REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia
See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.
CHAPTER 8-BLUR OF DAYS
Stumbling through the dangerously increasing blur of snowfall, Obi-Wan ran with no clear direction. He was simply running. And sliding. And periodically falling, as he lost his balance. It was not that he wanted to run. It was that he wanted to get as far - and as quickly - away from Qui-Gon as possible.
He had said things he had no intention of saying. He did not really hate Qui-Gon. It had just slipped out - out of anger, out of frustration. And knowing that Qui-Gon was surely hurt by such harsh words pained him all the more.
He had never wanted to blame his master for the attack by Tarren and did not even know that he had until it slipped out a few hours before. He had never wanted to make things like they were, not like this, not hurting Qui-Gon. His master could not have been responsible for it any more than he could. Qui-Gon was a good man, a good master. He did not make Tarren attack him. He could not. Obi-Wan had been in a fog, obscuring the lines of truth, driven by an irrational desire to strike back, to defeat the pain deep inside. And Qui-Gon had simply been there, hoping to help. But the padawan had bottled up the emotional turmoil until it had become too much to keep inside and poured it all out on Qui-Gon. Finally, the root of his hostility toward his master was plainly revealed, to Qui-Gon, and to himself - and he hated what it had done to him.
But for now he ran. Alone. Away from Qui-Gon. Away from the universe, if he could.
If he could only take it back and never blame anyone but Tarren, never form a barrier between himself and the most important person in his life. If only . . . .
As he pushed himself to his feet again, after taking another spill from the slippery sheet of ice coating the wide sidewalks along the streets, he heard the bubbling of laughter near. He looked up, attempting to locate its source and identified a bright glowing sign of scarlet and lime hanging from a metal pole protruding from the wall of a building. The sign, while not large, swung with an ear-aching screech in the blowing winds and whirling currents of snowflakes.
"Here," a joy-filled voice drifted from the interior of the building. "Have another."
Laughter erupted again.
Now on his feet, the padawan stepped hesitantly toward the sign and sounds of life. When he was close enough to see the place through the veil of frozen precipitation, he peered through a transparisteel window and saw that it appeared to be some sort of an eating establishment. There was a hand-full of patrons scattered about the small interior, while a bar ran alongside one wall and several small round tables littered the floor.
After a quick look back to the falling snow, Obi-Wan entered the little restaurant. He walked guardedly towards the bar, as eyes surreptitiously followed his movements. He was aware of the scrutiny, but gave no indication that he did or that it concerned him. Perhaps he could stay here until the storm lessened.
"What'll ya have?" asked the young women behind the counter, in an exaggeratedly cheerful tone. Her light brown eyes, smoothly capped by coppery green shadows across her lids, shone seductively from a nest of long ebony lashes. When the padawan met her eyes, she flipped a lock of her brunette hair behind her ear and winked flirtatiously.
"What do you have . . ." Obi-Wan softly cleared his throat, "to eat?" he added quickly.
The girl pulled a colorful card from underneath the counter and placed it in front of him. "The food processor's closed, but anything else you see, you can have," she drawled, her tone the texture of silk.
He was careful to ignore her gaze as he looked over the pictures. "Do you know if this," he asked, pointing to the olive drink that looked like the ones he had seen children drinking at the ancestral fete the day before, "is a drink they had at Korgill?"
"Yeah," answered the girl, after a quick glance. "They have it there every year." She looked him up and down with a small frown. "Are ya sure ya want it?"
Moments later, Obi-Wan wondered if it had been such a wise choice. At first, he had welcomed the numbness, the dulling of his pain. But the fuzz that had begun almost immediately after the first sip had not lessened. Even the bitter taste of the intoxicant remained stubbornly on his tongue, while its repugnant smell lingered on his breath. And that was . . . how long ago? He didn't know, but he would have stayed in the warmth of the eatery, had they not closed and ushered him out. Now he wandered aimlessly along the snowswept streets. Fortunately, the storm had eased to a fine fluttering of flakes.
There was no one else in sight. But that was not a surprising thing considering the falling temperatures and the lateness of the hour. Through the hazy vagueness of his thoughts, he felt that he should find some place to stay, but everything appeared to be closed up for the night.
Almost as if in answer, the large scarlet gateway of the Eroleen Gardens rose in the distance. He quickened his pace and passed through the large gate that was not locked. The Gardens were deserted and lonely, as he had expected. Hard-lined shapes of tall trees trailed along the walk, their limbs splayed as black twisted silhouettes against the pale carpet of snow. Crunching over the fresh snowdrifts, he headed to the observatory.
