REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia
See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.
CHAPTER 10-TOUCH OF SHADOWS
He was trembling, knew he had been since he'd first seen Tarren, but had not been able to stop. Maybe they hadn't noticed, maybe . . . . Or maybe it didn't matter anymore.
With wrists still shackled and ankles now hobbled by manacles, he was practically being dragged down a long narrow, drab hallway past sets of closed doors by two burly men with shaven heads. They hadn't beaten him, but they weren't given to gentility. From the time they had unchained him from that evil bed and hauled him from Tarren's presence, cruel hands had groped and pinched with bruising force.
He hadn't fought them. He knew it would only gain him more maltreatment, and the end of the hallway wasn't far . . . no matter how many needless stops they made. Besides, they were taking him to Qui-Gon, and that was all that mattered.
"Here we go, kid."
He was pushed to the wall beside one of the doors, his cheek pressed against the cool smooth permacrete - a welcome change from the sweltering warmth of where he had been. While one of the men unlocked the door, the other held him firmly in place. He could hear the deep breathing of the man behind him, could feel the heat from the body, the puffs of breath, the eyes on his back.
The door slid open to reveal a small dim filthy cell lit by a hanging teardrop lamp. Its amber tint pooled sickly shades on the room's only occupant - an elegant figure sitting in one corner. Chains similarly bound the Jedi master, yet even in these dismal conditions the grace and unshakable composure of his master was not diminished.
Obi-Wan dropped his gaze, knowing that he could not keep up that same kind of appearance, ashamed of his own apparent vulnerability.
Qui-Gon's gaze slid from his padawan to the two men pushing the boy through the door. He watched as the taller one hooked a scratched-up boot in the chain between Obi-Wan's ankles while shoving the boy forward. Obi-Wan crashed to the cold stone floor, his shackled hands only marginally breaking his fall. Sounds of spiteful laughter faded as the two men disappeared behind the closed door.
Qui-Gon remained quiet as Obi-Wan slowly pushed himself up, settling in a kneeling position with shoulders sagging and head bowed.
Qui-Gon took in the appearance of his student. Obi-Wan's robe had been taken, just as his had, but distress hung about the boy like a heavy shroud and, in the jaundiced light, he looked all the more wounded.
"Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan softly answered, with lowered eyes trained on his heavy black shackles.
"Obi-Wan, did . . ." Qui-Gon searched for a delicate way to phrase it. "What did . . . what happened?" He was aware of the identity of their captor since the fugitive had briefly visited him earlier, and since then had been unable to dispense of his worry.
As if nothing had been spoken, Obi-Wan remained in the middle of the room, unmoving, his gaze downward.
Qui-Gon had been worried before, and this withdrawn behavior of his padawan only increased it.
Qui-Gon licked his dry lips. "Padawan?" he infused his voice with tenderness and concern. "Padawan, did anyone hurt you?" He shifted closer, ignoring the clanking of metal chains, until he sat beside the boy. "Did Tarren . . . ."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and swallowed nervously. He didn't need anymore of the question. He knew exactly what Qui-Gon was asking.
"Padawan?" Qui-Gon raised his bound hands, cupping the boy's chin and drawing the pallid face up.
Obi-Wan blinked and raised desolate eyes, moist with tears unshed. "No." His voice was so faint Qui-Gon could barely hear it.
Qui-Gon was visibly relieved, but the padawan's lost look sent an ache to his chest. There was more, he guessed, something akin to what he'd suspected? "Is he planning to . . . ."
"He," Obi-Wan paused, waiting until a shudder passed, "uh, he was going to, but," Obi-Wan felt a flush of embarrassment at the admission and looked away, "whoever he's working for doesn't want me harmed."
Qui-Gon frowned at that and dropped his hands in his lap. "Working for?"
"Yes, I heard them talking," the padawan replied, brows knitting at the acrid smell of chemicals. He cast curious eyes about the small cell until he saw dried teal rings of spilt cleansing agents in a dusty corner.
"But you don't know who it is?" the master concluded, ignoring the distraction.
Obi-Wan shook his head, wiped the end of a tunic sleeve across his eyes and inclined his head toward the floor again. Unsteady hands sought the familiar comforting braid, then dropped quickly, giving up the empty search, and his posture slouched all the more.
With eyes suddenly widening, Qui-Gon clasped Obi-Wan's face in both hands and turned the padawan's head to the side. "Padawan . . ." the master's voice faltered. He brought Obi-Wan's face back toward him, with the boy's jaw still nestled between his large palms.
A single tear, glistening palest amber, escaped the fluttering eyelids and traced a slow path down the smooth cheek. Obi-Wan tightly closed his eyes, as if that would prevent his master from seeing it.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon's deep voice begged for explanation, sounding loud and overwhelming as it fell into the padawan's ears. "Obi-Wan?" He brushed the tear away with a callused thumb.
