Trial by Tide

6.

Qui Gon Jinn ploughed his way back up out of Vandor's crashing surf, carving through foam and breakers, strewing gravel and crushed shells underfoot. Salt water streamed from his clothing and hair as he hastened to the water's edge, hauling his limp and ice-cold Padawan onto the hot sand above the tide line.

"Obi Wan."

Broad hands pressed hard into the young Jedi's diaphragm and chest, expelling gushing rivers of water from unresponsive lungs. He rolled Obi Wan onto his side, crouched over him as the Padawan coughed up murkier spouts of liquid, heaving spasmodically.

"Obi Wan. Breathe." He splayed a hand against his apprentice's back, sent a sharp wave of Force energy through his body. The Padawan retched again, shuddered, and gasped, a terrible rasping inhalation, and then vomited more water. Qui Gon knelt, heedless of the gathered Quinlox, the shouts echoing up and down the shore, the thrashing and blood in the waves where hunters were busy repelling the predatory creatures beneath the waves.

"Padawan." The Jedi master chafed at leaden limbs, laid a hand against an icy cheek. Obi Wan sucked in another lungful of air, gagged and coughed, turned onto his back again. Nexaloxa appeared by Qui Gon's side, proferring blankets. He gratefully seized them, pulled the boy into sitting position, tightly wrapped the cloth about his shivering frame.

"Master..."

Relief cascaded through him, a warmth melting the cold vise about his heart. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm breeze on his face, the steady drip of water off his tangled hair and clothing hems, the gritty texture of the sand beneath his knees. Obi Wan slumped backwards against him, too distressed – or possibly disoriented – to stand on dignity.

"…Master… I thought…" Obi Wan protested, between chattering teeth.

He summoned his discarded cloak from the sand nearby and added it to the layers of swaddling. "Quiet. Just breathe. Let your head clear."

There were two deep cuts on Obi Wan's leg, oozing steady rivulets of blood. Qui Gon frowned over them, applying bacta and medical glue from his belt pouch.

"Ow!" The young Jedi flinched. "Where...what happened...the Quinlox?" he muttered.

Qui Gon scowled. "One was injured; a bite - but he is out of the water, resting. The other was pulled out by his brother. Hold still, Obi Wan, I need to tend to this."

His apprentice made some objection, but it was mercifully cut short by another coughing fit. Qui Gon finished his task and accepted the small shell-bowl of liquid offered by Nexaloxa. "Here, drink."

"The contest," Obi Wan insisted, wheezing. "Master! You didn't-"

"Drink."

The boy gulped down the liquid, spluttering a little on its bitter, restorative dregs. "Ugh."

"And no, I did not embarrass you. The Quinlox yielded first. Though next time, Padawan, I would prefer you call for help before you lose consciousness."

"...Yes, master." They sat, soaking in the hot sun, the Padawan's violent shivering subsiding into an exhausted huddle against Qui Gon. The Force smoothed, surged in more placid rhythm. The waves spattered on the shore, the wind softly caressed the sands, birds wheeled overhead.

"Master Jedi."

Qui Gon glanced up, aware that the clan chieftains had been standing a short distance away, staring at them, for some time. Behind the leaders were arrayed their kindred, so many eyes gazing in open astonishment at the two Jedi, at the nurse and infant crouched a short distance away. A thractill's clarion cry lanced across the silent vignette.

Loxanthan stepped forward, the brisk wind rippling his heavy woven garb. "The tides have judged. Your clan has prevailed, Jedi."

Coralanthan squalled and wriggled in his nurse's arms. Obi Wan shifted restlessly, struggling against Qui Gon's cautionary grip.

Coraloxa waved a webbed hand at them. "The child will return to Coruscant with you, for you were the last to enter the waves, the last to seek respite from the sea's judgment. Your tribe has proved its worthiness. The Quinlox recognize your rights in this matter."

Obi Wan was pushing to his feet, albeit unsteadily. Qui Gon rose with him, giving up the fight. "The Jedi Order is honored that your clans entrust this child to our keeping. In him, your families have a shared destiny."

The rival chieftains nodded, exchanged a look of grudging respect. Poverty stricken, marginalized, forgotten they might be – but their mutual offspring would transcend the limitations of their humble existence. While neither could suffer the other to claim the child, there was a certain satisfaction in surrendering him to a higher cause.

