BREATH OF NIGHT

Cascadia

See prologue for notes and disclaimer.

Thanks, Athena Leigh!

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CHAPTER 8

He ran his callused thumb down the textured binding, then withdrew the book from its shelf. Of dark blue leather, the volume creaked slightly as he parted the cover and gazed in it.

Tangible books like this were a luxury, a rarity, on most worlds. Even the Jedi Temple had progressed to laser data-storage. Qui-Gon's former master had an affinity for books, collecting his own personal library and had instilled the same passion in his impressionable apprentice. Tattered and yellowing at the edges as most of his own were, they showed their considerable age. Yet here, in Indurier, there was an entire library full of them. And many of them glowed in newness.

"Oriyan," Qui-Gon whispered in the hush of the sanctuary. It was an old form of Basic, over two millennia ago, before it had been corrupted by Ja'nehlan influences. His studies of the ancient times had been beneficial in more than one occasion and would now allow him to read the historical texts in this oddly technological port kingdom.

Indurier was as polar to Dimisfree as Coruscant was to Alderaan. Maybe more so. While it retained an old world style atmosphere, the city was also ripe with the advance of technology. Speeders roamed the streets; pedestrians basked in the trappings of commerce and made full use of hand-held comm units. And the biggest - and most relieving - aspect of all was a medium sized spaceport.

Dimisfree, Qui-Gon had learned, had outlawed most advances in technology. The kingdom had lived in darkness for ages.

He had already made a call to the Temple on Coruscant. The Council, in all their stoic glory, had expressed concern over Obi-Wan's plight, promising to do all they could to help. But the padawan had crossed a line when he had agreed to the Thralage terms.

The old tradition of Thralage had existed for thousands of cycles, leaving the present populace unaware, or uninterested, in its origins and long-forgotten laws. Even Deru Ketoma, the generous silk merchant who had given Qui-Gon free passage in a sternwheeler across the Hibrian Sea, had no knowledge of the intricacies of Thralage law. Thus, Deru had directed him to the vast, multi-floored Udiriom Library, only a block away from the harbor.

Upon first entering, Qui-Gon had suspected that he would discover nothing of importance when the very unfriendly librarian had reminded him of a certain other librarian back at the Temple on Coruscant. But a nice elderly woman had overheard and offered her assistance.

Now, he perused through an old volume on Thralage, hoping there would be something to help.

~*~

Last night, Obi-Wan had stood on his balcony, overlooking the restless sea, and entertained thoughts of Coruscant, the spacious golden halls of the Jedi Temple, his simple apartment with the deep brown carpet and Qui-Gon's jade-green tea set of delicate china that seemed too fragile to hold anything.

He had gazed upon the three waning moons, the pale pink one growing rosy red and dipping lower in the heavens. It was another difference from Coruscant, where only two moons gleamed and the unyielding light of civilization dimmed the skies. There, the oceans had been drained, and life subsisted on atmospheric dampeners and artificially-created ecosystems.

But there . . . he had also been free.

Obi-Wan walked gingerly into a large courtyard that he had been told he was allowed to go in, and looked over the curving groomed hedges and sienna brick walls that were draped by a summery sun to the east. Splashes of scarlet and sapphire and lemon blossoms dotted the garden and crept over the earth as groundcover. The air was spiced with pungent fragrances, some sweet, some bitter, and there was always the briny smell that underlaid everything.

There were a few soldiers that watched from atop the surrounding walls, but overall, he was left unmolested. He was still a slave, but yesterday's vision - if that's what one would call it - had settled most of the turmoil within his heart. Oh, it was still there - for now. But when he had encountered that great concentration of Force energy - the greatest that he had ever - the hold that his part in Qui-Gon and the child's injuries had on him was medicated by that loving energy, and Lyril's words had struck deep within, the whole experience bringing a new outlook and a place for some of his burden to be siphoned away.

It would have all failed had he not been willing to accept that, despite his hand in the accident, he was as prone to make mistakes as anyone was. There was no such thing as the perfect padawan.

There never had been.

What was traded in place of his burden was serenity, a surrounding aura of peace. He knew he needed many deep meditations, a strong constant connection with the Force, and probably sessions with soul healers to find a more complete release and find healing.

But that would come with time. And with a better grasp on the Force than his suppressing wristbands allowed.

His attire today was of a coarser, deep emerald fabric and consisted of trousers, open vest, and short sable boots. The King's slavemaster had provided the padawan with a small wardrobe, seemingly unused and of fine quality and design.

After walking along one scratchy hedge, Obi-Wan turned toward it and released the small Karabil from its hiding place against his skin beneath his vest. The little creature's frizzy fur had tickled him all the way from his bedchamber, through the mansion's dingy halls, and out into the courtyard. He set it on the dusty earth, and it immediately began sniffing the ground.

"What do you smell, Fluffy?" the padawan whispered as he crouched next to it in dappled shadows, his hair touched just enough by beads of light to glint like copper, his eyes glowing aquamarine as they watched, enraptured by the little gray creature.

