Legacy 6
Chapter 3: Problem Child
Anoon "Iron Hand" Bondara chuckled sardonically, rubbing down his hands, arms, and torso with a liberal coating of chalk dust. "You haven't thought better of this yet, eh?"
Imitating his companion's example, Obi-Wan braced himself for the coming contest, neatly folding tunics and sash upon one of the low benches at the dojo practice arena's perimeter. His 'saber he laid atop the small pile with reverence. "Of course not."
"You always were a reckless whelp, Kenobi."
The young Knight quirked a smile, turning to face his adversary as he removed both boots and flexed bare toes against the floor's smooth matting. "And we all know an akk returns to his vomit."
The Temple weapons-master barked with laughter. "Upstart wretch. I'll give you something to howl about." Burly, every compacted muscle veined and knotted and decorated with coarse silver hair and fine scar lines from decades of intensive combat practice in every imaginable pan-galactic martial discipline, Master Bondara presented a fairly intimidating challenge to any of his students or peers. He folded his hands and executed the formal bow before any sparring match, his younger counterpart following suit.
"Best one of one?' Obi-Wan suggested.
"Until you whine for mercy." They circled cautiously, barefoot and stripped to the waist, dusted down to impede the opponent's grappling hold, postures supple and relaxed, the Force taut with coiled energy. "Now remember," the senior Jedi added, slipping habitually into teaching mode, "without a weapon – without a saber- your focus is opposite that of armed combat."
His diligent pupil nodded. The Force is the blade of the heart; the Jedi is the crystal of the Force. These principles informed the Jedi philosophy of unarmed conflict, a specialist's discipline chosen by few as their area of mastery. The lightsaber and its powerful valence, both symbolic and historic, shaped the traditional path of study , informing it from beginning to end. But Anoon Bondara's expertise extended even to the most obscure limits, making him a versatile and formidable foe – the most exacting of instructors, and one secretly delighted to have an eager acolyte even in temporary capacity.
With an ear-splitting kiai shrill enough to disrupt even a deep centering trance, the master launched into his opening attack. The Force spattered like foam atop a tempest-churned sea, thundered like an avalanche pounding headlong down virgin slopes. The two opponents closed hand to hand, throwing punches and kicks at the speed of a hummer's frantic wingbeats, blocking and savagely returning the failed strkes, their bodies twisting and dancing across the mat, feet beating a fierce rhythm as they jumped, lunged, centered and retreated, their breath coming in a duet of grunts and sharp exhalations as the pace of their contest demanded ever more power and concentration.
A single visitor made entrance to the practice room, an umber-clad shadow lurking demurely at the arena's periphery. Too engrossed In their playful warfare to greet this newcomer, the two Jedi occupying the salle's light-flooded center blithely carried on, until Master Bondara came in under his foe's guard and locked them in a grappling hold. Hands slid over chalked skin, striving to gain a firm anchor; shoulder to shoulder they pushed against one another like a pair of yoked nerfs, feet slippiing and muscles straining, the Force roiling about them as each sought to use its influence to upset the other's balance.
The visitor pursed her lips and upon the hard bench.
A moment later, the weapons-master heaved his opponent bodily over one shoulder and sent him crashing to the mat with a shout of triumph. His next strike went wide as the young Jedi writhed out of harm's way, adder-like, seizing the older man's ankle and bringing him toppling down beside him. They fell upon one another again, a wrestling match unequaled except in the swamps of Dagobah where primordial reptiles strove for mastery against one another. Strikes slammed into the mats inches from heads, ribs, groins; the two men rolled apart and sprang to their feet in unison, salt moisture now carving rivers and tributaries through the chalk upon their skin. Anoon Bondara pounced like a hungry colwar, carrying them both off the mat's edge; Obi-Wan rolled with the blow, planting his foot against his foe's sternum even as they turned head over heels. The older of the pair slammed hard into the plastered wall, leaving a hairline fracture in the white coating; his young opponent slid into the empty benches not far away, scattering them like frightened birds and yelping as his shoulder came up hard against the opposite wall.