"We thank you for your arbitration of our dispute," Loxanthan declared, bowing gravely with Coraloxa.

The Jedi returned the gesture, in solemn unison.

That evening, a formal celebration of the newly-forged accord was held beneath the ceremonial awning on the beach. The chieftains, their advisors, the Jedi, Nexaloxa and her charge were all present for the solemnities. The clans gathered outside, merrily cooking around fire pits dug in the sand, dancing and singing traditional chants. A strong odor of cooking sherrek- the eel like predator which had attacked the trial participants earlier – and some other, more pungent aroma wafted across the shoreline.

Obi Wan, by that time more or less fully recovered from the ordeal, made a wry face. "I was famished until they started cooking."

"We've just resolved a pitched controversy, Obi Wan. Do not incite a diplomatic incident by insulting our hosts."

"I suppose I should be grateful it's not a cannibal feast," the Padawan remarked. "Your fondness for local customs has landed us in far worse situations."

Qui Gon grimaced. "This one was sufficiently problematic for my taste, I think."

They reached the central pavilion, where the two chieftains were making a public declaration of the Jedi's victory: an official transfer of custody and a renunciation of all rights over Corlanthan. Nexaloxa stood within the shelter of the tent, where low tables had been arranged in readiness for a banquet.

"Esteemed Jedi," Loxanthan boomed at them, spreading his arms wide in welcome. "Join us now in the ceremonial meal of concord, the tel-amaquin. It shall mark the formal beginning of peace between our two clan families and yours."

"You have reached a peace agreement between yourselves?" Qui Gon inquired, genuinely surprised. He exchanged a bemused glance with his apprentice.

"Indeed," Coraloxa supplied. "In vindicating your claim to our grandson, the tides have also taught us well: Cora-quin and Loxa-quin are of one heritage. We share a law and a life-way, and we share blood ties now, through this child of yours. In giving the child to the Jedi, the tides have approved this bond between us. We shall honor it hereafter."

"The tides are truly wise, then," the Jedi master decided, bowing to the assembled courts.

Loxanthan clapped his hands together. "Come!" he commanded. "Let those who faced the tides join in the tel-amaquin now. Let us compact our three clans in everlasting amity. Young Jedi – yes, you. Come here and share the meal of friendship with those of our own bloodlines."

It took a subtle shove between the shoulder blades to move Obi Wan forward. Qui Gon watched in amusement as his Padawan entered the canopied area, settling apprehensively at a low table beside the two Quinloxans who had endured the morning's trial beside him. He shot Qui Gon a mutinous look as a host of servants appeared bearing laden trays. The Jedi master merely smiled serenely and gestured to the foodstuffs, one finger raised in warning. No diplomatic incidents.

The servers placed the shell-fashioned platters before the sitting figures. The two young Quinlox smiled in anticipation. Obi Wan's face went still.

"And now," Coraloxa beamed, "The feast of friendship."

The covers were lifted with a flourish. In each shell was an exquisite sample of the royal delicacy of the Quinlox people – freshly hatched quanta worms on a bed of seaweed and flatbread. The masses of tiny, wriggling worms shimmered wetly in the light of the suspended glowlamps. The Quinlox raised their portions to their mouths in evident delight. Obi Wan looked to Qui Gon for immediate rescue.

But he had already done that once today – and they could not afford to offend their hosts. The tall man raised his eyebrows in silent expectation and command.

With the eyes of the entire company upon him, Obi Wan hesitantly bit off, chewed and swallowed a part of the dish, willing his senses and gag reflex to obey. The gathered Quinlox cheered in appreciation, and set to feasting on their own less revolting food, gaily chattering and murmuring as drinking shells and various dishes were passed hand to hand. Qui Gon slipped through the throng and found a place beside his apprentice, managing to keep a straight face as the young Jedi choked down the remainder of the ceremonial meal and took many deep centering breaths to make sure it stayed down.

"Wonderful, is it not, Padawan?"

"Indescribable," Obi Wan agreed, weakly.

