The Jedi Temple Murders
by analise and Kirby CrowPart 1
It began, as most things do, quite innocently. I only wanted to talk to him, to ask some questions. To perhaps find out why. It was only once he opened his vicious little mouth and spewed his foul accusations and his blame at me from those harlot's lips that I knew what had to be done.
It was ridiculously easy. He was no match for me. I didn't even need to use my hands, just wrapped the Force around him and pushed his head under the waters of the moonlit fountain.
For some reason I thought that it would be bloodless. It wasn't. I had not counted on the fact that he would attempt to use the Force as well, creating a compression inside the field I enveloped him in that burst his eardrums and the delicate membranes in his nose and eyes, tinting the waters a faint pink. The Force retreated at my command, and his corpse floated up from the water, doing that slow, lifeless roll in the water to turn, staring with still, shattered eyes at the lightless sky. If I did not act quickly, this was the way the Jedi would soon find him.
The body I could hide, but there was nothing I could do about the blood in the water. I would have to leave it and hope the water filters concealed in clever niches in the curved, low walls of the fountain would eliminate it.
The Code calls for self-reliance. Following that rule, every Jedi facility with a suitable climate is equipped with a cistern. The water is collected on the roofs of the main and outlying buildings and directed by a catchment system of diverting gutters into a great cistern positioned near the agricultural area. In this area are the pretty strolling gardens and the large crop fields where food is grown. The water is only used for irrigating plants. Conceivably, something hidden in the cistern could go undiscovered for weeks or even months.
I favored the idea. It seemed almost poetic, to think that this wasted life would serve some purpose after all, even if that function were only to nourish lowly food plants and thus, in the long view, his fellow students as well.
Levitating the body to the top of the rounded cistern was simple. Removing the heavy, torus-shaped capping block in the center of the lid was harder, for it is always more difficult to manipulate unseen objects. Inevitably, though, the cap was moved and the body pushed down into the concealing depths.
It was near dawn by the time the block was back in place. I took one last look around the garden.
Now I only had to be alert and very careful, for the Jedi are swift at sniffing out patterns and intent.
I should know.
A slight breeze curled up and around the lip of the low wall, bringing the musky, brown scent of gava grass newly threshed and the grainy texture of air warmed by an autumn sun. He could just make out the figures of the creche children far out in the fields, finishing up the last of the harvesting for the season. Small brown-clad bodies bobbing up and down as they gathered up the shorn grass, shaking the grain out over their baskets with a charming mix of a child's awkwardness and the control of a budding Jedi. Squinting out at them through the morning sunlight he suddenly found that he could no longer remember what simple labor felt like. The tedious, predictable repetition of a task that held no threat of losing life or limb.
A faint smile touched his lips as he imagined himself walking out into the fields and helping the children gather up the grain. His apprentice would likely never let him hear the end of it. Inscrutable Jedi Masters were supposed to stand quiet in their omniscience, gazing out over the flocks of the learning and offer gems of wisdom every once in a while.
An outright chuckle rumbled up from his chest then. Indeed.
As it was, he was feeling cooped up on Coruscant. They had been here too long for his liking. And while it was pleasant out in the deceptive beauty of the Temple's compound, his senses still yearned for the unpredictability of the Universe.
But.
But there was Obi-Wan to consider, and his training. He took his Padawan's education too seriously to neglect it. And every once in a while the youth needed the structure of what the Temple could give him. Field experience was nice, but it did not always lend towards such things as honing fighting skills. Contrary to popular belief, most missions were peaceful diplomatic events. Much to the disappointment of the newly Apprenticed.
His eyes flicked back from the shorn fields to the grassy sward where said apprentice was currently sparring energetically with another Padawan, one of Obi-Wan's close friends. An unexpressed sigh broke somewhere deep inside him as his eyes drank in the beauty of his apprentice's movements. He had the body and the sensibilities of a dancer, his motions fluid and graceful as he thrust, parried and dodged. There was a huge grin on the youth's countenance even as sweat dripped down into eyes fired with the thrill of the contest. The other Padawan was giving as good as he got, attacking and withdrawing with perfect precision. An excellent match...but he predicted that Obi-Wan would win. Obi-Wan always made a point of winning.
