The Other Side of Infinity
Part 4: Converging Paths
Qui-Gon sensed a sentient presence in the forest ahead and slowed his jog to a quick walk. As far as he knew, this planet, designated G481, had no native population. It was too far away from major trade routes and the Galactic Core to be a good candidate for colonization, and it had no minerals that mining companies could not get more easily and cheaply. A few lumber companies came in once in a while, but usually at a loss of profit, as the effort cost more than the finished product brought, so those expeditions, also, were beginning to die away. Therefore G481 remained one of the very few pristine, almost-untouched worlds left in the galaxy.
So who was this person Qui-Gon sensed? A stranded lumberjack, left behind when his camp pulled out? A marooned space pirate? Another crash survivor? None of these ideas matched the calm, steady persona the Jedi felt. This being had a disciplined mind, not a hint of fear or agitation, only a deep determination to complete an urgent mission, and an equally deep confidence that the task would be finished successfully.
Qui-Gon approached cautiously, uncertain of what he would find, but unable to restrain his curiosity. He rounded a huge tree, wider than he was tall, covered with moss and vines, and found the sentient.
It was a man, human or at least humanoid, kneeling in the bracken with his eyes closed. His hands were clasped in his lap, and not the slightest hint of movement stirred his large frame. He wore plain garments—dark tunic, brown trousers, green hooded cloak hanging back from his broad shoulders. A sword hung at his belt. A big, metal, old-fashioned sword, not a vibroblade.
Qui-Gon circled to look at the man's face, careful to keep a good distance between them. He didn't want to startle the other, or rouse him prematurely from what was apparently a type of meditation. It was a noble face, worn and weather-beaten, but peaceful, dark brown beard trimmed and kempt. Qui-Gon felt an instant kinship with the man, and though he could not have said why that was, he didn't question it. They had a common purpose, he knew instinctively.
Storm-grey eyes opened calmly to gaze back at the waiting Jedi. A brief, cautious smile lit on the weary face. "I am Seeker Wari," the big man said gravely. "Greetings, stranger."
"I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn." He nodded deeply to his counterpart, almost a bow of equals.
For a moment longer they stared at each other, studying, weighing, evaluating. Then both mouths opened at once.
"I am looking for my apprentice."
The Seeker smiled more warmly and openly this time. "The High King told me to wait for you, I believe. I have been wandering this world for several days without any idea of what to do. I am not a tracker, and I do not know what has become of my poor Matio. When I finally paused to pray, a deep peace filled me, and I knew that my King would supply a guide. You must be he."
Qui-Gon paused, reaching out with his feelings, looking for and accepting the will of the Force. At last he nodded. "Yes, I am."
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Matio protested, of course, but Obi-Wan refuted every argument as he hurried about, putting out the fire and gathering all the pod's resources, food and water and emergency kit.
"No, I don't see that we're even at all," he said patiently. "I saved your life, yes, but it was not the same as when you saved mine. The first time you saved me, you put yourself in danger, because the creatures had been ignoring you until then. You took my peril on your own shoulders, and I thank you for it. The second time you saved me, you were wounded. Not terribly, no, but enough that it will slow you down and pain you for a time. It is my duty, then, to compensate for what you lost in giving me a chance to survive.
"Besides," he said, pausing to kneel at the boy's side and look him in the eye, "I am a Jedi. When we see something that needs done in order to protect or help, we do it. And I am your friend. I will not let you go alone."
"But your Qui-Gon Jinn told you to stay by the pod," Matio said, his forest-hazel eyes glittering with fear and concern. "I heard, when you called him . . . and he, he sounded worried about you."
"Qui-Gon will understand. He would agree that I need to do this." Obi-Wan grinned suddenly and gripped his friend's hand, trying to reassure him. "He worries too much, anyway. I can take care of myself, in great part because of what he has taught me."
Matio offered a tremulous, uncertain twitch of the lips, barely a smile at all, but something.
Obi-Wan squeezed his hand. "I'll be right back. Don't you move."
He slipped back into the pod and stared at the tiny comm panel. It might be possible for him to cannibalize the beacon, pull out a power pack and carry it with him, but that would take time, and they needed to get away. No, he would just have to trust Qui-Gon and the Force to bring them back together.
The comm was already set for the frequency of Qui-Gon's comlink. He keyed it open and boosted the power as much as he dared.
