BREATH OF NIGHT
Cascadia
See prologue for notes and disclaimer.
LuvEwan, Lunelle, Heidi M, Rieyeuxs, Athena Leigh, Jess S, Haha . . . Thanks for the reviews, everyone! In response to your question, Jess S, Qui-Gon is in something like a coma. It's kind of like locked-up syndrome. I did a little research on it to try to get it accurate, but I'm not completely sure if everything fits that exactly. So I'm writing it somewhat vaguely. And since this is Star Wars and not something real, then maybe I can get away with it if it's not 100% accurate. :o) Hope you all had a wonderful holiday season.
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CHAPTER 2
Sleepy eyes opened to the ethereal glow of morning that lit the inside of the grass hut. Instantly, the dull gaze flew to Qui-Gon. He was motionless, of course. How else would he have been? Even in the innocent dawn light did the man look irreparable.
Obi-Wan wearily pushed himself up from the dusty floor, slightly startled to realize that he had fallen asleep while working on the comm. A myriad of dismantled parts was strewn across the floor beneath him. He rubbed his eyes and listened cautiously to the voices and odd sounds outside.
Deciding it might be best to see what was causing the disturbance, he rose to his feet and stumbled to the shell curtain in the doorway. He was so tired. Evidently, he had slept, but his body was telling him that it was not enough. The days after Qui-Gon's accident had been trying. And very wearing. Taking care of himself and his master in these primitive conditions were taking a toll on him. A quick glance at Qui-Gon, and he slipped through the door and into the bright day.
Nomads were gathered all along the small clearing between the grass dwellings. They had settled down and now waited in anticipation. But there were others too. Squinting his eyes into the harsh light of the sun, he saw large reptilian beasts . . . bearing riders. The animals were over twice Obi-Wan's height, sorrel scales with darker patches of orange on their underbellies and encircling large oval coppery eyes. Strong thick legs tapered down to cloven ebony hooves.
Humanoid and violet skinned, the riders looked like the Dibari, except for the way they dressed. Unlike the simple gowns in muted colors that the nomads wore, the new arrivals had scarlet tunics under bronze metal chestplates, black loose-fitting trousers tucked into black knee-high boots, and atop their heads, bronze helmets shone in the morning sun. These were warriors.
Obi-Wan's hand carefully slid to his lightsabre and rested there. He watched impassively as the beasts stomped into the midst of the camp, rending deep guttural moans.
"Bi Va'tom," said a soft voice to his side.
The padawan glanced sideways to see a young Dibari child around six years old. Her glittering dark amethyst eyes peered up at him through a wild cascade of long wine-colored hair. "What?" he asked quietly.
"Bi Va'tom," she repeated teasingly, as if he should know what she was talking about.
He dropped to one knee beside her, keeping a close eye on the approaching riders. "What is . . . 'bi va'tom'? Please tell me?"
An infectious smile broke across the little round face, and the padawan could only smile in return. "Bi Va'tom . . . The Takers," she answered, still smiling.
One of the men barked an order to the rest. Then all of the men dismounted and spread out among the camp. Some entered huts, others grabbed children, herding them to their riding beasts.
Obi-Wan stood, tensing and gripped his lightsabre tightly. He looked curiously at the Dibari. They made no move to stop these invaders.
Two of the soldiers passed the padawan by, eyeing him curiously. He knew that with his appearance so different than the Dibari he undoubtedly stood out.
Three more came directly towards him, their hands resting on sword hilts. They apparently meant him harm.
"What do you want?" Obi-Wan asked them, hoping that they would understand Basic, as some of the nomads did.
With a metallic slink, the swords were drawn and brought forth in offensive positions. The nomads around the padawan rushed away from him, and a pathway through the people opened up between the soldiers and the padawan like a parting sea.
"Please don't make me hurt you." Obi-Wan said slowly. Then he reached out to the Force, calming himself and waiting until the men came closer before he drew his lightsabre. He fell back, bracing his stance with his weapon in front of him, but still not on.
When the attackers were just about on him, Obi-Wan easily flipped over their heads, landing behind them. He spun around, watching them warily and saw the looks of surprise registering on their faces.
A warning from the Force allowed him to catch the sudden movement behind him, swinging his suddenly ignited weapon around. The blue singing blade sliced a shining sword off near the hand guard. The surprised soldier stumbled back with eyes wide.
In that moment, Obi-Wan noticed the extreme quiet and felt all eyes on him.
