The Jedi Temple Murders
by analise and Kirby CrowPart 2
Qui-Gon took the low, wide stairs up to the Moot Chamber three at a time, his long strides eating the distance as quickly as he could without running. To say he had been reluctant to leave his shaking, ashen apprentice alone in their quarters would have been an understatement. He had almost refused the summons entirely, ignoring the message that had been flashing with mild reproof at him from the comm in the corner.
It had been Obi-Wan himself, still shivering like a foal in winter, who had insisted with his pale, haunted eyes.
*Go, Master. I want to know what happened to Sandor...I have to know.*
He had been unable to deny the request, clearly written with need, and he had taken the time only to help the youth into a steaming shower, silently promising to be back as soon as he could.
The wide doors were open, gaping like a dark maw. The Moot was a massive chamber that occupied the very center of the Temple. It could easily hold upwards of five thousand Knights and Masters at any given time, stacking them in concentric circles around a dipped central table.
Today, only a dozen Masters stood around the central table, none sitting, all agitated. He revised his initial impression a moment later when he saw that one was indeed sitting, small and nearly hidden by one of the large chairs that crouched in intervals around the table. Master Conn, he suspected, a sharp pang flash-firing through him as he suddenly imagined himself in her place. His apprentice torn from him in such a cruel, meaningless fashion.
Aching in empathy, he ignored the quiet clusters of Jedi who stood in cliques around the oval table and went to crouch next to the tiny, frail, old woman's chair.
"Master Conn?" he asked, not touching her with mind or body, simply letting her know that he was there. The grief was rolling off her in waves, and he could almost feel her mind casting about for a youthful presence who was no longer there.
"I knew, you see," she whispered, looking down at the younger Jedi who squatted by her chair with reddened, rheumy eyes. "I could feel it in my bones that something was going to happen. He asked if he could visit his family for just a few days...they're here on Coruscant...and I agreed. He's worked so hard, such a sweet, cheerful boy..." her voice broke off momentarily and he waited for her to regain control, letting one of his hands cover hers. It trembled like a frightened sparrow in his grasp, fragile as a cobweb.
Once again, Qui-Gon was assailed with the terrible notion of being in her shoes. The spot that he could feel, even now, the warm corner of his heart that Obi-Wan always seemed to shelter in...how would it be to lose that? It would be so...cold.
She peered at him then, narrowing her tear-puffed eyes slightly. "How is your Padawan? I understand that he was the one who retrieved my app -- my Sandor, from the cistern pipes." Her old voice was raw with a pain that showed no sign of dissipating. "I knew they were friends, from their Trial on Kithurrin. Sandor spoke of him often. That must have been...so hard."
Qui-Gon shook his head sadly. "I don't know. He's had a shock. I think he'll be alright." He was interrupted then by the sound of someone's lightsaber handle rapping on the polished stone of the huge table.
He forced his knees to unbend with a little pop and, not leaving Master Conn's side as he turned to face the speaker. Master Windu stood there, looking grim and even a little angry...his dark eyes flashing a look that Qui-Gon had seen across the Galaxy. 'Not In My Town' the look said. The Jedi were not used to this sort of thing coming within their Temple compound walls.
A few more Jedi entered up at the wide doors and hurried down the steps to join their brethren. Qui-Gon recognized the broad form of Master Be'el moving powerfully down the Moot steps and he made a mental note to have a word or two with the Field Master. It was possible the Veddian, being in charge of the fields and the cistern, might know something more.
"Please everyone, please," Windu's rich voice called out, quieting the murmurs that still riffled through the room like wind in weeds. A moment later the cavernous room was silent with waiting. "I'm sure you've all heard about Sandor Nir-Pellos by now. And I think you know why this meet was called."
Still silence. The Jedi in the room all understood. There was no need for useless exposition. Nearly every Master in the room was currently training a Padawan, this murder affected each of them.
"I think I know what you're all feeling, and though I do not have an apprentice," Mace murmured, the acoustics of the Hall sending his words out as if he were standing only feet away from each of the them, "I feel it too. But anger will serve none of us. We must channel those energies into action. We much discover who has dared to breach our walls and murder one of our own."
"Have the medical droids discovered anything from the Padawan's body?" Master Illior called out from his place across the length of the table.
"So far, nothing. They have only just begun. Pertinent info will be handed out when it is found." He thinned his lips. "But for now, we need to know if any of you know of a reason that Sandor might be a target. Did he have gambling debts? A jilted lover? Did he have enemies? His Master claims that he was preparing to go out into the city, but he clearly never made it past our gates. These are the things that I need all of you to focus your attentions on. There is no secret that can withstand our combined efforts to ferret it out."
