REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia
See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.
CHAPTER 6-STIRRINGS OF A SHADOWED DARKNESS
The morning sky on Rymie shone brightly with a pale pink wash, while streams of ethereal rays shot through the rosy clouds, painting the tall gray buildings in a blush of pink hues. As he shifted his feet, his eyes slowly dropped from the heavenly luminescence to the spread of winter gardens below him.
Eroleen it was called. 'Place of the Divine Child', as translated from the ancient Rymian tongue no longer spoken, except in intellectual circles or by text scholars. Premier Sherveld had brought them here, showing them the frost covered fields and vine-twined arbors of the richly cultivated and sculpted floralscape of the public gardens. Even the decay of winter did nothing to dim their beauty as natural light glittered across the dripping frost like a galaxy of millions of shimmering crystals.
With eyes sweeping further down, he leaned over the durasteel balustrade, trying to estimate the precarious distance to the walkway of gray flagstones below. From here it all looked deceptively miniature, like a child's play garden. So tiny. So imaginary.
There was the little teahouse they had stopped to rest in. Its exotically curved roof sparkled brightly. To its right was the grove of Tinterbays, elegant bare limbs glistening with a thin cover of clinging ice. Crisp hearty mid-winter flowers of azure, magenta, and lilac lined the sides of the tortuous walkway that seemed to connect everything together.
He pressed his hand against his hidden tunic pocket, absently feeling his birthday rock, but his fingers converged on the smaller form beside it. A seed from a tiny crimson Sandriffa floret that prospered in chilling temperatures. Sherveld had extracted a handful of the oblong black seeds from the trumpet shaped bloom, giving both he and Qui-Gon a single seed each. He knew Qui-Gon planned on sowing his own in hopes of cultivating the plant, but he had not yet decided what he would do with his.
He leaned over further, feeling the top of the railing dig into his abdomen. It would be a long way to fall. Not as far as from his balcony on Coruscant, but still far enough.
He remembered how he used to dangerously lean over railings at the Temple when he was younger, using a cushion of the Force to keep from falling over the edge. It was a childish habit. One that Qui-Gon eventually broke him of after repeated warnings and punishments.
He was reckless, he had been told countless times, and he knew it. His master had taught most of it out of him, but streaks of it still remained, periodically making itself known, surprising both Qui-Gon and himself when it did.
He suppressed a smile as he leaned even further over into the cold open air and stretched his arms out. Slowly, he lifted his feet off the durasteel floor and straightened his body so that he was horizontally balanced on the top of the balustrade by his muscle-contracted abdomen. Then he closed his eyes to the beautiful frosty spectacle below him.
When he could feel the Force barrier form beneath him, holding him up, he opened his eyes and gently shifted his weight forward onto it, until he was dangling even more dangerously over the ledge.
If Qui-Gon caught him . . . oh, he did not want to even consider that.
The cool wintry breeze on his face and surrounding him was refreshing, freeing. Just like when he was fifteen on his balcony at the Temple. Of course, his master's catching him was not a pleasant memory. It was right after they had returned from Cagonor, where he had been so sick. The memory of Qui-Gon's gentle care there had been quickly overshadowed by the Jedi master's fierce rebuke of his latest disobedience. It had hurt at the time, but Obi-Wan knew it had been needed. The look on Qui-Gon's face alone was nearly enough to make him never do it again.
Nearly enough . . . until now.
Right now he just wanted a small escape. He smirked and let himself dip further onto the cushion of energy in the open air.
Thoughts of before flipped casually through his mind. He sifted through them, longing for that same freedom, that same bold assurance, that he had before the . . . attack, and before that shadowing darkness had shimmered through his mind.
It was frightening the more he thought about it. What exactly had happened to him? Was he really going insane? Was he . . . ?
Suddenly, the cushion below him shied away. Gasping, he strained to grab onto the fading tendrils of Force energy and pull himself back, but they carelessly unraveled like a ball of twine, and slipped away with strange abandonment.
This was it. The Force had fled from him, and now he was going to fall and. . . .
Closing his eyes, he waited. The air whipped by coldly, and he almost blacked out. He willed himself to, but it all happened so fast that when his mind cleared, he realized that there were arms around him and that he stood dizzily on shaky legs. Then he noticed that he was still on the balcony and Qui-Gon was holding him up.
