Chapter 33. Weaving A New Reality
To one who lived and prowled in the darkness, murkiness was no hindrance to sight. The Sith lord's mind quested, seeking strands of both dark and light, seeking those of one or the other, seeking those of both.
It was so easy to see in the dark if one just stared away from the light, for drawn together opposites were. At the edge of light was the edge of shadow, each throwing the other into relief. It was not a pinpoint sharp edge, though well defined: light bled into dark and dark into light, a blending that meant there was no true demarcation between the two, just an arbitrary boundary.
The refusal to recognize this would be the Jedi Order's downfall.
Theirs was a world of opposites, so they resolutely stared into the light and were thus easily blinded by the dark, so they cast out any with the merest hint of shadows rather than illuminate the dark with light.
Not the Sith; they sought out those of shadows, even sometimes those of just light. The greatest challenge offered the greatest reward: to dive into the light no matter how repugnant, to prey on the righteous and corrupt one of purity to depravity.
The seduction of the soul – oh, that exceeded any seduction of the flesh that a Sith might occasionally indulge in, bodies to be used and discarded, the detritus of lust that sought a diversion from souls. Few indeed took lovers, whether for a night or more, for the momentary pleasure could never measure up to a once gentle soul cowering under the lash of cruelty and torment; the moment that soul burst forth in rage and hate to leave the master's very being aquiver with delight and completion as pleasures of the flesh never could.
Who would it be, who would be the new champion of dark now that Maul had so ignominiously fallen – to an intended sacrificial pawn, no less, a mere Jedi apprentice?
He had had hopes – oh, not high hopes, admittedly, that disillusioned Jedi Master Dooku would warm the vacancy at his now-empty side. He would have gotten a few good years from the man but even as he had slipped towards the abyss of no return he had been hooked and allowed to slide no further by ties that had not been severed.
No, Dooku was neither bold enough nor really, useful enough, to pursue.
But there were others, some within and some without the Jedi temple. Yes, there was darkness within the halls of his enemies, just as there was light.
His senses crept out; prowled - hovered in the edges of the Force - a sensory tongue tasted the presence of those unguarded in sleep.
Curious…for there were several individuals there bound in shadows while yet aglow from within. Anyone of them could fall, might fall – or would fall. In time, one would.
It should be one of them. Who would it be?
Young Anakin Skywalker: the prophesied Chosen One who would bring balance, but only once he balanced himself? Corrupted innocence already, the boy was both selfish and giving, compassionate and hateful, fearful of change and greedy for affirmation. Grasping for love and attention, caught between nature and nurture, his allegiance would be won with no more effort than a promise of affection and soft words. A child and thus not much of a challenge, yet Sidious could not help but be drawn to this boy with the potential to be saint or devil, savior or destroyer.
Qui-Gon Jinn: master of the Living Force and so ignorant of his personal flaws, smugly certain he lived in the Force, its obedient servant? Blind to anything but the moment before him, heedless of the cost to those he valued? No sacrifice was too great to deny to his precious Living Force, to everything in the future, so assured was he that his actions here and now were all that mattered.
Oh, what a treasure Jinn could be to the dark – yet he might get far more sadistic pleasure by forcing the man into a realization of how his tender and generous heart had so brutally betrayed one he loved as a son for the sake of another he loved equally as well. Such knowledge might well drive Jinn into his own personal darkness – and into the grasp of the Sith.
Not to be overlooked: Obi-Wan Kenobi, the vaunted "Sith-killer" thrust into shadows by the man he had trusted to guide him to the Light. No knight yet, he was vulnerable and powerful. He would die in retaliation for Maul's death or be rewarded with a place at the Sith's side, Sidious still could not decide which. There was untapped power there, if Kenobi dared access it. He might have been bound to the Light once but now he was bound to nothing. His vulnerability could be easily exploited by one who would befriend him. The once incorruptible was now vulnerable and infinitely valuable once he found his strength.
And another yet unknown: one bound to them to them all yet not one of them. This one fancied himself evil, a master of darkness. Unlike the others, this one was dark with shades of light. Arrogant and self-assured, a touch cruel, he might be harder to break than Skywalker or Kenobi yet easier, half way there already.
So many choices, so many delectable souls to caress and mold, to seduce and make compliant to his every wish…
…which one would he pursue first?
The words themselves scrolled by on the screen, but they replayed over and over in one mind.
…Knight Talar died a few months later, died a few months later…
The terrible words were engraved on Obi-Wan's heart. Some eight centuries before another Jedi – a knight – had suffered a traumatic severance of his bond while simultaneously facing other trauma. The only way he could find the Force's solace – was to return to it.
