.

"Most… impressive," the senior Jedi admitted, voice roughened by a hint of pain. His brows lifted.

"A Jedi finishes what he starts," Obi-Wan Kenobi responded. "Thank you, master, for starting me on the path to this victory."

Dooku's thin mouth curled upward at one corner. "Next time I shall use my right hand," he decided.

The audience clapped its approval. The silver haired master glanced upward. "Ah. Celebrity seems to follow you like a stray akk pup."

The Padawan merely bowed again, wiping his face with one tunic sleeve. "I shall endeavor not to lead it astray."

The Sentinel's grey eyes narrowed. "I see. I look forward to our next meeting." And he turned to the exit, prowling away like a midnight black colwar, his dark and elegant form surmounted by a thick crown of silver, his bearing as sprightly and upright as it had been fifty years ago, when he had been a youth of eighteen himself.

Obi-Wan forewent the sonics and indulged in real water in the shower rooms, leaning against the cool side of the stall, pressing his head against the smooth tile as the sweat and grime ran off his skin, pooling in the fragrant suds at his feet before being whisked down to the 'cycling center by the efficient vacuum drain system. The sparring match with Dooku had lasted nearly an hour, and his muscles now felt as numb and shocked as the rest of him, a dull emptiness dragging at his sore limbs as much as his heart and mind.

Still, he had won. And that was something.

Or nothing at all. Not compared to all that had come before, especially the fateful conflict in the Council chambers this morning. He braced both hands against the wall, watching rivulets cascade between his outstretched fingers,

And suddenly, without warning or reason, another outpouring threatened to join the water running so freely down his back and legs. He jerked upright on a sudden indrawn breath. There is no emotion. There is peace.

He dried himself off with rough haste, and threw his cloak on over still-damp tunics, and departed at a pace somewhat more brusque and hurried than suited the ideal of Jedi calm.

"Master?"

"In here." Qui-Gon tossed a wad of cream cloth into an open satchel upon his sleep-couch, which had already been stripped of its linens. In fact, the entire larger bedroom was eerily tidy, exuding a consciously inflicted vacancy.

Obi-Wan stopped in the doorframe.

"We leave the day after tomorrow," the tall Jedi master informed him, laconically. "I've secured a berth on a reliable vessel." He glanced up. "You may pack at your convenience; I simply have some affairs to tie up here on Coruscant."

The Padawan gripped the edge of the door. "You are leaving … the Order?"

Qui-Gon's hair spilled over his broad shoulders as he leaned over to secure the small travel case. "I do not look upon it as such. But the Council has chosen to leave me, as it were." He stood, and turned to his appalled apprentice. "I am not abandoning you," he added, by way of reassurance. "Never, Obi-Wan."

The Padawan opened his mouth to speak, but words would not form in his over-weary mind. "Master," he said, helplessly.

A small frown rumpled the tall man's forehead. "What is it?"

"Master, I … I cannot leave the Jedi. This is what I am."

But Qui-Gon Jinn was undeterred. "You are a servant of the Force, Padawan. I saw it in you when first we met. And that is something broader and deeper even than the Order. I will complete your training, I promise you. I promised Master Tahl the same."

"And I promised her I would stay on the path." He had sworn it to Tahl, and to the Force itself, time and time again, in thought and word and deed. And it had been promised on his behalf by others, before could even speak, so many sacrifices made and renewed over the years that it would be obscene to nullify them all in one reckless act of rebellion.

"Master, please."

"I don't understand." Qui-Gon stepped forward, and braced him by the shoulders. "Obi-Wan, what are you saying?"

What was he saying?

For the second time that day, he found himself on one knee. "Master. I beg you to reconsider. Heed the Council and remain here… I need you."

Qui Gon followed him down, fingertips still trailing against his arms, deepest pain softening his grey eyes. "Padawan, I am not forsaking you. We depart together, as always. I am honored to have you by my side."

The young Jedi bowed his head. "I can't leave," he repeated. "Please, master."

But the older man only shook his head, gently. "No, Obi-Wan. This is the will of the Force. You must trust me. I will not stay… even for you."

The blow was stunning; it sank deep into vulnerabilities long scabbed over. Qui-Gon's loyalty and compassion were boundless, and yet they still admitted of limit and hierarchy. And here there was no quarter, and no compromise; a Jedi served the will of the Force above his own desire, above all else. Attachment, however strong, however pure and true, stood no chance in the face of such an absolute. A Padawan could not turn a master out of his Force-ordained path, by any power or means granted him.

In the final reckoning, he came second.

Obi-Wan nodded. "I understand." His other knee hit the floor. He thought he might be sick, if he were not so empty.

Qui-Gon gripped his forearms one last time, and rose. "Meditate upon it," he advised. "I know you will find clarity, Obi-Wan. You always have."

Loss reared up its ugly head and laughed, a wild cackling in the Force, a ravenous pit already glutted and yet howling for more, for endless deprivation, for the renunciation of every good and sweet thing in existence, for a poverty more absolute and excoriating than any other.

There is no emotion. There is no passion. There is no ignorance.

"Yes, master," he answered, despair roughening the syllables.