A/N: Sorry this one took so long. This part of the semester is crazy, especially if you're a senior and procrastinator. But I think this will be last of the tough ones. (Not the end of the story, though.) Hopefully the next post will be quicker.

Chapter 40: The Taint of Darkness

Obi-Wan soon learned that he was not the only student in this "tutoring agency," and Master Yumal was not the only teacher. But the man who had rescued him from Miko Belimi had definitely taken a personal interest in him. He seemed to take pleasure in showing Obi-Wan around the huge, castle-like building, and was quick to see him back to the room he had woken in when his fatigue began to overcome him. Torin Yumal was kind and solicitous and ceaselessly compassionate. Obi-Wan had seen correctly when he sensed hidden depths in this man so long ago in Master Belimi's study, three days previous.

The next day Master Yumal ushered him gently into a small training room. It reminded Obi-Wan of a private salle in the Temple, thick mats on the floor, plain furnishings built to withstand uncontrolled outbursts. The similarity was both comforting and unsettling—it felt almost like coming home, but strangely different, almost twisted askew.

"Will I be allowed to call Qui-Gon and Julune soon?" Obi-Wan asked again, as he had already numerous times since awakening in this new place. He had explained to Master Yumal that the Jinns were his friends, that they had been good to him, and they would be worried if he did not contact them. Also, in the back of his mind he knew that he didn't want to stay here forever, nor even for very long. Already his heart was longing to fly away, to retreat to Thyferra, there to rest and heal from his battles with the harsh realities of slavery and exploitation.

But it had felt wrong to refuse the man who rescued him, at such great risk, this small thing of learning from him for a few days. Torin Yumal had asked nothing else, and Obi-Wan was afraid to offer. And he wanted to receive more Force-training, truly. A deep-buried part of him longed for it be real. He still wished he could have been a Padawan, in the hopeless way one longs to own a distant star. This was not real, but it was a taste—only enough to torment and tease, not enough to satisfy, but still he wanted it.

"Give yourself a couple of days to settle in," Master Yumal advised in a kindly tone. "Won't it feel good to be able to tell them how well you're getting on, how much you're learning, and that you look forward to visiting them soon? Better than having to tell them everything that's happened to you with no good news to temper it."

Obi-Wan nodded reluctantly. He didn't want to have to come to the Jinns as a needy, pathetic little weakling, as he had come to them the last time. Still, every particle of his spirit longed to hear their friendly voices again, to tell them that he was all right, and thinking of them.

"Now, let's get that collar off you." Master Yumal reached forward slowly, waiting until he knew Obi-Wan wouldn't flinch from him before he touched the cold metal that circled his neck. He had explained last night that he wanted to wait until they were in a safe room before removing it, in case Obi-Wan experienced some sort of "Force-backlash," or shock, after being cut off for such a long time. Obi-Wan had been confused—he'd never experienced such in all the times his master had removed the collar in his study—but Yumal insisted that they wait.

Obi-Wan all but reeled in relief as the icy touch of the collar vanished, pulling in a deep breath. It was always like being free of a cord that half-strangled him, though the physical collar didn't restrict his breathing at all—like being free of cataracts that reduced his vision to a foggy blur, free of a thick, muffling cloth bound about his ears. He could feel the Force again, though it had been so long since he had touched it of his own will that he didn't know if he could remember how.

"Thank you," he whispered pathetically, blinking back his tears as hard as he could. It was just wonderful to know that this man wasn't going to use his skills to serve his own self-interest, wasn't going to force him to twist the Light to serve purposes that were at the very least dark gray, if they weren't black. But he wouldn't be so ridiculous as to cry over such a silly thing.

Yumal smiled gently. "Let's begin with a simple meditation, shall we?" He settled gracefully onto the floor in a cross-legged position, and waited for Obi-Wan to join him.

Obi-Wan hesitated, then awkwardly sat, hiding his winces at the various aches and pains he carried. He never quite got used to hurting all the time, but he had gotten used to not showing it. It had been such a long time since he had meditated—he hoped he still could.

