The Golden Padawan, Part One of Three

by dianelau

Aeli is studying at the Temple when she meets Brenan, and feels a strange bond to the famous Knight. As they struggle to determine the truth about their connection, one evil man may destroy the Jedi Order. Can Aeli and Brenan stop him?

Title: The Golden Padawan
Author: Diane Lau
Author email: dianelau@livingbeyondreality.com
Category: The Old Republic
Summary: Aeli Camil is studying at the Temple and nearly eligible to be a Padawan when she meets Brenan Auri-Owan, a Knight renowned for his lightsaber prowess. Their first encounter is exceptional; not only can they read each other's minds, but Aeli feels a strong, inexplicable bond to the famous Jedi. Brenan may know why, but first must complete a mysterious quest. Meanwhile, Aeli fears her passion for the Knight may be influenced by the Dark Side. As the two struggle to determine the truth about their strange connection, Jedi are disappearing mysteriously. One evil man with an incredible power is well on his way to bringing down the Jedi Order. An ancient prophecy will hold the key to all these mysteries, climaxing in a fierce spiritual battle that will determine the fate of Aeli, Brenan, and the Jedi.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
Website: www.livingbeyondreality.com
Rating: R, some sexual content and violence

THE GOLDEN PADAWAN
A Star Wars Novella in Three Parts
by Diane Lau

PART ONE

My first recollection of him is one of the clearest memories I possess. Of course it would be so. Because it was not so much the sight of him, standing next to the Great Door in his long dark gray cloak, but that sensation, so strange and so wonderful. That feeling, like nothing else before.

So I asked my friend Cal: "Can you feel that?"

Cal, sitting next to me at the banquet table, set down his goblet and said, "Feel what?"

Feel what indeed? What exactly was it that seemed to radiate from the strange new figure who had just entered the hall? A hundred Jedi trainees, Knights, Masters were in the room, and no one else seemed to take particular notice of this emanation I sensed so clearly.

I took a different approach. "See that Knight standing to the right of the Great Door? With the golden hair, and the gray cloak?"

Cal sat up a bit to get a clear view. "Oh, the one talking with Master Djeda?"

"Yes, who is he?" I asked, agitated with the sensation that bore upon me.

"If I'm not mistaken...yes, I'm quite sure it's Auri-Owan."

"The Auri-Owan?" I asked, astonished.

Brenan Auri-Owan was only the best Jedi swordsman in the galaxy. Or so many said, and I believed. Hopefully I would get confirmation with my own eyes the very next morning, for I was among the lucky trainees who would get to be present in a special seminar he had come to the Temple to teach. I had never seen him in person before, but he had in a sense been my mentor for years. I had seen every hologram of him in the library time and time again, read every treatise he had written till his words were etched in my head, and applied myself wholeheartedly to his lightsaber techniques. My obsession paid off; in the competition to qualify for Auri-Owan's seminar, I acquitted myself handily.

And this was the man himself. I did not wonder so much then that he should give off this strange power. I said out loud, "So, it must be the Force then."

"What?" asked Cal, confused and obviously not sharing my experience.

I was not yet astute enough to discern the Force's presence in individuals except in the rarest of cases, with the truly great ones like Yoda and Mace Windu. And it was true, this didn't feel like that. But it was something, I was sure of that, and seeing as he was obviously great and gifted...

No. It wasn't the Force at all. The Force didn't make one feel like this. The emotions the emanation evoked in me were overwhelming: emotions you would feel for someone who had saved your life. Devotion...a deep and tender regard, with a richness that could only come from years of close friendship. This man was a stranger to me, so why...how was it possible? Who was he to me that I should feel this for him?

Just then something even more unsettling happened. His eyes, casting about the faces present at the banquet, came to rest upon me. The feeling got stronger and changed a little in quality. I tried to do as I had been taught, to quiet myself inwardly and be receptive, to let my mind's perceptions grow clearer. I looked the great Jedi Knight straight in the eye and tried to be as calm as possible. But in spite of my efforts, all I felt was a rush of baffling confusion, and in the eye of the storm, this emotion that could be nothing other than love. Why?

Our destiny.

I heard the words in my mind like a whisper, only soundless, the consonants and vowels present only in spirit. "Our destiny." The voice was gentle, affectionate almost, but under it was a current of great excitement and...anticipation. The "voice"? There had been no voice. And yet, I knew if I heard it again I would recognize it in an instant. Recognize it as his.

I felt Cal's hand on my arm. "Aeli? What planet are you currently visiting?"

I turned to Cal, my consciousness catching up, and said, "I have to meet him."

"Well, you will, lucky girl, tomorrow morning. As for now, I'm sure he has twenty Knights and Masters wanting to talk to him."

I stood up.

"Aeli, are you insane?"

"I'll be back," I told him.

I walked swiftly towards my target, terrified that my sudden resolve would dissipate if I allowed myself to consider for a moment this folly. Figures passed before my eyes, people coming and going from the tables, but when I could see him, he was still conversing with Master Djeda. And how did I plan on interrupting such a conversation? I had some stature among the trainees, being intelligent and good with the lightsaber and nearly of the age to be chosen a Padawan, but nothing to permit me to commit such an audacity.

So when I got there I simply stopped in my tracks and stood, my head bowed. Auri-Owan seemed to be completing some informal report to the Master, and at that moment he summed up. Then I heard him say, "Master Djeda, I see one of your good students has appeared to speak with us."

This was the polite way of handling the matter, but when I raised my chin and looked at him, I found his eyes sparkling with mirth. I dared think he had a bit of the devil in him, quite ironic for one in whom the Force had to be very great.

"This is Aelida Camil, she's one of our best with the lightsaber," said the Master graciously. "I'm sure you'll see her tomorrow morning. Aeli, this is Brenan Auri-Owan."

I bowed respectfully. "I'm honored, sir."

"The pleasure is mine, Aeli," he said, extending his hand.

I took it. Two things happened then. First, I felt warmth in his palm, a powerful warmth that spread rapidly up my arm. It was not at all normal. Second, I heard the voice again. Don't be scared.

If he said it, I would obey him.

I looked him steadily in the eyes--for the record, laughing eyes of crystal blue--and spoke my peace. "I came to ask for the privilege of Brenan Auri-Owan's presence at our table," I said.

He laughed. He actually laughed. "It would be my honor," he said.

I was certain Master Djeda was shocked, but of course he was too disciplined and well mannered to show it. "As you wish," he simply said, and nodded his leave.

"Lead on, Aeli," said the Knight, his eyes not leaving mine.

"Thank you, Master," I said without thinking.

"You flatter me," he replied, "but I am not yet a Master, good Padawan."

"Not yet, but soon," I said, giving him with my eyes all the respect I could muster. "And likewise you flatter me, for I am not yet a Padawan."

He reached over and put his hand on my arm. "Not yet," he said, "but soon."

Then he smiled, and I felt a world of things about him. I felt how he fought his enemies by laughing at them. I felt how he hid his fears by pretending they were not there. I sensed how his trust in the Force was utterly unshakable. I discerned that he was almost ageless, a mischievous boy who could become a wise old man in an instant's turning. I knew he possessed an infinite capacity to make me laugh, to engage me, to inspire me. I also marveled that one so accomplished, a renowned Jedi Knight, was still so human, so flawed, so much like me as I could feel him to be.

All these things came to me, but I wouldn't have time to make sense of them all until later. In that moment, I needed to take him to my table, and I put one foot in front of the other and walked to the place I had left.

I found Cal rising to his feet, mouth agape.

"She did it," said the Knight to my friend, all the while grinning from ear to ear.

"Brenan Auri-Owan, this is my fellow Jedi trainee, Calnor A'dur."

The two shook hands, and I watched Cal's face for some reaction. There was none, beyond amazement and wonder.

"You must both call me Brenan," said the Knight.

"Honored to meet you, sir," faltered Cal.

The Knight took the open place opposite us at the table. Our friends stared until he introduced himself to them as well. Then Cal regained his wits and called for food to be passed for the new guest, and I rushed off to find him a goblet of wine.

As I sought the steward, my mind was spinning. The long and short of it was, I didn't know what was happening to me. I compared it to every other experience of my life for some point of similarity. I had met great men before; it was impossible not to while training at the Jedi Temple. This was not celebrity-awe. I had fallen in love before as well, and it wasn't that either. I had barely had a chance yet to note what the man looked like, and certainly not experienced enough of him to feel some romantic spark. But one thing was certain, beyond all doubt: if I spent any time at all with him, I would grow so fond that I'd lay down my life for him.

The realization of this terrified me to the core.

What was happening to me?

Don't be scared.

