Qui-Gon could hardly believe his ears. A Jedi having a servant, someone to complete tasks he thought beneath him? The very idea bordered on ludicrous!

"Servant to me," he echoed in disbelief.

The girl – Nesah – nodded fervently, and once more he examined her tiny frame and odd little face that somehow managed to stay grave and stern even while bright with awe. He wondered what use he could possibly have for one so young to do his bidding – and what she possibly thought she could do for him.

What madness had overcome her? She owed him nothing for what he had done; in saving her he had not gone beyond what was expected of him. But while that was the essence of the Code he had sworn to uphold, the cultural differences between him and Nesah meant it was unlikely her mind worked in the same way.

It would be best to learn more about her side of things and what she had meant before those differences could lead to any frustration or confusion.

"I have no need for a servant. That is not my way," he said.

Nesah made a ritual gesture and shook her head fervently. "No, no, gods demand it! I am... I am in..." She frowned. "In debt of you. Till death, yes."

Qui-Gon bit back a sigh at her piety – evidently the bothersome source of all this – but forced calmness. "Then I hereby absolve you of that debt. Now go on, go back to your people. I have other matters to attend to, and I must not delay."

He turned and stalked off through the undergrowth without another word. He remembered the geophysical readings and other minutia extracorporeal vision had allowed him to study from the droids' screens while aboard the landing craft; he knew the contributions these details had made to course calculations for the march toward Iziz. When paired with his fairly good sense of direction, he would have no trouble getting back to the capital.

But whether he would arrive in time to help was another matter entirely.

Worry that Obi-Wan had not yet tried to make contact with him crept up on him suddenly once again. Upon their departure from the Jedi Temple, every Master and Padawan was given a set of comlinks interlinked by a single channel on a unique frequency. Signals such as these could rarely be interrupted unless an exceptionally powerful jamming frequency was at work, but still there was no activity from Obi-Wan's end of the comm channel to speak of.

Qui-Gon had seen no evidence of foul play thus far, and despite the risks they were taking, he had sensed no serious danger to the boy. There had to be another explanation. Perhaps his Padawan had run into some unforeseen delay and was unable to comm him until it was past. Or maybe his landing craft was taking a different route to Iziz and hadn't touched down yet, and any transmissions he tried to make off it ran the risk of being detected.

Either way, Qui-Gon had to find him.

"Master!" Nesah yelped suddenly and scrambled after him with surprising lightness and silence – the mark of one very used to the jungles, and leaving as little sign of her passing as possible. "Master, you're hurt!"

Qui-Gon ignored her. He had picked up on her desperate longing to adhere to tradition before, and this was no doubt another attempt to go about accomplishing that. He felt no physical discomfort, and he did not sense anything was amiss...

But then he swayed, and stumbled back against a tree. He frowned deeply as his head spun, and began searching for the cause. Before long, he remembered the spiky vine that had probably caught his leg hard enough to draw blood. But the cut itself couldn't have been large at all – Nesah must have a keen eye.

"Poison from astara vine," the girl explained, as though having heard his thoughts. "Master be in Anru'up within a... a suneri." She shut her eyes briefly before smiling triumphantly, though whether at having found a reason to make him stay or merely found the word to conclude her statement, he couldn't tell. "An hour. They be singing funeral chants in an hour, yes."

Qui-Gon distantly recognized the name for the Onderonian version of the afterlife – the 'noble gathering', where spirits of the dead communed with one another and eventually achieved enlightenment. Though the peoples of the Onderon system gave no weight to the idea of punish after death according to actions taken in one's life, present circumstances made even the peaceful Anru'up seem unappealing.

Nesah looked around for a moment before spying a plant with short leaves at the end of long, intertwining stems. "I can heal it. I make a poultice."

"I can't afford to wait..." The protest died in his throat. Though a delay could prove costly, right now he was worth more to the Republic and King Dendup in this conflict alive than dead.

"I work quickly, Master." Nesah offered him a slight bow and drew a small bottle of water from a pocket in her robes, taking a sip and swishing it around in her mouth to clean it out before spitting. Then, she motioned for him to sit down on a nearby rock and pull up his pant leg to expose the wound.