Sekk Rithee jammed a second gob of sticky into his jowl and chomped hard. So many blasted reports to fill out, so many extradition and deportation cases to manage, and he hadn't even had a decent cup of stimcaff yet. He should prob'ly give that stuff up, too, but bacci deprivation was hard enough without adding other burdens to his rapidly unraveling nerves. He chewed with manic enthusiasm until the second wad of sticky lost most its gingamint flavor. Then he spat it out in the 'cinerator and took a quick fresh air break outside.

He was unexpectedly accosted by the younger Jedi – the teenager Jinn had brought along for the ride. The youngster bowed to him, braid swinging and cloak sweeping the littered duracrete decking.

"Well now," Rithee greeted this apparition. "Does this mean you and Master Jinn have given up on our little lost cause?"

The Padawan opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut again. He took a breath. "No, sir. The Quinlox have renounced all intention of clan warfare and come to a peace accord. You should have no further trouble from the clans."

Rithee liked the sound of that. And he liked the sound of "no, sir" even better. Maybe the young Jedi wasn't such a snotty little bastard after all. "What about the missing kid?" he demanded.

The apprentice glanced at the Republic cruiser waiting for departure on the tarmac beyond. "The Quinlox have given custody of the child to the Jedi Order. He will return with us to Coruscant. We are also taking his nurse, and need to request a return transport for her in three standard day's time. If that is convenient for you, of course."

Rithee was impressed. So the Jedi snagged the kid for themselves, huh? Well, that was one solution. And the Padawan seemed to have improved his outlook considerably. Must be the beneficial properties of all the negative ions hereon Vandor. Sea air was good for people that way, everybody knew that. "Easy as womprat pie.. I'll submit the transportation order personally."

"Thank you," the boy said, bowing again. He lingered, as though unsure how to proceed.

Rithee decided the youngster wasn't so bad at all, not really. "You Jedi have been a tremendous help to me," he said, feeling generous. "It's no trouble."

"I, ah… I was actually wondering if you might be able to help me with my studies," the Jedi said, eyebrows twisting together quizzically. "I would deeply appreciate your help."

Rithee beamed and puffed out his chest. Flattering, really. But he was an expert. It was good to know the Jedi Order recognized him. Nobody else in the Republic's security beaurocracy did. "How can I be of assistance?"

The Padawan colored a bit. Intimidated by the close proximity to such an experienced elder, Rithee shrewdly concluded. "There is some new immigrant legislation pending before the Senate," the boy explained. "I wonder if you might give me your professional opinion on the matter."

What a fortuitous request! "I can do better than that, my lad. I happen to have a rather lengthy article I composed on the subject – all ready for publication, you see, but the local media is too hard-headed to recognize good analysis when they read it. I'll upload a copy to your datapad. It'll make good reading material for you on the way home."

He was rewarded by a dazzling smile. Ah, had he known what pleasure his offer would have brought, he might have invited the Jedi to stay longer. He led the way into his mortifyingly untidy private office and quickly transferred the lengthy essay onto the Jedi's compact reader. "There you are. Any time I can help you with your studies, it's my pleasure."

The apprentice tucked the device back into his belt, eyes still twinkling with undisguised enthusiasm. The kid must really be scholarly material. Odd bunch, the Jedi.

"Thank you again, Officer Rithee. Master Jinn mentioned that he would commend your accurate and professional assessment of the situation in the official Senate report."

"Hope you enjoyed your time here on Vandor," the portly man said, by way of parting, as they reached the edge of the docking platform.

"Incomparable," the Padawan replied, and off he went, with an energetic spring in his stride.

Rithee unwrapped another piece of sticky and popped it in his mouth. He liked his job a little better this morning, for some odd reason. He watched the young Jedi cross the decks, and ascend the shuttle's boarding ramp. For a moment he caught a glimpse of Qui Gon Jinn, speaking briefly with the youngster at the open hatchway, and then shepherding him inside with a hand on his shoulder. The panel hissed closed, the shuttle rose on repulsors, the drives fired, and soon the Jedi were a retreating speck in Vandor's cerulean skies, a dwindling memory of troubles that no longer weighed upon Rithee's shoulders.

He gave those overburdened and under-recognized shoulders a small shrug, and returned to his cluttered office and manifold duties, with a small bounce of satisfaction in his own step.

FINIS