The words came back to me as I took a goblet from the steward's hand. He had said that, don't be scared, and I thought he meant I shouldn't be afraid to talk to him about eating with us. But that wasn't what he meant, was it? It was this, not to be scared of what was happening to me.

How did he know? As I approached him from behind, bearing the goblet of wine, I was seized with the mad desire to take him from here, someplace we could be alone, and make him explain this to me. It was an extreme passion, and according to my training, set off immediate internal alarms. Patience, I told myself. As usual, your passions will be your undoing if you don't calm them.

So I touched Brenan on the shoulder and handed him the wine. "Thank you," he said. "You have only missed the very beginning of the story of my recent adventures, which your friends asked me to share."

I sat down to listen. He went on: "So rumor had it that this palace--the name of which, sad to say, is classified--was hosting the Sith Apprentice himself, and perhaps also a number of his cohorts. Cohorts we found in plenty, you couldn't knock over a chair without concussing a cohort." That drew a laugh. "Of course we expected some opposition, but the communiqué had been a bit vague about the number. My fellow Knights and I determined the best course of action was reconnaissance. In other words, get our asses out of there intact." He paused to examine the smiling and expectant expressions around the table. "In more other words, there will be no lightsaber battle in this tale, my friends."

"Aw..." I said, which broke the tension of the star-struck trainees enough for them to join me in a wail of regret.

"Yes, it's too bad," said Brenan, taking a hearty swallow of his wine. "So, with sabers well sheathed, we located a storeroom packed to the ceiling with what seemed like mostly geddotubers. Now I like a good geddotuber just fine, especially fried with lots of salt, but sharing the room with them for 16 hours was not so great."

"16 hours?" said Cal, appalled.

"This, then, is the moral of my story: Sometimes it's glorious battles on the ramparts, sometimes it's geddotubers."

Everyone laughed. I commented, "But obviously you escaped eternal entombment with the tubers."

"Aeli is wise," said Brenan. "Yes, 16 hours passed, the place was quiet, we slipped out under cover of darkness and abandoned our mission. But the Council did find our reconnaissance valuable, at least." We all waited expectantly for the details of this. "Come now, the Council is still allowed some secrets," he concluded.

There was a collective sigh. Brenan set to eating, and we let him. All the while he gave off that sense to me, a warm trembling feeling, of something comforting and thrilling all at once. After awhile I almost got used to it.

These wonders aside, the banquet was amazing--sitting with the famous Jedi all through dinner was like a dream in its own right. To my surprise, he really didn't talk a great deal, certainly didn't dominate the conversation. He just as often listened to our dull student's banter, or asked us questions and attended closely to our replies. He had a rather high voice, a little reedy, naturally soft; it was well modulated and he could speak with a pleasant tone reminiscent of entertainers or public speakers. I discovered I could make him laugh with great ease. I was known as a fairly humorous person, but he would even catch my quirkier comments, the ones I normally made more in order to amuse myself. After a half an hour we had all nearly forgotten with whom we shared our table, so like us he seemed to be. I would never have dreamed a Knight could have such a manner.

After the meal there were the usual requisite speeches for such an occasion, formal introductions of the various guest instructors who had come for the week's activities. Then the event was formally over, and we were free to mingle as we saw fit. Once everyone was loosed from their seats, Brenan was quickly snagged by one admirer or another from the crowd.

I too wandered about the room, making conversation with my fellows and with a couple of the Masters who were my instructors. But mostly I availed myself of the opportunity to further contemplate Auri-Owan. The great Knight did not call too much attention to himself, a quality I had observed before about Jedi Masters in particular, but in other ways he was quite unlike them. As adept as he was at friendly conversation, I could tell he wanted to be elsewhere, I could tell he wasn't quite getting to be himself. I liked when I observed him in a moment of laughter; that was when he seemed most natural. It was funny, I had always expected in the flesh he would be a very mystical, dignified sort. On the contrary, he would be more at home in a tavern, sharing ale with a friend or two, than in this exalted company in the Jedi Temple.

How exactly did I know these things? It felt so much more certain than imagination, although I had no evidence. The only clear facts before me were these: He was strong-looking, sturdy and broad-shouldered, and handsome in a warm and comfortable way. His most striking traits were the color of his hair, which he wore long and tied back in waves of spun gold, and a smile brighter than any lightsaber beam. But I could in fact not fairly judge him by appearance, I could not objectively analyze these clear facts, due to the still lingering sensation which emanated from him. It excited and soothed me by turns. In one moment I wanted to be by his side forever, in the next I longed for peace and desired only to flee to my room.

Finally, I let him drift away, quite sated for excitement for one evening, and resolved to calm myself with a walk in the Room of a Thousand Fountains before I retired.

As usual, the white noise of the water cleared my head of distractions. I relaxed, put the questions out of my mind, and reordered my thoughts. The first thing that occurred to me was that I had done almost nothing to prepare myself for the lightsaber seminar in the morning. Here it was, an occasion I had dreamed of for years, an opportunity for which I should have taken a full day to ready myself, and I hadn't even meditated for five minutes about it.

I found a remote spot and began the Three Routines, the key regimen of preparation for battle according to the teachings of Auri-Owan. I had been practicing the Routines for two years, practically daily, to make it so habitual that someday I would be capable of performing it unconsciously while in the heat of battle.

First Stance/First Focus: These were easy enough for me, almost second nature, and I found it soothing just to begin the habitual steps. The Stances were physical acts, the Foci were spiritual, but in each Routine both aspects were essential. In the First, you centered yourself physically, found perfect balance to left and right, fore and aft, connected yourself to your lightsaber in mass and weight and gravity. And meanwhile, spiritually, you sought the Force, let it infuse you fully, gave your consciousness over to it. When First Stance and First Focus were complete, you had placed yourself properly for battle.

I did not of course have my saber with me, but I imagined the handle in my grip, the flow of energy from the Adegan crystal humming in my palms, the precise length of the beam and thus the precise reach of my aggression. Imagining it was, in a way, more effective than holding the real thing: it forced me to use my mind. First Stance came easily to me tonight for some reason. First Focus less so: When I reached for the Force and opened to its flow, I had a twinge of recollection of the emanation from Brenan. I forced the distraction away. Much practice served me well...in a few moments I was satisfied with my spiritual state.

In Second Stance the Jedi turned outward, taking complete stock of his environment and also of his foe. Second Stance could not be properly executed without the benefits of having achieved First Routine: The physical steadiness accomplished therein allowed the Jedi to wisely and fully evaluate his surroundings, and the connection forged with the Force provided the preternatural knowledge of possible dangers as well as possible benefits. Second Focus, the spiritual side, would of course be utterly impossible without what came before. In Second Focus you evaluated the hidden power of the opponent, his state of mind, his emotional and spiritual strengths and weaknesses.

I could perform the Second Routine well enough in a training setting, in fact I excelled at it. However, I also knew in all humility that to do it in the sorts of circumstances Jedi Knights faced would be altogether different. As a Padawan I would improve the Second, I would have to. But for now, I did my best, and it was not terrible.

For this occasion, when I was in fact alone, I imagined my foe was the brilliant Auri-Owan. I recalled the impressions I had taken of him earlier, and I studied these briefly, not judging them or plotting about them, but simply clarifying my concept of my opponent. When I did the Second Focus well, and I was tonight, I would sense a balance between my own power and that of my rival, I could almost feel where the conflicting powers met, could almost see the borderline between. See in my mind's eye, that is, for my eyes were closed that I hold more certainty in my conjured image of Auri-Owan.

The Third Routine was of course the most daunting of all. I would like to say I had a rudimentary mastery of it as well, but this would not be completely true. In the Third Stance the Jedi brought all his power to bear, gathered his physical strength, diverted it to the parts of his body which would need it most in the first attack, based upon all the knowledge gathered in the First and Second. This I could do full well, and did, as I stood with my eyes closed and my imaginary lightsaber raised. For the Third Focus, it was taught that the Jedi meanwhile laid aside all his passions and made himself nothing but a vessel for the Force.

And that was my downfall.

Granted, to do this properly was a challenge to any Knight, much less one not yet even a Padawan. But I couldn't even quite grasp the concept. To me, the Third Stance and the Third Focus seemed almost counterproductive, at odds with one another. Of course for a Jedi to fight successfully, he had to rely as much as possible upon the Force. But to become submissive all the while raising your physical powers to their greatest peak? How was this possible? When I gathered my strength, I consistently became more aware of my own powers, I felt my aggressive side come to the fore, I felt almost arrogant. This was, of course, the polar opposite of the submissive state I sought when meditating, when my sense of self diminished to the point where my identity nearly became lost. And tonight, same problem, I completed Third Stance while trying to do Third Focus--after all, they were to be simultaneous in each of the Routines--and I could sustain neither. The best I could do was to not lose the ground I gained in First and Second...and this attempt seemed especially poor, I was feeling bombarded with some sort of strange agitation...

