by Dee (diamona@onthenet.com.au)
based on the idea by MrsHamill (thamill@mgfairfax.rr.com)
Archive: By Master & Apprentice, MrsHamill's archive, WWOMB
and SithChicks
Pairing: O/Other, Q/Other, O/Q
Category: Alternate Universe
Rating: NC-17 for the series; this episode rated PG-13
Disclaimer: To the best of her knowledge, Dee is not George
Lucas. Neither is terri.
Warning: None.
Summary: Obi-Wan, in his travels to be with his beloved Master
again, stumbles across a very familiar virgin sacrifice.
Notes:
From Dee: Well, it was like this, you see. I was in MA chat
complaining to Terri that there were no virgin sacrifices in
Wheel. She shooed that bunny right back at me and told me to
write it. I don't believe in letting a good cliché go to
waste, so here 'tis. Serves me right for whining.
My eternal gratitude goes to ADM, Heyoka, and especially the
hard-working Catnip and her ruthless red edit pen, who all made
such wonderful suggestions, and to Fox for her eagle-eyed beta.
Thank you to RavenD for the calligraphy. A multitude of thanks
to Terri for thinking of all this in the first place, and for
having the generous spirit that allowed me to play with her
baby.
From terri: I've determined that Dee means Deelightful. As in
this story. I think you'll like it too.
The muffled thump of air pressure boomed loudly in his ears.
Suddenly, he was falling. Icy fingers of panic momentarily
closed about his heart as he struggled to re-orient himself.
Too late, he tried to gather the Force to cushion his fall, but
almost immediately hit hard stone with a bruising thump.
Thud. Thud.
His ribs hurt. Pressing his fingers to his side, he made a
quick survey of the damage.
Thud. Thud.
He'd landed awkwardly, but there was nothing broken. He'd have
a few bruises, though.
Thud. Thud.
Still winded from the fall, Obi-Wan realized that the ominous
pounding sound he was hearing was not his own thumping heart,
but drums. Drums and many voices chanting, gradually dying into
an expectant silence. This was not the deserted garden he'd
half expected.
Ignoring the pain in his side, Obi-Wan sprang quickly to his
feet. He moved immediately into a defensive fighting stance,
'saber poised. Nothing immediately threatened, and he could
feel no alarm in the Force, but his recent jumps had taught him
caution.
Before him was a broad staircase of stepped gray stone, lined
with statues and trailing greenery. Flaming brands highlighted
the pathway. Petals, yellow and white, were scattered up and
down the steps and fluttered with each gentle breath of wind. A
quick glance revealed he was actually standing on a broad step
just below the apex of a huge pyramid, the base in shadow and
the high summit just touched by the rosy light of dawn. The
massive stone structure dominated a city which was smaller and
more primitive than his own Coruscant, but, from where he stood
overlooking it all, he could see it was just as beautiful.
Golden fingers of light stole across the tiled rooftops of the
city, caressing stately buildings, hanging gardens and pillared
walkways, and glinting from golden domes and statued spires.
At the foot of the stairs a crowd was gathered. Their upturned
faces revealed amazement, terror, and, here and there, a
dawning joy.
"Well, so much for a discreet entrance," Obi-Wan muttered to
himself. His nerves were tingling and he could feel a tension
in the Force. Something was about to happen. Something very
wrong.
The staircase ended a few steps up in a wide platform, lit with
more flaming brands and decorated with brightly colored
streamers, as if for a celebration. A dozen figures were
gathered in a loose semi-circle. Some were hooded, others had
their cloaks thrown back, their robes ranging in colour from
purest black to palest cream. All were dressed in simple
leggings and tunics, although some of the men were bare to the
waist. Each wore a golden amulet around their neck, either in
the shape of the sun or in the stylized form of a bird of prey;
many were armed with long metal blades hanging at their hips or
over their shoulders.
They were chanting something, but as one by one they began to
notice him, the voices died away. Some fell to their knees, but
others just stared, awe on their faces.
Obi-Wan focussed on the tallest figure. The man's pale cloak
was flung back from broad shoulders and his dark hair, frosted
in silver, fell to the golden sun on his well muscled chest. He
stood proud and magnificent, but his face was rigid as if he
were trying to appear calm, and his hands were clenched.
Obi-Wan could feel waves of pain and grief rolling off him
through the Force. He drew in a ragged breath through suddenly
arid lips. Qui-Gon. Or rather Qui-Gon's double.
But the tall man hadn't noticed Obi-Wan. His attention was
elsewhere. A movement caught Obi-Wan's eye, and he turned.
Heavy folds of black fell from broad feathered shoulders. A
golden mask in the shape of a bird of prey covered the face,
the cruel beak jutting forward. The figure's arms, however,
were bare but for heavy gold bands that glowed in the torch
light. They were raised above his head, hands clenched tightly
around a wickedly curved blade.
It was poised above the naked figure of a young man, lying
spread-eagled across a dark stone slab. The youth was painted
from head to toe in black and gold symbols, a large golden sun
upon his chest. More of the flower petals lay scattered over
him and around the stone altar. Rosy light bathed his form in
gold, and the purple shadows danced across his chest and belly
as his rib-cage rose and fell in shallow gasps.
The young man lay with his head tilted backward and turned
slightly to the side. With a start, Obi-Wan realized that the
long limbs were fastened to the slab with soft white ties. A
hooded figure kneeling at the altar held the man's head still,
his neck exposed, tightly gripping a long padawan braid. The
cords of the youth's neck stood out in sharp relief in the
low-lying light but he seemed calm, almost serene. With horror
Obi-Wan recognized the young man as his own double.
The movement that had caught his eye had been the bird-headed
man raising the knife. And now he was poised to strike at the
unprotected throat below him.
"Stop!" It came out almost as a shriek. He tried again, and
this time the Force boomed through his voice, lending it power
and strength. "In the name of the Force! Stop!"
The words were barely out of his mouth before the pale-cloaked
giant swooped forward, seizing the dark priest's wrist and
halting the downward movement of the knife. For a frozen moment
the two figures swayed, dark and light balanced delicately over
the golden body below, the blade still angled downward towards
the vulnerable throat.
