LIVING HISTORY
by ardavenport
= = = Part 8
They all started and looked toward the platform being built at the far end of the great hall where a huge gray slab had just fallen. Some people yelled and a big yellow lifter droid backed away on its treads, beeping loudly as it went.
"What are they doing there? Is that the stage?" Obi-Wan wondered out loud.
"It's not any ordinary stage." Yana pointed. "It's for a History Play. They've got to do everything from scratch, in a place that hasn't been built for it. And it's not just the stage; they have to put in room for the orchestra. And because this space isn't designed for proper viewing, we're going to have a tilted stage with a grav adjustment. They've already got the generator there. And those boxes," she pointed to huge, tall boxes on either side of the construction area, "are for redesigning the acoustics. Otherwise, the reverb would kill us with these stone walls."
"It's not like working in a real theater, where you've got everything you need." Jutwa moved to Obi-Wan's other side. "But this happens a lot with History Plays. That's part of the challenge. You're not a real pro unless you've done the History Mystery tour."
"I'm just hoping for something better than singing in the background." Yana hugged herself. "I don't want to come all this way and end up just getting scraps."
"You call this scraps?" Timoz turned to her critically, "we're here, we're in and a lot of others didn't. Even if you get just one walk-on and one note."
"Oh, really? And what part do you think Twunar is going to get?"
Obi-Wan saw both Timoz and Jutwa flinch.
"Who is Twunar?"
"He's the one who ran off when he missed his steps," Yana said solemnly.
"And didn't come back," Jutwa finished, his green eyes serious, his square jaw set. "That's the worst. You've got to be tested for all the major parts. At least Judra took her turn again after Tykon chewed her out. But Twunar missed it. And this is only the first audition."
"Twunar didn't come back. Tykon will never take him for any of the other parts now. He's out." Yana shook her head.
"His uncle's the Director in one of the other Regions; he'll get a bit part there," Timoz's expression distorted with distaste. But Yana reacted with surprise.
"Not for this event. It's too big. This isn't just some dead king memorial. His uncle would never be a Director again if he let him in his Play after washing out here with Tykon."
Timoz remained skeptical, but they all seemed happy to drop the subject. Around them, nearly all the performers had left the hall, leaving only the stage work crew making random echoing bangs and machine noises.
Yana initiated a tour of the Castle for Obi-Wan and her friends with the pretense of looking for some good practice space for the next day's audition.
They had been auditioning in Tamwa Hall, the immense center of the Naardin Castle, named after the Lord who had built it, the Castle's first major addition since being built before the time of Darth Yarr. It would hold an audience of more than two thousand people for the performance. Around the perimeter were archways that led to the three wings, dubbed Mountain, Plain and Lake, named for the geographical features that they faced. They were all sprawling hallways, sub-levels and towers.
Performers had appropriated some of the rooms for their practicing for the next audition. Other rooms were occupied by the stage crew with noisy fabricating machines, or by costume and prop makers. Falgan gave them a cross look when they peered into his work area. There were no advanced droids at all, just simple work machines and binaries. The Castle was maintained and operated as it had been for thousands of years though they did have compact power generators and other conveniences in the lower levels.
All the Castle staff politely bowed to Obi-Wan and addressed him as Venerate as they offered him assistance or explained their duties. But they frowned toward the three performers with him without saying anything. Yana told him that all the cast and crew of the History Play were limited to their assigned living, practice and performing areas. But as a visiting Venerate, Obi-Wan (and anyone with him) could go nearly anywhere he liked. Timoz and Jutwa seemed to enjoy the extra privileges and never got around to finding a good place to practice.
The one place where they were not allowed to go were the music rooms. They heard the sound of the orchestra coming from a large room as someone exited from it. Two people by the door refused to let them them go in. One passing Castle staff member looked scandalized that they would deny Obi-Wan entry and promised to report them to her superiors, but the music techs held their ground. Not wanting to get anyone in trouble, he denied that there was any problem and withdrew quickly, his three companions following.
"Sssats, Mwemas and Aka must think they're running the whole production," Jutwa complained, his pale brows lowered. "It's not like we haven't had to memorize almost the whole score already."