The vanities of youth, he thought with an inner smile. And the boy had the right to be vain. He was beautiful and he knew it. Qui-Gon fought back the familiar stirrings of desire that always awoke when he watched such swordplay, telling himself that he could enjoy the sheer animal beauty of his apprentice without resorting to lustful contemplation.
Still, it was difficult. Very difficult. His Padawan had long blossomed into an extremely attractive young man and he had found it increasingly hard not to simply reach out and touch. Wrong. That would be wrong, he told himself calmly. He is your student, and you would like him to remain so. An invisible shiver passed through him at the thought of being without the boy. Not worth the risk.
Even so, as the crisp morning light caught in the gold-washed highlights of Obi-Wan's hair and shimmered off the sweat-slick planes of his bare torso, he knew it was only going to get worse before it got better. He simply couldn't control the rising feelings like he could with so many other things.
And the biggest problem was that he didn't want to.
"You Padawan looks to be in good form." The voice rumbled quietly in his ear and he turned his head to see the tall, stately form of Mace Windu move to lean against the wall to his right. Qui-Gon let a proud smile curve his lips as he nodded, forcing his desire down deep in the presence of a Council Member.
"He is. He practices a great deal." Qui-Gon murmured, tucking his hands into his sleeves.
"It is his devotion to you that drives him." Windu said softly, dark eyes flicking back and forth as he watched the two Padawans spar. "You must be careful with such a gift as that. It can easily turn to worship."
That lifted his eyebrows. It was a strange thing to say. It was a given that a Padawan would try to rise to the standards of his Master. Anything less would make a mockery of the apprenticeship.
"I'm not sure what you are saying, Mace." Qui-Gon said, trying not to sound defensive. Had the solemn master just now sensed the inappropriate, lustful feelings that he had carried for Obi-Wan? The thought had him fighting back a traitorous flush.
"Nothing that you don't already know, Qui-Gon." He said slowly, still not meeting his eyes, instead focusing on the two young men as they lunged and parried. "I know you always do the right thing, old friend."
Why did that sound like a threat? He frowned and opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but was interrupted by a flurry of sound.
A shout from across the greensward attracted both Masters' attentions and Qui-Gon pushed off the low wall, squinting to see what the commotion was. He could see that Obi-Wan and his partner had stopped as well, young chests heaving with exertion as they craned their necks. In the distance a number of the creche children were gathered around what looked like the irrigation outlet. He could feel their shock and horror from where he stood.
His legs were moving before he even thought about it, breaking into a loping run towards the growing cluster of children, Mace just behind him. He could sense that Obi-Wan and his friend were not far behind them.
He gently pushed through the gathering group, noting that one of the children had started to sob softly from somewhere near the front of the clot.
The irrigation system consisted of a large underground cistern that gathered fresh water during the rainy season and stored it for the small fields the Temple kept. A wide, long pipe, using only a single solar generator pumped water up from the cistern, expanding along the length of the field with numerous outlets that fed the rows. Usually, the children would go along the rows in the mornings and lift the little iron grates, letting the water spill into the fields.
Today they had lifted the gate and now it hung ajar, only a thin trickle of sluggish water dripping past what was clearly a snow-white hand, the fingers slightly curled in towards the palm, the short, square nails blue with death. Sediment clotted around the disembodied appendage, dead weeds wrapping around the wrist like a strange coil of jewelry.
Without any hesitation, Qui-Gon dropped down onto his knees in the mud and peered into the gate, trying to see beyond the filthy white of the waterlogged arm that extended back into darkness. Mace stood back a little ways, his lips white as he stared at the hand.
"By the Force!" The exclamation was from Bacco, the youth Obi-Wan had been exercising with, and he could feel the horror emanating from both Padawans.
"He's trapped in the main pipe there..." Qui-Gon murmured. "Someone is going to have to go in through the cistern..."