The Karabil was the same one he had seen in his room several times, and he had, over the days, taken to feeding it, eventually gaining the privilege of petting and holding it. Keeping it a secret seemed like the best idea, given the servant's reaction to them, unless he wanted it to be taken away and possibly killed.

But it was his only friend here. And the best escape from thoughts of servitude.

"And where did you get that?" A voice drifted to Obi-Wan from somewhere nearby.

"From the new gladiator," Loresce answered, sounding very smug.

Neither were talking to him.

"He doesn't know I took it," the young woman added.

With that, Obi-Wan located the direction the conversation was coming from and scooped up his pet. He moved quietly along the tall pine hedge until he reached its end and peered around it. There was Loresce and a man he had never seen before standing in front of an ironwork bench, where the missing comm unit sat atop a cloth bag.

"I could get quite a price for that in Breema," the man replied, his hair blonde and contrasting starkly with his dark navy cloak.

"Why do you think I'm showing it to you?" Loresce said. Hers arms tugged at the deep purple velvet of her skirt before smoothing away imagined wrinkles.

"Because you like gloating over what schemes you can pull off. And because you need currency."

She inhaled sharply. "I don't-"

"You and Dimisfree are in debt. And don't try to claim you're not. I've heard the whispers all the way to Huliss. Ah, yes," he smiled ferally, "Dimisfree would be in servitude to us within three cycles, if not for your precious new warrior. He's sure to save you . . . until Nolab is forced to kill him for his disobedience. Which the King will have to do if he keeps that up."

Loresce glared at him. "If we were so bad off, then why wouldn't I simply make bets on our opponents?"

"Because you would have to set up false accounts. And that was too much for your pretty little hands to dirty themselves with when you could easily trick a young man into-"

A small frown creased her brow. "I did not trick him."

The man barked a harsh laugh. "I know you too well to believe that."

"Nevermind that," Loresce snapped, turning back to the bench. "You can have it for three-hundred seds."

"Three-hundred?"

"Three-hundred."

The rest of the conversation comprised of bargaining over Obi-Wan's comm unit and meaningless gossip about various nobles and their not-so-secret love lives. Before the padawan realized it, the man was walking towards him.

Quickly, Obi-Wan pressed back against the hedge and held his breath as the man passed by. The thorny stickers from the leaves at his back bit into his skin, but he did not move, waiting for Loresce to leave.

A short time later - but much too long for Obi-Wan - he heard the dull clip-clop of the young woman's heels approaching. Her gait was slow as she passed and neared an arching walled gate that led back to the main part of the mansion.

It was then, just as Loresce reached the black doors, that Fluffy - as Obi-Wan had taken to calling his Karabil pet - decided to make its presence known. With a shrill squeak, Fluffy wriggled in the padawan's arms that had grown too tight around its small body. Obi-Wan immediately loosened his hold and prayed to the Force that his eavesdropping would not be discovered.

Loresce stopped, her slender hand hovering over the door's heavy handle, and swept her gaze over the courtyard.

His heart pounding in his chest, Obi-Wan waited, as still as the hedge behind him, through agonizing seconds until Loresce disappeared through the gate. He glanced around, saw no soldiers on the walls in his line of sight, and after a few minutes left the garden to return to the safety of his bedchamber.

~*~

Light fell in brittle patches beneath a canopy of itrellen trees. It was early morning, and Obi-Wan blinked sleepy eyes, focusing on the shining silver sword in his hands. He sat cross-legged under the large trees, felt a peaceful breeze redolent of the seaside, and ran his palm under the smooth metal surface, then reached for more of the oil to wipe upon the blade.

Qui-Gon had been gone a few days now, and Obi-Wan's next match was tomorrow. It really did not worry him. Really it didn't. But the thought of possibly living out the rest of his life here left him empty on the inside.

He was a Jedi. That was his calling. His destiny. Not . . . this.

The barest tingle of peace stroked over him then, reminding him again. The Force would take care of him. Set free from the guilt that he had claimed as his own, he now felt lighter and happier than he had since long before they had ever set foot on this forsaken planet.

It was strange how the Force could touch and comfort him, despite the wide golden bands around his wrists. Still, it was not enough to be of any other help.

He bent his head over the blade as he slid the oiled cloth along it, his hair glinting coppery in stray shafts of light, his slender fingers caressing the unforgiving surface.

"I thought I would find you here," Loresce called as she came closer. "Does it worry you that Qui-Gon may not be back in time for your next fight?" She settled against the trunk of the tree, staring down at the young man.

"Maybe," Obi-Wan answered, his attention held by his task. "It's not like you'd care, anyway."

Loresce's eyes narrowed. "You don't know what I care about."

Obi-Wan's hand paused on the blade, and he glanced up at her, squinting as he met an errant sunbeam. "You're right. But I do know some things."

