Consider yourself warned: in reviewing my notes for this chapter, I see that they were very concise:

"Anakin too mature. Rewrite as bratty kid. Annoying but necessary for storyline."

but I promise he's no worse than in the movies!

… I just lost half of you, didn't I?

Damn it.

OoOoOoOo

Brink

By: Syntyche

Five: … and Shadows

Qui-Gon glanced over as Elika entered the sitting room, pushing her grey hair behind her ear, her lined face wrinkled in concern.

"The little Jedi is sleeping," she said to Qui-Gon, carefully settling herself on the low couch next to her husband. She cast Qui-Gon a worried look he knew all too well; he had seen it in his own reflection more and more lately. "The shadows around him are dark."

"Yes," Qui-Gon whispered guiltily, and at his side, Anakin glanced over at him quickly, startled by the admission. "He needs to rest," the Jedi Master agreed, though he knew in his heart that Obi-Wan needed more than that. He didn't know why he felt compelled to explain; perhaps the burden of guilt he carried was finally growing too heavy for him to bear alone, or perhaps it was the gaping holes in the Living Force created by the warpstone. Either way, the words slipped from his mouth almost unthinkingly.

"Obi-Wan … killed a Sith warrior, a Dark one, just a short while ago. It has … " Qui-Gon paused, struggling to be diplomatic, to protect Obi-Wan, and yet to explain to this kind couple his own inner wrestling with his demons. " … changed his life, changed our lives, in ways we hadn't anticipated." This was a massive understatement: despite the promoted Jedi ideal of quiet selflessness and servitude, the Nubians had insisted on hailing Obi-Wan as a hero, and the news of the Sith Slayer had spread far and fast, giving Obi-Wan a celebrity-like status he neither wanted nor appreciated.

"Obi-Wan has become very famous very quickly," Qui-Gon explained quietly. "It is not our way, and we are still learning to accept it."

"Well, I don't see what the big deal is," Anakin interjected, leaning around Qui-Gon with a strange mix of eagerness and nonchalance. "I mean, I used to win podraces all the time back home, and I helped destroy the big ship over Naboo that the other pilots couldn't." His small chest puffed out proudly. "And Qui-Gon says I'm the Chosen One. So, I'm pretty famous, but it doesn't bother me."

"Anakin!" Qui-Gon reprimanded sternly, but he ruffled the boy's short hair kindly and tweaked his short braid. "What I'm saying," he redirected his attention to their hosts, "is that Obi-Wan is not used to being a hero," he smiled at Anakin a little, "like you, Ani."

"Oh," Anakin nodded wisely, adding, "I can see how that would be a problem for him."

Qui-Gon looked back to see equally distasteful looks mirrored on the faces of the older couple and felt a little of the pride at his apprentice wither in his chest. He forged on hastily, "Obi-Wan is simply having trouble adjusting to the new demands on his time." And there were many; the Temple was daily fielding requests for special visits from the young Jedi, and Obi-Wan had quickly learned to his stunned chagrin that the Council wasn't above selling him out for these events if it furthered their cause - in good, noble ways, of course.

Obi-Wan had always been a touch cynical, but the suddenly very apparent self-serving approach of the Council had birthed a bitterness in the young Jedi that Qui-Gon ached to witness, even though he tried to make it somehow more palatable to Obi-Wan - "it's for charity, Obi-Wan;" "it's for the Temple's outreach program, Obi-Wan;" "it's so we can continue to help others, Obi-Wan, and it's only a small fraction of your time…"

But Qui-Gon's efforts did little to appease Obi-Wan. The newly-promoted Knight had always done his duty to the utmost of his abilities; he didn't expect to be made a celebrity for it, and especially not for what Qui-Gon suspected was easily one of the most horrific days of his former Padawan's life. And Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan, out of kindness or perhaps respect, glossed over Qui-Gon's abandonment of him to chase down Anakin, and yet it still hurt Obi-Wan to have to retell his story of taking a life over and over again.

Qui-Gon knew that soon the demands of the Council would finally pluck Obi-Wan from him and he would be able to shelter him no more, just as the Jedi Master knew that eventually the Council was going to catch on that Qui-Gon was continually requesting Obi-Wan's presence on multiple missions not only to aid with training the Chosen One - as Qui-Gon said - but also to protect Obi-Wan from them.

The Council would not be happy, but Qui-Gon would keep at it until they stopped him.

