Sacrifices

Chapter Four

A Nuna or the Knife

The law of sacrifice is uniform throughout the world. To be effective it demands the sacrifice of the bravest and the most spotless.
~Mahatma Gandhi

Sweat trickled down Canaan's brow and into his eyes, obscuring his vision as he stared at his opponent. He knew he would not win this battle—the dark haired man in front of him was too skilled and too experienced for the outcome to be anything less—but he would not consed easily. He took a deep breath, inhaling the rhythm of the fight and lunged.

His saber did not find its quarry. By the time it had reached its mark, his target had already force-sprinted to the other side of the room. He turned, only to see Master Marek standing there, a wide grin plastered across his wrinkled face.

The old man was playing with him, silently teasing his lack of skill. Canaan narrowed his eyes and charged, letting just a little bit of his anger and frustration seep into his movements. Canaan had been beaten many times by many people and Galen Marek had always made sure that, while he never set out to injure the younger man, he sure as hell never coddled him.

That's not where the frustration came from. Although his attention was firmly on the sparing session at hand, he could not, in all honesty, say the same for his emotions. His personal relationship with that other world was a rather mixed one; in that world no one looked at him as less then he should be or saw him only as a reminder of an ugly tragedy, but that was only because, in that twisted mockery of his world, everyone had much worse problems to deal with.

Canaan had actually been relieved when he stopped being transported to that hellhole, and yet here he was, forced to go back. It might just be worse this time around. This time he didn't have the naive innocence that had made it bearable before. Now that he understood how all the pieces fit together, understood how all the horrible things were necessary in the end, he knew he could do nothing to change it.

And that was the real curse.

Galen moved towards him, his saber thrusts brutal and efferent. This was not a battle in which Canaan could afford to let his mind wonder, this battle he had to fight on instinct, trusting the Force to tell him his opponents next move before he made it. The Force, however, didn't pound war drums behind his ears.

There were those who compared lightsaber duels to some of the most intricate dances in the universe and they would not be wrong. Each blow and perry was another note in a brilliant cacophony of buzzing and, if the skills of the opponents were matched close enough, labored breathing would join in as the base line to that particular song.

There was almost no music in this match.

Canaan could feel his frustration build as every blow failed to find its mark. Master Marek was good, but he was getting on in years and that, along with the fact that Canaan had trained with him since his hands were too small to hold a lightsaber with any measure of precision, should have allowed him to land at least one blow. He should have been able to predict at least some of the master's moves, and yet it was he that was getting read like sheet music.

The hum of his opponents lightsaber whorled, cuing him to the man's next move. Canaan ducked, using the force to side under the weapon; he could feel the heat from the saber mere centimeters from his face and knew what was coming next. The master's second saber came down in a vicious arch, aiming to land in the space between Canaan's shoulder blades.

Timed slowed as the metronome ticked in half time. In one fluid motion, he swung his knees backwards until only the tips of his fingers supported his weight and then pushed against the padded ground. Within half a second, Canaan was well out of the reach of Galen's saber.

But not, apparently out of reach of other forms of attack.

Canaan was unable to reflect the blue stream of energy in time. The lightning landed and stung like a swarm of insects nipping at his exposed flesh, but did no real damage. It was enough, however, to make the winner of this bout clear.

Canaan deactivated his lightsaber and gave a respectful little bow.

"Really, Force lightning?" He teased, walking over to the small table in the corner that held their personal effects.

Galen just shrugged as if it were nothing—as if it were a move so instinctual he must have been doing it since childhood. That was the first warning bell and the echo of Kali's words were the second: Do you really think that? Ask them the next time you get a chance.

"How much do you remember?" He hoped Galen didn't hear the struggle to keep his tone casual, but there was no guarantee.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," he said, reaching for a bottle of water and taking a long draft.

"Of the other world."

Galen's sputtering as he tried to dislodge the water from his lungs would normally be enough of a conformation for Canaan, but for this he wanted to hear the words. He looked at the older man, his eyes demanding an answer and daring a lie.

"Luke once said it was like a bad holo he had seen a few too many times," he said sitting down the water, "and I can't say he's wrong."

"How long have you known?" Canaan asked, grabbing the edge of the table for support, his head spinning.

Galen sighed. "Since we were twenty-four."

"So my entire life?" Canaan snapped, "and you didn't mention it once?"

"What makes you think we were keeping it form you?" His tone was even but there was no mistaking the challenge in his voice.

Canaan looked over, his brow furrowing slightly. His mind spun, tangling this thoughts up in a binding web that just would not let him go. Who else could he be talking about? If they all remembered, then why would be be so important to keep it a secret? Who else but him would be effected...?

