The Golden Padawan Read online

  We stared at each other.

  Then he said, “His skull was weak and rotted enough anyway…it split and his face fell onto his chest, then to the floor, and he dropped right after.”

  I bit my lips, unable to breathe.

  “But you see, that cave was on fire. Now that there was an actual chance I might not die hideously in there, I had no desire either to perish in a haze of chain-induced bliss. I sheathed my saber and hit the tunnel at full speed, weedins be damned. The smoke was heavy in a minute, and there was only one thing that saved me of dying of it: the fact that the fire created a backdraft and that drew fresh air in the tunnel in front of me. Now that Quel-zil was dead, I could call on my full powers again, I got control of myself and held my bleeding, and finally got myself out of that maze from hell.”

  Only then did I realize how tense my back had been. I tried to relax a little. “I never heard a word,” my voice squeaked, “not a word that some Jedi destroyed the chain hoard.”

  “It was a big hit to the cartel, but the Council knew they weren’t going to leave Naboo altogether because of it. I did well enough on the assignment that the Council didn’t wish to see me with a contract on my head. There’s no official record that the Jedi had anything to do with that fire. The assumption has always been that Quel-zil did it, but no one knows why.”

  “Brenan,” I said, exhausted.

  “Still want to be a Jedi?” he asked. The old sparkle returned to his eyes.

  “Only if my Master orders me to,” I replied. That made him laugh.

  And we both finished the rest of our ale.

  Needless to say, the walk home was subdued. I got more tired with every step, tired from excitement, physical exercise, emotional intensity, fear, confusion, anticipation. Brenan was not tireless either; he didn’t speak much. That didn’t matter, though…I could feel him there, and even fatigued he was steady. As we walked in silence under the street lamps my soul reached out to that steadiness. Imagine sleeping with that steadiness next to you, I asked myself, then balked a bit at the thought. But it was innocent enough, it sprung in fact from an almost infantile desire to feel safe. Then a second thought came to me, imagine fighting with that steadiness next to you.

  Our goodnight was swift but sweet. We embraced with fervor that belied in every respect the duration of our acquaintance. And Brenan’s scent stayed in my head even until it hit the pillow.

  Ironically, that night I both slept and fought next to his steadiness.

  Slept, yes, because this first day’s exposure to him left such a psychic impression with me that it felt like he was still there. Sometimes I even thought I felt him pull on the blanket, and it would wake me into half-consciousness.

  Fought, yes, because I had a terribly vivid nightmare that we were together, battling Quel-zil in the cave. We fought to the point of agonized exhaustion. I could feel myself slipping away, but worse still, I could feel Brenan fading. The weakening of his life-force first grieved me to the point of agony, then sparked in me a protectiveness unmatched by any female animal in the galaxy. Finally the monster cornered us, he drew back his lightsaber to run my Master through, and without hesitation I threw my body in the beam’s path.

  It stopped dead.

  The beam of a lightsaber never stops dead. Quel-zil stared at me, his horrible eyes bulging in disbelief. Pinned against the beam, I stood firm. But stood as what, I’m not sure, because as much of an obstacle as I was to Quel-zil’s saber, I was completely insubstantial to Brenan behind me. His beam passed through me harmlessly, flashing high to behead our enemy, switching direction, then swiping low to cut off his feet.

  Auri-Owan killed the fiend with the closing moves of Celanarian’s Drill.

  I awoke panting and in a fever, drenched with sweat. I flung off the blankets and stared open-eyed around me at the room, trying to drive away the image of Quel-zil falling off his severed feet. I panted, coming back to reality, until my body cooled and the chill of my sweat drove me to take up the covers again.

  I curled up in a ball. Then I thought, as horrific as the ending of the dream had been, Brenan still lived. My body stopped the stroke of death. Nothing else mattered. If he lives I am content, I said to myself. The fierceness of this newborn loyalty frightened me.

  And it was only then that I recalled, in the dream I’d called him my Master. In the dream he had been my Master.

