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Chapter 36. The Shadow of the Dark
Within the shadows, one watched and mourned an opportunity lost. It had been such an unexpected temptation and so shortly after his infiltration of the Temple.
Murder the Chancellor and be sure Obi-Wan Kenobi took the blame. Watch the poor boy beg that the truth be heard even as the noose tightened around his slender neck. Watch the light drain from those damn changeable eyes and the Force writhe as an innocent murderer paid the price for another's crime.
But it was an idea born of an opportunity and thwarted by circumstance. He had heard enough and seen enough to know Kenobi carried no lightsaber and for all intents and purposes could not summon the Force. The Chancellor had been escorted around the Temple and even in his meeting with Kenobi, had been inaccessible to mere physical assault.
Such a shame it was, though, so tempting…for the penalty for treason was death. Who would have stood for Justice? Yoda? Windu?
From what he gathered, Jinn would probably not mind.
The boy, Skywalker, the one for which he had come, would be hard to restrain.
Whatever the manner of his death would have been – hanging, decapitation, or firing squad - Kenobi would at last be dead and at the hand of his brethren beside. There would be no one to mourn his miserable existence once it ceased to be. But there were other ways to achieve revenge, other ways to break the man he blamed for taking the life he should have had.
That time would be soon.
After all these years, the snot-nosed brat's time was drawing near.
And there was nothing the one he worked for could do about it, for he himself meant to use Kenobi, albeit against Jinn, then toss both men away as refuse of the Force. Gods, half the known universe hated Kenobi. Despite orders to merely torment but leave the apprentice alive until further notice, he meant to be the one to remove him from this life and send him to the eternal torment of the Force's dark soul.
So the cowled figure, hidden within shadows, grinned and padded away to his lair, content to watch and wait. The most hazardous part was now behind him. Insinuating himself into the Temple had been as ridiculously easy as ever. "Safe" within the Force, the Jedi never dreamed that safety was an illusion.
It wouldn't be long before they discovered different. The shadows were creeping ever closer; one day soon they would crawl over one and claim him – for eternity.
"No, don't hurt Iego, don't," Anakin shrieked. But the cloaked man came closer, talons spread.
"Rid yourself of this weakness, boy. Break all that chains you and you will be free."
"Free?" His tear-stained face looked at the seldt-pup, then up to the man's hooded face. Inside two burning eyes stared back. Black as the deepest ebony, the thickness of night on a planet far from the comforting twinkling of stars that graced the galaxy's core, the weight of having the name "slave" define one's life, all that and more were in those eyes.
"Roam the stars, boy."
Anakin ached to be there, surrounded by the light, known only as Anakin Skywalker, son of Shmi, belonging to no one else.
"You can't reach for the stars with your arms full."
A whimper escaped his lips. Shivering desperately, he tried to back away, his grip tightening. The voice and the taloned hands followed.
"You can be the Chosen One."
"I want – I want to be me."
The shadow loomed above him. "You will learn the power of life and death, but how can you learn to give life if you do not take it?"
Under his hands, the pup whimpered.
Then there was only silence. The cowled man smiled; the broken-hearted boy – wept.
He stood in a bleak wasteland, a worn cloak billowing around him in the frigid air. He was alone under a shadow-clouded sky, a storm not far off.
"This is your destiny." The words, a memory, rushed through him as he blinked against the stinging wind. "You will farm this land. Plow and till it, raise crops to feed those who need sustenance to live. You will not partake of the bounty."
"Not even a miracle would bring crops without seeds, a harvest without tools, from this land." He spoke quietly and with utter certainty.
"You speak as if I speak of food; I speak of another type of crop, young fool. You will plant souls here and reap scorn and disdain. You will continue to do so until your own has been drained from your body."
"I do not wish to lose my soul."
"You already have. Look around you. This is the Plain of Damnation where the fallen molder and decay. No one comes here unless invited and by choice."
"I made no choice." His voice was steady.
"But you did. You chose to dishonor your training and your master; you chose revenge."
"I chose – the Force and stepped away from that path."
Cackling laughter accompanied the crash of thunder. "There is no stepping away once one has set foot on it. A choice made in ignorance and regretted is still a choice already made."
A bolt of lightning struck the ground not far away, cracking the soil.
"Summon the lightning to prepare the ground for soon you will be planting the first of the souls you will steal."