The shorter man was well built, but the other was huge. Obi-Wan
could see, however, that this was not a test of strength, but a
fierce battle of wills. The two men's gazes locked and held for
what seemed like an eternity, until, at last, the golden mask
dropped its gaze, and the knife was slowly lowered.
Releasing the blade to the big man's grasp, the dark figure
swung round to face Obi-Wan. The expressionless mask gave no
clue as to his feelings, but Obi-Wan could feel the waves of
Darkness roiling around the man. Obi-Wan realized he was still
holding a lit 'saber in his hand, and powered it down. The
disappearance of the shining blade seemed to break the spell of
silence. At once, the other priests started forward, questions
on their lips. But the bird head just stared coldly at him,
it's metal gaze unblinking. Without a word, the man turned on
his heel, pushed past the other priests, and, in a swirl of
black, disappeared down the far side of the pyramid. His
dark-robed assistants scrambled to follow him.
Obi-Wan fought down his nausea at the close call. A minute, no,
mere seconds, later, and his double would have been bleeding
his life away in the name of some primitive deity. Obi-Wan
didn't know what ritual he had interrupted, or what god had
been meant to be honored, but he was appalled at the thought of
this butchery. He had been taught to show respect for other
people's beliefs, to be tolerant of strange rituals and not to
judge a culture - but human sacrifice, like slavery, had all
but been wiped out in the Republic. To find it here, on the
very site of the Jedi Temple, in a place he still thought of as
his home somehow, simply turned his stomach.
Qui-Gon, or rather this world's Qui-Gon, was gently cutting the
young man's bonds, a shaking hand smoothing gently over each
limb as if checking for injuries, although in truth the knife
had never come near him.
A tall dark man stepped towards Obi-Wan, the dawn light falling
on his shaven head and igniting a flash of brilliance from the
golden sun on his forehead. He seemed calm, but his rigid
expression spoke of emotions tightly controlled, and his eyes
flickered uncertainly between the man standing before him, and
the man still sprawled on the stone slab. He bowed deeply.
"Welcome," he said. "I am Maiz Quindu, Head Priest of the Jedi
and leader of the Council of Priests. You called upon the
Force. Are you a Messenger? Did the Force send you to us? "
Biting back his anger, Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes. I was sent by the
Force. But the Force does not require the sacrifice of this
young man. In fact this is a travesty of all the Force
represents."
There were several gasps, and Maiz's eyes widened. The tension
in the man's body increased and he took a deep breath. "We...
Will you help us, Messenger?"
Obi-Wan inclined his head, seemingly serene. "I will help if I
can."
Maiz' shoulders sagged in relief and he pressed his eyes closed
momentarily. "Oh, praise the Force!" he breathed. Then he
strode forward to face the crowd and raised his arms to the
heavens. There was an immediate silence from below.
"The prophecy has been fulfilled! The Force has sent a
Messenger!" His powerful voice carried easily to the crowd
which erupted with cheers and cries of joy.
"Just as the great Jedi of old bestrode the sky with their
flaming swords, so has this one come to us, a shining blade in
his hands. He has taken the form of one of our own beloved
Padawans to come and battle the evil that threatens! Praise the
Force!
"Go now. We will commune with the Messenger, and receive his
wisdom. All will be well."
Noisily, some still cheering, the crowd began to break up.
Obi-Wan turned back to where his Master's double was helping
the dazed-looking sacrifice to sit up. The older man was almost
weeping, his face betraying emotions that could no longer be
hidden behind a mask of serenity.
"Oh my Obian, thank the Force!" He was clutching the younger
man to his chest, and kissing his face. The young man's limbs
were lax, and his head lolled back loosely against Qui-Gon,
eyes barely focussed.
"Master Quigontzin.. I must be in the after-life, if you're
kissing me." Obian murmured blearily. "It's what I have always
dreamed of. But what are you doing here?"
"What's wrong with him?" Obi-Wan asked, curious.
"I gave him vyna juice so it wouldn't... so he wouldn't feel
it," Quigontzin muttered, not looking up from the man cradled
in his arms. He licked his thumb and used it to start rubbing
away the some of the markings on the young man's face. "I'm so
sorry, my Obi. I just... I didn't want you to feel any pain."
"I didn't," Obian smiled, pressing his cheek against the broad
chest. "It didn't hurt a bit. It was an honor to be chosen to
make the Journey. Now we can be together in the Force. I was
going to wait for you. Only... you're not supposed to be here.
Not yet."
"Oh, Obi." Quigontzin clutched the young man's face in two
hands and turned him to look directly into his eyes. His voice
hardened. "Look at me. You're not dead. You're still here, with
me. And this time I promise that no one is going to hurt you.
Ever."
"I think I can help." Obi-Wan stepped forward and took Obian's
hands in his own. He could feel the dark-skinned man hovering
anxiously behind him. No doubt he wanted words with him, but
Obi-Wan had a more immediate concern.
Quigontzin moved aside, but slipped an arm around the young man
to support him, clearly not wanting to let him go. It was an
easy matter for Obi-Wan to slip into a trance and, feeling
along the bond he always felt with his doubles, begin to purge
the drug from the other man's blood. This Obian was obviously a
Force sensitive, but the channels in his mind were murky, as if
not properly used. The bond was there, though, strong as ever,
and as Obi-Wan worked out more and more of the sedative, he
felt Obian join him in the healing trance and continue the work
he had already started.
Maiz watched all this closely, wonder all over his face.
"Oh..." Obian sat up, looking at him in gratitude. "A
Messenger! You came. And you healed me, showed me how to heal
myself!"
He seemed to remember something else then, and his face flamed.
He twisted around in Quigontzin's arms to face the tall man.
"Oh... Master... I'm so sorry. I mean, I think I said some
things I..."
"No, you said nothing you should be ashamed of." Quigontzin
interrupted. "You have acted throughout this ordeal with
courage and dignity, and you have made me very proud. And very
happy. More than I deserve for ever letting this happen.
