Chapter 6. Flood

The day was uneventful and grey. After lastmeal Obi-Wan and Tur were sitting in the garden, meditating in the rays of the waning sun. The twilight descended slowly, silencing the nature and creeping around the artificial lights of their home.

As Obi-Wan emerged from his trance, he saw Tur leaning against the tree, gazing at the horizon.

– Seen something?

– No. Wasn't much excitement till you came with thunder and lightning, – the man sprang to his feet with extraordinary grace, giving the padawan a hand up.

Obi-Wan followed the ex-Jedi to the house, an uneasiness tingling at the back of his mind.

– Anything wrong? – perceptive as always, Tur must have noticed his lagging behind.

– Don't know. It's… weird. Like… probing.

– Probing?

– Yes, as if… there was something in my head.

Tur frowned, crouching in front of the teen and placing his palms on the both sides of Obi-Wan's face, and narrowed his eyes, apparently disquieted by his observations.

– Ever felt that before?

– N-no, I… guess not. Wait… But no, that's irrelevant.

– What?

– When I was still Rhad's padawan. He… said he "scanned my mind". To make sure I wasn't hiding stuff and all that. But it was before he…

– Doesn't matter. The coincidence is uncanny. Obi-Wan!

The youth cried out and doubled over, pressing his palms to his temples. Tur was just on time to catch him when Obi-Wan's knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground, gulping air through his mouth.

– Obi-Wan, talk to me! What is it?

– H-h-him… – the teen whispered, his grasp on consciousness slipping away as a foreign presence was clawing at his shields, tearing through his head.

–Rhad? – receiving no response, Tur shook the fading youth and gently tapped his face, desperately trying to keep him conscious. – Obi-Wan! Answer me!

– He… it's like words… I h-hear him… in my head… can't… make out what… – Obi-Wan gasped, breathless, panic and agony swirling in his mind.

– He shouldn't be able to do this, - muttered Tur, hauling the youth's arm around his shoulder and half-dragging him into the house. – It's a severed bond, it doesn't connect to anything, how the Sith is that even possible!

As they had made their way up to a small room lined with durasteel shelves and containers, the older man let Obi-Wan go, and he braced himself against the doorframe, feeling as his knees nearly gave out. Tur was silent, obviously debating some course of action in his head and rummaging furiously through the obsolete cram stuffed in the drawers. His collected but swift movements were too much for Obi-Wan's slipping grip on reality, causing colourful dots perform their wild dance all around him. Even within the confines of the house, where no Force-detection could reach, he felt only marginally better, as if the attack had set off some explosive in his head. Obi-Wan became vaguely aware that somehow Tur knew about it, in fact, even anticipated such a development, and he idly wondered how, resting his left temple against the pleasantly cool surface.

– Sorry, kid, but there's no other way to help you, - Tur's voice trickled into his befuddled mind.

– What..? – fear triggered a semblance of alertness, and it was a nice change, but it was getting hard to focus and he was free falling, spinning, spinning, out of control, weightless…

– .. me? … hear…. Can you hear me? – the older man's hands were holding his face, the intent look demanding an answer.

– Yes, obviously, – snapped Obi-Wan, suddenly jolting to awareness, as if pulled to the surface of a deep well. - What is this? – he truly hoped his voice wasn't betraying his growing unease and returning dizziness.

- A Force collar, – muttered Tur. – Now shut up and sit down, – he barked, pressing gently, but firmly on the youth's shoulders, forcing him down on the only chair in the room. Before Obi-Wan could process the information, the former Jedi's hands went around his neck, and the youth felt cold metal on his skin, a broken circle with its ends slowly creeping to connect. There was a soft click as the locking mechanism snapped into place, and –

He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt drained both of oxygen and the strength to pull in some air, deflated and heavy like flat tires. He tried to shout, to call for help, but his vocal chords refused to obey and he choked, soundlessly moving his lips, his hands clawing at his throat. Somebody's fingers wrapped around his wrists, forcing them down, holding them, but no reprieve, no help came, nothing to loosen the suffocating stripe of metal wound around his throat. He was cold, freezing cold. Blinking, frantically trying to focus his gaze, his eyes encountered only the constantly swirling greyness, fading to nearly black. Through the maelstrom of dizziness, the roaring in his ears, through moaning and choking, which, as he suddenly realized, was coming from himself, Obi-Wan faintly heard a familiar voice, one he had held onto during his recovery, firm, deep and reassuring.