"I refuse."
"You have no choice, my disciple. You are trapped in a future you created for yourself."
And the world went dark.
Had the Council not heard one word he had said?
"He is dangerous," he had warned them.
"He is to be knighted," they had said in return.
He was used to the Council disregarding his insights and dismissing his instincts. But this was beyond indignation; this was humiliation.
"A great Jedi Obi-Wan has become and in no small part because of your guidance. To have killed a Sith while yet a padawan – why, we're wondering if the prophecy was misunderstood; perhaps Obi-Wan is the Chosen one."
Now the Council was downright insulting. Anakin was the Chosen One: he had the highest midichlorian count ever recorded; he had almost single-handedly saved Naboo and without any training, thank you very much; and, he was conceived of the Force.
"You can't be serious: he fought in anger and fear! He twisted the Force to selfish ends, he-"
"To save your life," Mace observed dryly. "We noticed the Force responded as well; it seemed to have no objections to his actions."
"A Jedi does not command the Force, surely you know that! It is not a tool but a guide and a Jedi who feels it is acceptable to use and twist the Force to his own ends is no Jedi at all and in fact is a danger. I tell you Obi-Wan's actions are unacceptable and at the minimum worthy of censure. The fact that I survived is of no matter."
"Many of us would disagree with that assessment. You are a valued member of this Order."
"So any means, any method is now considered acceptable? Survival trumps intentions? Success trumps methods?"
"Get a grip on yourself, Master Qui-Gon," Mace snapped. "Unlike you, this Council has looked at the entire picture rather than focusing on just one small aspect. Your padawan –"
"Former!" he snapped.
"-your former padawan faced in real life a trial we could not have dreamed up for him. He confronted the dark –"
"he was consumed by it –"
"-he moved past it –"
"-he embraced it –"
"-he rejected it –"
"-he killed in revenge for my death," he thundered at the twelve moronic dunderheads before him. "He murdered the Sith, for killing in anger and fear is MURDER!"
The accusation rang in the suddenly still air. Even the Force seemed to hold its breath lest it tip the balance. Chest heaving, Qui-Gon desperately tried to make the Council see the monster that Obi-Wan had become, feel the darkness that now lurked behind the boyish façade. He knew, oh, how he knew how rotten the core was because – because he had cast him aside for cause. With reason. He knew what he was doing.
He would not make any of this up; there was a reason…because there just had to be.
Because the Force wouldn't lie to him.
It wouldn't let him destroy what had once been precious to him, not without a reason.
"You are deluded, Master Jinn…deluded – deluded – deluded," eleven Councilors sing-songed their agreement in turns.
"Honor him we will." Yoda's gravelly voice rose in alto counterpoint.
"You dishonor yourselves! Revered masters, it is you who are deluded," he argued.
Mace's smile only dimmed a bit. "You may shut up anytime now, Master Jinn. We've agreed that Obi-Wan shall be immediately knighted and if you don't like it, you may honor challenge him to a duel to the death."
"Once he has disposed of you, then he can be promoted to Master in recognition of his deeds," Ki-Adi-Mundi threw in, much to the delighted agreement of the twelve fools – that is to say, the Jedi Council. Qui-Gon only stared, aghast. This was madness – this was insane – this was – was, well whatever it was, it was wrong. Wrong!
"Let's create a seat for him on the Council," Master Gallia proposed.
"Let's abdicate and let him be the Council!"
"Are you all nuts? You are all under his influence – he has deceived you. You sign your own death warrants; you must see this!" Hands on his lips, he stood tall, one man against the insanity. Light shone upon him, rimming his body, proof positive that the Force was indeed with him. As the light strengthened about him, it slipped further and further from those he faced.
Darkness spread like a ripple from a stone thrown into still waters, emanating from him – the one he had once called "padawan." Now he only called him "betrayer."
"Cast out the darkness before it consumes you," he pleaded.
"Truer words were never spoken. Cast him out," Yoda cackled. Twelve pairs of hands rose and an invisible Force slammed Qui-Gon out of the chambers and deposited him on his backside. "Cast out the darkness is…party time it is, break out the booze we shall!"
With a jolt, Qui-Gon was upright and breathing out his shock and dismay. He looked around and fell back against his pillow. That last vision of Yoda whipping off his robe and whirling it around his head in mad celebration while Mace danced a reel with Yareel Poof and Adi Gallia sat on Oppo Rancisis's lap had brought on a headache worse than any he had ever had in his entire life.