"I came so close to losing you." His face twisted in a rictus
of shame and guilt. "And I was going to let it happen... Oh
Force! Forgive me Obian."
"There's nothing to forgive, Master." Obian reached up and
tentatively laid one hand on Quigontzin's cheek. "You could not
have done otherwise."
Quigontzin momentarily closed his eyes and then reluctantly
released the young man. He turned to the other robed figures,
gathering the remnants of his shattered dignity, until he was
once more the imposing figure of a Jedi Master.
"This Padawan has shown tremendous bravery in the face of a
Trial more arduous than is usually asked of our initiates.
Maiz? Depa? Is there anyone here who disagrees with him being
immediately granted the status of Jedi?"
There were nods all around, and murmurs of assent. Maiz stepped
forward. He had the grace to look somewhat ashamed, but he
offered Obian no apology, just an encouraging nod of the head.
"We are in accord. Obian has earned the right."
"And Palpatzien?" A woman Obi-Wan did not recognize gestured in
the direction the dark-robed priest had gone.
"Palpatzien is not here, nor are his acolytes, and he would be
out-voted anyway if he chose to oppose this!" Quigontzin spoke
fiercely.
Maiz held up his hand.
"Then it is agreed, by majority decision of the Council of
Priests, that Obian Quenobi is granted the status of full Jedi.
Master Quigontzin, you may cut his braid."
Obian reached out and briefly clasped one of Obi-Wan's hands.
"Thank you," he said with simple dignity. Then, releasing his
hand, Obian knelt gracefully before his Master. He raised his
head, eyes shining. Quigontzin picked up the curved dagger, and
offered it briefly to Obi-Wan, who immediately shook his head.
This was for Quigontzin and Obian, and there was nothing that
could make him want to come between them. Grateful, Quigontzin
turned back to the Padawan.
"Obian Quenobi, having remained pure in body, heart and mind,
and having passed through trials of spirit and of soul, is
adjudged to be worthy. He is now accorded the status of Jedi."
Quigontzin's hand shook infinitesimally and then steadied. He
cut the padawan braid with a single stroke of the razor-sharp
blade, and held it out to the newly made Jedi.
"Jedi. From now on you need only obey the will of the Force,
the guidance of the Jedi Council and your own conscience. You
are released from your Vow of Chastity."
Obian's face shone as he took his braid. "I, Obian Quenobi,
accept this great honor in humility and faith in the will of
the Force. I will serve the Force, and the guiding hand of the
Council, with all my being. May the Force be with me, now and
always."
"May the Force be with you always!" came the response from the
gathered councilors, and Obi-Wan found himself mouthing the
same words. It was so different from his own sudden Knighting,
and yet similar enough to bring a lump to his throat and a
threatening burning sensation to his eyes. Such a simple
ceremony. If only Qui-Gon, his own Qui-Gon, had been there to
cut his braid.
Quigontzin swept the hooded beige cloak from his own shoulders
and wrapped the naked man tenderly. Obian stood up and closed
his eyes as his master's arms enfolded him. Lips lightly
brushed his forehead. There was a wealth of promise in that
gentle touch.
Obian turned to Obi-Wan and smiled. "I would speak with you
more after I..." he gestured at his painted body, naked under
the pale robe. Then, turning back to Qui-Gon, he slipped his
arm around the tall man's waist and allowed his former Master
to lead him away.
Obi-Wan shortly found himself in an inner room of the pyramid,
which was, as he had guessed, the Jedi Temple. There was very
little in the way of modern amenities and no signs of any
powered technology at all. Obi-Wan recognized a number of Jedi
from his own reality; most of the humans, anyway.
Obi-Wan found himself treated with quite unwarranted reverence.
Already he could feel the weight of these people's
expectations. They hovered around him, welcoming him,
commenting on his resemblance to Obian, and offering to take
his backpack, his robe. He was offered food and drink and he
gratefully broke his fast. Maiz seemed to be waiting for the
opportunity to broach a difficult subject.
Obi-Wan turned to him. "I'd like to know more about that
ceremony. Who was that man in the golden mask?"
"That was Palpatzien, the High Priest of the Shadow Brethren,
sometimes known as the Sith Order. We share the Temple with
them, although they live in a separate wing in the temple
compound. They serve the Force also, but walk the Dark Path. If
there's something that creeps or crawls or eats the flesh of
the dead, or lives in darkness, in slimy holes or in the depths
where no man dare venture, then the Sith revere it. They have
an intimate knowledge of death and darkness."
Maiz grimaced. "But they serve a necessary function in our
community, and many turn to them in times of need. They are the
ones who watch the skies for signs, who delve into our
forgotten past in search of ancient knowledge, and who prophesy
the future. Our greatest Oracles have been Shadow Brothers or
Sisters. They also care for the dead, return their bodies to
the earth, and make sure the proper rites are performed to
speed the departed souls into the afterlife. They have been
very busy of late.
"Messenger," Maiz continued. "You find us in the middle of a
grave crisis. An outbreak of a disease we have never seen
before, and which our healers cannot treat, is inflicting great
suffering upon our people. The old and the young are dying, and
every day more people are struck down. Please, we saw you heal
Obian. Help us."
Obi-Wan shouldered his backpack. "Take me to them." he said,
simply.
Maiz explained more as they descended through statued walkways
and hanging gardens to ground level. The first cases had been
in the Temple itself, but once the Plague, as Maiz called it,
had started to spread, more and more people had flocked to the
temple hospital. And they were still coming from miles around.
Others had chosen, in panic, to leave the stricken city, and
had spread the disease to outlying areas. Quarantine
restrictions had been too little, and too late. There were now
reports of sickness in other major cities and towns.
"There are of thousands of refugees in Coruzcan alone." Maiz
explained. "If this epidemic is not halted the death toll could
be a million or more."
He was ushered to where a teenaged girl lay moaning on a rough
pallet. He took a good look at her flushed, dry skin, and the
irregular white splotches over her body and felt relief flood
through him.
