Title: Joint Strength
Author: Rene
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 for the whole story
Notes: See Part One
Disclaimer: All for fun, not a whit of profit
Summary of this part: Beginning exactly where part four left off, Qui-Gon and Molu encounter
a dangerous surprise, and Obi-Wan's life is complicated by another inexplicable event.
Archive: Padawan Journals and Early Years
Avoiding Molu's questioning gaze, Qui-gon stared into the deepening dusk, past the flaring torches. Unbidden and unsought, a memory unreeled itself there, in the darkness: a young face, twisted with hatred, the eyes staring at him unblinkingly as the boy pressed a burning circle of gold to his own face. A broken circle. Qui-Gon closed his eyes against the memory, but he could still hear the faint hiss as the fiery metal made its permanent mark.
When he opened his eyes, his face was completely calm. "It is the mark of an old enemy. Whatever evil he was planning through Teek, he was aiming it at me. I'm very sorry that my past should be the cause of a young man's corruption."
Molu shook his head. "You bear no blame in this. Teek made his own choice. He knew the right path, and forsook it willingly."
"Perhaps." Qui-Gon paused, thinking, and then said slowly, "May I examine Teek's quarters? I might find some clue there to their larger plan, whatever it was."
"Of course. I'll go with you."
"That's kind of you. I can do it alone, though, if you have other duties."
"No. Teek was one of my soldiers, a boy I trained. I am as concerned with the scope of his folly as you are."
Qui-Gon nodded, silently admonishing himself. He should have been mindful of the general's grief at the loss of his soldier. My focus is too inward just now, he thought. Leave it. The past is past.
He followed Molu down another wooden walkway, this one parallel to a small, lazily-flowing stream. The torches were soon left behind, and the only illumination came from starlight and the huge glowing moon, reflecting brokenly in the stream. Molu glanced up at it, and then stooped, dipping a handful of water and flinging it up toward the sky.
"The gods walk tonight," he murmured.
Though he didn't understand the small ritual, Qui-Gon felt it soothe his spirit. The gods are walking, and the Living Force is flowing strong, he told himself.
The quiet interlude ended abruptly as they rounded a huge tree and approached a clearing filled with tiny round buildings, many soldiers and dozens of torches. The stream gurgled off into the dark jungle, and Qui-Gon and Molu walked into the light, their presence causing an immediate dampening of the raucous talk and loud laughter enveloping the compound.
"This is a Soldier's Circle," Molu said. "Teek lived here, but I'm not sure which house was his."
He beckoned to a soldier in the nearest group, and she jogged over to them, trying unsuccessfully to hide a look of foreboding.
"You have a duty for me, General?"
"No. Just a question. You know the soldier Teek, son of Jira?"
She nodded. "Yes, but I haven't seen him all day."
"Which was his house?"
She jerked her chin toward the darkened edge of the clearing. "Over there. The last one. He used to live near the center, but he traded quarters to be near the edge. We all thought that was strange. I mean, who wants to live right up tight with the trees? More snakes that way."
She smiled at them invitingly, obviously hoping for a hint about the nature of their business here. But Molu gave her an uncommunicative nod, and said only, "We thank you, soldier." His tone was dismissive.
Slightly reluctantly, she dipped her head and crossed her wrists in front of her face, palms inward. Molu repeated the gesture, and she walked away, not without a subtle backward glance.
Molu and Qui-gon exchanged a faint smile and strode over to the indicated house. Set somewhat apart from the others, its isolated look was magnified by tightly closed doors and windows. Qui-Gon frowned. The other houses had every portal wide open, to catch the slightest breeze.
It's wrong. Wrong! The Force shouted at him.
Molu was reaching for the latch on the door, opening it, starting to step inside. In a blur of motion, Qui-Gon flung out his arm, catching Molu's shoulders with the Force and yanking him violently backward. As he fell into Qui-Gon and they tumbled to the ground, Qui-Gon heard a deadly whisper split the air above their heads, and tracked it to a tree several meters away.
The two men picked themselves up, and Molu regarded Qui-Gon wryly. "Your methods are most direct, friend Jedi. But I thank you for them. Did you hear it go by?"
Qui-Gon nodded, impressed that Molu had detected the sound as well. He strode to the tree and, after a moment's study, found a small metal dart embedded deeply in the bark. As Molu joined him, he asked, "Do you recognize this?"
"Yes. A _wik_. Most likely poisoned. We use them for hunting small game." His voice turned grim. "And occasionally for assassination."
"He set a trap. Was he expecting to be caught?"