"An impressive fighter among you," the commanding soldier's oily voice broke the hushed silence. "And with a weapon unheard of."
Obi-Wan's gaze found the man still atop his beast. Wine hair turning gray, the commander appraised the padawan with eyes darkly malevolent.
"Never in the halls of Dimisfree has this kind been seen," the commander added.
"What do you want?" Obi-Wan demanded again, his azure blade still humming softly.
The man smiled coldly. "Only the King's tribute."
The crowds around Obi-Wan remained silent. He noticed soldiers standing among the crowd, some of them edging their way toward him.
"You take children as tribute?" the padawan asked, adjusting his sweaty grip on his weapon.
Leather creaked as the commander leaned forward to rest his arms on the saddle horn. "We take whatever may be useful. Now put your weapon down before someone gets hurt."
The padawan's eyes, brimming with concern, scanned the crowd. He knew it was not his duty to interfere with this society, but he could not help but want to keep them from suffering. Children with faces of fear stared at him in bright wonder. He doubted that any of these nomads had ever known true freedom.
One of the soldiers approached the commander, muttering something up to him.
Eyes suddenly bright with new knowledge fell upon Obi-Wan. "The pale man in the hut," the commander said. "Is he your companion? Your father, perhaps?"
Obi-Wan masked his worry and faced him with a straight expression. "Perhaps."
"He is in need of medical attention. Perhaps we can help," the man punctuated with an arched purplish eyebrow. "We have exceptional healers." He paused, appealing with outstretched arms. "Come with us, and I will see that he receives the utmost care. Trust us," he smiled.
Obi-Wan swallowed, his throat dry and his heart urging with hope. "Why should I?" The strong resolve of his voice did not hint at the desperate beating of his heart.
The commander sighed and spoke in a kind tone. "How long have you waited for help here? Clearly, you do not belong. Come and let our people look at him."
Obi-Wan stood impassively, his lightsabre a gleaming azure.
The commander visibly relaxed. "We mean you no harm. But my soldiers are accustomed to precaution when encountering anything new - such as your appearance. Come with us. If your father cannot be healed by us, then you will be free to go. You are not one of the Dibari, therefore you do not fall under threat of tribute. Come," he urged.
Obi-Wan considered the proposal. As golden as it seemed, there were unspoken concerns - whether they could be trusted was the foremost. But there were others, as in any field situation. True, it was not his duty to protect the Dibari. As a matter of fact, the Jedi Council would probably tell him to not interfere, but that did not soften the fact that he had killed one of their children. Did he owe them, or did they even want help?
With a sputtering flicker, the glowing blade of his lightsabre blinked out and drew him from his musing. Momentarily surprised, he then remembered that he had taken the compression coil out. Evidently, there was a little energy that had built up, but was now exhausted without the coil to keep it charged. But the failure seemed to be lost on the invaders, who likely thought he had purposely turned it off.
Without his weapon, he knew it would be nearly impossible to protect Qui-Gon, in his fragile state, not to mention anyone else. Maybe they could heal Qui-Gon, he hoped. If not, and if this was all a deception, then the padawan deserved whatever treatment he would get from them. After all, he had caused an innocent child's death . . . and his master's incapacitation.
Obi-Wan lowered his weapon and nodded wearily.
~*~
Somewhere along the way Obi-Wan had fallen asleep. He opened eyes pale and bright in the glow of the falling sun. It took him several seconds to recall what had happened and why he was curled up next to Qui-Gon in a narrow wagon being pulled by a large beast. Sitting up, the padawan gazed at their surroundings.
The waving ocean of verdant grassland was giving way to sandy lichen-strewn lowland. From here the gloomy mountains of the Dibari were out of sight, and the earth gave up the smell of dank moss, and salt spiced the wind.
They traveled all day, stopping periodically to rest, and by the time the moons began to shine again Obi-Wan spied the silvery flash of a distant city on the edge of the horizon. None of this had he or Qui-Gon seen when they had scouted the area around the Dibari, nor had the nomads ever mentioned others.
They reached Dimisfree by nightfall, its large stone buildings glowing ghostly pale gray in the waning light. Dirt streets were nearly deserted with a few pedestrians wandering about and merchant shops closing.
Separating from the main troop of soldiers, the wagon carrying Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon turned off the main road and passed through decorative metal gates and proceeded to a tall and stately mansion. The padawan kept one hand on Qui-Gon, as he had the entire trip, almost as if moving from him would destroy any hope of the elder man being well again.