"Trouble with Third then, soon-to-be Padawan?" came a voice from in front of me.

My eyes flew open. It was, of course, Brenan. "Master!" The word slipped out and could not be taken back, making things worse. "Oh, I embarrass myself!" was all I could utter.

He grinned, his arms folded across his chest, and a look in his eye like he was trying to decide how cruelly he wanted to tease me. The look softened; he had chosen mercy. "It took me six years to master," he said, "you would therefore insult me to do it properly now."

"I've worked on the Routines a long time...but nothing so important ever comes easy, I guess." I had let my arms drop to my sides. I knew my concentration had been good, for I felt as if I had literally dropped my lightsaber on the ground. I also knew it had been good because I had actually been picking up Brenan's presence, which had quieted now from that peculiar agitation to a steady warm humming.

"I'd say your work has paid off. Discipline is always more important than talent." He took a stride closer to me, smiling broadly. "Listen to me, I sound like one of my treatises."

"And shouldn't you?"

"Spend enough time with me, you'll never believe I wrote them. And I have no desire to talk right now, there was too much talk at the banquet. I assume you have your own lightsaber?"

Confused, I nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Then go get it, I want to try you out."

The bottom fairly fell out of my stomach. "Oh no, I--I--"

"A moment ago you called me Master, now you refuse me?" His eyes were sparkling. The warmth I felt from him then reassured me, but nevertheless, this was my idol, and I was horrified at the prospect of showing him how poorly I fought. But in my rational mind I did want to do it. After all, what could be more thrilling than a private battle with Brenan Auri-Owan? How I wished I could steady my pounding heart!

Then I had a crazy idea. I remembered the feeling I had had when we shook hands at the banquet. So I reached across to him and took hold of his wrist for a moment. In an instant, the sensation washed away my fear, and in its wake was an overwhelming sense that nothing I could do would turn him from me.

"Do you mean my practice saber?" I asked him calmly, releasing his wrist.

I saw him look down as my hand drew away, a flicker of confusion on his face. In an instant he had mastered it and looked up again to meet my gaze. "Only if it can stand up to this, which is all I have with me," he said, and drew his own lightsaber. The beam extended, pure gold, surely the most beautiful lightsaber I had ever seen.

"It's magnificent," I said.

"Thank you," he answered in a modest tone, which wordlessly told me he had made the weapon himself. "Now go get your real lightsaber, I can see you're good enough not to hurt me with it--bring it here quickly."

"Here?" I asked, sorry at once to sound so disrespectful. "Not the Room of a Thousand Fountains, sir?"

He grimaced dramatically, feigning aggravation, and extinguished his saber. "Damn, I suppose not. But wouldn't it be fun, slashing around trying to avoid bringing down all the marble and venzite and slicing up the regelia blossoms?"

I stared at him a moment, then burst out laughing. "Yes," I agreed. "And if you and I had no obligations, I would be happy to do it. However, I am not even a Padawan, and I would get disapprobation. Worst of all, I would lose my privilege to attend your seminar tomorrow."

"Hmm. Well, all right. You could recommend a better spot?"

"There's a courtyard south of the trainees' chambers, it's quite large, down by the south end is far enough away not to trouble anyone, and it's permitted. Sort of. If you were there with me, I'm certain it would be all right."

"I know exactly where you mean. You run then, I'll walk, we'll meet there."

"Yes, I'll run--" I said, and did.

It was the worst possible circumstance to foster calm. I was giddy, and elated, and overwhelmed with astonishment at my good fortune. A private training session with Auri-Owan! What had I done to merit it? To think that my first chance to see him fight in person would be facing me over the beams of our lightsabers...And yes, I was still a little frightened as well. Frightened, but determined to do my best. And my best would, of course, require complete calm.

I reached my quarters in what seemed like an eyeblink; fortunately there was no one around, no doubt the celebrations still occupied most of the trainees. I opened my lock drawer and took out my lightsaber, sheathing it under my short cloak. I dashed out, down the hall as fast as I could without looking peculiar if anyone were to see me, trying at least to look calm.

In truth, I didn't even want to be calm. I asked myself if this hadn't been the most amazing evening of my life. My Jedi training told me no occasion was exempt from being lived with as much clarity and serenity as possible, but I had never been fond of that teaching and certainly had no use for it at the moment. Brenan Auri-Owan attended me in the south courtyard! Could it be happening?

I didn't believe it truly until I arrived, breathless, in the moonlit stretch beyond the orleander grove...and there found the man leaning motionless against the nearest tree.

"I hurried," I said, panting.

"So I see," he replied, and his smile was bright even in darkness. "Catch your breath, Aeli. Let me see your saber."

I handed it over and watched him ignite the beam and test the weapon's weight. "You could handle a little more, I'd say. Just because you're a woman doesn't mean the beam should run short." Brandishing my lightsaber, he ran through the five positions. His grace was breathtaking. He extinguished the beam and passed the weapon to me. "Do you need more time?"

"Truthfully? I could use another year or two. But now seems to be the moment the Force has chosen." I laughed, a little nervously. At that moment, my preference would have been simply to watch him fight.

"Syzac's Drill?" he asked, taking up his own lightsaber.

For purposes of preserving the life and limb of trainees, lightsaber practice was choreographed. There was a whole range of classic drills one learned by rote. Trainees always practiced against Knights or Masters, and each opponent had his own required movements. Just as in a dance, one led and one followed; the "Master's part" led and it was his role to set the tempo, while the "Padawan's part" was to match his better's pace and lead. Syzac's was an extremely popular drill of moderate difficulty, although up tempo it became quite challenging, and was often used as a high difficulty drill by being executed double-time.

"I could do it double if you like," I offered.

"Standard to warm up. You have plenty of time to impress me, soon-to-be Padawan. Take as long as you need to, when I see your eyes open I'll know you're ready."

We faced off and ignited our lightsabers. "Prepare," said Brenan. I closed my eyes and did the Three Routines. To my relief, years of exercising thus on a daily basis had paid off; even under these most stimulating of circumstances, I managed to get decent focus. I opened my eyes.

What I saw astounded me. Brenan had so completely stilled himself it was palpable. He was not blank or emotionless: on the contrary, if anything his presence had grown more intense. But it was a perfectly centered presence, he expended no energy of any kind as he anticipated engagement. This was so different from his normal mode of being that it unsettled me. And I could feel no emanation from him as I had before. That, more than anything, threw off my concentration completely.

So I stared at him with my jaw hanging, totally undone.

"What is it?" he said.

And that quickly, he was back. Brenan was completely himself again. I even felt the sensation return, the warm silent murmur. "I'm so sorry," I said. "It was just that you were--so different--it threw me off." I hung my head. "That's no excuse."

He extinguished his saber and lowered it. "You need a moment," he told me. That was the understatement of the year. I likewise turned off my lightsaber and took a deep sigh. I closed my eyes to try again, but his voice stopped me. "No, come here a minute."

We each took a step toward each other and then he took a second one. His hand took me by the chin and raised my face. I looked him in the eyes...

...and fell in. Or dove in. It seemed more the latter, or rather that I was pulled. Yes, that was it, I was drawn in...and what appeared silver in the dim light grew more and more blue the deeper I went, more blue and clearer and simpler. "Just be quiet," he instructed, in a low voice. That was all he had to say. I needed to know no more than his will. All the noise passed out of me.

The Knight released my chin, stepped back, keeping his eyes steady on mine. "Prepare," he said. I nodded, unblinking. "Engage." Our sabers raised and their beams touched, his gold against my green. He took the first move and the drill was on.

If I had ever done Syzac's at standard pace so well, I could certainly not recall it. Of course it wasn't me, it was Brenan. His moves were so even, his timing so perfect, it was hard not to get caught up in the steady flow. I had done Syzac's with our instructor at the Temple, Master Wed'azon, and thought him quite accomplished. There was no comparison. I had never before noticed the balance in the way the drill was arranged, the crescendo of energy which built and then resolved in the final moves, like a concerto. Now it was so obvious. When we completed the final sweep, from tail position to upper, I almost felt an echo through the courtyard like the dying notes of an orchestra.

"Very good," said Brenan, his face illuminated golden from his saber beam. "Double then?"

I nodded, not wanting to speak and break the spell of my own quietness.

"Prepare," he said.

I closed my eyes briefly just to be sure I was still clear, then opened them.

"Engage."