"Close your eyes," Master Yumal's soothing voice instructed. "Relax. Let the Force flow to you. Let it come as it is. Don't . . . heh . . . force it."

Unconsciously, Obi-Wan straightened his back and laid his cupped palms on his thighs, shifting his weight slightly on the mat as he found a comfortable spot. It was almost like a pre-meditation ritual, these small movements and adjustments, and it felt good to fall back into this old pattern he remembered so well. It was almost like coming home. He closed his eyes and did his best to obey, opening his mind to the flow of the Force.

But something was wrong. He tried to reach for the Light, but all he saw in the Force about him was shades of gray. It swirled about him in ever-darker whorls and eddies, and he constantly withdrew before he touched it. Had it been too long since he had touched the Light? Could it be that all he was able to touch now was gray?

But he never wanted to touch anything but pure light side energy again! He had had enough of gray to last two lifetimes. Determined, Obi-Wan kept trying, avoiding the tendrils of gray, searching and searching for the purity he remembered from childhood meditations. But he could not find it. The darkness only seemed to increase, and a small chime of panic began to ring in his heart. What if this was all he would ever be able find anymore?

Again and again he began to reach out, and again and again he drew back. The small alarm of panic began to rise, constricting his chest in bands in durasteel. Master Yumal's voice continued in a steady stream of calm instructions. "Relax. Don't fight it. Let the Force come to you. Don't be afraid. You're doing just fine. Just relax and let it flow."

It sounded almost like what the masters at the Temple had said. It had always seemed to work before. Obi-Wan had never had to . . . struggle like this, to touch the light side. It had always come easily, as soon as he relaxed and opened himself. But that had changed. He had changed. Was it possible that he didn't belong to the light side anymore? Had he surrendered that right when he surrendered his will to Miko Belimi?

Yumal's voice gradually became more strident. "Stop fighting, Obi-Wan. You're making this harder than it has to be. Just touch the Force. It's not hard. You did it only three days ago. Nothing is wrong. Just let go and let it come. Stop fighting!"

Finally, in frustration and near-terror, Obi-Wan obeyed. He let it come. And a fist of pure darkness curled around his heart and squeezed mercilessly, and he knew it would never let him go.

Obi-Wan cried out in shock and horror and sprang to his feet, his eyes flying wide. "No, no! I don't want this, I don't want this!"

Torin Yumal rose like a specter before his clouded eyes and grabbed his shoulders, babbling words Obi-Wan could not understand. He wrenched free of the grasping fingers—as he could not wrench free of the darkness that held his spirit—and fled. Shivering madly in the grip of icy cold, he raced through stone corridors, brushing past students in their red initiates' robes, past startled teachers raising their hands to forestall him, but he could not outrun the Dark. He carried it with him.

Obi-Wan reached a set of stairs and hurried downward. On the third step his foot slipped, and he began to fall, and he let himself. But even in midair he felt himself being slowed with the Force, and found himself caught up against another man in teacher's robes. He heard others running up behind him, and knew that soon he would be trapped. But no, they wanted to help him, didn't they? They said they had wanted to help him, all this was to help him . . .

He struggled against the hands on his arms, raising his head, and saw the face of the man who held him. Then he froze, his eyes widening, as everything became clear. Andros Martin. It was Andros Martin.

With a yell of fury and pain and despair, he flung all the power he could draw on in all directions. It was an explosion of raw Dark Side power, and the teachers fell away. Martin lost his grip on him. Obi-Wan tumbled down the steps, found a door, and continued running. He never stopped running, until he reached a spaceport, and found two friendly Phindians, and collapsed into their arms.

Somehow Obi-Wan managed to tell the entire story, though his teeth chattered constantly and he wasn't sure how much Qui-Gon and Yoda understood. They understood enough, no doubt. He finished and lay trembling, stiff with anticipation. He waited for his father to push him away, renounce him, waited for Yoda to condemn him as a Dark Sider.

