Chapter 55. A New Truth Revealed
Obi-Wan let out a little laugh, a half sob in the privacy of his room.
What must Master Dooku think of him now? So self-absorbed, so self-pitying, he had never once thought to think, to analyze the situation he had found himself in. It was past time for him to be shaken out of his preoccupation with himself.
Obi-Wan passed a hand over his eyes and admitted it. It was not all about him. It never had been. The Qui-Gon Jinn who had callously flung him aside – was only the Qui-Gon Jinn of his bruised ego and hurt pride. He had deluded himself and how many others as well? He knew Qui-Gon Jinn; knew the man and the Jedi he was. He was a man who stood for the Force and against anything that tried to thwart its will.
Even if that opposition was the Council, or common wisdom, or even his doubting padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn did not falter.
All else fell to the wayside. Even Obi-Wan Kenobi, if necessary.
And in his misguided humiliation, he had dragged so many with him and his deluded visions, his shamefully selfish bruised feelings.
Master Windu and Master Yoda. Now Master Dooku. And, worse of all, Anakin Skywalker. The Force itself had placed the boy in their path. Whereas he would have stepped around what he had seen as an obstacle, Qui-Gon had stopped and extended a hand to one he had known was the Force's gift to the galaxy.
The Qui-Gon Jinn who had stood up for the Force and the Force's Chosen One even as he had opposed it, stood in the way of the Force.
"Force, Kenobi, you really blew it," he muttered. "No wonder the Force isn't anxious to reconnect to you. I'd blow me off, too."
"Earned knighthood you have, Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan blew out a bitter half-laugh. Oh, what had possessed Masters Yoda and Windu to say such a thing? Had they known the Force had abandoned him, as he had abandoned it? A panacea for his ills, a promotion he would never be able to claim? He was worthy of being busted back to initiate, not worthy of knighthood.
The dream had him up and vomiting again that night.
"He hates you."
The voice was merciless, hammering at him, an endless refrain of hate, hate, hate.
"And as he hates you, you hate him. You hate him for discarding you and the boy for taking your place. You are full of hate, anger and jealousy."
"No." Obi-Wan tossed and turned in his sleep, murmuring his protests.
"You hated the Zabrak so much you allowed anger to guide your arm. You became what you swore to defend against. You pushed the Force away and locked it away, for you know you will be burned by its light. You seek warmth, but the void within seeks ice. Ice – is found in the dark. Fill that void within you and be whole once more."
"No! I accept nothing if not the light; I'd rather be empty and apart from the Force than be filled with darkness." The sheets twisted with his struggles to be heard.
"Have you not accepted that you no longer belong to them?"
He clasped his hands over his ears, but the whispers were still trapped inside. Impotent rage bubbled within his veins, hateful words thrummed with his heart.
"They pity you when they should fear you."
"I am nothing to be feared!" He fell back to the pillow, shuddering, and still asleep.
The dream shifted.
The Temple burned; hungry flames reached to the heavens as stone cracked. Walls crumbled inwards, to lay sprawled in ash plumes of gray. In this cacophony of destruction there was at first no sound, no sizzle and no thuds, no crackling and no rumbling. At first, then the whispers moaned and scratched at hearing. The whispers intensified. And then the whispers became voices of the damned.
A young boy clung to his leg, eyes wide and tears streaming down his face. "Please stop it."
"Stop it, Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon materialized beside him, smoke and soot coating his skin and hair.
"Know how to stop this you do, but willing are you?" Yoda croaked from behind him.
"Who will you save, Obi-Wan? Who do you serve? Who stops this, if not you?" Mace's deep voice was gentle, yet stern. In his eyes was such disappointment as if he knew. They all knew. He knew. The dark side was too tangled around him.
In the flames, he saw the reflection of his own eyes.
Yellow.
There were occasions when Mace Windu disliked Council meetings. Now was one.
"The Force seems less – ominous." A casual remark that at first barely registered in his mind, by someone, followed by a silence which in turn fed into an uneasy rustling and finally, something he lifted his head to.
A casual remark became the precursor to an uneasy awareness, to an unvoiced concern, and now – to this.
"Kenobi's left, then."
Only a soft murmur. Only the truth. So why did it sound like an accusation?
"Yes, with Master Dooku."
Another silence. If Yoda had been there, the silence surely would have been broken by a twack of his stick against an ankle or two. Not even members of the Council were immune to such corrections. But Yoda had not yet arrived and it fell to Mace to speak up, or keep his peace.