How clever of Master Syzac...of course, the drill was meant to be run at double pace. At this speed, in each move one created the energy for the next one. I felt a spark of giddiness but quelled it at once with the echo of his voice in my mind: "Just be quiet." My concentration focused all the more. I noticed then how Auri-Owan was adjusting his motion to accommodate my size and weight, something Master Wed'azon rarely did, much less with such complete consistency. He anticipated my every position with perfect accuracy. The force of each blow was measured to match the force of mine, to keep our mutual balance perfect. I knew that were this real battle, he would have used the same skills to overpower me in moments, knowing how to destroy my balance as much as to augment it. I wondered if he couldn't simply overpower me with a look, in fact.

The final sweep came too soon, I wanted it to go on and on.

"Excellent," said Brenan warmly. "You have much talent, in fact I think there's more to be seen." He smiled, and reached over to clasp me on the shoulder.

"To be truthful, you make me feel like I could do anything. I suppose you have that effect on any training partner."

"That's what I should do, but it doesn't always work quite so well. Do you know Celanarian's Drill?"

My breath caught. "Yes, I've chosen it for my final this year."

"Do you have it ready, then?"

My heart was pounding. "I know my part, but I haven't been able to practice with a partner. No one here knows Celanarian's except Master Wed'azon."

"Well then, it's a good thing I showed up. By the end of the week you'll be able to do it backwards."

I can't even describe the thrill these words brought me. Apparently my expression revealed some of it, because Brenan said, "Prepare. And take an extra moment this time."

I did as I was told. I found great motivation in the fact that I loved Celanarian's and had been simply dying for the Master to find time to practice with me. Just getting to perform the drill at last was wonderful enough. And doing Syzac's had shown me what possibilities there were with the right partner...

...and I had never had a partner like this one.

Just be quiet. It was amazing how well that worked. I opened my eyes.

"Engage," he said.

He took it at a slowish pace, but I was glad. There was much adjusting to be done when the Master's moves were added. When our beams engaged and his force repelled mine so perfectly, I found again I could use the energy in the next motion, so it was less work and I had to diminish my effort to keep proper balance. It didn't take long to make the correction, so only the first minute of the drill was a bit rough.

The coup de gras of Celanarian's was in the closing moves, when the Padawan took a full arm right swing at the Master's head while he ducked, then the Padawan switched momentum and took a full arm left slice at the Master's calves while he jumped. It was still a training drill, that was why the blows were directed at the Master, who would most certainly have the skill to avoid injury, assuming the Padawan was at the level required to attempt Celanarian's. Secretly, though, I wondered if Master Wed'azon's constant delaying of meeting me for practice wasn't in part due to some fear of these final moves.

As we passed through the moves of the middle portion of the drill, I pushed all thoughts from my mind about the denouement. I had practiced it 500 times, there was no contact involved to throw me off, and I had always envisioned the drill against Master Wed'azon who was of similar height to Brenan. One move at a time, and the best I could do at each, that was how I proceeded.

And as difficult as the last stretch of Celanarian's was, I felt no worry. It was almost as if each time my beam connected with Brenan's, meeting in the perfectly planned spot in mid-air, my confidence increased. I thrusted, I spun, I swung the lightsaber in an even arc to meet the swing of his in perfectly balanced force. Before I knew it the moment was upon us.

He ducked and I cleared his golden head by an easy ten inches. I switched momentum effortlessly, the beam over my head and then down, and it whisked under his boots and back up. I spun with the inertia and came back to connect with his raised beam, which stopped me motionless.

We stood still, me breathing hard, staring at each other. Brenan broke into a broad grin, then started to laugh. I joined him, my laughter ragged as I tried to catch my breath. "I didn't...kill you!" I exclaimed.

"You wouldn't dare," he replied brightly.

"Oh by all the gods, that was incredible!"

"Backwards it will be even more impressive."

I looked at him quizzically.

"I'm kidding!" he cried. "Celanarian would come back and haunt us if we abused his drill like that. Him and that freakish braided beard of his."

At this I burst out laughing again. The energy of the drill--the grace of Brenan's execution--had permeated me head to toe. I wanted to dance, to sing, I put out my arms and suddenly we were embracing, he was laughing at my laughter and I felt it all over, both physically and in that other, strange way.

Holding me by the shoulders, he pushed me out to arm's length and said, "Give me five days, I'll have you at least three-quarters faster." Then he added mischievously, "And I dare say your lightsaber Master couldn't match a faster tempo anyway."

I gave him a cheerful and conspiratorial nod. "No possible way." I burst into a fit of giggling.

"You are in a wild mood now, aren't you?" he said with a smile.

"I'm prone to wild moods, sir," I said, stifling myself a little.

"A girl after my own heart. Well, it looks like you won't be able to sleep anytime soon. How about we share an ale or two so you can wind down? I used to frequent Meri-Borx Tavern when I was here, and I've heard it's still open."

"It is, but I've never been there."

"Well, it's the perfect place to go on a night like this if you are the only woman ever to do Celanarian's Drill with Auri-Owan. Come with me."

So I walked by his side, wondering if he would ever give me a command I wouldn't want to obey.

The walk to the Borx was nearly a mile, but I hardly noticed. I was, to put it bluntly, glorying in my triumph. The first woman to do Celanarian's with Brenan Auri-Owan! It was stunning to contemplate.

"I can't get over the way it felt doing the overhead momentum switch at the end," I told Brenan excitedly as we walked. "Almost effortless. I swear that's the best I've ever done it."

"You have my approval. No criticism there."

I quickened my pace to keep up with his long strides. "Shouldn't you be instructing me right about now to have some humility?"

Still looking straight ahead, he smiled. "Oh no, I'm not going to be the one to rain on your parade. Enjoy the moment all you want. This is your reward for all those hours in the training rooms."

This hardly seemed like Jedi philosophy to me, but I certainly liked hearing it. "I don't know, I feel like I ought to be taken down a peg or two."

"Don't worry," he said, giving me a stern look. "Over the next days I'll take you down three or four, believe me."

Just as I started to worry about his reproving tone, he cracked a smile; I wondered if the man was ever not joking. My elation flooded back. "You're really going to train me..." I actually skipped as I said this.

"I'm really going to train you."

"I still can't believe it. How can I repay you?"

As swiftly as if he had been expecting the question, he replied, "Do a demonstration with me tomorrow morning."

I almost tripped. "A demonstration?"

"I thought your execution of Syzac's doubled was really fine." I stared at him, speechless. He ignored my incredulity and continued, "Although bear in mind I will have criticism, which of course I'll share with all your fellows, regardless of any humiliation it might cause."

"I dare say I'll have a worse problem with everyone being jealous and hating me."

"Too bad, it'll simply be your task to deal with that."

In my giddiness I slapped his arm for this comment. He burst out laughing. I wanted to hug him but I still had a little mastery of myself, and refrained. "All right, all right...I thank you for asking me, I'd be honored of course. Do you want me to try to make some mistakes so you actually have something to criticize?"

"Ahhh..." he said, turning to me with an approving smile. "Very amusing. I'm making a mental note to take you down five or six pegs, soon-to-be Padawan."

We came upon the Borx and he opened the door for me. It was dark, warm, and lively inside, but not so crowded that I was intimidated. "My old table!" cried Brenan, and led me to a corner where a very old table indeed stood, flanked by three padded, worn out chairs. We took two of them and Brenan called over the steward and ordered two cups of ale.

"I've been away too long," he said nostalgically as we settled in.

"How often do you come back to the Temple?" I asked.

"Only when the Council has business with me, maybe twice a year at most."

This news stung, but then it came as no surprise. He was a Knight, he had business all over the galaxy, it wasn't as if Coruscant would see much of him. But I wasn't going to think about this now, not when the prospect of five days training with him loomed ahead.

"About the training," I said, "how is your schedule? I mean, they must have you busy most of the time."

"My schedule gives me two hours each afternoon at three, for meditation. That's standard operating procedure."

"But you can sacrifice that?"

"Hmm...meditation or lightsaber training, which would I choose?"

I laughed. "Well, I've got those two hours free, and if I didn't, I would make them so." Our cups were delivered to the table; we both drank. Then I said, "Tell me though, what did you think was my greatest weakness?"

Brenan set down his cup, smiling. "You had a bit of a problem with emotional control, but then I think you know that."

"Yes, I do," I said, feeling myself blush. "It's chronic. It's not that I'm not aware, it's not that I don't try to do better...I know I can't become a Knight without beating it. And I knew full well I had to get a grip before I could fight you." It came back to me then, the feeling of falling/being pulled into his eyes, the quieting blueness of it, and I shivered. "But then," I said cautiously, "you fixed that."

He looked back at me steadily. "So it seemed."

I squinted at him. "How did you do that?"

He paused. "It's not something that's actually happened before," he said, all seriousness now.

"It hasn't?"

"Describe it to me," Brenan said, fixing me with strangely compelling gaze.

