Chapter Nine
Ma-Ul appeared quite formidable. He and Qui-Gon spied on the Soturi while he was practicing his maneuvers in the empty arena later that morning. He was a stocky built man, much like Obi-Wan, but all over his ruddy skin were marks of his tribe: permanent black etchings, which covered literally every uma of his compact, muscular body. Even the top of his shaved head was marked, in the language and symbols of his clan.
He was practicing with a long Leski sword, his to and fro swings sweeping through the sand on each passing.
There were already citizens seated in the arena, nearly four tunti before the prebattle entertainment. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon sat near the top of the arena in the shadows just beneath the crossing tapestries.
"His moves are very fluent, Master," Obi-Wan observed, "and fast," he added when Ma-Ul's swings sped up substantially.
"No quicker than Chu-Un's," Qui-Gon argued, "or yours," he added with a grin. "Look at the way he drops his right shoulder."
Obi-Wan had already noticed, although he hadn't mentioned it.
"He's left-handed. You'll have to adjust your stance," Qui-Gon clarified, to which Obi-Wan silently agreed, mentally picturing his position opposite the fierce-looking warrior.
"And note the scars on his right arm. That indicates a weak defense on that side, perhaps an over-correction or a fault in his training. "
Obi-Wan made note of his Master's comments, though occasionally his focus would leave the fighter and wander up into the crowd. He wondered if Pad-Me would be present today, and if so, where would she be sitting? Would she come alone? Or would she arrive with friends? Would he have to find her after the battle, or would she come to him?
If he were alive after the battle, that is. Who was he to predict the future? He was no mystic. The Fates may have other plans. This may be his final fight, and despite Qui-Gon's confidence, they may never enter the gates of Upea. Obi-Wan hoped they would. Qui-Gon seemed to have his heart set on it. To accomplish that, though, perhaps Obi-Wan should focus.
"Watch, Obi-Wan. Watch this. " Qui-Gon regained his attention by pointing at the warrior who abruptly sprung up from the ground and performed a fantastic aerial maneuver, complete with a full twist and flip in the air. Ma-Ul landed squarely on his feet, sword ready, a bold confidence expressed in his sneer. Qui-Gon's smile, however, indicated the foe's confidence was gravely misplaced.
Obi-Wan knew what he had to do and at what point he needed to do it. He just hoped he managed to survive until its arrival.
At two tunti before the battle, Obi-Wan took his place on the carved stone bench in the waiting area on the outer circle of the arena. He pulled his legs up into a squatting position and then relaxed his neck and shoulders. But when he closed his eyes and began to pull his thoughts inward – nothing happened. For the first time in many years, the visions did not come and her face did not appear.
Obi-Wan tried many times to access the gap which bridged his reality to what he had always assumed was his destiny, only to be denied. It was as if the young woman had given up on him.
Or worse. What if something had happened to her? What if the destruction he had been witnessing had finally swept her away with it?
The thought was frightening and left Obi-Wan with a profound sense of loss.
But then his thoughts turned elsewhere; to a young woman of her resemblance. A young woman of flesh and blood, not some fantastic hallucination or passing dream.
Pad-Me was real. He had held her in his arms, felt her heat and filled her with his seed.
This other woman. This one who asked for his help: He didn't know her. He didn't even know how to assist her.
His decision was made. Obi-Wan would focus on the real. This, he could touch. This, he could taste. Perhaps the lack of vision today was the gods telling him it was time to let her go. Pad-Me was perhaps in the audience right now, watching him, waiting for him. He would find her and then claim her for his own.
But first, he had to rid himself of the painted obstacle now entering the arena.
The crowd began chanting "Ma-Ul", with an emphasis on the "Ul," dragging out the vowel to imitate the cry of a wild susik. Obi-Wan wasn't intimidated by the crowd. His own entrance heralded a loud shout of "Obi-Wan" with an emphasis on the first two syllables, and he humbly acknowledged their cheers with a wave.
Ma-Ul on the other hand was the opposite of what Obi-Wan would call humble. He howled and barked at the audience, who responded in kind. Apparently, he had a following, and was making the most of their response.
Only the various markings on the front of his chest showed at the moment. The top of his head and back were covered with the skin of a lohika, with its many horns protruding out of a skull, which Ma-Ul wore as a helmet.
Obi-Wan patiently waited as the display continued, but once Ma-Ul's ego had obviously been satisfied, he shrugged off the carcass and turned to the Manager's section. Obi-Wan did the same, bowing out of respect towards Mun-Di, noticing right away Pad-Me sat very near him. Not in the owner's section exactly, but close to it. She smiled at his recognition and he smiled back, momentarily swept away by the memory of the same type of smile hovering over him as their bodies pressed together that very morning.
