Legacy
Book I
Chapter 20
Qui-Gon woke, ravenous and sore, the Force kindling anew within him. He stretched, a spine-popping yawn worthy of a niffenbear emerging from hibernation, and then checked on his padawan.
Former padawan.
The young Knight slumbered on in the grip of fever, cheeks flushed and brow slightly furrowed. The older man smoothed tangled hair back and pressed a hand against the sleeper's forehead, probing gently with the Force. He released a slow breath; he would do all that he could here, but it was imperative that they find a proper Jedi healer soon.
He ran hands over his own rumpled tunics and tabards, cinching the fabric tight and adjusting his belt. He could feel the raging storm overhead, the Scythe in full swing. They were trapped here underground until the heavens showed clemency – run to earth like humble creatures of the field. He knelt to meditate, centering himself in the present moment, waiting for the frantic revelations of the day gone by to precipitate into some greater unity, to settle into a silt of understanding.
Kerrn appeared some time later, rousing the Jedi master from his trance.
"We got gruel brewing, if yer hungered." A curt nod. "How's the son?"
A perceptive inference. Qui-Gon raised a brow.
"I got yer number. Gladiators ain't the half of it. Yer two never even been slaves, either, I'll wager."
"I am sorry for the deception; it seemed a prudent measure."
Kerrn snorted, weight sagging comfortably against the open doorway. "So? What's the story, then? Ye promised me truth last night."
The tall man rose to his feet, joints cracking. "We are Jedi from the Galactic Republic."
The Folk's leader goggled. "No kark?"
"No." a short hesitance, in which he decided that no good would come of further oblique communication. He opted for the direct approach. "We were sent to investigate the rumored slave raids on your world. Our Order is… concerned."
"Well, I'm damn glad someone is," the Wanderer exclaimed, vehemence edging his gruff tone. "Not that much good'll come of it," he grumbled, quelling his own spurt of enthusiasm with a cynical snort. "Folk don't matter that much to the Core."
Qui-Gon inclined his head, unwilling to honey the truth. "I am afraid that is true; however, the balance of power in this region is of importance to the Chancellor and the Senate – and what we have discovered will disturb them more greatly than I anticipated."
"Eh?"
There was nothing like blunt truth to make an impression. "The raids on your people were staged by your own planetary government, as a ruse to solicit Republic approval for a standing militia."
Kerrn exploded into anger. "Those damn treacherous pizzmahs! Killing the Folk for the sake of some politico's scheme? I'll.. I'll… I'll kill the karking chizzssk eaters!"
The Jedi master held up a restraining hand. "That would be unwise, and ultimately ineffective. I believe you are safe for the time being. The other conspirators in the scheme have been compromised, at least temporarily."
Obi-Wan stirred, coughing wetly as he pushed upright. "We need to contact the Council," he croaked, barely registering Kerrn's presence.
"You need to rest." Qui-Gon crouched beside him, urging compliance with a firm hand. "Lie down. We cannot punch a signal through the ion storm in any case – our report will have to wait."
The elder harrumphed, chewing the cud of unwelcome news, and excused himself with a muttered promise to fetch them some breakfast.
Obi-Wan lay scowling at the textured roof, prodding experimentally at his own ribs and then hissing in frustration. "Blast it. Blast it."
"You are not, nor are you expected to be, invulnerable and omnipotent," the older man counseled him. "Lower your expectations."
His young friend managed a shaky breath of laughter. "Speak for yourself... I am a powerful divinity."
Qui-Gon gladly took the bait. "Impersonating a deity is most certainly against the Precepts," he chided his companion. "You scandalize me."
This clearly numbered among those things Obi-Wan "had not thought of" in the throes of inspiration. The young Jedi's mien darkened, a shadow of self recrimination scudding over his wan features. "Oh… yes."
"Well," the Jedi master continued in a milder vein, "perhaps there were extenuating circumstances. Suppose you share the rest of the tale with me, and I will in turn regale you with my own adventures."
"Misadventures," Obi-Wan pertly corrected him. "Any undertaking that ends in capture and interrogation cannot be considered a successful errand."
"If you say so. Where did we leave off?"
They had, in fact, left off at the point of bitter disagreement – but trust proved more resilient than resentment; a brief shared recollection of their last hard-edged words flitted between them, mortification flooding the bond from either end before wry apology smoothed over the dissonance, a sincere if silent exchange of things neither would frame in speech.
"Well," the young Jedi began, hoarsely, "There were… complications."
"As always."
"Yes." Obi-Wan briefly narrated his own misadventures, ruining the gripping tenor of his story with occasional droll commentary, referring to his marathon sprint as a little jaunt, his epic battle with the murderous automata as aggressive negotiations, and his encounter with the Paxellian legionary scouts as a charming tête-à-tête. "At which point," he ended his recitation, "they quite understandably mistook me for an outstanding member of their pantheon. And, ah, I thought it would be in poor taste to correct them on a matter pertaining to their religious beliefs, so…"
"So, in the interest of diplomacy, you boarded their ship and spearheaded a berserker raid upon the Trade Federation Core ship instead?"
"Well," the culprit peevishly defended himself, "I had to do something."
Qui-Gon chuckled grimly. I'm attributing that to Master Dooku's baleful influence. I will not be held responsible for advocating such extremist methods."