"He," Obi-Wan said softly, as Qui-Gon's hands left his face, "he cut it off, Master, and then he," although hesitating, the padawan was unable to keep the misery from thickening his voice, "he burned it. He said I wouldn't need it anymore. And he also took the bracelet you gave me," Obi-Wan added, almost off-handedly.
Qui-Gon noticed the failed attempt to sound casual, knowing the extent to which the pain had reached. He turned his eyes upon the young man who had grown up by his side. The boy was so precious to him, so dear, and he knew the boy was hurt by the stolen gift more than he would have admitted.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence during which neither spoke, and the small cell seemed to grow darker and smaller.
Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon and quickly looked away.
"Look at me, Padawan," Qui-Gon commanded, traces of urgency evident. He knew Obi-Wan enough to know that the boy wanted to tell him something important, something that he found difficult to speak of.
After a quick furtive glance through thick lashes, the boy raised his head and locked eyes roiling with bitterness, with the deep midnight orbs of his mentor. Obi-Wan was suddenly alarmed by the deep concern there.
"Please don't be afraid to tell me anything," Qui-Gon pleaded hoarsely.
Noticing he had been playing with the edge of his tunic, Obi-Wan stopped in abrupt frustration and gulped. "He's tainted me," he said simply, letting the weight of the meaning hang heavy between them.
Qui-Gon blinked in perplexity. "Tainted?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to elaborate and nearly faltered to find the courage to speak as his dry throat constricted. A deep inhale and exhale calmed him somewhat, and he went on, "there's some sort of dark imprint - as he called it - upon my mind. Some kind of dark signature. Something I don't understand. But I have felt it and sensed it. I know it is there," his voice dropped to just above a whisper, "and it scares me more than anything ever has."
There was a strange lambent glow of wonderment and tenderness in Qui-Gon's eyes. "A dark imprint?"
Obi-Wan gave a slow half-nod.
"I have never heard of . . ." the master's voice trailed off as he tried to process the full import of the problem.
"His employer placed it on him," Obi-Wan explained, mentally forming a detachment from himself, "and instructed him on how to transfer it to me - which he did when he . . ." his voice trailed off.
The Jedi master nodded, understanding what was left unspoken. "When did you first sense it?" Qui-Gon's eyebrows bunched together, his interest peaked.
"I'm not sure. I think it was sometime after we returned from Lorminth. But even then it was very subtle, very seductive - like the edge of a shadow that promises warmth. Remember I told you how I'd felt like I was in a shadow?"
He waited until Qui-Gon nodded.
"I welcomed the feeling at first. It offered an escape from the emptiness and unworthiness, from my worst nightmares. It cradled and comforted me when there was no one there, when I felt that I was alone - despite all the help offered by the healers and by you." He shifted uncomfortably, aware of the intensity of his mentor's eyes hanging on his every word, and diverted his own eyes away toward the corner of the room. "Once I realized it was in truth cold and uncaring, it had grown stronger. I have felt it stirring and intensifying since before we left Coruscant."
Obi-Wan realized that he was going on, as if it had nothing to do with him, as if he were not the subject of speculation here, and it bothered him. He knew the Darkness was real, and it had never felt more so than now. Growing increasingly aware of the complete silence of his master, Obi-Wan threw his gaze upon the man in question, wanting to see something of hope and acceptance there.
Qui-Gon was nodded his head in bemusement. "It made you feel like you were alone. But Padawan, you're not tainted."
Aquamarine eyes glittered crystalline dark, and Obi-Wan felt a rush of frustration. "Then what am I?"
Qui-Gon took a deep breath, started to cross his arms across his chest, but gave up when he remembered the chains would not allow such movement. "Obi-Wan, whatever this is, it is not a part of you. It is a foreign presence, not yours."
"But it's my fault that it has grown," Obi-Wan argued.
"No, it is not your fault," Qui-Gon stated simply and evenly.
"But I encouraged it," countered the padawan, dismally sad eyes begging for rebuttal.
"Padawan," the master said in a stern tone.
"No, Master," Obi-Wan protested. "I did."
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon waited until the boy closed his mouth and looked at him. "Yes, you should have come to me about this, but it is not your fault."
"I couldn't come to you," the boy huffed. "I was angry with you, with everyone. And that is my fault."
"I know," Qui-Gon softly conceded, amending it with a kind smile to take away some of the sting. "But that still would not guarantee that we wouldn't be here."
Obi-Wan looked away, burying his face in the hollows of his hands. The heavy manacles slid from his wrists down to his forearms, and he gave an exasperated sigh. "I hate him, Master," came the slightly muffled and softly resigned voice.