  And that eventuality, I knew very well, was utterly impossible.

  * * *

  “Aeli, wake up, you’ll be late!”

  One of my chambermates, Ordis, was shaking me gently. My eyes popped open and my first thought was that I had to appear before all my fellows and fight the best swordsman in the galaxy.

  Ordis didn’t know this, but she sensed my panic and got out of the way. I leapt from bed and ran to wash, calculating the time—I would have to skip breakfast—and trying to establish some sort of calm in preparation for what was to come.

  In spite of the weird events of the previous evening, and my vivid and intense dream, I found I had lost much of the bizarre psychic connection I had felt for Auri-Owan. In fact, with the new day I felt quite ordinary again, and it was more than a little relief. I was used to being a simple Jedi trainee (a fact which ironically used to seem extraordinary enough), accustomed to the mounting excitement that soon I might be chosen someone’s Padawan, content with my typical daily struggles with emotional control, the Third Routine, and memorizing this or that fact of the Republic’s history. I had lived nearly all my life with the sense of ever-impending adventure that comes with being chosen to be a Jedi, and right now that seemed plenty exciting enough.

  I thought about Brenan as I dressed, donning my standard lightsaber training uniform. I was surprised how calm I stayed when thinking of him. I began to wonder if perhaps the sensations of the night before had been enhanced all out of proportion by the excitement of meeting a celebrity, and by my tendency to feel so intensely. This was not to say we didn’t have some sort of connection: it would be foolish and unrealistic to deny that. But probably it could be managed, and with enough mental discipline, tamed to the point I might even be able to ignore it.

  I wanted to be able to ignore it. The complications of being so…so passionate about a renowned Jedi Knight were too numerous to list. Down that road lay any number of problems, not the least of which was heartbreak of one kind or another for me. For the problem looming the most imminently was the fact that Brenan would step out of my life in five days, and the requirement therefore to terminate feelings like I had experienced the night before was not a happy prospect.

  Besides, I thought as I holstered my lightsaber under the tunic, I had better places to direct my energy these days. I wanted to be a Padawan—the desire mounted every day. I felt in myself an ever-growing calling to serve the Force, I knew I had gifts which the right Master could mold to benefit the Republic and the cause of good. I needed to be finished, I needed to be ready when that man or woman came to find me. That was when the true excitement would begin.

  I needed to be ready for my Master, and it wasn’t going to be Brenan Auri-Owan.

  The Master/Padawan relationship was the most important human connection in the world of the Jedi. Important enough that Mace Windu himself taught us trainees the principles thereof. It had been a year since I had been in his class, and it made such a huge impression upon me that the subject was a regular topic for my meditation ever since.

  For the Padawan, the keys to this relationship were loyalty, dedication and obedience. The Padawan’s commitment to his Master had to be pure and total and unquestioning. I believed myself perfectly capable of this. However, the aspects of the task which daunted me were, as usual, related to my excess of passion. The Padawan’s devotion was to be unemotional, a rational and spiritual commitment that would not be confused by extreme feelings.

  Mace Windu explained this to us patiently, knowing that to many of us it would seem a little unnatural. A Padawan’s loyalty was to
be based on his alliance with the Force, not a personal affinity for his Master. The dedication was to spring from a commitment to Jedi beliefs and to the cause of good; the obedience was from a rational trust in the Master’s superior experience and wisdom. These things were not to be expressions of devotion for the Master. Friendship, even love might grow from the Master/Padawan relationship over time, but these were emotions to be managed carefully. If not, there would surely be pitfalls for both, not the least of which was the extremity of passion that was always a potential foothold for the Dark Side.

  So it was beyond obvious that I could never take such a man as Auri-Owan for my Master. Not someone who as a total stranger could draw such complete rampant adoration from me. Being the person I was, it would be enough of a challenge to manage my feelings for my eventual Master; I could just imagine the impossibility of attempting this with Brenan. Although it was not a Padawan’s calling to elect his Master, I still believed in my heart I would know when I encountered that man or woman at last.