"It's Fenassian Flu," he said. Common, easily treatable in his
world, and the cure could be manufactured from the small black
berries one found on so many planets. Obi-Wan wasn't exactly
familiar with Coruscant's own native vegetation, never having
been to visit the last few remaining pockets of protected
greenery, but he felt sure there would be something suitable.
It was lucky there had been an outbreak of the disease while
Obi-Wan had been at camp one year, and he'd seen, first-hand,
the preparation of the anti viral agent. Or had it been simple
luck? He wasn't so sure about that now.
The odd thing, Obi-Wan pondered, after he had explained what he
needed, was that Fenassian Flu, while common in the
space-traveling Republic, was originally from the Outer Rim.
Obi-Wan was willing to bet that none of these people had ever
been off planet, so how had it gotten here? He followed Maiz to
the primitive pharmacy, and set about explaining what it was
that he needed and how to extract the necessary liquid from the
crushed berries.
An hour or so later, Obi-Wan was watching a cauldron of purple
goo heat up. His ribs had stopped hurting and he was glad of
something useful to do.
The healer Tzal had been all efficiency. She had been working
desperately for weeks now, but she was so relieved to be
working on something that might actually cure people that,
despite her exhaustion, she had set to with zeal. She had
gathered the things Obi-Wan needed, and then had disappeared to
round up more healers and their padawans, leaving him to watch
the pot alone.
Obi-Wan felt the presence before he saw the man. A cold dread
settled in his belly and he turned slowly. Quigontzin was
standing there, blocking the doorway, watching him. He was
trapped. Sound gave way to the booming thunder of his heart and
the room spun as his focus narrowed to that beautiful,
dangerous face. His hands tightened on the wooden ladle. Dimly
he was aware that the man was speaking, but the words seems to
float up from the bottom of some dark lagoon and dissipate
before he could grasp their sense. He thought it had been some
kind of greeting.
Slowly Obi-Wan's centre righted itself. He had no reason to be
afraid. There was nothing in this man's aura that indicated any
darkness, and the blue eyes in the strong square face were
kind. Still, he couldn't banish the image of this morning's
brutal ceremony, nor this man's participation in it.
He stirred the pot, saying nothing, pushing down the fear and
anger that was curdling in his belly like sour milk.
"Will this save us?" Quigontzin asked softly. If he had noticed
Obi-Wan's momentary panic he was not showing it.
"I believe so," Obi-Wan said evenly. "Trust in the will of the
Force."
"I do." Quigontzin nodded. There was a pause.
"You look like him, you know." Quigontzin said quietly,
stepping forward and leaning over Obi-Wan. He reached out
gently, almost reverently, as if to touch his face, but Obi-Wan
jerked away. Quigontzin's hand dropped.
"I am him, in some ways," Obi-Wan replied, keeping his voice
calm, restrained. He tried to explain as simply as he could.
"From another reality. I'm traveling from world to world, to
where I am needed, and the Force is guiding me."
"Another reality?" Quigontzin straightened. " Ah! I have
wandered the Dream Paths in my deep meditations, and seen the
tracks that lead off in different directions. At each
crossroads you must make a choice. Do one thing and your path
leads over stony mountains, another and you wander in green
pastures. Are you saying that you are Obian himself, but come
from a place where another path was taken?"
"Yes, that's right." Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at Quigontzin's
immediate comprehension. He gave the cauldron another stir.
"I'm a Jedi, too. Only we are very different from you.
"For example," he continued coldly, "we don't murder our
Padawans in the name of the Force."
Quigontzin was silent for a moment. Then he sighed. "It's not
common here, either. It's been well over a hundred years since
a Padawan was actually called upon to make the Dark Journey. We
thought we were beyond such barbarism. The altar is used for
offerings of flowers and fruit these days, but they were
cleared away for the Rite.
"Please, understand." Quigontzin looked back up at Obi-Wan,
staring at him intently. Obi-Wan caught his breath at that
penetrating gaze, so familiar. "We have tried everything. And
nothing has worked! Not our medicines. Not our prayers.
"We were desperate. Palpatzien, the head of the Shadow Order,
convinced us that our only hope was to perform the Rite of the
Messenger. It has always been the role of the Sith to officiate
at the Dark Rites. We had to send someone to intercede with the
Force on our behalf. A young man or woman, strong in the Force,
pure in body and spirit, to plead for us. He chose Obian."
"Why not a Shadow Brother?" Obi-Wan asked, curious in spite of
his disgust.
"No it's always been a Jedi. A Jedi Padawan. Padawans must
remain chaste until they pass their trials, in case they are
called to make the Journey. Until now I thought it a
meaningless tradition." Quigontzin shook his head.
"A meaningless tradition! Your apprentice was nearly butchered
this morning in another meaningless tradition! He is... was
your Padawan, wasn't he?" When Quigontzin nodded, Obi-Wan stood
up slowly until he was nearly face to face with the tall man.
His knuckles were white around the wooden ladle, and his
shoulders shook.
"How could you do it?!" His voice was icy with contempt. "Your
own apprentice! You're supposed to teach him, to protect him!
And you were going to kill him!"
Quigontzin retreated a step, taken aback by the cold rage on
the young man's face. He drew himself up to his full height and
looked down at Obi-Wan, his face impassive. Something in
Obi-Wan quailed beneath that stern gaze but he would not
relent.
"You were going to let him die in some barbaric ritual that has
nothing, nothing at all to do with the Force! Like he was
nothing to you!"
"Enough!" Quigontzin flung up a hand and Obi-Wan flinched. The
tall man's eyes widened at that and he continued more gently.
"Hear me out, my young friend."
Obi-Wan drew a shuddering breath. Not trusting himself to
reply, he grudgingly nodded.
"I opposed Palpatzien. I didn't believe it was the will of the
Force, and I still don't. He accused me of favoritism, of being
biased because it was my own apprentice. We fought bitterly,
and the Council was divided. Finally they sent for Obian, and
put it to him."
"My brave Padawan." Qui-Gon smiled ruefully, a hint of pride in
his voice. "I knew what he would say as soon as he entered the
chamber. He always takes his duty so seriously. He said that he
didn't know if it would work, but that he could not stand
around watching people die and not make the attempt.
