Chapter Eight: Ancient Secrets

Canlyn intended to let Lars Baddeg go. Trying to take a Justicar official prisoner within Justicar territory would be far too likely to create an incident, even if the Justicars allowed them to leave peacefully.

It was Baddeg himself who insisted on accompanying them.

"I have disappointed a Sith. If I stay here, my life is forfeit. If the Jedi can offer protection, I will tell them all I know."

And so it was that all three left together, Baddeg making a show of giving Canlyn and Kira a tour of the sector as they walked. Though Canlyn could feel the other Justicars' eyes tracking their movements as they boarded the speeder, she sensed no suspicion: Just a wariness of outsiders, developed through years of training.

Master Bela Kiwiks waited for them at the Temple's speeder station. Two padawans were with her, waiting to take Baddeg into protective custody.

"Your friends are already below," she told Canlyn. "I only hope the Noetikon can help Yuon before it's too late."

Canlyn bowed. "Thank you, Master." She gestured to Kira. "And thank you for the assistance of your padawan. She saved me from a trap that was laid for us."

Kira looked embarrassed. "You got two out of three."

"And would have fallen to the third question," Canlyn said, not allowing her dissemble. "You helped make the mission a success."

She exchanged another bow, this time with Kira, then turned and moved as quickly as she could to the ruined Temple.

The trip down the archaeologists' lift felt agonizingly slow. She was conscious of each passing second, her worries amplifying with every inch of the descent. What if the Noetikon had been damaged by the theft? What if it held no relevant information? What if…?

She closed her eyes, took a breath. All will be as The Force wills it. But with Yuon's life and sanity in the balance, the mantra rang hollow.

Qyzen and Ashara waited by the ancient device. Their own impatience seemed to match hers - which made her feel oddly more at ease. She was not alone in her anxiety.

Wyn also waited. He had placed the new power coupling. "We should be able to activate all three Noetikons," he said quietly, "but only for a few minutes at a time."

"Then we'll only do that if needed," Canlyn replied. "Thank you for your help, Wyn."

She placed the Noetikon into its slot on the pedestal. She let her palm float over the cube, focusing intently.

The holographic images of three Jedi Masters appeared. The first was a balding middle-aged human whose remaining hair had been drawn up in a topknot – an image that would have been absurd if not for the solemn dignity with which he carried himself.

He turned to Canlyn and bowed. "Be careful where you walk, Jedi. The path of the Dark Side intersects with that of the light at many crossroads."

Canlyn exchanged a glance with Ashara. This was a peculiar greeting.

The man observed their bemusement. He managed a smile, but the expression looked unnatural on his stern face. "This is the Noetikon of Secrets. We are the Masters who have seen the darkness and turned back to the light. I am Jesper Altax."

Unlike the Masters from the previous two Noetikons, that name meant nothing to Canlyn. Had his deeds been so unimportant that they had been forgotten by history? Or had he for some reason been suppressed from the official record? His inclusion in the Noetikon seemed to point to the second possibility.

"This is Chamma." Jesper indicated a Deveronian.

This was a more familiar name. Attacked by Sith, Chamma had given into his anger. Though the Order had imposed no penalty, he had exiled himself. He had spent the next century in the deserts of H'ratth before finally returning to the Order.

The third figure, a strikingly beautiful human woman, stepped forward. "And I am Bastila Shan."

Canlyn and Ashara both gaped, while Wyn bowed his head to the hologram. Bastila was a legendary figure, having fought against the Empire of old. She was also the direct ancestor of Satele Shan, the current Grandmaster.

"I see our names endure to differing degrees," Jesper said. His tone was even, but Canlyn thought she detected a hint of annoyance from the man who could see that he was the least recognized of the old Masters.

Normally, Canlyn would have begun peppering these three with questions. Now, however, all she could think about was Yuon and how each passing moment worked against her salvation.