"Like . . . what things?" She sounded interested now.

Obi-Wan looked back down and wiped absently at the blade. "Oh, just . . . things." He had to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

"Like what?" she pressed, a bit irritated by his hedging.

"Like . . . the price of comm units on Coruscant," he replied with a smirk.

A small frown fell across Loresce's forehead. "Where?"

Obi-Wan snickered. "Nowhere."

"Are you playing games with me?" Loresce asked, her voice dripping with suspicion.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan left the weapon on the ground and stood to face her. "Of course not. Now why would I do that?"

"Why, indeed?" She eyed him with slight suspicion as she stepped before him, amethyst eyes glowing and staring up into his. "I just got word of another man who could fight for Dimisfree. I could have him acquired, and I could save you from these dreadful fights." Her voice dropped lower, sultry. "If you'd be willing."

The padawan stood passively as Loresce's hand lightly touched the side of his face, her thumb drifting tenderly across his lower lip. Raising her eyes once again, she gazed into the most mesmerizing eyes she had ever seen.

All was silent as soft sunlight moved over them.

Slowly, Loresce leaned forward, her slender arms slipping up around his shoulders, and claimed his lips in a slow, seductive kiss. After a brief hesitation, Obi-Wan returned the kiss, and when his hands slid around her waist, Loresce melted against him.

It had been a long time since she had felt like this, had wanted to be near someone, touch someone. And this felt so right. If only Obi-Wan could be convinced to feel the same, or at least to return the same.

When she drew back, her eyes were dark with desire.

"Not everything can be bought and sold, Mi'Lady," Obi-Wan said softly, then pushed her gently away.

Long, deep crimson lashes fluttered, then anger flared in her eyes, and her lips tightened fractionally. In a quick movement, she slapped him and stalked off, the sound of her wooden heels stamping on grass-spattered earth.

Obi-Wan chuckled to himself and returned to his work.

~*~

Qui-Gon peered out over the glittering waves. All he had seen for the last two days was water, but he had known the direction where his padawan was, known Obi-Wan needed him, and had kept a silent vigil with eyes trained in the padawan's direction, almost as if his gaze alone would keep Obi-Wan safe.

Over the span of days since he had left Obi-Wan, he had talked with sailors, meditated frequently under the radiance of a white sun at day and shimmering stars at night, and lived on a diet of dried fruits, honeyed toruun bread, and pimga fish.

The Council was relieved that a simple solution had been found in the ancient laws of Thralage, yet Qui-Gon resisted the urge to let himself relax until Obi-Wan was safely away from this planet. Too many times, in his experience, had things gone wrong, and become even worse than he had dared to hope.

Now with the bustling harbor of Dimisfree looming in the distance, he could just make out the King's mansion, gleaming silver on the edge of the land. It looked all the more ancient and unchanged. Once, at the dawn of civilization, Coruscant had no doubt looked as much a thing of beauty against a backdrop of trees and the sweep of dusty mountains. Now it had a beauty all its own, that only few could find.

When they finally docked and the Jedi master bid his thanks to the merchant Deru, Qui-Gon made his way back to the King's mansion only to discover that Obi-Wan's next match was due to begin. As a tiny spark of worry crept though him, he rushed to the arena and gained access to the royal box of seats. King Nolab and the others that were there the first time were all present. But Loresce was nowhere in sight.

Taking his seat, Qui-Gon slid his hand in his robe, touching the garland of bright yellow dasaly flowers that he had acquired just for this occasion. According to ancient law, when a gladiator refuses to kill his opponent, someone may toss the garland out on the field, thereby excusing the slave's disobedience and claiming the right to purchase said slave. The slaveholder was without choice in the matter, since the slave was disobedient in these very important fights. The Temple had pledged to pay the price, which had been set all those years ago and never adjusted for inflation.

It would be simple, Qui-Gon thought, and stubbornly ignored the inexorable darkness trembling in the Force.

When the spectators had slowly settled down and the pre-fight activities had ceased, all eyes turned to the gate where the combatants would enter.

Qui-Gon tensed. Obi-Wan still had to survive this fight and survive the punishment for not killing his opponent. But then things could return to normal, and they could return home, where they belonged.

The sky was washed pale blue with graying clouds stirring up in haste in the distance. The wind was picking up, blowing scarlet flags that lined all around the top of the arena until they were twisted haphazardly about their poles.

The large gate stirred and began to swing inward. Qui-Gon tensed again, fingering the garland again.

The two figures emerged from the shadows of tunnel and slowly walked to the center of the field.

Qui-Gon's heart was pounding. Pounding so fast he thought it was going to explode out of his chest. He looked over the combatants again in disbelief.

But he was not wrong. No, they had introduced the two, and one of them was representing Dimisfree. One of them was supposed to be Obi-Wan.

But neither of them was.

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Sorry about how long it took to update. I'll try to get more up sooner next time. Thank you for reading! :o) - Cas