Brink
By: Syntyche
Twelve: Hunger Strike
Surrounded by the implacable stone of the mountain fortress, immersed in blackness, and cut off from the Light and people he cared for deeply, Obi-Wan Kenobi was beginning to feel a frigid iciness creep across his soul, slowly working to dim his treasured memories of camaraderie, of laughter, of friendship; even of love. The fading Knight would quietly admit to himself that despite strict Council warnings against it, it really was impossible not to love; how could he not when he had grown up with Qui-Gon's amused chuckle, Yaddle's sweet gentleness, and Mace's wry 'I'm just going to pretend I can't see what you're up to so I don't have to report you' blind eye to young Obi-Wan's mischievous explorations throughout the Temple?
He couldn't not love them. It was that simple. He'd even been developing a sort of regard for Anakin - nothing that would ever rival his former master's admiring adoration, of course, but a softening at least of his initial harsh skepticism of the boy.
It all seemed so very far away now, buried beneath the layers of pain and horror Obi-Wan had existed in for days now, days that he was admittedly surprised were granted to him since he was supposed to have been executed in the warpstone field near Elika's dead body.
In moments of weakness of late, he almost wished he had died then…
… when he thought about the abhorrent feel of spongy, putrefying bodies below him on the corpse cart he'd traveled to Nagashizzar in.
… when he remembered the long, agonizing march to his temporary prison after Qui-Gon had caved - as he needed to - and chosen to save Anakin.
… when the Unifying Force showed Obi-Wan glimpses of the future that was coming for him …
… and right now, of course.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, trying to force his dry throat to function properly, the saliva at the back of his mouth scouring down his esophagus like acid as his dehydrated body rebelled against him. He couldn't think of the last time he'd had water and he didn't want to; he focused instead on remaining stoically still, trying to ignore what was happening to his weakened body.
Please just kill me, he thought, and he knew he should be ashamed for it but he couldn't quite muster the will for penitence. Obi-Wan shuddered as wispy fingers ghosted across his naked flesh, poking, prodding, healing in ways that seemed to do more harm than good, leaving him feeling as though there must be dark patches cropping up across his skin to match the pollution he felt inside. Energy was poured into him, but it wasn't the clear, clean, supportive warmth of Light; this new strength slid and snaked through his body, coiling through his limbs and winding through his ribcage and neck and hips in a way that was both agonizing and discomfortingly reviving.
His broken humerus had been set, wrapped, and nestled in a scratchy, rough sling; his multitude of dripping cuts patched; the clammy, clotted slice across his flank stitched with dirty thread, and his multi-colored array of bruises swathed in salve and soft yet filthy cloths.
It hadn't escaped Obi-Wan's notice that there was nothing clean in this entire place, including himself.
He had been led from the throne room without directly encountering the dark soul he could sense watching him, evaluating him from the shadows; the bloody runner was sodden beneath his feet and the only color breaking up the sleek black rock of the floors and walls surrounding him, suffocating him with their oppressive smothering of light and the sweltering humid warmth of the air. The Knight had stood between his guards as tall as his battered body was able, eyebrow arched questioningly as he silently challenged his captor to make the first move. By some unspoken command, skittering and snuffling but vaguely human servants had suddenly hastened to remove him and taken him below to a small, cold room amidst the living areas where they'd stripped his grimy and saturated clothes from him and washed and bound his wounds.
It was even darker down here; the struggling candlelight barely pierced the darkness despite its best efforts. Obi-Wan knew nothing of his surroundings but the three distinct sets of hands tending to him, and he knew naught of the owners of the hands other than that at times they were disturbingly solid but could also be as instantly diaphanous as an untouchable wisp.
Having his injuries tended to - as uncomfortable and invasive as the process was - bolstered Obi-Wan's flagging spirits and black thoughts of waiting and even wishing for death slipped away to be replaced by plans for escape. The future is always in motion, he reminded himself. Getting out of the fortress alone without access to the Light or his lightsaber in his hand would be difficult at best, but he'd been through worse.
