THE PATH OF REVAN
Part II: Tasiele
3,699 years before the Battle of Yavin
“So. This is where your true loyalties lie.”
Long-suffering looks stared back at Tasiele Shan as she stood before the assembled members of the Jedi Council. Her own master sat among them, furry hands folded neatly in his lap as he bowed his head in resignation. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of betrayal as she gazed upon the Cathar; surely he should have been standing here with her before the Council, rather than taking their side in this decision. When Master Ram-Parr had taken on Tasiele as his apprentice, he had a reputation in the Order for being unorthodox in his methods and views of the Force. But ever since his appointment to the council, he had reneged on those views and had become yet another conservative drone of the Order, regurgitating whatever Grand Master Orkam and his ilk fed him.
Tasiele had never had a high opinion of the Jedi Council. But now, in this moment, she felt nothing but resentment towards them.
After a moment of letting her words sink in, the Kel Dor Master Zym—a recent addition to the Council—leaned forward in his seat and made a steeple with his long orange fingers. “What you must understand, Jedi Shan, is that the Republic is understandably concerned about the… rhetoric you have been spreading in recent months.”
“Rhetoric,” Tasiele repeated, not bothering to mask her incredulity. “Is that what you’re calling it now? You think I’m trying to persuade others into siding with me and my views?”
“It’s what your ancestor did,” grunted Grand Master Orkam, dark eyes narrowed at her.
Tasiele met his glare with her own. “I am not Revan,” she said coolly. “I am well aware of the mistakes my ancestor made and I know well enough not to repeat them.”
“Do you, though?” The question came from Master Irma Yorr, head of the Jedi Archives. Her white tendrils twitched against her scalp as she studied Tasiele with piercing violet eyes. “Jedi like you have been known to repeat the mistakes of those before them. Revan’s own actions were a repeat of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma, and their actions were a repeat of Ajunta Pall and his followers. How do you know that you will not slip the same way they did?”
“Because what I speak of is not of the dark side, as much as you try to insist it is.” Tasiele allowed her gaze to sweep over all twelve members of the council, her eyes moving from one member to the next. “Love is not something we Jedi should fear and abandon. Instead, we should embrace it and make it a part of who we are. Some of the greatest Jedi that have lived have practiced love and turned out the better for it. Just look at the Sunriders, or even my own family for that matter.”
“You are not doing yourself any favors by using your family, notorious as they are, as an example,” Master Orkam said gruffly. “Besides, you are fighting a losing battle. The Council’s decision is final.”
Tasiele frowned at him, her expression darkening. “Then you truly have become pawns of the Senate.”
“Their reasons for wanting your exile are justifiable,” said Master Nikil Nobil, sitting upon his coiled up tail as if it was a throne. “Darth Revan and his Sith brought forth much destruction to the galaxy, the results of which the Republic is still recovering from. The Supreme Chancellor’s own homeworld of Telos Four is proof enough of that, regardless of the restoration efforts that have been made to the planet.”
“Is that what this is about, then? You are punishing me for the errors of my ancestor?”
“We are not punishing you,” protested Master Ram-Parr, speaking for the first time since Tasiele had stepped foot into the room. “This is merely a precaution, if only to assuage the concerns of the Senate. Your exile will not be a permanent one.”
“How long will it be then?” Tasiele snapped at him. “A year? Ten years? Fifty?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Master Zym. “Perhaps once Chancellor Onasi’s term has ended, you will be able to return to the Order.”
Tasiele rolled her hands into fists, glowering at the Kel Dor. “That won’t be happening,” she muttered. “You know it won’t.”
Zym said nothing in response to this. She then redirected her focus back to the Grand Master, taking in his wizened appearance. At ninety years old, Orkam was clearly getting on in his years, having served as Grand Master in a third of that time. Nonetheless, his resolve was as strong as it had ever been and he met Tasiele’s gaze with an equal amount of ferocity.
“What about my daughter?” she finally asked. “What will become of Satele?”
“She will be trained in the ways of the Force,” said Zym, his tone softer now. “Your friend Ngani Zho has already agreed to teach her as soon as she is ready.”
Tasiele allowed herself to relax at this. Perhaps the Council was not as heartless as she had perceived them to be. Looking now at Master Orkam, she could see a glint in his tired eyes that perhaps indicated regret. Maybe this was as hard for them as it was for her.
Seeing that there was no point in arguing any further, Tasiele Shan bowed her head towards the twelve Jedi Masters. “I have said my piece. If it is the will of the Order that I leave, then I see no point in resisting. I will humbly accept my exile.”
“We will come back for you, Tasiele,” said Ram-Parr. “That is a promise.”
Tasiele smiled at him, though it did not carry the mirth he was no doubt hoping for.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Master….”
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