Chapter 13: Tilting World
"What is this?"
Obi-Wan eyed the thick, pinkish stuff in his bowl with some doubt, then prodded it with his spoon. It was thinner than yesterday's porridge, and seemed to jiggle unpleasantly. It also had chunks. Obi-Wan was wary of chunks.
"It's called yughor," Qui-Gon said patiently as he sat down opposite the boy, folding his hands above his own bowl. He aborted the boy's search for the syrup pitcher with a raised eyebrow. "It's already sweetened, and it has lots of redberries and mountainberries mixed in. It's quite tasty." He took a large bite in demonstration, and made a satisfied little "mmm" sound.
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "Julune says this is best for me?"
"Yes. Something about replacing enzymes or cultures or some such. Half the time I don't know what she's talking about. But it's not an uncommon dish, lad. What kind of food did you eat in the Temple?"
The boy shrugged, poking his yughor again. It still reminded him of Hutt slime. "I don't know. Normal food, I guess. Not this."
He looked up quickly, afraid that he would find displeasure or—even worse—disappointment on Qui-Gon's face, but the man was grinning at him. "Eat yughor every morning for a few months, and you'll find it normal. I admit that I was skeptical when Julune introduced me to it, myself, but it's quite popular on Thyferra, and I learned to enjoy it. It's good for you, too. You know that I would never try to feed you Hutt slime."
Obi-Wan had lowered his gaze, but at this he looked up again, eyes wide, then scowled down at the yughor. "I knew that," he said unnecessarily. Already it seemed that they hardly needed to use words, sometimes.
The failed Jedi initiate uttered a small sigh and loaded his spoon with pinkish glop. It was worth a try, if only to appease the man who had already given him far too much. With an intense feeling of diving blind into dark and dangerous waters, he thrust the spoon into his mouth.
Qui-Gon choked and jerked, trying to hold himself back, then released a loud, hearty laugh at Obi-Wan's expression of indignation and betrayal. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. Doesn't it taste good?"
The boy hastily removed the spoon from his mouth and dropped it on the table, sputtering in outrage, puckering his lips and trying to clean out his mouth with a napkin. "It's sour and chunky and cold and gooey! It tastes like curdled milk! You said it was good!"
"It is, it is," Qui-Gon assured him, reaching across the table to grasp the shaking fingers skewering the now wet and soiled napkin. "You just need to get used to it. The first bite is the worst. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. Calm down, now. I didn't mean to deceive you, little one."
Obi-Wan drew a shuddering breath and began to calm, even though the sour, sticky taste still clung to the back of his throat. Maybe it wasn't so bad, he considered. He just hadn't expected that acidic bite under the sweet flavor of mountainberries and redberries. "You call me that a lot," he observed quietly.
Qui-Gon stilled, looking at him earnestly. "Does it bother you?"
Obi-Wan pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "No. No, it doesn't bother me." He looked up at the man still holding his hand in a firm, warm grip, and managed a genuine smile, the first he could remember rising up in him for many, many days. "I . . . I like it."
Qui-Gon smiled back, then gently released him. "I'm glad."
Obi-Wan ducked his head, looking at the yughor. Maybe just one more bite, just to make sure it was really as awful as he'd thought . . .
Ah, it wasn't so bad. Two more bites confirmed this. "It still tastes like curdled milk," the boy accused, just to make sure the man knew that the matter had not been dropped.
Qui-Gon made a non-committal humming noise. "Remind me never to show you how yughor is made."
Another bite, and Obi-Wan felt that he would burst. His stomach still churned with nausea whenever he ate something, and a deep, buried part of him was afraid that this would never go away. He stirred the yughor slowly, looking for a chunk of mountainberry. When he found it, he ate one more spoonful, hoping that it wasn't too much, that he wouldn't prove how much trouble he was by yarking all over the table.
"Would you like to go outside today?" Qui-Gon asked.
"Oh, yes. Very much." Obi-Wan lifted his head, quick happiness surging through him. He hadn't realized it until now, but he was growing very tired of the drab gray walls and limited space, the close atmosphere and the lumpy couch on which he had spent far too much time, sitting or sleeping or just staring at the plain ceiling. The Jinns had done their best to brighten up the small rooms and worn furnishings, with colorful wall hangings and healthy plants, but it would be wonderful to see the sun again.
"It's not as nice as the Enrichment Zone here," Qui-Gon said apologetically. "The sky is tainted, the sun dimmed, and the ground is spoiled by constant mining and pollution. But there is still life in Bandor, and I don't think you're up for a long trip just yet."
"I'd rather be here than in the Enrichment Zone," Obi-Wan said, still stirring his breakfast. "But I thought your friend was going to come back this morning."
"I commed him while you were in the 'fresher, asked him to wait 'til the afternoon."
Obi-Wan nodded. He did not express the enormous relief that swelled in him, and he hoped it wasn't too obvious. It would be rude to show such blatant disdain for the man Qui-Gon respected so deeply.
But disdain wasn't quite the right word for what Obi-Wan felt about the Jedi Master. What was it? Not fear, foreboding, nor awe, amazement, anticipation or distrust. But it contained elements of all of these. Still Obi-Wan was left struggling to understand, as usual. How he longed for even a few moments of clarity! Would they never come?
Knowing that he wasn't going to be able to eat any more, Obi-Wan pushed his bowl toward the middle of the table and stood. Immediately the room blurred and the floor began to tilt from side to side, and it was all he could do remain on his feet. His hands instinctively flew to his temples, as if to make the strange sensations stop. All color began to leech from the world, leaving it tinged a strange greenish-white, slowly floating upward.
Without a break between, as if time had somehow skipped from one moment to the next, Qui-Gon's hands were on his shoulders holding him steady. "Obi-Wan." The voice was urgent, concerned. "Obi-Wan? Are you all right?"