Qui-Gon bit back a wince when he caught sight of the series of small cuts already swollen and leaking blood and pus, and quickly turned his focus to Nesah as she worked. She hadn't lied about being quick: she had stripped the leaves from the plants and worked them into a poultice in the space of a few seconds.

She's quick to act, but far from hasty going about it, he thought as a burning sensation in the cuts faded into soothing coolness. The pleasant feeling only grew when she tore a strip of fabric off her inner tunic to bind the dressing in place. Not to mention quick to notice if things are amiss in the first place.

Nesah gave a nod and withdrew, which Qui-Gon took as sign she had finished. He tucked his pant leg back into his boot and offered her something that could have passed for a smile in return.

"There, you see? Now you have saved my life in return, which renders whatever debt you have to me null and void."

"You are Jedi. I am bowcaster-wielder, but also healer," Nesah said matter-of-factly. "Jedi are in danger much more than healers, yes? So I heal you later, too." She smiled knowingly. "Still useful to you, Lord Knight."

Qui-Gon didn't have the heart to argue anymore; with a noncommittal humph in her direction, he switched on his communicator and murmured another entreaty for Obi-Wan to pick up. When this too went unanswered, he took a chance and reached out with the Force, searching through it for even a tiny glimmer of his young Padawan's aura.

After a few moments, he began to feel something familiar, something coming closer, something with Obi-Wan's inquisitive spirit and odd affinity for rules...

But then, a flash of pain shot through their bond as Master and apprentice like bolts through a live wire. The depth of the connection gave Qui-Gon such a clear window into the boy's pain it nearly brought him to his knees.

Nesah was by his side in an instant. "Master, Master! Is astara still hurting you? Should I make another poultice?"

"No, I'm fine." Qui-Gon took a breath to collect himself before closing the connection almost completely, leaving himself only the bare minimum he would need to track Obi-Wan. "Come along, hurry – my apprentice is in danger."

"How do you know– wait!"

But Qui-Gon was already moving, running as fast as he could in the direction the Force was showing him – well, not quite, for he needed to preserve his strength in case a fight was coming. (Besides, he didn't now care much to abandon Nesah; her hidden talents were beginning to make him see the purpose in their meeting.)

Before long, the trees began to thin, and through the undergrowth here and there he caught glimpses of a small clearing. Careful to keep to the shadows of what cover was left, he slowed to a jog, his senses arcing out in all directions in the hopes of sensing potential threats before they got too close.

Obi-Wan was near – his aura lingered thickly in the currents of the Living Force flowing through here, though with a sense of wrongness to it Qui-Gon had come to associate with injury or illness. Reaching him had become imperative.

When several other presences – these Qui-Gon had not sensed at a distance, for the Force did not move as strongly and as detectably through them – folded outward into reality, he slowed further, until he crept along as silently as the dry, decaying leaf litter under his boots permitted. He dropped down behind a bush whose branches were interwoven in such a way that he could see out but only a carefully trained eye would see in, searching the clearing for signs of Obi-Wan.

And signs there were, and better – or worse. His Padawan was being hauled up onto the back of some native beast, and based on how his arms stayed firmly in place through the jostling, with his wrists bound or cuffed. The boy's aura was more muted than usual despite the proximity, too, and Qui-Gon decided he must also be unconscious.

There were seven figures in the clearing gathered around Obi-Wan, three of them mounted on other similar creatures; saddles that seated two made sense of the odd ratio of riders to beasts. They all carried bowcasters or hunting rifles, and wore loose, billowing robes tucked in and tied down around waists and calves so as not to restrict movement.

Though darker in color, the cloth and cut greatly resembled Nesah's vibrant garb, and their weapons hers. The association between the young sniper and Obi-Wan's assailants was not a welcome one, and when she finally caught up with him, out of breath and flush with exertion, he turned to her with such a stony expression she shrank back immediately.

"You did not tell me you look for another, Lord Knight," she said hesitantly. "Before, I saw him, running through jungle like a madman. Is he a friend to you?"

