NOTE: Ack, I forgot to include this in the first part. This is
a mirror to Kate's wonderful tale Devoured, written at a direct
command from the mistress of Obi-Angst. /bowing low/
T'riiark was an emergency landing. After a run-in with the
Y'ang pirates outside the Ishin nebula, we were forced to land
on T'riiark, a desert planet that had once been a prison colony
five hundred years before. As is so often the case, the prison
colony had become a member of the Republic, and its inhabitants
proud of their ability to survive there.
Our pilot had not survived the crash, having been injured in
the pirate attack, and I could do nothing for her. That was
reason enough to feel sorrow and guilt, I'm afraid, but
T'riiark proved to hold more for me.
We walked away from the damaged scout ship, carrying what
supplies we could carry, and happened upon one of the nomadic
tribes that live there; there are rules of hospitality among
these desert clans and they offered us help and shelter, for we
had landed on T'riiark just as the season of the g'nar piet
descended, the season of the flesheating sandstorms.
Suffocation is the least of your worries if caught in the g'nar
piet, the crystalline sand will flay a man alive, shredding
skin and muscle and leaving only bare bones to be found when
the storms pass.
I was grateful for their assistance, of course, and they were a
friendly, hospitable people, fascinated by Jedi, of whom they
had heard much and seen little. As payment for their kindness,
I told the children and young people some of the tales we teach
the young in the Temples. Or rather, that the teaching masters
tell, I had my own memories and Obi-Wan's from which to borrow.
During the g'nar piet, the nomads join with other clans in a
huge steel shelter; it looked to have been one of the original
prison transports, simple and utilitarian in design, but having
been modified over the centuries until one might have been
inside one of the tents, hangings on the walls, divisions built
of scavenged steel and stone to break the open areas into
smaller, more manageable living areas. The clans declare peace
during the g'nar piet, and they tend to keep to their various
sections of the shelter; we stayed, of course, with the
Shar'ht.
I blame myself, frankly. Obi-Wan's natural mischief makes it
all too easy to forget that he is reserved with strangers, that
despite his courtesy and gravity at my side during
ambassadorial missions, he is shy of people. I think it goes
back to his experience in the creche and Temple school, but
whatever the cause, being thrust into the center of a clan,
into circumstances, moreoever, which were highly communal, not
even allowing us the privacy for my private reassurances to
him....
Too, being shut in had unpleasant connotations for my padawan.
The Shar'ht are truly an interesting people, fierce and
volatile and with an oral tradition to rival any I have seen.
Soon, I had myself a following of young men who begged me for
tales, who told me their own. Duels, feuds, romances, all in
the exaggerated way of young men whose blood runs high and hot.
They gave me a use-name, "Kwi-Jonn"; they gave my padawan a
use-name as well, but I liked his a good deal less:
"Ob'tr-awn", meaning "one who dwells alone". He grew steadily
more withdrawn as the days passed, and resisted any effort to
reach out to the Shar'ht, sitting alone by himself more often
than not.
I was blind, of course. I didn't see the pain behind the
stubbornness.
The Shar'ht are a demonstrative people, so it took some time
for me to realize that I had also attracted someone who admired
me more personally. Ty'eer, one of the young men, a bit younger
than Obi-Wan, with fair hair cut short. He was a beautiful
young man, a little too aware of it, but not vain to the point
of obnoxiousness; it gave him confidence, that was all.
Obi-Wan has no such confidence. Let no one say that Jedi are
perfect, he was raised to believe himself sullen and difficult,
and never, so far as I can tell, did anyone ever indicate that
he was anything but, until I chose him as apprentice. And even
I never thought to reassure a fledgling padawan that everything
said of him in the creche had been filtered through a crotchety
and sharp-tongued creche master.
Ty'eer became openly flirtatious with me, and I confess, I
found it more amusing than anything else, until his boldness
led him to kiss me on the mouth as we sat talking late one
night. I told him kindly, but firmly, that I was uninterested
in deepening our friendship that way, that I was lifebonded
quite happily, and he took it without offense, and just a trace
of embarrassment. Obi-Wan disappeared from the front common
room after that, so I could only suppose he had seen it, had
not been asleep as I had thought. After that, he could only be
found in some of the smaller, more shadowed corners after a
time. He grew more and more silent with me, turned his back to
me at night, rather than nestle close, and when he did speak it
was only to denigrate himself and his skills.
I confess, that annoyed me, as well as worrying me. But I
believed that if I let be, my Obi-Wan would realize that he was
wrong, that my silent reassurance would sink in.
I was wrong. Dangerously, almost fatally wrong.
Obi-Wan was silent, withdrawn again in the morning, ate at the
communal table beside me, offered courteous thanks for his
food, and then went to meditate again.