As the room slowly came back into his awareness, intense blue eyes opened. For a moment, they stared ahead, seeing something elsewhere, something beyond the walls of the room. They blinked twice and fell to the single candle flickering silently on the floor in front of him. A simple object to help his focus. It had been necessary, given the emotional attachment he shared with his padawan.
Smothering the flame with his fingertips, he rose to his feet and crossed to the door, pausing only to retrieve the small silver box from the sofa and stuff it in a pocket beneath his robe. Then he left the comfort of the hostel.
The air was crisp and cold as he trod along the sidewalks. Snow no longer fell, but there was an abundance that had loosely gathered on the ground, collecting on his boots and on the bottom of his robe as it trailed across the snow-covered ground. He wrapped his robe firmly around him to retain a measure of warm.
As he walked, a flurry of thoughts flashed through his head. A rich tapestry of memories of their lives together - all of the sweet joys and great accomplishments, the needed companionship. Even with all of the misunderstandings and disagreements - some of them as heated as any Temple pairing - scattered throughout their relationship, he did not want to forget a single treasured thread of the life he had woven with Obi-Wan - his precious padawan.
He knew his mind was wondering, and that it would only hamper his attempts to find the boy. In an effort to refocus his concentration on the task at hand, he sent out Force tendrils, searching for that familiar presence that had become such an important part of his existence. It would do no good to dwell on the argument they had had. That would serve only to distract him from his present mission.
Far ahead, he spotted a figure trampling through the snow. Though the suns had fallen and the lovely stars glimmered shyly overhead, he was sure it was his padawan. Glow globes were spaced along the walk, so it was not overly dark, and after five years in close company with the boy, the outline perfectly matched his description. Just as he had thought, Obi-Wan had run in the direction that they always left from the hostel.
Afraid the boy would flee if he saw him, Qui-Gon cloaked his presence and increased his speed to gain ground. He reached the gate at Eroleen, where he had seen Obi-Wan enter. There was no sight of him anywhere, but the disturbances left plainly in the snow indicated he had gone to the observatory.
He followed the footprints to the tall building and checked the door. It was locked, but that would be no problem against a subtle Force manipulation. He quickly attained entrance and crept over the threshold, immediately delighted to discover it was heated inside.
Sweeping the lobby with his eyes, he saw that it was dimly lit, with only overnight lights on. He cautiously slid along the slick wall, his senses outstretched, searching.
Catching movement from the other side of the circular room, Qui-Gon quickly spun around. A crease appeared on his brow as he saw one of the statues tilt over and fall from its cylindrical pedestal. It came crashing down in a sharp cracking sound, small broken pieces clattering over the smooth floor, one tiny ivory piece coming to rest at his boots. An all-too-familiar gasp followed, as his padawan's form staggered back from the pedestal he had inadvertently bumped into.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon spoke kindly, hoping the boy would listen and not run away.
He saw the boy hesitate, then fall back into deeper shadow. Qui-Gon stepped cautiously closer.
"Go away," Obi-Wan commanded, from the penumbrae of an alcove. "Please, Master," he added softly.
"Obi-Wan. Don't send me away," Qui-Gon pleaded. "We need to talk."
"We've already been through this, Master." Obi-Wan sounded tired. "I don't want to talk. And I don't want your help."
Qui-Gon sighed. "Please, Padawan. It's apparent that you've been holding in some bad feelings toward me. I think I'm starting to understand that that's why you've been so distant."
There was no response.
"You've been blaming me for what happened to you with Tarren," Qui-Gon stated gently, as he moved closer.
"And why not?" Obi-Wan called from the darkness. He realized how foolish it sounded, had realized at the hostel just before he had stormed out.
"Yes," the Jedi master acceded, with quiet honesty. "I suppose I did cause that. And I guess, from a certain point of view, that you could blame me for that."
Moving around the broken statue on the floor, Qui-Gon took another step closer to the alcove where Obi-Wan hid. It was steeped in shadows, but he could just make out the darker form of his padawan.
"I am . . . sorry, Obi-Wan, for what happened to you," the tall Jedi master admitted, letting his sorrow seep into his tone. It was not hard to do, considering how much he guessed Obi-Wan had suffered emotionally. "I know I cannot completely understand, but remember that I felt it and saw it when your shields gave out on Lorminth. I know that it was a terrible thing, but please don't shut me out of your life."
"Please, just go," Obi-Wan cried. He stepped back, intending to move further away from Qui-Gon, but bumped into another pedestal and stumbled against the wall behind him. Dizzy from the intoxicant, he slid down the smooth wall and sat hard on the floor.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon exclaimed. He rushed to Obi-Wan's side, taking advantage of the boy's lapse.