"Didn't they write it?" Obi-Wan asked. He remembered the names from the mission briefing. Roobi Mwemas was the Music Director in charge of the orchestra and singing, Thwurn Aka was the Composer, along with Quembu Smetin who co-wrote the story and the lyrics; they and Director Tykon had worked on it for over a year. And they were the artistic representatives of the Committee in charge of the Play. Custodian Tykon, the Lady of the Tower and Qui-Gon were the Venerates of the History Play, with Director Tykon as head of the whole Committee.
"Well, yes, but they don't own it. Not even Tykon owns it, but I guess, since Mwemas and Tykon were together for awhile, she thinks that she's on his level." Yana snapped. Then she grimaced as if she wanted to take her words back. "Sorry, Venerate Jedi Obi-Wan, I didn't mean to speak so sharply. They just . . . well, they didn't have any right to keep you out. It's not like that's not a hidden door or anything and they're not working in any of the hallowed, sacred places here."
Obi-Wan was pretty sure that he was not the one who the music techs wanted to keep out, and he especially wanted to stay away from any conflicts about who was in charge. "I don't need to see any of that anyway. I'm not a musician." All three performers looked relieved that he was not offended thought they still gave the music rooms behind them some cross glances.
Continuing down a corridor, they turned a corner and entered a wide hallway with tall windows. He could see most of the Castle towers, including the one Qui-Gon now rested in, more than twice as tall as all the others. To change the subject, he asked what was in the other towers.
"Us!" Jutwa laughed, her cheerfulness immediately returning. The others joined in. With most of the Play cast and crew and the staff, the Castle was accomodating more than three times the number of people who usually stayed there. All the other towers had been converted to dormitory rooms, with sleeping cots and portable freshers everywhere. Even Custodian Tykon had two other members of her staff staying in her rooms.
"Its a good thing everyone is so tired at the end of the day or we'd be on each other's nerves a lot more than we are," Yana told him.
Obi-Wan was a little embarrassed to tell them how much space that he and Qui-Gon had in the tower apartment. They eagerly listened to anything he had to say about it. Almost no one except the Lady of the Tower went up there and she was known as some kind of holy hermit. Yana and her friends were even more impressed that he had actually met her.
"Maybe we could practice up there?" Timoz suggested, looking out a tall window up toward the tower apartment. Obi-Wan shook his head.
"We're the only ones allowed up there, other than the Castle staff. And besides, my Master is resting there now."
"Oh, no! We know we can't go up there. That is a hallowed place," Yana laughed the suggestion off. "Going into any of the places that are off limits here could get us bounced from the Play, and besides, going up there would be sacrilege. Almost as bad as exposing the Mystery before the Play."
"There's no place I need to go in here for me to risk that," Jutwa agreed, "but we really need to get back to practicing the other parts." He sighed glumly. "I don't have a good feeling about Keth, but there's more than one part in this thing, and I'm going to get one." Some wordless expressions of determination passed between the three dancers. Yana turned her brown eyes to Obi-Wan.
"I'm sure you'll all do well." It was an empty statement, but he did not have a better way to respond to their earnest and naked ambition.
By the time they returned to the great hall, the Play crew droids were laying out tables and chairs for evening meal. The sun was low in the sky, the golden yellow light coming in from the tall windows. Yana invited him to sit and eat with them and practice with them later, but he excused himself to go up and check on Qui-Gon.
She and the others looked disappointed. "You couldn't come down later, for a little extra practice with us?"
He shook his head. "I don't think I can."
Yana's expression remained soured for a second before her smile returned. "I hope your Venerate Jedi Master is feeling better tomorrow."
"I think he will be. The healers were very aggressive." He frowned, remembering the treatment they had both gotten the night before. "They said they had to be, to keep the virus from spreading."
Yana, Timoz and Jutwa looked back at him with confounded expressions. "We heard he had food poisoning," Yana explained.
Obi-Wan shook his head. "They called it a serphrada virus. They had to give me a shot for it, too, so I wouldn't spread it." Mentally, he could still feel where Healer Zhenum had stuck the needle in."
Timoz gasped and Yana explained again. "We heard that they had serphrada in the Majwaru and the Poonkagree Lands, but we didn't know anyone in Naardin had it, too."
"The healers said that they wanted a quarantine," Obi-Wan told them. "They were very unhappy that they didn't get one after my Master became ill. Is it serious?"
"Well," Jutwa looked a little uncertain, "only if you get it. My father had it and it's not too bad if you get treated right away."
"Speak for yourself." Timoz's lip curled. "I've had it and it's awful."