"What . . ." he started faintly, his confusion clear.
"I pulled you back just in time, Obi-Wan," said Qui-Gon, his voice chiding. "I thought you did not do that foolish trick anymore."
"I . . ." Obi-Wan regained his footing and turned around to face Qui-Gon. "I have not since the last time you caught me," he said distantly, still wondering at the Force slipping so easily from him.
The Jedi master straightened himself up to his full height as he stalked closer, almost hovering over his student, hands resting on hips. "And I expect you to never do it again," Qui-Gon sternly said, his midnight blue eyes flashing. "Do I make myself clear, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan found he could not meet Qui-Gon's scrutinizing gaze, or his intimidating stature. So he bowed his head in shame. Flicking his eyes up to his master's visage, he stole a furtive glance and wished he had not. "But, Master-"
"I don't want any backtalk," Qui-Gon warned, with jaw muscles clenched. "I expect you to obey me whether we're at the Temple or not. Despite anything that has happened to you, there is no reason why you cannot." As the words left his mouth, Qui-Gon almost winced at their sting. He knew they needed to be said, yet still he could not believe he was saying them. "I have been easy on you recently, but if you are going to use lack of discipline as an excuse for disobedience, then I suggest you rethink that. Do you understand me, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan's jaw tightened, bristling at the rebuke and the vocalized emphasis on his rank. "Yes, Master," he answered evenly. Refusing to meet Qui-Gon's eyes, he instead stared intensely at the smooth russet flooring at the foot of the taller man.
"Master Jinn?" called a voice behind Qui-Gon. "Please, come and meet Regent Karielle Thyrpaen."
Qui-Gon looked toward the source of the voice, seeing the Premier peering out at them from behind the heavy, elaborately carved zukk-rum wood door.
Turning back toward his student, Qui-Gon continued in a lowered voice. "We will continue this discussion later, Padawan."
Still avoiding eye contact, Obi-Wan started to brush by Qui-Gon, but was stopped by a firm gasp of his arm.
"I did not dismiss you, Padawan." Qui-Gon explained, as he maintained a firm grip on the boy's arm.
Obi-Wan stared once again at the floor. "I am sorry, Master," he whispered. "It will not-"
"It had better not happen again." Qui-Gon interrupted, immediately realizing the anger coursing though him, as he noticed the boy faintly flinch.
Everything was getting to him, he admitted. The strain of putting up with the Premier, Healer Pasheso's threat to take Obi-Wan away from him, Obi-Wan's withdrawal and disobedience that almost led to his falling to his death. Sighing in weariness, he rubbed his course beard and silently considered the boy who stood motionless before him, head bowed, radiating absolutely nothing that the master could pick up on. It was a safe guess that the boy was as miserable as he was, but with the training bond closed off on the padawan's end, he could not be sure. They would talk later. He would make sure of that.
"We have much to talk about, Padawan. And we will talk about it later. I promise you that," he said, releasing Obi-Wan's arm.
Obi-Wan kept his eyes averted to the floor. He did not look forward to that promise fulfilled. It sounded more like a threat than anything else. When Qui-Gon turned and followed the Premier into the garden's observatory, he trailed silently after him.
His mind was in a state of shock as he walked down the Temple's hallway toward the lift. His apartment would not be far once he made it to the right floor, but then he would have to talk to Qui-Gon.
"Padawan Kenobi." The voice came softly, and not without a trace of urgency.
He stopped, hearing movement behind him, and knew it to be the Councilor Mace Windu approaching.
"Padawan, come."
A hand took hold of his arm and ushered him to a small meditation chamber. He went without protest, without thought almost. After he was gently pushed in a padded chair, Mace turned his back to him.
"Where's Qui-Gon?" Mace said with heavy frustration, addressing someone else in the room.
"Preparing the room for Dajer still he is," answered the little green master, Yoda, who was seated in another chair.
Mace sighed loudly. "Has anybody told him?"
Yoda tapped his gimer stick methodically on a cushion. "No."
"Has anybody tried to contact him yet?" Mace began pacing the room, irritably rubbing the back of his neck.
