BREATH OF NIGHT
Cascadia
See prologue for notes and disclaimer.
Special thanks to Athena Leigh (You'll find out where Obi-Wan is in this part), Elizabeth Goode (Thanks! I'm glad you like my story!), and LuvEwan (Luv your fics ;) ) for leaving reviews.
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CHAPTER 9
Deep within the plum casting of twilight, as the land gently turned to the charcoal gloom of night, Qui-Gon watched the approaching lights of an ocean-going vessel as its pale beacons danced in gray swirls upon the constantly churning sea. Fetid odors of fish and sea filled the atmosphere of the harbor, and he glanced once again down at the damp wooden planks beneath his booted feet.
His spine straightened imperceptibly while his hands folded before him—a sign of respect adopted out of long practice that he was not sure he could ever abandon in the face of this man. Swallowing, Qui-Gon forced his breaths to slow to a well regulated pace, and returned his gaze to the newly docked ship.
Out of its shadows a tall and stately figure emerged, then glided elegantly along the dock toward Qui-Gon.
"Master," Qui-Gon said as he bowed.
"It's been too long, Qui-Gon," Master Dooku greeted, eyes piercing and dark as the veil of night.
"Yes," Qui-Gon answered in a soft exhale. "I'm relieved you came."
"I was in a neighboring system, on Dahlus Minor," the elder Jedi said, "when I received Master Yoda's transmission. There was no difficulty in coming."
They fell into step with one another, Qui-Gon unconsciously assuming a position slightly behind and to the side of Dooku.
"A pity," Dooku said, "that the Council will not intervene in this matter."
"Under the circumstances, the Council has done what they can." Though, Qui-Gon was not completely sure that he believed it himself.
"Politics, Qui-Gon." Dooku said, as if gathering the younger man's thoughts. His deep voice characteristically demanded you listen, insinuated you comply. "The situation is not dire enough for them to consider anything beyond an empty word. They love the comfort of their complacency and have weakened themselves in their smug devotion to the Senate. And since this planet is not under Republic law . . ." He shrugged casually.
"The Republic —"
"The Republic," Dooku interrupted, stopping to face him, "is rotting from within. They no longer believe in justice. Blinded they are . . . by their own greed."
Qui-Gon almost wilted under that familiar condescending gaze. It had seemed that his old master had grown even more cynical than he had from their last meeting. "Perhaps, Master," was all he said.
"You know it to be true, Qui-Gon," Dooku pressed, undeterred by the flash of resentment in his former padawan's eyes. "And I know you're mature enough to believe that as well."
When Qui-Gon offered no reply, Dooku turned and continued walking, knowing that Qui-Gon would follow. And of course, he was correct.
"Have you any leads as to the whereabouts of your apprentice?"
"I was told that he was sold." Qui-Gon's voice hinted at despair. He tried to suppress the fire of pain that even now burned within him, but gave that up and instead, he spoke again, careful to keep his voice steady. "But the purchaser's name has been withheld from me."
Dooku was silent for a moment as he digested the information before replying. "I'm . . . almost sorry to have never met him," he softly said. "Master Yoda says he has been good for you."
"He has, Master."
A young boy in threadbare clothes appeared in front of them. His face was dirty and hair tangled. Pulling a small, black velvet bag from beneath his robe, Dooku removed several coins from the bag and dropped them in the boy's eagerly outstretched hand. A shy smile lit up the child's face as he stared at the generous gift. The boy muttered a foreign phrase of thanks and departed.
Qui-Gon blinked in surprise. "You have legal currency?"
Dooku's gaze slid over the younger Jedi. "I have appropriated many things in my years out here on the fringes of the Republic. Many things." He replaced the bag in a hidden pocket, then he sighed. "I'm surprised Master Yoda hasn't demanded I return to the Coruscanti Temple to face the High Council and accept a Senatorial-approved mission. I'm not sure I would do so even if it my status as Jedi depended on it."