"Then you don't have anything to worry about; you're immune," she shot back.
"That's not what we have to worry about," Yana spoke seriously. "If there's an epidemic; even a little one, they could cancel everything."
"They wouldn't!" Timoz denied, blue eyes wide. "They can't! With all the work they've put into it. And Tykon would never stand for it. They'd just delay things at worst."
Yana shook her head. "For how long? And if it's really bad, Mwetta could be blamed that they didn't stop it sooner; she could even lose her position." The three friends exchanged worried looks. At worst, their mission would only be a wasted trip for the Jedi. But he could sense their dread. They had worked so hard.
"You shouldn't worry." The three dancers looked at him. "If it happens, then we will all deal with it then. Fearing what will happen . . . " he paused, not sure if they would understand if he finished with 'leads to the Dark Side', " . . . will only make it worse," he finished, paraphrasing that common Jedi teaching.
Yana gave him a little bit of a smile and the tension lessened. "You're right. Worrying about the Play being canceled will just jinx the auditions for us if it isn't." The others agreed.
"See you tomorrow." Yana reached to hug him and then very obviously pulled back and he was not sure it was entirely because o his rank as a Venerate. The healer had told him that he wasn't contagious, but he understood her sudden reticence.
Obi-Wan watched them go for a moment, back to their friends gathering for the meal, laughing, hugging, chatting, before he turned to go up the stairs to the gallery and then up to the tower back to his Master.
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The walls were closing in.
Images of curved wooden struts and carved pillars glowed under his eyelids. Everywhere swirling lined patterns, and a light smoothness under his fingertips.
He could not stay. It was killing him. Draining the life from him, minute by minute.
But he had to stay. It was only thing he had left, the staying. The only thing that was him. His whole existence was staying in that place while time slid past.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
Qui-Gon's eyes opened.
The light had changed. The shadows had moved into late afternoon. He had slept most of the day.
He lifted his head from the pillow, pushed himself up on his elbows, threw back the clean coverings and swung his legs over the side to the floor, smooth and cool under his bare feet.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
Sebo was still in the garden, tending the plants. Or perhaps she had gone and come back.
He looked about and saw a dark brown lump with the rest of his things on the bench at the end of sleeping platform. He stood, extended his arms and stretched his whole body. The bones in his neck cracked; it felt very good. He went around to the bench, picked up his robe and put it on over the long plain tunic he wore.
He took a step.
No dizziness.
He took another.
No dizziness.
He breathed in deeply, looking for it, lurking somewhere, but he felt nothing other than his own suspicion that something so persistent would not vanish so easily. He shrugged, straightening his robe. If it was to return, it would. He would not anticipate it.
He found Sebo clipping withered leaves from the lower branches of a flowing tree in a big round pot by the outer railing of the balcony. Her hands moved nimbly, pulling out the yellow and brown leaves from the healthy ones and tucking them into a bag hung around her neck.
A path of planks ran between the lush plants on either side of the wide balcony. Looking down both sides of the curve that encircled the apartment, Qui-Gon saw well-tended fruit trees and boxes of orderly greens. Blossoms and fragrant herbs scented the air. Tiny lizards and slow, hovering insects darted among the leaves.
Sebo, her back still toward him moved on to a cluster of ferns, spilling out of a box at waist level. Beyond her, the foothills of the nearby mountain range rose up, snowy caps in the distance. The late afternoon light on them turned golden toward sunset. A light breeze pulled on the long, loose strands of Qui-Gon's hair.
He saw forested hills beyond two tall bushes. Going to the balcony, he looked down at the layout of a garden courtyards and the sloped gray roofs of the rest of the Castle below. There were a few dwellings scattered up among the trees in the foothills with most of a nearby town on the other side toward the plain and lake. There were other towers, but the largest of them was less than half as tall as the apartment's spire. Immediately below the balcony, rows of curving metalwork and spikes encircled the entire tower. Behind and above, Qui-Gon saw the same elaborate decoration crowning the roof of the apartment with one enormous spike rising from the center. A large bird flew overhead, crossing the blue sky. It dove down to the gardens below and he followed it. . . . .
Qui-Gon grabbed the railing tightly and locked his elbows, but he still felt as if he was falling forward. He remained frozen, conscious of his rigid body and the high, solid railing supporting him, but trapped by the swaying in his head. He closed his eyes.
"Qui-Gon. . . . ?"
= = = End Part 8