Author's Note: Rating upgraded just to be on the safe side, though the worst part is probably just a small snippet of description in part 8.

Bookworm85: Ye-he-hes, I am a big fan of fewmets. Everyone should use that word instead of other synonyms for Number 2. Fewmets, fewmets, fewmets.

Mirax Myra Terrik: Really? You think it's going too quickly? Hmm. Does anyone else feel this way?

Well, based on that, I expanded Part 8, added a little mush and a little angst-resolution. After you read that (I'll post it this Friday, if all goes well), let me know if you think I ought to expand the story more. I'm not at all adverse to writing more with these characters! It would give me great joy, as a matter of fact.

Enjoy this next bit! Everything falls apart, comes together, and provides Obi-angst.

The Other Side of Infinity
Part 7: Shadowhand

Farig Solma's eyes were bland at first, as unremarkable and boring as any eyes the Jedi had ever seen. But his gaze quickly sharpened, and a strange smile played on his lips. "Ah, the young native awakes. Did you sleep well, kid?"

Obi-Wan struggled convulsively against his bonds as the man stepped over to crouch beside him, still playing with that long, thin knife. The ropes were too tight, the knots too complex, and he could not gather enough concentration to use the Force. His head still throbbed—the trance had been interrupted before he'd finished healing.

"You're a Jedi," their captor said, musing, trailing a finger down Obi-Wan's cheek. The Padawan jerked his head away, and the man smiled in amusement. "What name shall I give you, Jedi? What name shall you give me? I am Farig Solma, Siir Mogran, Namágol, the Shadowhand, George Colburn, a dozen others—more names in more worlds than you have yet seen, will ever see. And who are you?"

"Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi," he spat. "Let Matio go!"

"No."

Without seeming to move, the knife was suddenly at Obi-Wan's throat, sharp point just barely penetrating the skin. Obi-Wan held himself still, struggling for control.

"Let him go!" Matio cried. "It's me you want! He's done nothing to you. He's never lied to you or kept you from getting something you want. Take me and leave him alone!"

Farig Solma sat back on his heels, still holding the knife to the Jedi's neck, and glanced at his younger captive. "That's true," he said quietly.

Obi-Wan felt blood trickling into his collar. "You won't win," he said between gritted teeth. "Matio is under Jedi protection now. I won't let you hurt him."

Solma turned back to stare at him, laughing softly. "And you've done such a wonderful job so far," he said in the most loathsomely condescending tone Obi-Wan had ever heard, like a silly adult talking to a toddler, heaping praise for correct use of the 'fresher. He paused, his gaze sharply curious. "Why did you let me catch you?"

His gaze flicked to Matio. "I lost you. For days, I had no idea where you were. Your legendary skills as a woodsman are true to life—you disappeared into the forest, and I found no trace. And then I saw the escape pod falling from the sky, and traced it out of curiosity, and found the site of battle with arrows and lightsaber burns scattered indiscriminately about. Catching you was so frightfully easy, then. You weren't even trying to hide."

He looked back at Obi-Wan, smiling broadly, teeth glowing yellow in the firelight. "I must thank you for distracting him. I might never have caught the boy without your interference."

Obi-Wan fought wildly against the ropes again, not caring about the knife, not caring about anything but stopping this demonic man before he laid another finger on Matio. Solma backed away, still laughing softly, contemptuously, knowing that he was making the Jedi's blood boil and delighting in his power to do so.

"That's not true!" Matio protested, his voice choked. "I should have been keeping watch, I fell asleep—it wasn't your fault, Obi-Wan! Don't listen to him!"

Solma knelt for a moment between the two boys, his gaze flicking between them, darkly playful. "Suddenly I have such a large number of interesting ideas . . ."

Matio subsided into a strangled silence, staring pleadingly at his captor. "Let Obi-Wan go," he whispered.

"But it would be such fun to take turns, see how you reacted to each other's pain. Do you remember, little brat, how I was going to torture a rock lion cub and make you watch? That was the thing that broke you, in the end. You wouldn't let me hurt it. You can't stop me now, of course—I don't want information from you, I want screams. Shall I gather a few animals from the forest and see how their agony affects you? I am most curious about this talent of yours, this bond with animals."

"I have no bond with the animals of the universe," Matio said instantly. "I would not feel their pain. It is the same with Obi-Wan—we are not close friends, we have no bond."

The assassin bit his thumbnail, mockingly, as if thinking it over. "I think you're lying."

"No," Matio said, staring his tormentor in the eyes. "This universe is completely different. My bond with animals is not the same. I won't feel their pain. Do what you want to me, but leave Obi-Wan out of it."

The Shadowhand shrugged. "Oh, very well. I'm going to kill you slowly and painfully. I suppose I can grant you one last request." He gave the Jedi a full-toothed grin. "Besides, this one is too dangerous to be dragging around with us. We need privacy."

He stood in one smooth motion, sheathing his knife on his belt. Then he bent, lifted Matio, threw him over his shoulder, and walked away. Matio raised his head to look back at Obi-Wan. "Don't follow," he whispered.

And they were gone.

Obi-Wan struggled against the ropes again, until exhaustion turned the strong jerks and pulls of his arms into half-hearted wriggles. Abruptly he made himself relax and lay limp, fighting to make his mind work. If only his lightsaber hadn't shorted out, he could call it to his hand and cut the ropes . . . no, he could not think about that! He had no time for regrets. He had to find something that would help him escape, quickly.

The young Jedi closed his eyes and breathed deeply and slowly, finding a way past the pounding of his heart and the throbbing of his head, past the deep ache in his stomach when he remembered that last look from Matio, the desperation shining in the green-brown eyes that were always so cool and clear. He found his calm center, drew his concentration about himself in a blanket of purpose. This was not the time for fear, for anger, for anything but strength and control. It had been the will of the Force that he and Qui-Gon would crash on this planet, that he would meet this boy and save him from evil. That was why Obi-Wan was here. That had to be his focus.