"Yes, my Padawan – my student," he informed her quickly, before demanding, "And who are those people to you?"

Nesah shifted uneasily. "Bad," was all the answer she offered.

"Nesah, they have taken someone I am sworn to protect," Qui-Gon said, with patience that surprised him. "If you know anything more, you must–"

"Bad!" Nesah cried stubbornly, lifting her gaze once more as though having finally found the strength to look at him. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow as she spat and made what looked like some sort of symbol of protection against evil: a fluttering gesture of her hands across the air above her head.

But then, the Force began to whisper again, and he realized she hadn't been looking at him, but rather just past him, to where the band were spurning their mounts off to the other end of the clearing.

"Blast!" he hissed, and took off after them.

With the Force and desperation both to fuel him, he could have easily caught up with them before they reached the trees on the other side of the clearing. He was already drawing his saber to leap through the undergrowth after them–

And then he hit the ground with force enough to knock the air right out of him. He lay winded for a moment longer, wondering how that slip of a girl had managed to bowl him clean over, before a peculiar whining hum reached his ears. He looked up to find the source was just a few inches away from his nose: a series of nearly invisible cords, apparently metallic in nature, were strung from stakes in the trees and bushes.

Here and there they shot sparks, crackling with a powerful electrical current – one that would have stunned him at the very least, and probably killed him, had he chanced to cross more than one wire.

"Ruping sinew," Nesah murmured, pawing at his shoulder and motioning to the cord – was she really so thick she thought Qui-Gon hadn't already noticed it? "Strong, flexible, thin, and–"

"An extremely good conductor," Qui-Gon finished, furrowing his brow.

"Bad zul'atras use ruping for hunting traps, yes," Nesah said, getting up and extending a hand to help him in turn. "Using it to catch beasts – sell those that live and eat those that do not."

"Who are the..." Qui-Gon held back a sigh; her childish jargon was beginning to wear at his patience, but if using it was the quickest way to get her to understand him, so be it. "Who are the bad zul'atras? Do you know them, Nesah?"

Nesah bit her lip and shook her head in a fervent negation, but from the look in her eyes the lie was obvious. Qui-Gon resolved to fixate her with an angry stare until she broke down, and before long, he had his answer:

"Tribe Aviiso, and kin of mine. They come from Zul and make camp on Gen during hunting season – but they are danger to you, Lord Knight! I keep you safe!"

Qui-Gon nearly fell to the ground in a prayer of thanks at the word camp; the idea of civilization gave him hope in a way few things had today. Perhaps he could find help there, or a means of transportation to Iziz.

But still questions remained, and the analytical side of him still wished to make sense of the native words she spoke. "What is Gen? Zul?"

"Onderon... Dxun," she clarified. The common words flowed ill off her tongue.

"Where might I find your kin?" Qui-Gon pressed. "Can you take me to them?"

"Ah... yes, but I am..." Nesah's odd little face crumpled, and suddenly she looked quite sad. "I am outlier, like rest of my line – though I am the last one, now."

"Outlier? What do you mean?"

Nesah grabbed his arm, her eyes wide and urgent, as though she had already guessed what plans he had to be forming. "Cannot go back, or Zul'atras'Aviiso do terrible things to me!"

Suddenly, a thunderous crash echoed through the jungle, followed quickly by the whine of hovercraft engines. Birdsong faded to silence, woodland creatures stopped their scuffling, and for a few tangible seconds, it seemed as though the very Force held its breath.

Qui-Gon took a noiseless step closer to Nesah, and in the eerie stillness even his murmur was enough to make her jump. "Do you hear that? That is the sound of a thousand terrible things heading this way. If they find us, they will crush us, grind us into tiny pieces and blast us into oblivion," he said in the style of nomadic tellers of tales he had had occasion to hear speak, "but the zul'atras could offer us protection, maybe even save us from all that."

After a moment of thought, her voice trembling, Nesah said, "Then I take you to camp of Zul'atras'Aviiso, Lord Knight. This way – I take you on secret trapper paths none but zul'atras and friends of us know."