Given enough time, he was sure he could think of an occasion or ten.
Obi-Wan smiled grimly, his mind resolutely distracting itself from the present as it swiftly sorted through various ideas and strategies; his determination was stolen away in bits and pieces, however, as the ghostly touches of the humanoids circling him continued to scrape over his skin, stroking and caressing and examining. Obi-Wan felt their harsh wheezing breaths sliding against his neck and his thigh and the small of his back as they perused him like carnivores over rotting carrion, stretching to poke here, stooping to prod there.
"Stop that," the Knight protested irritably, knowing it wouldn't do any good but unable to allow this skittering minor invasion of his body without an objection even as he dryly acknowledged that their insistent jabbing had long since passed being a minor invasion.
It didn't help and they clawed at him harder, drawing a hiss from between clenched teeth as suddenly very solid fingers dug into his hair and twisted, bringing involuntary tears to his eyes and a gasp to his lips.
"Stop it!" he panted, reaching to sound firm and authoritative, and if he could have put some Light behind it, he would have, but with only Dark in his reach his almost laughably weak voice would have to suffice.
"You belong to Nagashizzar now," a chorus of sniggering voices answered him breathily, airy and solid at the same time, and their dancing fingers skated over his exposed skin, digging into his back, scraping over his sling and up his bicep, making him grit his teeth at the pressure on the reddened flesh. The trailing sensation continued as they prodded at the long, ugly scar that wound down his neck to end in a jagged twist below his shoulderblades. "You belong to us."
Obi-Wan straightened proudly, jaw set, pointedly ignoring the hand against his navel that drifted inquisitively lower. "I belong to no one."
Somewhere in the blackness beyond a door swung open, and the sense of something massive, oppressive, terrifying infiltrated Obi-Wan's perception: a huge dark shape against lighter shadows, strapped into but barely contained by creaking and rotting leather and metal, with twin points of glowing emerald burning from eye sockets a good meter above Obi-Wan's cropped ginger spikes. A deep laugh broke across the air and the servants surrounding Obi-Wan gasped and squealed in horror and scraped away as swiftly as their twisted forms would allow, leaving the Knight straining into the darkness to catch a better glimpse of the malevolent presence he had sensed before in the throne room that had now reentered his space.
"We both know that's not true, little Jedi," a voice murmured, low and melodious and soothing, with an otherworldly depth to it that thrummed under Obi-Wan's skin. Obi-Wan's mind screamed a warning of danger! and the rest of him was inclined to agree.
"Come now," were the next words to sound in his mind and ears, "and walk with me."
His clothes had been taken with nothing else provided to him, but Obi-Wan was determined not to display the vulnerability he felt. He had played this game many times before with tyrants who wished to use cruelty and mocking to display their superiority - he also knew that this creature may very well be his best hope for finding a way out of this darkness.
Grimly, the Knight squared his shoulders and followed, using the enormous being at his side as a guide as they navigated the shadows.
"All of us have a purpose, little Jedi."
Obi-Wan's lips twisted, the hallway runner soft and uncomfortably sticky beneath his bare feet. "Yes, I know," he retorted calmly, adding, "My purpose actually involves being somewhere other than here, doing things other than talking with you, so if you don't mind, the front door, please …?" the Knight trailed off with an expectant pause.
His sarcasm fell on an unexpectedly amused audience and the answering chuckle surprised him. "And yet here you are, little Jedi. So perhaps you are wrong."
Obi-Wan didn't have a reply for that so he stayed silent, walking alongside the massive shape dwarfing him in the dark. Their path led them down many halls, far-spaced pinpricks of ever-distant torches set in the walls their only illumination yet the creature guiding Obi-Wan knew exactly where they were going and his heavy, scraping bootfalls were consistent and sure. Eventually they reached a large set of double doors which opened easily before them, and the pair stepped into the light. Obi-Wan almost wept at the assault on his eyes, but it was a joyous reacquainting after being long in darkness.