  Well, I thought, at least he or she will find me pretty good at the lightsaber. Good enough for what I was about to do, or so I hoped…

  When I got to the training room, the Temple’s largest, nearly all the seats were taken, but Cal had saved me a place. I slipped breathlessly next to him.

  “You overslept on a day like this?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Late night. Long story,” I said, not wanting to be secretive but too nervous to talk much. Where was Brenan? In the middle of the floor, several of the Masters were milling about, surveying the trainees, and so on. I turned back to Cal. “I’ll tell you all about it at lunchtime, I promise. I’m a bit discombobulated at the moment. At least I made it before the start.”

  “Something’s obviously bothering you,” commented Cal, “and after last night I can’t believe you’re nervous about working with Auri-Owan.” But before I could determine a reply to this, my world returned to chaos.

  Brenan was in the room. I couldn’t see him yet but I knew he was there. My whole being ignited with a raging desire to find him, to be at his side, to hear his voice. Half of me fought against it: I called myself an idiot, I chided myself for my emotionalism, I threatened myself with imagined punishments like never being worthy of being a Padawan. It did no good, for the other half of me sung like a harp at the fact that in a moment I would see him again.

  A crazy thought rose to the forefront of my mind: I should have gotten up earlier and meditated and I wouldn’t be so out of control. And how was I to fight in this condition?

  The noise of the gathered trainees increased and I dared turn to look at the floor. Indeed, the Knight had arrived, he was conversing with Master Wed’azon. If he were aware of the pandemonium he was causing in my soul, he made no indication of it. The two men talked calmly, no doubt exchanging final ideas concerning the seminar. The conversation concluded, Brenan stepped away a little from the Master, and folded his arms over his chest. It was then he looked at me. He didn’t look for me, didn’t scan the crowd for my face; he just very deliberately turned his head and looked right at me. And smiled.

  I smiled back. I had to admit, it was a pretty neat trick. Oh well, if my existence was going to be fraught with magic these days, I might as well try to have a sense of humor about it.

  Master Wed’azon motioned for quiet and we complied quickly. He spoke: “We are honored today to have with us a man who I know has inspired many of you in your ambitions to master the lightsaber. He has asked me to begin the lesson today by letting him demonstrate his favorite drill. Attend closely, Jedi trainees, I’m certain we will all enjoy this very much.”

  Both men ignited their sabers. My heart was pounding, as I’m sure were those of all my fellows in the room. “Prepare,” said the Master, and I watched Brenan and felt him go blank. “Engage,” said Master Wed’azon.

  It was, naturally, Celanarian’s. But how interesting to watch Auri-Owan take the Padawan’s part, which of course he had to, being of lesser rank than our lightsaber Master. The tempo was perhaps half again what we had done the night before, really quite breathtaking to watch. I tried to notice the little details which could be perceived in person so much better than in a hologram: like the way Brenan held his elbows in high position, how it helped smooth out the transition to ox. When he took a level left-to-right swing, I could practically feel the transference of his weight and how it added force to the blow. But he controlled the inertia so well, it never interfered with a transition or a pivot.

  “Wow,” I heard Cal say next to me, a barely audible whisper. I smiled with a pride that while inappropriate, I simply couldn’t stifle.

  At this speed the drill was ending before we knew it. I noticed something very interesting in the denouement: Brenan marked out loud the last two strokes. He did them almost preternaturally fast, the strength and balance required for it was amazing, and had he not marked them audibly, Master Wed’azon might well have lost a foot. But as it was, the conclusion was perfect.

  The room broke out in uproarious applause. I turned to Cal, who looked stupefied, and gave him a smile. The two Jedi extinguished their sabers and shook hands; our Master looked quite breathless. Brenan leaned to him and said something, they both laughed. As we quieted again, Master Wed’azon said, “I happily turn the room over to the better swordsman. Brenan, my students are yours.”

  I realized that despite his age and experience and superior rank, our lightsaber Master probably idolized our guest as much as we did. So, someone else was honored to do Celanarian’s Drill with the great Auri-Owan.

