REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia
See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.
CHAPTER 12-DARK OF THE NIGHT
His incessant pounding on the door had drawn guards to quiet him down. Through the door he heard muttered swears and grumbling.
Qui-Gon stepped back to the side of the door against the wall and waited, manacled hands clinching and breaths heavy. His focus was clear and intent on one single purpose, on one directive. When the key code had beeped entry and the door began its slide to open, he was ready to pounce.
As the first guard stepped through, the shock rod in his hand was quickly snatched away, and before the man could react, the thick metal rod slammed into the side of his head. There was a sharp crack, and his body slumped to the dust-covered floor, lifeless.
The second guard was in by then and prepared to attack the defiant prisoner. He swung his shock rod at Qui-Gon, but it was effectively blocked by the stolen rod. Stepping back, the guard warily eyed the prisoner, keeping his weapon at the ready.
Bathed in dim amber pools of light, both men assessed his opponent, making mental notes of the proximity of the limp body on the floor, so as to not trip and fall.
The guard was a young man and could not have been older than Obi-Wan. He peered into the midnight blue of the prisoner's eyes. The Qui-Gon's gaze was sharp and alert. Licking his lips, the guard rocked from one foot to the other.
Qui-Gon's body still ached and felt clumsy from the effect of the shock rods that had beaten him earlier, but he held the weapon firmly in hand, waiting for the guard's impatience to push him into making the first move.
A sense of peace came over him when he realized that no other guards were coming. Take out this one man, and then he could go in search of Obi-Wan. A small smile quirked the side of his lips at this discovery, and the guard visibly paled.
Swallowing his nervousness, the guard's eyes dropped to the prisoner's chained ankles, then back up, now with a twinkling in them.
Following the guard's gaze, Qui-Gon was slightly startled that he had forgotten the chains. His mobility was greatly hindered - especially if he had to change his position quickly. To his frustration, the guard started circling to one side. Qui-Gon shuffled his feet, circling as well as he could the opposite way.
"Surrender, fool," the young guard spat, with a toothy grin. "You can not win." He spun his rod pretentiously.
Qui-Gon shrugged his shoulders in a doubtful gesture and strengthened his grasp on his weapon.
The young man lunged to the side, swinging the shock rod in an arc.
Too hindered by the chains between his ankles, Qui-Gon took the hit on the backs of his knees, and was easily swept from his feet. He fell on his back, the ache from the shock buzzing through his knees and his lungs emptied of air, but he brought his own weapon up just in time to block the dangerous descent of the guard's rod. With a twist of his wrists, he deflected the rod, throwing the young man temporarily off balance by the forceful parry. As the guard stumbled back, Qui-Gon took the opportunity to roll to the guard's right and sharply swing his weapon. It sliced through the air, solidly colliding with an unprotected elbow.
Dropping his weapon, the young guard unconsciously cradled his right arm. A pained grimace twisted his face.
Qui-Gon sat up, immediately noticing the streak of fear that spread across the guard's face as their eyes met. For a brief second, he thought he saw Obi-Wan there instead of the young guard, although he had deep brown hair and brandy colored eyes. The young man looked so young and vulnerable, much as his padawan had before he had been taken from him, and it was almost too painful for Qui-Gon to look at him. Cautiously rising to his knees, the Jedi master held his weapon at the ready; the only sound was the heavy breathing of both men from their exertion.
The guard backed up to the wall, still holding his broken elbow. Large brandy eyes watched the Jedi with wariness, and he sank against the cold wall behind him, as if trying to press through it. He was apparently unarmed without the shock rod, and the door was on the other side of the Jedi master.
"Hand me the keys to these manacles and collar," Qui-Gon ordered in his master voice, his breathing evening out calmly while he straightened his upper body.
The young man seemed to wilt further, then fumbled in a pocket with one hand, while the other arm hung limply at his side. He finally pulled a ringed set of key-cards from the pocket and tossed them to the floor before Qui-Gon.
Quickly, the Jedi master relieved himself of the chains and collar, and relished the bright influx of familiar power from reconnection to the Force, but as he stood a tidal flood of despair washed over him through the training bond he shared with Obi-Wan, followed by a despondent plea for help.
Swaying slightly, he straightened his tunic and stepped closer to the guard, towering over the young man while he kept his shock rod readied. His nostrils flared and eyes narrowed threateningly, and the young guard suddenly seemed very small and insignificant, perhaps too insignificant. The incessant flow of despair and suffering that came from his apprentice was unnerving. Why not just kill this boy and go find Obi-Wan?