"Please understand, I would fight the entire Council for him.
The entire Order! Force! The entire world!" Quigontzin's voice
dropped. "But... I could not fight Obian himself. Not in this.
It was his choice, and as much as I hated it, he wouldn't be
the man I... know and respect if he had chosen otherwise."
Quigontzin's voice ground into silence. Obi-Wan found himself
at a loss for words, and gave the cauldron another stir.
"Tell me something." Quigontzin broke the uncomfortable
silence. "Would the Force have sent you without the Rite? If
Obian, or someone else, hadn't been at least willing to make
that sacrifice?"
Obi-Wan thought about that. He remembered the urgency he had
felt leaving the last reality. "I think so," he said. His voice
sounded scratchy, and he cleared his throat.
"I don't really know. I go where I'm sent. Where I can do some
good. I can't say for sure that I would have come to help if it
had just been this epidemic. The Force is not a solution to all
the problems in the universe. It's not a deity to be worshiped
or sacrificed to. It needs people to act for it, to let the
Force flow through them and be guided by its wishes. The Force
meant me to prevent that ritual from taking place. And I don't
think it's by chance that I know how to cure this disease."
"Whatever, and however, I'm glad you came when you did and not
a moment later," Quigontzin said. He looked thoughtful. "If you
had come too late, I'm sure that barbarous practice would have
continued. Palpatzien would have encouraged it to cement his
power within the Council of Priests. The influence of the
Shadow Order has waned since the rituals were stopped, and I
would hate to see their power increase."
"The other reason is far more personal." He shook his head.
"Have you ever watched someone you care for die? Before you
could tell them... "
Obi-Wan just nodded dumbly.
"I do not know what I would have done if you had not come when
you did." Quigontzin shuddered.
"You love him." Obi-Wan said simply.
"Yes."
"Does he know?"
"He may." The handsome face broke into a smile that made
Obi-Wan's chest constrict. "If not, he soon will. I made no
outright declaration before, of course. Seducing a padawan,
sworn to chastity, especially your own padawan, is one of the
greatest crimes a Jedi can commit. But I believe with all my
soul that we belong together."
"How is he?"
"He's sleeping. He was up all night meditating for... for his
Journey."
"Go to him, Quigontzin." Obi-Wan turned back to his work. "He
loves you too, and he needs you. And... and I apologize for my
earlier outburst. It was unwarranted."
Quigontzin nodded. "No offense was taken, my young friend. I
can see that your path has not been an easy one."
He reached out and lightly clasped Obi-Wan's shoulder. This
time, Obi-Wan didn't flinch away, but allowed himself to feel
the comfort of that warm familiar hand.
"I would offer you a gift, Messenger," Quigontzin said,
reaching into a pocket. He pulled out a white flower, crumpled
but still fragrant, and solemnly handed it to Obi-Wan. "Take
it. Keep it with you."
Obi-Wan inclined his head gravely. "Thank you." he said, and
slipped it into his robes. He had no idea what the gesture
meant, but he didn't want to offend this man further.
Quigontzin smiled gently and left. Obi-Wan bit his lip.
Quigontzin had been right: he and Obian belonged together. But
he wasn't so sure about himself anymore. The certainty he had
originally felt was gone. He didn't know if there would ever be
a home for him, or if he would find his Qui-Gon. And yet, he
refused to give up hope. Somewhere there was a place for him,
the Force had promised him. Sighing, he turned back to his
task. There were more important things right now than worrying
about what was and what might have been.
"How long will this take to work?" Tzal asked as she spooned
the first dose of viscous purple liquid down the throat of the
first patient.
"In a couple of hours you should see the white patches fade.
Then the fever will break as the body sweats out the last of
the toxins."
Tzal nodded. "I can't think how we can begin thank you,
Messenger. You have given us back our hope. You have our
undying gratitude."
She hesitated. "I think you should get some rest," she said,
looking at the drawn features. "Quite frankly, I don't need
another patient right now."
Obi-Wan agreed. He couldn't sleep, but perhaps a walk would
help clear his head.
The temple was indeed beautiful. The warm light of late
afternoon threw golden highlights on the cold stone, the
shadows almost purple in contrast. Plants sprung everywhere,
from small trees in pots, to troughs of flowers, many of them
the gold and white blooms he had seen scattered on the steps
earlier.
A grand procession of granite steps led from the vast base to
the high apex and the heavy stone altar on top. Obi-Wan didn't
want to think about that. Instead he meandered along the
zig-zag paths that led from side to side, gradually winding
their way up and down the faces of the monolithic structure.
Statues and monuments lining the walkways threw long fingers of
shadow across his path. He passed long galleries of small
gargoyles, many with bowls of flowers and the burnt remains of
incense sticks in front of them. Wind bells hung so as to catch
the breeze, and the high lonely sound followed him down the
slopes.
On the lower levels there were gardens, some with fountains,
and many with pedestals that rose to about chest-high.
Examining one, Obi-Wan discovered the top was covered in the
cracked shells of seeds. A barrel rested nearby, and it
contained more seeds, so he scattered a measure upon the
pedestal. Immediately a dozen brightly-colored birds appeared.
Their raucous shrieks alerted their companions to the feast and
suddenly the air was a rainbow of vibrant feathers, noisy and
shrill. Obi-Wan stood with the sun on his face, arms
outstretched in the centre of a multi-hued maelstrom and smiled
delightedly. Qui-Gon, he thought, and not for the first time in
his travels, would have loved this, and the smile faded.
Tipping a last handful of seeds onto the pedestal he went in
search of a quieter spot.
He needed time to do a little thinking. He felt a little
drained by his outburst towards Quigontzin, and his shaky
control over his own emotions depressed him. He had tapped an
unexpected well of anger within himself, and it had overflowed,
crashing with full force on the unwitting and undeserving
Quigontzin.
Wandering through the maze-like paths, Obi-Wan finally found a
small garden where he could sit and look out over the city. He
turned his face towards the lowering sun and began to meditate.
