SPINDLE OF FATE
by Cascadia
See Chapter One for notes, disclaimer, etc.
Reviewer replies are located at the end of the chapter.
OO OO OO
CHAPTER THREE
Obi-Wan tugged at the short chain connecting the metal shackles that cinched painfully around his wrists, unsettled as his situation was slowly taking on frightful shades of stark reality. Harsh light glanced off everything and threw waves of dazzling brightness into his eyes. He squinted to see the pulsing marketplace around him.
An anonymous slave market on some anonymous Outer Rim world. Somewhere in the heart of the slave trade.
All around him poor, wretched slaves were herded around on chains like livestock, and Obi-Wan wanted to gag on the putrid odors wafting along a much too hot breeze.
So sad, so distressing to see dispirited beings under the oppressive yoke of bondage. The loss of hope sketching the demeanor of so many tore at the padawan's heart.
He walked in the midst of three guards. A longer chain ran from the bindings on his wrists to the hand of the slaver assistant who walked ahead of him. A sharp yank on it drew Obi-Wan's scattering attention. The padawan glared at the back of a bald head, then noticed they stood at the ingress to a pavilion. Its maize-yellow fabric waved in the wind, popping as a shifting air current struck the canopy.
Obi-Wan reluctantly followed the man inside, his guards hovering closely about him. He felt relieved to find some shade from the sun, but the smells inside were potently concentrated and nearly overwhelming. He pressed his hands over his nose.
"Stop that!" the assistant ordered sharply, slapping the padawan's hands down. An exacerbated scowl contorted the corpulent face. Fleshy jowls stood taut; orange, narrowed eyes warned.
Uncowed, Obi-Wan glared back.
"You don't scare me," the slaver decreed. "And don't go making threats about a big bad Jedi master coming to kill me, because I've heard that one before." He patted a hand over his pudgy chest. "Never stopped this heart from beating."
The assistant engaged in the staring match with the padawan a moment longer, then fastened his attention on one of the guards. "Chain him to a post." He turned a smug expression back to Obi-Wan and smiled as the slave was lead to a metal pole.
Row after row of tall, immovable posts occupied the open-air space beneath the pavilion. It was customary procedure to chain slaves to the posts to show that they were purchasable. Interested parties could look the slave over and perform any price haggling with the seller while the slave was kept secured.
Once the end of Obi-Wan's chain was locked to a metal rod, it left comfortable space for him to move around in while at the same time kept him unable to reach anything else. He sat down on the dirt floor and dropped his head in his hands, trying to forget how bad the place smelled.
"Try not to look so sick," the man commanded with an agitated kick to the padawan's feet. "The Boss wants a lot for you. So don't go trying to ruin anything."
Obi-Wan looked up, curbing his growing anger with the thought that he might end up with a nicer master than this man and the rest of them on the slave ship. He swallowed and looked away into the distance, a distressful flutter in his heart. Now he was beginning to think like a slave.
But that's what he was . . . .
The man lingered. "Do you need a drink?" he barked. "Is that it, slave?"
Obi-Wan nodded slowly, still gazing mindlessly into the distance. He accepted a flask from the fleshy fingers and gulped liberally. The water refreshed him, and he ran the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, murmured a distracted, "Thank you."
The assistant snatched the flask, pocketing it, and anxiously scanned around for possible buyers.
Wrapping his arms around his up-drawn knees, Obi-Wan stared at the dirt in ripening shock. He felt sick, his ribs hurt, and he just wanted to go home . . . . But a slave had no choice.
O
The morning passed into a cloudy afternoon of steady business traffic. Several prospects had stopped to inquire about the young human with a Force-inhibiting collar, some brave enough to approach within touching distance, including one slimy Hutt. Yet none had expressed positive enthusiasm to purchase such potentially hazardous property. Force users came with an unstated warning: buy at your own risk.
One particularly memorable human female had gabbered on endlessly about Obi-Wan's 'incomparatively exquisite allurement and bearing that approached the divine', until she had glimpsed the meaning behind the 'humble choker' that he wore. Upon that discovery, the fickle woman had expressed her disgust with the slave's undesirable qualities, then fled the beaming seller.
By the hour that the final golden incandescence of sunlight flared across the vaulted sweep of deepening sky, the slaver assistant was waxing apprehensive. No doubt the Boss expected his pudgy helper to come through with a big sale.