"It's been done, Mace," Councilor Adi Gallia replied calmly, as she swept into the room, stopping in front of him. "He's on his way now. I commed him myself." She glanced worriedly at Obi-Wan, noting how detached the padawan appeared, his eyes wide and staring at the highly burnished floor in front of him. He looked oblivious to all that was happening around him. "How is he?" she inquired in a lowered voice, gesturing at the padawan.
There was a pause of silence and absence of movement.
Slowly, Obi-Wan's eyes rose, focusing on Adi, then Mace. They were both watching him with concerned frowns.
Strange how he could not remember how he had gotten back to the Temple. A thick haze veiled his most recent memories. He remembered the man he had met at the spaceport, the way the Force had seemed to numbly reverberate, becoming less distinguishable. Then . . . .
He did not want to remember what had happened then.
He had vague memories of answering the questions of the authorities afterward, but he did not even recall contacting them. Then he must have returned to the Temple.
He just felt so sick now, and wished all that he did remember would be lost, never be brought to thought again. It was then that he realized he was trembling. He inhaled deeply, trying to find a small measure of calm and to fight down the tremors racing through his body. "I need," he said haltingly, his eyes pleading to the two masters watching him, "to speak to . . . my Master."
Adi's eyelashes fluttered with empathy as she dropped to one knee in front of the padawan. "Qui-Gon is coming." Taking hold of his hands, she squeezed them. "The security force already told us what happened, but Qui-Gon does not yet know."
He gazed into her large blue eyes. The incredible strength and vulnerable beauty in them gave him a much-needed sense of calm, of hope.
But that peace was shattered when the expected tall Jedi master abruptly entered the room.
"What is this about? Where is Dajer?" Qui-Gon asked. His eyes flicked to Obi-Wan, who refused to meet his gaze.
"Qui-Gon," Adi began, drawing everyone's attention as she stood. "Dajer . . . he . . ." she stopped, her throat choked by tears.
"There was an accident, my friend," Mace softly took up the story.
"Mace, what are you saying?" came the desperate query.
Mace opened his mouth to speak, but Qui-Gon quickly turned away and crouched in front of Obi-Wan.
"Obi-Wan?"
As the padawan met the fearful eyes of his master, he felt what peace was left inside of him shrivel up, and all of his secret pain and terror slinked into the deepest part of his heart, locking itself away.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon prompted again, lightly resting his hands on the padawan's shoulders. The dark hurt in the midnight eyes exposed the terrible truth that he already had guessed.
Obi-Wan swallowed painfully. "Master," the boy said quietly, staring dully in his master's sorrowful gaze. "Master, he . . . he fell."
"Welcome to Eroleen, Master Jinn," beamed the middle-aged women, her eyes shining brilliant tawny. To her side stood Premier Sherveld. A small squad of guards stood near them in the interior of the observatory, where tourists and other guests freely roamed about in the large circular room.
The walls were a polished bronze, with cream carved panels spaced around the room. Fanciful statues of ivory and sable stood imposingly in small windowed alcoves along the walls. A large tapestry of plum, silver, and gold hung opposite the entrance. It's depiction of artisans and minstrels added to the taste of elegance that seemed to pervade the lobby of the observatory.
"It is good to be here, M'Lady." Qui-Gon offered a polite smile and gently shook her outstretched hand. He found his eyes immediately drawn to her hair. Pale amber and piled on top of her head in a high mound of intricate braids, it was interwoven with gleaming cobalt blue beads. Interestingly odd, but definitely beautiful in an exotic way. "The Premier tells me," he went on as she shook Obi-Wan's hand, "that you are responsible for the architectural development and beautification on Rymie."
"Yes," she replied, straightening her deep blue velvet gown with one hand. "As a Regent, I was assigned this task. I've been at it for over twenty years now, and I absolutely love it."
"And Karielle does a stupendous job," Sherveld piped in. His favor of her was obvious, as his eyes had suddenly brightened when he had greeted her. "She's the best."
She laughed with elegance. "Oh, thank you, Premier. You're always so supportive."
"Yes," Sherveld added, with an affectionate smile, "but you deserve all the praise for the hard work you-" he stopped as the lights flickered twice and winked out, leaving them in the gloom of deepest murk.