Death had been his solution. Obi-Wan stared at the screen, sick at heart. He understood all too well the terror and despair that must have consumed the knight, the struggle to find a light amidst the darkness. He had teetered at the edge, mind awash with pain until the warm wash of temporary oblivion – of Master Windu's mind block – had soothed the cry of a battered soul.
He had fallen – into the arms of the living, not into the arms of the Force – because someone had been there to catch him.
Why me? Why not Knight Talar?
He didn't realize he was resting his face in his hand or sucking in deep breaths until a firm but steady hand rested on his shoulder. "Are you in need of assistance, Padawan Kenobi?" It was Madame Jocasta Nu, firm-lipped and stern mistress of the Archives with a look of gentle concern on her face. She placed a palm over his forehead and frowned. "You are unwell."
Her eyes flickered to the open display and her lips pursed in displeasure. "You should not be studying these records. Have you been given leave to do so?"
"They were not marked restricted, Madame."
"They are not, but they cannot fail to distress you; had I known of your presence I would have locked them out of this terminal."
"You would not have had that right!" Obi-Wan was feeling quite queasy now. He was fast losing control and it seemed he could not still his tongue. Why now, why now, why now his mind was gibbering, why this loss of control after days where it seemed his emotions were more in check?
"I'm sorry, Madame." He half-stumbled away, out of the Archives, away – just away from the damning knowledge. Away to the only peace he would find short of the Force itself …
… a small shadow fell over his face where he huddled, knees pulled up to his chest. Yoda squatted before him. "Peaceful the fountains are," he remarked. "Finding peace are you?"
"Master, who am I?" He ignored the question for his own.
The gentle face creased in a smile. "You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, a child of the Force who is lost and seeking his place. Always order, a pattern you seek and yet many times the pattern you see is not the pattern that is yet to be revealed. Decipher the patterns you must to find the correct pattern."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes; a tear slipped out anyway. "Knight Talar died."
"And you, Obi-Wan, did not." Yoda's finger pressed against Obi-Wan's chest, above his heart. "There is no why. This you know. In the end all return home to the Force. Someday too you will die. Someday will I as well. Perhaps then you will know why, if the Force wills it." A clawed finger brushed the drop of moisture from his cheek, moved upward and tapped his forehead next. "Your mind seeks answers, so I will give you one: you allowed Master Windu and I to anchor you while your strength you sought. You reached out and we reached back. Stayed connected to life if not the Force you did; in time, connect to it again you will. Believe you must; have faith you must."
"It's so hard, Master."
"Then all the more worthwhile the struggle will have been once you succeed. It is not in the struggle there is shame but in the failure to struggle. Straightforward the path is not, lost your footing and fallen on your behind you have. Now time to get up it is, hmm, and when you fall again, once again you stand up. A pattern you weave with every action you take and this pattern becomes your life. Weave a good pattern, young one, weave it well and never shall it unravel. Now, leave you to your weaving I will."
Yoda was nearly to the door when a soft query stopped him. "I don't know how to weave – will knitting work?"
"Hmm, I suppose that is an acceptable alternative," Yoda growled, turning to face the kneeling Jedi.
"Then I will seek lessons and follow whichever seems harder."
"Mock me, do you?" Yoda's eyes widened and his mouth tightened as his clawed hands clasped the gimer stick.
"I could never do so, Master." Obi-Wan felt a grin start to creep up from inside; he fought to keep it from surfacing.
"But tease me you do. Happy that makes you so allow this I do. For today only, you understand."
"Thank you, Master."
"Today only," Yoda admonished.
The grin finally surfaced. "Today only, Master," he agreed, bowing his head in acquiescence. Yoda stared at him, humphed, grumbled once and then tapped his way out of the Room of a Thousand Fountains mumbling about impudent padawans.
Said impudent padawan settled back on the grass - and stopped searching for answers.
Let go – leave everything to the Force – just live the life you have had been implicit in Yoda's words. Living with regrets only crippled the soul. Obi-Wan knew his was battered enough that he didn't need to add to it; only find a way to live with it and eventually move past it.
So Obi-wan let go of his expectations for the future and sought to replace such with acceptance of his present and of that future as well, not an easy task without the Force's aid, but a necessary one. The mere thought of that vast strength made his stomach twist and his mind ache while paradoxically it made him determined to find his way back to it: the source of all comfort and the source of not inconsiderable pain.
Yoda had woken him to the realization that he himself was the only one who could make Obi-Wan Kenobi whole. His recovery was as much in his hands as that of the Force. He could take his losses and hide, or face those losses and strive to overcome them and become a different Obi-Wan than he had once been yet still Obi-Wan.
Still himself.
Accepting a challenge and finding a way to wrest it to his advantage. It was time to stop fighting against something: he wanted to fight for something.