  Brenan circled and looked us over, not speaking yet. Then he smiled to himself, and his first words seemed directed inwards as much as anything. “I always wanted to try a hand at teaching, scary how you sometimes get your wish.”

  This drew quiet laughter. He looked up at us again, still pacing, and said, “So, it’s time for me to say something profound and impressive. Here it is, profound and impressive and also disappointing: The Force is no substitute for practice.”

  He paused, looking down. “Hours of endless practice, the five positions, the 14 transitions, the Three Routines if you subscribe to them, and every drill you can learn and snare a partner into doing with you.” He looked up. “It would be nice if you could instead have some psychic breakthrough, tap into the Force in some spectacular way, but having been born lazy and tried that for three years, I can tell you we’re not that lucky.”

  Then he stood regarding us, arms folded over his chest. “I wanted to say that first because it’s the worst news. It all gets better from here. But my fellow Jedi, I want you to remember it—the Force is no substitute for practice—because I’m not going to tell you again. It’s too boring to tell again.”

  The laughter was louder this time. When we quieted, Brenan said, “For my next important point, I’m going to do a little demonstration. I have it on good authority that one of you trainees, Aeli Camil, has a high tolerance for boredom and has this practice thing down pretty well.”

  I had a reputation in this regard…my fellows laughed, I turned crimson, and Cal elbowed me. Worse yet, I expected this was my cue. “Aeli?” said Brenan, so I rose and walked across the floor to him, drawing my lightsaber.

  I had taken one thing for granted in agreeing to this, and that was that Brenan would help me out a little. I trusted his capability for calming me and was sure he would perform that function in this nerve-wracking circumstance.

  I was wrong.

  Not only was there no soothing emanation to quiet me, he gave off nothing at all. He took his stance and nodded at me to take mine. He activated his lightsaber. I began to panic, but raised my beam nonetheless. He looked me in the eye and said, “Engage.”

  What? But he was going to start, there was no time to hesitate or question. I went on instinct, but Syzac’s doubled was too difficult to do by instinct, regardless of one’s skill. Brenan didn’t do anything to throw me off; just as the night before, he was careful and steady
and met my force and weight evenly. But it was undeniably sloppy, my balance was badly off, at one point I almost fell over during a pivot.

  My agony seemed to last forever, but finally we reached the end, which was greeted by the echoing and awkward silence of my peers.

  Brenan did not pause long enough to see my look of confusion, and I dare say, acute unhappiness.

  “Now what was I saying?” he asked the audience. “Oh yes: Practice is no substitute for the Force. I made a very grave error in this drill, can anyone tell me what it was?”

  Engil Foward, who had probably gotten into the seminar by virtue of his tremendous book knowledge of the subject of lightsaber technique, raised his hand tentatively. At Brenan’s nod he said, “You forgot ‘Prepare.’”

  “Exactly,” replied the Knight. “I didn’t give the learned and talented Aeli the cue to prepare, much less any opportunity to do so, although certainly she expected it. She would tell you as would I, Syzac’s doubled is too hard to attempt without the Force behind you. It requires excellent focus and a superb sense of your opponent’s balance.”

  I stood there, mouth agape, and only then realized that his emanation had returned. Any ill feeling I’d harbored toward him the moment before dissolved. Brenan looked me in the eyes while he spoke: “If she’s willing to forgive me, I’d like to try that again.” He raised his brows and actually looked quite contrite.

  I wasn’t quite over the embarrassment and confusion of the experience. In fact, I felt like it would take me a good five minutes to settle enough to get my focus back. I squinted a little at Brenan. I had an idea. I focused in my mind one single thought, one clear sentiment: Help me.

  He blinked at me once, slowly, smiling so faintly no one else but me could see it. Then…

  …ah, how could his eyes be so beautiful? If I never looked at anything else again, would I care?

  Then complete serenity came over me, my emotions were gone and in their place a perfect and complete sense of the placement of every cell in my body, every pulse of energy I possessed.