No doubt the consequence of failure would be harsh.
No doubt Obi-Wan would suffer for it, as well.
The assistant paced, muttering under his breath. "What am I going to do?" He twisted to face Obi-Wan, who was sitting cross-legged and slumping against the post he was secured to.
"What am I going to do?" he whispered to himself.
Obi-Wan glanced up at him, unconcerned with the man's distress but tingling with his own. "Let me go," he blurted out without thinking.
The assistant's eyes rounded incredulously. "I can't do that." His hands twitched nervously.
"Just what I was looking for," a silky voice smoothly intervened. "Of course, my first choice would have been about six inches taller and twice as old."
As the assistant and Obi-Wan both looked at the interlocutor, the padawan's mind whirled. For he beheld a vision out of time. And an extremely dangerous one.
"Yes, he is quite the catch," the assistant blithely stated, his face instantly brightened. "You like him? Yes?"
Garbed entirely in black, Xanatos of Telos stood gazing down predatorily at Obi-Wan, who only stared at him in open shock. He looked just as Obi-Wan remembered him, but for a few age-lines. A sly smile curved the former Jedi's lips. "Long time no see, eh little padawan?" A black-gloved hand slid in a pocket concealed beneath his capacious cloak and withdrew a sable, silk drawstring pouch.
"This slave is sure to bring excitement in your life," the assistant pitched.
Xanatos snorted. "I'll bet."
The assistant's counterfeit jovial expression twitched. "He is a cultivated treasure from beyond the sea of stars. A pliant creature to fulfill your needs. A menial slave to -"
"Yes, yes, of course." Xanatos' patience dissolved.
"You wish to discuss a price?" The seller's weakening confidence cracked his voice.
"Indeed I do," Xanatos rejoined seriously.
Obi-Wan finally found his voice. "No!" He surged to his feet in panic, pulling on his chain when it impeded him from gaining more ground toward them. They stood just out of reach.
The assistant turned threatening eyes on the padawan. "Quiet, slave!"
"Sounds like the boy needs a good hard lesson in obedience," Xanatos opined casually.
"Nothing that cannot be attained by one so gracious as yourself," the seller commented, careful to produce a sense of honesty.
Obi-Wan's temper rose at the triumphant twinkle in the former Jedi's eyes. He clenched his hands. "Don't sell me to him," he requested of the slaver, desperation coloring his tone. He wasn't really begging, was he? "He'll probably kill me just to amuse himself. Or - or worse!"
Xanatos chuckled good-naturedly. He jingled the silk pouch in his palm. "What an imagination."
"One of his many positive traits," the assistant added, nodding eagerly. "Shall we discuss a price? Yes?"
"Of course."
"No, no!" Obi-Wan protested again. He was aware how desperate he sounded, but was beyond caring.
The assistant glared at Obi-Wan. "I told you, quiet!"
Watching as Xanatos and the slaver assistant walked a detached distance from him so that he could not overhear their conversation, the padawan's innards churned; his heart hammered.
This could not be happening, his mental voice screamed. Xanatos was long dead. Six years ago, in fact. Yet there he stood - alive and seemingly healthy, no noticeable effects of the black acid pool he had leapt in.
A cool breeze blew through the pavilion, and Obi-Wan shivered against the threat of falling night. Despite artificial lights shining overhead, he could spot the comfortless onyx sky through a wide aperture at the far exit. Darkness filled the depths of his eyes. With a sigh, he dropped down next to the post to wait. There was nothing else to do.
O
Qui-Gon's eyes were wide with unbelief. "He's . . . he's alive?"
"Yes," said Obi-Wan. "And still working evil." He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, teacup long empty and abandoned on the sofa table.
"But how?" Qui-Gon stood up, staring blankly ahead. "We saw him . . ."
"Yes, I know." Obi-Wan heaved a wobbling sigh, his face still covered. Despite the security of home and Qui-Gon's presence frightening specters moving by Xanatos' command crowded round him, demons of a crop of hell years that rebelled to never fade into forgetfulness.
"You're sure it was him?" Qui-Gon's unbelief battled into shades of anger. That failed Jedi would never become more than a simple failure and a lifeless image in the past. Never could he hurt Obi-Wan; he was dead!
Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fought to push the demons away. His breath grew ragged and shallow until he sought comfort in the sweet liquid tartness of his tea. "Yes," his voice a forceful whisper. "It was him!" When his hands sent the mug of tea perilously trembling he set it down on the table.
The distress that covered Obi-Wan was suddenly noticed by Qui-Gon. He must not forget that this young man had suffered so for years with experiences he would probably never have. He sat down by Obi-Wan and placed a gentle hand on his knee. "Tell me," Qui-Gon asked in a kind tone, "did he actually buy you?"
O
Stars glimmered feebly. Obi-Wan glanced up at the night sky, not seeing the celestial spheres of fire that blazed but delicately at such vast distance, for a tempest of confused turmoil heaved inside him.
"I don't understand," he repeated for perhaps the thousandth time, blinking rapidly.
"You're my slave," Xanatos stated as he hurried them along a patch of shadow toward his spacecraft. "That's all you need to understand."
"But . . ." Obi-Wan vainly pulled against a Force-enhanced grip that likely bruised his upper arm. "But . . . you're dead." He twisted to glimpse the taller man's face now eerily cast half in violet shadow, half in weak light.
Xanatos released a wicked laugh. "I feel quite alive, little slave."
Obi-Wan balked at the reference. He stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance when his captor - owner? - forcefully jerked him along.
They arrived at a ship and Xanatos dragged Obi-Wan up the landing ramp, palmed the entry closed, and roughly shoved the padawan against a bulkhead.
"Tasten!" Xanatos' gaze darted between two opposite facing doors. "Tasten! Get in here!"
A young human boy appeared in one of the doorframes. Slim and approximately eight years of age, he fidgeted and stared at Obi-Wan with wide and curious brown eyes before looking at the former Jedi. "Master?" His voice faintly quivered.
Xanatos straightened to his full height. "Fix me something to eat. I'm famished."
"Yes, Master." The boy disappeared after a small, obsequious bow.
Obi-Wan's empty stomach rumbled at the mention of food. He remembered he had last eaten some time ago yesterday on the slave ship. Unconsciously, he fingered the heavy chain that connected his shackles and slouched against the gray wall.
"Now I have to decide what to do with you," Xanatos said, his dark intimidating gaze studying Obi-Wan's mutinous expression. With heavy black robe fluttering across a cold metal deck, he moved to stand in front of the padawan.
Obi-Wan tensed and gazed warily up at him, his left eye surrounded by a dark bruise contrasting bright blue. "Into slavery now?" the padawan asked sardonically.
"Not particularly. But I just couldn't pass up an old . . ." he smirked darkly, "friend."
Obi-Wan brushed off the sarcasm. "Then what was that?" He gestured to where the young boy had disappeared.
Xanatos turned abruptly away, shifting uneasily toward the doorway. When he turned back, his face was uncharacteristically solemn. "Just a little helper."
Obi-Wan waxed mildly curious.
Seeing the padawan's interest, Xanatos stalked back in front of him. "I know just where to keep you 'til we get home." His handsome face formed a devilish smile.
OO OO OO
More soon!
Fudge: Thank you! I've tried to portray Obi-Wan's strength and maturity as the Jedi he is. Despite all his endured hardship I believe he would have a resilience only strengthened by it. :)
Stranded Stargazer: ::blushes:: Thank you! :) I try to get the characterizations right. Glad you approve.
Clover Brandybuck: Yes, we all would like to hug Obi-Wan! I'm glad Qui-Gon's feelings were discernible. I like to be able to get it across without spelling it out, or explicitly stating it. Thanks! :)
Athena Leigh: Thank you! Obi-Wan needs lots of rest and care to help him recover. It's good that he's now back at the Temple. :)
Pokey1984: It's good to be back! I like visual description too, and I added just a little passing reference of Obi-Wan's missing braid in the first chapter. Are you happy now?? ;)
Padawan-Travina: Yes, it's finally here! :) Better late than never, I guess. Here's more; hope you enjoy!
Shaindl: Thank you for stopping by! :) More angst on the way! heh heh heh . . . ;)
Daniella: Thank you so much! Is this soon enough? :)
Sheila: Yes yes, poor poor thing! Thanks for reading! :)
LuvEwan: Another familiar face! :) Yes, it is sad, as the situation would be.