REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia
See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.
Note: the chapter title was borrowed from the song called 'Run', by David Meece.
CHAPTER 9-FEAR UPON THE WIND
He awoke to an emptiness - a frightening lack of connection to everything. By the constricting way it felt, he knew something was hindering his access to the Force. He had managed to keep his eyes closed and himself perfectly still, in the dire case that someone might be observing him. As a Jedi, he had been trained how to handle potentially dangerous circumstances such as captivity, and knew that that was likely his situation. He was sure it had been a Force-disrupter that was used on he and his master to capture them. The pounding ache of his head could have been from his hangover, but his entire body throbbed with incessant pain.
Taking stock of himself, he immediately noted the air sticky and a smothering warmth, and he could just inhale enough for a pained gulp of air. He noticed the trickling of sweat down his sides and the unforgiving metal that encircled his wrists. Then he realized he was lying down with his arms above his head.
He heard footsteps, the clomp and scratch of leather soles and heels upon a hard surface, then the sounds stopped nearby. Too near. Gathering as much calm as he could, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and held his breath at the sight before him.
"Welcome, Padawan Kenobi. It's so nice to see you again," came the oily textured voice.
Obi-Wan knew the Force was not within grasp, knew serenity would not come - knew that as soon as he had identified the man before him. But even as he stared dumbly, a very scared part of him inside screamed in angry denial that none of this was real.
"It has been a while," the man said smugly, eyes dark and hard, hair raven black misted through with silver. "But not long enough for me to have forgotten." He stepped closer, now at the side of the bed, towering over the padawan. His gray coat was elaborately trimmed in copper and emerald highlights, and loose ebony pants were tucked in gray knee-high boots. He was shades of darkness in contrast to the pale colors of the surrounding room.
It looked like a rented apartment. The sparse furnishings of a metal post bed, matching light wood dresser and desk, the heavy argent curtains, and few personal effects scattered about the room. A large floor glow-lamp of bronze with a thick frosted white shade illuminated the room.
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say something, anything, but could not find the strength to speak. He watched in silent agony as the smoky dark eyes raked over his body, and had to sharply inhale for air as he felt his head growing light.
The man slowly sat on the edge of the bed, never breaking eye contact with the padawan.
With only thoughts of escape, Obi-Wan heard the metallic clink of chains and felt the limiting of the restraints as he pulled them taut, in a vain attempt to move away.
Ignoring his captive's struggle, the man went on, very deliberately. "You know, you almost killed me. I honestly thought I was going to die when you pushed me over the railing." Eyes set in a face chiseled in hard lines bore a dark piercing glare that made the padawan shiver. "Luckily," the man continued, "I landed in a garbage scow. It broke my fall, but still I suffered several broken bones. Since that day, I have looked with great interest to meeting you again."
Obi-Wan swallowed convulsively and forced himself to breathe. The worst of his nightmares had come to life. Tarren had become bigger in his mind than he had been when he had first met the man on Coruscant. And that swollen memory now had the strength of a billion hells.
"Yes," Tarren smiled darkly, his raven black brows rising elegantly. "You do know who I am. My face?" He scrubbed a hand against his tan cheek. "Well, changing it back was no more difficult than it was to change it the first time. A simple payment to a low-life in a morgue was all it took to make it look like I died. Or rather, that Quaykin had died. And a pathetic drunk who had poisoned himself was sent to you Jedi in my stead."
Obi-Wan thought back to that funeral. He remembered that the body had been wrapped, citing that the fall had left the body in an undesirable condition. No one had actually seen whose body had burned up. It could be true, his mind whirled. In a frantic attempt to suppress the shudders that threatened to eclipse his control, he nervously recited in his mind prayers for serenity that his master had drilled into him through the years. The Force was still there, he reminded himself, whether he could feel it or not.
"But don't worry," the captor said, the words floating as through a tube through the quiet of the small, brightly lit room. "I won't kill you. I was never going to kill you. That's totally up to another individual who is immensely interested in you, and has been for quite some time."
"Why?" Obi-Wan found himself asking.
Tarren seemed to take a liking to the padawan's curiosity. "I can't say, but I've already placed a dark imprint upon your mind for him to access when he comes for you."
Obi-Wan blinked hard in shock.
"Oh, I didn't do that now," Tarren elucidated, with a crafty smile. "I did that on Coruscant when your shields were easily penetrable because you weren't expecting such an attack. It was quite easy, actually." His smirk turned cruel.
Obi-Wan remembered the feelings of darkness he had sensed recently and the loss of Force control on the balcony at Eroleen. For days now the darkness that had become stronger in his awareness.