"Master. Don't reply, just listen. I've met a boy who needs my help. His name is Matio, and he is being pursued by an assassin. He was wounded in saving my life, and I feel that I must make up for that. We must leave before this assassin, called Farig Solma among other names, tracks him to this spot. I will do my best to protect him and help him figure out how to get back to his own world. He is sure that we can find a way, but doesn't know how. I know that I'm draining the power in sending this message to you, so the beacon will be useless, and we can't take with us, anyway. But I'm hopeful that you'll be able to find me through our bond. Please acknowledge."
Obi-Wan flipped the switch from "send" to "receive" and waited, not realizing that he was holding his breath. The comm buzzed and crackled. No reply. Then even the buzzing began to fade, and the young Jedi realized with a sinking heart that he had completely drained the power with that short message.
A few seconds later, there was nothing. No sound at all. Sith. Oh, Sith, Sith, Sith. Master, did you hear me?
Still no words through the bond, but here came a big wave of worry and irritation, as well as understanding and pride. Obi-Wan grinned in relief. His half-lie to Matio was proved true, after all—Qui-Gon did understand that he needed to do this. He wasn't happy about it, but he understood.
Obi-Wan jumped outside again, hoping that Matio hadn't left on his own out of a sense of nobility, trying to spare the young Jedi from the danger of his presence. He had certainly seemed ready to take off on his own. To his relief, the younger boy still sat where he had left him, hugging his knees to his chest, staring into the depths of the forest.
Gently, he touched the apprentice Seeker's shoulder. "I'm glad you didn't go without me. Are you all right, Matio?"
The boy looked up, Obi-Wan's own relief mirrored in his cool, clear eyes. "I think I will be. I have to admit, I'll be glad for your company. The past days have been very lonely and fearful."
Obi-Wan grinned and offered Matio a hand up. "My pleasure. How long has it been, anyway?"
Matio accepted the hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. He paused to brush himself off, settling the cloak on his shoulders, straightening the full quiver on his back. "Five days? Six? Something like that. It starts to blur together, always running, always looking over my shoulder, hoping to see nothing but afraid that a certain hateful face will be there. Just . . . waiting . . . for him to catch me."
With a rush of empathy, Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and squeezed, trying not to put much pressure on the left shoulder. "That sounds like no fun at all."
Matio shook his head in wordless agreement.
Obi-Wan released him with a sigh. "Well. Which way shall we go?"
The boy glanced around with that sharp look of his, his unfailing woodsman's sense of direction leading him. After a moment's consideration, he pointed, north and somewhat west. "That will be a departure from my previous course, and I think I saw some water flowing in that direction. I'd like a wash." His slim fingers brushed over his dirty, blood-stained tunic with distaste.
The young Jedi chuckled warmly. "Yeah, I'll be glad for a dip, too. Sleeping in my clothes always leaves me feeling grungy." His head came up in a listening posture, and he stared into the distance, eyes unfocused. Matio watched nervously, but after a moment, Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, that path won't be heading exactly toward Qui-Gon, but it won't be horribly off, either. He'll be able to find me, I hope."
Matio nodded. It was an odd position they were in, hoping to be caught by one party who was looking for them, hoping to evade another. The apprentice Seeker would just have to trust the High King to make it all work out. Matio could handle that. He'd been trusting the King to work out horribly difficult situations for a long time.
"Off we go, then."
Obi-Wan swung the bag of supplies over his shoulder, and Matio led the way into the trees. The archer walked with a felicat's smooth silence, swift and steady, so accustomed to the quiet way of walking that it was automatic. Obi-Wan, too, knew how to move stealthily, but it was different in the forest. Too many twigs and leaves to crackle underfoot, and the rough ground did not make the fluid, sliding gait at all easy. Matio made no sign that the Jedi's occasional noises bothered him, but after a few minutes he paused and turned to the older boy, biting his lower lip.
"We need to leave less signs. Solma is an expert tracker. Here, step on this hard root, and this rock with no moss, and . . . well, just follow me, if you please?"
Obi-Wan nodded. He kept his eyes on Matio's feet after that, and noticed that the boy didn't wear boots, but some kind of leather slipper, tough but soundless. Even with all his skill, Obi-Wan could not avoid the sounds of his boots scraping or squeaking against rock and root. Before too long, though, he began to get the hang of Matio's way of walking. Soon he was able to spare attention to keep from running into low-slung branches and vines, which was good—he'd gotten smacked in the face a few times, watching his companion's feet so closely.