Mace, to his credit, recognized the problem and saw a possible solution. It was rooted in the most basic of Jedi beliefs, that of service and community. Each member of the Order was expected to teach and pass on knowledge, to always be both teacher and learner throughout their lives. Obi-Wan, like all senior padawans, often spent time assisting the supervising masters in the crèche and in the classrooms. Unlike some, Obi-Wan had truly enjoyed such opportunities and the younglings were just as fond of him as he was of them. Those of age eight to ten were deemed old enough to behave and young enough to be safe.
So it was that Obi-Wan found himself tagging along – not yet by real choice, but given no choice – to one of the Initiate classes.
"Come, Obi-Wan, we're going to sit in on a class. Accompany me, if you will."
The protest died on his lips, even if the near panic did not fade from his eyes, for Obi-Wan would not deliberately defy Mace's strongly suggested "request."
He wondered at his reluctance while a part of him looked forward to seeing how the youngsters had progressed over the last few weeks. They were at an age where curiosity ran as strong as their joy and frustration at their control of the Force. Perhaps his trepidation was rooted in his need to be at his best when he clearly was not; to present himself as a good role model to this younger generation.
His only choice was to be the best he currently could be – or fail without an honest effort.
The two Jedi arrived shortly after the class had begun. The younglings had been coached not too show too much interest, and if an opportunity arose, not to ask too many questions or overwhelm the still healing young Jedi. Of course, being young, one or two forgot the prior admonition and excitedly gazed at their visitors. One awed voice whispered, soft, yet loud enough to carry, "It's him, the Sith-killer; the one who saved Master Jinn."
"Shhh," another youngling hissed. The one that had spoken blushed but continued to look at from under his lashes at the subject of his curiosity.
Mace glanced at the young man at his side; though few signs of distress were visible, Obi-Wan had swallowed hard and his step had faltered. "Steady now," he whispered.
With half-averted eyes and a soft flush on his cheeks, Obi-Wan headed for the furthest seat so he could sit huddled against the wall and began a series of calming breathing exercises. Mace sighed and glanced at the instructor, who caught his look and dipped her head in acknowledgement.
"Younglings, eyes," she softly called, drawing their bright gazes back to her. "Let's resume; do not be distracted by our guests."
A gentle touch on his arm seemed enough to steady him and taut fingers relaxed. Mace looked on approvingly; the boy had handled that quite well, though he wished he hadn't yet had to face such a blunt statement of what was not well phrased, yet little more than the truth of Naboo. At least with the younglings, there would be nothing but curiosity and Obi-Wan knew that instinctively, one could tell, by the relative ease with which he had dealt with it.
"Is that what they call me?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, his eyes fixed on his fingers. "A - a killer?"
Mace shifted uncomfortably. "Sith-killer is, I believe, the proper appellation and as it turns out, accurate. I do apologize; they were told to keep their tongues and thoughts to themselves, but seeing as how the younglings admire you -"
"They shouldn't," Obi-Wan was quick to reply. "I mean – "
"I know what you mean," Mace assured him. And he did. No Jedi liked to be lauded for another's death, even if necessary, even if in the defense of others. To younglings, however, killing in service of the Force was a different concept to grasp, having little to do with heroes or villains, only grim, inescapable necessity. They did not understand the emotional toll on a being forced to take the life of another, and there was a toll, even for Jedi. Especially for Jedi.
But at least most Jedi had the Force to release the grief and occasionally, anger at being forced to such a drastic step. Not so the young man beside him; forcibly reminded that it was at his hands another had died – even if a Sith, even if in duty.
A sharp nod indicated Obi-Wan understood what was not said and a slow breath accompanied the slight straightening of what had been drooping shoulders.
As he sat, arms tucked within his cloak, Obi-Wan's eyes followed the work out, an exercise using soft padded sticks that could do little damage when inexpertly wielded in small hands or paws. He slowly relaxed and his posture grew a bit straighter as no one stared or again remarked on his presence.
After a time he further uncoiled, eyes following the movements with quick interest, noting strengths and weaknesses, flawed footwork or too taut a grip.
Beside him, Mace nodded to himself. Obi-Wan was getting interested, despite his initial trepidation.
When his mouth quirked and he leaned forward as if to make a suggestion to a small initiate who was repeatedly knocked flat on his backside, Mace nodded at the instructor. She nodded back.
A quick gesture of her finger towards the unfortunate initiate had him immediately turning a hopeful face to the two Jedi, mere feet away.
"You should use your strengths to counteract his," Obi-Wan said, slipping to his knees and tentatively smiling at the boy. "Use your agility against his greater strength and reach."
Mace let out a slow breath.
Two pairs of hands, one small and one smaller, met: the young Jedi's hand gently closed over the younger Jedi's, adjusting his grip on the stick. The Force hummed in approval.
Mace let out a slow breath.
"Let me show you."
And for one giddy moment, noticed only by the Force, Mace Windu smiled.