Sighing inwardly, I sought privacy of my own, seeking wisdom,
needing wisdom to help him. Knelt and opened myself to the
Force, floated in that light, letting worries and thoughts
drift through my mind as they would, far from my body.
And then I felt it....felt Darkness drawing near, the Dark Side
of the Force. Alluring and seductive, but it brushed past me,
and I suddenly knew what it sought.
Reached out with my mind to my padawan and felt rage and
jealousy, grief and horror. Back into the body with an almost
physical wrench and I called his name, terrified for him, angry
at myself for not seeing what I should have seen. "Padawan," I
called, "Come here at once." Tone that would have commanded
instant obedience at any other time, but he did not come, I
felt him recoil from me, terrified of himself and of me, of
what punishment I might wreak for his weakness.
Grieving and terrified, I should say, he accounted himself
already damned and outcast.
Pushing myself to my feet, I ran through the corridor toward
the common hall where the storm doors sealed out crystalline
death, felt his purpose and sped, calling loudly for him,
setting Force into my voice as I could, praying he would obey.
Before I could reach him, I felt the stirrings of Force being
used, a disturbance as if the Darkness had found a tempting
morsel and pounced on him, I heard the shriek of the wind, felt
grit strike my face as he pulled the doors open and went
through.
Outcry of horror and anger from the folk in the hall, and I did
not hesitate when Garak, the chieftain of the Shar'ht met me at
the doors and tried to stop me from going after Obi-Wan.
"The penalty for going out into the storm is death, Kwi-Jonn,"
he told me gravely. "Do not seek your own."
Pulling my hood up, I drew a fold of my robes over the lower
half of my face. "If death meets us, so be it If you must seal
the doors, so be it. But I will go after him."
After a moment, he inclined his head, moved aside, and I drew
the hood and folds of my robe over my face completely. Opened
my inner eyes, connected to the Force and felt Obi-Wan, not far
from the doors, staggering, felt him fall and curl up on his
side, willing himself to die.
I felt the crystalline sand scouring his flesh and all but ran,
reached out and took a bleeding hand with my own to pull him
up, bent my shoulder and hauled him over my shoulder; the storm
doors were sheltered by rock lintels, I hoped to reach them and
provide him some protection, but Garak still stood by the
slitted doors, his back to them.
He let us in again. And the doors were sealed. But Obi-Wan's
limp form received no pity, there were angry looks when I
brought him in, I heard Garak speaking softly in their tongue,
calming people. When he had finished, he gave me a rueful look.
"I will take you to another room to care for him, Kwi-Jonn, it
would be best and safer."
I nodded understanding, followed as he led me to a smaller
chamber, one of his own family's rooms, a comfortable pallet on
the floor, carpeted, with richly embroidered wall hangings.
"I'll send someone to see to your needs," Garak told me
quietly. "More than that, I cannot do, Kwi-Jonn. Our healers
will not tend him."
I nodded, laid Obi-Wan gently on the pallet, closing my eyes
briefly at his condition. "I will tend him, thank you. You have
already done more than honor required, Garak." Rising, I bowed
deeply in the way of the Shar'ht and he returned the bow,
seemingly satisfied by my understanding.
They brought me water in plenty, and what else I needed I had
from the scout ship supplies we had carried away. Opening his
eyelids was the hardest thing I have ever done, I feared to
find that the sand had destroyed his eyes, but they were whole,
if scarred. The healers on Coruscant, I thought and smeared the
lids with unguent to soothe the skin and heal it. Smoothed it
over his face. His hands, of course, were the worst. He had put
them up to shield his eyes at first, and I used Force to speed
their healing, the rebuilding of tissue. Or tried to coax it,
at any rate, covered both hands with bandages.
And then, when I had done what I could, I could no longer
distract myself from what had happened.
I had failed him, I had been a blind damned fool, so blind and
deaf to him that...I was at least partly to blame for the
mental path he had taken, for the nearness of his fall, and it
made my hands tremble as I washed the grit and crystal from
him. Even his clothing had not completely protected him,
beneath the fabric, his skin looked as if he'd gotten too much
sun.
It wasn't until I had him under a light blanket again that I
realized that my face was wet with tears. He'd thought himself
damned already--and what that said about my failure was almost
unendurable. "Never, never, love," I whispered and reached for
his mind.
Another shock; he was curled in so tightly on himself that he
was nearly gone, nearly quenched, punishing himself with more
than physical self-destruction. However much I would have liked
to simply hold him, I had a battle to fight, I had to reach
him.
I knelt beside the pallet, summoning all the discipline I'd
ever learned, all the skills. I am no adept, although I am
certainly strong in the Force. I'm a Knight, not a council
member, with time to meditate every hour, to focus on adding
depth to my manipulation of the Force, but I knew a few things.