He found himself stealing glances at Matio's forearm, as the movement sometimes pulled back the long sleeve of his tunic, allowing glimpses of those new scars. Obi-Wan remembered the scars very clearly—the sight seemed to be burned in his mind's eye. Still, he barely believed it.
The scars were newly-healed, shiny, still a raw, raised pink. It seemed that too much pressure might break them open to shed Matio's blood again. A few seemed random, just slashes across his inner forearm. But the majority were in a pattern, a symbol, a five-sided figure with some sort of emblem inside it, cut and cut again so that the mark was branded into Matio's flesh.
"It is the mark of the Golbora Guild, a league of assassins," Matio explained softly. "In my last journey with Seeker Wari, the Seeker was captured, and I had to leave to get help. I was caught by a man we knew by the name of Farig Solma, the same who had betrayed Seeker Wari and handed him over to our enemies. He . . . tortured me for one endless night, with herbs that clouded my mind, with fire and blade. He broke me at last, and I answered his questions. Some I answered truthfully, but one, I did not. By the King's help I held just enough reason to lie to him. I escaped, and brought back help, and all was made well in the end, or as well as it could be. When Wari saw the marks on me, he wept. He knew then that the traitor Farig Solma is actually Namágol, the Shadowhand, the most elite member of the Golbora Guild."
Obi-Wan shuddered. Now this traitor, this elite assassin from Matio's world, was on their trail. He had shown no mercy to Matio, a young apprentice, a boy of "fourteen summers" as he put it. He would show none to Obi-Wan, if he caught him. So he won't catch us, the young Jedi vowed grimly.
And if he did?
No. Obi-Wan would kill the man, if he had to, slice him open with the blue lightsaber that had yet to cause a death, rather than let him torment Matio again. This lad had suffered enough.
"What does he want with you now?" Obi-Wan asked. "Why bring you here? And how?"
"Well, for the first question, that's easy." Green-brown eyes met blue without a wavering within. "He wants to torture me to death. He found out about my lie, and he felt dishonored. A strange sense of honor, but it was violated, and he will take it out of me."
"No!" Obi-Wan said instantly. "I won't let him."
Matio's lips twitched tremulously, barely a smile at all. "He will kill you, as well."
"No."
The archer glanced back at his arm, pulled down the sleeve so the scars were hidden again. He shivered as in a chill wind, though the new morning was bright and warm. "I think he must have brought me here because he knew that my guardian would never stop chasing him. He wanted to have as much time as he wanted to kill me slowly, without fear of being interrupted or halted by Seeker Wari. We were camped in the Wilders when he approached, under guise of a simple hunter, his face different than the one we knew. But we recognized him, and we fought him.
"During the course of the battle he managed to grab me and drag me away from the Seeker, holding a dagger to my throat. Wari halted for only a moment, but I could see the determination in his eyes, and I was not afraid. Then Solma drew a strange amulet from the inside of his tunic, a large red jewel that shone of its own light.
"'This was given me by Acraled, the ancient enemy of Madra, now returned,' he said, his voice snarling in my ear. 'It is very powerful. Watch and weep, Seeker, and remember this sight, for you will never see your apprentice again.'
"Then he spoke words in a language I didn't know, a harsh, dark-sounding tongue. It was an incantation, and the magic in the jewel flared. I saw red light, but also the gold light of the Maker. Of course He did not leave me alone—He never does. We changed, Solma and I, as our bodies were shifted over to this universe. But the magic of Acraled must be unstable and unpredictable, unlike the power of my King. We arrived here, in the deep forests of this world, nearly fifty paces apart. I caught a glimpse of him still holding his knife as if at someone's throat, but he no longer held me. I ran. And I have been running ever since."
And now Obi-Wan ran with him. The Jedi looked at his friend, the strength and steadiness of the narrow shoulders, the young face scarred by the cruelty of men, the clear eyes as calm and peaceful as an untouched forest. Running for his life, Matio had paused to notice another young man in danger, had risked himself to help. Seekers and Jedi had much in common.
This is my brother, Obi-Wan decided. A strange thought, yet it felt absolutely, supremely right. Matio was his brother. And brothers stood together.