Haven't felt much like writing since I lost one of my closest friends a month ago. The Muse was twitching, though, to remember one who always saw people as the best version of themselves, whether they actually managed it at the time or no.

For JZ. I miss you and I love you. I still expect to glance up and see you walk through the door; there are no words to express the realization that I never will again.

Brink

By: Syntyche

Nine: Fell on Black Days

From where he lay on the cold, grassy ground that was rapidly dampening under him with sticky rivers of his own blood, Obi-Wan couldn't see Qui-Gon and Anakin being forced away, couldn't hear Qui-Gon's ineffectual pleas for mercy any longer. He could barely even feel Qui-Gon's presence in the back of his mind, fading now, and ever more distant in its horror and desperation.

His master's terror was very real, nearly superseding Obi-Wan's own since almost all thoughts and feelings for himself had passed out of his cognizant acknowledgement and ability to feel. There was blackness flirting with the edges of his vision, persistent threads that were weaving a dark tapestry his working mind was slowly giving up trying to pierce; there was nothing for him here now anyway, no reason to struggle to stay conscious. He should just let go, let the Force draw him down into the inevitable.

Another spike of Qui-Gon's terrible misery drove through him like a knife with an unyieldingly sharp blade, snapping his eyes open, bringing the sound of his own harsh panting roaring back to his ears.

Qui-Gon may not survive this, was the heartrending thought that flashed through Obi-Wan's mind, followed swiftly by an abruptly blinding, bubbling pain as the bone in his upper arm snapped. He was a little surprised: he thought they had stopped beating him simply because he couldn't feel it any more. Obi-Wan was forced to append the disheartening addition: I may not survive this.

Which was a ridiculous thought, and he laughed just a little, because he wasn't meant to survive. He had forced Qui-Gon to move because he'd had to, had made him make the decision Obi-Wan knew had broken his friend's heart, but what choice had they had? It was Obi-Wan or Anakin, or all three of them. Of course it had to be him.

But that didn't mean that he wanted to die.

OoOoOoOo

"I can't believe you left him!"

Could that sullen voice belong to his apprentice? He was barely listening, focusing more on the small piece of rock he was twisting between his large fingers:

Warpstone.

He and Obi-Wan had nearly been killed by the Absarti as they'd procured its location, and now Obi-Wan would die because they had actually found it.

But the cost, some would say, had been worth it. The Jedi would be able to monitor the warpstone fields, guard them against the Sith, protect themselves and their Force-enhanced abilities and continue to help others. An enormous number of countless beings would be safer, happier.

And all it had cost was Obi-Wan's life.

Qui-Gon was fascinated by the fact that he couldn't actually see his fingertips where they clutched the stone: blackness emanated from the stone's core, pulling in the light surrounding it. He shouldn't even be holding it, but as Obi-Wan had died for it, he couldn't seem to let it go.

"Obi-Wan wouldn't have left us!"

Qui-Gon glanced over dully as Anakin suddenly snatched his lightsaber from his belt and Force, he looked just like a much younger Obi-Wan in that moment, ready to defend, itching to fight.

"Anakin." He heard himself say his Padawan's name mildly. "We will send word to the Council. We will do all we can. Put your weapon away." The stunted sentences fell from his firmly thinned lips. Already Obi-Wan's presence in his mind was sliding away … he reached for it desperately, apathetic in his despair yet somehow frantic in his attempt to snatch the last fraying strands.

"No," he whispered disconsolately. His aching soul fragmented into a thousand shattered pieces as the bright presence of Obi-Wan dimmed; he was reliving the torment, the nightmare of Naboo all over again - he had failed his young one again. Tears spilled from his eyes. "I need you," he murmured brokenly.

At his side, Anakin heard the words and mistakenly assumed his new master was speaking to him. Qui-Gon needed him. Needed him. He squared his small shoulders, pushing his own sadness aside.

"I'm here, Master," he assured. "It's you and me now, Qui-Gon," he said, softly but firmly, hooking a small hand onto Qui-Gon's elbow to lead him onward. Master and Padawan, relying only on each other, as it should be and should have been all along.