When they stopped Obi-Wan was helped to take Qui-Gon into a door at the side of the building, and up several flights of stairs. They took him to a spacious bedroom where the Jedi master was gently positioned beneath peacock-green silk covers upon a wide bed. Matching diaphanous drapes flowed from the bed's tall posts and cascaded into rich pools on a shining obsidian floor.
Obi-Wan glanced around the room after the others had left. It was very luxurious in taste, and the air smelled of alluring sweet flowers and burning wood. Dark yeque wood furniture decorated the room - a desk, several dressers, a vanity with clear mirror, various tables and plush chairs with soft black furs draped over them, and a wide malachite fireplace burned orange flames next to glass double doors that led to a balcony. An etched crystal vase of voluptuous crimson flowers rested on a small table beside the bed.
He tossed their canvas bag of supplies on a chair and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, looking at Qui-Gon. "Master," his voice was soft in the large room, "we're here . . . wherever here is." A wobbly smile disappeared almost before it had appeared on the padawan's face, and his aquamarine eyes glowed with concern. "Are you comfortable?" he asked as he tucked the covers around the still form.
There was no answer, of course. Why did he always wait for one?
With a sigh, he looked away. "I hope I've done the right thing." His gaze was suddenly lost in the leaping flames on the hearth. "They might be able to heal you. That's the most important thing," he whispered, distantly.
"Well, it looks like your father is in need of healers," came a voice from the door.
Obi-Wan looked at the woman, not really surprised that he had not sensed her, as exhausted and distracted as he was. "Yes," Obi-Wan answered, looking cautiously at her. "I was told he would be helped?"
She stepped into the room, her long velvety amber dress swaying in rhythm. She had the same violet tint to her skin and long reddish hair gathered loosely at the back of her head. "I'm Loresce, the King's niece, and healers are coming, young man," she replied pleasantly, and then gestured to Qui-Gon and delicately asked, "what happened to him?"
"He was throw by a tornado," explained Obi-Wan, feeling his stomach tighten with anguish and guilt. "He hit his head when he landed. And I've been unable to heal him."
She observed how the young man suddenly paled. "Are you alright?" she asked with a sympathetic smile. "May I get you something to drink?"
Obi-Wan straightened his spine and swallowed hard as he met her oval amethyst eyes. "Yes, thank you."
Smiling, Loresce retrieved a carafe from a bureau and poured a rosey liquid into a crystal goblet, the fluid slushing quietly.
The padawan watched the falling liquid as it glistened in the firelight. "When will they get here?" He realized he was getting impatient and caught his lower lip between his teeth.
"Here," she held the goblet out to him with a sweet smile.
Obi-Wan took the glass and sipped slowly.
After a few moments, Loresce spoke up. "He means a great deal to you. Doesn't he?" She watched the shadows of pain dance within his luminous eyes at the question.
Obi-Wan inhaled a quivering breath and looked to the darkening skies beyond the glass balcony doors. "Yes."
"And you want him well. Don't you?"
He merely nodded, his tongue licking the sticky tart taste from his lips.
"I can understand that. My father died a few years ago, and there was nothing that could have stopped me from saving him. If only I could have." Loresce's tone became emotionless. "But at least he's not suffering now."
Obi-Wan bowed his head to conceal the tears that welled in his eyes.
"Commander Gorane said your father is in some sort of a coma or locked-up inside himself someway," she went on. "I wonder how it feels to be that way, to not be able to do or say anything. I wonder if he feels any pain."
Squeezing his eyes shut, the padawan tried to stop the fall of salty droplets, but they escaped and traced silently down his cheeks.
Loresce heard a tiny sniffle, and placed a gentle hand on the side of Obi-Wan's face. "I'm sure he knows you'll do everything you can to help him be well again. I'm sure he knows that you . . . love him," she assured softly.
Obi-Wan felt guilt lancing his chest, and fought to maintain what outward calm he had left before he broke down completely and sobbed like an infant.
She sat next to him and brushed a warm hand gently through his short hair. "The healers are expensive," her voice drifted to him soothingly, "but the King is generous. He will pay all your expenses under the terms of the Thralage. Do you agree to allow healers to look at him?"
Damp lashes swept up, revealing eyes now sparkling with tears. Hesitantly, they shifted to Qui-Gon. The master looked so pallid and cold. So miserable.
All his fault.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath to relax his tightening throat, his gaze riveted to his master. "Please heal him."
tbc
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