Author's notes to come later.
See Chapter One for disclaimer
Enjoy!
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Chapter 21Roses are red—*Block*
Violets are blue—*Duck*
Dirt may taste bad—*Grunt*
But it'll have to do!—*Spin*
Qui-Gon recited the little rhyme to himself as he dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way of the half dozen soldiers who had tried to dog pile on top of him. It was just an amusing rhyme he, Tahl, and Clee had come up with during their initiate days, but it proved as a healthy reminder than when all else failed, one could rely on their surroundings. Scooping his callused hand into the dark soil disturbed by their fight, Qui-Gon pulled out a large handful of dirt and promptly threw it at his opponents, stopping them—momentarily—in their tracks.
Backing away from the group of men who clawed at the dirt in their eyes and spit the gritty matter out of their mouths, Qui-Gon wiped a hand across his own lips, discovering blood and wondering where it had come from. It had been only moments ago that he had received the disturbing mental response from his apprentice and he still had no idea what it meant except that something was very, very wrong.
Watching the soldiers, Qui-Gon saw that most of them had recovered and prepared himself to fight again. Force he was tired…His old bones couldn't take this sort of beating anymore. Every movement he made seemed bent on reminding him that he was no longer a dashing, young Knight. Well, perhaps he was still dashing, but—
Suddenly, the soldiers parted and who else should walk through the newly made path than Marie—with Lipa and Tunny striding purposely behind her, blasters pointed at the back of her head, sweat dampened hair clinging to her face. A thin, bloody line ran from a small wound above her left eye. Shame and humility practically radiated from her aura as she ducked her headand refused to make eye contact with the Jedi Master.
Even from all she had been through that night, her demise had been brought about by a rock—a common, medium-sized rock that had been thrown by a soldier previously knocked unconscious by a Force-push. She had walked straight into it while attempting to step out of the path of an onslaught of at least a dozen laser bolts, and had been stunned long enough to get five blaster muzzles pointed at her head. If anyone heard about this, she'd surely be defaced and kicked out of the UJP to become a farmer. That way, the only rocks she'd have to worry about would be the ones in her fields.
Assuming she lived that long, of course.
Only Force knew what would happen to her now that she had been caught—and she wasn't even thinking ahead to Antiyo. She knew Lipa wanted a piece of her first.
The aforementioned grinned, obviously pleased with himself, and waved his plaster up and down near Marie's ear. "C'mon down, Master Jedi," he sneered to Qui-Gon, then added, "don't try anything either or the doll gets it."
Marie bristled slightly at being called a doll, but winced when Lipa rapped his blaster against her skull. She struggled briefly against Tunny's hold on her arms behind her back, but stopped and involuntarily flinched when Lipa raised his weapon again.
"Wait!"
Qui-Gon held up his hands and deftly tossed his lightsaber behind him. There was a small waver in the Force as a series of noises sounding very much like a saber handle falling down a mountainside reached everyone's ears and all eyes turned towards the sound.
Except the Jedi, that is.
Marie looked up into Qui-Gon's eyes and saw a faint sparkle. She kept her grin to herself.
Two nameless soldiers stepped forward, and patted Qui-Gon down in search of more weapons before taking his cloak away from him, wary of hidden pockets. Marie had discarded hers quite a long time ago when it began to slow her down.
Lipa pulled another blaster from a holster hanging low on his waist and pointed it at Qui-Gon, making sure to keep the other trained on Marie. "Walk. And stare straight ahead. No funny Jedi tricks, understand?" he commanded, pushing Qui-Gon forward and stepping behind him with his other prisoner. "Or Miss.Ceal Verune here gets it. I can't possibly imagine how you would explain a hollow skull with splattered, dried brain in it to your precious Council."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, looking for his calm center. I'd say they have the upper hand…
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Obi-Wan opened his eyes slowly, feeling perspiration slide past his temple and cheek before trickling off his chin. He was close to the fire, could easily feel its radiating heat against his skin, but he wasn't the one who could reach out and touch it—if that someone woke up to do so, that was.
Garen still remained unconscious, bonelessly sagging in the strong arms of a large bodyguard of Antiyo's just a few feet or so from the fire, the guard using Garen's limp form as a shield against the heat.