The weaponsmaster gripped at his side; the young Knight rolled over and grinned through a wheezing chuckle.
"Sola, sola, sola!" He waved a pacific hand, stumbling to his feet and slicking back drenched hair from his forehead.
But Master Bondara grimaced expressively. "No, no – I yield, you ruffian. I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."
Obi-Wan felt gingerly along his jawline, and a dozen other places where a strident lesson had been received in the course of the last quarter hour. "I think I'm too old for this sort of thing," he panted, limping forward to execute a somewhat cramped bow.
Their solitary witness found her feet. "Both of you are far past the appropriate age for such immoderate and unseemly tussling . Shame on you – Jedi are keepers of the peace, not petty brigands!"
Master Bondara was the first to recover his equilibrium, meeting this sharp admonition with diplomatic polish. "Sifa," he greeted their aggravated guest. "Forgive my distraction. A training exercise. May I be of assistance?"
Sifa Ko-La, an elderly Graan clan-mistress of stern mien and sterner principles, drew up all three eyestalks in a rigidly affronted line. "Actually, " she sniffed, "I crave a word with Master Obi-Wan." The honorific was weighted with infinitesimal disdain.
The subject of this request hastily toweled himself off and fastened the ties of his inner tunic. "Of course, Master Sifa. I am at your disposal."
Triply rheumy eyes squinted balefully down upon him. "Yes," the Graan Jedi addressed him, for all the world as though she were calling some errant youngling out upon the carpet for disrespect," I think it is high time we had a private conversation regarding your padawan."
The young Knight glanced apologetically downward at his disheveled appearance. "If you will be so kind – "
"There is no time for that," Master Sifa cut across his reply. " I have already absented myself from my duties long enough. I pray you will indulge me?"
With an irrational flutter of apprehension in his belly, and a single wistful glance at the shower room's entrance, Obi-Wan nodded his acquiescence. Anoon Bondara caught his eye, winked broadly, and sallied away – his rolling gait carrying him out of earshot and therefore out of helpful range at a remarkably brisk pace.
"Shall we?" the implacable clan-mistress said, imperiously leading the way out.
Her victim hastily pulled on his boots and sauntered after her, his cloak and remaining clothing rolled in ball beneath one arm, 'saber hastily clipped to his waistband and slapping smartly against his thigh with each stride.
The ancient Jedi tucked broad-fingered hands deep into opposite sleeves and addressed the concourse directly ahead. "May I remind you that not all the honored denizens of this Temple are raised in the unorthodox manner peculiar to Dragon Clan. The younglings under my care, for instance, are not encouraged to voice exception to their elders' dictates, nor to settle trifling disputes by means of belligerent contests."
Troon Palo's boisterous crew was by no means allowed such ill-disciplined behavior, either, but Obi-Wan was diplomat enough not to embroil himself in debate. "I would by no means criticize your pedagogical methods, Master."
A soft, almost bovine, snort. "I'm afraid I find myself in a position to criticize yours. Your apprentice has occasioned repeated and significant distress to one of my charges. The hostility between the two of them has amplified into an explicit rivalry. And since the provocation continues unabated, I can only assume that you are in willful ignorance of its existence."
Nettled, the young master raised his chin and deliberately smoothed his tone. "If you are referring to the difficulties between Anakin and Ferus Olin, I am quite aware – "
"In which case, you are negligent."
Obi-Wan came to a full stop, bringing the disapproving Graan up short beside him. "With due respect, Master, the discipline of my padawan is a matter of prerogative, and pertains exclusively to me. "
But Sifa merely shook her head, deep lines upon her ochre-toned skin taking on the immutability of carven rock. "Not when it impinges upon the welfare of my students. May I remind you, Master Kenobi, that there are those in this community with many decades' superior experience to your own? The education of younglings is not undertaken in a vacuum. Like it or not, whether or not the fact is amenable to his own preferences, your student exists in relation to all the other Jedi under this roof. " She thrust one blunt-tipped finger at the arched ceiling above. "And must learn to comport himself with dignity, respect, and restraint. That should already have been learned, in the crèche."
