SUNRISE

by ardavenport

- Part 1 -

A deep reverberating gong sounded from the tower above. The lighting changed as the edge of the fiery orange disk of the sun peeked over the horizon. The square, stone towers almost glowed a pale brownish-gray, their reflected light illuminating the arena below.

The Executioner bowed in the direction of the sunrise. She welcomed the morning with a muttered prayer in an ancient language. "Tuth-a hozhi el elm mahoui." She had skin the color of dark, gray stone, tough and weathered. She was broad-shouldered, her bare arms well-muscled from years of performing her art.

She was perfectly attired in millennia of tradition of the Noi'i. White, tan and yellow were the sacred colors of one who was called to take any other life, either sentient or animal. Her white and yellow short dress looked new; there were no old stains to hint of her many years of service. The animal-hide cross-straps and the collar that draped over her shoulders looked stiff, the simple, square pattern along it's edges newly stamped. But her tan skullcap, boots, bracers and belt were well-worn, though clean and buffed.

The Executioner was also conspicuously armed with matching long-knives in sheaths strapped to her calves, crossed hatchets on her back, smaller knives on her shoulder straps, wickedly curved blades on her belt along with a whip, blow-tube and a cylinder of long darts. They were traditional weapons, of course. The tools of slaughter.

She stood, her feet spread apart, her powerful body at ease as she contemplated her task with unspoken prayers. Then she lifted her head and turned. After a brief bow to the main gallery above, she strode back to the stone stocks on the high, raised stone platform in the center of the arena. She reached for the golden-bladed axe, resting on the flat top of the stocks, over the head of the victim.

Qui-Gon Jinn heard her lift the large, heavy axe blade over him, his head and arms trapped in the stone; the locks had been smashed and blasted to keep him from escaping. The air whistled as she experimentally cut the air with the curved, micron-fine edge. Qui-Gon saw her legs move close to him. He felt her large hand first rest on his head, then stroke the long brown hair that hung down around his face. Qui-Gon felt her passion for her task through the Force. She took great pride in her calling.

"The sun will take your soul, your blood will feed the land." Qui-Gon accepted her words, her sincerity. He felt it. He felt her strength through her hand, her body. He felt the hard stone under him, under her, the solid stocks that trapped him. He felt the whole space of the arena as if it were an extension of his own senses.

The Executioner lifted her hand. She raised her axe and Qui-Gon felt it's weight as she tested the reach of her swing over his exposed neck. Qui-Gon flexed his muscles, his knees pressed to the stocks, his bare feet flat on platform.

She lifted the axe high and inhaled deeply for the strike.

The Force flowed upward though Qui-Gon. The axe descended just as Qui-Gon pushed upward, the stocks rising with him.

The blade shattered, the metal pieces flying in all directions as Qui-Gon propelled himself forward, the Force filling him with strength. He leaped over the edge of the platform and twisted in the air. The stone broke on the stones inset into the hard, dirt floor of the arena.

Qui-Gon let the impact flow through him, through his arms and neck as he rolled away from the pieces. He immediately whirled, his hand snapped closed before him.

The Executioner's solemn demeanor had broken as well. Her blow tube still held up to her face, her pale, blue eyes stared at him, at the large, poison dart that Qui-Gon had just caught. Qui-Gon didn't even look at the long dart, he kept his own, dark blue eyes on her.

He whirled away from the broken stones. His arm flew out and the dart shot upward.

The Executioner jumped back, her gaze following the dart's path over her head. She stood with her back to him as she stared up at the dart, it's metal tip, deeply embedded between two stones in the overhang above the main gallery. The people there leaned forward, trying to see where it had landed. Some of them exchanged worried whispers. Except for Obi-Wan. Master Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan stood back on the risers; his face showed neither surprise nor worry, though Qui-Gon knew that his slightly amused expression only concealed his concern.

The Executioner reached back, grasped her axes and, hefting them, turned back to her victim. Qui-Gon stood below.

Qui-Gon wore only a long, coarse, sleeveless shift, nothing else. His long hair hung loose around his face and down his back. It felt heavy in the warm, humid air. He was barefoot and alone on the packed dirt and stones. He had not been allowed to eat or drink for the past day. The Noi'i did not provide last indulgences for their condemned. Or for those who took the places of their condemned.

The Executioner cautiously descended the steps, disappearing only for a moment behind the death platform. Qui-Gon studied her, as he had when she'd been preparing to kill him earlier. She still prepared to kill him. He sensed her thoughts, her dislike of a fight, the prospect of a messy kill. He had not shaken her confidence that she would take his life. She just wasn't certain about how she would do it.

He waited for her, his expression purposefully blank. The broken stones and rubble of the stocks lay between them. She carefully went around them, her boots making only a whispering, scratching noise on the ground. The reflected light in the bare arena grew brighter as the sun rose higher.

Qui-Gon backed up, keeping just out of reach of her swinging axes. She was shorter than he was, and the reach of her arms shorter than his as well.

He let her drive him around the death platform while he studied her motions. She had been trained to fight, but clearly not for speed. She relied on power and strength to overwhelm her opponent. She was well rested and now expected to tire Qui-Gon with the chase before closing in. She could see he was much quicker than she was. She didn't expect her blows to connect, but she would not let him rest, either.

Qui-Gon dove forward. He caught the Executioner's arm, raised to strike, and with his other hand, twisted one axe out of her grasp before twirling away from her. Gathering the Force to him, he leap upward and alighted onto the edge of platform. He turned to look down at her. Again, she stared back at him in shock.

Qui-Gon swung around and ran to the stone block on which the Executioner had planned to lay out his body, butchering select portions of his flesh for the ritual cannibalism later. He seized the fine white shrouds meant for wrapping his remains. He needed their protection from the sun. He heard her footsteps below, running around the platform to the stairs. She leapt up them, two at a time.

He faced her, the axe held up in one hand, the shrouds bunched up under his other arm. She paused, her pale eyes evaluating his stance and the weapon. She carefully stepped forward. He didn't move. They faced each other, the stone black between them.

"You are condemned. Your death only waits its reality," she stated in a cultured, feminine voice.

"Not, I think, today," Qui-Gon replied in his own, refined Coruscant accent.

"The sun will have you. Today. It will take your strength; I need only wait for it to reach its height." She lifted an arm up toward the direction of the sunrise; the tan bracer on her forearm stood out on her dark gray, leathery skin.

"The Force will have me. In it's own time," he answered.

- - end Part 1 - -