The young man met the piercing gaze and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, holding his wounded arm. Fearful eyes silently pleaded with the Jedi master.
Qui-Gon took in a lung-full of air, releasing it slowly, pushing the rousing rage away and into the Force. "I won't hurt you," he informed the guard, his eyes softening blue. It was a difficult thing to do, to not take out his revenge on this pliant creature, but, nevertheless, he was a Jedi, and he would live by that.
"Do you have a comlink?"
A small headshake and a dropped gaze was his only answer.
Qui-Gon knew he was lying. "Give me the comlink," he emphasized with a subtle Force manipulation.
The guard looked confused for a moment, and then pulled the small object from his belt.
Taking the proffered comlink, Qui-Gon left the cell and locked it behind him.
/Hold on, Obi-Wan. I'm coming./ he sent, along with a mental caress, hoping the boy would latch onto that thought.
Furious misery had claimed him. As darkly shadows wrapped and clung about him, he felt his world fall in upon him. Broken skies collapsed, and he was boxed in, compressed into a space so tiny, so devoid of life that he could scarcely breathe. In the space of a heartbeat, he knew no light. It had fled, crying.
He gazed into the horrified eyes of the man he was being goaded into killing, and was haunted by the sheer blackness in the rhythmic chiming of his heart. All it would take would be a simple sweep of his sabre, and he found that thought entirely intoxicating, wanting it more than he wanted his very breath.
An intrusion whispered faintly in his mind, so soft and alluring, so full of promise and love; his master, Qui-Gon, was on his way.
Wavering slightly on his feet, he realized that he had already called his weapon to him and now stood mere feet away from that man. The azure blade was yet to be ignited, but he had never been more eager to kill.
Sensing the inner battle, as well as the contact of the Jedi master with his student, Sidious wound a constricting Force web around the boy, preventing him from hearing his master again. Now even a scream through their training bond would be to no avail.
Obi-Wan gasped audibly, no doubt from the short and abruptly ended contact with his master. But he could not ignore that touch, as much as he would have liked to. Like a spray of pellucid waters had it washed over him, giving him a small taste of the purity of light he had pushed aside for hatred. But he was furious. That was not what he wanted now. How could Qui-Gon do this to him? He wanted to scream, to lash out and stop it, but it was too late.
This was his choice. It was not preordained fate that had opened his eyes, that offered a choice between two doors. To murder or not to murder. It was like a cruel game flipping back and forth. It would be so easy, and yet . . . it would be so hard.
Feel your anger, then examine and release it to the Force, a serene voice echoed in his head from years past. Another one of those platitudes that was harder to do than say.
I will try, Master, he silently replied to the memory.
Do or do not. There is no try, came the gentle retort.
So is all my effort for naught?
It is all a matter of faith, Padawan.
Blind resistance.
He sighed, knowing he had lost before he had ever begun. Yes, Master. Then I will DO.
With a new resolve, he turned his eyes upon the man pitifully kneeling before him. Gone was the intimidating stare and lustful glimmer in Tarren's eyes. Gone was the arrogant posture. And gone was the desire to kill this man, this pathetic creature, who had showered so much pain and anguish into his life.
Qui-Gon would be proud.
Slowly, his exhaustion weighing him, Obi-Wan turned to face Sidious, and the Dark Lord saw the grim determination of the set jaw and the combative gleam of defiance in red-rimmed eyes.
"I will not kill in hate." Obi-Wan's voice was quiet, but steady, and he held himself rigidly.
Sidious stared at him, noted the slight trembling of the boy's body. Taking a step closer, he stopped when Obi-Wan lifted his lightsabre in a defensive position, preparing to switch it on. "Foolish boy. Do you truly believe your weapon can stop my mind from breaching yours? I already have and can rip it apart if I so desire."
There was a shadowy falter in teary eyes.
"I can sense your fear," Sidious went on, thrilled with the new revelation.
Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "I am not-"
"You are," the Dark Lord bluntly interrupted. "And you will learn that your pitiful master can not help you. He will soon be killed, and you will have no option but to serve me." He crossed to stand before Obi-Wan, who had lowered his lightsabre to his side, yet stood with squared shoulders.
The boy's eyes closed in concentration, a small furrow between his brows, and there was a shining splendor of peace filling that beautiful Force-presence. The Force seemed to kiss the air that covered him.
