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Chapter 3 – Broken Circle

The air seemed to freeze at the hate in Xan's voice. The bitterly-cold denunciation caught at Qui-Gon and he could not breathe, could... not... breathe for the grief. It was not possible; his Xani could not abandon the Order. Not like this, not for a man who would manipulate his own son in death as well as he ever did in life. Please not like this...

But the moment did not change. He had failed, failed in his teaching, failed somehow in his love for the son in all but name, failed the Jedi.

He closed his eyes for an instant, gathering strength to do what must be done. Xani had made his decision and abandoned the Order. And a Jedi Master had a duty to the Republic no matter the cost to his own heart. Later, later he would deal with the bottomless sorrow. For now, there was only burden and duty and despair.

But Xanatos was not finished just yet. "There is one last thing, Master."

When Qui-Gon looked again with faith that there might still be a chance, however slim, to redeem his Padawan, Xanatos just smiled, bitter and demanding. Sapphire eyes, colder than the depths of space, stared back. He stood there, gauging Qui-Gon's reaction, almost reveling in the vulnerable trust that shone in his Master's face, allowing the hope to build.

Xanatos nodded then, leaning down to scoop up his old lightsaber. The weapon was smeared in brown gore and he used shreds of lace to clean it. But the blood still clung in the grooved indentations, darkening the metal handle.

Finally satisfied, he turned the blade on, looking at it for a moment, his face all but unreadable, before he brought it up into ready position. Qui-Gon watched uncertainly as Xan's other hand grabbed the long, black braid, the mark of his life as a Jedi, and pulling it taut, sliced through it with one swift stroke.

Qui-Gon made a soft sound of protest but Xan's smirk only grew wider as he threw the braid down into the puddle of blood. "A gift for you, Master."

He looked at Xanatos with something akin to horror and then glanced down at the slime-soaked hair. It took a few heartbeats but he finally rasped out, "So be it."

"Have you nothing more to say then, Master? No final words of wisdom, no pleas for my return to the Jedi, no threats of retribution?" Xanatos snorted, then his eyes grew savage, brilliant in the firelight. His lightsaber swayed downward, pointing at the wet braid, and his voice was saturated in sarcasm. "No thanks for my generous gift... or am I worth so little?"

Qui-Gon continued to stare at the black-hair symbol of apprenticeship but his face had aged a dozen years. A flat murmur of denial and loss. "Jedi do not accept gifts. You know that, Xan."

"Not even from their own Padawan?" Playfully said in other times would have called for a teasing retort and a smile. But not now...

Qui-Gon looked up at that, his clouded eyes full of regret as he stared at the younger man. "Are you?" But he knew the answer before the question sounded. Xan's saber swayed for a moment, trembling remorse or anger or guilt; it was difficult to tell but his former apprentice remained stubbornly silent.

Sighing heavily, Qui-Gon grated out, "No, I didn't think so."

Xanatos drew back, his scathing glare almost brighter than the blue blade that still hummed in his hands. But the skin around his eyes grew white with tension; his fingers tightened around the saber handle, stark lines of bone and sinew told of his anger. The Force was aswirl in shredded tones of illumination and shadow. The very air seemed to thrum with anticipation.

"I am Heir of Telos. And more powerful than any Jedi. My father taught me that."

Qui-Gon swallowed hard. One thin drop of red trickled down the side of his mouth, the broken nose still dribbling blood. But he swiped at it absentmindedly, smearing color into his beard. He whispered, gentle and infinitely sad, "He must have taught you many things. Anger, fear, aggression, pride... They lead to the dark, Xan."

But Xanatos would have none of gentleness. He spat back, "If so, you would have fallen long ago."

Qui-Gon could not bear to look at his old Padawan. Closing his eyes against the grief, he murmured, "Have you learned nothing from me, then?"

The sound of his former Padawan's laughter was derisive, sharp and cutting as razored glass across flesh. And Qui-Gon looked at him once more with dismay.

"Yes, old man, I have. You taught me that love leads to hate."

Xanatos began to slash at the air before him, his buzzing saber swinging back and forth, as if it were a searing, luminescent snake trying to charm its victim into complacency before the fatal strike. His voice was full of malice. "That the Jedi will do anything they can to control their own, even kill an innocent man for it." The blade's tip stilled as he glanced down at the cold dead body slumped at the fire's edge. His eyes narrowed then, glaring bitter ice at the Jedi. "That no matter how much you wanted me to ignore my destiny, I was born to power and I'd be a fool to give it up for you or the Jedi."