I used them to fight this battle, to reach inside Obi-Wan's
very spirit, to carry him back from the abyss as I had carried
him from the storm.
It was a very long day. I nearly lost him more than once, but I
held on, refusing to admit defeat, to let him go.
By evening, I was exhausted, but I was sure he would live, and
that he would not be a mindless husk, catatonic for the rest of
his life. I had felt the faintest flicker of survival in him,
had fed that flicker with all the affection I had ever felt
before, all the affection I now held, and all the affection I
expected to feel for him in the future.
Somehow, the Force be thanked, it worked. When a woman brought
food to the small antechamber outside the room, I was shaky and
exhausted and he was sleeping deeply.
I joined him shortly after.
I woke when I heard the woman come back with the morning meal.
Woke and went to find that they had brought me more water for
washing; I cleaned up, and then used what was left to again
wash Obi-Wan. They brought me drinking water, too, cool from
the cistern below the shelter. This I trickled on his face,
hoping that he would lick his lips, taste it. It might have
been sleep, but it seemed unnaturally deep.
The water woke him, or seemed to. He licked parched lips, tried
to touch his face; I felt the spike of fear lance through him,
touched the cloth to his forehead. "Shhhh." Almost soundlessly,
extending reassurance through our bond. His eyes opened; I
wasn't sure at all what he could see, how much damage had been
done, but there was damage there indeed.
"Obi-Wan," I said softly, "Don't be afraid, I am here, and you
are safe." Soothingly. Broadcasting reassurance and affection
as broadly as I could.
I felt his fear rise tasted his self-hatred, and he began to
tremble. "You must relax," I urged softly, "I want you to
repeat the T'aiJbrl. Do nothing else." He obeyed, and I felt my
eyes sting with unshed tears. He'd thought he was damned, I
told myself, aching for him, and not very fond of myself.
Touching his hair, I leaned closer. "The litany and breathe.
That's all you need to do right now."
He continued the chant, his voice gaining strength. I kept my
hand on his hair, gently stroking it, caught between sorrow and
pride.
And then I felt hilarity bubbling up inside him, swiftly
replaced by mindless terror, terror of the dark, of blindness,
of the night--touching his lips, I whispered, "Sleep." Using
Force to ensure it.
I'd only thought I knew what to do when he woke. "Obi-Wan," I
whispered, feeling an alien helplessness. "Ah, love, what am I
going to do?"
His skin I could heal, or at least encourage to heal more
quickly. I did that much, meditated on how to heal his spirit.
When he woke again, I made sure he ate and drank, I told him
not to give up hope, that things would be well, that....I told
him everything I could think of, about the status of the ship
as the storms faded, as Garak was able to contact the
spaceport. I commanded him to relax, to think of nothing but
healing, to practice the litany.
He flinched from me at first, as if he felt I should not touch
him. I ignored this, made myself even more gentle with him,
teasing gently, oh, so carefully. No smile in return, no trace
of my merry Padawan who always hid beneath the gravity
appropriate to a Jedi apprentice. But he calmed, he stayed
calm, although I knew how difficult it was for him.
Being closed into darkness was ever a problem for him.
Finally, he turned his head blindly toward me, blinking hard.
"Master?"
I touched his cheek lightly. "Yes?"
"Is this ... do I ..."
His voice faded away, but I knew what he was asking me, leaned
over him urgently. "You still have your eyes, Padawan. The
lenses are damaged, but the flesh itself is intact. " That much
comfort I could give, and thinking of how near a thing it had
been made my stomach knot. "You were very lucky, Obi-Wan. Very
lucky indeed."
He was silent. I couldn't tell if he believed me or not. I took
one poor bandaged hand carefully with my own. "We will return
to Coruscant and let the healers take a look." A soft squeeze,
careful of his injuries. "Be patient, Obi-Wan. I believe you
will do very well yet."
Instead of relief, I tasted his self-hatred again, his utter
self-loathing and shame. It nearly choked me, I can only
imagine what it felt to him. I could feel it stirring up the
terror again, the horror of being locked in the dark for the
rest of his life, felt him trembling again. I leaned down
close, whispered in his ear, forcing myself to severity even
though I wanted to gather him up and hold him against my chest.
"There will be none of that, Padawan. You will only let me down
if you give up before the battle has even begun. That is the
one thing I will neither abide nor tolerate. Do you
understand?"
I heard him swallow, heard the little hitch of breath. "Yes,
Master." Brokenly.
I could not prevent myself, I kissed his forehead, loving him.
"Good. I will go see if there is any lunch to be had and
together we'll eat, as I know you must be starving. Relax and I
will return shortly."
I had to take a moment to gather my composure again before
taking the morning tray back to the common room and returning
with another.