"I don't know. I teach my soldiers to prepare for all outcomes. Perhaps it was merely a precaution."
"Well, if he was setting traps, he must have something to protect. Shall we see if we can find it?"
"I think not, my friend. We should try again tomorrow, in the light. Where there is one snake, there may be others."
"Hmmm. Trikan wisdom?"
Molu grinned. "No. Just a fact of Trikan life."
Rising early from a fitful night's sleep, Obi-Wan worked for two hours, gathering up the fragments of his old life and hauling them to the incinerator shaft, requisitioning new clothing and a cushion for his sleep couch to replace the slashed and burned one. When he had finished, the chamber was clean and utterly bare, and his already-injured body heavy with weariness. He remembered the medic droid's admonition from earlier: no strenuous activity for 24 hours. A small, ironic smile crossed his face. Right, he thought.
Slowly, painfully, he cleaned himself up and pulled on his new set of clothing, but as he walked from the bath back into his room, the bleak emptiness of it struck him like a physical blow. His eye fell at once on the small pile of splinters on the desktop, the only evidence remaining of the destruction, and suddenly he knew that he couldn't face this barren room a moment longer. He turned abruptly and went to find his friends.
They were, not surprisingly, huddled over the remains of breakfast in the mostly deserted Dining Room. Obi-Wan couldn't help smiling. The four of them had always been forced to linger over meals, because Reeft was always the last one finished. He certainly enjoyed his food.
Despite the smile, Obi-Wan's three friends saw at once the hard shell masking his face.
"What happened?" Bant asked, drawing him down to sit next to her.
Obi-Wan hesitated, but the events of the past day had been too miserable to bury inside himself. With short, clipped sentences he told them of his fight with Bruck, the embarrassing presentation of a new lightsaber, and, speaking more softly, the destruction of his chamber.
"Everything?" Reeft exclaimed. "Your droids, your drawings and stuff?"
"Gone," Obi-Wan said grimly.
Bant's face was white as she whispered, "Your mother's sculpture?"
Obi-Wan just looked away.
They were silent. None of them had any memento of their birth homes, and consequently understood completely what the sculpture had meant. There was nothing to say.
Suddenly, Garen's hand clenched into a fist. "So, what are we going to do about him?"
"Who?" asked Reeft.
"Bruck Chun. Who else would do this to Obi-Wan?"
"If it was him, he's gone too far." Bant's normally gentle voice was cold.
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Yes, but we don't know it was Bruck. I can't accuse him of something like this without proof."
Garen's face was hard as he repeated, "Who else could it have been?"
In his heart, Obi-Wan agreed. It must have been Bruck. But he was also thinking of Qui-Gon's actions on the transport to Bandomeer: his quiet diplomacy, his equity to all the parties involved, even those who Obi-Wan felt to be undeserving of it. He looked up at his friends and said what he thought Qui-Gon would say.
"We must be patient. We need proof."
His three friends stared at him, open admiration dawning on their faces.
"That's really. . .Knight-like of you," Reeft said.
Obi-Wan smiled as the compliment lightened his spirit. "Maybe I'm just a marvelous actor."
They laughed, but grew sober again as Bant asked, "How will you find proof?"
"I don't know. I'll think of something." Obi-wan glanced around, noticing that they were the only ones left in the room. "Come on. You're all going to be late."
They stood, and then paused briefly while Reeft popped a last bite of pastry into his mouth. Obi-Wan's back was toward the door when he saw Bant's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He whirled, catching only the barest glimpse of a shining projectile, and then an eruption of primal fear seized him, and he flung himself to one side, feeling a stinging pain lance across his scalp. He stumbled, taking several steps to regain his balance, and looked up to see his friends, rigid with shock, staring at a vibro-shiv embedded in the wall, quivering from impact.
In his flat Trikan bed, Qui-Gon was hurled into wakefulness and leaped from the platform to land in a half-crouch. From its resting place atop his neatly folded clothing, his lightsaber flew into his outstretched hand with a loud slap. But in the heartbeat that it took his thumb to ignite the weapon, full awareness of his surroundings impressed itself upon him, and he straightened. For a long moment he stood frozen in the humid darkness, heart thudding, the moonlight gleaming dully off sweat-sheened muscles.
What had wakened him?
His mind quickly scanned over its latest impressions: Molu guiding him to this guest house and wishing him a cheerful "good sleeping!", his arms struggling to open a stubbornly stuck window, his mind struggling even more to empty itself of the broken circle and rest. A long period of meditation, a descent into sleep, and then. . .a blast of raw emotion. Now it had faded as quickly as it had come, leaving only a vague residue.
