Chapter Fifty-Four
~ Kya Ranor ~
I awakened with a start. For a moment, with my eyes closed, I could believe that I was back on Naboo, just awakening as the sun rose, with my love's arms clasped securely around me.
But that illusion faded quickly.
Opening my eyes, I sat up slowly and looked down at Obi-Wan. His eyes were closed in sleep again – but this time his breathing was deep and regular, as if he really was asleep and not really in danger.
I touched his shoulder lightly. "Obi-Wan, wake up."
Normally, his blue-green eyes would have snapped open right then and there at my touch and voice. Or, if he was in a teasing mood, he might pretend to still be asleep – to lure me into a false sense of security – and then pull me down on top of him and flip us over and laugh at my stunned expression.
But I had no doubt that he was not pretending right now.
I was just about to shake him a little harder and call his name again when a calm female voice echoed across the room.
"Do not fear for him, my child; he is not hurt. He is merely sleeping."
I looked up.
A woman stood not far from us, her outline glowing with faint silver light. She had long golden hair and shining blue eyes. She wore shimmering silver robes very similar to that of the Jedi Order, save, of course, that they were silver. Even her boots and cloak were the same silver color. Only her belt – which was really just a sash, not a true utility belt like mine – was not silver; it was like a glittering ice-like diamond, flashing all types of colors with every little movement.
"Who are you?" I asked warily.
"No one you, my child, should have a reason to fear," she replied.
The appearance – well, the golden hair and blue eyes – clicked suddenly.
"You. You're Lady Elizabeth. The real one," I said in astonishment.
And I meant it. The other one – the one who had spoken to me before – had had the same appearance, but something about this woman . . . There was something solid, something real about her appearance that made my doubts fade away.
Lady Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, my child."
"You're a Walker, aren't you?"
"Yes," she said agreeably. She spread her hands. "Come, child. Walk with me for a moment. There are some things we must talk about."
I hesitated, glancing down at my lover.
She understood. "He will be safe," she assured me. "There is nothing now in the Force that will trouble the mate of a Walker."
I slowly rose and walked over to her. We passed a few moments in companionable silence, and I got the feeling that she was waiting for me to speak.
But then Lady Elizabeth stopped walking and said suddenly, "Speak, child. Your mind is undoubtedly filled with questions, and I should like to know them so that I may answer them and lay your mind to rest."
"I have so many, though," I protested. "Who are you? Where are we? What do you mean? What is a Walker? Who am I?"
She laughed, a musical sound that was ancient yet friendly. "Let us start at the beginning, then, shall we?" she said with another smile.
"A Walker is, by the barest definition, a child of the Force – commonly mistaken as a Force-sensitive, in mortal terms and in mortal worlds. We are called children of the Force because we seem to be miraculous births, lacking a parent – or parents, in some cases."
"Like Anakin," I interjected.
She nodded. "Yes, child. And like you."
"I had parents."
Lady Elizabeth turned to look me straight in the eye. "Did you? Really?" She paused. "Search your feelings, child. Look inside of you."
I was silent. For some reason, some part of me urged me to listen to hear, whispered that she spoke the truth.
"See?" she asked. "However, we are not quite like the Chosen One. He is a child of Force, but also of a mortal. He is the best of both, you might say. Walkers, on the other hand, are pure manifestations of the Force. We are very strong, and are usually born with a special ability or gift – one that sets us apart."
"You mean my ability to drain energy?"
"Yes."
"What's your special ability, then?"
"Mine, child? Oh, that was many years ago – but my special ability was more mundane than yours."
"What was it?" I pressed.
"The ability to interfere with the senses of others, such as my enemies," she answered solemnly.
I swallowed hard. And I thought my ability leaned towards the dark side. . . "Um . . . to interfere?"
She sighed. "When threatened, I could shut off their eyesight or their hearing or their sense of touch, make them disoriented, unbalanced, confused. When I mastered my ability, I could stop their heart and lungs, if I so wished."
"Oh." I hoped I did not sound as scared as I was.
But Lady Elizabeth sensed it anyways. "You have nothing to fear, child. Our abilities do not work in the netherworld of the Force. Not even the strongest of us can perform that feat."
"Then why can't Jedi use the Force here?" I asked.
"Because of the ancient laws. Jedi don't usually come here – save when they have passed into the void. Therefore, it was expected that only children of the Force come here. It is where we can challenge our foes without disrupting the universes we protect."
"I see. What are the Rules?" I asked.
She sighed deeply. "The Rules were laid out many years ago. They define the combats between the children of the Force; without them, our battles would rage all over the place and be much more destructive."
