BREATH OF NIGHT
Cascadia
See prologue for notes and disclaimer.
Thanks for hanging in there, Athena Leigh, LuvEwan at both sites ;) , and Shan wherever you follow this. :o)
Okay, and now to explain what really happened in chapter 2, hehehe. :o)
CHAPTER 4
Obi-Wan brushed away the distressful worry over the missing comm unit and slipped into the hall, intent on finding someone to bring a meal to his master. The corridor was wide with an arching ceiling that seemed to disappear up into blackest obscurity. Lit torches perched on rusting metal sconces along the walls served as the only lights. Their flames crackled softly and danced about, throwing gloomy shadows on stone grey walls and embroidered tapestries that hung periodically along the way.
There was no one in sight as he wandered about the endless dim passageways that made him think of a creepy labyrinth with an unnamed hideous creature lurking around the next corner. That thought elicited a tiny shiver down his spine.
As he walked, one particular tapestry caught his eye. Its sparkling threads twinkled shyly in the dinginess, but it was the picture that drew his gaze. A bearded man with the build of a warrior warmly clasped a younger man in his arms. A perfect picture of a father and son, reminding him so much of he and Qui-Gon in recent years. The rogue he was, Qui-Gon had not listened to the Council's warnings of strong emotional attachments and had formed a much closer bond with his padawan learner than had been advised.
Obi-Wan had been grateful.
The Council had not.
Perhaps they would have preferred the dream Qui-Gon, the padawan mused, bitterly. His master had never been cold toward him, but last night's dream version had taken on a harsh reality in itself by touching that sensitive pang of guilt for having ended one life and seriously injuring another.
He blinked and realized he was standing still in front of that tapestry, staring at it. Qui-Gon loved him like a son. That was a fact. And would have been enough to make his heart soar, but for the heaviness of guilt for hurting him that remained.
"Are you lost?"
Only mildly startled, Obi-Wan turned toward the voice. "I suppose I am," he answered truthfully in a soft timbre.
The woman was middle-aged and dressed plainly, the padawan noticed, in a simple dress of dull black, with her dark wine-colored hair wound into a tight bun. Probably a servant.
Eyes as dark as a starless sky narrowed with scrutiny, as they looked him up and down. "You must be the new . . . the new guest," she said a bit guardedly, her wispy lips stretching to a thin smile.
Obi-Wan folded his hands within the billowing sleeves of his robe and turned fully toward her. "Yes, ma'am."
Her face remained half in shadow, half in torchlight as she continued her dark stare. "Why are you out of your room?" she asked, still tight-lipped.
Obi-Wan blinked at her accusatory tone. "Well, my . . . uh, my father," the boy explained, not sure why he was keeping the nature of their relationship a secret, "needs some nourishment. I was hoping-"
Her sable eyes suddenly sharpened in interest. "He's awake?"
Obi-Wan nodded, his expression serious. "Yes. He is."
She noted the apparent childlike nature of this one and nodded slowly. It would not do to pity him though, so she cast away that thought and said, "I'll take you back to your room then. Breakfast will be brought to you."
"Thank you." The padawan bowed politely.
Ignoring the kindness, she swept past him. "Come. And don't leave your room again unless told to," she called over her shoulder, her tone rimed in frost.
Through the dim corridors, Obi-Wan followed closely behind. They only paused once, when three small, gray-furred rodent-like creatures seemed to appear out of nowhere and scurry past them, only to disappear in the blackness of an intersecting passageway.
Obi-Wan had almost drawn his lightsabre in surprise, ignoring the fact that it would not have worked with the missing part. "What was that?" he asked in a hushed breath.
She snorted sarcastically. "Karabils. They're perfectly harmless . . . as long as you stay away from them."
~*~
"Master, they're bringing food. Is there anything I can do for you now?" Obi-Wan inquired as he stepped back into their sunlit chamber. Diaphanous green curtains in the balcony doorway billowed gently on an oceanic breeze, and the smell of the sea drifted through.
A graying eyebrow rose. "You can help me sit up, Padawan," said Qui-Gon, tiredly.
The padawan stood at the side of the bed, hands on hips and mischief smoldering in pale eyes. "Hmm. And if I didn't?"