I balanced the tray to open the door, glancing over to see that
Obi-Wan lay still, only his lips moving soundlessly as he
repeated the litany again and again, bandaged hands crossed on
his chest. It made my chest ache, I took the tray to the table,
set it down and began to prepare a plate and cup for him.
I glanced back toward him, meaning to say something light about
the meal, I think; to my pride, he rose carefully, slowly. I
held my breath, unsure of what to do as he began to haltingly
make his way toward me, turned back and deliberately moved the
eating utensils against the dishes to allow him to follow the
sound.
But when he reached me, he knelt. Bowed low, his forehead
against the steel deck of the shelter, and I stood frozen, my
heart thumping. "Forgive." Choked voice.
It undid me. Tears blurred my vision, I tried to say something,
but nothing would emerge. Instead, I bent and lifted him to his
feet, then off his feet, sliding an arm under his legs. Oh,
love, I thought, still unable to speak, and I carried him back
to the pallet. I kissed his face, a hundred small kisses,
trying to convey what seemed to be impossible for me to say.
Kissed his eyelids, his mouth, the angle of a cheekbone,
keeping my mouth gentle, light as a featherbrush.
There were tears on my tongue, his tears and mine, but he put
his arms around my neck. Despite my failure, he still trusted
me, still obeyed, still listened, and that recognition ignited
something in me. I should not have, I know, but I loosened the
robe, continued kissing sandburnt skin, and I felt his pain
lessen, felt a small flare of joy in the spirit that had felt
so quenched just an hour earlier.
He was so beautiful, so beautiful. I murmured a thousand
lover's idiocies, I told him how beautiful he was, how strong,
how much I loved him, murmured his name again and again, told
him it would all be well, no matter how frightening things
might seem right now. I kissed him everywhere, throat, chest,
belly, the seam that joins the thigh to the body, the inside of
that thigh and the inside of his knees.
He moved beneath me, little gasping sounds, trusting me, and
that trust only ignited me further. I felt his longing, felt
the desire I could see in his thickening flesh; his legs
parted, I took him into my mouth, tasting salt, erasing regret
and guilt in this act of love. No, not erasing it, I still had
amends to make, I had to undo what I had inadvertently done to
him; burying it, perhaps, or taking the first step toward
healing it. He arched under me, wordlessly pleading, small
sounds in his throat, but I took my time, making certain he
could sense my own emotions across our bond.
He cried out, almost a sob, when he came, another sob when I
stretched out beside him and tucked him up against me. "I love
you, Obi-Wan," I murmured. "I will never leave you alone in the
darkness."
He wept then, which was the body's best way of cleansing his
poor damaged eyes. I held him, content that he was alive, that
he wanted to be alive, and that he knew I loved him.
That rightly or wrongly, he had become my Light.
Garak, not unnaturally, was anxious to be rid of Obi-Wan, and
our ship was repaired within a few days. As an ambassador, I
was generally assigned a pilot, but as a less exalted knight, I
had piloted my own craft for many years, and my sense of
urgency did not allow me to look for another.
The healers on Coruscant were shocked by my somewhat edited
account of what had happened. I told them it had been
misadventure, although I was honest with Yoda when I was called
to report.
They were optimistic, and the procedure replacing Obi-Wan's
corneas was completed in less than an hour. We had to wait two
days to learn what success, but the injury to his hands was
swiftly dealt with.
I think that helped, that he felt less helpless once he had the
use of his hands. I worked with him in the mental training
exercises, despite his certainty that blindness would destroy
his dream of becoming a Jedi Knight.
We talked a great deal. I'm still not certain that he
understood that I had my own share of fault in what had
happened; we talked about his jealousy, about his pain, and we
did more than talk. The child I had taken as padawan had been
robbed of a great deal that should have been his, in the
emotional sense; I knew that, and still I failed him, I said,
although he would not listen, put his fingers over my mouth.
But I bared my own heart and soul, and the trust between us
both deepened. I refused to hear his insistence that he could
not be a knight, and I refused to allow him to punish himself
for his uncertainty and his need. He confessed his fear of
losing me, his jealousy, and I forgave him without question; I
think he forgave me for my insensitivity to him. I believe he
did.
On the morning the bandages were removed, I had to shield my
worries from him. This new level of trust was so new, so fresh,
I was half-terrified that if his eyes were not healed, he would
run from me, run from the Temple.
But when the bandages were removed, he blinked against the dim
light in the room, let the healers wipe his eyes gently. And
then, those eyes, those changeable, lovely eyes fixed on me,
wide as ever they had been when he was small. Just staring at
me.
He could see. But..."Can you see, my Padawan?"
"Oh, yes," he answered softly, his gaze still fixed on mine,
even as the healers closed in to begin their examination. "I
can see, Master."
I kissed him, my mouth curving in joy. He smiled back at me, my
joyful, mischievous, diffident, too grave padawan.
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