"Valan Quaykin knew nothing about it," said Tarren, sounding almost bored. "But my current employer knew about Valan and his plan somehow, and asked me to fulfill his desires for this imprint. I have some Force sense, so he placed the imprint on me and instructed me on how to transfer it to you. Now we simply have to wait for him to come for you. But until then, I have something that might interest you."
Obi-Wan watched nervously as the man pulled something from his pocket. The object glinted silvery as light reflected off its surface.
"I love you, my Padawan, my beloved son," the man read aloud. "How sweet," he mocked, delicately fingering the links of the bracelet. "I suppose it's from Qui-Gon Jinn, is it not?" He glanced at Obi-Wan, then back to the bracelet. "No matter. It's mine now. It should fetch me a few credits, at the least."
Obi-Wan did not notice where Tarren put the bracelet, as he kept his eyes averted to the ceiling. "Where is Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan managed to say quietly, so as to keep his voice steady.
"That's of no concern to you anymore. You are not your own, as you will eventually learn."
Suddenly, Tarren had a large dagger in his hand. He placed the tip of the blade firmly to Obi-Wan's throat, forcing the padawan's chin upward to expose the delicate throat, his face mere inches from Obi-Wan's. "There is no escape, Padawan. Not with this," he tapped the metal of the Force-inhibiting collar that was around Obi-Wan's neck. Then he grabbed Obi-Wan's padawan braid and pulled it painfully tight.
"And you won't need this any longer," Tarren said. He removed the blade from his captive's throat and placed it at the tip of the braid, just behind Obi-Wan's ear.
Obi-Wan's eyes widened at the threat of losing the symbolic strand. "Don't," he protested weakly, gasping as he heard the hairs snipped apart and felt the pull on the braid lessen, then watched in shocked disbelief as Tarren produced the freed braid before his eyes.
The padawan's gaze slowly traveled its length, remembering every time Qui-Gon had supplied him with a new band to place around it as it had grown longer and in need of one. A story of their relationship told in a woven strand of hair.
Tarren put away the dagger and produced a lighter. Flipping if on, a small orange flame flickered to life, dancing silently.
Watching in horror, Obi-Wan saw Tarren thrust the ginger braid into the flame. The tiny fire jumped and spread to the crisp strand, curling and blackening it as it was consumed.
Tarren was careful to keep the braid where Obi-Wan could see it until it had burned up to his fingertips. Then with a flick of his wrist, he tossed it to the floor, where the last remnants of it turned to ashes.
Obi-Wan stared in shock at the spot on the floor until a brutal hand clasped his chin, turning his head back to face Tarren.
"We never finished what we started, you know," Tarren said softly, his thumb lightly fingering the small cleft in the padawan's chin, then his hand drifted down to caress Obi-Wan's neck. "And what better revenge for nearly killing me?"
Obi-Wan pulled futilely at the chains, his hands fisted. "You perverted son-of-a-Hutt," he said through clinched teeth, while his eyes flared to lucent blue.
Suddenly the dagger appeared again at his throat, the sharpened edge of the blade threatening to do harm. Obi-Wan held his breath and squeezed shut his eyes.
"No one can save you," Tarren whispered, speaking slowly, precisely. "Not your master. Not even the Force. But don't worry. You can see Jinn after we're done. And you can tell him all about what we've done."
Obi-Wan felt hope draining out of him, and he suddenly felt weak and sick with despair. Physically, he was about to be used, but - worse yet - somewhere deep inside, another's dark signature lay dormant.
A lecherous hand trailed across his sweat-drenched tunic, down to his sash and tabard. The hand clutched them while the dagger slipped beneath, angling upward to slash the cloth apart.
The padawan closed his eyes, closed his mind, but then a tiny whisper of hope eased into his ears. The hand and the dagger left, and suddenly Tarren was on his feet, turning away to answer the buzz of a comm call.
The padawan watched in disbelief and almost cried from relief, no matter how brief that respite may be. Forcing air in his lungs, he let out a ragged breath.
"Thank you," Obi-Wan whispered to the Force.
He tried to turn his thoughts away from where he was, away from the looming darkness, but all he could feel were sinister walls closing around him. He felt alone and lost in a vacuum of doom. When traces of the conversation drifted over to him, he found himself listening.
"The boy is not to be harmed," a raspy voice said.
"He will not be-"
"See that he is not. And do not underestimate him this time. You have done well, Tarren."
"Thank you, My Lord."
Obi-Wan turned his head to see Tarren facing him, the comm transmission apparently over. Eyes tainted with hate stared at the boy chained to the bed. Obi-Wan returned the look with a glower and set jaw.
Tarren blinked with introspection and crossed to the door, opening it. "Put the padawan with the other Jedi," he ordered to someone unseen.