– Breathe, Obi-Wan. You can breathe, no matter how it feels. You don't need the Force to do it. Come on, breathe. – He was vaguely aware of being lowered to the floor, his back against something warm and soft, something that was slowly rising and falling beneath his own shaking body. But he couldn't do what he was ordered, it hurt so much, he just couldn't.

– S-sorry, – the youth gasped, surprised to hear his own voice, hoarse and barely perceptible. – C-can't…

– Yes, you can, Obi-Wan, you did it just now. Listen to my voice, concentrate on it. Breathe with me. In, – the surface he was leaning on rose, and Obi-Wan gasped, with what felt like a tremendous effort making his lungs expand and draw a deep shuddering breath, – And out. In and out. Slow and deep. That's it. In and out. You can do it, kid, – the timbre felt gentle, secure and calm, and the youth didn't even notice the frantic thumping beneath his left shoulder, a stark contrast with the steady rising and falling of this person's chest.

Just as Obi-Wan fell into the rhythm, the wild tattoo of his heart slowing down a little, and relaxed, his head lolling against somebody's shoulder, the surge of icy blackness hit him again with a renewed force. His ribs hurt, and he cried out in pain and confusion, suddenly suffocating again. Obi-Wan shuddered in agony, sobbing, unable neither to see, nor to hear, leave alone to utter a single word. He was laid down on a cold surface, the warm touch on him disappearing, and he reached out, trying to stop the hands that were holding him just a moment ago and never let them go. The faint echo of somebody speaking, nearly shouting, to him, cocooned his slipping consciousness but he couldn't make out the words. Then the hands came again, supporting his head, pressing something cold at the side of his neck, something hissing and stinging, but the pain didn't abate, piercing his head and chest alike, and he whimpered softly, his fingers reaching to the stripe of metal on his neck in a futile effort to loosen the contraption.

– Sh-sh, easy, kid, this'll help, I'm right here, I won't let you go, – those hands again, grasping his own icy ones, warming and soothing.

He wanted to say that it wasn't the sting that hurt the worst but felt a finger across his lips, preventing him from speaking.

– Sh-sh, it'll be okay, it's almost over, – the hands were there, solid and safe, stilling his flailing limbs, holding him down, calming him. Warmth spread through his body, stifling and nauseous, but the muscles in his chest and throat relaxed, and Obi-Wan relished the unhindered ease with which he could breathe again, in and out, in and out. Reluctantly he opened his eyes, looking straight into Tur's worried gaze. The youth tried to get up, but his legs felt like jelly and he sank back, his voice a mere whisper:

– Guess I'm still here, – he spoke no more, trying to keep the dizziness at bay. A cool palm snaked between his forehead and the cold surface.

– Thank the Force, I was already thinking this little show brought about a fever as well. Come, you need to lie down, it'll be better than staying here, trust me.

A tiny bit more aware of his surroundings, Obi-Wan stumbled to the bedroom, leaning on Tur's arms for support. Without getting undressed, he dived under the blanket, wrapping his shivering body in the warm material. Another blanket was wrapped around him and he relaxed a little, feeling the icy grip lessen, but the blackness and the cold never left him, strength slipping away little by little like quicksilver.

– That was close, –having discarded the hypo, Tur exhaled, casually wiping sweat from his forehead and sitting down beside Obi-Wan on the bed. – Better?

– I-in c-comparison, yes, I think so, – Obi-Wan said, trying to suppress the shivers running through his body. – Not that my d-definition of "better" ever included this.

– Definitely yes, if your sense of humour is back. But you're still cold.

– Where did you get this… thing?

Tur didn't respond, his jaw set, his eyes staring unseeingly at something far away. Obi-Wan suddenly felt uneasy, intruding upon an unfamiliar territory of this strange man's past.

– I'm sorry, I just… you seemed to know how to… deal with it.

The former Jedi absently took Obi-Wan's wrist, counting his pulse, and ignored both the question and the apology.