"Just you and me," he repeated quietly to himself.

And he realized that that didn't sound too bad.

OoOoOoOo

Evidently, they didn't intend to kill him right away, which Obi-Wan would have thought was a good thing but for the nausea-inducing agony he was currently suffering. These creatures of darkness had pummeled him quite thoroughly before hauling his protesting and swaying body upright and forcing him to walk. He could feel the splintered ends of his humerus grinding together as he weakly clutched his damaged arm to his side and stumbled along, roughly forced on by a swift jab or slap if his pace slowed unacceptably. If he allowed his gaze to slide over to study his companions he was also given a sharp reminder to keep his eyes on the path ahead.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but be curious about the humanoids prodding him along, with their pale irises gleaming in the midday sun and white faces pinched tight beneath masses of elaborate braids. He knew instinctively he recognized these creatures - although they walked upright and were of humanoid form, Obi-Wan was having trouble applying a description other than 'creature' to these beings of savage darkness - but he couldn't place how he was familiar with them.

Obi-Wan's mouth twisted into a grimace - six men to guard one pitiful prisoner? He allowed a scoff that slid into a gasp when one of the creatures glanced at him warningly; he would not antagonize them if he could help it, they who now took any chance to hurt him that they could so long as he could still stagger along at their unwavering pace. He'd fallen once, and vowed to himself he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him on his knees again.

His eye was swollen shut but he didn't need his limited vision to catalogue the dizzying array of gouges, slashes, and darkening bruises that marked his slim frame, or that his formerly white clothes were now stained with dirt and blood, particularly saturated over the clammy slice across his ribs. His mouth was terribly dry and every step was agony as they force-marched him on, back the way he thought he, Qui-Gon, and Anakin had come with Elika but there was no sign, no sense the other Jedi had returned this way.

What bothered him more than his limited vision and physical suffering was his Force blindness; the warmth, the Light, he was so accustomed to living sucked away by the warpstone surrounding him and now he could not remember where he had seen creatures like this, and could not even attempt the most basic healing for his battered body. Obi-Wan was in anguished misery, yet he found his scattered thoughts continually drifting back to his former master. I'm so sorry, Qui-Gon, was the prevailing theme that raced through his mind.

So sorry.

Obi-Wan tripped on a rock that shifted under his boot and one of the grim creatures flanking him snapped out a hand to keep him upright, long fingers closing roughly on the broken bones in Obi-Wan's upper arm. Obi-Wan screamed hoarsely, his vision shifting first to grey, and then to black…

OoOoOoOo

Anakin's gaze shot over worriedly as Qui-Gon's large frame staggered, the name "Obi-Wan" falling soundlessly from his lips. His lined face was bloodless in the cold afternoon sunshine and Anakin tightened his hold on Qui-Gon's lax hand, persistently tugging his master onward.

"Qui-Gon," he said worriedly, "Stay with me, please. I need you to help me get back."

Qui-Gon turned red, aching eyes to him and the small Padawan felt a surprising stab of jealousy jolt through him: they had barely escaped with their lives, and all Qui-Gon could think about was Obi-Wan? As they had continued their stumbling path, Anakin had found his jumbled thoughts confusing him. He was afraid and sad and worried, and he knew that this was okay, despite what Master Yoda tried to tell him, because how could it be wrong to feel? It was the sense of relief that bothered him, this new and growing feeling that Obi-Wan was out of their lives and Qui-Gon wouldn't have to split his attention between them anymore. He could focus on Anakin as he'd promised he would, as he had been before Obi-Wan's accident on Naboo had changed Qui-Gon into a Master no longer as attentive to his Padawan as he should have been.

"Get back?" Qui-Gon whispered hesitantly, barely audible, his voice croaking in his raw throat. "Get … Obi-Wan back?"

Anakin fiercely crushed down the feelings overwhelming him, concerning and confusing him. Obi-Wan would have been going on missions by himself now anyway, so we never would have seen him, he thought, and the realization that he should have been horrified by his own callousness never occurred to him, nor did the thought that the little black rock clutched in Qui-Gon's hand was affecting his thoughts, guiding them down paths of darkness that otherwise wouldn't call to him so strongly for many years yet.