His quietly fierce eyes swept around the room again, lighting on each of them.
"And we need to know if this was an attack against Sandor, or against us. The difference between these two motives should be clear to you. Recall your own students." Qui-Gon was still doing just that, his heart pounding slightly harder as he tangled with the thought that there might be a hunter out there who'd gained a taste for killing young Jedi. He could see that more than one of the Masters in the room were having the same thought.
The distinctions would have to be made. Not just for Sandor, but for all of them.
The wet tile felt hard and slick beneath his cheek as he pressed his face up against it. Water, hotter than he could normally stand, pounded down on his flesh, bringing a blotchy red flush to his skin. It wasn't hot enough. Nothing would ever be hot enough again.
He could still feel the cold ice of the cistern water surrounding him in the darkness, his friend and onetime-lover attached to him with the obscene likeness of an umbilical cord. The black, inky water...the whitened, ghastly highlights of Sandor's water-puffed features as he'd slowly spun face-up under the filtered spotlight of the cistern's opening.
Obi-Wan felt his breath hitch again and he wasn't at all sure that he wasn't crying under the driving water. The hands of a ghost trailed their way over his back, skimming the slight flare of hip and the more wanton curve of buttock. No, two ghosts. Geen was kissing him softly, black hair falling in a spill of wet silk across his forehead as green eyes sparkled with lust and mischief. Sandor was murmuring in his ear, pausing to nibble the tender lobe from behind, his strong hands sliding up and down his body in a caress meant to drive him wild.
The water of the shower became the memory of a falling river...echoing and splashing on the rocks at the entrance of their mossy cave with a muted roar. Softly, more delicate sounds of slow, patient drips pat-patted into the carpet of moss under their feet...splashing onto their already sleek, wet bodies.
The sounds of Elspeth and Bacco, their soft gasping cries, were fading under the onslaught of the double attentions being focused on him. He felt burningly alive, his whole being throbbing with a need he'd not believed himself capable of.
Sandor was kissing the back of his neck, sliding his palms up Obi Wan's slender form, capturing his arms and lifting them up and over, curling them back behind the strong column of his neck. Geen had given off nibbling and sucking at his mouth, and as Sandor had held his arms up, arching his body out, Geen had moved lower.
It was as clear as yesterday, Obi-Wan thought, his eyes still closed as he brought the inside of his tattooed wrist up to his mouth, tasting the sweet/slick texture of the shower water on his skin. The pair of his friends had taken it in their heads to seduce him and he had gone, oh-so-willingly....the pleasures of that wet, moss green afternoon a permanent fixture in his head.
Until the nightmare that had followed.
His reddened eyes glanced down to see that, even lost in the ecstasy of that long ago afternoon, his sex lay flaccid and unmoving. He squeezed his eyes shut painfully, choking back a sob. He could never forget. He had tried and tried to force himself to only remember the pleasures of that Cave, but the demon of his past, the pain, the shame and the grief, would never leave him.
Sandor had known. He had been the only one left. And somehow, knowing that -- knowing that he was gone -- he felt terribly, terribly alone.
Qui-Gon entered the room just as Obi-Wan was exiting, naked and dripping, from the bathroom. Qui-Gon snatched up a towel and hastily tossed it at his apprentice, averting his eyes.
"Have you been in the shower all this time, Padawan?" he asked, surprise coloring his tone.
Obi-Wan nodded shortly. "Needed to clear my head. I'm fine now, Master." Then he shook his head and his eyes misted over with darkness. He sat heavily on a chair near the window overlooking the gardens below, the towel half-heartedly wrapped around his hips. "What happened in the Moot Hall? Do they have any idea who could have done this?" His voice was low and monotone.
The youth was staring at the floor now, his hair dripping sporadically on the light carpet. Qui-Gon took up another towel and walked over to Obi-Wan and began absently toweling his apprentice's short hair dry. Obi-Wan sat there like a child, allowing himself to be attended to.
"We're working on it, Obi-Wan," he said softly, stroking the end of the fluffy towel across the back of the young man's neck, lingering on the twining, golden braid that marked Obi-Wan as an apprentice of the Jedi.
Qui-Gon gingerly dried the braid, too, trying to skirt his mind away from the thought that such a mark might now be a target. It was useless conjecture, he told himself firmly. No need to work himself up over a baseless fear.
"You knew him well, Padawan?" he asked gently, recalling Mace's words in the Hall. They needed to find the motive behind the murder before they could weigh the danger to the rest of the compound. To their apprentices.
