BREATH OF NIGHT

Cascadia

See prologue for notes and disclaimer.

Thanks for the kind reviews: LuvEwan You're too kind! :o) , Athena Leigh Yep, Obi's in trouble.=), ~Becky~ Your feelings serve you well :o), and Shan You're right on all accounts. Obi is supposed to fight in matches and thanks! I'm glad you like the names. =)


CHAPTER 5

"Mine?" he whispered, eyes round and sweeping incredulously over his new room.

It was elegantly stylish and embellished in fine furniture and exquisite design, just as Qui-Gon's room had been, only this one was in pale blues, cobalt, ivory, and sable. Sheer baby blue netting hung abundantly from a ring at the end of a chain from the ceiling, and pooled over the bed like a silken waterfall. An ivory marble fireplace was flecked in navy and sat next to black metal-work doors inlaid with cut glass, now gleaming in brilliant natural light.

The click of the deadbolt behind him drew his attention from the enchanting room. Whirling around, Obi-Wan tried the door's knob. It was locked, of course. Why would anything go in his favor?

That would not have been a problem under normal circumstances, but the wide gold bands they had placed around his wrists had frighteningly disrupted his connection to the Force. They must have something in them that caused that. There were Force-users here, so they had to be aware of what they were doing.

He walked across the dark wood-paneled floor to the balcony doors. Throwing them open, he stepped into the brightness of day, his russet hair set afire coppery bright. It was warm, the sun beating sizzling rays on the world below. His eyes scanned the view. Ocean waters glowed turquoise and washed relentlessly upon sands shimmery white, frothy foam at its shallow edges. There was a tall granite stone wall that ran all along the coast for as far he as could see in both directions, a strip of beach between it and the sea. He spotted several men stationed on the top of the wall, soldiers by appearances.

It was too far to jump to the ground, and besides that, he should wait until Qui-Gon settled everything. His master would get him out of this. Wouldn't he?

Tramping back into his room, he threw himself on the bed. It was strangely comforting, the silk cobalt coverlet soft and smooth against his skin, the lulling fragrance of something similar to dasily tea spice seeping from the fabric. The bed held him safely and surely.

Yet, at the same time, he felt adrift on a cloud, lost from his past, the future a shadowed passageway leading to an unknown.

He wanted so much to leave and go home. After exhausting himself caring for his master, trying to repair the comm unit so they could leave, and bearing the guilt for a child's death and his master's possible life-changing injury, he had been forced onto a path to pay for it all under terms he had not understood.

Until too late.

In the haze of despair and guilt that he had been in when they had first arrived here, he had not seen that Loresce's offer had come with conditions. Had she tried to trick him?

Did it really matter anymore?

Looking back, it had not been a wise choice, but the padawan knew that he would probably do it again to help his master. He would willingly pay any price to correct his mistake that could have cost Qui-Gon his future.

By the Force, maybe this was his fate. It had been his fault, afterall, Qui-Gon's injury had.

And there was the child's death.

Lyril was a beautiful child. Her dark crimson hair had fanned out on the ground around her head like the soft halo of a sun. Her small face had held a lovely peace, unlike the terror that had twisted it as she ran across the field, away from the whirling tornado.

When he shifted, he noticed the dampness of the coverlet beneath his face, where tears had dripped from reddened eyes. After a muffled sniff, he levered himself up on his elbows and stared dully at the shimmery baby blue netting gathered about the bed. A shaky hand pushed some of it aside that had shifted around him when he had thrown himself on the mattress.

Slowly, he crawled up to the pillows and burrowed his face into their soothing softness, exhaustion descending on him. Tear-soaked lashes swept over weary eyes, and they closed against the beautiful sight of his new prison.

And his mind closed to everything else.

Almost.

It's all your fault, soft whispers in his mind declared. You deserve this.

And he knew they were right.

In the cradle of the elegant bed, Obi-Wan fell asleep with unsettling thoughts plaguing his soul. Condemned by himself, by his own ineptness, by his own existence.

~*~

The room was lost in a deep well of silence.

He looked up from his plate of food, his gaze unfocused and troubled and not really seeing the slant of afternoon light through the glass doors. He was a slave, a thrall, a gladiator. And he had walked right into it.

The meal had looked appetizing, but the ache inside him killed any desire for food that he might have had, and had consequently spent most of the time pushing a piece of stewed vemelg around on his plate.

Setting the china aside on the bed where he sat, Obi-Wan sighed and then frowned in confusion. There was a tiny scratching sound, like little claws scurrying across a wooden floor. He searched for its direction and then slightly jumped from alarm when frizzy gray fuzz appeared at the foot of the bed.

Two ruby eyes stared out from amidst the fuzz, and the small creature clambered fully up on the mattress. It was one of those Karabils, the rodents that he had seen in one of the passages.

Remembering the warning about them, he prepared to slowly ease off the bed, but stopped when it squeaked and sat back on its haunches, the large round eyes watching him curiously.

"Go away," Obi-Wan entreated with a scowl.

It just sat there, cocking its fluffy head to the side.

"I said, go away," the padawan demanded, emphasizing with the sweep of one arm.

He picked up a small piece of bread from his plate and threw it at the little creature. Then, he watched in surprise as it squeaked and jumped to the bread. After a tentative sniff, it grasped the piece in its tiny clawed hands and began nibbling away.

Once it had gobbled up that piece, the Karabil gazed back at him, fat gray-furred cheeks still moving as it finished chewing on the last bite.

Obi-Wan relaxed. The creature was only hungry. It didn't appear dangerous, and its tiny teeth could not do much harm.

"Want more, fluffy?" he asked, smiling, and then tossed another piece of bread to the creature, this one landing closer to the padawan than the other one.