Two sleepy sapphire eyes suddenly grew huge.
Obi-Wan snickered at the scowl on Qui-Gon's face. "Okay, Master. I was just teasing you, you know?"
"You just wait until your old master regains his strength," Qui-Gon growled in mock sternness.
Carefully, Obi-Wan slid his hands under Qui-Gon's shoulders, pushing him onto a sitting position, then packed several bead-tasseled satin pillows behind the large man and arranged the silken coverlet comfortably around his waist.
Qui-Gon eased back into the fluffy welter of softness, sighing into the comfort. He ran his palms over the rich fabric that encased him. "When was the last time I was the guest of a king?" his gentle baritone wondered aloud.
"Probably the time you jumped into that river full of Morindidas on Ta'Kalene IV," Obi-Wan replied, with only a hint of a smile. "Nasty, slithering things, they were."
"I jumped in there to save you, young Padawan," grumbled Qui-Gon. "And if you don't stop your impertinent behavior this morning you're going to find yourself in dire straits again."
When there was no response, Qui-Gon looked at his padawan, who was fighting very hard to keep a straight face. Then they both broke down into chuckles.
When the food was brought, they were both given heavy silver trays filled with polished silver dishes. Qui-Gon was served in bed; Obi-Wan sat in a chair pulled up beside the sturdy bed. They each had a stack of flat sweetcakes smothered in ruby syrup, scrambled Javu eggs - at least they tasted like it - and a bowl of tiny Harberries. In an elegant goblet was served freshly squeezed Ajim juice, they were told, from the King's personal vineyards.
For the moment, Obi-Wan pushed away the turmoil of his emotions. Seeing Qui-Gon well and at peace was all he wanted to think about now, and to be able to bring a bright ray of laughter into his mentor's life was the least he could do to pay for the traumatic experience that he had put Qui-Gon through.
Obi-Wan breathed in the enticing sweet scent of flowers and burnt wood mixing with the tang of the sea. The ambrosia of a tropical paradise. Feeling as if being watched, he looked at his master and caught the seriousness in the older man's gaze. "Master?" he said, clearing his throat. "Is something wrong?"
The midnight eyes stared at Obi-Wan for a few silent seconds more before Qui-Gon drew in a deep breath. "Obi-Wan, did you tell anyone about the comm? About what we were doing with it?"
A tiny frown creased the padawan's brow while he thought. Slowly, he placed his goblet back on tray with a small clink. "I . . . guess I told Loresce," he answered quietly.
"Loresce? The . . ." Qui-Gon caught himself, not sure whether to let Obi-Wan know that he had witnessed the boy's despair while he was incapacitated. Yet, while it might be embarrassing, the whole situation would have to be discussed at some point because of the boy's self-blame.
There was also the rather curious conversation Loresce had had with the padawan within Qui-Gon's hearing and the mentioning of terms for the master's care by healers. Terms that had not been sufficiently explained.
"The King's niece," Obi-Wan supplied, and noticed his mentor's sickly pallor had not left. "Of course, the Dibari knew that it was important to us. I don't think they would have understood what it was, though. I doubt the Dimisfreens, or whatever they call themselves, would understand either."
Qui-Gon rubbed his beard. "Why are you so sure?" he asked in a voice laced with gentleness.
Shifting uncomfortably, the boy said, "well, I haven't seen anything near that level of technology here."
"Yes," agreed Qui-Gon, "but that's an assumption, Padawan."
A small nod. "Yes, it is, Master," Obi-Wan conceded, stealing a glance at the soft expression on the master's face. "Are you suggesting . . ."
"I'm not suggesting anything," Qui-Gon remarked, but the flickering doubt in his eyes suggested otherwise. "But we are in a place that we know nothing about."
Obi-Wan stared at the shiny obsidian-tiled floor and swallowed. The rise of uncertainty suddenly stretched out like an ocean before him.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon waited until after the padawan's gaze slowly rose to meet his, to give him undivided attention.
But those sea-sprayed eyes were dark and grimly prophetic.
Qui-Gon heaved a sigh. "Did Loresce-"
"Good morning," a feminine voice proclaimed from the door. "The King wishes to see you both now." It was a servant woman.