"I don't think the Council will buy that excuse."
The older man grimaced. "Well, then, thank the Force you are old enough to take your own fall. I've borne the brunt of their disapprobation for too many years."
This amused both of them. They lapsed into a contemplative silence, mutually pondering the implications of all that had transpired. When Kerrn briefly reappeared to deliver two bowls of tasteless mush, they ate in silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in slowly, forming a coherent picture at long last.
The ramifications were broad and disturbing.
"I have a very bad feeling about this."
"As have I, Obi-Wan."
Which conversation was the sum total of their interchange for at least twelve hours. Obi-Wan quickly succumbed to sleep again, a mild delirium sullying his bright Force aura, a disturbance fit to match the cacophonous rumblings overhead. The Scythe swung, the Wanderers cringed and curled in their makeshift hovel; the Jedi master waited. And waited, and waited.
He returned from a brief conference with Kerrn at nightfall to find his young friend finally awake and brooding in earnest, an indecipherable expression in his lowered eyes as he traced one finger over the engraved surface of his ionite shard. He turned the carving over in his hand, palming it, and raised his face in mute greeting.
Their tiny shelter was snug and warm, thanks to the borrowed heating unit; Qui-Gon slid gratefully down beside his companion, stretching booted legs out before him. "You've meditated."
"A bit." The improvement was paltry, but still discernible. "One of us – someone- is going to have to stay here, you know. We can't abandon them." Obi-Wan accented the remark with a scowl.
Qui-Gon placed a hand on his knee. "I understand your … concern," he confessed. "But that someone is not you; we will depart so soon as the storm abates."
The young Knight exhaled painfully , still nursing battered ribs and a badly wrenched shoulder. "And leave them unprotected?"
"Think," the tall man admonished, but without the customary tenor of authority in his tone. "The government's present resources have been decimated – they lie strewn across the plain, thanks to you. The Trade Federation will not dare make another move after our presence here was revealed… and as for the Paxellians…"
Obi-Wan smiled, fleetingly. "Olokk has forbidden further trespass. At least, I think that's what I said. It's hard to recall details – divine edicts grow so tedious after a while."
"Which buys the people here a brief respite. Our efforts would be better spent on informing the Council, and thereby the Senate – and in formulating a long term plan to address the potential unrest here in the Rims."
His former student ran a hand through his tangled hair. "Staying here would be easier," he observed, ruefully.
"Easier, not better in the long run."
Here Obi-Wan favored him with a look of mock outrage. "The notorious Master Jinn counsels foresight and a strategic approach? Help, I'm in cardiac arrest."
But the implied accusation ran in both directions. "You are the one who is eager to succor pathetic life forms, and who – let us be honest – violated the greater number of protocols on this mission."
"I aspire to be worthy of my teacher. " The young Jedi allowed his head to fall back against the stone wall. "….And my vows."
Melancholy descended on gossamer wings. Qui-Gon reached across a hand and gently pried the ionite stone from his comrade's loose grasp, hesitating a moment to be sure the gesture would not cause offense. He considered the carven glyph upon its surface gravely, chest constricting softly. There was a calligraphic simplicity to the symbol: the flower destroyed, or perhaps subsumed, into the winged flame. He rubbed his thumb over the harsh tracery of the knife's blade, the edges of the image not yet worn smooth by time.
"It is difficult," he cautiously broached a topic they had never yet discussed in this novel context, as equals.
Obi-Wan glanced sideways, startled but hopeful. "You mean-"
"It is painful, too." the older man continued, closing his own fingers softly over the beautiful object.
"Is it worth it?"
Ah. The Jedi master released a long breath. No longer consigned merely to the role of guide, of flawless compass and polestar, he was left with the more challenging mantle of friendship. To succor, to teach- these were easy. To stand shoulder to shoulder with another, and to admit….
"I don't know," he confessed, adorning raw honesty with no gaudy justification. "I … forged my own compromise. And paid for it." He bowed his head, silently returning the stone to its owner. "I am sorry – I have no answer for you. But," – he sought vainly for words to convey the aching aspiration welling in his heart – "I will always keep your confidence. As you kept mine."
Tahl Uvain's name hung unspoken between them, a remembered luminance. Obi-Wan frowned, eyes boring into the opposite wall. "But, you said before… "
"That was then. This is now. And now, you are a man. And a Jedi. You must walk this path yourself. There are some roads that must be trod anew by every soul – I can offer only this counsel: pain lies both upon the way and to the side. Whether you stray or not, you must run its gauntlet. The other option is…. "
"No longer a choice." They fell silent, their newly compacted understanding buttressing an affection long in the making and forged in a relentless furnace of strife.
"We are not saints, but seekers," Qui-Gon intoned, feeling as never before the weight of the traditional admonition, the humility of the oft-quoted adage. For there was a path, and there was teaching – but in the final reckoning, he who forged ahead shed light only upon the next short stretch of a boundless journey. Those who drew breath in the same span of years, be it decade or century, in truth walked abreast upon destiny's road, side by side.
"Or in my case," Obi-Wan drawled, deftly alleviating the unbearable pressure of sentiment, "a veritable god."
They reverted, gracefully, to a well-practiced kata. "Only in your mind, my very young friend. Only in your mind."