"I am looking for a cure for my Master." She described Yuon's condition, and what the Masters from the other Noetikons had concluded. She also told them about her visit to Yuon the day before, and the phrase her Master had intoned: "The darkness is coming."

When she finished, all three Masters looked grave.

"You were right to consult us," Master Chamma said. "This illness – The Jedi have seen it before, long ago. It was created by an ancient Sith named Terrak Morrhage. He used it to turn Jedi to the Dark Side and leech their strength from them. In this way, he waged war on us."

Canlyn felt her blood rushing. This was the answer she had sought. She did not know of this "Terrak Morrhage" – either he had been lost to current history, or a decision had been made to exclude this knowledge from Jedi training. But it was clear that the Sith had ultimately failed.

"How was he defeated?" she asked.

"A Jedi healer," Chamma said. "The healer's name has been lost to time, but we know that this Jedi developed a shielding technique to release Morrhage's hold on his victims."

Bastila spoke. "One by one, the healer cut Morrhage off from his army, the source of his strength." There was a certain viciousness in the way that she spoke, a sense of the darkness that had relegated her to this Noetikon.

Jesper picked up the baton, speaking more evenly. "There was a price, however. Each time the healer used this technique, it cost some of their own strength. By the time the battle was won, the healer was weakened beyond the point of recovery."

Chamma nodded gravely. "The healer ultimately perished. The ultimate sacrifice, to save the Order."

Canlyn didn't hesitate. "I need to learn this technique."

Ashara protested. "Lyn, they just said – "

Canlyn cut her off with a gesture. "This healer must have used this technique many times during the war. I only need to use it once - That won't kill me." She turned back to the holographic Masters. "If you teach me, then I can save my Master. After that, the Jedi Council can decide what to do next."

The three Masters bowed.

"Your plan is a sound one," Bastila said. "But know this: Powers such as these weigh heavily on those who wield them. I speak from experience."

"I thank you for your warning," Canlyn said. "But my resolve is firm."

Jesper turned toward her, his expression somehow even graver than it already had been. "Teaching you this ritual will require the combined knowledge of all the Noetikons."

Canlyn turned to Wyn, who was already using a scanner to check the power levels of the new cable.

"It's as stable as it's going to be," he told her. "I'll do what I can to make sure it doesn't cut out."

"Thank you."

Canlyn quickly activated the other two Noetikons, bringing to life a holographic council of past Jedi. Even in the circumstances, a part of her mind reeled at the history that stood before her. Later, she would petition the council to interview them. Perhaps she and Yuon could speak with them together.

But for that to happen, she needed the ritual.

Master Noab, of the Noetikon of Light, stepped forward. "Masters," he said. "You know why we have gathered."

Master Chamma nodded. "The Jedi Order is imperiled by an ancient plague, one that warps the minds of even the wisest of Masters and turns them to the Dark Side."

"Millennia ago," the diminutive Master Vandor intoned, "a powerful ritual was developed to shield the Jedi from the power of this ancient plague."

"The ritual cut off the plaguemaster from his victims," Master Tharis, of the Noetikon of Science. "But in so doing, it exacted a great price from the healer."

"You may only regain what you have spent when the plaguemaster's bond with his victims is broken," Master Jesper said.

"How do we break the bond?" Canlyn asked.

"Death was what broke the hold of the original plaguemaster, Terrak Morrhage," Jesper replied, "and even then, it was too late to save the Jedi healer."

Canlyn felt a chill, and immediately shook it off. Fear was not the Jedi way. In any event, she would only be performing the ritual once, for Master Yuon. Anything more would be for the Council.

"The ritual is a difficult one to learn," Master Wole Vahn, of the Noetikon of Light. "In the normal course of events, it would require months of deep meditation and study to learn."

"But you do not have that time," Bastila cut in brusquely. "So we will transmit the knowledge directly into your mind."

"This is not ideal," Vandor observed. "You will be able to perform the ritual, but you will not comprehend it to a degree that would allow you to train others. Still, it will allow you to save your Master."