Having observed how pale his master still looked, Obi-Wan said softly, "Master, can you . . ."
Qui-Gon's mouth turned up in a reassuring smile. "I think I can make it, Obi-Wan. Help me into my boots."
~*~
The darkness of the passages began to dissipate as they entered a corridor bejeweled in candled chandeliers. Strings of falling, multi-faceted crystal drops hung from their black metal frames and cast a soft glitter of light on walls, floor, and ceiling.
They had walked a long distance, it seemed, to reach this place. Qui-Gon, with a bracing hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, kept their pace slow, but steady, and when they came to a halt at the end of the hall, they faced two huge crimson doors, which split almost immediately. The servant woman stood to the side, waved them in, and then the doors screeched shut behind them.
Obi-Wan glanced worriedly at his master. The walk had been difficult for Qui-Gon, placing a fair amount of his considerable weight on the smaller Jedi.
"I'm fine, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon assured, sensing the growing concern. He squeezed the young shoulder and smiled serenely.
Somewhere deep inside him, Obi-Wan felt the burn of a raw pain. He had caused this - this physical weakness - in his vigorous, normally graceful master, and now to see him like this . . . The padawan did not want to consider it any longer.
Nodding grudgingly, the padawan looked away to conceal the misty storm of shame that raged in his heart, sure it reflected in his eyes. Filled with that bitter ache, he dropped his gaze to his hands, only partially visible from the folds of his rough robe, expecting to see the telltale stains of his crime there, but was surprised to see their creamy pale hue instead.
Guilty, nevertheless.
He softly sighed and turned to take in their new surroundings.
It was a spacious chamber. Thick ivory columns stood near the side walls, leading to a raised platform at the opposite end where two elegant thrones sat - one larger than the other and placed in the middle of the dais. Three oblong windows stretched about fifteen meters, ceiling-to-floor, and framed the thrones with a heavenly white gleam.
In the larger throne sat a tall man, lines wrinkling his face and a halo of white hair. He was old, but his build appeared to have once been that of a warrior. King Nolab, they had been told, was the king's name.
In the other throne, Loresce sat primly in the olive and mandarin pillowed seat, her dainty hands clasped in her lap. She met Obi-Wan's eyes briefly, before looking airily away.
"Come closer," the King's strong voice rang out.
Once again, Qui-Gon rested one hand on Obi-Wan as they made their way toward the thrones. They knelt before the platform's steps, in the soft glow of light flooding through the windows, as they had been instructed to do, and watched as the elderly king rose with difficulty to his feet.
"Welcome," King Nolab intoned with a faint trace of reluctance. Moving down the steps, he pulled at his saffron brocade robe, adjusting the fit, and stopped on the bottom step. "Dimisfree is pleased by your presence. I trust you have received adequate care, uh . . ."
"Qui-Gon Jinn," Qui-Gon supplied politely. "And Obi-Wan Kenobi," he glanced at the padawan. "And yes, Your Highness. The care has been excellent. Thank you."
Nolab's lips curled up in a smile. "Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi." His eyes shifted from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan, softly painted in creams and browns by the early light. Then he looked away, to the space over their heads. "The hateful fire of war has been extinguished. Our people live in security. Women are not afraid to take children into the fields to play. Peace," he said passionately, "is real. Not a fanciful dream."
The man's russet eyes fell to Qui-Gon's, and there was an unmistakable swell of pain in them that the Jedi master could not have imagined.
"We are civilized, Qui-Gon Jinn," the King went on, his voice taking on a hint of defense. "We live in peace with our surrounding kingdoms. Once, that was not so. Once, the plains were stained with the fresh blood of our sons. We were tirelessly killing ourselves."
His pause felt awkward in the large chamber.
Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably. He felt incredibly hot, and his stomach was roiling with mounting anxiety, despite the apparent harmlessness of the conversation.
"That was long ago, until our fathers came together in the midst of a long forgotten spring and proposed a way to cease our warfare. Now we have peace." Nolab cleared his throat. "Your son is a skilled fighter, I am told."