"Who do you think it is?" one of the children whispered. Qui-Gon snapped his head back to stare at the gaping group. He had forgotten about the children. Mace turned to the two Padawans, breaking out of his paralysis.
"Bacco? Could you take the children back to the Temple? And send Master Be'el." His deep voice was a study in calm.
Qui-Gon nodded to himself. Master Be'el was the Jedi in charge of the Temple fields, and he would be the most likely to know how they might go about retrieving the unfortunate trapped inside the irrigation pipe. Bacco jerked his head in an affirmative and quickly began to herd the children away, many of whom had recovered from their initial shock and were now completely uninterested in leaving the morbid scene.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his apprentice crouch down beside him in the mud. At first he thought the youth was just getting a better look, but then he felt the colossal shock that rocked through Obi-Wan's mind. He stared at his Padawan, seeing those chameleon eyes of his turn the cold blue of astonishment.
"What is it, Obi-Wan? Do you know who it is?"
The youth nodded ever so slightly, his chin dipping just a touch, his eyes never leaving the anonymous water-swollen hand. His own hand reached out and pointed to a tiny mark just above the meeting of palm to wrist. It was a blue circle bisected by a black line...so small it could have been a mole or a birthmark unless you looked closer.
Without a word, Obi-Wan turned his own wrist over into the sunlight, showing his master the exact same marking.
"It's a tattoo." he said quietly. "We all got them...on Kithurrin together. Bacco too." His chin jerked slightly in the direction his friend had taken the children. "At Training Temple, when we won." he explained to his Master's inquiring look. "Bacco, Geen, me, Elspeth...and Sandor." He swallowed again, looking at the hand, clearly male, disqualifying Elspeth.
And they all knew what had happened to Geen.
Qui-Gon put a comforting hand on the slumped bare shoulder. He stood, ignoring the mud that fell from the knees of his breeches. He could see a small group of figures walking towards them through the uneven ground of the field, led by the stocky brown figure of Master Be'el. Mace had turned from the scene and was walking to meet the powerful Veddian.
"Who was Sandor's Master?" Qui-Gon asked quietly. He did not doubt Obi Wan, that the hand protruding from the pipe was who his apprentice suspected, but they needed to be entirely certain before he went off giving bad news.
"Master Conn" Obi-Wan was still staring at the hand as if it was speaking to him.
"What is this?" Be'el's gravely voice broke through the quiet, his rough, textured face showing the Veddian version of a frown. The Field master was typical of his race, humanoid, brown textured skin, broad shoulders with long powerful arms that almost resembled tree limbs. In fact, many of the creche children whispered his nickname as Master Stump behind his back. He did look like nothing short of a tree trunk, bark and all.
Qui-Gon stepped aside to show the pale evidence and he watched as Be'el's wide mouth dropped open in shock. Mace had come up to squat near the hand, closing his eyes as if he were reaching into the Force for answers.
"What...?" His voice had dropped to a whisper, his eyes wide. "How has this happened?"
"I think it's more important right now that we retrieve him from the pipe, Master Be'el." Qui-Gon said gently. "How can we access this pipe?"
Yellow eyes blinked at him, almost uncomprehending and then he nodded, powerful hands clenching and unclenching in distress.
"Through the main cistern access. Someone will have to swim a ways towards the pipe and then crawl into it."
Qui-Gon nodded firmly, intent on doing the deed himself. As if Be'el knew that, the Veddian shook his head.
"You will never fit, Master Jinn. The pipe is narrow. You are too broad." Big hands lifted to mimic the expanse of Qui-Gon's shoulders.
"I will go, Master." Obi-Wan's quiet voice cut through the murmur of the others who had gathered around the hand as if it were offering benediction. Qui-Gon looked down into the pale features and opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again as he realized he had no reasons beyond selfish ones for why he didn't want his Padawan taking on the gruesome task. He could practically feel Mace's eyes burning into his back. Waiting.
As if seeing the reluctant acquiescence, the youth turned and set off at a quick lope towards the massive stone cylinder that housed the cistern access, his long braid flapping behind him.