The Karabil trotted nearer and snapped up the bread, immediately gnawing on it.

Obi-Wan was lost in the happy wonder of the moment after several more bread tossings and the Karabil was within arms' length. At last, he held a piece between thumb and index finger, his arm resting in his lap. He waited breathlessly and watched the creature come forward. Its tiny black moist snout ran over the bread in the boy's hand and was about to snatch the piece away . . .

When an unexpected knock sounded on the bedroom's door. Startled, the Karabil dashed off the mattress and quickly disappeared under a tall dark wood dresser.

Obi-Wan sighed. The momentary happy escape from his situation broken, reality set back in.

He watched passively as the tall, imposing figure of his master entered. His dark brown robe, tunics and pants looked homespun and plain in the rich elegance of the bedchamber, but the man's obvious grace made up for any commonality that he might appear to have. He was looking better now, his pallor replaced by healthy color and physical strength returning.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon greeted.

They both heard the click of the room's door lock. Qui-Gon ignored it as he stepped through a glaring bar of sunlight and closer to the bed, his eyes flashing around the room and instantly cataloging everything. Then they settled on Obi-Wan.

"How are you?" the master asked. His gaze roamed impassively over Obi-Wan who sat in a dimness that shaded half of the chamber. A thick alabaster candle on a bedside table cast a pale radiance over the boy, and Qui-Gon noticed the padawan's new attire, loose trousers of deep blue silk and a matching open vest.

Obi-Wan stared at Qui-Gon for a moment, before quickly averting his gaze. "I'm . . . fine, Master," the boy answered stiffly and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"No," Qui-Gon said as he shook his head slowly, "you're not." His voice was strong and comforting at the same time, a trait that more than once had given the padawan pause to wonder at the man's true intentions.

Obi-Wan blinked before a crease appeared between his narrow brows, and he was grateful for the comfort of shadows. "Why do you say that?" But he still would not meet the other's eyes.

Qui-Gon came closer and crossed his arms in the wide sleeves of his robe. "Because something is troubling your heart."

The bold bluntness of the words left Obi-Wan unable to draw a breath.

"Because you will not confide in me," Qui-Gon added, while he watched for any visible reaction. "And," he spoke more gently, "when you will not talk things out with me, I have good reason to be concerned, my padawan. I cannot stand idly by while you're hurting."

Obi-Wan sat unmoving, hearing the rush of blood in his ears, feeling the racing palpitations in his chest, though on the outside, he appeared composed.

Having been conscious throughout most of his comatose locked-in state, Qui-Gon knew the boy blamed himself. But getting him to admit that and accept instruction and guidance from his master was not always an easy task, Qui-Gon knew from years of experience. And he was also well aware of Obi-Wan's habit of assuming things - even things beyond his control - as his responsibility to make right or to prevent from going wrong.

So when things did go wrong . . .

"Will you talk to me about what troubles you?" inquired Qui-Gon, the silver streaks of his hair sparkling softly in the descent of light.

There was an inordinate amount of time swallowed by silence, and Qui-Gon was beginning to think that Obi-Wan would never respond.

"I . . . I don't think," the padawan's voice came oddly strained and not without a little quiver, while a sweaty hand slid over the sensuous glide of silk on his knee. "I don't think I am . . . worthy to be a padawan." He inhaled a quick lung-full of air. "I don't think . . . everyone would have let that child . . . or let their own master be harmed so."

"Obi-Wan, you didn't let the child-"

"I did," Obi-Wan cut in harshly, eyes bright with pain and boring into the master's darker ones. "I missed her when I should have sensed her there. And you," he swallowed hard and swept his gaze over the older man, and then in a voice suddenly hushed, "almost died."

"I've almost died several times," Qui-Gon countered with an absurd serenity.

"But not because of . . ." The answer would not pass Obi-Wan's lips.

Qui-Gon's eyes were pooled with empathy. "Because of your mistake?" he finished.

The gentle inflection struck at the padawan's heart, and the boy had to look away again.

Fully entering the shadows, Qui-Gon sat down on the side of the bed, facing him. "None of us are perfect, Obi-Wan. But if we keep our mistakes inside, without release, they fester and destroy us from within."

It was so easy to say.

"I feel so numb." Obi-Wan's voice sounded hollow and as if he had not even heard Qui-Gon. He looked down at the gold bands on his wrists as he held them out, the metal reflecting soft glints of gold from candlelight.

Honoring the boy's unwillingness to talk his problem out now, Qui-Gon reached out and gently pulled one of Obi-Wan's arms closer to study the band. With one finger, he barely touched and quickly withdrew it as if he had been stung. The band had felt like it was sucking the life from him, much like a Force-inhibiting collar.

"How do they expect me to fight like this?" Obi-Wan asked tonelessly.

"I don't know, Padawan. But I've been told that your first match is in three days." Qui-Gon paused when crystal eyes rose and met his, and a question glowed within the aquamarine ones. "I want to free you legitimately. And I feel the Force leading me to do it that way," he said softly, hoping his student would understand.

When Obi-Wan did nothing but stare at him, he went on. "There's a merchant I met just before I came here who asked me to accompany him to another kingdom across the sea. He said there are ways to communicate with others beyond there. I'm hoping he means that we can contact Coruscant. And I hope I can learn more about this culture."

"You're leaving me." Obi-Wan stated blankly and in an unsurprised tone.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan trying to tug his arm from Qui-Gon grasp, so the master let go. "Only for a few days. But . . . it won't be until after your first match."

"Then it may be too late," Obi-Wan admitted quietly, frost forming quickly over his heart. "I might be-"

"Obi-Wan, don't say that," Qui-Gon insisted calmly. "There is an alternative to kill or be killed."


tbc