Mirrors were her favorite thing in the world, she decided.
There was a room in the palace filled with them, all of them frameless, bolted to the walls, hanging from the ceiling, even on the floors. Every square inch of walls which weren't filled with mirrors were full of open windows, letting in fresh air and sunlight. Each drop of liquid sunlight that entered the room danced and shone like the stars themselves, bouncing from mirror to mirror until the entire room was ablaze with light. But the best time of all was when the sun was setting, the two orange orbs sinking so majestically beneath the horizon, spreading billows of colors across the skies and stroked purple light into the room. And for one soft, lush moment during the eerily silent twilight, the entire room would be filled with violet light. She could sit and wait for hours, just watching all the colors twinkle and blink until the brightness was unbearable. Often, when she caught her reflection in one of them, she would frown a little and pull at her hair, trying to fix the plainness she saw reflected back at her. At almost thirty three years of age, La'Ana was smaller and more refined than most of the women she had met during her travels, and a good deal less pretty. Once, her hair had been in short, dangerous spikes which hung in her eyes while she trained, but now her dark curls plunged halfway down her back in a roiling, unruly mess. A thick fringe of dark hair fell in her bright green eyes, shrouding the usually brilliant green orbs with a curtain of dense black curls. She was plain, she knew that. But it didn't really matter, because her charges were children.
It had taken almost three years to work her way off Coruscant, to build up enough money to buy a ticket on a ship heading out of the metallic city. It had been three years of waitressing in scummy bars, trying to adopt a sassy, streetwise sense which was not easily attained, considering she had spent her entire life behind the neutral clay walls of the Temple. But eventually, she had scraped together the funds to find her way to this unique little planet, Daluba, home to a unique race of people called simply, the Daals. The Daals were different in one way: none of them matured past the age of thirteen. This created several drawbacks: One, all of them were constantly going through puberty, so cosmetics and mood-swings were frequent, with the former being necessary to mask the occasional pimple. It had been odd at first, taking orders from beings who looked exactly like small children, but were in fact much older than Ana herself. But over the years, she had gotten used to it, and was now the guardian of the Crown Princess herself, Zeijkk. They revered her in that odd, childish way that most people had when confronted with Jedi, and for some reason they didn't understand that she had left her training early.
She still couldn't meditate. Ana had tried to, thousands of times over the years, but each time it ended with the crippling pain in her left hip. Almost a decade ago, she had been injured by her former Master's sullen Padawan, Xanatos, and the injury had long since healed, leaving only a long silver scar on her hip. But for some reason, the wound had tampered with her Force-sensitivity, not allowing her to release her energies to the Force, keeping them all bottled inside her. The scar still twinged when she exercised strenuously, but it was only when she tried to let go of her physical pain and emotions did the pain render her useless. So she was reduced to a mere mortal, her usage of the Force limited to simplistic things that would awe any child, but cause any competent Jedi to shake his head and laugh quietly to themselves. She had given up her lightsaber ten years ago, of course, but she was more than passable with her hand-to-hand combat skill and she was still in relative shape, although she was positively fat compared to the iron-hard muscles she had obtained before she left the Order. Now she was truly slender, a mark of her good habits and good health, not of her physical exercise.
"Ana?" Called a young voice from the doorway. Ana turned, and saw the picturesque form of her young charge, Zeijkk, the Crown Princess. With long, thick, honey-colored curls and silver-green eyes, high cheekbones and full lips, the Princess was the epitome of a young girl. In Daals' years, she was twenty, but by humans standards she looked no more than twelve, with baby fat still plumping her cheeks. One blonde eyebrow arched as she saw her Guide rise slowly with a slight grimace tugging her mouth. "Ana, you were supposed to be at Morning Meal an hour ago." There was more than a distinctive pout in her voice, and she folded her arms.
"Forgive me, Princess," Ana said, massaging her hip and forcing a smile to her lips. "I wasn't particularly hungry, and I wanted to see the sunrise."
"What is it with you and your sunrises?" Zeijkk asked pettishly, following Ana out the door and into the wide, carpeted hallways. The planet had a low gravitational pull, so there was a thin, slippery electric shield over the floors, making sure that the royalty wouldn't slip on the polished marble. Where possible, thick, plush rugs covered the floors. Ana tugged her hair behind her ear thoughtfully, a little smile quirking her mouth.
"I watch them for ... sentimental reasons," Ana said. "I actually hate them, they come far too early for me, but I knew someone who loved them, so I watch them for his sake."
"Ah, and this would be your wonderful Jedi Master you refer so much to?" Zeijkk asked, a little smirk curving her mouth. Ana looked at her, knotting her brows, but the Princess merely stared smugly into the distance. "You talk in your sleep, and you've let slip once or twice that your Jedi Master was male," the Princess explained. "So, is he the one who enjoyed the sunsets?"
"Sunrises, actually," Ana murmured. "And yes, he is. He liked a lot of different things, actually."
"Did he like you?" Zeijkk asked, turning to face her Guide fully, cocking her head to the side and unknowingly painting herself in a cherubic light. She had that childish innocence about her face, but she was betrothed to be married, and therefore wasn't exactly innocent concerning love.
"Sometimes I like to pretend he did," Ana said to herself quietly, entering the elevation lift and thumbing a button. The glass doors slid shut with a soft hissing noise, and the sleek crystal bubble descended downwards slowly. "But I know better than that."
