Author's Note: I have finished writing this story now. It is eight parts, a little over twenty thousand words. I'll post one part every week or so, just to keep it up on the list of stories. I think this is a good one, but I want people to read it and tell me whether or not they think so, too.

I very much appreciate the kind reviews. I'm glad you like my OC's (I assume that means "outside character"?) as I have been writing original fiction with them for five years, now. I am deeply in love with them both, even more deeply than I am with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. (No, not that kind of love. Geez. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

Kat: No, there will be no preaching. I never write with that in mind—I just write. The dialogue you're referring to happened naturally between the characters—that is the way Wari and Qui-Gon think and talk, and that is the way they would react to each other. (At least I think they would.) I apologize if it came off as condescending or over-bearing. That was not my intent. It's just one of many conversations those two masters keep having in my head. (Must . . . exorcise . . . the voices!)

Well, I hope you all enjoy Part 6, which is pretty much just character development with a tiny bit of action. It gets slightly nasty in Part 7. I'll probably have to up the rating when I post it.

The Other Side of Infinity
Part 6: Noble Order

Obi-Wan could feel Matio reaching out with his will, trying to warn the rancor back, make it think that this area was dangerous. It was not the Force, not this talent from another world, but the Jedi could feel the echoes of its working through the Force. He could tell by Matio's confidence and skill that this technique had worked before, had saved Matio's life and others'.

But Matio had foreseen correctly—it wasn't working this time. The rancor advanced, roaring with the stink of rotting meat, nostrils flaring and running mucus. It seemed to be trying to decide whether to first attack the boy in the tree or the boy on the ground.

Matio was vulnerable up in that tree, unable to jump aside to dodge the swinging claws. Obi-Wan ran forward, yelling to draw the enraged carnivore's attention. "Hey! Down here! Look at me! I'm down here!"

The rancor swung toward him, swiped a claw-laden fist at him. Obi-Wan leaped easily aside, the wind of the claws' passing ruffling his short hair. He jumped forward again, jabbing the lightsaber at the tree-like leg before him. It didn't go all the way through, and he retreated quickly, cursing under his breath. This thing was tough.

Matio's arrows bounced off the rancor's head. "Fewmets!" he yelled. "Obi-Wan, it has skin like armor!"

No kidding, Obi-Wan thought, but did not waste breath for a reply. Completely focused on bringing the rancor to its knobby "knees," he lunged forward, slicing again, determined to cut down the leg in front of him. The 'saber went through a little farther, hitting bone, and the roar of rage changed to pain.

Obi-Wan sprang back again in satisfaction, the lightsaber in his hand humming a pleased note. Too late he saw the flailing claws swinging for him again. He dodged—too slow!—and caught a corner of a claw to his temple. Even that glancing blow was enough to send him sailing back and away, dazed, limp in the air, and he landed in the pool. The water parted with a crack like a blaster shot. Then he was beneath the surface, blue ice over and through him once again. It was not refreshing this time, but terrifying, because he could not make his body react, could not pull himself back to the realm of air and life.

He could feel Matio's distress, hear an echo of a voice muffled by the weight of water, shouting, "Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan!". The rancor wailed in agony, and the world shook as it fell. Obi-Wan struggled uselessly, his muscles responding to his orders to swim to the surface with confused jerks and bobbles. He couldn't hold on much longer; the blue world was turning grey at the edges . . . .

Another splash, a cloud of bubbles, and a slim arm circled Obi-Wan's bare chest like a band of durasteel. Come, my friend, back to the light, he thought he heard a gentle voice murmur in his ear, but surely that was impossible. Then his head broke the surface, and he drew in deep, grateful gulps of air. Strong arms pushed him up on the bank, and he fought his way onto his hands and knees, vomiting water, blinking rapidly, slowly regaining control of his body.

He turned his head to stare at the beautiful pool that had almost killed him. Matio surfaced briefly, offered Obi-Wan an encouraging smile, and dove again. Obi-Wan turned his head the other way, struggling to comprehend what had happened. The rancor's body lay there, half in the pool and half out, steam rising from the stinking flesh, an arrow up to its feathers in the tiny eye.