It was nearly sunset when Obian found him there. The young man
was clean, and dressed in simple pants and a vest, the golden
sun medallion glinting on his bare chest. He dropped easily
beside Obi-Wan, and waited until he surfaced from his
meditation.
"I thought you might be here. It's one of my favorite places."
Obian's radiant smile took in the whole garden. "On a good day
you can see clear to the mountains.
"Master Qui told me about how you are another me from along a
different route in the Dream Paths. He said you have been
traveling from world to world, and that some of those worlds
had been... unpleasant. I sensed some of that when you helped
me. I felt as though our minds were linked in some way, my
brother."
"Call me Obi-Wan." He smiled.
As the evening darkened into twilight Obi-Wan found himself
telling this other Obi about some of his travels. The other
man's eye grew wide as the tale unfolded.
"So the Sith are really evil in your world?" Obian was shaking
his head in amazement. "Here the Shadow Order aren't evil. Many
are former Jedi padawans who could not keep their vows. In
their own way, they serve the Living Force too. The scavengers,
the small creatures and insects and larvae which feed on the
dead, even the molds and fungi of the dark places, they are all
part of the cycle of life."
Obi-Wan nodded "Mushrooms and maggots are as much a part of the
living Force as flowers and flutterbies. So my Master used to
tell me."
Obi-Wan smiled wryly, remembering Qui-Gon, once again, trying
to encourage him to embrace the Living Force. He'd replied,
rather drily, that some bits were more embraceable than others,
and Qui Gon had laughed. How he missed that rare laughter.
"You're thinking of him, aren't you? The one you're looking
for. Your master." Obian regarded him with deeply felt
sympathy. "If he's anything like Qui, then I understand."
"Yes, he's quite like Qui." Obi-Wan sighed. "But I'm not like
you. Not any more. I have seen so much of evil in my travels.
And love, as well. If I was ever innocent like you, those days
are far behind me now.
"Look at you... What do you think your Qui will see when he
looks into your eyes? He'll see your love and your trust, and
the goodness of your soul. When my Qui looks at me he'll see a
weary traveler with a heart burdened by bitterness and touched
by darkness. I want to find him so much, Obian, but I'm
afraid... I'm afraid I won't be able to look him in the eyes."
There was an uncomfortable silence as both men withdrew into
their thoughts.
"You're wrong." Obian said, finally. "Your Qui will see the
same thing as mine. He'll see the face of the man he loves, and
who loves him. He will see the other half of his own soul. You
must believe it."
He reached over and plucked a yellow bloom from a nearby bed.
"Here," he said, offering the flower to Obi-Wan. "The papatl
flower signifies the sun. It represents light shining through
the darkness, lighting the traveler's way. You may have seen it
this morning, scattered on the steps of the Temple, along with
the white coa lily, which honors the sacrifice made. This
represents hope. Fragile, and yet if cut down, it will spring
anew. Take it."
"Thank you." Obi-Wan looked at the frail bloom, and then tucked
it into his tunics with the other flower. Hope. And sacrifice.
"Obian? Messenger?" Quigontzin's voice floated up the steps. He
sounded jubilant.
"Over here," Obian called, and Quigontzin appeared, bounding up
the steps with a brisk stride. Maiz Quindu followed in a more
sedate manner, followed by a third, black-cloaked, figure.
"Joyous news!" Quigontzin was grinning. He halted in front of
Obi-Wan and bowed slightly. "Messenger. We owe you our lives.
The medicine is working. The city, and our people, are saved."
Maiz Quindu was also smiling. "We would be honored if you would
be our guest tonight. We will be celebrating our deliverance."
The third man stepped forward, his face open and friendly. He
was tall, although not as tall as Quigontzin. Raven dark
feathers and red beads were bound in the numerous thin braids
in his long dark hair. More feathers edged the short black
cloak that swung freely from his bare shoulders. A sword hung
at his hip, sheathed in beaded leather. The cruelly-beaked bird
emblem on his chest proclaimed this man one of the Shadow
Brethren, but Obi-Wan could sense no darkness from this man,
only intense curiosity.
Quigontzin clapped a friendly hand on the dark-haired man's
shoulder. "Messenger. I'd like you to meet Tzanatzos, one of
the Shadow Brethren. He has dragged himself away from the
contemplation of chicken entrails to see this wonder. I think
he has something you might be interested to hear."
Tzanatzos looked mildly annoyed. "I do not disembowel chickens,
Qui. I study the stars. And unless you hadn't noticed, it's
still daylight."
He turned to Obi-Wan and studied him frankly. "So this is the
legendary Messenger. But not, I think, the messenger that
Palpatzien foretold."
Obi-Wan stared. Not so long ago this face had belonged to his
lover, and here he was, staring into a stranger's eyes in that
familiar face. The Force was nudging him again. "Go on."
"Palpatzien said that a messenger would come from the Force,
after Obian Quenobi was dead. He said that then everyone would
know the true power of the Sith. But Obian lives, I'm glad to
say, and you... You came anyway. I don't think it was you
Palpatzien was expecting. He was surprised to see you.
"In fact," Tzanatzos continued, "I believe he said the
Messenger would resemble him."
"Really?" Obi-Wan was troubled by this. He glanced over to
Maiz. "I think I have to see this Palpatzien."
Palpatzien didn't want to see him, though. The huge doors
leading to his chambers were barred, and the two Sith Priests
standing guard refused to let him past. Maiz and Tzanatzos
argued with them. The guards were adamant. Lord Palpatzien was
seeing no one, especially not the so-called Messenger.
At last Obi-Wan grew impatient. He, like the others, was
becoming more and more convinced Palpatzien was hiding
something.
"You will let us pass," he said sternly to the guards and
backed it up it with a Force suggestion. The two priests looked
at each other and backed away. The door, however, proved to be
locked from the inside.
Maiz pounded angrily on the door. "Palpatzien! You cannot
refuse to see me. I am the leader of the Council. Open this
door at once!"
"Stand back, Maiz." Quigontzin looked at Obian. They nodded in
unspoken agreement.