Canlyn felt a rush of emotions: anticipation, impatience, eagerness. She took a breath, held it a moment. There is no emotion, there is peace. She released the breath, visualizing her emotions leaving with the air.

She faced the Masters, chin raised. "I am ready."

Bastila stepped forward. "Then open your mind, Jedi."

The nine Jedi Masters formed a circle around her. Canlyn knelt, as if in meditation. She focused on opening her mind to receive the knowledge.

It felt to her as if she was bathed in a bright, warm light. Gradually, the ritual formed inside her. A series of movements, a certain mental push. It required discipline and calm, but it was not actually difficult. She could do it.

As the Masters had warned, when she tried to mentally deconstruct it, she could not explain the meaning of each movement or the way it flowed into the next. This wasn't necessary, any more than it was necessary to consciously comprehend why your hand opened when you picked up a glass... but while she understood enough to perform the ritual, she would not be able to pass it on.

Still, this was a stopgap. The Council would learn the ritual in the proper way. If more victims appeared, the Masters would be able to deal with the situation safely.

"I understand," she said.

She felt a sudden malevolence. A dark presence had entered the chamber.

"Herald!" Qyzen cried.

He leapt, pushing Canlyn fully to the floor, even as blaster fire filled the space her head had occupied.

"Sith!" Ashara spat.

Without waiting, Ashara gave chase, ducking under scaffolding into a tunnel of rubble. Qyzen followed – whether to bring Ashara back or to join her in the hunt, Canlyn couldn't say.

Canlyn looked at Wyn. The researcher gaped, but his gaze wasn't directed at her. His eyes were fixed behind her.

Canlyn heard the sizzling from the direction of the ancient platform. A burning electrical smell filled her nostrils. She turned, dread rising within her.

The blast that had been meant for her had claimed the ancient device. Steam rose from it, and she could sense the flame within the old wires and circuits.

Wyn sprang forward, racing to pull the Noetikons from their slots. Canlyn felt the wires overloading.

"Wyn!" she warned.

The researcher ran to the opposite side of the room, shielding the precious artifacts with his body. Canlyn threw herself to the ground beside him, as the ancient device exploded.

A harsh laugh. The dark presence had returned. Canlyn looked up to see a black-robed figure walking toward her. She recognized the Sith from Lars Baddeg's holo-terminal.

"Reckless, foolish Jedi," he said. "Your friends have left you all alone to chase after my hired gun. The terminal is destroyed, and the Noetikons are before me. There will be no ritual, no miracle healing this time. My Master will be pleased."

"You!" Wyn stood, shaking with fury. "You destroyed - "

He was cut off, grasping at his throat. The Sith sneered as he raised his hand, squeezing.

Canlyn spoke quickly. "I know the ritual."

That broke the Sith's attention. As his gaze turned to her, Wyn collapsed to his knees, massaging his throat.

"Then that is why you must die," the Sith said. "You seem to have come here unarmed. Your final mistake."

In an instant, his lightsaber was in his hand, its red blade humming through the air.

Canlyn remembered Master Caecinius's lessons. She moved, a Force push supplementing her Cathar reflexes as she leapt across the room. The Sith was left slicing at empty air.

She lifted the rubble from near the ruined machine and hurled it at the Sith. She studied his movements as he batted the rocks away. He was slow and graceless, trying to make up with brute force what he lacked in technique.

She lifted the machine parts. He took up a stance, preparing to chop them away as well.

She sent them spinning toward the ceiling, then let them descend toward him. He hacked away. As she had suspected, with the parts spinning around him on all sides, he was too slow to avoid getting battered.

She leapt twice – once to get behind him, and another to jump onto his back. He let out a startled cry, turned to jab his blade at her.

The pieces of the rubble he had chopped earlier lay all about them. She flicked the rocks at his wrist. A loud crack as the stone crushed his bones. The lightsaber fell from his grip.