But then he felt a splash of warm rain on the top of his head, and looked up in surprise. Qui-Gon was crying. Was he that disgusted, that horrified? Did he realize now what a terrible mistake he had made in cradling a sand-viper to his breast like this?

Incredibly, the big arms squeezed him a little tighter, not in disbelief or anger, but in comfort. "Oh, my poor little one." And his papa kissed his forehead again, and the touch, as always, was a point of warmth against the cold that never left him. "My poor Obi-Wan. You were being manipulated, son. None of it was your fault. They tried to turn you to the Dark Side. But they did not succeed. They could never succeed. You are pure Light, and nothing could ever make you turn. Perhaps they understand that now, and they'll never try again."

Obi-Wan shook his head in confusion, a mere tremble of his head, he was so weak with fear and disbelief. "B-but I t-touched it, I t-touched the D-Dark Side. It held m-me, I was c-caught . . . It was m-my fault!"

"No, youngling." Yoda stood up on the small table to be on eye-level with him, demanding his attention without effort. "Say you did that you felt no light in that room. This Master Yumal, forced you to wait, he did, until you were alone with him there, before he removed the collar. Let you feel the light, he did not. Remove all trace of it, he did. Very hard it must have been, in that building, to find the Light Side anywhere. Not you, it was, who chased it away."

"But I t-touched it. I'm t-tainted n-now. The d-darkness is in m-me. I used it . . ."

"You had no choice," Qui-Gon said softly. "You had to get away. I'm so glad you did, sweetheart. I shudder to think what they might have done to you if you hadn't."

"B-but I used the Dark S-Side . . ." Impossibly, he began to cry yet again, silent sobs that ripped at him inside, the tears flowing down his face in cold rivulets. He thought they long since been used up, but apparently not.

"This is why chose you did to remove yourself from the Force," Yoda said, nodding in understanding. "Cut yourself off, you have. Would a true Dark Sider have done so?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, sniffing wretchedly. He barely remembered doing that, on the ship, as he watched that terrible planet diminish and vanish in the back porthole. Feeling the tendrils of darkness still surrounding him, he had reacted out in panic and pushed everything away, not shielding against it, just seeking escape. It was as if he had reached deep inside his mind, and turned off a switch. And after that he had felt nothing. All was blessedly numb. It was like wearing the Force-collar again, but more complete, more final, for he had done it himself. He never had to go back, and no one else could make him. He was glad.

When Obi-Wan didn't answer, Qui-Gon finally did, his voice tender. "No. No Dark Sider would ever remove himself from the Force. He would revel in it, seeking ever greater ways to indulge in power, to build his strength. You fled, Obi-Wan. That speaks more highly of you than anything else you've ever done. You ran at the first touch of darkness, because you can have no part with it. You are Light."

Obi-Wan didn't believe this. Qui-Gon couldn't possibly be seeing clearly. Hadn't he said that he loved Obi-Wan? It must have blinded him. "No . . . n-no. I'm tainted. You just don't s-see it. I'm tainted."

Yoda's eyes narrowed slightly. "See that, I do not. Trust my sight, do you?"

Obi-Wan lowered his eyes in shame. The truth was that he couldn't trust anyone's sight, least of all his own. He was certain that if he ever reversed this lock-down in his mind—though he didn't know if that was even possible—he would still feel only the Dark Side. He had opened himself to it once, and now he belonged to it.

"Told you I did," Yoda said. "To destroy the taint of darkness, use the light you must. Free you this denial never will. Do you wish to be free? Open to the Light Side you must be. Allow us to help you, you must."

Obi-Wan breathed a shuddering breath and caught his bottom lip between his teeth. If that was possible, it would be the best thing he could ever ask for.

But what if Yoda was wrong? What if as soon as he opened himself, the darkness rushed in again, took hold of him?

No, he couldn't risk it. Obi-Wan shook his head, and hid his face against his father's chest, grateful that at least Qui-Gon hadn't pushed him away yet. He was tainted. He knew that. Eventually they would understand it, too.