Qui-Gon stared into the distant darkness of the blossoming night. The years had turned them older, wiser . . . and more aware of the fallibility of their heritage. "I have missed you, Master," he said at last.
~*~
When a silken drift of cool air wafted through a tall mullioned window that Dooku had just opened and tenderly touched his face, Qui-Gon sank into a high-backed, dark wooden chair carved into intricate tracery and curving leaves, and, for a moment, allowed the comfort of the soft nocturnal breeze to soothe his febrile body.
Over the course of days since he had discovered Obi-Wan's disappearance, he had searched everywhere, asked questions to whoever would listen. The King had not been available. Others had had no answers; those that had known had not been forthcoming in their knowledge. Walking, literally wandering, along the streets in a state of near-shock, the Jedi master had ended up in extreme exhaustion and returned to his room in the King's mansion to catch a few hours of sleep before returning to do the same the next day.
He had been driven and shaken and despondent to the point that he welcomed a small diversion and even the—sometimes—belittling by his former master.
Now in the company of his old master, Qui-Gon had allowed the elder man to take him to a local hostel and buy him a rich meal from the elegant café downstairs, then retire to a modest guestroom where they now sat.
Dooku handed a slim, rose-tinted stemmed glass to Qui-Gon, then poured one for himself and took the chair facing his former student.
The ruby cushioned chair that Qui-Gon had chosen to occupy seemed the most opulent furnishing in the chamber. Everything else was subdued and plain. And empty.
Like himself.
He had once told himself that he would never feel attachment to another soul. Attachment could be dangerous. In some circumstances. And cause undue pain to himself.
Obi-Wan had never intended that.
Once, on a pristine planet where turquoise waters plunged hundreds of meters into clear pools that shone in jewel-brilliant colors the exotic fishlife that inhabited them, and purest mists rose from the cascades' descent, he had watched a young padawan as he learned to catch fish with his hands. It was another part of a padawan's training.
"Look at that one, Master," the thirteen-year-old had said as he pointed to a bright purple specimen that hovered near the surface of the pool, its mouth wide and silvery eyes bulging. "I think he likes me," that distinctively cultured accent had declared proudly.
"Yes. I think he does," Qui-Gon had answered him, keeping the rest of the thought to himself, the thought that indeed everyone must like the young boy. How could they not? The child was a gift from the Force, Yoda had said. A bright beacon that pointed to a future where there was hope—hope for his heart to care again.
Then the shining aquamarine eyes had looked up at him, and all the love and trust that Qui-Gon had ever wanted from another soul was right there in those lambent depths.
If only he would allow it in.
But the tall Jedi master had never been one to let go of his past without making himself suffer all the more just to keep it locked up inside himself.
It had been two more years before Qui-Gon had given in. And then, only because he thought Obi-Wan was dying.
Now, the padawan was missing. Sold, they had said.
Sold!
Stifling the ache that had threatened to overwhelm him, Qui-Gon casually sipped the dark amber liquid, turning his thoughts to another niggling problem.
The Force had led him to try to free Obi-Wan legitimately, rather than take him and run. Now, he wondered if it was truly the Force that he had heard.
"Do you ever wonder if you're wrong?" His voice sounded hollow, and he wondered why he had spoken it aloud.
There was a strain of silence during which Qui-Gon thought Dooku would not answer, and wondered if he wanted an answer. Or if Dooku even understood his line of thinking. A small creak of the elder master's chair shattered the quiet as the man's weight shifted and he leaned forward.
"Never doubt your instincts, Qui-Gon."
So he did know.
"But," Qui-Gon began, wondering why he had this sudden crisis of faith when he had never felt so lost before. At least, not for years. "I could have saved Obi-Wan . . . from all of this."
And saved yourself from all of this pain . . . again. The words were there, but he did not speak them—would not speak them.
Qui-Gon's eyes filling with sorrow and pain shifted to the canvas bag he had retrieved from the King's mansion, along with all his and Obi-Wan's possessions. It still sat in the middle of the room. A tangible reminder of the situation.