Fear, he realized. It was someone else's fear.
In the darkness, his lips formed a question.
"Obi-Wan?"
The shiv quivered, and the moment seemed to stretch alarmingly, until it broke into furious action. With an inarticulate grunt, Garen raced out of the room, Reeft only two steps behind. Bant grabbed Obi-Wan's arm to prevent his joining the pursuit, shouting, "No! You're bleeding!"
Obi-Wan put his hand to his head and brought it away again coated red. Bant shoved him down and stood over him, parting the blood-soaked hair with her hands to seek the wound.
Obi-wan stared at the shiv in the wall. The sick fear had faded almost as quickly as it appeared. He reached out, trying to search the Force, but he felt nothing. No threat, no danger.
"I don't think it's really bad," Bant said, sighing. "It's just bleeding a lot. We need a medic to look right away."
"No!" Obi-Wan seized her wrist. "No, I'm all right." He pressed his other hand to the cut, trying to stem the flow. "See. It's already stopping."
"Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully. At his nod, she continued, "Well, I'll go find one of the Masters."
"No." Obi-Wan stopped her again. "There's no need."
"No need!" Bant's mouth dropped open. "Obi-Wan, someone just tried to plant a shiv in your skull!"
Just then, Garen and Reeft returned, breathing hard.
"We couldn't. . .catch him. Too. . .fast," Reeft panted.
"All we saw was the edge of someone's cloak, when he went around the corner," Garen said after catching his breath. "When we got there, the hall was totally empty."
"No telling where he went," Reeft added.
"A cloak? A Jedi cloak?" Obi-Wan asked.
"No, it was blue."
"Black."
The two boys looked at each other and then back at Obi-Wan.
Garen shrugged regretfully. "I thought it was blue, but it all happened really fast."
Reeft was staring at Obi-Wan's blood-matted hair. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. It's not bad."
"It looks bad."
Bant was simmering like a controlled explosion. "This is insane! We've got to tell the Masters!"
Garen and Reeft transferred their stares to her.
"Well, yes, of course," Garen said.
"Not 'of course'! Obi-Wan says no."
"Why?" Garen turned. "This is pretty serious."
"Someone tried to kill you." Reeft said.
Obi-Wan slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. Who would want to kill me? Besides, I would have felt an intention to kill, in the Force."
The others radiated skepticism, although they were too polite to voice it. They were all very young students of the Force, and they knew their control was capricious. None of them could claim mastery of it.
Ignoring their doubtful expressions, Obi-Wan continued, "Maybe. . .someone. . .was trying to scare me, and came a little closer than he meant to."
"Scare you!" Bant exclaimed. "I saw it coming. It was aimed right at your head. And who's 'someone'? Not even Bruck would do this."
"I don't know."
Garen put his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Look. We've got to tell the Masters. Even if this _was_ some kind of . . .prank."
"No." Obi-Wan's voice was firm. "They've got the problems of the whole galaxy. They don't need to be bothered with this little thing."
"Little! Little. . ." Bant sputtered.
"It's not little, Obi-Wan," said Reeft. "This was an attack on a Jedi, in the Temple!"
"I don't think it was an attack." Obi-Wan walked to the knife and pried it out of the wall. He faced his friends. "Please, don't tell anyone about this. I'm all right, and it's better. . .if no one knows. Really."
He locked eyes with them, and slowly, reluctantly, they agreed not to speak of it, Bant last of all.
"I've got to get cleaned up." Obi-Wan grinned wryly. "It's a good thing I don't have a class. I'd have a hard time explaining my tardiness."
Unwilling, but unable to find a way to counter Obi-Wan's determinedly casual attitude, the three others gathered their things and departed for their morning classes. Obi-Wan stood alone in the center of the room, staring down at the shiv in his hand. Were his friends right? Should the Masters be told? But quickly the fear in his heart asserted itself. Surely an apprentice to Qui-Gon Jinn should not be so weak and afraid as to go running to the Masters at every inexplicable event? And if he did go, the whole story of his fight yesterday with Bruck would surely come to light.
No, it was better to wait. Didn't Qui-Gon, and every other Master for that matter, always counsel patience? He would wait, and see what would happen, if anything did, and then act on the further information.
He gripped the shiv tightly.
Wait. Maybe look around a little. And stay very alert.
TBC
You are visitor # to come here since January 19, 2000.
© 2000 heather.lively@ns.sympatico.ca
Get your own Free Home Page