I threw a cursory glance around. How much more destructive could my battle with Drakale have gotten? "What do they say, exactly?"
"You cannot draw your weapon until the one who summoned you here has. The one who summons everyone here is the commander – they lay down how things will turn out, and they have the right to the first round of Summons."
"I see."
"They were mainly meant for combat against our worst enemy," she continued. "The creature whom you faced is one of them."
"Oh. But I promised it peace."
"It will hopefully keep to that bargain. Those creatures are notorious for ignoring such things. They lust only for blood, because blood leads to power, and power leads to domination, and domination leads to everything else they desire."
I was silent; those words reminded me of something. "That sounds like a Jedi saying. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate – "
" – hate leads to suffering," she finished.
My jaw dropped. "You were a Jedi?" I exclaimed in surprise.
She smiled, touching the lightsaber at her hip. "Yes, child. The memories your guide shared with you – and the lightsaber – were mine. I was a Jedi, like you. I was born a Walker, but I was trained to be a Jedi. Later, when it came time for me to Choose, I choose the light – the Jedi."
"Choose?"
"Walkers, when they come of age, must Choose to serve either the light or the dark. When they do, a bond is created. For those who Choose the dark, the bond is usually a Master-apprentice bond for a Sith. For those who Choose the light, it is a life-bond to a mate."
I was silent for another moment; her words had brought up yet another question. "Why does everyone refer to Obi-Wan as my 'mate'? That sounds so . . . so . . ."
"Crude?" she supplied.
I nodded.
She shrugged. "I suppose it could be considered such now. But in the beginning of time, it was a worthy title. It refers to someone who matches you perfectly; the other half of your soul; the person who complements you in every way possible. A Walker's mate is a very unique individual, a man or woman bound to a Walker for all eternity. They are the only people that a Walker can confide in, and they are the only ones allowed to interfere in the duels between children of the Force."
She glanced meaningfully at me. "It was your mate's protection that shielded you from Sidious, child, when he tampered with your mind."
"Oh. . . That makes sense . . . I think."
"The creation of mates was meant to protect us, and make us aware of who we were," she explained. "We are very, very powerful – and therefore, we had great weaknesses as well as great strengths. It keeps things in balance. Your mate – your Obi-Wan Kenobi – is your greatest strength and your worst weakness. He will support and protect you when all else fails, and he will be the one person who will always be able to understand you and comfort you when you falter – but should he be harmed, you will feel his pain as though fire is burning your heart, and should he die . . . well, that is the worst case scenario."
I stared at the mist, hearing the words she did not say clearer than the ones she had. "I would die, wouldn't I?"
"Well . . . not right away."
That caught my attention. "Why not?"
"You would go insane," she said quietly. "Our mates tie us to sanity; they balance us and our power. They are the other halves of our soul; they complement us and we complement them. Without them, we are adrift and alone. You need him, child. You cannot ignore that fact."
I was silent again. She had answered every question, basically. Then a new one came up. "Why did . . . Why did Drakale call me his sister? And why do you keep calling me 'my child'?"
"It is the title of address," she said simply. "We are a smaller order than the Jedi, and much closer. Therefore, our apprentices and teachers are also much closer, as we are both children of the Force. Fellow apprentices and full Walkers call each other sisters and brothers, while teachers are called Lady Mother or Lord Father. Apprentices are addressed as 'my daughter' or 'my son' or – in your case – 'my child'."
"My case?"
She took my hands and turned them palm up. It was then that I saw two glinting silver marks set into her own palms – a sun and a moon.
"These are the marks of a Walker who has chosen to serve the light," she told me. "I chose the light as well, child, to ally myself with the Jedi Order. The Jedi Order is the sun – they shine the brightest with light. We, the Walkers, merely reflect that light – like the moon – but we are small in number and therefore much more precise with whom we destroy."
Anticipating my question, she added, "You do not have them yet, for you are not yet an apprentice. That is why I call you 'my child'."
I caught her implied meaning. "I would be honored, Lady Mother, to have you as my teacher," I said formally.
She smiled. "And I would be honored to train you, my daughter." Then she pressed my hands together between her own. There was a flash of light and I yelped as a flash of pain rippled through me.
When she let go, I examined my hands. There was a sun and moon all right – but on my wrists instead of my palms.
"When you have passed the trials, they will move," she assured me. Her words were almost sad, as if she had said this to someone else. . .
My breath caught. Who had trained Drakale? "Lady Mother . . . I don't mean to be rude . . . or prying . . . but . . ."