Luckily, the shot Garen had been hit with pierced his shoulder and nothing more, but it was still enough to knock him out cold. Before Obi-Wan could react to this, a blaster was placed against his head and Antiyo Ganfor's long, ugly nose had been pushed against his much smaller and better-proportioned one.
The greeting had been easy enough—just a simple "Hello again, Kenobi"—and he had been pulled roughly to his feet by his much loved Padawan braid. Despite the violent cries of agony that had emitted from his broken ankle when he'd been forced to walk on it—or else be shot and dragged—Obi-Wan did his best not to let the pain show. Until Antiyo purposely kicked his feet out from him and the pain became too much. A sound of absolute agony flew past his lips, sounding foreign, even to his own ears. Antiyo had smiled at the blood-curdling scream, however, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply at the sound as though he was breathing in the first breath of spring.
Now, with Garen close enough to the fire to merely be dropped and immediately consumed by it, Obi-Wan unconsciously flinched. Although the bond he shared with him was only a friendship bond, usually just strong enough to occasionally communicate telepathically, Obi-Wan could feel every little spot that was slowly being burnt by the heat, particularly his hand.
Suddenly, figures appeared through the swarm of soldiers and the apprentice heard a faint message.
I'd say they have the upper hand.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, despite the situation. {And I'd say that's a slight understatement, Master.}
Qui-Gon took in the sight around him quickly—Garen was unconscious and dangerously close to the flames that licked the countryside; Marie was restrained and held at point-blank range; Obi-Wan was deeply injured, still trying to overcome the throbbing pain that emitted from his abused ankle and also in close proximity to the flame; and there had to be at least 65 well-trained and armed soldiers left. The Jedi Master mentally shook his head and sighed softly. He himself was injured from numerous blaster burns and felt exhaustion creep into his very bones, once again reminding him that he was no longer a young and boisterous calfling nerf. Still, all he needed was one brief moment of distraction for the guards to be able to harness the Force and call his weapon to him from where he had dropped it in a nearby bush.
{Any ideas, Padawan?}
{None.}
{And Marie?}
There was a pause.
{She's closed herself off to me. Something about a rock and moisture farming on Tatooine…}
Qui-Gon raised one bushy eyebrow. {Curious…} was all he could manage in response.
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Garen came to realize he felt like Sith as he slowly pulled out of unconsciousness and drifted back to the world of coherent thoughts. His very own first coherent thought was, of course, pain, which was very quickly replaced by heat—smoldering, blazing, burning heat. Groaning softly, he stirred and immediately felt intense pain radiate up from his shoulder before the sensation of burnt flesh hit him. Looking down, he saw his right hand being held out over the open flame and jerked back. After a few more weak attempts his hand was dropped and he heard a soft chuckle near his ear.
"Stupid Jedi…"
Somewhere behind him, the young man heard a familiar voice call out his name, telling him to wake up and run before it was too late, but the shout was suddenly interrupted by a pained, choked cry.
Garen's head lolled slowly to the side. Hesitantly he opened his eyes to see a large, blurry man kicking his childhood friend. "Obi-Wan," he moaned softly, feeling a pulsing sensation along his right hand. Looking down, he saw that it was blistered and burned severely, but his still muddled mind could not yet register the pain that was inevitable.
Glancing around at his surroundings, Garen took in the sight of Obi-Wan curled into a tight ball, trying to protect himself from the onslaught of at least half a dozen soldiers who had taken it upon themselves to help their friend kick the living Sith out of the young Jedi. Nearby he spotted Marie staring wistfully at three cylindrical items tucked into the belt of Antiyo's guard, Lipa. The young woman shot her friend a fleeting glance before one of the weapons was suddenly yanked from Lipa's belt. Before her saber could reach her, however, Tunny violently slapped her and popped her behind the knees with one steel-toed boot. She dropped quickly to the ground, face scrunched up and jaw clenched tightly.
Where was Qui-Gon? the apprentice thought abruptly, concerned of what the answer might be.