She heard the rubble shifting, and sensed Qyzen and Ashara returning. She did not look up, keeping her focus on the injured Sith. She pinned him to the floor, firmly clutching his broken wrist, using the pain to stop him from focusing.

"Herald!" Qyzen was with her now. His blaster was out, pointed at the Sith's head. "Should I kill him?"

Canlyn shook her head. "We do not kill our prisoners," she said.

"Besides," Ashara cut in, "he might have information."

The Sith glared. "I will tell you nothing." He smiled coldly. "You may know the ritual, but there's no more machine to teach it to others. How many can you shield? One? Two? Even if it's a hundred, you'll ultimately collapse. I only wish I could be there with my Master to watch you wither."

Then Qyzen struck him with the side of the blaster, knocking him unconscious.

"Qyzen!" Canlyn was shocked.

"If he won't tell information, then no reason for him to talk at all," Qyzen growled. "Is several minutes back to surface. Unconscious prisoner won't cause problems."

Canlyn wanted to argue, to point out the immorality of striking a prisoner. But that would take time... and she had to admit, his reasoning had some logic behind it. Even injured, the Sith was far from helpless. Maybe unconscious was better.

Qyzen and Ashara flanked the Sith prisoner, carrying him between them, as they returned to the elevator.

Wyn wanted to stay below. "Maybe something can be salvaged," he said.

"We didn't catch the mercenary he hired," Ashara said. "He could still be down here."

Wyn glanced at the rubble the assailant had come from. He sighed, climbed into the lift with them.

As they began their slow ascent, Canlyn glanced back at the scattered remains of the ancient platform. Even if the Noetikons were undamaged, she knew it could be a long time before the Council was able to recreate the technology that had brought the ancient Masters to life.

For the foreseeable future, she was the only Jedi who could perform the ritual.

The path to the Revanites' shrine was not a long one, but Arkarix Krell found it strangely tiring. His muscles were sluggish, and he had difficulty maintaining mental focus. Had the full night of hiking drained him that much?

No, of course it hadn't. He was Sith, and just come from Korriban: Nothing he had endured in the past 24 hours should be in any way beyond him.

The tea, he realized. The tea Dzoun had served before sending him down this last path.

"Drugged," he said aloud.

He remembered Dzoun's confidence that he would experience a vision. No wonder. The exhaustion of the perilous all-night hike, combined with the constant lessons about Revan... That would likely have been enough for most initiates. With the addition of the drugged tea, his brain was primed.

He hesitated at the mouth of the cave. It was likely that the drugging was solely to make sure that he experienced the "vision." But if they planned an ambush, this would be an ideal spot.

Then he felt it. The darkness. The Revanites' shrine was suffused with the Dark Side.

Krell pressed on eagerly. As he entered the cave, he felt the dark energy envelop him. It recognized him as its own, and he drew strength from it. His focus became clearer, his limbs more responsive. The darkness purged the drug from him, leaving him once again ready for anything.

The cave was lit by torchlight, and the first thing he noticed was the statue. A robed figure wearing a mask. Revan's mask. It was not an exact match with the one Krell had brought the cult, as the statue's had been based on historical descriptions rather than a physical model, but it remained recognizable. The statue stood on a stone platform, with steps cut into the rock leading up to it.

It must have taken them decades.

Bolstered by the darkness, he felt confident as he climbed the stairs to the platform. He recalled Dzoun's instructions, knelt before the statue. He meditated, opening his mind to the surrounding darkness.

This time, his consciousness did not sharpen. It let go. One second, he was aware of the cave – The sound of the torches, the presence of the statue.

Then he was someone else.

A series of images flashed across his vision, similar to when he had touched the mask but more detailed: The woman in Jedi robes was there again. This time, she looked on him with disapproval. "The fact that you are so strong in the Force and have had such little training could have terrible consequences. For you, and for everyone around you." He just felt amusement. He could feel the heat in her scorn, and knew already that she would soon be his.