"You took me in your eyes," I told him, unhesitatingly. "It was so calming, irresistibly calming. I lost myself. No, that's not it, I was still there, I was almost more there...but all the rushing in my head stopped. Oh gods..." Something amazing had just occurred to me. "That's it!"

"What?"

"The key to the Third Routine. Now I see it..."

A half smile came over his face. He knew what I meant.

I went on excitedly. "I doubt I could do it on my own, but at least I think I see it now. I was truly more there, and yet--no passion--"

Brenan looked most amused. "There's hope for you yet," he said gently.

His hand was curled around his cup, and I reached over and folded mine over it, urgently. "Only if you teach me," I told him. "No one else has, and believe me, they've tried."

"You're that intractable?" he laughed.

"No really, I am, I'm completely intractable!" I pulled back my hand.

"Imagine me, a teacher."

"You're a natural...how else could you have--?...but you said this never happened before?"

The mirth left his eyes. We stared at each other for a long moment. The emanation I felt from him waxed more intense, there was a new aspect to it, half agitation and half elation.

"It never happened before," he said.

"What's happening to me, Brenan?" I asked him. "Can you feel it too?"

He took a swallow of ale to buy himself a moment. Then he said, "I heard you. When you came up to me at the banquet."

"You...'heard me'?"

"Not audibly. Telepathically."

"What did I say?"

He set down his cup and looked at me. "You said, 'I'm so scared.'"

My stomach dropped out of me.

He went on, "I could feel it too, your fear and this intense confusion, almost panic. I wanted so much to reassure you, to make your fear go away, but of course we hadn't even spoken yet."

I grabbed his hand again. "But I heard you!" He stared back at me quizzically. "I heard you say 'Don't be scared,' and all my fear left me. I heard you say it."

"I'll be damned," he said, in a whisper.

"What is this?" I asked him, pleading. "There was another time, too--"

"When I first came in the hall."

"Yes, that's it. What happened when you first came in the hall?"

His eyes glazed over a little as he recalled it. "I walked in the room, and I felt something. Something very unfamiliar. Like a life-force, only...only it was...the only word I can think of is magical. It felt this peculiar, magical way. I looked for the source of it. I reached out to find it, I used the Force. Then I found you. When I looked at you, across the room, I forgot what I was doing, because you were so agitated. I could feel you, exuding...how can I describe it?... something like awe."

"Yes."

"Directed towards me. It was all focused on me."

"What did I say to you?"

His stare had become so intense I started trembling. "You said..." He blinked slowly and forced it out. "You said, 'Why do I love you so?'"

I swallowed hard. Then I said hoarsely, "That must have been quite frightening."

"It wasn't," he replied at once. "Which I agree is odd, in and of itself."

"And how did you answer?"

He looked at me long and hard. Then he said, "Aeli, you tell me."

I didn't hesitate. "You said, 'Our destiny.'"

He blinked, silent.

"Brenan, there was great certainty in it. You know what's happening to us, don't you?"

He sighed. He looked down at the table with fierce concentration. I let him think, I watched him think and I felt it, I felt it as a wrestling, a struggle between caution and euphoria. Finally he looked up and me and said, "Yes, I think I know. But I'm not certain. And I can't tell you until I know for sure."

"When will you know for sure?"

He leaned forward. "There's something I have to do first. Once I've done it, I'll know. And I promise I'll tell you then."

My reaction to this surprised even me. I wanted this opportunity to trust him. I wanted my patience and faith to be tested. I wanted to experience him keeping a promise to me.

"All right," I said.

"Thank you," he replied.

It wasn't until then that I realized all this while I had been holding his hand, clinging to his large, strong fingers with a veritable death grip. I pulled back my hand. We both leaned back and took deep breaths. Well, I thought, even a Knight can become agitated and distraught. Rather than amusing me, this thought only increased my alarm. So then I said, by way of changing the subject, "Tell me a story, a good one."

He smiled slightly. "What kind of story?"

"Tell me about the most terrible foe you beat in battle."

"You weren't frightened enough by the story of the geddotubers?"

I laughed. "No, I want something even more horrific. If you can decide what was the worst."

He raised his cup to drink. "No problem there." A long swallow, and he began, "Do you remember two years ago, that terrible problem the Republic was addressing with heaven's chain trafficking?"

"The drug cartel on Naboo? Of course. That was shut down, I remember it was big news."

"That was me," he said softly.

"It was?" I leaned forward. "Tell me."

"Swear you won't tell anyone else."

"I swear."

"And it's a grim story. How much detail do you want?"

"If a Knight had to endure it, then I might someday. Whatever you want to tell me."

"All right, and I pray you won't." He leaned forward too and spoke more quietly. "I can't believe I'm going to tell this. Oh well... His name was Quel-zil, the cartel made him a guardian, their most important guardian, and not because he was any great mind or strong fighter. He was just mad beyond all comprehension. They put him in charge of their hoard of heaven's chain. Nobody knew how much they had in there, in this cave in the Regoine Mountains, but there was no doubt as to the importance of the stash. Our spies found the location, learned about Quel-zil, or something of him at least. I had to go in alone, it was the nature of the mission."

"Alone? Why you?"

"My Master made that choice."

"Yoda," I said, knowing that Brenan had served as Padawan under the great Jedi Master. "Not much arguing there."

"And I had to go alone because of the entrance to the lair. It was a long, narrow tunnel, maybe a quarter of a mile, in places barely big enough for me to pass. Some of the turns were so sharp, I had to lay on my back to have the angle to get my body through them."

I pictured this, the experience of crawling in pitch darkness through this dreadful maze, and shuddered.

"There were sections half deep in water...or I hope it was water...it smelled like orloo piss and was icy cold too. Sometimes I swore I'd come up against a blockage, but it was only another tight bend in the tunnel. And in some places there were sharp rocks--crystals embedded in the stone, it felt like, which protruded. I cut my forearm on one and it hurt like hell. But that wasn't the worst of it--"

I swallowed. "What was the worst of it?"

"There were small things in there...at first I thought it was just loose stones, and I was knocking them around. But at one point I was stopped, with my hands on the rock in front of me, and they scurried over my hands."

"Gods, what a horror! How did you bear it?"

"Three things enabled me to go on. One, I was following an order from my Master. You'd be surprised how hard it is to disobey the order of your Master."

I thought I understood, and nodded.

"Two," and at this he came the closest to smiling that he had yet, "the thought of retreating backwards was more horrible than going on. Three, I found a way to manage it. The Force. The Force, you see, extends in all directions, up, down, north-south-east-west. Nothing walls it, nothing limits it. It's like a wide open plain, or a bright bare desert. I thought of myself as crossing that open desert, only I had to bear on this narrow path because Yoda bid it so. Still, if the worst happened, if I had to leave that narrow path, the Force would permit it if I needed to."

"Ohhh..." I said, "and you could sustain your trust in this?"

"I can't do everything, I'd be the first to tell you that. But this thing I could do well."

I started trembling inside. I took a swallow of ale but it made no difference.

Brenan continued. "Finally I saw a lightness, and then the actual point of brightness that was the end of the passage. I said to myself, 'Oh good, I am nearly to the fiend.'"

I laughed at this jest, but my trembling increased as well.

"When I looked out into the cavern, the first thing I saw was sacks upon sacks of chain. One wall, the one to my right, was stacked with sacks to the ceiling. And the ceiling was maybe 25 feet high. There were no open sacks I could see, but still, it was like the cave walls were coated with the chain dust, that orange color like fennira wings. It was illuminated by a single, painfully intense lantern, held in a bizarre cage that cast crazy shadows everywhere. And then I saw him. Quel-zil. Sitting under the lantern just staring at the opening of the passage, as if all he did day and night was watch it. Of course, it was me he saw just then."

I put my hands over my mouth.

"I burst out and to my feet, the adrenaline hit me and I recovered from my long crawl in an instant. He was silhouetted against the light then, I could only see his outline at first as he came toward me. He was so wasted he wasn't much more than bones, but he moved quickly nevertheless. There also seemed to be things wrong with him...his arms were too long, his knees were jointed at a freakish angle. He actually rushed past me, to put himself between me and the highest piles of sacks, and then the light fell on him. The flesh was coming off his nose. It didn't look like recent decay either--I'm sure he had used chain for years and that was the result of it. There was a flap of skin that had fallen down over the tip of his nose, it flapped when he moved, which he did constantly."

"Gods, Brenan," I breathed.