– Seems better to me as well. But this is no permanent solution. Since this guy knows now he can break through, he'll try to hurt you.

– He'll be able to locate me? - A wave of panic swept through Obi-Wan. - I have to go. Somewhere he can't find me.

– Where and whatever for?

– I… don't want to lead him here. To you.

– To me? Who the Sith is interested in me, of all people? – Tur barked a laugh and shook his head. – Besides, I really shouldn't be the object of your worries. So back to our discussion, then. We can't keep this on, it'll destroy you.

– If he won't be able to get me, it's alright. I mean, if it only takes the Force…

Tur's eyes tightened as if he was fighting against some deeply concealed anger glowing like hidden embers, a shadow of a fire - or a burndown.

– I'm not talking about your ambitions. Your life, even. It's your body that's at stake. Your survival. Especially with your reaction to the stuff… leave it on for a week, two, then… – Tur suddenly stopped, breathing heavily, his eyes tightly shut. – You wonder how I knew… I know because I've seen what it does.

Tur stopped, and an uneasy silence fell in the eerily quiet room.

– I… I'm sorry, – Obi-Wan gulped, stunned by some kind of unfathomable sorrow glaring through the momentarily abandoned mask.

– You don't have a reason to be sorry, – Tur whispered, covering his face with his hands, then clenched his fists , pressing them against his eyes, the knuckles nearly white and bloodless. Shaking his head he suddenly turned to Obi-Wan, tilting his chin. Their gazes met, Tur's expression burning with unbridled earnest passion. – You don't have a reason to. You haven't done anything. It's I who am sorry, for letting myself slip like this. You've already got enough on your heart, and I'm so eager to share mine that I nearly forgot I have no right to do so, – he stepped away, carding his fingers through his hair. – Sith, you don't even know how much you've done to me. Now she's avenged, – strange laughter, soft and wild, bordering on madness, was shaking the man's chest. – Sith, she's avenged! The very thing that killed her saved a life… – Tur looked at Obi-Wan again, this time sombre and tired. – Best revenge the goodness in this world may have, huh? But we need a plan. As I said, we cannot leave this thing on you for long. I can take this off while you sleep and give you a hypo, he won't be able to break through when you're under. But that leaves daytime. Too much exposure to this thing won't do you any good, especially with your reaction and the state you're in. You're only beginning to recover. So I need to think of something.

– I should leave.

– We'll talk about this in the morning. Distance is still some protection from outside Force-influence. Whatever he did must have taken a lot of energy. I doubt he can repeat this soon. Though I can't imagine how he managed to do so. It seems that the part of the bond you are carrying provides you with some link to him, like a connection he can tap into when he wants it bad enough, – at Obi-Wan's terrified expression Tur stood up from the bed, unclipping a pouch from his belt. – Enough for today, – he said firmly, preparing a hypospray and putting it down on the bedside drawer, and reached for the collar.

– Will taking it off be the same as… putting on? – Obi-Wan asked, his voice small in his ears.

– Relax, it isn't going to hurt, – the lock clicked, and the welcome freedom flooded Obi-Wan's senses, a caressing wave of sunlit waters flowing though him, taking away hurts and confusion. He sighed in bliss, revelling in the comfort of the Force, feeling it replenish his strength.

– That must be the "better" you were looking for, –Tur was kneeling beside the bed, corners of his lips twitching with a shadow of a smile.

– You bet, – Obi-Wan squeezed out a tired grin, unable to say anything more.

– Alright, if you have nothing against it, I suggest that you go to sleep. Tomorrow's a long day, – at Obi-Wan's nod Tur picked up the hypo from the table. – This'll keep you asleep till morning. Don't worry, he won't be able to discover you. Not yet. Goodnight, kid, – the hypo hissed softly, and Obi-Wan felt his lids become heavy, sweet oblivion beckoning to him.

– G'night… thank you…

Drowsiness overwhelmed him, reality mingling with dream, and he was no longer sure if he was already asleep or not, and whether what he heard next was true.

– You're welcome, kid, – Tur whispered, rearranging the blanket over his young charge and leaning down to swipe the stray locks from the teen's forehead, – You're welcome.