REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia
See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.
CHAPTER 13-DROWNING
The small clearing had become rife with activity. Amidst the excited scamper of men spilling from the huddle of buildings and pressing towards the starship, worker droids carried crates of various sizes across the field and were efficiently storing them in cargo holds.
Still on the veranda, Obi-Wan stood between two guards, watching the rapid evacuation with growing interest. It had not been surprising for there to be a few militant dregs on this independent planet, but for there to be a small-scale private army would be of concern to the Republic that was in consideration of admitting the planet.
"We still can't find the other Jedi," a low voice drifted over to the padawan.
From the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan regarded Tarren, who was the recipient of the information that Qui-Gon had apparently escaped. The padawan allowed himself an inward smile. At least his master was not harmed. Despite the distress clenching his heart, he desperately hoped Qui-Gon would stay hidden until after they left, so that at least he would remain safe.
"That's just as well," Tarren replied. "The boy is the one that is most important-"
"Commander," another man yelled as he rushed up to them. He paused, out of breath, as both of the other men turned to look at him. "There are troop transports and battle tanks coming up the road," he pointed past the line of bare trees.
There was a few silent seconds as they observed the procession of oncoming vehicles. Difficult to spot in the swath of night, they rambled on sans any lights that could alert to their presence. Only the low, steady hum of their engines and the backdrop of pale snow gave them any chance of being spotted.
Tarren's wide-eyed gaze shifted to Obi-Wan, then the commander. "Get everyone to the ship," he quietly ordered, a subtle nuance of fear in his voice.
With a quick nod, the commander jogged off, shouting orders into his comlink. The starship's engines were still rumbling and fired up a notch, making it difficult to hear anything else.
"Come on," Tarren shouted above the grinding noise and sped down the veranda's steps.
Unable to keep up with the guard's hasty pace because of the chains hindering his stride, Obi-Wan was dragged along.
A heavy boom fell across the field, stealing Obi-Wan's hearing for a few seconds. He peered over the mass of men running for the starship and saw orange flames dancing on the edge of the ship. Twisting his head over his shoulder to search for where the attack had arisen from, he saw laser blasts zipping through the air. They were surrounded.
Another booming blast rocked the ground and pounded the starship. It groaned under the strain, twisting clouds of smoke rising high in the air before fading into the bleak atmosphere. The fire had spread on the mangled hull, charring and releasing caustic odors.
By now, Obi-Wan's eyes were burning, with stinging tears pooling in them. Abruptly, he was thrown to the cold hard ground on his belly. He heard the ping of blaster fire, the hiss of incinerating metal, felt the bits of dirt that rained from the sky. Burying his face in his arms, the padawan laid still in the biting snow as the world around him erupted into infernal chaos.
Qui-Gon Jinn had been watching from the cover of a low stone wall. After finding an exit from the building he had been in, he had crept along the outside, coming upon a short wall that penned a tiny garden courtyard. Circling around it, he had spotted the prepped ship and then the men scrambling for it.
After a frantic search, he had been immensely relieved to see Obi-Wan alive and standing under his own power on the veranda. Guards surrounded the boy, however, and without backup, Qui-Gon knew he had little chance of rescue.
Now, in the midst of the confusion of battle, Qui-Gon leaped over the short wall and barreled through the mad bedlam of the snow-swept field. Lightsabre in hand and guided by the Force, he easily overcame surprised armed men and worked his way towards where he had seen Obi-Wan pushed to the ground.
Deflecting the blaster fire back to one attacker, Qui-Gon quickly scanned the area again, knowing that he had arrived at the spot where his padawan had been, but the boy was not there.
His momentary distraction cost him, as a pain - sharp as fire - scorched his forearm.
A hand grabbed the back of his tunic and roughly hauled him up from the ground.
"You're coming with me, boy," Tarren's menacing voice came from behind his ear.
Obi-Wan started to twist from Tarren's grip when an arm snaked around his throat, nearly choking him. Then a dagger appeared from the other side, orange flames wildly playing off the shiny blade only centimeters from his face.
Arching his back, Obi-Wan tried to relieve the unyielding pressure against his throat, but it only tightened more painfully. In futility he pulled on the arm as he was dragged backwards away from the ship and towards the buildings. Helpless to do anything else, he watched the starship engulfed in flames, melting metal crunching and sizzling as it braved another artillery hit. Sparks flew and hot clouds poured from its skeletal frame.
"You should have killed me when you had the chance," the cold voice pulled him from the haunting scene. "Now I'm getting off of this planet and taking you with me."
They reached the edge of the buildings, and Tarren pulled Obi-Wan down a blackened walkway between the brick walls of two tall structures. The view to the battle gradually grew smaller and smaller, and light dimmed to a mere whisper until they were swallowed up by the sinister shadows of the alley.