Sidious turned away in contemplation. Giving up on turning this boy was harder than he had believed it would be. The boy possessed so much potential, so much that a deep yearning formed within him to make this boy his own. No, he wanted to make every effort he could before killing him, but this was going to take longer than he had originally imagined. That would mean he would have to leave Rymie soon and take the boy somewhere else. He hadn't the time for this now, since Jinn had escaped and there would be trouble soon if they stayed. Besides that, he was due back at Coruscant in a matter of days.
"Tarren," the Dark Lord hissed, breaking the reverent silence that had fallen upon the room.
Still on his knees, Tarren had remained quiet, witnessing the spiritual battle with held breath. "Yes, My Lord?" he whispered, unable to cover the fear in his tone.
"Take the boy to Paemia," Sidious commanded. "I will send someone to pick him up from you there."
"No," Obi-Wan protested, his hand gripping the lightsabre more tightly.
Black robes swirled as Sidious spun around to meet that glaring gaze of aquamarine. "You have no choice," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, and reached within the boy's mind again.
This time furious black waves lashed over Obi-Wan. It felt like he was drowning in an abysmal sea, so dark, unable to breathe, unable to hear. He tried strengthening his shields, then recalled that the imprint lay beneath them. Crying out softly, he crumbled to the floor, his 'sabre clanking on the tile beside him.
Sensing the boy's wild cry though the Force caught and silenced within the constraining web he had placed around the him, Sidious smoothly continued in satisfaction, "you will be paid for your silence and for your obedience."
Nodding in unveiled relief, Tarren stood, a bit unsteadily, and retrieved the discarded manacles and inhibiting collar.
Sidious crouched beside Obi-Wan, his black robe pooling on the floor around him, and trailed a fingertip down the boy's jaw. "You are mine now, my apprentice," he said, smiling ferally as Obi-Wan twisted his face away. Then he stood and watched Tarren slip the manacles on the dazed padawan.
Confusedly, Obi-Wan fought the cool hands that clasped his wrists, but the swirling disorientation kept him disadvantaged. He gave an inarticulate protest as metal bindings snapped into place, but provided no more resistance once his wrists were secured, watching through half-lidded eyes as he was once again bound and cut off from the Force.
Qui-Gon remembered the frilly chartreuse fronds of the glomhuel trees softly rippling on summer breezes. On Cagonor, the locals considered them guardians of the coast. Tall and exotically curved, they shrouded the evidence of civilization, keeping the natives safe from the warring tribes of the Tirumf islands nearby. Beautiful to look at, yet true to their legend, the trees had kept the locals safe for close to five hundred years.
Throughout Obi-Wan's feverish sickness there three years ago, Qui-Gon had never lost sight of the lush vegetation. It had surrounded them, cloaked them, kept them safe from danger, and given the Jedi master easy access to the purity and energy of the Living Force.
Oh, how he wished that he could escape to a place like that and never feel so forgotten by the breath of life that bound all things together. How he wished he was there now, Obi-Wan by his side, safe from everything, safe from the galaxy and all its evils.
But destiny did not work that way.
He had a purpose, a path, that he had to walk, and it had never felt so hard to keep treading that path as it did now. Living in the moment was never easy when evil and pain consumed it.
/Obi-Wan. Please hold on./ he sent again impulsively, knowing but quickly disregarding that the training bond was being blocked, and that it would never reach the boy. He was fooling no one but himself.
Hastening across tiled floor, he hurried in the direction he had last sensed Obi-Wan before the contact had been abruptly severed, hoping he would be able to save him from whatever was planned for him. He had felt the rise of anger and then shortly thereafter contact had broken off.
Using the comlink, Qui-Gon had already contacted the Premier, who had informed the Jedi master that troops were on their way. Although Rymie had yet to be admitted to the Republic, they considered the kidnapping of Jedi to be a serious problem and wanted the Republic to know they valued the hallowed guardians of peace. Now, Qui-Gon hurried through darkened corridors, wondering what sort of place this was.
It was a large compound, and guards paced the corridors, as if searching for someone. Qui-Gon guessed that they had discovered his escape. Periodically, he hid in shadows or in deserted rooms, where he saw them furnished for residence or stocked with various supplies. In a weapons case, just down the hall where he had escaped from his cell, he had fortunately found his lightsabre on display. Now, he scurried through hallways, feeling his weapon's comfortable weight in his hand as he made a beeline for Obi-Wan's last known location.
He rounded a corner and silently slipped into a darkened room. It was empty, but Obi-Wan had been here. The boy's Force signature remained like the lingering smell of salt near a seashore. This was the last place Obi-Wan could be sensed by Qui-Gon.