"Correlation does not equal causation," he said sternly. Adi Gallia nodded in slow agreement as Yaddle cocked her head to one side, considering all that was being said. Depa merely blinked slowly, while Saesee Tinn and Plo Koon eyed each other.
"There is a pall around Kenobi's light now."
"The Force –" Surprisingly, Mace was interrupted.
"He does not touch the Force, Master Windu."
"It touches him, Master Piell!" A slow release of breath settled Mace's breathing. He looked around and made sure he caught each eye or eyestalk in turn. "The Force does not elude his presence; it seeks him out as always, perhaps more so considering his emotional and physical state."
"Which is unprecedented, although true." Adi spoke slowly, perhaps even apologetically.
"The fact remains that Padawan Kenobi is not and never has been anywhere near powerful enough to keep a man from dying – tell me, Master Windu, I'm not sure there's one of us in the Council chamber that has that power – how did he gain access to it – and why now does the Force elude him?"
"That's Jinn speaking," Mace ground out, trying not to glare at Oppo Rancisis.
"And who knew Kenobi's strength and skill better?"
"With all due respect to Masters Yoda and Windu, I propose we reexamine both Padawan Kenobi and Master Jinn – that boy, too – to ascertain –"
"That our conclusion remains valid," Mace interrupted, holding up a hand, "and that boy has a name, Master Piell." He didn't like it, one bit, but it was his duty – the Council's duty – to examine and scrutinize - to protect. The Force told him his first conclusion was correct, that whatever darkness that may have swirled around Kenobi had been successfully defeated – but the Sith was an unknown factor. He would not presume that the Force spoke to his colleagues as to him; he would not "do a Jinn" on them.
And, he had to admit, it did feel like a heavy weight had lifted from the Temple not long after Master Dooku and Obi-Wan's departure.
Correlation is not causation, he reminded himself.
Except, sometimes, it was.
"You do not look well, Obi-Wan."
"Good morning, Master Dooku. I – did not sleep well." Obi-Wan slipped into his seat, hoping the older Jedi would let it slide. Dreams, and even nightmares, were not unknown to the Jedi, but they were not common, either, and often a manifestation of either bad food or an upset center. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak before his grand-master. It wasn't like he could help – the only thing that could help was the Force.
"I experienced Force-deprivation once." The man remarked, almost casually, not glancing at Obi-Wan. "It was quite unsettling and the after-effects were almost worse than the deprivation – nightmares, confusion – Master Yoda nearly confined me to the healers. That scared my center right back into me."
"Oh." Obi-Wan blinked and considered the older man with an unblinking gaze. Master Dooku, like Masters Yoda and Windu, seemed – well – untouched by so many things. Always in control, never controlled by forces outside themselves. "Might I ask, sir, the circumstances?"
With a thin smile, Master Dooku leaned back and shook his head. "Do you know, to this date I don't recall a lot of it, other than that it was a darn unpleasant experience for a Jedi. But you're a lot like me, young Kenobi, we don't like to be blown hither and yon unless by the Force itself, and our surrender to its will is never as complete as my padawan's," his voice softened, "and your former master's. I suspect that's one reason you've never been fond of flying – oh, yes, I know your reputation – and one reason I – well, I've been on the edge of slipping a time or two. Luckily, the Force has always nudged me back to the path. I almost left the Order, did you know?"
"I was not aware," Obi-Wan replied. His head was spinning; Master Dooku had always been held up as a proper Jedi, a Jedi to emulate by many in the Temple.
"For the last five years I knew I might have to make a decision whether or not to stay in the Order. At the time, I knew nothing then would persuade me to leave. Three some years later I was informed the Count was quite ill and I should prepare for his imminent death. My friend Senator Palpatine, now Chancellor, encouraged me to take up both the title and a political role when it was time, of fixing what's wrong in the Republic.
"Not quite two years later," he waved a dismissive hand, "I had the chance to assume the title, leave the strife and hardship of the Jedi life behind. I was weary and disillusioned, Obi-Wan; Palpatine was quite persuasive. He has the tongue of a politician and the persuasive abilities of a born diplomat. I was tempted, Obi-Wan, on the verge of renouncing the Order. What, I thought, tied me to the Order? Had you not saved my padawan's life, I might well have accepted that offer. My faith was already so shaken…but the Force reminded me of my ties: my padawan tied me to the Order, to the Jedi life. Through him, I have another tie to the Order as well. You."
"You stayed, because of Master Jinn?" His hand stole upwards to rub his forehead, trying to absorb this new and rather surprising piece of information.