"Go away," Obi-Wan said, as Qui-Gon's hands touched him. He jerked back, trying to move away, but strong hands held him as the room spun. "Please . . . don't, Master," he said, reluctantly meeting the older man's eyes. "Don't pity me," he panted, even as he ceased struggling. "I can't bear it."
"Pity you?" Qui-Gon saw the blaze of hurt in those aquamarine eyes. Gone was the defiance and anger that was there earlier. He frowned, then said, "Obi-Wan, is that what you see?"
The boy ducked his head in shame and did not answer.
"Oh, child. I do not pity you. I love you, my son. I love you," Qui-Gon half whispered, kissing the silken strands of the boy's hair, the backs of fingers brushing a smooth cheek. "Obi-Wan?" A shade of incredulity in the timbre, followed by a tiny sniff. He pulled back, searching for his padawan's elusive gaze.
The boy slumped against the wall further, sure that his newly discovered inebriation only disappointed his master.
Qui-Gon gathered the now acquiescent body against him. "What have you had, Obi-Wan?" His breath blew the sweat-dampened spikes of the boy's hair. There was no trace of judgement.
"Just a drink," Obi-Wan said bleakly, the words slightly muffled by the layers of tunic and robe. "It was only one," Obi-Wan added, when Qui-Gon gave no reply. "It was that olive colored drink the children had. I didn't think it would be so strong." Yet even as he spoke, he felt himself quickly sobering.
"Oh," was all Qui-Gon said.
Confused by his shifting emotions, Obi-Wan relaxed, content to be enfolded in Qui-Gon's embrace, to feel the gentle strokes along his back. How he needed to feel someone care for him, to not judge. It was so comforting to feel loved and cherished. Yet it compounded the unforgiveness he had held for Qui-Gon into an aching numbness, made him feel the chilling reality of his world. He needed to feel peace within himself again, to - if he could - let go of the unforgiveness.
He remembered the lessons on forgiveness while in the crèche. Unforgiveness never makes anything better. It only rots inside you, consuming your very self, and rarely harms the one you're unforgiving toward. In this case, however, it did harm someone. Someone he had truly not wanted to harm, and had had no right to.
"Obi-Wan, I am sorry . . . for everything," Qui-Gon's words were spoken softly, his chin resting on the top of Obi-Wan's head. "If you cannot forgive me, then please tell me what I can do to make things better for you."
The padawan sighed, clarity of thought blurring out the blind haze he had been living in for too long. "Oh, Master. It's not you. It's me." Then whispered, "it's always me."
"No, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, slightly stern. "I had a hand in what happened."
"But you couldn't have known," Obi-Wan protested.
"Nor could you."
"Yes, I could," the padawan challenged, his jaw setting in determination. "If I'd been more on guard, more in the moment . . ."
"Or, if I'd been less in the moment," countered Qui-Gon, a little lightly.
"No, Master," Obi-Wan's tone was serious, with self-deprecation. "I am sorry. I don't hate you."
Qui-Gon continued gently rubbing the boy's back. "I know, my Padawan. I know."
"And I'm . . . sorry I blamed you. I . . . didn't want to. I don't want to." Unconsciously, Obi-Wan fingered the length of his braid. "I want to forgive you. I know it's not right."
Seeing the insecure gesture, Qui-Gon gently settled his hand over his padawan's. Obi-Wan looked down at the woven strand, realizing what he was doing.
"I know, Padawan;" said Qui-Gon softly, as he removed his own hand.
Obi-Wan dropped his hand from the braid and closed his eyes. Then opening them, he gazed into eyes that shone steady with affection. He gently pulled away from Qui-Gon to better face him. "My behavior recently has been . . . insolent," he said quietly, sincerity in his tone. "I am sorry for it. I had no right for my actions, as they were inexcusable and unbecoming of a Padawan of the Jedi Order. I ask for your forgiveness, Master." When he saw the acceptance and small nod from Qui-Gon, he continued. "Master?" Obi-Wan ventured, feeling the increasingly faster pace of his heart.
"Yes, Padawan?" Qui-Gon heard the tightness in Obi-Wan's voice, knew there was something that the boy was anxious to tell.
Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably and licked his dry lips. "There is something else. Something I saw." As soon as the words left, he felt the knotting of his stomach. He wanted to tell this, but it was so hard. So hard to breathe. So hard to find even a spark of serenity.
Tilting his head, Qui-Gon sat back on his heels. "What?"
After a difficult swallow, Obi-Wan said, "I . . . I saw T-Tarren." He forced the name out, almost shivering at having spoken it allowed.
Qui-Gon was still, an eyebrow arched in concern. "When?"
"The first day we were here, at Korgill," Obi-Wan explained, a little uncertain of what his master would say.