"Still haven't learned patience, I see," Dooku remarked casually.
Anger flared briefly in the younger master, and was only noticeable by the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw, before he let it go and set his mind on the peace and comfort of the Force.
Then, Qui-Gon took a deep breath and released it along with his tension. "We're not here to discuss my imperfections, Master," he reminded the elder man respectfully and, he thought, reasonably.
"Not ever, then?" There was a sharp rebuke from the past.
Qui-Gon impaled Dooku with his intense sapphire gaze, but the other man did not flinch. "I have learned many things since reaching knighthood. And I continue to learn —"
"As does everyone."
Qui-Gon's only response was a small nod and a keen regard from sharp eyes.
"Never think you completely understand the Force, my once apprentice," said Dooku. "It's a blind man who cannot recognize enigma when he sees it. And a fool who will not accept that truth."
"Yes," Qui-Gon whispered, his voice dying away into the soft breeze that drifted about him. "But, I . . ." He could not continue.
"You what?" The prodding was as gentle as that commanding voice could speak.
Looking away, Qui-Gon sat his nearly full glass on the small table beside him. "I trusted the Force." He was surprised how bitter his voice sounded, how deep-rooted the pain. "I trusted it!" He noticed his hands clenched into fists.
"The Force never guaranteed your happiness," Dooku smoothly replied, the way he always spoke when he knew he was right. "Only a place for everlasting rest once your destiny is done here."
That was true. So why did he hear a voice inside his head that screamed he could have done better?
Obi-Wan had a destiny unfulfilled and must be allowed to complete it.
And he could not lose another apprentice.
He had to find Obi-Wan soon. He had to.
Turning to the open window, Qui-Gon faced the growing night's coolness and suddenly felt deeply chilled.
This night brought no answers. And no comfort.
~*~
The shore was painted with soft pastel brushstrokes by the fading sun when Loresce pulled the small wooden boat up on powdery pink sand, dropped the oar, and brushed off her cream, velvet skirt. She ran a hand over her crimson hair that was caught up at the back of her head by several jeweled silver pins where it erupted in a mass of silken curls.
This islet she had visited since she was very young. Her father had taught her to navigate the choppy waters off the coast south of Dimisfree to the rarely visited islet. The trip here had not taken long. But now only a crescent of sun lingered at the edge of the horizon, the world hovering near the hours of gloaming, when stars just begin to appear in a lilac sweep of sky.
Clearing a line of curvy gurinane trees, she passed under a fungus-dusted archway and paused, eyes sliding over the landscape of crumbling stone masonry. There in the middle of the spectacle being slowly swallowed by shadow stood her destination. But she did not go there. Not yet.
Instead, Loresce spotted the white wooly hurcus and meandered between standing stones and brambly bushes until she came up beside it and seized the rope that draped from its bridle. She hushed it and stroked the skittish creature's flank when wild pink eyes regarded her, then led the cloven-hoofed animal away to a stone building.
Hitching the creature up to a latch at the building's heavy stone door, Loresce urged the wooly animal forward, which, effectively, drew the door open. It was too heavy for her to open, and she had often used this creature for such a task in the past—though her uncle had certainly not known it. Only a male friend of hers whom she had grown up with knew of her many mischievous undertakings.
Quickly, she spared a glance to the hint of starshine now appearing in the darkening sky and entered the stone structure. A small oil lamp in her hand emitted a soft glow in the dry dimness and spilled across stone floor and walls . . . and the figure sprawled across a raised stone slab.
"Obi-Wan?" Loresce whispered as she set the lamp on an eye-level shelf and settled next to the unconscious young man. "Obi-Wan."
A gentle hand cupped his cheek, while the other held a cup of water up to the padawan's lax lips, coaxing him to drink. He stirred slowly, languidly, as his consciousness surfaced through a dull, drug-induced fog. A small frown appeared on his brow as his confusion rushed in.