As he was forced along step-by-dreadful-step, one thought blazed like a flaming sun in his mind: despite the surprise attack and despite Qui-Gon's escaping, he was still being taken away. The possibilities that that future presented were unspoken threats and revolting promises that he had no desire to give life to.
Ever.
Overcome by trembling fear, he tried twisting free of the strong arm that wrapped around him, but Tarren quickly spun the padawan around and slammed him against a hard brick wall. Dark spots danced before his eyes when his head collided with the unforgiving surface.
"We keep finding us in these situations, don't we?" Tarren smiled cruelly, pressing the edge of the dagger firmly against Obi-Wan's throat.
Obi-Wan said nothing, the glow of his eyes dark oceans in the night.
"Such beautiful eyes," Tarren whispered, as his face loomed closer.
Fear shimmered in the padawan's eyes until thickened lashes swept down to hide his distress.
Tarren arched a black eyebrow. "I'm still taking you to Paemia."
"Then why aren't we leaving?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, feeling suddenly uneasy about the pause in the alley.
"We will soon enough. My speeder is waiting. I can see it from here," Tarren glanced to the street beyond the alley, "and there is no one - that I can see - who is guarding it. And even if there is, I have you as a hostage. So I think we can safely slip away from this ridiculous war zone."
His free hand trailed down the front of the padawan's tunic, tugging gently at the soft fabric, finally making a swift, violent rip, and Obi-Wan unconsciously grabbed the offending hand with his manacled hands.
"Stop it," Tarren threatened, yanked his hand away.
"Go to Hell." Obi-Wan's eyes flamed, his chin set.
A look of satisfaction passed over Tarren's face. "Not until after we've finished." Chuckling lightly, he forced the padawan's chin higher with the blade. "Don't move, or I'll slit your throat," he warned.
Obi-Wan ceased his protest and stilled his squirming with great effort. His chest heaving, he fought for control of his swirling emotions and the heavy sickness flaring at the pit of his stomach. Torn between wanting to stop the assault and wanting to keep the blade at his throat from slicing his flesh, he felt as if he was at the speeder garage again, his focus slipping and drowning in fear. He shivered and a whimper tore from his lips.
Unable to watch his own violation, he closed his eyes.
Oh, please stop, he silently pleaded, gritting his teeth, determined to not give Tarren the pleasure of hearing him beg as he had the first time.
The first time . . . . There was a whorl of appalling memories - some agreeing, some conflicting - spinning, spinning, in a confusing nightmarish spectacle.
Unexpectantly, Obi-Wan was wrenched from the wall and held in front of his captor again, an arm clamped around his shoulders and the dagger at his throat. Daring to open his eyes, Obi-Wan was greeted by the harsh silhouette of a tall intimidating figure standing meters away at the end of the alley.
A comforting sea of relief washed over him at the vision.
"Release him," the figure said, calmly.
Tarren laughed bitterly. "So, the great Qui-Gon Jinn wants his little-"
"I did not come here for small talk, Tarren," Qui-Gon's voice was low and deadly as he stepped closer.
"Don't," Tarren warned, using his blade to push Obi-Wan's head back to rest on Tarren's shoulder. "Or I'll kill him, slowly and painfully." He smiled when Qui-Gon stiffened and stopped his approach.
Sounds of warfare fell away as an insignificant backdrop.
Staring into the aquamarine depths of Obi-Wan's eyes, Qui-Gon saw the trepidation and unuttered plea there, knew he had to do something. As a cold breeze flipped soft wisps of silvering hair across his face, his throat constricted with anxiety.
"We're leaving, Master Jedi. Goodbye," Tarren nodded once, then proceeded to drag the padawan back towards the speeder. Holding the captive close, he could feel the trembling of the boy's body and hear his uneven breathing.
Qui-Gon followed, letting the distance separating him from his padawan grow no further. Obi-Wan's wrists and ankles were still shackled, making the boy more vulnerable, he noted. Slowly, he pushed the edge of his robe back, freeing the lightsabre on his belt.
A frown creased Tarren's brow, catching Qui-Gon's obvious gesture. "Don't come any closer," he shouted, as he reached the speeder.
Qui-Gon stopped again, glancing from Tarren to Obi-Wan and back again.
Obi-Wan felt the arm around him tighten, and the dagger suddenly disappeared. Uncertainty spiked in his heart, and he blinked questioningly at Qui-Gon.
Opening the speeder's side door with one hand, Tarren tightened his grip on his captive. With his attention divided, he was surprised when Obi-Wan dropped, raising his arms and twisted out of his grasp.
A hand grabbed at Obi-Wan and shoved him to the ground on his back. Momentarily stunned, he stared as there was a blur of motion, and then he saw a glowing emerald shaft protruding from Tarren's chest. And the man's eyes were wide with shock, and the lips open in silent wail.
Qui-Gon withdrew the blade slowly, pushed the body away from Obi-Wan and onto the ground beside him. After checking vital signs, he put his weapon away and turned back to his apprentice.
