BREATH OF NIGHT
Cascadia
See prologue for notes and disclaimer.
Thanks for the reviews: Christy, LuvEwan, Heidi M, Freakizimi, kikeriki, ~Becky~. And Christy, in response to the chapter not showing up: sometimes when you first upload a chapter it doesn't show up for awhile. Sorry about that. :o)
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CHAPTER 3
It was something beautiful, like the perfection of a spring garden in the unworldly brilliance of morning. So unforgettable and precious. So far above anything else in his life, save the Force. The devotion that his padawan had to him during this time of need would have burst his heart with joy for that love, had he not seen the utter despondency that cruelly stroked that young soul.
Had he been able to say something - do something - to assure the boy, there would have been no fathomless ocean that could have swallowed that offered hope no matter the weight that it carried to the depths of his being. As the cold fingers of heartsickness had settled upon that child, were it in his grasp to blow away those icy whispers he would have given all for that one breath.
But he could not.
Deep within himself he laid. Lost. Somewhere. Without a guide to point his way.
He would have lashed out in frustration, but that fate would laugh at him.
The day Obi-Wan confessed every single time he had deliberately disobeyed him had nearly crushed his heart. The slumped shoulders and head bowed in shame as that politely accented voice laid bare every misdeed scraped like broken glass shards across his fragile existence.
That would have been enough.
But there was also the way the boy had let himself go, tending and cleaning his master while his own hair remained tousled and his tunic and leggings dirty. Sleep deprived eyes balanced on the edge of consciousness, while nimble hands worked until dawn.
I'm here, he wanted to scream. Don't cry for me yet.
But the yoke of guilt was heavy upon those young shoulders. Much too heavy a burden for one so barely out of youth. But the weight was unmistakable. And the eyes that once stared up at him in radiant admiration now welled with darkly pools of pain.
Oh, Obi-Wan! How have we come to this?
If he could have raised his hand to wipe the stray tears, he would have. If he could have touched that living fiber that ran from his mind to his padawan's, no star could have outshone his blinding admiration that would have been sent to that young mind.
Obi-Wan, I love you. The confession traveled endlessly in a loop inside him.
Please don't blame yourself.
But blame, he did.
And alone, locked within the prison of himself, Qui-Gon wept.
~*~
The warm sensuous blush of light swept softly across youthfully rounded cheeks and a smooth strong jaw. His eyes, at the same time bright with hope and glazed with an invisible pain, stared relentlessly at the man on the bed. Refusing to leave Qui-Gon's side, Obi-Wan had been kneeling at the foot of the stylish bed since the healers had arrived, his chin resting on arms flat on the mattress.
For long hours three healers were gathered there. Through the glass balcony doors, stars glimmered across the dome of the heavens, like priceless jewels in a black velvet crown, then faded at the first glints of dawn.
In the shelter of the room, in the presence of the healers and his master, Obi-Wan could no longer remain awake as his heavy lids finally sealed and the welcoming arms of exhaustion carried him to slumber. . . .
Howling winds receded, and the earth fell silent from the banshee shrieks of the twister, but the horror had just begun.
He left the protection of the ditch and dashed across the field, frantically searching with trembling hope. Damp blades of grass slashed against his legs, and he almost slid on the wet ground while nomads followed behind, speaking words he neither knew nor concerned himself with knowing at the moment. When he finally spotted the dark brown of Qui-Gon's robe, his eyes darkened and the wild flutter in his chest increased.
"Master," Obi-Wan whispered in desperation, dropping beside the Jedi master.
A shaky hand pushed silvery beige strands of hair out of the noble face, and the padawan gasped upon seeing the eyes that usually flared in wisdom open, but unfocused and vacant.
"Master, are you hurt?" he asked, smoothing the hair behind Qui-Gon's head. "Master?" The pitch in his voice had increased, and he pulled a sticky, blood-covered hand away.
Abruptly, Qui-Gon's eyes blinked and focused on him then, but they bore a coldness that the boy had never seen.
"M- Master?" This was not how he remembered it. No, this was not right!
"The child is dead, Padawan," spat out Qui-Gon, sharply. "And I've received a serious head injury. There is no excuse for this."
"But . . ." protested Obi-Wan, fighting for breath.
"You've always let me down, Padawan," the voice continued crisply. "Always. How many innocents will pay for your incompetence? How many problems will you cause with no hope for reparation?"
He wanted to say something to defend himself, but he knew the reprimand was justified. He knew his master was right. He was always right.
"They should have sent you away long before they tried. I would have applauded. The whole Temple would have. They knew what I did. That was why no one ever wanted you. No one will ever want you. I never did, and I certainly never will."
"Master, please," Obi-Wan begged.
"It's all your fault, Padawan. All your fault. Even if I recover, it will always be your fault, and the child will always be dead. It's all your fault. All your fault. All your fault. All your fault. . . .
How long he remained asleep he was not sure as he was stirred by a familiar presence, both gentle and gloriously powerful within the confines of his mind. At first it felt tentative, almost confused in its state before stretching with a giddy boldness.
With effort, Obi-Wan dragged his eyes open and raised his head. At first nothing appeared different other than that the elegant chamber was presently bathed by the gleaming incandescence of a waking sun. Shafts of light poured through the balcony doors, and the whole room was vivid in peacock green, soft creams, gold, and sable. The dimness of firelight from the night before had not hinted at the sheer beauty of the place.