Obi-Wan shook his head, falling forward slightly, and felt himself caught against a warm, solid chest. He stood still, just breathing slowly and steadily, and watched the world right itself, the correct color and sharpness reappearing. Finally the floor was steady, as well, but the oddness remained in his head, a slow, dull pounding that was not quite pain. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just . . . dizzy. I'm all right now."
He pulled back, but Qui-Gon did not let go of his shoulders. "You know why, don't you?" he asked with a touch of sternness. "You need to eat more, Obi-Wan. Your body needs nourishment to heal, to grow stronger. You want to get well, don't you?"
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan whispered painfully. His vision blurred again, fixed on the dingy tiles beneath their feet, and he tried to push it away. Why couldn't Qui-Gon understand that he was doing the best he could? "I'm sorry. I . . . I'm trying. It just . . . it hurts, and . . . and I can't."
Qui-Gon was very still, and Obi-Wan sensed that he was listening with every fiber of his being.
The boy pressed his hands flat against his head, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat, along with the sour taste of yughor. He wanted to explain, but the words flitted beyond his reach, mocking his pitiful efforts. "I'm sorry," he said again, dully, as if that stupid little phrase could ever make up for all the trouble this man had gone to, all that he had given, and given up, all for a helpless child who could never return these priceless gifts. He swallowed again, begging the Force not to let him be sick, to shame himself completely and irrevocably.
Abruptly he was pulled against that solid chest again, the breath all but squeezed from his body. "Oh, little one, I'm so sorry. Don't apologize. None of this is your fault. It's mine. You told me why you had trouble eating, but I forgot, or ignored you. Don't blame yourself. These dreams, or . . . or visions. whichever they are, have upset your body, as well as your mind and spirit. You're doing the best you can. We need to deal with the source of the problem, not just the symptoms."
Obi-Wan nodded slightly, feeling the nausea slowly recede, though it did not leave completely. It never did. A small, slow flame ignited inside him, in the center of the deep coldness that had gripped him for so long. Qui-Gon had said "we." The blurriness of his vision faded away, and he realized that it hadn't been dizziness at all.
"Come into the garden," Qui-Gon said, gently leading him toward a door set in a dark corner of the kitchen.
Obi-Wan blinked as he stepped outside, slightly dazzled by the light, even though it was gray and tinged by the blackened sky above. His vision cleared quickly, and he gasped in delight. Green! The small space just behind the little house was green, all shades of it, with blotches and smears of color from flowers here and there, long grasses stirring in the tainted breeze. The oppressive smell of Bandomeer, of acid and smoke, was softened beneath the scent of health and life, and Obi-Wan breathed deeply, fingers and toes curling and uncurling as if to join the plants in their growing, for the Force was bright and beautiful here.
"Julune and I haven't been able to do much for it, as we've only been here a month and a half," Qui-Gon said, looking critically about his little spot of paradise. "But it's nicer than being inside, I hope."
"I love it," Obi-Wan said almost absently, slowly stepping forward to explore. Large flat rocks were scattered about, set into the ground, as if waiting for a youngster to come to play, to jump from one to another in an aimless path meant only for pleasure. "It's very beautiful. No grain, no fruit trees . . . just life for the sake of life. This is home."
Obi-Wan couldn't see the man, staring avidly at a plant he'd never seen before, even in the most exotic greenhouses of the Temple, but he heard the grin in Qui-Gon's voice. "I'm glad you like it. I'll go in and clean up. You stay out here and enjoy the morning."
The boy barely heard. He was already standing by the solitary tree that grew beside the wall, one hand on the rough, twisted bark as he looked up into the twisted branches as if seeking a mystery in the strangely-shaped leaves that shivered in the breeze.
X
When Qui-Gon came back outside, he found Obi-Wan laying on the big rock in the middle of the garden, his eyes closed, peace in every line of his slender body beneath the too-large tunic that draped over his arms like a blanket and exposed part of his scrawny chest. The sun caressed the care-worn young face, which seemed to catch the gold hidden in the gray light, glowing from within. The man approached quietly and crouched down, watching the boy doze. If only he could prevent all fear and distress from disturbing this little lad. If only he could capture this moment in amber, preserve it in polished stone, like an ornament for a necklace of peaceful days, one following the other.
But too quickly the boy felt his presence. He stirred, then sat, blinking sleepily up at his large caretaker. "Is something on your mind?"
Qui-Gon sighed and sat beside him on the rock, smiling gently as he felt the slim body lean confidently against him, without hesitation. Indeed, this was the innocence and faith of a small child. He had come very close to betraying that this morning, even if it might have seemed a small matter to an outsider. He needed to tread more lightly and carefully around this wounded youngster. Not for the universe would he ever invite another breach of faith.
"Do you remember what I said about dealing with the source of the problem, not the symptoms?"
He felt Obi-Wan's body tense slightly, but he answered with complete calm. "I remember. Have you found a way for us to do that?"
And Qui-Gon heard the hope in the boy's voice, tentative, emerging slowly, as if afraid that it had no place here. "Perhaps. But it is your choice whether or not we pursue this avenue."
"What is it?"
Qui-Gon looked down at the red-gold head that leaned against his arm, stray tangles of hair catching the sun in a corona of light. "Master Dooku offered to help us learn how to use our bond. He said I might be able to influence your dreams. And if I can see them, and understand, perhaps we can discover what should be done."
"Master Dooku," Obi-Wan repeated, his voice without inflection. But Qui-Gon could feel the tension increase.
"As I said, this will be your decision. I know you are unsure about my old teacher, and I would never force you into anything. I will only say that I trust Master Dooku with my life, and always have. But that doesn't mean that I will trust him with yours. Not without your consent."
For a long time, the boy said nothing.