His Master had prepared him – as best as anyone could given everyone that searched for crystals had a different experience. For example, he knew the crystals were deep within the caves. And to reach them, he would possibly have to pass through visions and voices. Some of them may would be drawn from his own past. They would be his deepest fears. The greater the prize, the greater the challenge it seemed.
The advice resonated within him now. To let any fear enter you. Not to battle it. Experience the fears and let them go. Learn lessons from fear and anger. Face those lessons and know how to use them, to embrace them, to build on them.
He had bluffed at the time that he knew what to expect. In truth he did not, but he would soon. He patted his pocket and felt the reassuring feeling of the hilt. As he moved on once more, he was aware that the walls of the cave were of black stone. The stone was smooth and shiny, but it swallowed light rather than reflected it. It was like entering a void.
"Go back. Here is what you fear."
Was that a voice, or his imagination? The voice was a murmur, more like a running brook. ‘It begins now,’ Kriel thought to himself.
A Jedi stepped forward from the cave wall. His tunic fell all the way to the tips of his bare feet. The lightsaber he held looked like an ancient weapon. His expression was so calm and peaceful that Kriel stopped dead. “Why do you fool yourself? The Jedi path is so much more rewarding than the Dark side. Why choose it? It will only bring you grief.”
After a moment, Kriel walked forward, and the Jedi Knight disappeared.
Kriel was soon swallowed up by the darkness of the cave. Visions and voices. Shadows and echoes. What was so hard about this? Kriel strode confidently into the depths of the cave. Jedi and Sith alike appeared and disappeared. Voices murmured at him to retreat, that he did not want to face what he had come to face. That despite his connection to the Force, he would never be a true Knight of Ren.
And he shook off the voices. He knew the differences between things he could fight and things he could not. Why be afraid of shadows? Then he stopped dead. He saw himself.
He was seven or eight years old and wore the fine clothes of his youth. He sat in a corner by the cave wall, tinkering with a vibro-knife. Suddenly, the knife rolled directly toward him. He flinched and it stopped at his feet. Blood poured from the blade and spilled over his boots.
It isn’t blood, he told himself. He could hear his racing heart pound in his ears. Shadows and echoes. That’s all it is. He was relieved when the vision of himself disappeared. A moment later a woman emerged from the darkness, her hair down around her shoulders. His mother.
“Mother?”
She did not hear him or see him. She ran straight past him. Tendrils of hair stuck to her cheeks. Her face was shiny with sweat. The sweat of terror. He smelled her terror, felt the air move his hair. He turned, but she disappeared. Then when he turned forward, there she was. She ran toward him again, her face stretched by horror.
This he could not bear. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, another figure had joined her. His father. Kriel could not see his face, which was in shadow – but he knew who it was. His father his mother roughly and threw her to the ground like a pile of rubbish.
“No!” Anger pounded in him, and he rushed forward. He seemed to hit an invisible wall and bounced back. The shadowy figure raised a hand to his mother. She curled up in a ball to absorb the blow. Her knees were drawn up and her head was tucked down. There was something familiar about the posture that caused dread to fill Kriel.
“No!” he shouted.
His mother looked directly at him for the first time. He saw the fear, the terror. This seemed familiar to him as well, as though it were a memory rather than a vision. But had he ever seen his mother afraid? Not that he could remember. He wanted to bury himself in her arms, feel her strength, but he could not. He could not make the fear on her face go away. Was he seeing something that had actually happened? Or was he seeing the future? At that thought, his own fear rose. He felt the fear as a living thing, an oozing organism that filled his body and threatened to choke him. He fought against it. Fear would make him soft. He would make the fear hard. He would twist it and make it into a weapon. A weapon of anger. Anger was productive. Anger was a tool of the Dark side.
His Master had told him to accept the fear. He could not do it. If he breathed it in, it would fill his lungs and choke him. But anger he could direct.
“I’ll kill you!” he shouted to the shadowy figure of his father. The shadowy figure laughed.
“I will!” Kriel ran at the shadow and could not reach him. The vision disintegrated into particles of light. With a last despairing look, his mother disappeared as well. In frustration, Kriel slammed his hand against the cave wall. Blood began to ooze from fissures.
"You cannot save her," a voice said. "No matter how many times you tell yourself you will. It is a dream. She lives the nightmare."
“Stop,” he begged. “Stop.”
As if the cave itself had heard him, everything stopped. The cave wall was smooth again. What had looked like blood was now just moisture. The darkness fell around him like a heavy blanket. Shakily, Kriel moved forward. He felt sweat trickle down his forehead and cheeks. Ahead he saw a faint gleam on the floor of the cave.
“The crystals,” a voice said.
[member="Z'Zharen"] [member="Aveira Dax"] [member="Ballen-Ist"] [member="Spencer Varanin"]