"For him and for you, and because the Force told me to stay; it was quite adamant." Master Dooku chuckled, shaking his head. "I need to shake some sense into that thick skull of his, and," he shrewdly glanced at his young companion, "and help you through this trauma. I don't trust Mace."
That brought a disbelieving stare to his face. "Master Windu has far exceeded – he has been very supportive."
"He has? Well, that old disciplinarian has unbent…." He turned a piercing gaze on Obi-Wan. "So he's let you in on his secret, all that?" He waved his hands expressively.
"That he's not 'an ogre'?"
The thick eyebrows shot up. "You have accomplished much, young Obi-Wan. Usually Mace hides that fact until one is an old and dried up Jedi master. Impressive. Good – I've made you laugh. You need to smile more. Smiles cure more ills than almost anything."
"Or cover the depths of some ills." Oh, Force. Obi-Wan felt foolish, blurting such a thing out.
Master Dooku gazed at him, not without sympathy and then remarked as he lifted his next bite of food, "Social lies to protect another party can hardly be classified as lies; foolish perhaps, but often necessary."
This time Obi-Wan blushed slightly. Either the older man was offering him an out, or was pretending ignorance. A 'social lie' to protect oneself was still a lie. Jedi most assuredly did not conceal or lie.
"Perhaps both are unseemly for a Jedi."
"Perhaps either is sometimes necessary – for a while – for the human underneath the Jedi."
The silence between them was comfortable – comforting somehow, though it should be unsettling. In his own way, Master Dooku was as unconventional as Master Jinn.
"Don't be so concerned with being a Jedi you forget to be Obi-Wan as well. I'll let you in a dirty little secret." Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide; Dooku merely snorted and leaned forward, pointing a finger at him. "No Jedi – not even Master Yoda - lives up to the Code, because 'a Jedi' doesn't exist in a pure form. It's a calling, a lifestyle, a choice. It's what we are, but not who we are. A Jedi is not a person. A person is a Jedi."
Hadn't Master Yoda said much the same? Obi-Wan took a deep breath, no longer confident in his uncertainty and rubbed his eyes. "Well, yes…."
"Learn that, my boy, learn it well. Be willing to give up what you know as truth when another truth presents itself."
"You imply that truth is a fiction."
"Truth is a point of view, Obi-Wan, to all but the Force. Truth cannot help but be colored by our perceptions. One learns when quite young not to play with a lightsaber, yet as padawans do we not find sparring with them to be a form of play, those of us who find joy in such exercise? We learn not to touch fire, yet leap right into it as knights– Obi-Wan?"
But Obi-Wan had not been truly listening once the word "fire" had been uttered: playing with fire. He had a sickening feeling that that was exactly what he was doing.
Playing with fire was commonplace for a Jedi. For someone without the Force, well, it was a great way to get burned.
Depa Billaba was staring out the window in the antechamber when Mace emerged some time after the recently concluded Council meeting and its quite unfortunate pre-meeting contentiousness, clearly waiting to speak to him and obviously off the record and in private.
"You took it better than I expected, Master," she observed, falling into step with him. "I wanted to give you a head's up but there was no time."
"Mace," he said automatically. Depa had been a knight and a master for too many years to keep using the honorific, not that he didn't appreciate it.
"Yes, 'Master," she said, a trace of amusement in her tone before sobering. "Listen, would you come by my quarters for tea and a – discussion? On Kenobi? Master Yoda, too, of course."
This did not bode well. Mace frowned and glanced at Yoda, who merely sighed and returned his gaze, his ears drooping. Whatever Depa had to say was not a surprise to the ancient Master.
They were going to "speak of Kenobi," eh?
After what little had been said in Council session, Mace was beginning to get a good sense of just what this discussion would entail – and he wasn't liking it so far.
Not one bit.
Nearly over, nearly done.
Jedi Master Dooku tapped a finger against the magnificent Al'dara wood desk in the library. With a quick scrawl of his name and a thumbprint, he would soon relinquish all claims to his ancestral estate.
It had taken a rare alignment of circumstance to bring him here. He was the son of an off-shoot branch of the family and a son so long ago relinquished to the care of the Jedi that none of his immediate family remained. Here he would have found success through the vagaries of birth, death and the rules of inheritance whereas he was used to finding a modicum of success and recognition in those deeds he accomplished in the service of the Force.
Luck, not honor, could have placed him here; to the title ascended, not earned.
Count Dooku.
It had a ring to it, he had to admit, but the temptation paled against that offered by the Force. Let another be Count in his stead. Let that one serve Serenno; he would serve the Force.