"No, Qui-Gon," he mumbled quietly, still guiding his master along, "not now. We have to get back to our ship."

Qui-Gon's bleary eyes settled fully on him and Anakin felt a flash of guilt wondering if Qui-Gon could sense the growing excitement he was trying so hard to hide. He knew he shouldn't be looking forward to a life with Qui-Gon without Obi-Wan - but he was gladly, giddily, happily. It felt like a huge weight had lifted off his small shoulders, and now he - and Master Qui-Gon - were free.

"That's right," Qui-Gon murmured, passing a hand across his eyes. "I have to get you back to the ship."

"Us, Master Qui-Gon," Anakin corrected, a small glimmer of worry touching him at the dullness of Qui-Gon's tone. "We need to leave."

"Yes… we do." Qui-Gon's shoulders straightened suddenly, a new sense of purpose visibly settling over him as he pulled out of his slump, a determined fire igniting in his ice blue eyes. Anakin didn't know what it meant…

But he didn't like it.

OoOoOoOo

With less than gentle hands, Obi-Wan was prodded into the village where clusters of no-longer friendly townspeople had gathered to kick, spit, and slap at him as he was shoved roughly past them. His constant movement during the grueling march had kept the knife wound over his ribcage from clotting and it continued to bleed freely, staining his tunic a deep, worrying red.

It was unreasonable but he couldn't help the gaping pit that had settled in his stomach since Qui-Gon had condemned him. Obi-Wan pushed aside the ridiculous feeling of betrayal; at least he wouldn't live long enough to feel the gnawing bite of lonely wretchedness much longer.

But that desolate realization didn't make it any easier to put up with the abuse of the villagers, and Obi-Wan could neither duck nor raise a hand to defend himself as the jeering crowd lobbed rotten vegetables and rocks at him if they were not close enough to inflict damage with their own hands, adding to his torment as he stumbled on surrounded by his guards.

The Force was suspiciously absent, and Obi-Wan couldn't ignore the frustrated and angry helplessness that knifed through him - why, when he needed it the most, was it nowhere to be found, thwarted by the mere presence of that damned rock? Obi-Wan was struggling to behave in a way that would honor his years of training, but it was becoming difficult to even remain upright as he was herded along. When a sharp-edged rock thrown by a villager struck the torn tunic over the bleeding slice along his skin, Obi-Wan doubled over in agony, only to be forcefully straightened again and pushed on roughly.

I don't want to die.

The thought came to him and he banished it quickly. He couldn't completely quash the tiny part that held out hope that Qui-Gon would somehow come back for him, but he was well aware of the danger and foolhardiness of such an attempt. Qui-Gon would not place Anakin in that sort of peril again - even for his former apprentice and longtime friend.

He passed the old and crumbling fountain in the middle of the small town, and noted with queasy apprehension that the liquid now spewing down the sides to pool in the cracked basin was a bright, familiar red.

OoOoOoOo

Relief filled Anakin as their days-old campsite came into view, still littered with the scattered remnants of their small fire and a couple of blackened chunks off to the side that Anakin was pretty sure were the charcoaled remains of Qui-Gon's attempt at dinner. He knew they should camp here; he was tired and Qui-Gon probably was too.

"We can stay here tonight," he said.

Qui-Gon immediately shook his head. Damp strands of mahogany hair were plastered to his face from his exertion, and his pale eyes gleamed overly bright in the waning sunlight fighting to pierce the thick veil of the canopy of leaves overhead.

"No. We need to keep moving."

"Qui-Gon, we can't keep going," Anakin sighed. "It's late, and we're tired. And remember it's not safe to travel the woods at night."

"I don't care," Qui-Gon announced stubbornly, his determined gaze burning his insistence into his padawan. "We need to get back to the ship."

"Qui-Gon, I'm tired," Anakin knew there was a whine in his voice, but he was exhausted! And Qui-Gon was being completely unreasonable.

"We will not sleep while Obi-Wan suffers," Qui-Gon averred sternly, his pace increasing rather than slowing. "We keep moving."