"Now!" cried Obian, and launched himself feet first at the
door. Simultaneously Quigontzin charged. There was a loud crack
as the lock shattered and the big double doors flew open.
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Well, that should get Palpatzien's
attention."
He grasped the hilt of his own working lightsaber and, steeling
himself, stepped through the doors. Obian and Quigontzin
followed closely, Quigontzin's big sword at the ready, and
Obian wary, stepping like a cat.
It was dark. Not merely the absence of light but a palpable
presence, as if darkness had been nurtured and fed by a
thousand twisted thoughts and the frustrated longings of a
cruel and selfish man, until it had taken form. Darkness lurked
in the corners, and skittered along the floor. It shimmered in
every shadow where the baleful red glow of the braziers did not
penetrate. Obi-Wan felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.
The silence was stilled by the scraping sound of Obian slowly
sliding his sword from its sheath. Tzanatzos and Maiz stepped
cautiously into the room.
"Welcome." A voice, stone cold and grating, seemed to come from
nowhere. "I was expecting you... eventually."
Peering through the gloom Obi-Wan could see a tall figure
standing motionless at a rough stone altar. It was still
wearing the full length feathered robe and the bird-headed mask
of this morning's ceremony. The cruel beak glinted in the
bloody light of the braziers and the red glow of the coals was
reflected in the ruby depths of the eyes. The figure remained
motionless, but the voice continued.
"So, Jedi. You are so predictable. I have worked too hard to
see my plans simply destroyed at a stroke. You will regret your
interference!"
The energy ball came from nowhere, purple lightning wrapped
around a core of darkness, and heading straight for him.
Obi-Wan reacted instinctively, igniting the blue lightsaber and
bringing it up in a swift parry. The shock as the lightning hit
knocked him backwards across the room, the saber flying from a
numbed hand and his ears ringing. Some kind of unknown energy
weapon, he thought groggily, trying to clear his head.
Another ball was forming, directed at Obian.
"No!" Quigontzin cried.
Obian went flying into the wall as a tall figure thrust him out
of the way and there was a percussive boom as the lightning
hit. Quigontzin had taken the bolt directly in the centre of
his chest, and lay twitching on the floor, his robes
smoldering. Obian, his eyes round saucers of horror, scrambled
to his master's side and started pulling apart the scorched
fabric in desperation.
Obi-Wan tried to focus on the spinning room. Where was the
lightning coming from? He caught a movement from behind a
hanging, and gasped. Palpatine's face on a Sith priest's body,
a short thick rod of metal in his grasp. It must be Palpatzien.
Were there two of them? Who then, was the man at the altar?
Tzanatzos leapt at the dark figure, swinging his sword in a
killing blow. It connected with a solid thud, and Tzanatzos
fell back with an agonized shriek as flame blossomed from
within the robe, enveloping both sword and sword-arm. It was a
decoy. A trap. Fire spurted and the robes collapsed into a
burning heap. The hangings caught quickly and within seconds
the room was an inferno of flame and oily black smoke.
Another loud boom, and purple lightning hit the wall where
Obi-Wan's head had been a split second before, but he was
rolling, feeling with the Force for his saber. If only he could
focus properly - but his head was still ringing.
Obian was on his feet again, sword in hand and stalking through
the flames towards the altar. Tzanatzos was sobbing in pain,
his injured arm clutched tightly against his chest. The fire
was spreading rapidly along the draperies, and licking at the
wooden beams of the roof.
Lightning shattered nearby stone, and again Obi-Wan dodged it,
but he was being driven further from his 'saber, and further
from Palpatzien. He tried to gasp a warning, but too late. The
next energy ball caught the tip of Obian's sword and sent it
flying, the young man thrown to the floor by the impact.
Quick as a striking snake, Palpatzien darted from his hiding
place, and struck the fallen man, kicking him, once, twice. He
grabbed a dazed Obian by the throat and hauled him upright,
using his battered body as a shield. Maiz spun, sword at the
ready, but could find no opening in which to strike.
"Keep back, Jedi," Palpatzien snarled, and waved the rod. Chips
of stone flew, as another bolt impacted on the wall close to
Obi-Wan, and he had to dive for cover once again. Palpatzien
laughed obscenely. "I may be able to complete the Rite after
all."
Obian's feet scrabbled for purchase on the slick floor and his
body bucked and twisted in the Sith's grasp. Palpatzien shifted
his grip slightly, and then his arm was locked around Obian's
neck, choking him, dragging him backwards towards the stone
altar.
"Are you still a virgin then, pretty one?" he whispered
hoarsely, his lips brushing Obian's ear. "Haven't been fucked
by your master yet? Not that it matters. As long as you die."
Palpatzien threw the stunned young man onto the altar, pressing
on his throat with one hand and, with the other, raising the
wand.
"Let everyone know the true power of the Sith!"
Obi-Wan finally managed to summon his 'saber to him, and
scrambled to his feet. But he was so far away. He struggled
through the room, the flame and smoke concealing obstacles he
could only sense using the Force. He wasn't going to make it.
Then Palpatzien screamed. Flame shot up his side. Tzanatzos,
lying forgotten on the floor, had kicked over the brazier,
spilling hot coals in Palpatzien's direction. Obian seized his
last chance. He struck at the short metal rod, sending it
flying.
"My staff!" Palpatzien roared and dived desperately after it.
Only to connect solidly with a huge man who hit him in mid-air
and flung him to the floor. Tzanatzos quickly deflected the
fallen wand into the remains of the the brazier, where it
fizzed, and began to melt. Quigontzin, his face twisted into a
feral mask, was straddling the black-clad man below him, his
powerful hands wrapped around the Sith's throat.
"Master!" screamed Obian. "Master, leave him be! We have to get
out of here!"
The fire was now licking at the beams in the ceiling. Half
carrying, half dragging the shrieking Sith priest between them,
Quigontzin and Obian stumbled to the doorway. Obi-Wan and Maiz
were close behind, supporting the injured Tzanatzos. It was
barely in time. With a muffled roar the whole ceiling
collapsed, flame and smoke spewing into the hallway beyond. The
alarm was being sounded and Sith and Jedi alike were scrambling
to fight the flames.