"But what, my daughter?"
"Drakale," I stated flatly. "Who trained him? How did he end up . . . well, like that?"
My Lady Mother was silent for a long time, but I didn't move to apologize. As a piece of Jedi lore went, To understand your enemies, know their background, their history. Know everything about them. The more you know, the more you sympathize, and the more you sympathize, the more you understand, and the more you understand, the more you can truly predict their next actions.
In this case, after all Drakale had done to me and my lover and my Master and Anakin, I doubted I would ever sympathize with Drakale, but I might as well know his story.
Finally, she said, in a low voice, "I trained Drakale."
I stared. "Wait – what?"
"I trained Drakale," she repeated softly. "He was my greatest failure – my son before you, my daughter."
"But how – How did – "
"How did he turn evil?"
"Well, yeah."
She sighed. "It is a long story. He was proud to be a Walker; proud and powerful. I cautioned him to be mindful of how closely he walked the line between confidence and arrogance, but he always laughed it off. He never quite understood the meaning, the true meaning, of loyalty, of duty, of . . . of sacrifice.
"But I loved him. I loved him dearly. I had trained him since he was but a child of ten years old, for he had not been found by the Jedi or the Sith as Walkers usually are. When he called me 'Lady Mother' he really meant it, for I was the only parent figure he had ever known. And I meant with all of my heart when I called him 'my son'."
This sounds very familiar. . . "He . . . He lost something, didn't he? And he resented you for it?"
"Yes." She spoke now in a whisper. "One what was supposed to be the last mission before he made his Choice and received the marks we all carry, he fell in love with a handmaiden there. She was beautiful, she really was. But I could sense that she was not the woman he was destined to be bound to. I tried to warn him. Eventually, I was forced to order him from her side."
"Something happened."
"Oh, yes. The creature attacked the next day at dawn, and we scrambled to protect everyone. But we couldn't be everywhere, even though there were two of us and a few other Jedi teams. So we decided to center our focus on the main weak point. One strike got through – and it killed the handmaiden."
Thank the Force that never happened to Anakin! Then I went back and thought it over. Actually, it kind of did. The handmaiden he falls in love with . . . the protection of Jedi that ultimately fails . . . Yes, it does sound familiar.
"Drakale never forgave me for ordering him from her side – he felt he could have saved her. I could not tell him why I had told him off; the inner secrets of Walkers cannot be spoken so freely in any place save here."
"So what happened the day you asked him to Choose?"
"He had been listening to rumors. He felt that he could destroy the creature if he worked with it and learned how it functioned."
"Like defeating the dark side by joining it?"
"Basically."
I went quiet as I understood the purpose of the story. "He Choose the dark side."
"Yes. He became branded with the symbols of darkness – the lightning bolt, the symbol of the dark power of the Sith, and the new moon, which reflects no light but lightning. He also became an outcast, for the Force does like its children to Choose darkness. It then became my task to hunt him down, which I did, and I imprisoned him." Her voice grew sad; obviously it had pained her greatly to hurt the man she had raised as her son. "He never ever forgave me for that, and his hatred only grew stronger as the generations passed."
Silence rose as I committed her story about Drakale to memory. To my surprise, the Jedi lore had spoken true – by knowing about Drakale, I had started to sympathize with him and by doing so, I had begun to understand him. Why he lashed out. Why he churned with anger. Why he acted the way he did.
He lost someone he loved. Another thought occurred to me. He wanted my blood – and Anakin's – not to rule. . . He wanted to bargain with the creature and get his lover back.
Now I understand you, Drakale. And now I can see how far I can fall.
"I have one last question, Lady Mother."
"Yes?"
"Why am I the last Walker? Why aren't there more of us?" We were so powerful and we were dedicated to our duty – why not have more of us, to keep the balance better?
Lady Elizabeth sighed again, long and deep and sad. "We were too powerful," she answered simply. "So powerful that not even our mates were enough to balance us. And so it became decided that the mortals of the Jedi and Sith Orders would take over keeping the balance, to prepare for the coming of the Chosen One."
She shifted. "Besides, you have a duty, too, my daughter."
"I do? Wasn't my task just to fix this universe?"
"It was, and it was part of the task the Walkers have labored to complete for over a thousand generations."
"Oh. Well, that's nice to know."
"You are the key to our greatest success," she said. "The darkness in the Force – it being unbalanced – pains us greatly. Our task was to right it – permanently. Or rather . . . that was Drakale's task once. Now it is yours."
Oh. Because that's such a small task right there, I thought, my heart sinking. The fact that Drakale had come so close only to fail and fall into darkness was not reassuring.