He drew his awareness in tight, studying the ropes that wound about his chest, his arms, the tree, fastened in enormous, complex knots designed to tighten with any pressure. They were very tight indeed, now. He might be able to loosen them telekinetically, but it would take time, more than Obi-Wan was willing to spare.

Slowly he allowed his awareness to expand, searching for anything that would help him get free. Fire: too dangerous. Rocks: not sharp enough. But there on the other side of the fire . . .

Namágol had stripped Matio of his weapons. The little skinning knife lay on the ground, still in its sheath on the young archer's discarded belt. Quickly and smoothly, Obi-Wan used the Force to draw it, and it flew to his hand, which was held against his chest by the thick ropes.

Only a few minutes of sawing, and Obi-Wan was free. He jumped to his feet, shrugging the ropes off, and reeled dizzily. Sith. He'd forgotten about the head wound.

Obi-Wan leaned against the tree with one hand to keep from falling and closed his eyes, waiting for the pounding in his head to subside. It wasn't that bad. He could handle it. His mind and body were under his control again. It was just a headache . . . . Quickly he drew in the Force to deaden the pain. He had more important things to deal with.

After a moment he was able straighten up, though sweat trickled down his temples. He grabbed his tunic from the branch Matio had draped it over, intending to pull it on as he ran.

"Obi-Wan!"

The young Jedi turned just a bit too quickly, and reeled again. Then he blinked incredulously, believing his vision had doubled. No, it really was two people, Qui-Gon and a man who could have been his brother, with the same broad shoulders, dark beard, and concerned expression.

Qui-Gon ran the few meters separating them and grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Padawan! Are you all right? What happened? We felt anxiety, terror, pain—"

"S-Solma," Obi-Wan managed. He could not tear his eyes away from Qui-Gon's companion. They looked very much alike . . . but no, this man was younger, leaner, his nose was bigger, his hair was darker, and his face was much more weather-beaten, tanned by sun and roughened by wind. "He took, took Matio . . ." His eyes flew back to his master's face, wide and frantic. "We have to hurry! They went that way!"

"One moment," Qui-Gon said. "We'll find him, Obi-Wan, don't fear." He placed a hand against the bandage on the Padawan's forehead and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan sighed as the pain faded, disappeared, and his legs steadied beneath him.

Seeker Wari, for it had to be Matio's guardian and teacher, it could be no one else, was hurrying about the fire gathering his apprentice's things and wrapping them in a bundle. He stood straight, his gaze piercing the young Jedi. "How long has it been?"

"Fifteen or twenty minutes," Obi-Wan said, his voice under control again, though agitation roiled beneath. "We can still catch them. But we ought to put out the fire."

"Put on your tunic, Padawan," Qui-Gon said quietly. "It's cold out tonight." As his student obeyed, slipping the double layer over his head and pulling the robe on again, the Jedi Master turned toward the fire, allowing the Seeker to light a torch in it first. A burst of Force suppression, and the fire was smothered out of existence. "All right, Obi-Wan, lead the way."

Obi-Wan took a few running steps into the forest, then realized that it was pitch-black and he could not see. He turned back, feeling his face flush. "My, my lightsaber . . . I fell in the pool . . . sorry, Master."

Qui-Gon wordlessly handed him his own 'saber, brilliant green blade illuminating the trees around. The Seeker staggered suddenly, a cry bursting from his lips, the torch nearly falling from fingers abruptly limp with shock. Qui-Gon whirled and snatched the torch, catching the man's shoulder with his other hand.

"What's wrong, Wari?" he asked, though the two Jedi had a bad feeling that they already knew the answer..

"He's hurting him!"

The Shadowhand wasn't wasting any time. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath and continued into the dark wood, praying that he was going the right way. After a few moments he halted again, panting. He turned to look at the two men, dread tightening his chest, defeat slumping his shoulders.

"I don't know . . . I can't track . . . I can feel Matio's pain, but I don't know where to go!"

Wari briefly squeezed his eyes shut, his lips thinning in private agony, and then he opened them to look at the Jedi again. "I am not a woodsman," he whispered. "Matio can track anything, but I am . . . oh, Matio . . ."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I don't see any signs. I found you, Padawan, by tracing our bond through the Force. It was like a beacon, a line connecting us, and I followed it. But the Seekers' bond does not work in the same way."

"You said that you feel Matio's pain?" the Seeker asked, stormy eyes seeming to pierce through the young Jedi. "Is it possible that you could have formed a bond in only two days?"

Obi-Wan's lips felt cold and numb. "I, I don't know." He remembered all the times the two apprentices had saved each others' lives, the words he had thought he'd heard in the pool, the swiftness with which Matio had denied his bond with animals and with Obi-Wan in an attempt to deter the assassin. "I . . . I think we have. Strange . . . but, yes. Yes. I feel him. It is not strong enough to follow, though. How . . . ?"

The Seeker held out his hand, his gaze not leaving the Padawan's face. "Do you trust me? You have only known me for a few moments. Will you join your spirit with mine?"

Obi-Wan stared.

"It is a great thing I ask, I know." Still Wari did not lower his hand. His eyes pleaded more eloquently than any words could have.

This was Matio's Seeker Wari, the man who had saved him from a life that was a nightmare, who had coaxed him out of a shell of fear and taught him to love and trust again. Without this man's kindness and gentleness paving the way, Matio probably would never have dared even to speak to Obi-Wan, much less share the burdens of his soul with him. The young Jedi was not sure how he knew all of this, but he knew it was true.

Without a tremor, Obi-Wan took his hand.