That was a selfish way to think of things and he shook it off. After all, how many cards had he kept close to the chest just so no one else had to see the gory pictures? Now that he knew they remembered, the real question was how was it possible.

He took a deep breathe, opening himself to the force and in it found the answer.

"I suppose that explains a few things," he sighed, "like why you have always been able to beat me at everything. Twice the experience I expected."

"Or maybe it's just because you suck."

Canaan turned to face the figure in the doorway, recognizing the voice almost before he heard it. It was odd really, Canaan should have heard about it if Caz was back planetside. Those in the Jedi order tended to gossip a bit more then the outside world would guess and Castor wasn't the kind of person to go unnoticed. He dressed more like a smuggler then a Jedi; he carried blasters as well as his lightsaber and was more likely to use them in a fight...but he was hardly the first or only one to chose such garb.

"I didn't even feel your approach through the Force," Canaan admitted, giving the slightly younger man a hug.

"That's because I'm awesome and you really need to practice." Caz smirked, the corners of his mouth turning up into what Canaan had heard descried as his trademark serial killer grin.

"I see being assigned as Lucky's padawan hasn't instilled you with any more humility." Canaan said and Caz snorted. Lucky Skywalker and humility had about as much in common as Mustifar and Hoth.

"But really, you were more dancing then fighting. Tell me you didn't have the beat from some of the screechy Machivian rock song playing in the back of your head."

Canaan pressed his lips, desperate to hid his embarrassment but it didn't work. Caz saw right through him. He always did.

Canaan had been so caught up in welcoming his friend home that he hadn't notice Galen pack up and head towards the door, obviously attempting to give the young men some privacy. Halfway out the door he stopped and looked back, eying the brown eyed young man intently.

"Castor?" Galen said, his voice laced with every modicum of authority his position afforded him. "I expect you to apologize."

"I will," Caz looked at the older man, his face as impassive as if he had just been asked to pick up a carton of blue milk. "When I mean it."

Galen's eyes narrowed, knowing as well as anyone that in Caz speak that that answer was much closer to 'never' then he would have liked. For a moment Canaan was sure he would say something, perhaps enough to start an argument, but to his surprise, Galen's lips just knit together in a deep frown as he walked out the door in silence.

"What are you two fighting about now?" Canaan asked, turning back to get his things.

Caz perched himself on the edge of the table and scoffed dismissively. "Same thing as always."

Canaan stopped, his fingers centimeters from his cloak and turned to look at him. It was no secret that things between those two had been a bit strained over the last few years, and there was little surprise given the circumstances, but Canaan had never really gotten the full story. Perhaps it was kind of selfish, but he had hoped that he would be the one Caz would most likely confide in, particularly because he had never asked the same question almost everyone else had demanded: Why?

Caz shifted slightly under the uncomfortable gaze, but Canaan would not break eye contact.

"Let's just say that I didn't appreciate the fact that, while I was gone, Mom forgot that I wasn't an only child." Caz whispered, trying so hard to sound nonchalant.

"Caz,"

"Hey you want to catch a Holo tonight?" Caz asked, hoping off the table and smiling at Canaan. The attempt to change the subject was obvious, but Caz's face revealed nothing. It was only the gentle whisperings in the force that told Canaan just how much he was silently begging for him to drop the subject. "They have that new one out—the one that's supposedly based on Master Skywalker and the Chancellor's romance."

"Why do you even bother with that trash?" Canaan asked, his words a peace offering promising not to press the issue again for a while at least. "They never get it right and it's not like they have a clue about the good stuff..."

Caz snickered as they made their way to the door. "I know. It's hilarious."

"I can't. Kali's got a doctor's appointment and I need to be there." Canaan said, the laughter in his voice only partially masking the undercurrents of something a bit darker.

"Stop that."

"What?" Canaan said, stopping.

"The self doubt. You'll be fine but if you think you need practice why not settle down and have a family the traditional Jedi way? You're old enough for a padawan."

"Like I'm not going to have enough on my plate soon enough."

Caz shrugged, his sharp grin spreading across his face. "If anything you at least have someone to look after the little brat when you and Kali want some alone time."

Canaan rolled his eyes with so much force he gave himself a headache."I'm not getting a padawan just for an on call babysitter."

"Besides there are those who could teach a kid a lot more then me." his hand tightened around the handle of his lightsabor, the coarse metal digging into his hand.

Caz reached his arm out, forcing Canaan to stop, one of the big stone pillars of the temple's entry way blocking them from the eyes of the handful of Jedi out and about, most of which really had no interest in what they were talking about. Canaan still appreciated the illusion of privacy, though.