Then, with a few nervous glances behind her when there came sounds of the approaching army, she scurried off through the undergrowth; before long the only thing that set her apart from the foliage was the light catching on the black durasteel bowcaster strapped to her back. Once certain no unfriendly eyes were watching them, Qui-Gon drew up his hood and followed her.

Qui-Gon and his young guide made the trek to the Zul'atras' camp in silence. She broke it but a handful of times, to give directions or point out a few more clever hunting traps. Most notably, after having shown him through a hidden fork in the trail, she had bragged that she knew every trapper path from here to Iziz like the back of her hand – and that had set his mind to planning.

Nesah was a far more valuable asset to him than she had first let on, that he was now sure of. And though this scheme of his would require yet more playing things out by ear, if she was as determined to remain at his side as she said, there was no way it would end as poorly as the escape from the C-9979 had.

However, he couldn't help but take notice of a gradual change in her as they neared the camp. One didn't have to be a Jedi to sense Nesah's bright, determined demeanor to help him had been eclipsed almost completely by an intense fear of their destination. Though Qui-Gon only allowed himself to be sympathetic in certain circumstances, something about her plight struck a chord in him... reminded him of another young girl he had once known...

He shook the thought away and his focus back to the trail, which had begun to lead up a small hill. He could sense by the large gathering of auras at its summit that this must be the camp Nesah had spoken of – and as yet more proof, the girl now had her hands clenched into fists in a vain attempt to keep them from shaking.

"What was it you said they would do to you, if you returned?" he asked.

"Price for going back to camp is thrown into River of Souls, bound. Bad rapids there, lots of rocks," she informed him grimly. "But Lord Knight protect me, yes?"

Her hopeful expression fell when Qui-Gon didn't answer.

As they reached the crest of the hill, Nesah gestured quickly to a point in the distance and then for him to get down. Further examination told Qui-Gon the dense foliage of a nearby thicket concealed four guards.

"Hurry past them to the–" she stumbled on the word, "–to the east. They can see little that way, the bushes are too full this time of year..."

But Qui-Gon was already rising to his feet – and there he stood obstinately, even as Nesah yanked at his cloak and tried to draw him back down to safety. He only began to move forward when the bushes concealing the guard post rustled so faintly any other would have thought they moved in a passing breeze.

Then four shadows stalked from the brush on silent feet. Qui-Gon and Nesah were surrounded in a heartbeat.

One of them stepped forward and barked something Qui-Gon couldn't understand – but the way she gestured the nozzle of her bowcaster at Nesah needed no translation. The girl made a gesture of submission and took her weapon off her back, dropping it to the ground as she shrank trembling back to his side.

That was when the guards stepped closer, and the telltale whine that filled the air meant that they had primed their bowcasters and were preparing to fire.

*Hmmm, I believe we're beginning to see here where canon Anakin gets his penchant for running off into danger... at least with this portrayal of Qui-Gon. But then again, this is one of those AUs that screws with all that canon stuff except the barest skeleton of the plot (exhibit A: Obi-Wan just got dragged off to a camp that may or may not be full of enemies), so the relevance is probably limited...

This chapter has been in the making a long time, mainly because I wrote a plot summary, forgot about it, wrote the chapter on my own time, and then fell into a creative deadlock when I had no idea which one to use. But despite that, at least the chapter turned out kinda interesting. I want to evolve on the culture of Nesah's people as much as I can within the confines of the story, and I started doing that this chapter with Nesah's way of speaking Basic as well as some meanings of words in her own tongue. 

I also got to do some fun character work at the same time by showing some of Nesah's strengths and her people's relationship with their environment. She's a young girl of fifteen or so trying to prove herself to a seasoned warrior and make herself useful for reasons I'll keep secret for now, which will pose an interesting dynamic in the future.

I have a fair understanding of where I want the overarching storyline to go and the next few chapters mapped out as well, which should make writing them easier. I should have another chapter ready fairly soon to resolve this cliffhanger; don't wanna make you guys suffer TOO much! Until then...

May the Force be with you,

Sharron