Qui-Gon turned to the gawkers and barked a sharp command to follow. Obi-Wan would not be able to lift the stone cap alone.
So much can change in a year.
There had been five of them, then four, and now there were only three. And who knew what another two years might bring? Five. Ten. For the first time since he had learned to deal with what had happened on Kithurrin the year before, as he sat there on the top of cistern lid preparing to retrieve the body of his friend, Obi-Wan experienced a singularly mature fear of the future and all the gaping pits that lay ahead.
Outwardly, Obi-Wan's features were composed into a white mask of patient expression. Inside, his chest was one aching lump of pain.
He tried to remember Sandor as a strong and competent apprentice, an opponent in the battle ring who gave no quarter, nor asked one. A dedicated Padawan. Instead, he felt water-softened hands on his back, heard Sandor's gently teasing voice in his ear as his swimming trunks were eased down his hips.
He remembered Sandor standing waist deep in water scintillating with rainbow light, holding a bottle of Kithurr ale, howling at the sky. Geen, drunk as a Correlian, trying to remember an obscure passage from some awful Veddian poetry and comparing it to Obi-Wan's eyes. Geen had once tried to teach him Veddian, laughing at his attempts, coaching him to wrap the guttural, half-choking glottal stops around his tongue. But Geen had had a talented tongue, and Obi had been clumsy as Elspeth as she held on to Bacco, both tipsily negotiating the slippery rocks from the falls to the cave.
That cave.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. He could almost see Elspeth and Bacco coupling in the dappled shadow of the waterfall, their nude bodies dewed with spray. Geen's hands on his face, his hips, those full lips kissing him with a skill he had thought both impressive and unlikely in a Padawan of their shared years. But Obi Wan had his own secrets. He never questioned Geen on his adeptness in matters of sex, and in the end they had had so little time together after all...
The sound of someone calling his name pulled him out of his reverie before it could take him down dark paths he had no wish to travel again. Paths he had forced himself to forget. He peered over the lip of the cistern and looked down. "Yes, master?"
"Catch" Qui-Gon tossed up a length of knotted rope. Obi-Wan caught it neatly. The Jedi Master looked up at his Padawan with worry in his eyes.
"Someone else can do this task, Obi-Wan," he said simply, leaving the offer hanging in the air. *I know he was your friend. It doesn't have to be you. No shame.* The last, unspoken words were both reassurance and admonition.
Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'll do it," he said. The helpers sent from the Temple had gotten the capping block lifted and rolled away. Obi Wan peered down into the depths of the primary cistern. The musty smell of stale water drifted up to him. Beyond the few cloudy feet illuminated by the intruding sunlight, the collected groundwater was dark and impenetrable. A few stray dead bugs floated on the surface, their shells black with mildew.
Qui-Gon sighed. "I'm coming up," he announced.
Obi-Wan shrugged and sat, his hands tugging off his tall boots. By the time he had gotten the sweaty leather peeled away from his legs, Qui-Gon had climbed the ladder and Obi-Wan was skimming his breeches off, folding them in a neat pile with his other clothing. Obi-Wan took up the length of rope and unwound it, then looped it several times over his shoulder. One end of the rope he knotted slip-fashion and slid it over his wrist, pulling it tight. He made another slip knot and kept it wide and loose over his hand. This would be the end he would attach to Sandor's body to pull him out of the pipe.
Qui-Gon kept his eyes averted from Obi-Wan's nude body, focusing instead on the long-boned white feet. As always, he was acutely aware of Obi-Wan's physical beauty, but to acknowledge it in that moment would, under the circumstances, have been almost obscene. And Mace was still watching him like a hawk. It was making him angry in a time when he needed to support his student.
Obi-Wan sat on the lip of the round hole revealed by the capping block and dropped his legs in, testing the temperature of the water. His blue eyes squinted, trying to fathom the waters beyond sight. He reached out slightly with the Force, but could register nothing beyond the bland and featureless emanations of single-celled life.
No. Wait.