It took a moment for everything to come back to Obi-Wan. How he had woken abruptly in his wide bed, strong hands holding him down, a course cloth clamped to his mouth and nose, the acrid, cloying smell that filled his lungs and, at first burned and then made him feel light and adrift. He had been unable to fight them off, finally tumbling into darkness.
He told himself that he should have not been taken so easily, but the strength of the Force-draining golden bands around his wrists had left him unwary and far too flummoxed to prepare himself appropriately. Time had been unkind, as the debilitating odor had quickly rendered him helpless.
"Obi-Wan," Loresce whispered again. "You must drink something."
The concerned urgency in her voice turned his rousing anger to calm, and he opened his eyes to the duskiness around him, trying to swallow past a dry and hurting throat.
Loresce smiled at him. "Please drink. Then you may eat."
Obi-Wan found the cup pressed to his lips again, but he turned his face away. "No," his voice came out, hoarse and weak.
"You must," Loresce ordered as she sat back, her eyes glaring darkly at him against a backdrop of deepening twilight shades that still glowed through the opened doorway behind her. "You must drink." She held the cup to his lips again.
"No," the padawan protested again, and tried to push himself up.
But he felt too weak and dizzy, and Loresce quickly pushed him back to the slab.
Aquamarine eyes flashed her with a glare as Obi-Wan gave up and heaved a deep sigh of frustration. "Why should I? And what do you care?"
"You seem to have a problem with anyone caring," Loresce snapped. "If I'd wanted you to die, don't you think I'd already have killed you?"
Obi-Wan swallowed heavily, the dryness of his throat still burning, and turned eyes now soft with suspicion on her.
Loresce sighed. "I know . . . you don't trust me."
"Give me one reason why I should?"
"I don't want you to die. Really, I don't. Obi-Wan, please believe me.""
"Then what do you want?"
"I want . . . I wanted to do something right. I've done alot of things that were . . . terrible."
Obi-Wan gave an acerbic snicker. "And this is right?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the dark ceiling above him.
"I brought you here to keep you alive." Her chin set defensively. "My uncle would have killed you if you had not killed your opponent in that fight. He can only give you so much leniency before he must act."
"So you saved my life," Obi-Wan said with heavy sarcasm. "What about now? What are you planning to do with me now?"
"I . . . don't know," Loresce admitted, looking away in shame. "If anyone finds out what I did . . . even that I . . . tricked you into accepting Tralage —"
"Why did you do that?" Obi-Wan demanded curiously.
"I wanted to save Dimisfree. We are quickly becoming a poor kingdom. Soon we will be under the threat of our debtors."
"So you trick the first sucker you see and —"
"No," Loresce interjected harshly, then spoke gently. "No. It's true, I knew you felt guilty. The soldiers who brought you in had questioned the Dibari about you, and told me. But I understand more than you know. My father died three years ago. I felt . . . guilty about it at the time."
"And you used my feelings against me. How could you be so cruel?" Obi-Wan's despairing guilt seemed to resurface with his words, making them harsh, unveiling a pain that lingered deep beneath the surface. "Especially if you understood what I felt, how could you take what was killing me inside and use it?"
Loresce rose abruptly and moved to the door where a deepening sky now flickered with shimmering stars. "I want to help you, Obi-Wan. Don't hurt me for trying to do what's right."
Obi-Wan weakly pushed himself up and paused when Loresce spoke again.
"There's some food in the white package on the floor," she gestured vaguely towards him, while her face remained turned away. "Eat it . . . and drink the cup of water. I'll be back in a day . . . or two."
"Where am I?" Obi-Wan wondered aloud, as he gazed over the dim stone chamber. He suddenly realized that the door was open, but his heart sank knowing that he had not sufficient energy in his still-drugged haze to make it through before Loresce could do something to stop him.
"A tomb," she answered flatly. "My father's."
Then she walked out, and within seconds the stone door grated closed, leaving Obi-Wan in near darkness. Only small, slit windows just below the high ceiling let in the night's faint light.
* * * * * * *
tbc