Obi-Wan sank into a sitting position just as Matio appeared again, holding the dripping lightsaber. He crawled up on the bank and presented it wordlessly to his friend. The Jedi studied his weapon morosely. It was shorted out, useless.

"I'm sorry, Matio. I wanted to protect you and help you. Doing a lousy job so far."

"Nonsense. Alone I would have fared very badly against that monster. Come, you're wounded. Let's get a bit farther away from this place and make a fire."

This time it was the Seeker who supported the Jedi, walking slowly through the woods as evening shades fell. Matio also carried their supplies, and the still-damp garments. Obi-Wan could not prevent the waves of guilt and shame that now and then oppressed him, but he was entirely unable to regain his full strength. The blow had caused more than momentary dizziness. He probably had a fairly serious concussion, he realized glumly.

"Now, now, there is no need to torment yourself so," Matio scolded gently. "No harm has been done, besides to your poor head. It is my pleasure to help you as you have helped me. You are a brave and true young man, a grand testimony to the noble order that is the Jedi, and I am honored that you consider me your friend. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Come, sit and lean against this tree, and I'll build a fire as swiftly as it can be done."

Which was very swiftly indeed, with Matio making it happen. Obi-Wan was barely aware of the cold beginning to creep up on him when abruptly he found himself blinking at warm flames beginning to catch on a log. Matio fussed over the robe for a moment, but it was almost all the way dry. He wrapped it around the young Jedi, then hung the other garments up to dry more thoroughly.

"You have a small cut on your forehead, friend," Matio said, kneeling beside him with the med kit in hand. "But that's not all that's wrong, yes? I understand. My father hit me too hard, once, when he was drunk. I was insensible for almost two days, and then could barely move for a week. He was sorry, that time, and tried to take care of me. Later he wasn't sorry at all, no matter how badly he hurt me. You rest now, and perhaps you'll feel better in the morning."

Obi-Wan was touched by the tenderness with which Matio bound the cut, smoothing bacta over it and wrapping it with gauze still damp from the pool. He also was strangely affected by Matio's absolute lack of self-consciousness as he took care of Obi-Wan and their campsite, still bare from the waist up but not at all embarrassed by the many scars he thus revealed. The young archer had completely forgotten about himself and his own precarious situation. He continued talking, sharing experiences that Obi-Wan felt sure he had never told anyone about before, not even his beloved Seeker Wari. All in an effort to comfort Obi-Wan, keep him awake, give him time to recollect himself.

"Matio . . ." Obi-Wan began, and was dismayed to hear his voice slur slightly. The smaller boy gave him his complete attention, halting his movement and gazing steadily at the young Jedi. "Matio . . . what does 'fewmets' mean? Just out of curiosity." That wasn't quite what he had meant to ask. His mind was not working correctly.

To his surprise, the boy blushed deeply. "Dragon droppings," he said in a low voice. Then more loudly and clearly, "What does 'Sith' mean?"

"Dark Jedi. Force-users who have turned evil. The worst thing in the galaxy, really." Obi-Wan shifted against the tree, pulling his robe around his shoulders. He remembered the question he'd wanted to ask. "Why did you say that you hoped we wouldn't have to kill the rancor? It would have killed us, but you seemed sad."

The young archer continued to look at him steadily. "Because I love them. All animals, even the ones in this universe who feel strange and do not connect with me in the same way. All are beautiful and wonderful, and it hurts me to take away their lives."

"Even those big grey creatures, like the one that bit your shoulder? Even the thing you shot for our breakfast?"

"Yes. It hurts. Every time, it hurts. But I have learned that some things are necessary. Even though I would rather live on plants, I need the nourishment of meat. And many of the animals I love are predators, too. Still, every death hurts me."

Obi-Wan held himself in silence. Then he straightened his back against the trunk behind him and spoke firmly and clearly. "Matio, you are a brave and true young man, a grand testimony to the noble order that is the Seekers, and I am honored that you consider me your friend."