Another image: An army of armored, helmeted Mandalorians, firing at Jedi across the surface of a moon. This was replaced by yet another image: A planet on fire. He had also seen this when he touched the mask, but now he sensed his place. He was in orbit, witnessing it. He was genuinely shocked at the devastation, and he felt some surprise at his own reaction.

A series of faces followed: A Twi'lek girl, who was about the same age as Vette and yet who somehow seemed much younger. A Wookie stood beside her, eyes alert for dangers. He called the two "friend" and showed them warmth, but in truth he felt little toward them. Another face: a middle-aged Mandalorian, a veteran of the earlier battle. He genuinely liked this man, and he showed his respect by not feigning emotion. A droid with red eyes – an assassin. Amusement as the droid asked of a prisoner: "Shall I blast him now, Master?"

One last face. A bald man whose features were half-covered by a breathing mask. An enemy, and dying, and yet for some reason he felt not triumph but sadness. "Tell me, Revan" the dying man gasped, "if you had not led me down the dark path in the first place, what destiny would I have found? In the end, as the darkness takes me, I am nothing…"

The images faded, one by one, until he was left in darkness.

Krell's senses returned slowly. His hearing came first, the sounds of footsteps telling him that he was not alone.

He did not move. He studied the sounds as he waited for his other senses to return. There were several people, moving softly on the stone floor. They didn't speak as they moved slowly up the steps to where he lay.

Where he lay. Touch had returned, letting him know that he was laying supine on the ground. Then taste – his mouth filled with an unpleasant metallic flavor. The drugs he had been slipped, no doubt. The cave's darkness may have purged their effects, but not their flavor.

He opened his eyes. The Revanites were gathered around him. Familiar figures: The Mandalorian woman. Morrun Dokaas, the odd alien Sith Lord who had named himself "Lord of Beasts." The scholar and the soldier from the path. And, at their head, Dzoun, who regarded him with clear sadness.

All were armed, Krell saw. All ready for the attack – No, the execution.

"You're awake," Dzoun said.

Krell focused his senses on his arms and legs. They were ready to respond. But he lay still, letting the Revanites believe him paralyzed.

"You drugged me," he croaked.

"Yes," Dzoun agreed. "It's a normal part of the initiation. Generally, I mix a mild hallucinogenic into the tea, to encourage the vision. In your case, I used a paralytic instead. Given how much you drank, I'm impressed that you made it to the cave."

Morrun Dakaas sighed as he stepped forward, raising a curved steel sword. "At any other time, we would have welcomed you. Oh, you didn't fool us. We knew Baras sent you. But your doubts about your Master are real, and so was your interest in the lessons we shared. In time, I think you would have joined our cause for real."

"But we don't have time." The Mandalorian, her voice harsh and impatient. "Let's get this over with."

"Wait." Krell croaked. "I had a vision."

"Of course you did." The Mandalorian's weapon raised.

"A planet on fire," Krell snapped. "Companions: a Twi'lek, a Wookie, a Mandalorian, a droid, a Jedi woman. An enemy, a rival Sith Lord, the bottom half of his face covered by a breathing mask. I saw all this through Revan's eyes."

The Revanites hesitated. Krell saw that they were uneasy. They recognized at least some of the details of his vision. They knew he was telling the truth.

This delay was the only opening he was going to get. Krell leapt to his feet, using a Force Push to aid his motion. In the same instant, he drew the black lightsaber. It seemed even more powerful than before, responding as he had to the cave's darkness.

Dzoun gaped. "How?"

"A tip for your next life," Krell growled, feeling the familiar blood lust rising. "Never trap a pure Sith in a place rich with the Dark Side."

He leapt forward, the ancient blade moving like a shadow against flame. The Revanites raised their own weapons and took up a fighting stance.

He grinned. He was outnumbered, and many of his foes were strong. This battle would be fierce and bloody.

At last, a test worthy of a Sith.