"Master Jinn?" Makir's irritated eyes were watching him expectantly. "Did we lose you for a moment?"

Qui-Gon blinked, bringing himself back to the present, wishing again that the Living Force was fully connected with him to provide the answers, the clear path. Of course, on that day he'd been so sure he was following the unhindered will of the Force, too …

Qui-Gon blinked again, quickly. "Yes," he struggled to respond, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. "I'm sorry." He reached for a way to close the loop of conversation, to move on to safer topics. "Obi-Wan needs to rest; I am grateful he is taking the opportunity to do so." He smiled at Elika. "Thank you for convincing him."

"I'm not tired," Anakin chimed in immediately. "We should go look for the warpstone now while Obi-Wan is sleeping." He stood excitedly, full of the cocky confidence of a nine-year-old boy. "I'm sure we can handle it, Qui-Gon."

Master Qui-Gon, and your jealousy does not become you, Anakin, nor your impatience, was the immediate rebuke that flashed through Qui-Gon's mind, and yet he found not for the first time that he was having trouble getting the words out. How does a Master rebuke the Chosen One, after all? Instead, he squeezed Anakin's knee and flashed him a warm smile. "Your enthusiasm does you credit, Ani," he said generously, "but we need to rest also and get an early start so we can travel while it's light. I'm sure you don't want to pass through the forest again by night, do you?"

Anakin's face fell but he nodded reluctantly in agreement. "No, it was pretty spooky."

"Indeed it was," Qui-Gon concurred gravely. "So let us just plan to set out as soon as the sun rises." He looked to their hosts. "That will not be a problem for our guide, I hope?"

Elika shook her head. "Not at all, Master Jinn; I will be ready," she affirmed with a small smile, a reassuring squeeze to her husband's arm.

"Excellent," Makir pronounced, apparently satisfied by his wife's confirmation. "Now, let us turn to other matters." He shifted his attention to Qui-Gon. "Please, tell us what news you have. We are quite isolated, as you see, and have to rely mostly on visitors such as yourselves to bring us word of outside import."

Elika ducked out as her husband was speaking and returned with a small carafe filled with steaming liquid. She smiled gently at Qui-Gon, saying softly when her husband paused, "I am sorry about your young one; I can see that he is damaged."

Qui-Gon glanced questioningly toward Anakin and a flash of annoyance crossed the old woman's face. "Not that one," she said shortly, but then brightened, placing a mug in his hands before he could protest. "Have some kaffe," she smiled sweetly.

OoOoOoOo

The shadowy grasp of night still firmly cradled the small house when Obi-Wan awoke, tired and headachey, from a restless sleep filled with dark shapes and whisperings. At some point, he realized slowly, Anakin had laid down next to him on the bed and was now snoring softly, and when Obi-Wan squinted he could make out Qui-Gon's large form huddled under a pile of blankets on the floor.

Obi-Wan frowned muzzily, blinking at the bright moonlight streaming through the window as he tried to discover what had awakened him; closing his eyes again, he sifted through his mind for answers as he let his weary head sink deeper into the soft warmth of his pillow.

He might have drifted off again, but he was roused once more by a shadow crossing the moonlight by the window, and then another; he could tell by the way the light against his eyelids dimmed and the murmur of the Force breathing a warning to be still. Hushed voices whispered over the bed; Obi-Wan tensed, urging his rigid muscles to be at the ready, already aware that his lightsaber lay within reach on the bedside table. His fingers twitched toward it but he forced himself to be still, just be still and listen.

"Do you think he's the One of the Prophesy?" A curious whisper that Obi-Wan identified as Elika's.

"I don't know." Hesitance from Makir, and Obi-Wan realized they were standing over Anakin. be still, be still, be still, he chanted to himself, struggling to feign sleep. Don't give yourself away…

"And what about the Master?" He heard rustling as the couple moved, skirted Qui-Gon's large body where he lay sleeping.

"Protective to a fault, it seems, but ultimately powerless." Delivered so matter-of-factly that Obi-Wan could only swallow hard at the truth of it.

"And the damaged one?"

Obi-Wan started as he realized they were talking about him, covered his surprise by shifting as if he were trying to find a more comfortable position, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from jumping when feather-light fingers drifted by his ear. He could almost hear the shrug in Makir's voice as the man replied, "Strong. Light … but tainted."