The boy smiled broadly, that gift of sunlight from another realm far above this one.

The Jedi sighed and let himself slump again. "I'm going to go into a healing trance now. It will seem like I'm dead, but I'll still be breathing, just very slowly, all right? By tomorrow morning I'll be fine."

Matio nodded. "I'll watch over you."

Obi-wan smiled, then let his eyes drift shut, slowly sliding down to lay by the fire. He knew that Matio would keep his promise. They had nothing to worry about, at least until morning . . . .

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Qui-Gon and Wari had met and vanquished a pack of the large grey carnivores Wari called "wolves" and Qui-Gon called "malia," though neither term was entirely correct. They had been forced to deviate from their course when a deep canyon intervened, making them lose almost an hour as they traveled east until the canyon narrowed enough to jump. They had talked with great animation, sharing, discussing, even arguing in friendly debate. Both had admitted to feeling instant kinship with each other on first sight, and they agreed that Seekers and Jedi had a great deal in common.

All in all, it was the most pleasurable journey either had made for a very long time.

Suddenly they realized that they had halted, gazing away into the middle distance, their thoughts far away.

"Something is happening," Qui-Gon murmured.

"A battle," Wari agreed. "Matio is worried, afraid, but confident of his friend's abilities."

"Obi-Wan is dismayed . . . he hadn't expected this. A rancor."

Both gasped.

"Obi-Wan is hurt!"

"Matio is terrified for him."

They looked at each other. Qui-Gon's eyes were wide. Wari's lips were pale.

Then the Seeker sighed. "Matio has killed the monster—he's trying to rescue Obi-Wan."

A moment later Qui-Gon wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. "Safe. He's all right. Wounded, but not badly."

Wari seemed to be struggling to comprehend everything that had happened. "Our bond is still very new—I only feel Matio's emotions when something dire is happening. This is more than I ever felt before, more clear, more detailed."

Qui-Gon nodded. "If bonds of the spirit work in your universe the way they do here, this will only deepen every day. And it will continually surprise you."

Without another word they hurried on, neither truly aware of their surroundings.

"I should have been there," Wari murmured. "Somehow, I should have been able to stop all of this. I promised . . . I promised Matio that he would be safe with me. How little I knew . . . ."

Qui-Gon gave his companion a look of sorrow and sympathy. Indeed, they had much in common. More than they had realized, even with all of this open-hearted sharing.

"It isn't right," the Seeker said with quiet fierceness. "Always, always when we fail, when the men and women of the world who ought to be noble forsake the good, when we let the darkness overcome the light . . ." He sighed. "It is always the children who suffer the most."

"Yes," the Jedi murmured sadly. "It is the children who suffer."

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"Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, you need to wake now! Please, Obi-Wan, wake! Obi-Wan, please!"

It was Matio's voice, full of a deep terror Obi-Wan had never heard there before. Something was wrong.

"Please wake, Obi-Wan! Obi-W—!"

There was the sound of a blow, and Matio's voice stopped. Obi-Wan brought himself out of the trance more quickly than he'd ever done it, ready to jump to his feet the moment he opened his eyes—

But he could not. He was sitting upright, bound to a tree.

Obi-Wan stared wildly around the camp. There on the other side of the fire crouched a man. A man holding a knife to Matio's throat. The young archer was struggling for breath, and blood trickled from a small cut above his eyebrow. His eyes, wide with fear, wildly sought the Jedi's face, and thick, cruel ropes bound him hand and foot. "Obi-Wan . . ." he whispered.

The man whirled to impale Obi-Wan with his dark gaze. He was completely ordinary, absolutely nondescript, brown hair, brown eyes, average height and build . . . just a few pockmark scars on his face, and a long one, like a whipmark, crossing his forehead and disappearing into his hair. Such a very normal-looking person. But Obi-Wan knew who he was.

The assassin, traitor, murderer: Farig Solma.