"If only that was the worst of it," he said, and I noticed then that the narration seemed to be wearing on him. Still he went on. "The monster drew his lightsaber, and that alerted me. He had Sith training. I drew my saber too and discovered in an instant that my Jedi training was little use to me. As I said, the creature was insane. His dementia was so extreme, I could get no sense of his presence, no bearing even on myself. It filled the room like a noxious stench, mingled with the smell of the chain. Then he cried out to me, in this voice that was high and raspy and infernal, 'Jedi, the weedins in the passage have crawled into your head!' You may laugh at me, but that scared me more than anything else. I don't know why. But I couldn't find him with the Force, and I wondered if something really was wrong with my head. Quel-zil gave me this hideous grin, his nose flapping, and cried, 'Weedins in your head, and up your ass, Jedi!'"

Brenan stared at me, waves of horror coming off him which only made the story more terrifying, capped by what I was certain was an excellent imitation of Quel-zil's hideous voice. I pushed his cup at him and ordered, "Drink."

"It's gone," he replied.

I held my hand up for him to be silent until I had ordered the steward to bring another. We didn't speak for the minute or two until a full cup stood before him. He took a long drink, then smiled at himself.

"Why am I telling you this? I've never told anyone all this, not even Master Yoda."

"Perhaps, once you've done this thing you have to do, you'll know why," I replied.

He gave me a long pensive look. "You're probably right," he said. "But now the finish. We fought, for how long I couldn't say, but I had nothing on my side but my physical skill, and somehow that maniac matched it. He was wearing me down, and I figured his madness would sustain him as long as it took. Finally he managed to slash my upper arm, the full length, a good quarter-inch deep, a half in places. I felt myself bleeding and when that happens, you know it's time to make the kill or maybe you never will."

He paused to take another drink, then slid the cup over and leaned closer to me. "I called on my Master then. Nothing else to do. And he said this to me: 'Guilty make him. Punish himself he will.' I caught Yoda's meaning right away, thank the gods. For all the confusion Quel-zil shot at me, it was clear his psyche was sustained by one driving force: protecting the chain. So I led him over to that big wall of sacks, I backed up and backed up, hoping he would have enough logic in him to be greedy for the opportunity, I feigned weakness and then...I lowered my lightsaber."

I waited breathlessly.

"He dove for me, lifted his saber to full height and brought it down, but at the last moment I leaped to the side. His momentum carried him forward...he sliced open a dozen sacks of chain. Better still, there was a chemical reaction from the saber beam, and they caught on fire."

For the first time, Brenan did smile, albeit grimly. "And I said to that bastard, 'Quel-zil, weedins in your head and up your ass. You've destroyed the chain, you fool!" That was a message he could understand. He stepped back in horror from the sacks--horror and self-loathing. He was lucid enough then, and therefore for a moment so was I, so I blasted him with all the guilt the Force could muster through me. And then--" He paused, lowered his voice. "Have you ever seen somebody kill himself with a lightsaber?"

I shook my head.

Brenan mimed taking the handle from his belt, holding it up to the side of his head, and pressing the activation panel.

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.

"Prepare," said Brenan.

Then in turn I found every cell in his body, the expectation of every movement in his limbs. I found his perfectly calm joy at what we were about to do.

"Engage."

If last night's Syzac's had been wonderful, this one was heaven itself. I absolutely couldn't tell which one of us was controlling our motion, or if either of us was. Our centers never wavered, and they were linked in perfect balance, so every stroke we made was flawlessly graceful, every transition was clean, every movement pure. I moved as Auri-Owan; what could be better than that?

It passed in moments, more natural than breathing. The final sweep, from tail to upper, and it was complete.

I heard the sudden burst of noise--a gasp of wonder followed by applause--and only then noted how perfectly silent the room had been apart from the sounds of our lightsabers. It was not like waking from a dream, for if anything, I became less alert, more tossed about in action and emotion. I looked into Brenan's face and to my surprise found a certain amount of unconcealed amazement.

So apparently this, too, had never happened before.

We made nothing of it at the time, he proceeded with the rest of the seminar undaunted, and I likewise managed to carry on and stay rational enough to learn more than a few things. The second half of the morning we got out on the floor and practiced, and Brenan made the rounds giving everyone a comment or two. I found him an excellent teacher, and at lunch, Cal said the same.

"He should teach lightsaber here all the time," my friend declared over his bowl of stew. "Except for the fact that the Council wouldn't want to waste a warrior like that."

"Besides," I said, swallowing a bite of bread, "I'm sure battle suits him a lot better than choreography."

"No doubt," agreed Cal fervently. "Sometimes I prefer practice sabers, at least it's more like fighting and less like ballet. Competition rather than cooperation."

"The best of all," I said pensively, "would be competition that required cooperation." My dream of the night before came back to me. "You know, working with your fellows to conquer your mutual foe."

Cal stared at me a minute. "Yes, I'd like to see you and Brenan backing me up, that's for sure."

I set down my bread. "That was an incredibly flattering thing to say, Cal."

"There's something going on when you two fight, I'm not stupid. Okay, Syzac's isn't as hard as Celanarian's, but your drill with Auri-Owan was even more impressive than when he fought the Master. I've never seen anything quite like it, even in a hologram."

"You should see him do the Master's part in Celanarian's," I said wistfully.

Cal frowned. "Okay, when did you see that?"

"We did it last night, after the banquet. In the south courtyard. That's when he asked me to do that demonstration this morning."

My friend stared in some consternation. Finally he exclaimed, "Well, I'm glad you didn't cut his head off!"

I laughed.

"Seriously, Aeli, have you given any thought to how little sense this all makes? The galaxy's best lightsaberman comes to Coruscant and takes this trainee under his wing?"

I decided it would be best to keep secret the fact that I'd be training every afternoon that week with Brenan. "Yes, I know it makes no sense," I agreed. "That's why I've been so distracted."

Cal sat for a moment deep in thought, then said, "You've been weird about Brenan from the moment you laid eyes on him. Has he said anything to you about any of this?"

I wasn't sure how much I should reveal on that subject. "I'll probably talk to him about it," I said, and left it at that.

"You should discuss it, something's definitely going on. You should have seen yourself in that drill."

In point of fact, feeling it had been even stranger.

* * *

My training with Brenan over those five days provided no shortage of strangeness. Practice was strange, conversation was strange, it was a constant challenge to deal with the familiarity and intimacy which came unbidden.

I loved to hear him tell stories from his past, and the experience was made even more interesting because in the process he would clarify some impression of his character I already possessed psychically, without yet having a basis in fact. For example, he told me of how he resolved his differences with one of the other Knights while on an assignment to Azzipa. The other Jedi, by the name of Puer Xis, was determined to capture a local murderer alive. The criminal was hiding out in a dangerous part of the city with a number of his associates, and they were well armed. Brenan was leading the mission and in charge of making the call as to the level of violence the action would require once it was underway. But he had a good idea Xis wouldn't necessarily follow his lead when they were under fire.

Xis was unruly, but there was one arena in which he played by the rules: Azzipan dice. He was a high roller but never cheated, and took great pride in his honorable reputation for the game. Brenan challenged him to a round, but instead of betting money, he pledged control of the mission. It was risky, since he really didn't have the authority to hand the reigns to Xis. It was also risky because Brenan admitted to me his telekinesis skills were very poor and he was going to have to win fair and square.

It was at this point in the story where my déjà vu kicked in: That is, my weird psychic connection to Brenan had already revealed to me his ability to creatively find his way out of any situation. Consequently, before he even told me, I knew he was going to lose the game, but have his way with Puer Xis anyway.

"I can't say I was happy when I rolled those evens," said Brenan, as he wiped the sweat off his brow with a towel--we were taking a break. "But Puer certainly was pleased. I'll never forget the look on his face, like he just opened some big present he'd always wanted. Xis didn't care about what he was winning, he just liked winning."

"Well, how exactly did you get out of that one?" I asked, smiling.

"Salesmanship, of course. Some impressive line of orloo manure about my determination to convince the rest of our party that Puer was in charge."

"Orloo manure, eh?" I asked, skeptical. I knew this was bluster.

"Well, all right, at the time I was actually sincere. After all, a bet's a bet, it was my stupidity to try it. And ironically, it was my sincerity that got through to him. That was the kind of thing that impressed the man, being honorable to your word. The fact that I was willing to put him in charge because I lost the game gave him some weird respect for me. We ordered a few more ales...quite a few...and by the end of the evening he was swearing allegiance to me and the Force and the Republic with passion and tears."

"What happened with the mission then?"

Brenan leaned forward, a light in his eyes. "Here's where the story gets really good. He saved my life. During the skirmish the murderer we were after got me cornered without my weapon. Puer Xis had to kill him to save me. He wasn't happy about it but he also knew it had to be. There are times he makes me want to punch him, but I'd be glad to have him with me in any fight, he's a good man."