Then he hissed, "You taught me that power is everything and I will use it as I see fit."

Qui-Gon felt suddenly ill, nauseous and weak and full of despair. He could feel his face draining of life, turning sallow, then white, his eyes stark with denial, his mouth half-open with horror. He had not expected this... caustic hatred, not from the son of his heart.

But then he had always believed in Xan's goodness, even when warned by the others. So blinded by love that he could not see what was right before him - until it was too late.

He had barely the strength to whisper, "How could I be so mistaken about... I should have listened. Master Yoda was right. He was right about you after all." And he buried his face in his hands, mourning the certainty that this boy, his Xani, would never return; all his hopes were as dust in the wind.

Xanatos stepped forward then, a frown cutting deep into his brow, the weeping wound on his cheek pulled taut with belligerence. Dagger-sharp and imperious, he demanded, "What do you mean by that?"

Qui-Gon looked up and shrugged helplessly, "It doesn't matter now." Numb, he tried to gather his strength; he knew that he must carry out his mission. He was a Jedi, a Knight of the Order that had lasted a thousand generations, a guardian of peace and justice. He would go on, he must go on, no matter the devastating cost to his own spirit. Later would be time enough to grieve.

Steadying his voice with some effort, Qui-Gon rasped out, "As your father's heir, I am sure that he shared his secrets with you."

But the younger man would not discuss such things, not when the Force was so clouded with dire warnings. He wanted to know, "What do you mean - that Yoda was right?"

Qui-Gon did not reply. The answer was no longer of any concern to him or so his mind told him. The heart was a different matter but he was ignoring it for the moment. He needed to know what happened to the money if his mission was to succeed. The people of Telos must have the funds to rebuild.

It was likely that Crion had been using his son as he had used everyone else and had told him nothing but the question must be asked. "Your father stole the most of the Treasury and has hidden it somewhere. Where is it, Xanatos?"

The lightsaber came up to point straight at Qui-Gon's still-bleeding nose. "I told you not to speak such filth of my father." When Qui-Gon said nothing else, just looked at the wavering tip of the deadly weapon almost with apathy, Xan's eyes gleamed in sapphire satisfaction. The utter indifference on Qui-Gon's face spoke volumes of his pain but it seemed that duCrion savored the bitter regret, almost feasted on it.

But Xan was nothing if not stubborn. Pausing between each word, emphatic, intensely focused on finding out just what had happened between the head of the Jedi Council and his Master, he growled out, "What... did... Yoda... say?"

Qui-Gon just shrugged. He did not want to think about how right Yoda had been. Did not want to think of anything but helping the Telosians to regain what was theirs. His own problems were nothing, mere trifles to the suffering of others. But, oh how it hurt if he would but let it. So he would not.

"He said that this was to be your last mission, that your arrogance and pride would be your undoing."

It had been spoken with such indifference that it took Xanatos a moment to realize what had been said. And then his anger began to swell, black and red turmoil in the currents of the Force, shadows sinking into his spirit once more. He spat back, "He talks of arrogance."

Qui-Gon blinked hard. He was startled at how much Xan seemed to care about things that were no longer of any concern to him. Slowly, he drifted away from the fireplace, giving himself distance from the distraught man, leaving room to maneuver should he need it. But Xan followed him, determined to find out the truth of this.

"Yoda warned me, said I was too blind to your faults. But when I insisted that you take the Trials when we returned, he said that you were to make your own choices on this mission without my guidance and live by them. I agreed to the conditions, of course. I thought you ..." Another shrug. "Yoda was right about you."

The stark lines on Xan's face were etched in acid and outrage as he sputtered out, "He... you set me up."

Qui-Gon looked at him in shock. That was never his intent and he could not believe that Xani would not understand that he wanted only the best for him. "No, I..."

"You set me up to fail."

The discordant hum of the searing blade, the tip swaying before Qui-Gon, seemed to rattle Xan's nerves. Fire and ice, the saber song was calling to him for use, to kill the one who had betrayed him, to give in to the dark call of power. He was shivering with the ache of it.

"This is... I never would have believed... you set me up."

The Force gave a sudden wail of warning, danger and corruption tainting the air. And Xanatos raised his saber high and brought it down, slicing hard through the space to tangle with his Master's blade.

The sizzling off-pitched whine echoed in the lavish room as Qui-Gon blocked the cut. He stepped sideways, further away from the fireplace. There was still not enough room to maneuver but, even as he moved toward the middle of the room, he was looking for a way to end this quickly. He did not want to hurt Xan, not when he was half-mad with anger.