He had known, had felt, that he was broken, corrupted, inside - physically, yes, and more beyond that - but to hear it discussed so openly set his heart thudding so loud he was sure they would hear its rapid thumping, know he was awake and shake the truth out of him right here. Elika's voice was hushed so low Obi-Wan could barely hear her even though he knew she stood right by him.

"Which one will he choose?" she asked quietly, still absently carding the ginger hair sliding over her palms while Obi-Wan tried not shiver at the violation of the caress, over the shell of his ear, through his hair, across the edge of his scar. Stop, stop, stop, go away, he chanted desperately, feeling as though pools of blackness were rising up beneath his skin wherever her fingers touched, drawing upward the darkness already in him; then to himself firmly, don't hold your breath, just wait, and Qui-Gon's stern admonition: don't startle them, we need that warpstone, it's for the good of the Jedi, Obi-Wan...

"I don't know," was the equally soft answer, followed with a warning that disturbed Obi-Wan as he listened, shuddering and shaking inside, wrapped tight below the surface, "but I suggest you don't get too attached to either of them." There was a shift in Makir's tone as he added, "I'm going to the Council now; rest, love, and gather your strength for the morning. It is a long walk to the Falls."

As soon as the couple left the room, Obi-Wan heaved a stuttering sigh of relief, tension stringing him taut as he threw the covers aside and reached for his boots. I knew I had a bad feeling about this. Knew it. Damn it.

The question was … what now? Should he wake Qui-Gon?

Obi-Wan pondered only a moment before deciding against it - he would only be doing a little reconnaissance, after all, and himself alone would be much quieter than the two of them and especially the three of them if Qui-Gon inexplicably decided to make it a teachable moment for Anakin. And in the larger scheme of things, they did need to locate the warpstone, so it was for the best to let Qui-Gon sleep now and rest for the trip ahead. Obi-Wan was by no means blind; he knew that his old Master had been fading little by little to his guilt and mounting exhaustion since Naboo, and the hindrance to the Force created here wasn't helping matters at all.

Obi-Wan swiftly decided that he would follow Makir alone to whatever meeting he was attending, and see if he could gather some answers. He slipped out into the night, cloaked by darkness. The town was eerily quiet, the same quiet that had existed in the forest and he found himself heading toward the flickering, inviting light peeking through the windows of the meeting hall. As he passed the old stone fountain in the square, a wave of nausea crashed over him and he reached out to grasp the rim of the fountain to keep himself upright.

A roaring was in his ears and he thought it was in his head until he realized that it was the fountain he leant against, rushing and churning, and he wondered why it hadn't been working earlier. A natural force, maybe, his mind supplied helpfully, and he dipped a hand into the basin to bring up some water to brush against his forehead to cleanse the sweat that had beaded there. He didn't have time to be sick now, but the sweating and the nausea were not boding well that his body was at all inclined to listen to his determined rhetoric. Just get through this survey mission, and when we get back I'll tell Yoda everything. He can help. Obi-Wan hadn't meant to keep secrets, not really, he'd just been so damn busy being the Council's lapdog and trying to reassure guilt-stricken Qui-Gon that everything was fine that he'd almost been able to ignore the fact that everything wasn't fine.

To his surprise, the liquid in the basin was thick and dark, sticky on his fingers and he flicked them in disgust and swiped them against the hem of his tunic to brush the worst of it away. He pushed off from the fountain wearily and continued on toward the meeting hall, his mouth absolutely parched now that he had been denied anticipated refreshment.

The warm lights of the hall cast long fingers into the darkness, skittering over dirt and cobbled pathways. In the clear moonlight, Obi-Wan could see mountains in the distance, erupting like jagged, broken teeth from Sylvania's crumbling gums, and a large structure, barely discernible, carved into the mountainside. Obi-Wan noticed it only because of the spires rising into the night and the curious green gleam emanating from within, twisting around large and disintegrating columns and illuminating great entrance doors, visible even at this distance.

How was the mist only prevalent in the daytime and everything so sharp at night? Obi-Wan wondered, the anomaly curious enough to bother his already racing mind. Obi-Wan shook off his uneasy feeling and moved on, following Makir from a distance, staying in the shadows. Trying not to recall the conversation between his hosts ringing sick warning bells in his lurching stomach.

Do you think he's the One of the prophesy?

Was it possible they had heard of the Chosen One, even here? Anakin may be in danger because of it, and Obi-Wan would have to take care to watch over the boy even more closely.

And the damaged one?