The healers were gone. Was that good or bad, he wondered, as dread sourly gripped his stomach. He glanced at the fireplace. It was cold, and there were only sooty ashes left; yet the smell of burnt wood still hung in the air.
He felt the mental touch again and, though still in his grogginess that had forgotten the sensation before, peered at Qui-Gon with a wild gaze.
"Master?" he whispered uncertainly, his heart pounding out a nervous rhythm in his chest.
A mental chuckle rung in his head.
A smile blossomed across the padawan's face. "Master, it is you." He nearly fell over, rushing around to the side of the bed. Climbing on the mattress, he knelt beside Qui-Gon.
The master appeared to be asleep, eyes closed and still, but Obi-Wan knew better. With one hand the padawan stroked the silky graying tresses away from the pale face, and with the other gently cupped the wiry bearded cheek.
"Master? How do you feel?"
Obi-Wan, I'm here, but I feel very weak.
"Weak? Maybe you need to eat," Obi-Wan suggested. "Can you open your eyes?"
Yes. I think I can.
Obi-Wan anxiously watched the lids struggle as they tried to open. When they did, he stared into the sapphire orbs, happiness bubbling within him. Never had he felt so relieved to see the light of cognizance there. There were so many things he had taken for granted.
"Master," the boy panted with relief, a joyous smile tugging his lips. "I've missed you so much."
And I, you, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon gazed into the greenest lambent pair of eyes the master had ever seen. They were large and round and strikingly glittered with the greenish tints of the room. Gladly, he noted that gone were the shadows of worry that had constantly clouded those eyes recently.
Qui-Gon tried for a smile, but it was very weak and barely registered on his pallid visage. Fine lines around his eyes wrinkled softly.
Obi-Wan, his mental voice continued, how long have we been here? After I was healed I fell asleep.
"Oh, you couldn't have been asleep long," the padawan commented warmly. "We arrived last night, and its," he glanced through the transparent doors to the dazzling day outside, "it's still early yet."
When Obi-Wan looked back to Qui-Gon there was an odd expression on the master's face. Concern, or something else, disturbed the normally placid features.
"Master?" Obi-Wan almost whispered. "What's wrong?"
The midnight eyes looked away. "This is a beautiful place," Qui-Gon said, his voice rough and weak from lack of use.
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan agreed, less than enthusiastic.
Qui-Gon looked back at the boy. "Where are we? Have you discovered anything about their culture? Anything to help us get home?"
Obi-Wan cast his gaze downward. "No, Master."
Sliding off the bed, he trudged to the balcony's doors and stared outside with hands braced on the glass at either side of him. For a quiet moment, he stood there, washed in the gentle splendor of liquid sunlight, his hair brushed with gleaming golden threads and his face ivory white.
"This kingdom is called Dimisfree," the padawan said. "Three healers used focusing crystals on you last night, obviously some Force users here, but apparently they weren't aware of lightsabres, and they were astonished when I flipped over several of them."
Qui-Gon frowned. "You fought them?" he asked calmly.
"No," Obi-Wan looked at him, then to the floor. "Not really. I thought they were going to harm me, and they weren't so sure about what I was going to do to them. But no one was hurt. They offered to help you if we came with them. That's why we're here." He found two willow-tinted crystal latches, one per door. Twisting them, he parted the glass doors. "There's an ocean out here," he declared softly.
It's tranquilizing rush instantly suffused the chamber. Pleasant pictures of turquoise waves scrambling across spongy sands formed in Qui-Gon's head at the sound. The vision was made complete when he heard the squawking of a bird.
"A bird?" Qui-Gon rasped, his sparkling eyes turning to the padawan. "What does it look like? Describe it to me."
"Its large with pale peach feathers and has a long black beak," Obi-Wan answered as he stepped back into the room. He left the doors open, but went over to their canvas bag and started rifling through it.
"Sounds wonderful," Qui-Gon muttered, sounding as if his thoughts were far away.
"It is," Obi-Wan replied. "I'll get you something to eat, Master. You should feel better then, but I can't find . . ." he trailed off, his hands moving frantically though the bag. Abruptly, he stopped and pressed his palms against his face with a loud exhale.
"What is it, Padawan?"
"I can't find the comm," the boy fought to keep his voice steady. "I put the compression coil from my lightsabre in it and might be able to send a signal with it after I get it all back together. I know I put it in here. It has to be. I--I put it in here."
Concerned, Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan as well as he could from the bed. "Are you sure, Padawan?"
"Yes, Master," said Obi-Wan, clearly dismayed. "At least, I thought I did. Maybe I . . . maybe I didn't. Maybe I messed up again. I've been so tired," he ended softly, barely above a whisper. Closing his eyes, he reached for any measure of serenity, but instead felt saturated by guilt's freezing waters that swept over him.
It's all my fault, the words flitted through his mind. Everything is.
tbc
Okay. I know it's not the most exciting thing, but something significant is about to happen. If you caught it in the second chapter, Obi-Wan made a terrible mistake. It was subtle, but you'll find out what it was in the next part, probably. :o) - Cas