Suddenly, he spotted him in the group near Marie. The Jedi Master was using the distraction to his advantage and with one hand thrust outward, called his weapon to him from a nearby bush that had yet to be swallowed by the flames. The handle flew almost casually towards Qui-Gon's large hand and brushed against it, the blade igniting…right before a well-aimed shot knocked it away. The weapon sizzled slightly and the blade retracted, its internal components temporarily disabled by the charge from the laser bolt, leaving the Jedi helpless to the severity of his captors who proceeded to beat him with their own weapons or whatever they could find. Qui-Gon was lost in a sea of limbs.
Unexpectedly, someone grabbed Garen and yanked his right arm tightly behind his back, sending new waves of pain up from his hand. The person backed away from the fire, dragging Garen with him, until retrieving a razor sharp vibro-shiv and placing it roughly against his throat. Two small trickles of blood oozed out from behind the weapon. The cheek of Antiyo Ganfor brushed along Garen's neck as the deranged medic spoke, his voice soft as he cooed almost sensually to his prisoner.
"Tell me, Pa-da-wan, have you ever heard the story of the little Jedi who liked to stick her nose in other people's business? She enjoyed playing dress up and making false identities. Surely you have. She had a cousin—such a strapping, promising young man—whom was also a Jedi. Young Temple initiates revered his master very much.
"Sadly, the three were killed on a mission. Their deaths were slow and very tragic, very painful. As a matter of fact, a play was made recently about their deaths, and—whaddaya know—it's opening night! Unfortunately, you won't be there to see it."
Garen thought he could almost hear the movements of the medic's lips as they curled into a sneer. He closed his eyes and took deep, calming breaths, waiting for the rest of his captor's speech.
"It really is a shame because you are such a handsome young man, but we need your head as a prop. You see, this young, female Jedi had a friend whom was actually much more than that, much more, even if the two would never admit to it. He died in a freak accident the night before the other Jedi's deaths when he was unceremoniously beheaded by his own weapon. The prop for the play hasn't arrived, so I'm improvising."
The silky voice no longer sounded quite as sensual as it hissed out the last three words. An unnamable soldier stepped forward and took hold of the young Jedi as Antiyo retrieved Garen's weapon from Lipa. Pushing his face close to his prisoner's, Antiyo gestured towards the east where faint, pink lines were beginning to glide gracefully across the sky.
"Enjoy the sunrise, Padawan," he purred softly. "It may very well be your last."
Finally opening his eyes again, Garen looked to his friends. Obi-Was was still curled in a ball—although his captors had stopped their abuse—and had one pale hand stretched towards him as though the movement of any other part of his body would bring about too much pain. Shadows from the fire flickered across his face, dancing with a mind of their own. Qui-Gon, still as strong looking as ever, raised a bloodied and bruised face when he felt the apprentice's eyes on him and tried to offer one last small, supportive smile. Between the two, still resting on her knees if one could use such a word, was Marie. Garen watched as her full, blood red—or perhaps just bloodied—lips parted and formed the words, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," came his response, quickly but playing out in slow motion. Remembering Antiyo's words he finally turned away, no longer able to hold her gaze. He wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault and that he should be thankful that she had been here, or else he might not have survived as long as he did; but it didn't look like he would get the chance. Those two words would have to do.
But oh, how he would regret not telling her! He wanted to tell her everything, everything that had ever crossed his mind when he had laid his eyes on her!Beside him he heard his lightsaber spring to life and angle towards his throat, the sound comforting and terrifying all at once. Deep brown eyes drifted lazily towards the rapidly rising sun.
How beautiful, he thought as time seemed to slow. He sighed softly and touched the Force for what he thought would surly be the last time here in the world of the living, of flesh and blood.
He was a Jedi for Force sake! How could it end like this?
The glint of defiance slowly came back to Garen's eyes. Yes, I am a Jedi. And I will face death…as a Jedi…
Garen felt as though he was prepared for death by the time the simmering heat of his weapon's blade whispered dangerously close, but as it drew closer, he wondered if he would ever be ready—
And then suddenly he could no longer see the sun and a huge vessel appeared before him, its features dark save a thin halo around its edges. Vaguely he was aware of the sound of war cries—all strangely feminine—and the roar of hundreds of running feet as a flurry of motion began around him. His attention was focused completely on that large, mysterious vessel as something resembling a boarding ramp slowly lowered and two figures appeared, both of medium height, female, and brandishing glowing weapons of purple light. Short cropped, golden hair appeared atop the delicate head of one of the angels—because that must surely be what they were—and a flurry of bright, orange hair graced the other.