He personally had recalled Sandor only slightly, and had no idea that his Padawan had formed a friendship with the young man. Conn had said they knew each other from Kithurrin. Obi-Wan never spoke of his Trial there. All he knew was that his apprentice had been in the winning group. His hands draped the towel over Obi-Wan's shoulders and rested atop the damp cloth. He could still feel the warmth of his apprentice's skin through the soft fabric, and his proximity was sending soft, inappropriate tendrils of desire through his body. "You don't have to talk about it if-"
"No. I do. I want to find out who did this as much as anyone." The voice was low, but no longer tight. Obi-Wan leaned back, almost unconsciously pressing into his master's hands and Qui-Gon obliged the unspoken need for tactile comfort by beginning a gentle massage.
The damp head tilted forward slightly in relaxation as Qui-Gon found hard knots of tension buried in the taut muscles.
"I knew him. We...do you remember when I had to do my survival Trial on Kithurrin? You weren't there, you'd had to do a solo mission at the time. Most of us were there alone, with only a few supervising Masters. Master Windu was there... Master Be'el, a couple others. Most of it was just solos and meditations, but a week was dedicated to these war-games where we were broken into two groups of five. We were chosen as the hunters and the others were the runners."
The rangy shoulders shrugged slightly under his hands and he made a small noise of dismissal.
"It's not important what we were doing. It's just that that was where Sandor and I became....friends. And Geen." The young voice caught a little on Geen's name, stumbling imperceptibly before he went on. "Bacco and Elspeth were part of the group too, but they were off on their own most of the free time. See, when we beat the other group, Master Be'el and Master Windu gave us a day or two to just relax and enjoy Kithurrin without too much supervision. We had a pretty ....great time." His Padawan's voice was dull and flat and colored with just a hint of despair, not giving Qui-Gon the impression that it had been all that great of a time after all.
He was remembering that period fairly clearly now. It had been the first extended separation that he'd had with Obi-Wan since he'd chosen him as his apprentice. He recalled that he'd thought the time apart would be good for him....that it might help him clear his mind of the inappropriate desires that did not seem to be diminishing in him.
It had worked just up until the moment he'd seen his apprentice again. Obi-Wan had been....
"That was where Geen died, wasn't it?" he asked suddenly, remembering the terrible state Obi-Wan had been in when he'd seen him the day of his return to Coruscant....the scandal of a dead Padawan. His apprentice had taken months to recover from the suicide, walking the Temple grounds like a ghost. Pale, drawn and haggard. He'd slipped in his studies and his training.... and there had been nightmares. Terrible ones that had had Obi-Wan's screams echoing through their quarters at night.
He had never talked about it. At least not with Qui-Gon.
A shudder ran through shoulders suddenly as tight as if he'd not been kneading them all this time. The youth pushed up and out of the chair, leaving Qui-Gon only holding the damp towel. The boy stalked to the window, the elegant lines of his body silhouetted in the early afternoon sun.
"Yes." The word was clipped, pained. Qui-Gon extended a tendril of comfort and found himself sharply cut off as Obi-Wan's shields slammed tightly down around his mind. He could make out a slight quiver in the slender frame from where he stood. There was something that Obi-Wan clearly did not want to talk about. He considered digging a bit more, and decided against it. There was no need to open an old wound when there was a fresh one to worry about.
"Sandor?" he prompted gently, trying to steer the youth back from an obviously tender subject. He couldn't contain a momentary tingle of sudden jealousy at the feelings his Padawan obviously had for these two friends in particular. It was inappropriate of him, he knew. Obi Wan was a naturally loving, loyal person. It was one of the many qualities that he himself loved about the boy.
And he had no cause or right to be jealous of his vibrant young apprentice loving or being loved by those his own damned age.
"Yes. Sandor. Well, Kithurrin was where I got to know him. And we'd stayed friends after that. That's all." The words were tight and his Padawan refused to look him in the eye.
He knew without asking or probing, that Obi-Wan was not telling him something. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, thinking of the connection of the tattoo. He trusted this young man more than he'd ever trusted anyone else, but it was so clear that he was hiding something. It cast suspicion on him even in the loving eyes of his own mentor. How would his reticence look to the eyes of others? Someone ready to find the story behind this terrible deed at any cost? Someone like Master Windu?
He knew Mace. The man felt things like this as a personal affront to him, to the Jedi as a whole. If his old friend had any one failing it was that he became shortsighted in the face of things he had no control over. And he tended to like to think that the Temple was a place of perfect order.
He sighed silently as he eyed the stiffly stubborn set of his apprentices shoulders. His Padawan still had not looked at him.
The door chose that moment to chime, startling both of them slightly. Obi-Wan finally looked around, face pale and eyes haunted before he took his mostly naked frame and vanished into his own small quarters. Leaving Qui-Gon to get the door.
He already knew who it was.
Mace tended to be very predictable.
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