Qui-Gon drew in a deep breath, concerned where this conversation was going. "Yes, Your Highness. I would say so."
Nolab smiled and ascended the steps back to his throne where he half-turned to face them. "Good. We have need of him, and he has pledged service to us in exchange for your care by our healers."
Qui-Gon felt a tremor of unease from Obi-Wan, but did not turn to look at him. Instead, he maintained a steady gaze in Nolab's eyes and spoke in his masterly calm tone. "If warfare is no more, then why is one such as Obi-Wan needed? Please explain, Your Highness."
"Thralage," Nolab replied, white eyebrows arching as if in punctuation. "He accepted the terms."
Qui-Gon frowned. "What does that mean? What has he agreed to do."
"I didn't agree to anything," Obi-Wan blurted out, shooting to his feet, eyes wide in shock.
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was slightly edged, mildly warning. He watched the tense posture of his padawan hesitantly relax, the mutinous aquamarine eyes falter and drop to the floor.
Nolab waited in the strained silence until the boy slid back to his knees and stilled. "Mortal combat," the King answered the Jedi master, resolutely showing no interest in the boy's outburst, "with representatives from other kingdoms."
"Representatives . . . or slaves?" Qui-Gon thought he already knew the answer. The term of 'thralage' sounded a little too close to another one.
Nolab shrugged, as if unconcerned. "They fight, for glory, for tradition. For the survival of peace. Without them, our peace would quickly crumble and we would be at war again. They are owned, that is true, but they have our undying gratitude."
"But I agreed to no such thing," Obi-Wan again protested, his jaw stubbornly set. "You healed Qui-Gon, and I'm grateful for that, but I can not stay here."
Nolab sighed tiredly. "Was not Thralage mentioned to you," he asked, "in exchange for your father's care?"
Obi-Wan stole a shame-filled glance at Qui-Gon and read the affectional concern in the softening midnight eyes. "Yes," Obi-Wan answered softly. "But it was not explained to me."
The King nodded, and he turned a sadly knowing face away. "And is that an excuse for not honoring your word? A man's word is a man's worth."
Obi-Wan's stomach tightened, the foolishness of his hasty decision frustrating him. Tempestuous eyes drifted to Loresce, who was busy pulling nervously at the sheer lace of her skirt. He briefly wondered if it would have made any difference if the terms had been explained. Healing Qui-Gon was all he had wanted, and he was glad it had been done.
"If you did not understand, you should have asked beforehand," Nolab added, almost apologetically, and his lips drew into a rueful smile. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. The streets of Dimisfree are already in celebration. Please, go with these men to your new accommodations." An outswept hand indicated three soldiers standing to the side.
The padawan tensed slightly. "No," he insisted, almost breathlessly.
"Obi-Wan," said Qui-Gon, a bit sternly. "Let me handle this."
Heart fluttering in bewilderment, Obi-Wan stared into his master's eyes, saw the 'trust me' glowing in their sapphire depths. He wanted to protest, to tell them all that he was not - could not be - owned by anyone, but he clamped his mouth shut and bowed his head, suddenly feeling despairingly sick.
Forcing himself to look away from the look of abject hurt on the boy's countenance and the slumped shoulders, Qui-Gon sent a wave of reassurance along their bond.
"He will not be harmed by us, as long as he cooperates," Nolab added persuasively, and shifted from one foot to the other. "I am needed elsewhere now, Qui-Gon Jinn. You are welcome to remain here until you can find other arrangements. And if you have more you wish to discuss of this matter, I will gladly listen when I am available."
Qui-Gon seemed to consider this and nodded slowly, sensing no deceit from the King. "Go with them, Obi-Wan," he instructed gently. "I will talk with you later," he glanced at Nolab, "if it will be permitted."
"Of course," Nolab responded. "I'm pleased to see that you are an honorable man, Qui-Gon Jinn."
The Jedi master politely nodded once and allowed himself one last look at the boy, now bathed softly in an ethereal radiance that crawled across the burnished citrus marble floor, before he was taken away.
Oh, dear! Our poor Obi-Wan seems to be in trouble . . . again. He seems to make a habit of that, doesn't he? ;) Don't forget to review! :o)
- Cas
