"Time!" Olana called.
My eyes were still fixed to Dooku's as I held my white-bladed saber in a two-handed front guard. I sensed the lower left side of my gauntlet pulse twice, just before my awareness caught the tilt of Dooku's foot and his spin to cut, downward from my left. I deflected, once, twice, and shifted to a low counter, bouncing to a high slice that he swatted away easily.
Today was still a testing day; I hadn't yet moved in response to the gauntlet's signals. But, so far, they had been correct every time.
As we both stepped back, we simultaneously lowered our weapons and bowed. Thumbing my hilt, I then brought up the gauntlet and turned the signalling routine off. I could spend time on the trip back to Coruscant reviewing some of the analyses, but I wouldn't have nearly as good of a grasp of the results as the experts would. Sharing the data wasn't just quid pro quo for my own personal use of the unit; it also assured that I'd have the most up-to-date version of the program.
"That's the fourth day in a row," Olana pointed out, "that neither of you has hit the other. Twelve total hours of dueling with no one having the upper hand, even for a moment."
"The old legends," Dooku smiled, "speak of two masters who stood for days at a time, each in a stance of readiness but neither even drawing his blade. They fought each blow and counter-blow entirely in their minds, until one yielded." He led us out of the room we had cleared for sparring and back towards the kitchen, where the tangy smell of stew assailed us. "We are at the point where both of us are giving more feinted openings than genuine ones, and cautious about which we accept. But this phase will not last long. Thank you." Having sat, he accepted a bowl gratefully.
"Thank you," I echoed, taking my own bowl. "You believe I will surpass you soon?" Although the Master had always claimed I would be able to defeat him in combat in only a few months of intense training, I was still skeptical. Dooku, not to mention the other Masters, had each come to their skill level over the course of decades (centuries in Master Yoda's case).
"Yes, but not quite yet," he clarified. "What I expect you to try next, is to take some risks trying to draw me out of stance. And you'll fail, and take a few punishing losses." He took another mouthful of the soup as I listened carefully. "... at first. But you'll continue to become faster, and more precise, until the gambits start working. When you get to the point where there is no way for me to tell the difference between your feints and your committed attacks, and no way for me to move fast enough to recover when I judge wrong… then you'll be ready for Master Unduli."
"Don't Mirialans typically only apprentice with their own species?" Olana asked.
Myren, now seated with us, answered. "That's only for the Master-Padawan relationship. Mirialan Masters support and train non-Mirialan Jedi all the time. Luminara's pretty busy working with the Chancellor, though." He sipped from his own bowl.
"Will it be like this with her?" I asked. What had started out as little more than an imposed chore had turned into something far more. Dooku wasn't just a master swordsman: he was an elegant diplomat, an accomplished scholar, and a man who channeled deep and powerful emotions into his communion with the Force. Olana was learning from watching him, and so was I.
"Jedi Masters are only alike," Dooku quipped, "in that we are not alike. Luminara's counsel is her own. But you are fortunate, as Master Selbek said, that she deigns to commit the time, Obi-wan."
Myren cleared his throat, signaling a change in topic. "From the way you were going on last night, it seemed like you'd have a lot of questions for me today." I opened my mouth, but he continued, "But let me start with a couple of things."
The Master Seer put down his bowl entirely to focus on us. "First, the Valley of Mists confronts people with... incongruities in their understanding. Places where their specific decisions or beliefs don't match their broader beliefs."
I pondered that for a moment. "It… doesn't check some sort of objective truth. Just internal consistency."
Myren nodded. "And there's no way to know that you come to the 'right' conclusion, just that you acknowledged the conflict."
"So," Olana volunteered, "if I believed something like… all Jedi are evil and need to die… but I was trusting some particular Jedi…"
The old man frowned. "You might have seen that Jedi in a bad light, and your encounter would have concluded when you decided not to trust him either."
"Or to open up that trust to others?" Olana asked.
"Either way," he agreed. "Addressing the tension in your own understanding was the point, because that interferes with your connection to the Force."
"Are there particular cases," I inquired, "where Jedi have come out of the Sunset Temple having been changed for the worse?"
He shook his head. "Not specific details, but the Seers hand down a caution that it can happen. Which is why I bring it up."
"Why not before the encounter?"
"There is never any guarantee that the Valley of Mists will manifest for a particular pilgrim. Casting doubt, ahead of time, would complicate the approach." He watched us nod, and then added, "The most common mistake I see Jedi make, is believing that their encounter accomplished more than it actually did. The Valley of Mists doesn't transform your soul, or fix your relationships. All it does is make you aware of what changes need to happen." He wiped his face and sighed. "Some Jedi have come to me later, surprised that after some incredible epiphany, they relapsed into the same problems in three months or six. Real change takes real work." The last he said forcefully, jabbing a slightly crooked finger in my direction.
I nodded again, stealing a glance at Olana. "Yes, we understand that very well. I think this was good for bringing some potential problems to the fore, but it certainly didn't solve them."
"Life isn't a holodrama," the old man added, "even if you've mostly viewed it as one. But keeping both of those points in mind, what more can I explain?"