He waited impatiently for the brittle pricks of light to recede as his vision slowly cleared; from what his squinting gaze could tell, they stood in a large library. The light of many candles cast a golden glow over bookshelves that reached floor to ceiling and danced teasingly off golden jewelry, dishes, and other artifacts set out for display. This room felt completely different than the others the Knight had seen thus far; the heat was still stifling as it was throughout the fortress, but this place - at first sight - lacked the oppressive pall of death that hung over the rest of Nagashizzar like a suffocating shroud.
His eyes finally having adjusted to light, the Jedi turned to face his host squarely, and his words died soundless on dry lips.
On Naboo, when the Jedi had first encountered the Zabrak Sith Obi-Wan had eventually slain, the then-Padawan had been momentarily unnerved by the Sith's intentionally grotesque appearance; but even prior to that meeting in the Nubian hangar, Obi-Wan had seen things in his life that would have made any trained warrior quail. He'd recovered, however, and after a long and draining battle, sliced the monster in half.
By himself, after Qui-Gon had abandoned him.
Not 'abandoned,' Obi-Wan corrected himself instinctively, automatically. Reprioritized and decided he was needed more elsewhere.
Obi-Wan realized that he was distracting himself from the present with battle humor - a built-in defense mechanism he couldn't quite get over - and grimly forced himself to ignore his battered, naked body, stand tall, and look this horror in its glowing green eyes.
Nagash was the name of his captor, the one who had plucked him from an immediate and probably far more merciful death and brought him here to his mountain fortress. Whatever creature he had once been Obi-Wan could not fathom: vaguely humanoid based on his structure, now wasted away to mere shreds of flesh clinging to a gargantuan, gleaming skeletal body wrapped in massive metal armor. The same jade glow that illuminated the path to Nagashizzar lit the creature's body from within, giving it an eerie, otherworldly appearance - apart from the fact that it was a giant walking skeleton, of course.
Ugly bastard, Obi-Wan thought, raising an eyebrow as the two regarded each other silently; again Obi-Wan felt his mettle was being measured, and he didn't much like the appraising tilt to the fleshy bits clinging to Nagash's mouth.
When Nagash spoke again, it was in a voice low and hypnotic to the listener. "I have decided your present purpose," he rumbled, sounding quite satisfied, and Obi-Wan quirked a grin he wasn't altogether feeling.
"Release me?" he questioned drolly. "I have a lot to do, I'm afraid, and I can't stay - despite your incredible hospitality," Obi-Wan added wryly with a flick of his free hand toward his unclothed and dirty gauze-wrapped body.
Something that might have been a laugh stuttered through crumbling grey teeth but his sarcasm was again ignored. A wave of a heavily studded gauntlet drew Obi-Wan's gaze to follow its arcing path. "Look around, little Jedi. Before you lies the history of Nagash and of Nagashizzar, and the telling of the end of the world."
Obi-Wan glanced around; in truth, he was fascinated by the ancient library, and he noted with intrigued curiosity that the majority of the numerous shelves were empty: only a few dozen brittle books lined one small space. The library, it seemed, just as Nagashizzar itself, was a display of fading opulence and dimming glory, ghosts now roaming the halls instead of the living.
"You already know the end of your world?" Obi-Wan asked dryly, awed despite himself at the waning grandeur surrounding him. "Doesn't that make every day incredibly boring?"
His comments were, predictably, ignored; he was an amusing diversion, it seemed, a child patronized by a distracted parent. "You will tend my history, little Jedi," Nagash informed him lowly, his jaw clicking as bone scraped against bone. "You shall be the keeper of my lore until it is time for you to fulfill your higher purpose."
"Ah, yes, again with my 'purpose," Obi-Wan replied with a succinct nod. "And what would you know of my purpose?"
"More than you can comprehend, little Jedi," was the immediate reply. Nagash inclined his skull in a manner Obi-Wan thought was meant to be gracious. "Take the first book, and read."