"Hate leads to suffering. And that's exacting what you're doing," Qui-Gon rebuked, plainly annoyed.
Obi-Wan's face came up sharply, his chest rising and falling with a panting breath. "Just as I didn't want to feel that way about you, I don't want to feel that way about him," he gestured toward the door. "But I can't help what I feel in my heart. You were wrong about Tarren being alive and didn't take my concerns seriously. I could be upset about that, but I don't want to be. I want to forgive you of everything. I have in my mind, but not in my heart."
Qui-Gon simply looked at him, letting his own mounting anger drift away, as carelessly as pollen motes upon the wind. He knew the regret was sincere, and despite being unable to feel Obi-Wan's emotions through their bond, Qui-Gon could see the swirling of emotions in the boy's troubled eyes and well knew the undercurrents of self-recrimination that the boy put himself through.
"I am sorry I did not believe you, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon admitted.
A distant sound of doors opening and closing filtered through the walls, followed by muffled voices and footsteps.
"Do you feel it now? The Darkness, I mean?" Qui-Gon decided to divert the direction that the conversation had taken.
"No," the boy whispered as if to himself, his eyes far away. "I know it's there, but I can't feel it now."
"Perhaps the collar is blocking that," Qui-Gon speculated.
Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps," he mumbled. "But it comes and fades and overall has become stronger with time."
Qui-Gon hesitated, scratching his beard. "Hmm. Did they say what they're planning?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "All I know is that whoever wanted this imprint on me is coming for me."
Obi-Wan barely noticed a tiny grin fall across Qui-Gon's face, painted in shadow. "What's so funny?" He couldn't keep the annoyance from his voice.
Qui-Gon turned eyes sparkling with glee to him, but it only irritated him further. How could his master be happy at a time like this?
"What's wrong with you, Master?" Obi-Wan's face scrunched up with disgust.
Qui-Gon chuckled and almost strangled trying to keep from laughing.
Obi-Wan continued to eye him indignantly. "You're hardly behaving as a Jedi master. A Jedi must have the most serious mind, you always tell me."
"Yes, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon fought to school his face into one of seriousness, without success.
"Really, Master. Granted, humor is not a bad thing," exclaimed the miffed padawan, "but I hardly find this situation humorous. Can't you at least control yourself, or do you expect you can laugh our captors to death?"
With that, a quick bark of laughter escaped the Jedi master before he could catch himself. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I just thought of the time we were on Dathalon and you . . . ."
Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, and his embarrassed flush was lost in the soft amber light. "I was fifteen, Master."
"Oh, and you're an old man now, hmm?" A smile still quirked the older man's face. "That was only three years ago, Padawan," he gently reminded his student.
"Well, you don't have to remind me. I'll never forget it."
"Nor will I," Qui-Gon said, fighting another outbreak of laughter.
"Why would you think of that now?" the padawan questioned, forehead creasing in contemplation.
Midnight eyes swept over the small room, before settling once again on the boy in front of him. "Oh, I guess it's just the accommodations, the jewelry," he held up his hands to indicate his manacles, "and the romantic amber glow." He suppressed a chuckle when Obi-Wan ducked his head.
The situation was similar enough, Qui-Gon thought. He and Obi-Wan had been locked up together in a cramped cell, chained hands and feet, and were expecting to be killed when the beautiful daughter of the Padisha had come in, decked in her finest flowing silks, carrying an amber-tinted candle lantern, and promised to free them if only Obi-Wan would consent to become her consort. Qui-Gon had not known that his padawan had conversed with the girl the day before, telling her fanciful tales of their brave exploits across the galaxy, and undoubtedly stretching the truth. It was not a wise thing to do, considering the way boys and girls were kept separated in that society until after marriageable age. Suffice to say that only by Qui-Gon's remarkable diplomatic skills were they able to clear up any confusion and be released from their prison.
A ventilation unit popped on somewhere on the other side of one wall and began an incessant humming. More voices crept through the door from somewhere down the hall, and footsteps grew louder . . . approaching.
Obi-Wan glanced toward the closed door. "Master?" His voice was now dripping with despondency, and Qui-Gon's face lost all trace of joy. "What about this imprint? What is going . . . to happen?" He bit his lip, realizing he was sounding like a first year padawan who had never faced any hardship.
Eyes filled with genuine concern and steady resolve turned on Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon's voice took on a most serious tone. "I don't know, my Padawan. But I will be with you through it all." His lips tightened into a thin smile, and with chained hands he squeezed the young man's shoulder.
The small gesture seemed to make Obi-Wan relax a bit. Then the boy turned apprehensive eyes to the opening door.