"What's this really about?"

"What do you mean?"

Caz narrowed his eyes, making it clear both in and out of the Force that his patients was quickly being ground down to nothing. Playing coy when it came to his powers was an innate defense mechanism for Canaan. He had spent so much time and energy trying to deftly sidestep as many questions about that world as possible (which was more difficult then one would expect given how many politicians he knew) that he found it hard to open up even to Caz.

But as always, Caz would have none of his shit.

"They may not have been official padawans, but how many younglings have you taught? Add them all up it adds up to more successful apprenticeships then most of the council."

"That's different."

"How?" Caz asked, the single word daring him to lie. Canaan couldn't answer; not truthfully. It was just one of those things he knew but couldn't put into words. He hadn't really been teaching anyone anything; he had smuggled a few data chips and holocrans across time and space to a few kids who had no clue what the hell they were doing. The few lessons he had actually taught had mostly just been him parroting back what he had learned in class that day.

He was far from real master material.

"Now really, what's this about?"

Canaan sighed, knowing Caz would not return the courtesy by dropping the subject. "They all remember the other world."

"Yeah, and?"

How could he say something like that? An hour ago Canaan would have sworn that he would have been one of the ones who understood the most.

"Don't tell me you're surprised?" Caz asked, his voice for once losing that cocky and decisive note that seemed to be his default tone.

"Surprised that every sacrifice was for nothing?" he whispered, an odd combination of incredulity and agony seeping into every syllable.

Despite the five centimeter height advantage Canaan had, Caz had no trouble pining his shoulders to the smooth behind him.

"Life requires sacrifice," he hissed, for the first time actually sounding angry, "you must always lay something on the alter and pray you are blessed with something better in return. You were asked to give up precious little, but those who were not so lucky are more then happy with their bargains. So quit your bitching. It's unbecoming and self depreciation is only attractive in teen lit."

The tension between them was so thick not even a hutt could have crawled through. They just stood there for what seemed an eternity, neither moving or speaking, until Caz did what he always did best: he saw deeper into the situation, dissecting every little hint and nuance until he got to the heart of it all.

"But there's more to it then that."

There wasn't a question in his worlds. Caz let go and Canaan stood, rubbing his shoulders where Caz's fingers had almost made permanent impressions in his flesh.

"It's started again."

Caz looked down and frowned, a strange sort of pity playing across his face. "I'm sorry."

"I had just thought it was all done with."

Caz looked out at the bustling cityscape and, for once, let his mental shields drop until Canaan could see every thought in that twisted head of his. There were trillions of beings in the galaxy, all pretty much doing the same in an attempt to actually live their lives. Among those trillions a million or so Force sensitives, destined to be set apart. Of those, maybe twenty thousand were accepted into the Jedi order. Even after over half a century of the ban on attachments being lifted, there were maybe a hundred legacy Jedi in the temple.

Only two had powers like theirs and those powers did not come without a cost. There was a great amount of responsibility that went along with it.

"I doubt fate will ever stop asking things of us. Even if you understand its reasoning a bit more now."

For a brief instant Canaan wondered when Canaan had come to terms with it. He spoke as if he had lost something because of his gift—lost more then Canaan—but Canaan couldn't really see how...then again, Canaan never really understood what Caz was capable of when he slept. Perhaps Caz himself didn't know.

"Don't worry, you won't be alone."

"You're going to start slipping int my dreams again?" Canaan muttered,"At least it's only you can do it."

Caz scoffed,"For the most part it's a force technique, not a gift. I could teach most of the people we know how to do it..."

"But you won't."

"It would be a waist of time. They respect your privacy too much to intrude without permission."

"And you don't?" Canaan asked, more accusation then a question.

Caz looked at him and gave him a crooked little smile and a disturbing thought whispered behind his ears. With all this talk of sacrifice, what was Caz supposed to be? A nuna or the knife?

"Not on your life."

"So you're leaving?" Marta asked. She didn't even bother to open her dark eyes as she nuzzled her face deeper into the thin, doubled over pillow of the dinky hotel.

It was far from the first time they had met like this over the years, and yet it didn't stop a diaphanous layer of ice from forming under his skin. This time was different; he had known that when he had got her message. He hadn't mentioned it as they had had their fun; the doubt and apprehension was discarded on the floor along with their clothing, weapons, and whatever bits of furniture hadn't been bolted down.

But now it was time to face what he knew was coming.

Caz paused, his fingers just brushing the top of his discarded pants. "You're the one who gave me the ultimatum."