Anakin, of course, had been reared a slave on a backworld, without advantage of proper education, enculturation in the Jedi tradition, benefit of equally talented peers or supportive mentors besides his mother – not to mention basic securities like food and reliable shelter. The boy's master bristled inwardly. "And when," he politely inquired, "was the Code amended to advocate compassion only under ideal circumstances?"
The older Jedi's nostrils flared as she released a puff of acute vexation; her spine rammed into a vertical line. "I see where the child has learned his habit of insolence; if you are unable to resolve the matter privately, then I must submit a formal grievance to the Council."
Obi-Wan gritted his teeth; another confrontation with the Temple's higher authorities was not on his personal agenda for Anakin's training. "I am sure a private discussion with both younglings would be beneficial…. Perhaps I might act as mediary between them?"
Master Sifa relaxed fractionally, sensing a partial victory. "This evening," came the terse reply. "I will expect you promptly at seventh bell."
"So who won?" Anakin innocently asked, kicking both feet rapidly against the meditation cushion's curved edge.
Obi-Wan wearily rubbed at the base of his skull. "Winning is not the objective of martial training; we've already explored this concept a dozen times, and – "
"Yeah, yeah, I know,Master, but did you beat the stuffing out of Master Bondara, like you said you were gonna?"
"I made no such threat or prognostication."
"I bet you won. " thump thumpthump thumpthump thump….. the furniture was standing well in the way of succumbing to the fate so eagerly predicated upon Anoon Bondara. A sharp look and a curt gesture stilled the energetic staccato. Anakin sullenly folded himself into lotus posture.
"It was a draw. We didn't finish the contest."
"Aw. Well, can I watch next time? 'Cause this class rotation's almost done and then I'll have more time!"
"Perhaps." Obi-Wan rummaged about for tea; surely the headache thrumming behind his eyes called for immediate succor. And he could use a distraction.
"You seem kinda edgy," the boy observed, characteristically shrewd and disarming. "I'm not in trouble with the other masters again, am I?"
The young Knight drew a hand over his face. "…Ferus Olin."
Is protégé had the good grace to shrink back into himself, fingers of one hand truculently unraveling a loose thread along his sleeve's hem. "Oh."
"Yes: oh." There was no tea worthy of the name in his personal supplies. Obi-Wan settled for a graceful collapse upon the opposite cushion, the one formerly reserved for Qui-Gon's use. It creaked beneath his weight, bespeaking a lifetime of long-suffering service in the cause of Jedi serenity. "In fact, we are going to speak with him tonight, privately. This… dispute, or whatever it is – do not interrupt me, Padawan – needs to come to a swift end. Rivalry is not permitted, nor resentment. We cannot be keepers of the peace of we fail to live in harmony even with our fellow Jedi."
Anakin looked straight through him. "Master Qui-Gon sir told me about Bruck Chun."
Stunned, Obi-Wan opened and then shut his mouth.
"He said you used to duel with him and fight and stuff. All the time, even after he told you not to."
"The relevant lesson being – "
"And he said he thought he was gonna have to really punish you to make sure it didn't happen again. Like a whipping, or something."
Obi-Wan held up a hand, warning his impertinent student to desist.
"Only then Bruck Chun died, so it wasn't a problem anymore. And he says you wept at the funeral."
It was difficult to suppress the hot flush rising in his face; more problematic still to determine whether the casual dissemination of his personal details, or the subtle undermining of his authority, was the more irksome facet of this revelation.
Anakin twisted his hands together, agitatedly. "So maybe you understand? And this might be similar?"
Force help him, he was not to be so easily played – by his padawan or his former mentor. "Don't count on it," he advised, more trenchantly than he intended. "Ferus is not going oblige you with an early demise; and I am not nearly as patient as Master Qui-Gon."
The boy squirmed in place. "Yes, Master. Sorry, Master."
"Get your cloak. We have an appointment to keep."
