THE UNTEMPERED SCHISM

We have seen the sum of time itself. Come at us if you dare, but sit at our feet if you will.

—From The Journal of the Whills

Deep Space, Unknown Regions, 11 BBY

Beyond the airlock, the distorted starlines of hyperspace streaked past, and the body of Ashton Reumar floated away from the star destroyer. It would drift forever in the distorted reality of hyperspace, and no one would ever find it.

Thrawn took out his comlink. "Captain to the bridge," he said. He didn't look like a man who'd just helped dispose of a body. He looked sad and stoic at once, and only Sheplin could have seen the tiredness in his eyes.

"Officer of the watch, Captain," the tinny response came over the comlink's speakers.

"Make a course for Ilum; best speed."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Closing the comlink down, Thrawn looked at his young friend, who showed little of the pain he felt. "I have something to show you," he said simply.

Ilum, Unknown Regions, 11 BBY

Sheplin felt the bite of the icy wind, and tried to shift the parka around him a little better. It didn't seem to help very much.

Ilum was as lonely of an Imperial outpost as Sheplin had seen, and he wondered why the Captain had ordered the helm to change their course to this desolate little ball of ice. Or why he and the Captain had taken an atmospheric shuttle down to the surface. Like the majority of the questions he'd had during his life, they remained unspoken.

They walked for what seemed like an hour, though Sheplin supposed it had only been a few minutes. The snow coming down all around them was so heavy that he couldn't judge distance at all, or even see the system's sun. Days ago, the star had melted the top layer of the last heavy snow, turning the loose powder into a layer of icy crust that could be walked on without needing snowshoes.

He didn't think to question if the Chiss knew where he was going.

Suddenly, Sheplin looked around, startled that the snow was no longer falling. The wind had died off entirely, and it had grown darker as they entered a cavern. Looking around, as Thrawn led him on, Sheplin said, "Interesting vacation spot."

Thrawn chuckled slightly, his voice echoing throughout the frozen cavern. "I was born on a world that would freeze a man's laughter in his throat," he said, turning to look at the freezing tactical officer. "This is what my people would consider tropical, my friend."

The Chiss beckoned for Sheplin to follow him further into the cave, and the deeper they went, the lighter it got. At first, it was just a faint glow from up ahead that made Sheplin narrow his eyes in confusion, but it slowly grew to a bright radiance; like bolts of multi-colored plasma.

"Kyber crystals," Thrawn said gesturing at the lights. "The heart of a Jedi's weapon." His eyes stared into the radiance of a crystal for a moment, unaffected by the searing light. "My people found this planet, and the crystals, millennia ago.

"We had no use for the crystals, but the mystery of them intrigued the ruling syndics. They were different then; more willing to push beyond their borders, to explore the mysteries of the galaxy. . . . Now they sit in their fortresses, terrified of the darkness that gathers at their gates." His lips curled in disdain.

Sheplin nodded, his eyes going from one brilliant crystal to the next. They finally rested on one that didn't glow like the rest. Its surface was an inky darkness that was cold and empty, and seemed to take in light instead of giving it off. He moved toward it, marveling at how the light from other crystals was swallowed up by the darkness.

The surface was polished smooth, unlike the others, which were rough and jagged. He reached out his hand toward it, but hesitated a few inches from the surface. He didn't understand why he would want to touch it, but the drive was there; overwhelming and undeniable.

"It's called the Nahvisivcasi Berehn—the Untempered Schism," Thrawn said, eyes fixed on where Sheplin's hand had almost touched the crystal. "I was tested here, long ago."

"Tested?"

Thrawn cocked his head. "The Schism is the final test of a boy being taught the way of the sword." His voice was tinged with old memories of a people that he'd been abandoned by, even though he still refused to abandon them. "Not all are brought here, but my mentors were traditionalists."

The Chiss took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. " 'Ch'a ch'etecerci bicit sir reo tut'ut, rab ch'a vn'ini lin'satehe'ah—tah csehn to k'en bah vez:' A warrior fights for his people, but a man hesitates—he fears the end of life." Thrawn's voice took on a strange intonation, as if he were reciting words that had been passed down for countless generations; millennia even.

" 'Csei s cart ch'a lcot'i ror to vum bah ch'a ch'etecerci. Ch'im tah cssuzah to k'en lcun'i, ch'an'ciuh reo csact'i van:' This is a step on the path of a warrior. May he find the final stone, before his time comes."

Thrawn paused for a moment. "Rest your hand upon it, William." The words were gentle, like a father explaining . . . though there was a hint of paternal fear there as well.

Sheplin touched the stone. Coolness that bordered on pain sliced through the tips of his fingers, driving to his soul with relentless pressure. Sheplin bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood . . . and then he saw.

He saw the breadth of time, like it was laid out before him in a spool of yarn that never began and never ended. He saw lives and hopes and dreams like they were stars dancing in patterns of trillions. He saw before the beginning, where there was nothing. Nothing but eternal darkness. He saw the beginning, where the Maker's light had exploded into being, forging the endless breadth of the universe with a word. He saw the presence of the Maker, and saw the icy hatred of the fallen one. He saw the Celestials, arranging planets like they were furniture. He saw the Light and the Dark. He saw their endless war that had claimed countless souls to the way of swords.

He saw the first sentients, living in huts of clay and straw. He saw Xim standing on the deck of a starship so primitive it didn't deserve the name, dreaming of an empire that was doomed to fall. He saw settlers on a great seedship taking the first look at their new home, fear and excitement coursing through them in equal measure. He saw the Tho Yor, mysterious and beyond understanding, planting the first seeds of the Je'daii. Saw the first men to stand on the plains of Tython, struggling with Ashla and Bogan, seeking the Bendu. He saw a Jedi who saved and killed; who was savior, conqueror, hero, villain; one who forever was alone. He saw wounds in the Force that would never be healed by men. He saw a warrior of freezing ice and explosive fire, who had betrayed and would betray again for his love.