Honestly what else had she expected—that he would leave the Jedi order for her? If it had just been the Jedi order, if he had just been one of those poor sods they found as a youngling on some backwater planet, there would have been no question; he would have turned in his lightsaber and it would have been just her and him against the galaxy.

He wasn't particularly fond of the Jedi as an institution even now, half a century after the rewriting of the code to allow attachments, the order was still too bogged down in bureaucracy, too tied to the whims of the senate (although, considering one of the highest ranking council members is married to the Chancellor, it was hardly surprising). The Force was a spiritual thing, helping each being who could and would listen to it find their path, but the true path wasn't always with the Jedi.

Caz knew he wasn't the first to have these kinds of thoughts, there were dozens of people who had left the order over the years, looking for their own answers.

But for him the solution was so much more complicated then that. Unlike most Jedi, he had a family to think of.

His entire family, save for a few of those who had married into it, were Jedi. The Force flowed more thickly in his veins then blood. If he were to chose to forsake the order it, they would support his decision, but his life with Marta would not be compatible with theirs. She was one of the best and most brutal bounty hunters in the galaxy and, as a profession, it was not uncommon for bounty hunters to take jobs that were less then legal or ethical by Republic standards. If he were to chose that life, he would eventually lose his family.

He could not lose them—not again. And Marta, well although he would never ask that of her, he knew she would not be able to give up the life she loved, even for him.

And so they were at an impasse and they both knew it. She had just been the first to voice the truth.

"Why did you leave them if you always intended to come back?"

Caz sighed. Explaining the Force was one thing, although she wasn't Force sensitive, she at least had some idea of what it was. His gift was a whole different story. He understood it—barely—but not enough to explain to another Jedi, let alone someone like Marta. The only reason Canaan understood as much as he did was that he was in something of the same boat.

"You knew it was temporary." He said, his fingers instinctively finding the pendant he always wore around his neck, the one that someone, many years ago, had hollowed out to make room for a miniaturized holo photo projector.

How many times had Marta caught him staring at the pictures it contained and longing to return home, but knowing that his self-imposed exile wasn't quite up yet?

"Until it wasn't." She muttered and Caz really couldn't argue.

He clipped his saber to his belt and began shifting through the mess of weapons on the table, trying to differentiate his blasters from hers.

"Castor," she said and he turned, a little confused. In all the years he had known her, she had never once said his full name.

"I'm..." she began and Caz could already feel the weight to her words. But she sighed, closed her eyes, and burred her face back into the pillow. "Have a good life."

He gave a small, sad smile. "Yeah, you too."

There was silence for a moment, his mind wondering to the past and everything they had had. The missions they went on together, the good times. How he had spent her sixteenth lifeday worshiping her, licking frosting from every inch of her body.

"Marta, you know you can call me for anything right? Whatever you need." And he wasn't just offering her a way to scratch a physical itch. He meant every word.

She scoffed, more then a little hurt, and that little noise told Caz everything her silence hadn't. I know, but I won't.

He stared at her for a moment, desperately wanting to say the words he knew she would not want to hear, but he could not bring himself to do it. That's just not how their relationship worked. They pretended it was all sex and blaster fire but they both knew otherwise; if it had really just been physical, parting wouldn't be so hard.

He grabbed a cheep stylo and a discarded advertisement from the wastepaper basket, and flipped it over, quickly scribbled a quick note. The light colored flimsyplast stood out against the black of her custom blasters, where he set the not, sure she would see it.

It was the only goodbye he could stand to leave her, and yet he could no more silently part from her then he could stay. "Never question that I always loved you and I always will."

As he walked towards the door he grasped his pendant again as if it were a set of prayer beads and rubbed his fingers across material, the intricate designs long worn smooth.

His steps stilled and with one swift motion he unhooked the clasp and held the weight of it in his hands. It was his most prized possession, irreplaceable and unique. For a long time it had been the one reminder he had of his family, the one bit of evidence that he had had a family at all. It had been his connection to the thing he loved most.

Caz could feel Marta looking him through her hair, pretending to still be asleep, but he did not—could not— acknowledge her. He just set the Japor snippet down on top the note and forced himself to leave before he changed his mind.

Quick note. The parts of the story that take place in the "good" world are actually the last act of Canaan's story. I have to do it that way because the last act of his story is what is relevant to the first part of what's going on in the "bad" world. Eventually though, it will circle around to when he's younger. You will get to see the first time he got to meddle and why things are strained with Caz and his family. So it's okay if you don't understand a hundred percent of what's going on. It will pay out in the long run.