Not to mention the disturbing sight of Chancellor Palpatine plying Anakin with sweet fruits in the anteroom while the Sith killed on Naboo serenaded them with a ballad. Not even the night following his knighting ceremony and subsequent celebration had been as full of disturbing images.
And what scared him more than the dream was the knowledge that not all of it was a dream; some of it was grounded in reality.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had raged against Qui-Gon Jinn's death, had slain the one responsible and had not been admonished, censured, or expelled by the Council but had instead been protected and sheltered by the very head of that Council.
And as much as he might wish it were so, this temporary "custodial arrangement" was not remotely akin to protective custody as it should be for a fallen Jedi or even just one trembling on the edge.
Mace really does not even care that Obi-Wan touched the dark! Surely he must know the truth.
To say Qui-Gon was unsettled would be a bit of an understatement. Qui-Gon could not believe Mace's insinuations and words. Worse, how dared he risk the younglings? If Obi-Wan was as unstable as he feared, as Anakin insisted it was increasingly being whispered around the Temple, Mace was taking a fearful risk.
Why wasn't there anyone who would listen to his doubts and suspicions with an open mind? Someone like – he clapped his forehead and groaned – yes, Master Lilebeth de Nichoise was due back at the Temple a week ago but had been delayed and was now expected – yesterday. Late; perhaps Ni'sha hadn't yet had time to report to the Council and settle in and contact her friends.
Unlike the rest of the Temple who seemed to be under his former padawan's spell, Ni'sha had never been all that fond of Obi-Wan. She'd admitted it was simply incompatible personalities; she did not dislike Obi-Wan but she did not particularly like him either.
Cheeky little Sith she'd muttered a time or time when Obi-Wan had "forgotten his place." Such times were the same as when Qui-Gon had forgotten his role as master, when the two had found relief from stress with jokes and taunts.
"Ah, your life is in my hands now, Master." Obi-Wan had snatched Qui-Gon's lightsaber during a saber practice and danced around, chortling. "Attention to the moment lacking, master mine?"
Just as Qui-Gon had attempted to physically wrestle his padawan free of his ill-gotten prize, the lightsaber had been called to the hand of another.
Mortified, Obi-Wan had stood still as Ni'sha lectured him on "frivolous use of the Force," all the while tapping Qui-Gon's lightsaber against her thigh in her agitation. He'd been twice as mortified when the lightsaber had sailed from Ni'sha's hand to Master Yoda's.
"Your own attention lacking it is while you lecture the padawan," he had said, handing the lightsaber back to Qui-Gon. "Having fun with his master he was. Encourage this I do."
It was a gentle reprimand that expected no answer and received none.
Ni'sha had bowed, a spot of color burning in her cheeks, he remembered, while his poor padawan stared at the floor, a slight tremble in his fingers the only sign of his discomfiture. As for himself: he had been shocked into silence the whole time, not even intervening as his friend harangued his apprentice. He could only be grateful that Yoda had done what he had not: put an end to it.
He hadn't even reassured the boy that he had done no wrong, merely laid a hand on his shoulder and suggest he leave to work on a class assignment he had been given recently.
"Yes, Master. Forgive me, Master de Nichoise." The words had been formal – and the last the youth spoke that day.
Qui-Gon sighed. He had really been quite disgruntled with Ni'sha; her sharp rebuke had been excessive to the not-really-an-infraction that Obi-Wan had committed in a playful moment and really, one all but encouraged by his master. Yet he had allowed her behavior to pass without comment.
Why?
Unconscious recognition of what he saw now in hindsight? Because there had been an honest kernel of truth in her words. Misuse of the Force was a serious matter, whether casual or intentional; its wanton use in the pursuit of frivolity and mirth was borderline disrespectful and rightly reprimanded.
A serious lesson in the unorthodox use of the Force while fighting had devolved into mischief and merriment. Ni'sha had seen past his apprentice's gasps of laughter and put a stop to it before it went too far.
Her ability to see past the obvious was what he needed now, to have her confirm or dispute his fears and suspicions about that same padawan. Of all the Jedi he knew, she was the least likely to be swayed by personal bias, whether for or against his truth – or Obi-Wan's.