If he understood correctly, the next in line was a cousin of some sort: his mother's sister's son who was also his father's grandfather's great-grandson. Or some such. The intricacies of nobility were not beyond a diplomat of his years of experience, but otherwise bored him. A schemer and a scoundrel on the surface, but schemers and scoundrels were part and parcel of the noble Houses. This one, at least, was reputed to be a cheerful rogue. He would no doubt drink the cellars dry in a decade, but he could not gamble the House or its fortune away.
Legal restrictions saw to that.
After a quick glance at his wrist chrono, Dooku swiveled in his seat to admire the view outside the ceiling to floor windows. Framed by heavy, thick draperies, a rustic looking terrastone terrace led to the Rose Garden. Awash in nearly every shade imaginable, this all but shaded the formal lawns beyond from view except from the upper floors. A copse of trees with a meandering brook was further yet, near the estate boundary.
Much further lay pastures and beyond that rolling hills that led to an unimpressive mountain range.
Perhaps I should have brought Qui-Gon; so submerged within his Living Force here, no doubt all nonsense would be driven right out of his so-called mind.
Or perhaps it would ease the troubled spirit of the young man barely visible, hugging his knees as he stared into the distance.
I should like to join him and see if I can build upon the tentative relationship he's beginning to accept. It is well I took him off Mace and Yoda's hands for a while.
He had time, and upon the thought, Dooku rose and moved to a terrace chair where young Obi-Wan could gracefully ignore him, or not.
"Serenno is quite beautiful." The melodic voice drifted to him shortly as the young Jedi stretched, then wrapped his arms around his knees once more. "Thank you for bringing me here."
"Wind and sky sometimes heal as much as time and bacta bandages."
Obi-Wan lifted his head and pondered the comment, then tilted his head to one side. "I never heard you were a philosopher as well as a skilled swordsman and master diplomat."
"A good Jedi is a combination of many things, Obi-Wan, including the unexpected."
Obi-Wan uncurled and leaned back on his elbow, nodding, then with a sudden mischievous smile to light the so-far-solemn countenance inquired, "Well, then, have you ever heard the sound of angels' wings?"
"What?"
A sideways glance accompanied his half-embarrassed confession. "It's one of the ways I used to perceive the Force. The leaves rustling in the breeze reminds me of that sound. I think the Crèche-master had been reading some fanciful tales that stuck in my imagination." He shrugged self-consciously. "I used to say I felt rainbows and heard angels' wings when I really connected with the Force, though once I got a little older, I was less quick to voice such a description. I was – mocked, by a few…."
"Ah." Dooku nodded, then suddenly chortled and slapped his knee. "I had all but forgotten; I wonder if I should reveal my own sordid self-description of how I perceived the Force."
"Oh, do tell, Master." The tone was wheedling now.
"Cakes, Obi-Wan. I swore I smelled luscious cakes fresh from the oven, smothered in all that was forbidden."
Obi-Wan sadly shook his head and intoned, "It's never vegetables, is it?" He sounded so – deadpan serious – that Dooku quite frankly stared; then they both dissolved into – for them – a fit of unseemly laughter.
"For that blasphemy, you can sit here in the sun and meditate on vegetables while I am away."
"Does that mean -?"
"No, that does not mean you can skip eating them at last meal."
The young man shrugged and threw an "it was worth a try" grin at the older.
Pleased with the lifting of the boy's spirits, Dooku rose and went inside to change to the formal clothing that had been "strongly suggested" by the legalitor. An uneasy feeling thrummed within him, one he could not quite identify. He hesitated and looked over his shoulder, but whatever it was, it was nothing visible.
On the way he stopped by the kitchen.
"Amend the menu for last meal if you would; for dessert I would like a freshly baked cake with everything decadent on it."
"I calculate the caloric count to exceed the human recommended intake. Might I suggest fruit instead?"
"You may recommend it. My order still stands."
"Very well, sir. I shall see if I can cut calories in one of the main dishes." The droid's voice sounded faintly disapproving. "My mandate is to provide healthy and nutritious meals."
"And so the meal shall be."
"With the proper substitutions I believe that is possible."
"Then make it so."
Mumbling to itself what ingredient could be replaced with another, the droid swiveled and glided off.
Droids!
They certainly made life much easier, but really – why they were imbued with voices and annoying human characteristics Dooku would never understand.
"Oh – and throw an angel on top if you would."
"An angel? Fictitious beings with wings angels? Where shall I acquire wings, sir?"
"From an angel, of course," Dooku snapped back.