So this is what death feels and looks like, the young man thought dreamily, wondering why he still felt pain from his injuries.
The angel with orange hair stretched one hand towards him.
{I sure hope not Kid, because if this is death, then we're all in some serious bantha poodoo.}
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Clee Rhara felt worry crawl across her skin like a colony of tiny ike-eaters. After more than a year of no contact with her beloved apprentice, she was enthralled to see him again, but his condition did not look good."Stay here, Siri, I'm going down to help them. Protect the ship and lower it enough for us to get on when I tell you to."
"But Master Rhara—" the younger Jedi tried. It was too late, however, as the Jedi Master had already leapt to the ground and Siri was forced to bring her blade up and block a wayward shot.
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Clee pushed her way through the jostling crowd of fighters as quickly as she could. Just as they had been preparing to set the ship down, a surging crowd of over 300 women—all dressed similarly in rags or animal skins—had burst into the valley, either charging through the fire or coming up from the sides of the mountain. What had been even more surprising than this was when the women had attacked the soldiers instead of the Jedi. Ignoring for the moment what was taking place around her, Clee ran to the spot where she had last seen her apprentice.
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Qui-Gon broke away from his captors as soon as the ship—and the women—had materialized onto the scene. Not even bothering to question the Mountain Women's motives—whom he had learned about from a few documents in Marie's now fire destroyed bag—Qui-Gon raced to his apprentice's side, ignoring his injuries and calling his lightsaber back to him as he did so.
Obi-Wan felt as limp as a rag doll as Qui-Gon lifted him into his bruised arms, and with every running step he made towards the head of orange hair nearby, the young man would moan in agony.
Qui-Gon reached his fellow Jedi Master's side just as she swung her apprentice's limp right arm over her shoulders. Garen was much too tall and heavy for her to carry.
"Where's Marie?" the younger Jedi asked.
"Right here," came the weary response.
The Jedi turned around to see Marie appear, her movements stiff as she hurried toward them. In her hands, clutched protectively to her chest were the three Padawans' lightsabers. "A farewell gift from Lipa," she explained with a tired smile.
Nodding, Clee waved her purple lightsaber in the air and the ship sped towards them, hovering slightly above the ground. Dodging a flurry of blaster bolts, the Jedi boarded the ship with help from Siri.
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Marie's booted feet barely touched the cool, silver floor of the Corellian vessel before it rocketed upward towards the planet's atmosphere. While Garen and Obi-Wan were rushed to the ship's tiny infirmary and Siri hurried to the cockpit to assist the captain, Marie stumbled over to a viewport and pressed her hot, sticky forehead to it, allowing its coolness to refresh her as she closed her eyes for a brief second. Upon opening them, she discovered herself watching the quickly shrinking battle below. One figure in particular caught her eye.
With a mask resembling that of some wild, horned animal on her head, the woman was intimidating and fearsome to behold. Marie watched as she retrieved an ancient sword from a fallen comrade and charged a man whose regal attire and manner of standing made it clear he felt he was of some significant importance. Oddly enough, he made no attempt to move or fight back at the sight of the woman. In the blink of an eye, the sword overtook him, running directly through that cold, black heart. Marie found herself looking away as the man crashed to the ground.
Antiyo Ganfor took his last breath and lay still in a puddle of bright red.
Strangely, the young Jedi felt compelled to look back. Shock registered on her exhausted, bruised features at the sight before her, and even years later, when the events of the last few days continued to plague her dreams, she would wonder whether or not what she had seen was real or a figment of her overly-enthusiastic imagination.
But she couldn't help but wonder, as the female warrior below pulled away the mask and waved her weapon in a half-saluting, half-triumphant shake, if the face and eyes shining up towards her were merely an illusion—or an identical reflection of those that had belonged to Yuko Mutun…