There *was* something down there. He closed his eyes, concentrating, until an image came to him. A huddled black lump of cells, silenced and inanimate, yet lingering like a phantom limb.
With a chilling start, Obi-Wan realized that what he was sensing was all that remained of Sandor's aural field. His corpse.
He shuddered, and behind him Qui-Gon frowned, quite sure that a mistake was being made.
"Pad--" he began, and got no farther, for Obi-Wan pushed up with his arms, lifting his bare rump off the lip of the cistern, and plunged feet-first into the water.
The water closed over his head, pushing into his nose. He opened his eyes, seeing white blobs around him and darkness below and little else. He closed his eyes, reached out with his senses and jack-knifed, diving. His ears popped when he reached the concrete bottom of the cistern, pressure pushing down on the top of his skull. He felt around with his hands, the rough surface scraping his knees and palms briefly before he found the circular, meter-high pipe that led into the twin-branching pipe that in turn led to the secondary underground cistern and the outflow pipe.
It was the outflow pipe he needed to find. Obi-Wan steeled himself and crawled, frog-like, into the pipe. It branched in twain some three meters ahead, and Obi-Wan, operating now on Force-sense alone, chose the left pipe as being the one that held Sandor's body
Obi-Wan swam ahead, blind, trying to feel ahead with his hands, shying away from the slimy walls of the narrow pipe. The pipe narrowed abruptly, and claustrophobia belatedly set in. Obi-Wan felt his heart speed up, although, thanks to his Jedi training, he still had plenty of air. The confines of the space were not all that troubled him. Somehow, just knowing that there was a body in the passage with him was frightening, sending an eerie shiver down his spine that he was helpless to ignore.
He tried ridiculing himself. It was only water after all, and a corpse was only decaying matter. He was being childish.
He had just started to feel better when the trailing end of the rope touched his ankle. He kicked violently, bumping his head on the pipe, for the first time realizing how frightened he really was. There was blackness all around him. His heart began to race, adrenaline pouring into his body, and suddenly the need for oxygen was acute.
And then the boots touched his face.
Obi-Wan half-shouted in the water, bubbles rising from his mouth to tickle his nose, and pushed back with all his might, his hands slipping on the curved walls, almost losing the precious lung-full of air which was all that sustained him in the water, the only thing between him and drowning.
Panicked, he called to Qui-Gon-without even thinking, and instantly his master was there, in his mind, demanding that he leave the body and come up for air.
*Master!* he called, thrashing in the dark.
*I am here, Padawan.* Obi-Wan heard clearly, a figure of rocklike strength and reassurance standing in his mind. Waves of calm seemed to press in through his skin. *I am with you. Leave the body. Come back *
*No.* Obi-Wan willed himself to control, comforted by the familiar mental presence of his master. He let his body go limp in the water, reaching out to feel the shape of a pair of boots jammed into the end of the pipe. He felt higher along the shape of the boots and registered the contours of human legs.
*I'm alright,* he sent through their shared link. *I've got Sandor. I just... got spooked for a minute.*
*Completely understandable. Now get out of that damned pipe.*
*Coming, master,* Obi-Wan quickly slipped the knot over the booted ankle of his fellow apprentice and drew it tight. He retreated back up the pipe, playing out the rope as he went. When he was free of the pipe, he halted, kneeling on the bottom of the cistern floor, and tugged hard. There was no hesitation. The body slipped free of the confining pipe like a worm out of an apple. It chuted out into the expanse of the primary cistern, and only when Obi-Wan felt the bulk of it nudging him did he push up strongly with his legs, arrowing for the surface.
His head broke water. Qui-Gon had hold of his shoulders and was pulling him up and out before he could help himself, uncaring of either Obi-Wan's feelings or of how it might look to the watching Temple Jedi, Mace be damned. Obi-Wan's distress was visible. Despite the heat, Obi-Wan was shaking in great trembling waves, his eyes glued to the head of the body that had floated up from the bottom, face-first, the ravaged features of his dead friend staring skywards.
Qui-Gon slipped his own dark robe from his back and folded Obi-Wan in it like a child, leading him away.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12