Yes, it was truly an odd feeling to be getting to know someone, and rather than learning new things about them, to be constantly experiencing confirmation of what you already knew before. But even more unnerving was when it happened in reverse. Another time, while we were getting ready to start practice, I was telling Brenan the story of how I met Calnor.

"We were both fourteen, and we were partnered together for a wilderness exercise in the Roughlands," I began. "We hit it off right away, and at the time I was really searching for a good friend. The exercise was going very well, and the better I got to know Cal, the more I liked him. I already had it in my head we were going to be best friends. But the last night things didn't go so well..."

"How so?" asked Brenan.

"We were doing a night hike, we were supposed to locate this particular rock formation, and we stopped in this creek bed. The stars were unbelievable. I was staring up at the sky, admittedly for a pretty long time, and I guess Cal just decided it was time to get going again. Only I didn't notice. When I looked around he was just gone."

"This is not a good thing," said Brenan, and I could tell from his tone he understood without my saying further word. What might have been mildly alarming to a normal child was, to me, terrifying and grief-inducing. There were few I could make fully understand how I felt about abandonment--Mace Windu might have been the only one--but here was Brenan comprehending without a word of explanation from me.

"At first I couldn't believe it," I continued. "I figured if I went even a little way on the path I'd spot him again. It made no sense that he had left without me. But after a couple minutes I still hadn't found him. At that point I started to cry a little...very bad, since back then I was still struggling a lot with feeling inferior to my friends because I was a girl..."

"It's hard in the early stages when everything is about the physical, when you're not spiritually advanced enough to even the playing field."

"Exactly," I agreed. "So I was crying, and first I was angry that he left me, but that quickly changed to feeling like it was all my fault for staring up at the stars like that. I wanted to kick myself for being so stupid, for losing Cal like that."

Brenan smiled at me affectionately, trying sincerely not to find this youthful tale amusing. But in spite of his expression, I could still perceive he sympathized. It made me wish he would have been around to talk to when I was fourteen.

"I remember wandering down that trail for what seemed like hours, and I was less scared of the capanids in the bushes than of the mere fact that I was alone and my friend had actually left me behind. I cried harder and harder, and then I was afraid I actually would find Cal and he would make fun of me for crying."

"Sad to say, I don't blame you...if I'd been Cal I would have done just that I'm sure."

I gave him a look but realized he was teasing me again. "Okay, so I ended up giving up on Cal and decided I was going to find that damn rock formation myself or die trying. Well, turned out that I did, sometime a few hours before dawn, and meanwhile Cal got himself hopelessly lost and the Master had to retrieve him."

"That'll teach him."

"We've been friends ever since."

"A classic Jedi friendship."

Meanwhile, my friendship with Brenan was anything but classic. Our conversations always had these bizarre elements, and it was no better when we worked on the lessons. Uncanny things never failed to happen. The most unsettling aspect proved to be when we fought with practice sabers, which was impromptu because they couldn't hurt you too much, unless you were struck inappropriately hard. When Brenan and I fought with practice sabers, when we actually tried to compete rather than cooperate, it didn't work. After a minute or two it was always the same: we would slip into this state of connection. It was seductive, really; there was such exhilaration at being able to feel the other person's moves, anticipate every action, that it made one want to be as much in sync as possible. The element of surprise was out of the question. So our sessions might as well have been choreographed.

On the fourth day, frustrated by the drought of competition, Brenan told me, "We need to challenge someone to a doubles fight."

"What a good idea," I said wickedly.

We looked at each other and I sensed in him the same feeling I possessed myself: an intoxicating urge of competitiveness.

By this time there was no point in our attempting to keep secret what we had been up to with the training all week. On the one hand, Brenan had gotten proper authorization from my Masters; on the other, the rumor of it was all over the trainees' quarters by the second day. So the doubles fight--Brenan recruited Master Wed'azon and I coerced a reluctant Cal--could hardly be kept private. We scheduled it for late afternoon in the main training room.

Practice saber fighting was an art in and of itself. It was even done in formal competition, during which the combatants wore special suits made of fabric that gave off a glow when struck. Thus it could be declared that the loser "gave up an arm," "took a mortal to the belly," or "was beheaded."

After three minutes Brenan and I were victorious. My best friend took a mortal to the heart from Brenan while I kept my lightsaber Master occupied. Wed'azon was not much more of a challenge, even though by the rules Cal was allowed to keep fighting after his "injury." Brenan sensed I was getting an upper hand on my Master, so he kept Cal out of the way until I had dealt the death blow. It was only the presence of Auri-Owan on the floor that would save face for Master Wed'azon, after he was beheaded by the practice saber of a trainee.

Brenan leaned to me as the crowd applauded us. "We should have challenged three," he said quietly.

"Damn straight," I agreed.

It was likewise great fun each day when we practiced Celanarian's: perfecting the details, upping the tempo, to the point that I knew I would do wonderfully well when I did it for my final. However, training with Auri-Owan was not all glory and amusement. He was obsessed with repetition, and ran me through drills until I wanted to kill him. I was dreaming the five positions all night long, something I hadn't done since I was a novice. Nevertheless, I found the more I went through what seemed like meaningless exercises, the more instinctual the physical became, thus freeing me to focus on the spiritual. And I knew I needed to. I wouldn't always have Brenan there as a crutch when it came to doing the Third Focus.

"You're not taking enough time," he told me firmly on the fifth afternoon. "Don't rush yourself."

"In a real situation, I won't have any time," I replied, frustrated and testy.

"By the time you're in a real situation, you won't need any time. But only if you listen to me now."

We were standing on the floor of our training room, saber-less, working on the Third. Again working on the Third, and I knew I was getting mad because of my awareness that if he helped me, there was nothing to it. But of course, he wouldn't help me.

"Why can't I do it without you?" I cried, barely restraining myself from stomping my foot like a spoiled child.

Brenan sighed. "Because you're young, because it's hard. Believe me, it's only because you're rushing. You have to tell yourself you have all the time in the world, you have hours, you can take hours if you want to. Now try it again, but make it take hours."

I thought this was crazy. I stared at him, not exactly defiantly, but I knew he knew I thought it was crazy.

His eyes narrowed then. I got a sudden feeling that I had been grabbed and lifted and was dangling in mid-air, only it was my mind and not my body that had been seized. His hard glare held me pinned, frozen, and in a way I had never felt before, terrified.

"Obey me," ordered Brenan.

Had I ever experienced authority before that moment? What authority could provoke such a sense of urgency that I felt just then? I felt like if I didn't do what he said, even a minute ago before he had uttered it, I would simply perish. I think I said "forgive me," or perhaps "yes sir," but at any rate there was no thought in my head but this one: "Make it take hours."

My mind rushed back to the first time I had read "A Treatise on Physical and Spiritual Preparation for Lightsaber Battle, in Three Parts" by Brenan Auri-Owan, to the passage on the Third Focus, and I read it again. I read it again, all four pages, over and over, perhaps ten times. As I read it, I superimposed over it the times I had accomplished Third Focus under his imposition. It all made sense, it made perfect sense...

But that was the wrong way to look at it. In the final analysis, it didn't matter if the Third Routine made sense. Sense was completely irrelevant. It was really about...about trust... After all, he had told me how, he had showed me how, what more did I need to have faith in the Force?

It started to come over me, but I didn't rush it. If I rushed, it wouldn't take hours. And he had ordered me to make it take hours. So I slowed it down, I let the tranquility trickle down like slow beads of glycerin through my nervous system. It established itself over me in the tiniest of increments, but as slow as it was, it was thorough and complete. I crystallized, only softly, flexibly. I could feel myself, and Brenan, and we were both so still we didn't need to breathe to sustain our life.

I opened my eyes.

"You're there," Brenan said. "I only counted to three."

I blinked slowly, registering no amazement, although I knew it would be very appropriate. "I read your treatise ten times, Brenan."

"Did you really think time matters to the Force?" he asked me. The question resonated through my body. I wondered if I would ever forget it.

* * *

Perhaps time didn't matter to the Force, but that didn't change the fact that our two-hour sessions passed much too quickly, as did the five days. I changed over that time in ways it would take me weeks to comprehend. That my lightsaber skills improved was undeniable, but that was the least of it. My connection to Brenan seemed to evolve on a daily basis, and me with it. At first it was a combination of exhilarating and uncomfortable, a thrill that was as stressful as it was exciting. But as the days passed, while I didn't exactly get used to it, it became more a part of daily existence and therefore easier to accept. Experiencing emotions that came from a source other than my own heart awakened me to the larger world beyond my five senses, and that in turn helped me greatly to trust the Force. Meanwhile, understanding this other person so effortlessly only emphasized to me how shallow were my bonds with the other people in my life. I resolved, for example, to get to know Calnor better. No doubt he would find my efforts peculiar, but I didn't care. All in all, these seemed like positive developments to me.