"Are you sure?" There were shades of unbelief in Qui-Gon's voice, and he mentally berated himself for it. He knew his padawan needed to feel trusted now.
Obi-Wan's eyes cast downward. He felt sure Qui-Gon did not believe him. "I even dreamed about what he really looked like, Master. Before we came here, when we were still at the Temple," he reported, allowing the dismay he felt to filter through.
This was so much for Qui-Gon to process. Sensing the future was not one of his strengths. Other Jedi had been known to see visions, to dream dreams, and to even foretell of future events, but Qui-Gon's experience had never touched such mystical things. He adhered to the present, living in every second, guided blindly by the mysterious leading of the Force.
"You don't believe me, do you?" Obi-Wan asked, raising eyes, storming pale blue in the dim lighting.
"Padawan-"
"I knew you wouldn't," the boy said, in a voice thick with emotion.
"Obi-Wan," said Qui-Gon, adding a trace of masterly authority. "I can not pretend to know of such things as night-visions. I focus on the here and now. But," he raised his hand to forestall interruption and continued when the boy pressed his lips tightly together, "I know that such things do happen."
"Then you don't think I'm crazy." Obi-Wan was unable to say it, except by a slightly unsteady voice.
"No, I don't think you're crazy." Qui-Gon stifled a small chuckle.
Obi-Wan's troubled eyes searched the older man's face, seeing the tired lines. "You . . . don't?"
"No, Obi-Wan," the master shook his head, honestly.
"But you don't believe I saw . . . ."
"No," Qui-Gon answered, rather succinctly. "Tarren is dead."
Obi-Wan just stared at him. He wanted to believe Tarren was dead. He really did. But he could not simply ignore what he had seen. "Master, I know what I saw," he stated confidently. "But there is more," he pushed on, wanting to release all of the secrets he had kept hidden away. "Also, since we landed here, I've been feeling . . . something, like a darkness . . . that I don't understand. And then, Regent Thyrpaen told me I was in danger."
Qui-Gon's eyes widened, his worry apparent. "We don't know how trustworthy the Regent is, but this is not something that should be ignored. Perhaps I should talk to her. And as far as the darkness you've been sensing, I think you should meditate on it. Have you?"
Obi-Wan lowered his gaze to the floor. "No," he answered softly. "Meditation has been . . . difficult, at best," he admitted, feeling exponentially better now as the communication with his master returned to how it had once been.
On impulse, he slowly dropped the mental shields he had erected to keep Qui-Gon out, each one falling away to expose more of his inner self, down as close to the vulnerable psyche as possible without pouring himself completely out. He felt so sated with relief, that his eyes met those of his master bravely, with no more embarrassment or self-doubt. He felt light and unburdened again. Elusive as peace had been, it now trickled through him as cleansing drops washing upon his soul.
Qui-Gon sensed the stirring of their training bond, and sent pulses of joy back to the padawan. "We should return to our room and meditate. I will help you. We'll both feel better. I think all of this stress has been hard on us both." Qui-Gon shifted to rise, then stopped, dropping back to the floor. "Oh, I almost forgot." He tucked a hand beneath his robe. When the hand resurfaced, it held the small silvery box that Obi-Wan had retrieved earlier for Qui-Gon. He held the box out.
Obi-Wan shot a mixed look of surprise and confusion at Qui-Gon. "Master?"
Qui-Gon nodded once. "It's for you."
When Obi-Wan took the box, Qui-Gon watched as traces of long-absent joy glowed in the boy's eyes. For several seconds, Obi-Wan merely stared at it, holding it as one would a precious relic.
"Well, open it," Qui-Gon urged him.
With a fragile smile, Obi-Wan opened the box. Inside was a shiny silver bracelet. At a loss for words, he pulled it from the box and looked back at Qui-Gon.
"See the inscription," Qui-Gon pointed, indicating the letters spaced along the links. He glanced at his padawan, who was staring in wonder at the words.
"I love you, my Padawan, my beloved son," Qui-Gon spoke them aloud, injecting affection into them.
Obi-Wan responded with a shaky smile, bewildered at the strange circumstances that had strengthened their familial bond. "I love you too, Master," he said, a little sheepishly.
Time seemed to stretch, fold in upon itself as Qui-Gon smiled.
In the beauty of that moment, the window beside them violently imploded, as shards of broken transparisteel shot across the circular lobby in a graphic spray.
Out of instinct, Qui-Gon threw his body across Obi-Wan, shielding him. Then, an excruciating roar of raking pain shackled their bodies and minds, as their touch to the Force was suddenly jolted with searing agony. They were helpless to do anything but writhe in torment. And soon, by the mercy of the Force, they quickly fell from consciousness.