"Thanks, but I don't really do the blind obedience thing," Obi-Wan waved him off politely. "And as I've already said multiple times, I really do have other places to be … "
"Then I will have the other Jedi killed upon his arrival," Nagash said simply.
Obi-Wan's mouth turned down dryly even as he swallowed against the sudden chill that rushed through his stiff limbs. Qui-Gon was coming here? Obi-Wan didn't know whether to weep for joy or moan in dismay that his master hadn't left him behind after all. He settled for clenching his jaw tightly and resolving to watch for any opportunity to escape and warn Qui-Gon away.
"How about I read?" he suggested wryly, and Nagash's broken teeth stretched into an approving grin. More curious than compelled, Obi-Wan moved steadily over the thickly-carpeted floor to retrieve the first book from the row. The light of the library made him keenly aware of his lack of clothing, and he kept his gaze firmly away from his mottled flesh and the smearing of red across his skin that didn't entirely belong to him but was left as a reminder of his grisly journey to Nagashizzar aboard the corpse cart.
He reached out with his right hand; as soon as his slim fingers graced the book's binding Obi-Wan shuddered: something was off …
He peered carefully at the book as it fell open in his palm, and a deep revulsion began to grow in his stomach. The pages were fashioned from flesh, likely human, the writing filling page after page with smooth lines of crimson that had darkened over time. Obi-Wan almost dropped the book, but the threat against Qui-Gon was still loud in his ears.
"Read," Nagash encouraged, the warning clear in his tone.
Obi-Wan gingerly settled the gruesome volume on a low table, a little awkwardly with his left hand trapped against his chest in its sling, and shivered as his fingers slid under the soft pages and turned.
"And a plague shall be released upon the land," he began, but a flash of blinding white cut across his vision as lightning sliced mercilessly through his skull. Obi-Wan cried aloud and staggered; he would have slumped to his knees on the carpet but he managed to hook an arm on the table to keep himself barely upright. The Knight would soon learn well the consequences for disobedience and be more pliable and ready to follow orders, but for now he shot a hateful glance at Nagash.
"I may spare the other Jedi since you've demonstrated your willingness to obey despite your pithy attempts at rebelling," Nagash informed him, "but know that his life hangs upon your obedience." A slow smile slid across the creature's face. "These are the forbidden tomes, cursed to punish any mortal that would dare to lay eyes on them. To simply speak the words aloud is worth a thousand sorrows. And yet you, little Jedi, will indeed be my history's keeper for the present." The smile widened hungrily, hatefully. "Read it again," he commanded.
Obi-Wan grit his teeth. "'And a plague shall be released upon the - '" Another bolt of agony streaking through his already overburdened frame and this time he sank to the floor, twitching and swallowing convulsively to gasp past the worst of it. He couldn't do this … he couldn't …
"Again," Nagash commanded mercilessly, and Obi-Wan thought of Qui-Gon miserably.
"A-and a … pl…plague," Obi-Wan whispered, nearly senseless from the torment but somehow aware enough to clamp his jaw shut forcefully when Nagash knelt beside him, his looming presence blocking out the light and bringing the clogging smell of death to overwhelm his senses.
"Soon the world will know this plague, for none shall be left untouched," the creature murmured, and he wrapped his skeletal fingers over Obi-Wan's shoulder tightly. His excitement was palpable. "A plague to swell the ranks of my armies, to fill Nagashizzar with the loyal once more."
He smiled at Obi-Wan, cold and heartless. "You ask me what I know of your purpose? This I say to you, Obi-Wan Kenobi… "
Nagash waited until Obi-Wan lifted cloudy grey eyes to face him before pronouncing:
"Though you might now wish for death, it will not yet be granted to you. Not until you no longer ache for it, But once you have decided to live again."
Nagash's grotesque smile widened, his cold fingers digging deep into Obi-Wan's skin.
"You will choose to live just in time to be released from this life by the one who is your closest friend."
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