"Originally, we thought that the images came from Obi-wan's mind," Olana began. "But later, there were scenes that he hadn't seen, that neither of us could have been witness to. Where did they come from?"
"From the Force," Myren shrugged. "Prophetic elements have always been an important part of these encounters. Visions can be of the past, or the future. They can be extremely accurate scenes of actual events, surprisingly subtle metaphors, or anything in between. And," he added, "over the next few days, you're likely to have an additional Force Vision, as well. Either of you," he included Olana in that.
"Related to the encounter?" I sought to clarify.
"Not particularly. Time spent at the Sunset Temple just has that effect on Seers. Unclogs the pipes, is how I've always thought about it."
"I'm not a Seer," Olana pointed out.
Myren smirked, looking Olana up and down with amusement. "How d'you know that?"
She frowned. "I don't have Visions."
"You haven't had Visions, yet," he insisted, "at least, not that you've remembered. There are two kinds of Jedi: confirmed Seers, and potential Seers."
"A few of us have been around long enough, that we are rather confident we are not," Master Dooku said.
"One of the best Seers in the last century," Myren replied, "had her first Vision when she was eighty-nine."
Dooku made a stiff nod, conceding the point.
"Other questions?" Myren beckoned.
I exchanged a wary look with Olana before deciding to speak. "At the end, we were attacked and killed by what I'd say was a sort of… exaggerated version of myself. He claimed to be the future."
"Exaggerated in what way?" Myren asked. I felt his centered layers of curiosity and contented interest.
Reflecting on the answer to this question invoked another wash of emotion, which I accepted, shunting it above and to the outside. I paused again, contemplating an accurate answer.
Myren stepped into the silence to add, "These Visions are more about fears and perceptions than they are about Truths, Obi-wan. Do not mistake what you saw, for a confession about yourself."
I swallowed. "The confession would be an accurate one, I think. I've taken certain difficult steps where I found them to be necessary. Acted ruthlessly… violently… to prevent what I identified as a greater evil." I felt compassion from Myren, and something stronger if nebulous from Dooku, but I pressed on. "In the Mists, I was shown extreme acts of ruthlessness and violence, still placed in that same context… judgments made by a future Obi-wan, as preventing greater evils."
"That is a path," Dooku intoned, his voice grave, "that descends forever, young Knight. There may very well be limited good in this Galaxy, but there is no limit to evil. Permit yourself evil, without limit, in the fight against a greater threat, and evil without limit is where you are destined." The Master's mind brushed mine, the merest edge blistering with heat, some memory locked within that I was not privileged to see.
I turned my full attention to the Master at this. "You don't seem surprised to hear me speak of such a revelation. Has Qui-Gon spoken of these matters with you?"
Dooku nodded. "Not with me alone. When the Council finally learned the full measure of your actions on Naboo and Tatooine, you were nearly expelled from the Order."
A chill ran over me at this simple statement. "I was unaware that the full measure had ever been withheld."
"You lie as skillfully as ever, young Knight," Dooku noted wryly. "Stories of 'Jedi assassins' started circulating as soon as the Federation armada was driven from Naboo. The Council approached Master Jinn discreetly, and he relented. Three deaths above Naboo. Seven on Tatooine. All preventable."
My training with this Master had surely taken root within me, because I felt precisely the same focus on him now as I did facing him across a pair of swords. I could not afford to ignore everything else, though, and I flickered my attention between the oldest and youngest sophonts in the room. "Would it be better to -"
"Master Selbek knows," Dooku said. "I see no reason to exclude young Chion. Do you?" His eyes were as warm as mine were cold, and I felt the challenge; it was arguably the first strike, if that had not already hit and wounded me.
"Olana should hear it from me." I meant it to be forceful, but it came out pleading. This would not do: we had only just begun, and already my strength was fleeing me.
Myren cleared his throat. "I'd like to hear it from you, too, son," he spread his hands invitingly.
I nodded, closing my eyes briefly, raising the wooden tumbler to my lips. The thawed snow that passed for beverage was always a little metallic, but I gulped it down anyway as I thought.
I wasn't prepared for the fear I felt radiating from the seat next to mine, where Olana sat. Tiny needles of bitter cold pricked my awareness as though I weren't already awash in my own alarm. I looked at her, realizing that her mental shield was still up, and I felt only the edge of what she must be feeling: a deep dread for what it is that I might reveal.
"The Blockade of Naboo," I began, "was arranged by the Sith. Part of the machinations to get the Trade Federation so divorced from the Republic that a Separatist movement was possible."
"Who d'you think you're talking to?" Myren asked. "We're not asking about the whole war. We're asking about what you did in it."
"But the details of the blockade - the reasons for it, and forces behind it - underlie whom I killed and why." I shook my head, eyes trained again on Master Dooku. Every word I said was being mentally picked apart under the gaze of a diplomat as critical and tactical as he was on the training mat. "Could we continue this next to the fire?"
With nods of assent, I found myself with a short if illusory reprieve. As we left the table, Olana continued to avoid my gaze, and Dooku's expression continued to be both critical and assessing.
If only I knew what to say.