Obi-Wan looked around him. Quigontzin had both hands wrapped
around Palpatzien's upper arms and was shaking him like a rag
doll. A piece of twisted metal hung from his neck and his chest
was scorched with a bright red burn in the shape of a sun. His
amulet had saved him.
"You vile wretch," he snarled, the blue eyes flashing. "You'll
never lay another hand on him."
"Master!" Obian laid a gentle hand on the broad shoulder. "Qui.
It's all right. It's over."
Obian was right. Palpatzien seemed to have collapsed in on
himself with the loss of his weapon, and lay limply in
Quigontzin's grasp, gasping like a fish out of water. Almost
reluctantly, Quigontzin let go, and the Sith priest scuttled
backwards until he was crouched against the wall.
"Palpatzien" Obi-Wan marched towards the cowering man until he
was standing right over him. His voice was quiet, but menacing.
"I want to know how you knew a Messenger would arrive. I want
to know why you were about to sacrifice a Padawan. I want to
know why you chose Obian. And I want to know now!"
"It was the will of the Force!" Palpatzien cried. He covered
his face with his hands.
"I... I had a vision" His voice was muffled. "A Messenger of
the Force."
He looked up at Obi-Wan, shaking, holding himself together with
obvious effort.
"Just as you have appeared in the guise of one of the Jedi, so
this messenger appeared to me as one of the priests of Sith.
Myself, in fact. But he was, oh, so much more than me."
Obi-Wan squatted and grabbed the priest's robes. "Go on."
"He was strong. So powerful. He made his power felt to me. I
fell down before him, and kissed his feet. I thought my prayers
had been answered. But he laughed at me. He called me weak,
useless, and said I was no true Sith."
"And then he was in my mind. I couldn't keep him out. It was...
terrible. But it was exhilarating too! He showed me visions of
huge armies on the march, great birds of fire crossing the
skies and the dark places between the stars. Me, wielding great
powers of life and death, dark energies that shattered stone
and men...
"And the first step on this path was to begin again the Dark
Rites. He said their true purpose was not to send a messenger
to the Force but to sacrifice to the Dark Lords of the Sith. He
said they had been slumbering for a thousand years, but were
now rising again. All they needed to awaken was blood. Fresh
blood to revive and sustain them."
"Are you mad?!" Tzanatzos stared at him in horror. "That is
forbidden!"
Palpatzien's unfocussed eyes slid over the dark-haired man,
rested briefly on Obian and then fixed once more on Obi-Wan's
face.
"He told me who the sacrifice had to be. He told me it had to
be Obian Quenobi. Only he said the name strangely."
"Obi-Wan Kenobi?"
"Yes..." Palpatzien's eyes were rolling in his head, and his
words were strangely slurred. "Yes, that's how he said it."
Obi-Wan nodded. "That man is my enemy. And yours too. He has no
intention of helping you, and he serves a far darker purpose
than you could ever imagine.
"Now, I want to know where you got that energy staff from."
"He left it for me, when he came back. He left it on my private
altar. It was a gift, for me alone."
Obi-Wan stared at the broken priest, shocked. "He came back?"
That couldn't be right. Palpatzien must be mistaken. The man
was clearly deranged.
"My master, my wonderful master. He's going to come back again.
Going to come and teach you all the true meaning of power. And
I will be right there with him. At his right hand." Palpatzien
was babbling, words spewing from spittle-flecked lips. "You're
going to die, Quigontzin. Die horribly! You too, Quindu! And
you, Tzanatzos, you weakling traitor. You could have been part
of the Sith revival, but I shall make sure you share the fate
of these pathetic Jedi! I'll keep you for my bed, Quenobi..."
Quigontzin leaned forward threateningly, and Palpatzien
subsided.
Maiz stepped forward, his face like a thundercloud, his naked
sword still in his hands.
"Palpatzien. You have conspired with unknown forces to
perpetrate evil. You have attempted to subvert one of our most
sacred traditions to your own nefarious purposes. You have
betrayed the Compact between our two Orders. You have taken
advantage of a terrible crisis to advance your own interests.
You are removed from the Council of Priests immediately. Let
your own Order deal with you as it sees fit."
Tzanatzos limped forward. He still cradled his injured arm, and
his voice shook a little.
"You are the leader of our Order, but you have betrayed us all.
The Dark Lords were banished when their wars nearly destroyed
our world. Is that what you wanted? Jedi and Sith at each
others throats again?!"
His voice steadied. "Palpatzien. You are unfit for the great
honor of being our High Priest. You will be tried by a council
of your peers. Do not expect them to be merciful."
He nodded to the guards who had been watching, round eyed.
Between them they man-handled the raving bundle that had once
been the most powerful man in the Shadow Order out of sight and
into an unknown fate.
The city-wide quarantine had been lifted, but the celebrations
were somewhat muted, as there had been many who had died.
Tzanatzos was being treated for burns, but would recover.
Obi-Wan found himself the centre of much curious attention. In
the midst of the joyful chaos Obian stood up and announced his
and Quigontzin's intention of forming a life partnership. There
were cheers, and some good natured ribbing from his comrades
about someone who wanted to go straight from vows of chastity
to a lifetime bond.
Obian just sat there throughout, glowing with pleasure, and the
luminous face he turned to his mate shone with joy for all to
see. Quigontzin looked, for his part, as if someone had just
handed him the sun, moon and stars.
Obi-Wan watched the pair for a while. He didn't begrudge them
their happiness, but it accentuated his own aching loneliness.
Someday he would find his own happiness. Someday. But not yet.
That night he lay alone in the room they had given him in the
Temple compound, watching the sky through the open window. He
would leave in the morning. If he went up to the very top of
the pyramid he would be landing at around the same level he
usually arrived at. He should get some rest.
But he lay there watching the stars wheel above him, feeling
Obian's joy and happiness singing to him along the bond they
shared until he, too, finally fell asleep.
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