Anakin looked around the darkening forest wearily, a shiver crawling across his body. Oppressive in the day, the forest was positively spooky at night. He reached for the Force to calm himself but found only the unfamiliar essence that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had warned him so strongly against using. Something about it seemed comforting, quieting his busy mind, and he wondered why they had demanded he not use it when it really was helpful in calming him, making him feel like he could go on if Qui-Gon was demanding it. He would show Qui-Gon that even at his age he was just as good a Padawan as Obi-Wan had been - better, even. The best.

Anakin grabbed at a little more of the feeling and felt energy warming his tired legs, giving him the strength to keep moving, making him powerful. The Force was here, and he couldn't believe that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan hadn't felt it. Knowing that he, Anakin, had felt it filled him with pride and he smiled as he hurried on to keep up with Qui-Gon.

I could have saved Obi-Wan if Qui-Gon had let me, he realized, ignoring the little voice that insisted it was better this way.

OoOoOoOo

Obi-Wan was taken to a small building near the meeting hall that served as prisoners' quarters; he was steered to a cramped room within, apparently to await his execution. Chains set into the wall and embedded deeply in the dirt floor were fastened to his wrists and ankles and he would have screamed when his arm was straightened but he couldn't draw breath into his gasping lungs to produce the sound his mind was already shrieking in silence. Hot tears sprung to his eyes and he blinked rapidly, feverishly wishing he could keep the salty tracks from sliding down his sickly wan cheeks.

Focus, little one.

Easy for you to say, he thought wryly, but the Knight found that thinking of Qui-Gon lessened his pain just a little. He directed his wavering focus firmly and discovered there was sufficient leeway in the chains that he could tear a few ragged strips from his dirty tunic using his teeth. Obi-Wan wadded the coarse material into a ball and jammed the cleanest part of the cloth he could find against his wounded flank roughly, resolutely ignoring the whimpering, animalistic keen that slid through his teeth at the contact. His arm was more of a problem, and his vision greyed out a few times before he'd finished binding the broken skin in an attempt to stabilize the snapped bone beneath it.

Rudimentary and soon-to-be-unnecessary first aid performed, Obi-Wan leaned his back against the wall tiredly, carefully clutching his awkwardly useless arm to his chest and pulling his knees up in a futile gesture meant to defend his battered frame. He allowed his head to drop forward onto his upraised knees and closed his eyes, drifting into tormented and fractured dreams.

Soon enough - minutes or hours, he couldn't tell - hands grasped at his biceps, rattling the chains as they clattered to the floor, and he was hauled to his feet despite his body's vehement complaints and outright refusal to cooperate.

"Time to go already?" Obi-Wan rasped, wincing. He didn't have much time to check his overall condition, but he passed a quick hand over his ribcage and frowned heavily at the heat radiating from the wound there. Infection. How unpleasant. He couldn't even begin to describe the state his upper arm was in.

The full moon hung low in the cobalt sky, bright stars dotting the velvet darkness. The crisp air stung at his exposed skin as he was escorted outside and he shivered at the unwelcome chill. An undefined sense of horror was slowly stealing over him, a darkness that slithered up his skin and coiled in thick bands around his heaving chest.

He heard it before he saw it.

The sound of low groans of unendurable agony reached his ears, along with the creaking of old wagon wheels and an odd, unrecognizable cacophony of skkkching noises and gasping shrieks. The noise alone was enough to stop his breath in his throat, but then came the smell that accompanied the sounds: the ghastly sweet sickness of rotting flesh that caused an uncomfortable roiling in his already queasy stomach and brought to the fore memories he'd rather forget of missions gone wrong even before they'd set foot in the ruined cities and had to see those who had fallen and been left behind.

A loud screech assaulted his ears and he heard the flapping of large wings overhead; Obi-Wan looked up sharply but could barely see the great shape outlined against the dark sky; not a bird, not a creature he was familiar with, but a presence that filled him with unbearable terror. He was shaking and couldn't help himself:

There were few times in his life that Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever been truly frightened.

Now was one of them.

OoOoOoOo

Click the button to review, please - it's so easy!