Something else - dark - had been here, as well.
His heart laden with a growing unease, Qui-Gon spun on his heels and stalked out. He drew on the Force for much needed tranquility, but quickened his pace down the dark halls, searching for life forms. Sensing a concentration, the Jedi master quickly headed in that direction. As he hurried along, he pulled out the comlink and quietly called the Premier again.
There was a small crackle, followed by Premier Sherveld's muffled voice. "Master Jinn? Master Jinn?"
"Yes, Premier," Qui-Gon's baritone voice, soothing as the trill of a Ki'aleya moongarbler sharply contrasted the excited fluster of Sherveld's tone. "How long until your soldiers get here?"
"They should be there any moment," the Premier's voice informed him.
Qui-Gon nodded, sighing in weighted relief, and continued on toward where he hoped his padawan was. "Thank you, Premier."
His fingers idly stroked the ice-encrusted column of an obsidian balustrade that he had been pushed against, resting his arms on it, by the squad of guards assigned to take him outside. It felt cold to the touch, as expected, and he wondered if it always was so cold and lifeless. Certainly, he could identify with it now - cut off from the Force as he was, with the freezing ache of loneliness and dread of the future that had crept into his heart.
His fingers slipped, the ice gently melting under his slightly warming touch, and he lifted his head to see where all the guards had gone. The disorientation that the dark man's mental invasion had caused had fizzled now to a dull headache, but that did nothing for his emotional state.
One guard - a tall man with narrow shoulders - stood at the edge of the veranda, one foot on the next step down, a sable-gloved hand resting on his holstered blaster. This man was the one in charge, Obi-Wan was sure. He had simply handed out orders and talked to another man over a comlink. Several other guards hovered around him, carrying out orders or standing by.
Turning his head to the side, Obi-Wan glimpsed a burly guard behind him. The man caught the padawan's surreptitious glance and, placing his hand on Obi-Wan's back, pressed him firmly against the balustrade, his eyes ensuring the prisoner's wrists were still chained together. He said nothing as the boy turned his attention back to the scene before him.
There was a small snow-covered clearing, spread from the bottom of the veranda to a thick line of barren trees, their curved limbs forming an exotic image of black prison bars carved against the soft clean whiteness of snow under the deep onyx sky of night.
How long were they going to stay here, Obi-Wan wondered, thinking himself half-crazy for wanting something to happen, rather than remain in this wondering, unknowing, stage. It had been quite awhile that they had stood out here in the frigid temperatures that lingered from the snowstorm hours ago. As wisps of coldness crept through his tunics to the bare skin beneath, he shivered lightly, wishing he still had his thick robe on to stave off the chill.
He was just about to reluctantly ask if they would return his robe, or give him something else to help him keep warm, when a humming roar in the distance drew his attention. His keen eyes spotted the crimson lights of an incoming ship. It was not large, but comfortably sized and compact.
A dark form in the night sky, illuminated only by its identification lights, it dropped lower and decelerated as it approached the clearing. The roar grew louder, hover-suspensors groaning as they engaged, and the ship came to a halt in the air. Abruptly, an array of white lights flicked on, driving shadows from the crisp field.
As Obi-Wan watched it settle on the ground, he suddenly felt his pulse quicken. He assumed that this ship would be taking him to Paemia, as the dark man had ordered. From there, he would be taken somewhere else, and eventually reunited with that man again. His heart sank at that assumption.
When would he be himself again?
Abruptly, rough hands grabbed his upper arms and jerked him around. Obi-Wan struggled instinctively with the strong hands of the guards that had spun him around, until he felt the sting of a savage slap.
"It's time to go," Tarren ordered the guards surrounding them, his breath fogging in the crisp air.
A cruel hand grabbed Obi-Wan's chin and forced him to face Tarren's hateful eyes. Swallowing hard, he met the dark stare, refusing to be cowered, but his misery only deepened and his hope withered. They were taking him away. Away from Qui-Gon and his life as he knew it. And this man was touching him again. No, he didn't think he actually hated Tarren, but it had been a hard thing refusing to murder him earlier. And how it made his stomach turn to feel those dirty hands on his skin, soiling him . . . again.
"It's time you learn your place, boy," Tarren spat, obviously enjoying his power - not to mention the fact that he was still alive. "Any more rebellion and you'll wish you'd never been born."
Never been born. Now that was a pleasant thought.
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, hopeless dread flowering in his heart.
Oh, when would it ever end?