A quiet murmur erupted around them in the darkness.
"Oh, dear," whispered Karielle. "We always have trouble," she said a little louder, "keeping the lights on here. It's a problem during the cold cycles."
The darkness was suddenly broken by two lights - one azure, one emerald. The two Jedi's lightsabre's hummed softly while casting dim colored shades of azure and emerald on their faces.
"Everyone stay where you are," Sherveld projected to the guests scattered throughout the room. "We shall have the lights back on soon." He turned to Qui-Gon, quietly saying, "come with me please. I know how to fix the lights, but I need a light to see where I'm going."
Nodding an assent, Qui-Gon retreated into the darkness with the Premier, leaving Karielle with Obi-Wan and a few guards standing near them. Obi-Wan's azure lightsabre kept them from being swallowed completely by shadow.
Noticing the dimness the woman stood in, Obi-Wan stepped closer to allow the illumination of his blade to latch onto her. She offered a warm smile in gratitude, which he returned politely.
"Young man," she began, drawing his eyes back to her. "You are an apprentice?"
Obi-Wan gave a short nod. "Yes, M'Lady," he quietly replied. "I am the apprentice, or padawan learner, of Master Qui-Gon Jinn."
"And you are of the Order of Jedi," she went on, in a knowing tone. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, as Obi-Wan nodded again.
He saw something close to worry cross her face, before it was quickly reschooled into a blank expression.
"I see a cloud hovering over you," her voice was quiet and urgent. "You are in danger, young Jedi." Karielle's eyes flooded with tears, sparkling blue from the sabre's light.
Surprised at the Regent's sudden and unexpected warning, Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "What," he asked with a slight hesitation, "do you mean?"
Her watering tawny eyes bore into him. "I . . . do not know. I can not see it," she whispered in a rush. "It is shadowed by darkness."
His brow furrowing, Obi-Wan stared at her in disbelief as the lights flicked on. "What are you talking about? How would you know?"
Seemingly broken from a spell, she blinked furiously and gently dabbed her tears away. "I see things sometimes," she informed him.
"You've experienced prescience before?" Obi-Wan asked, more than a little curious.
"You see, Karielle," the Premier interrupted. He walked up with Qui-Gon, to stand beside her. "I can fix the lights here as fast as anyone."
She smiled sadly, turning to him. "Yes, Premier," she answered with a sniffle. "You can." Then her eyes settled on Qui-Gon. It was apparent that the Regent was going to elaborate to Obi-Wan no further.
"Padawan?" the Jedi master's voice pierced Obi-Wan's distant thoughts.
After locking eyes with his master, the boy saw the mild reproval in the midnight blue eyes. Obi-Wan had failed to turn his lightsabre off. Quickly, he switched off the humming blade and reattached the weapon to his utility belt where it belonged. Then he clasped his hands together in front of him and dropped his gaze to the reflective teal and cream swirled marble floor.
Qui-Gon softly cleared his throat and looked to Sherveld and Karielle. "The gardens here are beautiful and well kept, M'Lady," he spoke diplomatically. "You have done a wonderful job. And Rymie is beautiful as well."
"Thank you, Master Jinn," said Karielle, with sincerity. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Master Jinn, and your apprentice." She spared a quick look at Obi-Wan.
"And it was a pleasure to meet you, as well." Qui-Gon gracefully bowed. Obi-Wan numbly followed his lead.
"Next," the Premier broke in smoothly, "we shall visit the Central Hall of Law. I suspect," he turned a raised brow to Qui-Gon, "that you will wish to observe our courts?"
"Yes, Premier," Qui-Gon affirmed. "All in the interest of the Republic."
"Of course," Sherveld said, then turned to the Regent. "Thank you, Karielle."
Falling into step a pace behind and to the side of his master, Obi-Wan left the observatory with the Premier and his entourage. He was dizzy with the knowledge that he could possibly be in danger, if the Regent Karielle Thyrpaen were to be believed. But, somehow, he felt that he already knew that.
As the small group strode along the flagstone path and exited the walled garden through a large scarlet gateway, a hooded figure stood obscured in the cloak of dappled shadows beneath piney, ice-draped trees, watching with intense interest.