She smiled and placed her hand reassuringly on my shoulder. "You need not fear. You have already begun on the task. To achieve permanent balance, you need right the fates of only three universes. Three, child. And you have already saved one."
"What about my own?"
A shadow crossed her face, and Lady Elizabeth sighed. "Once, many years ago, we were allowed to change the fates of the universes we hailed from." She shook her head slowly. "But no longer, my daughter. The Chosen One of your universe has chosen the path he will take to achieve the prophecy; you are forbidden to change that."
"But I – "
"No, my daughter," Lady Elizabeth said sternly. Her blue eyes were emphatic yet commanded complete obedience, much like my Master's had – almost exactly like my Master's had, which was slightly scary. "See this as the first test of your control. Do not interfere. Things will come to pass whether you like it or not – and whether or not you interfere. Whatever changes you make shall be swept away by the Force – or, even worse, shall only add to the list of things at stake during the final confrontation."
I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. A throbbing pain was growing within me as I resisted the temptation. "Why does it hurt so much?" I asked after a moment, when the pain had subsided somewhat.
Lady Elizabeth put her hand on my forehead, and the pain vanished. "I am sorry, my daughter, but there is nothing you can do," she said softly. "You feel pain, as I do, because of our nature. It is the very nature of a Walker to attempt to balance what is not; it is simply how we are. Leaving things unbalanced pains you deeply, but I'm afraid you cannot escape it."
I sighed. "Very well." I stared broodingly away from her, upset, and my eyes fell upon the sleeping figure of my Master.
Lady Elizabeth followed my gaze. "Your Master will not remember what has transpired here," she assured me. "And nor will the one you call Siri Tachi."
A small bit of relief entered me. "And Anakin?"
"He will remember bringing balance and he will remember you; but he shall not remember the confrontation between the two versions of Obi-Wan Kenobi. That, the Force shall wash clean from his memory."
"What about Obi-Wan?"
She sighed now, crossing her arms and gazing at my lover thoughtfully. "I am not sure what the Force will do to him," she admitted finally. "He is your mate, and as such has the right to know whatever you wish to tell him about your duties as a Walker. However, the confrontation was ill done; such things are not allowed lightly. And it was not proper for him to see what he could have become – or to learn what Master Kenobi's relationship to you was."
"Will he ever remember?"
"Until you tell him, I doubt he will."
I blinked. "He can know?"
She smiled gently at me. "He is your mate," she said simply. "You should know that mates are not chosen simply, my daughter. A life-bond is not formed lightly, nor is the choosing of the mate of a Walker undertaken lightly. He will never betray you, and while he will not always completely understand you, he will be as close to that as one can get. The affection between you will not falter; if anything, it will grow stronger, as will the bond between you."
"So . . . basically . . . whatever I wish to tell him, I can?" I asked.
"Yes. As your mate, that is his right and your gift. You may confide in him everything you wish about your duties as a Walker, but impress on him that whatever you tell him is between you and him – no one else."
She dropped her arms and turned to me. "Your task in this world is done, my daughter. You must return home now."
"Oh." Sorrow and pain welled up within me. After all I have done, now I must lose it all? "What – What about the life-bond?" I forced myself to ask.
"It will become dormant, as the bond between you and your Master did," she answered. "It was formed when you chose to serve the light and you have completed it and he is indeed your mate – but that alone cannot stand against the Force. You need to let him go."
"Will I ever see him again?"
Her eyes were unreadable. "That depends on you – and on the will of the Force."
"Then . . . Can't I at least stay for another day or two? Explain to the Council what really happened, and what to avoid in the future?"
She gazed at me, and I knew that she knew the real reason that I wanted to stay. I wanted to – for at least one more day – stay with my lover, to relish in the love and security he offered me and live for a little while in the peace I had helped to create.
"You may," she said finally, surprising me. She smiled. "I am not devoid of a heart, my daughter; I too have felt the same pain when it came time for me to bid my own mate good-bye for a time. But be mindful – with every passing hour, you grow closer to death. You must return by the second sunset of your time there."
"I understand."
She reached out and touched a single finger to my forehead. "If ever you need me, my daughter, I shall be here. Your training under me shall resume in due time."
As she spoke, the silver mist that had slowly begun coiling around us began glowing and my vision began growing hazy again. I felt strangely tired and drained of energy, and Lady Elizabeth's words began to echo in my ears.
But I wasn't afraid. I had found who I was, what I was, and what I was meant to be.
Now, all I had to do was figure out how to break the news to the one I loved.