A feigning stab and Xanatos growled as he pitched forward, trying to get under Qui-Gon's defenses. The sabers took on a life of their own, blue against darker blue, sweeps of light that sliced the air.

"Stop, Xan, before it's too late. I..."

But the desperate shout was ignored as Xan pressed in for the attack.

His saber was everywhere at once, almost too fast to follow as he swept high and low. He aimed for Qui-Gon's legs, trying to get him to stumble but he just flew up, evading the intended strike and kicking out at the same time. Xan jerked backward, out of reach of the boot, and then ducked as the lightning-fast blade swiped the air above his head. A few black strands of cut hair floated down but the apprentice just batted them away. That was too close.

But Xanatos was not to be denied. He stumbled over the lifeless legs of his dead father, stabbing again at his Master. Qui-Gon bumped against the desk, almost gliding along its edge and then ducked as Xan's saber cut a deep gouge in the marlwood top. Splinters of super-heated wood shattered outward, peppering them both. The acrid smell of ozone and smoke permeated the room.

Qui-Gon's eyes grew hard. It was clear that Xanatos wanted nothing less than his life and he could not allow that. He began to push forward, his blue blade a globe of luminescence as he met Xan's searing light with his own. He knew of his old Padawan's weaknesses, and he began to exploit that knowledge.

Xanatos grew desperate as his Master pushed him back and back. He hit the wall with a resounding thud, then scrambled past it just as the Jedi lightsaber scored into the paneling. Twisting, evading, trying again and again to get a hit, somehow hurt the man who had once meant everything to him was becoming increasingly difficult to do. Finally, just as he slipped past Qui-Gon's blade to slice at his leg, he overreached and skidded on the coagulated pool of blood under his feet. He went down hard, his lightsaber tumbling away just as Qui-Gon sliced through the handle. The destroyed weapon made a harsh metallic clang as it skipped across the hearth and rolled into the fire.

Qui-Gon stood above his fallen apprentice, lightsaber at Xan's throat. His almost-son lay in the oily brown blood, his sapphire eyes glaring up at him, daring him to strike. But Qui-Gon could not. He lowered the blade, then turned it off. And all grew quiet, except for the chaotic song of overheated durasteel from Xan's ruined saber and the merry crackle of burning wood.

"Do it, Master. Do it or I swear I will have my revenge." The hatred was blazing bright.

Qui-Gon just shook his head, his husky voice low and saturated with despair. "You are coming back with me, Xanatos."

"Pathetic old fool. Don't you realize that you've lost? I'll never been a Jedi. And you made me what I am. You and you alone."

"I..."

Qui-Gon never knew what he was going to say because at that moment, the fire-heated saber handle exploded in a shower of light and metal pieces. As he staggered back, Xanatos took advantage of the momentary lapse, swinging his leg hard into Qui-Gon's knee. With an audible pop, he toppled onto the stone floor in agony, one leg askew.

Xanatos scrambled to his feet. Gathering the Force, he pulled at the logs in the burning fireplace, lifting them high into the air and then, with a great show of strength, drove them straight at the fallen Jedi. As Qui-Gon batted the fiery wood away, Xanatos ran to the door and glanced back to see his old Master watching his escape with agonized loss in his cloudy eyes.

"A word of advice, Master. Better watch your back from now on. Because I'll be there... waiting for the perfect moment to strike you down." And with one last savage glance, Xanatos was gone.

Stunned into silence, Qui-Gon sat there and gazed at the empty doorway. He was... he was... he wanted to be numb, to not feel. The agony of his knee, his broken nose now dripping once more with red, were as nothing to the anguish in his spirit. How had it come to this? How could the son of his heart turn so abruptly to the dark? And how could he ever accept it?

He did not know, he did not know... but oh, how it hurt.

He stayed still for a very long time, seeing nothing, trying to feel nothing, ignoring the comforting smell of woodsmoke tantalizing the air and the snap-sizzle of burning coals. Not thinking of what he must do.

But, finally, knowing that others depended on his strength even if he could not, he started to move, turning slightly so that he could get to his feet without hurting his ruined leg further. But as he struggled forward, his palm slipped into the brown blood of duCrion's cold corpse.

With a grunt of pain, he abruptly sat down again - and found that his hand was tangled in the slime-soaked braid of his fallen apprentice. Gathering the matted hair in his shaking fingers, blinking in numb disbelief, he stared at the last remnant of his old life.

And Qui-Gon Jinn knew then, with perfect clarity, that he would never teach again.

Never.

The end.