"Oh, a thwarted love affair," Zeijkk said smilingly, that infuriating smirk still pointing the corners of her mouth. "Would this have anything to do with the famous Jedi ideals?"
Ana said nothing, but Zeijkk noted the subtle tightening in her stance and the icy sheet of armor which dropped over her eyes. Silently, the older woman led her young Charge out into the hallway. Zeijkk filed this away for later and followed her, still smirking maddeningly.
Thwack!
The wooden baton struck out, sending the training droid skittering a few feet towards the ground, the electrical hum rising to a high-pitched, unnatural mechanical whine. The young boy backed up slightly, his bare feet dragging over the dirt floor, sweat beading his upper lip and cording down his temples. Brown hair, messily long in front, was clipped close in back to form a long, narrow Padawan braid over his left ear, and a blindfold wrapped twice around his head. His torso was bare, exposing tanned skin and light muscles stretching his skin taut. A dark line of hair disappeared into his waistband, the only sign of his maturity, for he was short and thin for his age, wiry but small. He danced to the left, and then hit out with the wooden club again, smashing it into the training droid. The whine cut out and the flashing red lights dimmed as the droid fell with a dull crunch to the floor. There was a pause, and then he tilted his chin backwards, almost imperceptibly, turning his face towards his Master, who was sitting some ways away on a wooden bench. "May I remove the blindfold, Master?" He called out.
"You may," His Master said, and the young boy tugged off his blindfold, letting it drape loosely in his fist as he looked at the training droid. The brutal club he had used was attached to his wrist with a loop of leather, and he twirled it once as he surveyed his handiwork. His Master, a large, tall, broad-chested man, opened his eyes and gifted his Padawan with a rare smile. "You did well, Obi-Wan."
Inwardly, the boy reveled in his Master's praise. Compliments from him were rarer than the finest jewels, and just as treasured whenever he received them. His Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, was a silent, meditative man whose big frame belied his gentle heart. Never had Obi-Wan seen so much compassion in a person, so much drive to help the less fortunate. It was a trait which both amazed and confused Obi-Wan, the thirsting drive to help anyone and everyone. But lately, it seemed as though the big Jedi was full of corrections and finding fault in everything with him, and as if by instinct, the genuine piece of praise was given to him. Qui-Gon got to his feet and tossed Obi-Wan's blue lightsaber to him and offered and even rarer smile. Obi-Wan caught it one-handedly, flicking it into activation and admiring the shimmering, humming length of his blade. There was power and beauty in this dangerous weapon; it was like loving an assassin – there was always the chance it could kill you if used improperly. His Master turned and tossed another droid into the air, programming it on a high difficulty level. Obi-Wan tucked the blindfold back around his eyes and waited for the fight to begin.
Watching his Padawan, Qui-Gon wondered why it had taken him this long to take on another Padawan. For seven years, he had tormented himself, reliving his life with Xanatos and Ana, replaying every conversation between them. The lines between their perfections and their imperfections began to blur, and the two Padawans were rapidly shifting into just one hateful memory in the back of his mind. The scars that laced his heart ran too deep to be probed, and he knew this – any mention of former Padawans always resulted in the hideous pain rocking his core. There was too much betrayal, too much distrust in former Padawans, and it had taken him seven years to allow time to do its magic. Now, he craved a fresh start, a new beginning. Obi-Wan was the symbol of leaving the past behind, he told himself.
So why was it so hard to train the boy?
He couldn't ask for a better Padawan. True, the boy was both prideful and reckless – but that went with the age. Obi-Wan was a fast learner, patient with children younger than he, eager to learn, and highly attuned to the Force. He was obedient to a flaw, following him around and savoring his words as though they were proverbs to be written in stone. In ways, this was both dangerous and flattering; one day, the boy would wake up and realize that Qui-Gon was just a man, a man with faults and flaws just like everyone else. But for now, he had a complacent, eager Padawan that he simply couldn't train. His scars ran too deep, the shadows of his past life too dark. Only once had Obi-Wan asked about his former Padawans, and Qui-Gon's face had been such the picture of a physical stab wound that the boy had quickly changed the subject. Qui-Gon was glad, because he couldn't even say her name aloud. But he thought it in his head every day, every time he went to meditate.
Ana.
It didn't help that Clah'Diam was around him so much. They had grieved together, mourned her loss together as friends. Clah'Diam was now a Knight, with a rebellious young Padawan called Bruck Chun which was driving her to distraction. However, Qui-Gon couldn't imagine a better pairing; Clah'Diam's sweet disposition and patient teaching nature made her the perfect Master for the aggressive, hot-tempered Bruck. The two were on a mission together, goodness knows where, probably off arguing about something or other. Qui-Gon heard a distant smash, and he blinked, watching the training droid shudder to the ground. Arching an eyebrow, Qui-Gon stood. "Excellent," He said, and his Padawan learner removed his blindfold. "Come, Padawan, we have to freshen up before we depart."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, deactivating his lightsaber and snatching his tunic off the bench. "Where are we going, again?"
"Daluba."
A/N: Here it is! The second book! If you just clicked on this story out of curiosity, I strongly suggest you go back and read A Broken Circle before you go any further. There will be a bunch of references to their training in later chapters, and you won't have any idea what's going on if you don't. To people who have been waiting for this book – and they are few and far between, believe me – here you you! I hope you enjoy, and please tell me what you think!