Him. He had done that day what he'd been forced to do; that was all. It was Qui-Gon who bore the scars - all except the one. Obi-Wan resisted the desire to touch his neck, even though he thought he could feel his own scar like fire arcing down his back just as the Sith's lightsaber had tracked its unforgiving path across his skin:

Burning him.

Scorching him.

Blistering his cracking skin.

Killing him.

Another cresting rush of nausea submerged him and when his vision steadied Obi-Wan realized he was bent over, panting desperately, rivers of perspiration streaming down his cheeks; his hands on his knees, his back on fire, he was dying all over again and the Sith was laughing -

no!

no

Eventually the pain reluctantly faded, and all he could hear was his own harsh breathing, loud in his ears, and he was almost immediately embarrassed by the realness of his terror.

Perhaps he was damaged after all.

A few more shuddering breaths gasped into the night before the darkness fully receded from his sight. The Knight straightened slowly, stiffly, almost deciding right then to turn around and go back, just go back to bed and reorder himself for morning, but his curiosity got the better of him and Obi-Wan moved forward. Reaching the great hall he slipped inside, not inherently wishing to be deceptive yet he found himself sliding through the barely-open doors as unobtrusively as possible, silent and grim and desperately wishing his gnawing sense of foreboding could just this once be in error.

A hushed meeting was in progress and Obi-Wan inched forward, listening with interest, his cloak drawn closely about him to keep him concealed amidst the shadows.

A robed and hooded figure stood near the front of the room, surrounded by a dozen or so men and women. Lanterns were placed sporadically on windowsills throughout the hall, their warm yellow light barely piercing the shadows, not making it to the tall ceiling nor even quite illuminating much beyond the obscure faces of those gathered. Rows of chairs sat unused, filling nearly the entire room but ignored by the group clustered in the open apse at the front.

The hooded figure was speaking with a voice guttural and scraping, ending in a hiss. "Your message has been received and your lord thanks you. Know that your messenger did not suffer but has gone on to the glory of serving the greater good."

The words that chilled Obi-Wan seemed to please the gathered crowd and the Jedi pressed himself further into the shadows, trying not to reflect on how their vacations - even pretend ones like this one - always went amiss, but that this one, perhaps, was going to turn out worse than any of the others …

"The Jedi master will choose one to be brought to Nagashizzar; the others are to be released according to His designs." The robed one lifted its arms, wide sleeves falling back to reveal arms white and skeletal that were held out over the gathered in a benediction of release. "Our time is upon us; our victory long awaited approaches. Go now to prepare!"

Excited rumbles of expectation rose from the crowd as they obediently dispersed, and Obi-Wan wished fervently he'd been able to overhear more - not that what he had already heard wasn't bad enough. People were coming toward him now as they moved toward the exit and Obi-Wan pushed himself back hastily through an open doorway nearby, not wishing to be seen.

He nearly stumbled into a large room, a sanctuary of sorts bathed in white with raised altars and neat lines of pews set into a marble floor. The beauty and simplicity of his surroundings caught his breath in his throat and he almost wanted to drop to his knees in reverence and thank the Force for bringing him here to this place of awe.

It wasn't the Light side of the Force that sang amidst the exquisiteness, however; the Dark side was blindingly strong here - but different somehow, more pure in form than Obi-Wan had ever sensed it before and he immediately realized there must be warpstone present. He could feel the Light that so often suffused his senses ebbing within him, prickling like a foot that had fallen asleep and just as uncomfortable.

I should get out of here, he realized. Qui-Gon needs to be warned.

But something innate, unacknowledged, compelled him to move on, just a little further, to follow the essence of warpstone to where it was the strongest and see in what capacity these people were using such a volatile material. As energy, Elika had said earlier.

His heart hammering in his chest, Obi-Wan took another step forward and his boot skidded slightly in a puddle on the floor, dark and oily-looking against the ivory tiles upon which he trod, blindingly out of place amidst the immaculate opulence surrounding him. He moved on tensely, drawn toward an altar near the front - ornately carved and covered with a woolen blanket. The essence of the warpstone came from this table.

Obi-Wan lifted a corner of the blanket expecting to find a mass of black rock, which he did.

He also found resting at the center of the altar a severed hand, ragged skin and chalky bone ending somewhere mid-forearm, jaggedly torn flesh dripping crimson so dark it was nearly black. Twisted humanoid fingers curled into talons of agony, clutching the warpstone he had been seeking.