"You're hurt," Obi-Wan whispered in one breath, seeing the torn and burnt fabric on Qui-Gon's arm. His eyes were large with concern.
Glancing at his wound, Qui-Gon replied indifferently, "it's nothing, Obi-Wan."
"But you're hurt, Master," the padawan repeated, struggling to push himself to a sitting position.
"I think . . ." the master paused when he saw Obi-Wan staring at Tarren's motionless body.
With his gaze riveted to the body, the boy softly queried, "is he . . . dead?'
Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. And I think you should lie back down, Obi-Wan," he added, a little insistently.
Eyes clouded with confusion rose to Qui-Gon. "What?"
"Lie down," Qui-Gon repeated again, gently pushing the boy's shoulders back.
Obi-Wan complied, following his master's gaze to his own tunic rapidly staining crimson. "Force, I'm . . ."
"Bleeding," Qui-Gon finished the thought.
Lying on the frozen ground, Obi-Wan stared up at the top of a building that touched the soft velvet black sky as Qui-Gon removed his chains, the Force-inhibiting collar and examined his wound. It was strange that the heavens were still beautiful on a harrowing night.
Only now did the pain make itself known, the padawan grimacing as it steadily sharpened. Fortuitously, he now had access to the Force, but his grasp felt weak and tenuous.
Methodically, Qui-Gon did as much as he could, slowing the bleeding with the Force and covering the jagged gash with strips of cloth torn from his tunic.
"Master . . ." Obi-Wan moaned as he was wracked by a spasm of pain. He grabbed Qui-Gon's sleeve, desperately pulling at it until the master clasped the boy's hand.
"You should be fine, Padawan," Qui-Gon assured Obi-Wan, who was now looking very faint. "But I need to take you to a healing center." He brushed soothing fingertips across the padawan's cheek.
Obi-Wan offered a weak smile. "I never thought I'd be so happy to see someone die," he quietly mumbled. His glazed eyes slid closed, and his body slackened as he fell unconscious.
Dawn came as a shy glow, just sweetly bright enough to effuse the world in color. Soft rays sprayed through the window to grace his face. Eyes, deep as midnight, trailed the path of a diplomatic cruiser through the air until it settled on a landing pad, then he turned around and crossed to the bed.
Obi-Wan was still unconscious, his breathing steady and deep. He had just emerged from a bacta tank a few hours before and was placed in this small immaculate room in the infirmary for recovery from the knife wound to his abdomen. Still pale from the blood loss, the boy's features were relaxed and at peace, while his close-cropped hair sagged from its dampened condition.
The private army - if that's what it was - had been effectively defeated, the prisoners shipped off to a camp where they would be incarcerated and interrogated. Perhaps it would be discovered who their leader was, since the man had mysteriously disappeared. Qui-Gon had not seen him, but he surmised that Obi-Wan had and could, hopefully, provide information that the prisoners would not.
After a quick inspection of the various tubes connected to Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon unceremoniously began removing them.
"Master Jinn," exclaimed a healer nurse, who had just entered the room. "What in blazes are you doing?"
"Taking my padawan home," Qui-Gon answered distantly, not pausing in his activity.
"But . . ."
"But," Qui-Gon interrupted with serene patience, "he has need of our Temple healers. This bizarre imprint cannot be treated here."
"But you can't just . . ." She blinked uncertainly, her lips swelled to a pout.
"But I am," he turned toward her, a kind smile on his lips. "He will survive, I assure you."
The nurse stood with mouth opening in bewilderment.
Qui-Gon turned toward the doorway when the Premier appeared there.
Brows knitting, Sherveld peered at the Jedi master. "Master Jinn," his tone begged for explanation.
"I wish to thank you and your planet for it's hospitality, Premier," Qui-Gon bowed with polite courtesy. Turning back to the bed, he pulled the crisp white sheet off of Obi-Wan.
"Of course," Sherveld frowned further. "I hope you have found the care of your apprentice to be satisfactory?" His brows rose doubtfully.
"Yes," Qui-Gon slipped out of his robe and wrapped it around Obi-Wan. "However, my padawan is my responsibility, and I must take him back to the Temple where I hope this imprint can be removed."
Sherveld hesitantly stepped closer. "But you haven't finished here. We want to join the Republic, and Senator Palpatine of Naboo recommended you."
Being as careful as he could, Qui-Gon slid his hands under his padawan's limp body and lifted him. "That's very kind of the Senator." He passed the Premier and the nurse, and paused in the doorway, gazing down at the heavy bundle nestled in his arms. "However, I must decline. My padawan is still in danger - danger that only Jedi healers would understand, and I am quite sure the Council will be more than willing to send someone else in my stead."
"But . . . but," the Premier stuttered, watching in disbelief as Qui-Gon disappeared from view.