However, I became more and more apprehensive about Brenan's departure. The last couple days I was no longer successful at holding off my dread. Being left behind was hard enough for me, how would I deal with the world without his presence? For as the week wore on, we became more and more sensitive to each other, until I found I could always establish his general location and was frequented often by little whispers of his emotional state. The question was, just how far away could he go before I lost touch? He hadn't specifically told me his destination when he took the transport off of Coruscant, but I had a good idea it wasn't anywhere close. I could only pray that physical distance might make no difference.

It wouldn't have been so hard either if it weren't for the quality of his presence in my life. Of course from the first moment he had been positively inclined toward me, but the establishment of a "real" friendship which occurred over those days only enhanced this. He developed a fatherly protectiveness towards me which sometimes belied his habitual teasing in the most interesting way. He might be badgering me and grinning at my miffed reaction, but all the while I felt from him a tender affection that was as palpable as a warm blanket on a chill night. He was an extremely independent soul, used to a lifetime of being on his own, but I also sensed him reluctantly allowing a thread of reliance upon me to form. What he relied on me for, I couldn't fathom. But I felt it nevertheless.

I genuinely feared the strength of the bond between us. Or rather, feared the pain that would come if it broke. And since our future held no possibility of the same path, what other outcome could there be?

If Brenan were bothered by such concerns, I couldn't tell it. The link was not that specific. However, it was clear that something was disturbing him, something which seemed not to involve me, because his agitation increased when he was away from me. I didn't know what he did with his time outside our sessions; I knew there were meetings occurring, both with Master Yoda and with the Council, but the subject of these was a mystery. Something severe must have occurred mid-week, for I experienced second-hand turmoil much of that day. I kept my ear to the ground for news of trouble in the Republic, but heard nothing. I felt guilty for being bothered by my own foolish problems when there might be something dire afoot in the larger world.

Whatever these difficulties might have been, Brenan set them aside on our last day. He even made himself available for us to go to supper at the Meri-Borx. Full of their renowned geddotuber pie--what more appropriate dish might we have shared?--and imbibing more than a few ales, we had a joyful meal in spite of our impending separation.

"A full stomach seems to bring you great contentment, Brenan," I told him as the steward took away our empty plates.

"From a time I didn't always enjoy the privilege," he replied, "but tell me, when will it cease being so unnerving to have you read my moods?" His stern look was in jest, but I knew there was a certain earnestness to the question.

"Sorry. Are you getting used to it at all?"

"No offense...it's just that I've never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve. I don't like the exposure. Between this and your knack at getting me to tell you everything..."

"You don't tell me everything. I don't know where you're going tomorrow, or why."

He studied my face a moment. "There are things I don't tell you because they're more than a trainee should have to bear. I'm not secretive just to be mysterious. More ale?"

"One more, although I shouldn't." I was in a curious mood, and maybe it was the ale...in the warm lamplight of the Borx, my friend looked suddenly so good to me, such a face that made me rejoice just to look at it, such a form that made me wish never a day had to pass without my laying eyes upon it. The moment of happiness gave way immediately to pain, and in spite of myself I said, "Bren, where are you going?"

He signaled for the steward, holding up two fingers, then turned back to me and sighed. "Hopefully, where I should be. I'm needed somewhere else right now, I should be changing my plans, but something holds me to them. I just hope I'm doing the right thing."

I was at a loss how to respond to this mysterious statement, so I held silent. Our ales arrived and we drank. Then Brenan said, "I'm going to Aleyra, to study under Master Teg."

Aleyra was far, very far. "Why?" I asked simply.

"Because I need to be advanced to Master, and I never will unless Teg can help me."

"He's the one with the..."

"--the psychic skill. Master Yoda tells me if anyone can help me, it's him."

I could perceive Brenan was not comfortable discussing this. The whole matter puzzled me. "You can't be saying you're weak in this area...then how do you explain--?"

"It's you. It's just with you. I told you, when I played dice against Puer Xis I didn't stand a chance if it came to telekinesis. I don't know what it is, I just can't apply the Force that way. In a fight it's easy. If I need to deal with some challenge, rise to some occasion, no problem. I learned to hold my bleeding when I was eighteen. But thought control...the mind trick? Nothing. And I couldn't lift this ring two inches off the table," he finished, brandishing his right hand, which wore a gold band on the first finger.

"I don't believe it," I said. "You've been in my head all week. I thought you--"

"It's the only reason I'm not a Master yet, Aeli. And I need to be one, soon."

He took a long drink, as if to indicate there would be no further elaboration on that point.

"Try the ring," I told him. He looked a little disgusted, but took it off and set it on the table between us. I could sense how little he liked having to demonstrate an inadequacy. "A wise man once taught me not to rush these things," I added.

He gave me a quirky smile. "The same wise man may have taught you to be a bit of a smartass," he said. I laughed.

Brenan turned his eyes to the ring. It floated five inches into the air.

"By the gods," he said, aghast.

"Told you," I said, although I was as shocked as he was.

"Did you do that?" Brenan asked me.

"Absolutely not." I held my index finger up. "Here, put it on my finger."

He shook his head, flabbergasted, and we watched the ring rise, travel the distance to my hand, and settle easily and gently down the length of my finger. The weight of it came to rest. I stared at the ring on my hand, a wide gold one engraved with suns around the band at the four compass points.

"It's very pretty," I said matter-of-factly.

Brenan replied, as if in a dream, "It's been in my family for five generations. If I lost it, I would be disowned."

"I suppose you'll have to ask Master Teg about this, when you ask him about everything else."

"I suppose I will."

Then Brenan snapped out of his baffled reverie. "I want to try something else," he said. "Go outside once, just outside the door. Out of my line of sight, but leave the door ajar."

"If you're going to move it across the room, keep it high so no one snatches it..."

"Or low," he said. "Now go."

There was no disobeying when he took that tone, so I went. I dodged through the crowded tavern and slipped out the door, leaving it open a couple of inches, and trying to look nonchalant all the while. I stood there, holding out my hand with the fingers spread, and kept my eye on the opening in the door, scanning both high and low for the ring's emergence. Fortunately no one came or went for the next minute, and then at last I saw the glint of the ring scooting low through the opening. It floated up, finding my index finger easily. I closed my hand into a fist around it. I wanted to shout with glee.

I flung open the door and scampered back to the table, sitting down and holding out my hand to Brenan triumphantly. He simply shook his head. At last he said, "Well, at least now I know I've chosen the right thing to do next."

"Do you know now?" I asked, gladdened to the core to hear this.

"Without a doubt."

I made a move to pull off the ring, but he covered my hand in his.

"No, keep it for now," he said.

I stared at him, astonished.

"If you lose it, I'll be disowned!" he admonished me.

"Why are you doing this?" was all I could manage to say.

Brenan looked at me, trying to conceal the emotions I could easily feel anyway. "It's the kind of thing that means something to you, isn't it? Having it until I come back?"

"Yes," I said, feeling the sting of tears starting. I squeezed the ring with the fingertips of my left hand, feeling the little suns.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone," said Brenan. "I'd tell you if I knew, but I don't."

I nodded, and turned the ring around my finger. It was much too big, I would have to put it on a chain.

"You'll be all right," he told me firmly.

I sighed deeply, trying to believe him but not at all convinced.

We didn't speak about it on the walk back to the Temple. Instead he told me stories about the ring, times it had been lost and found again, the various men who had worn it and their histories, for they had all been interesting and eccentric gentlemen. Brenan's father had been a Jedi too, killed in battle while Brenan was yet unborn, but he knew so many stories about the man that they seemed to have a strong connection even without knowing each other.

If Brenan Auri-Owan was anything, he was a master storyteller. I forgot to be sad, I didn't notice the buildings passing us, until we came to the entrance to the trainees' quarters.

It was then that my dread and sorrow got the better of me. I could no longer keep the emotions at bay, though I tried with all the self-discipline my Jedi training had taught me. I stood before Brenan, feeling small and already lost, absolutely unable to find my voice to bid him farewell.

When I looked up into his face I found a most remarkable sight: the reflection of all the weight that bore down upon my heart. The next moment was even more amazing. I thought he had put his arms around me, but in fact they were still at his sides. Something enveloped me, something sweet and warm and comforting. My head tipped to the side involuntarily, as if resting against the presence which was not actually physically there. It was a moment's relief, enough to strengthen me for saying goodbye.

Brenan took a step closer, took me by the shoulders, and kissed me on the forehead. "I have one more word of instruction for you, soon-to-be Padawan," he said soberly.

"Yes?" I whispered.

"Don't cry. I have to come back for that ring, so don't cry."

That night in my bed, I discovered it was possible for me to disobey him.