And he saw himself. The sight startled him from the rest of time, as he saw a single cell that divided into two and knew it was him. His life went before him like a reel of family holostills. He saw his growing, from a cell to a man. He saw his family; his brother Arthur lying face-down in the cold night he'd died, his father and mother with hearts that loved little afterward, his grandfather who understood and loved, though he couldn't stop the tragedy from playing out; cousins from his mother's side, gathered together for a reunion on her homeworld of Naboo.

He saw her, and felt pain as sharp as a jab to his gut as he saw a sweet face smiling with so much love, neither of them knowing the adoration could come to an end. He saw their first time; awkward and precious beyond the riches of the universe. And he saw her leaving him bloody and broken on a floor, amazed that she could have ever loved such a coward. He couldn't feel his lips, but he whispered her name in his mind: "Liora." The word echoed throughout time, unimportant to any except him.

He saw his grandfather's understanding, as the old man pulled strings to get him in the Academy, freeing him from the planet that held nothing but memories of pain and death. He saw the men who'd scarred him, and saw his own look of cautious hope as he stepped aboard Ark Royal. He saw Thrawn. Saw the way the man had understood exactly who he was without ever having to be told. He saw Ashton's face, as the dead man smirked. Saw the broken remains of a man he'd once known.

The memories of the night he'd killed Ashton flooded back through him, leaving him weak and sick. He remembered feeling alone and tired and outraged, but as he saw his face—as a disembodied witness to the awful spectacle—while he beat the cruel man to death he saw something that frightened him; a faint snarl of pleasure.

The thought that he could enjoy death was so alien as to bring him to his knees, and he begged for the end with broken, unending prayers as the march of time continued. He begged for mercy from the Maker as the paths of time reached a crossroads that branched into infinity. He saw worlds on fire, every living soul offered as a sacrifice to gods of pain. He saw a world of ice, where thousands of broken bodies littered the surface. He saw his own death a million times over, every one different. He saw a love that soothed, and he saw love that destroyed. He saw the breaking of the universe by a thousand conquerors. He saw banners raised and crushed under the heel of men who would never exist. He saw hopes and loves and people that may never be, but were all real still.

His pleas and prayers for an end, for death, trailed into the endless abyss of futures. Became hoarse whispers that caught in his throat. Hands wrapped themselves around his person, hauling him back from the endless weave of time, and all he saw then was the light-filled cavern on Ilum.

Thrawn looked at him with concern plain in his glowing eyes. He'd pulled Sheplin from the Untempered Schism, and he took in his friend's glazed eyes and slack expression.

The taste of blood filled Sheplin's mouth from his bit cheek, coppery and sweet, and he spit it out on the frozen rock, disgusted. "How long?" he asked, surprised when his voice came out understandable and strong, instead of the unintelligible croak he'd imagined it would turn into.

"Just a few seconds," Thrawn said. "Or all of eternity, depending on how you view it."

"No skrag," Sheplin responded, feeling woozy. He sat down on the rough, icy ground with an awkward stumble. He stared at the Schism, feeling none of the compulsion he'd had to touch it earlier. All he felt was fear at the sheer knowledge the crystal led to. He'd never touch it again as long as he lived.

"Some lose themselves in the Schism. Their bodies remain . . . but their minds . . . ?" The Chiss warrior who appeared colder than death shuddered slightly. "Tormented forever, I suppose—a type of hell and paradise at once."

"It's a hell," Sheplin said simply, not believing any could call all he'd seen a paradise.

"Perhaps," Thrawn said, not arguing. "But you won't remember it. No man could." He sat down beside Sheplin, the motion seeming very paternal. "I remember nothing from my time—" he paused, thinking, before he nodded and repeated himself, "nothing."

Sheplin was silent, still dazed slightly. He looked at the Chiss sitting beside him. "Why?" he asked. "Why do this? A rite of passage?"

Thrawn pursed his lips. "We do not have a rite of passage for a boy becoming a man," he said. "That's a piece of stupidity we never accepted. We have the Making of a Man—the very long journey from boy to warrior." He looked at Sheplin carefully, hoping his friend was truly hearing what he was saying.

"And this was a step on the path," Sheplin said, remembering the words Thrawn had said just before he'd seen. Just as Thrawn had said, he remembered little. Only the feelings of awe and terror that had morphed into endless darkness that pulled at his mind in subtle, awful ways . . . and something else, that he couldn't consciously recall.

"One of many," Thrawn agreed. His eyes became distant for just a moment. "I soiled my pants," he revealed with a chuckle, "when my mentors took me here. Then again, I was younger than you, and I had an inkling of what was coming." He smiled at the memory of the event, though there had been nothing pleasant about it. "They thought I was a scared boy—and I was, I suppose—but I saw more than any of my peers that day."

"I thought you didn't remember anything?"

"I don't." Thrawn smiled a little. "No man does. But I know that I saw something, and that I was frightened by it. That is enough."

The idea of anything truly frightening Thrawn was an alien thought to Sheplin, but he thought of that something . . . and he understood what his captain meant.

"The lesson for you today, my young, young friend, is that nothing of the future is certain—and none of it matters. A single man can change the futures by a hair. A warrior though? He can shift the axis of the universe." He chuckled suddenly. "There is nothing more I can tell you, though. Some learn lessons others do not, and some learn nothing at all. You will learn what you will." He stood up. "We must get back to Royal; we have much work to do in our lives, and this step of the path will hold nothing more for you."

"How many boys have you taken here?" Sheplin asked suddenly.

Thrawn's smile faded a little, leaving a note of wistfulness in his expression. "Only yourself."