Obi-Wan's fond reminiscing almost cost him his life. It had been nearly too late to react when Ma-Ul's sword came crashing down upon him.
Curse the distraction! Obi-Wan immediately scolded himself, focusing on the fierce-looking warrior who stalked him like he was prey.
The sword Ma-Ul had chosen for this battle was unlike the one Obi-Wan had watched him use in practice. This one appeared much heavier and thicker, almost as if they were two swords melded together, when in fact, that's exactly what they were.
Upon Obi-Wan's notice of the unusual weaponry, Ma-Ul gleamed, his decayed and rotting teeth revealed in his sneer as he twisted the handle of the sword, separating it into two separate pieces, both of which were swung at Obi-Wan's head.
Obi-Wan parried the maneuvers fairly easily, watching for the left preference, but seeing how Ma-Ul now swung two swords at him at once, it was difficult to find an opening.
Obi-Wan did however, finally. Once.
Just as one of Ma-Ul's arm was raising a sword high, the other swung to the side to counter, leaving Ma-Ul's chest exposed. The mistake lasted but a seku, but it was enough time to strike a blow against Ma-Ul's right upper arm.
The warrior hissed with pain and aggravation, only stepping back a single foot before coming at Obi-Wan again; this time with much more aggression.
In the eastern part of Avi-Kao, near Tembro, where Qui-Gon was from, Obi-Wan had heard tales of erections built from steel which spun round, capturing the desert wind on its sails. Beneath the tower was a pipe, which drilled deep into the sand, occasionally gushing up the clear waters which ran far beneath the surface. They were called tulimyl, and although he'd never seen one, Obi-Wan had always wanted to. What he wouldn't have given to had one when he was growing up. It would've made his job in The Pit much easier.
If ever he had seen one, Obi-Wan imagined its blades would appear as Ma-Ul's swords, rotating round and round, side to side, obviously intended to obliterate anything which got in their path. Obi-Wan stayed out the swirling swords' way, focusing upon Ma-Ul's hands instead of the swinging blades.
When the dizzying motion abruptly changed course, Obi-Wan seized the moment and executed a stabbing maneuver, not typically recommended for swordplay, interrupting Ma-Ul's motions and injuring one of his hands in the process.
The warrior howled, dropping one of the swords onto the sand, at which time, Obi-Wan leapt forward, attacking with fervor. He backed the marked man toward one wall steadily, confident he was gaining ground, only to lose it when a voice – a female voice, quite loudly and clearly screamed out at him. Stunned at the nearness of it, Obi-Wan stumbled, smacking his sword against the wall instead.
He recognized that voice. He'd been hearing it for some time. It was the woman. The one from his visions. She was still here with him, but now was not the time!
Ma-Ul took advantage of Obi-Wan's distraction and pushed himself away from the wall, twisting his body round at the same time. It was now Obi-Wan at the disadvantage – in more ways than one. Not only was the voice back, but he could hear accompanying sobs along with it, and could see tears of anguish rolling down a beautiful face, which faded in and out of view.
He tried to ignore it, but the distracting combination of sight and sound were too much to bear.
It was then, Ma-Ul acted and pinned him to the wall, the tip of the warrior's blade piercing Obi-Wan's left shoulder. The pain was searing, white hot, radiating from bone through muscle. The rotted teeth were on display again, the equally foul breath sucked up Obi-Wan's nostrils.
There were limited options, but Obi-Wan realized Ma-Ul would have to withdraw his sword to strike another blow. It would give him the opportunity to spin away or roll to the sand. Either maneuver would work, if it wasn't for the unforseen.
Obi-Wan hadn't counted on the dagger his opponent had hidden in his leathers. Only the glint of the suns upon its hilt gave it away.
With his one free arm, Obi-Wan blocked the incoming jab, dropping his sword in the process. He strained mightily, holding off the small blade which hovered near his throat. The tip of the blade actually came in contact with his skin, before Obi-Wan managed to outmaneuver Ma-Ul by turning his head and bringing up his elbow, which changed the angle of the blade, its trajectory now aimed directly at Ma-Ul's chest.
The dagger skimmed the muscle of the opponent's right side, though deeply enough to allow Obi-Wan the chance to remove the sword impaled in his shoulder. He gave a great shout when the blade slid free, but charged straight forward regardless of the pain, adrenaline now adding speed to his limbs.
Now defenseless, Ma-Ul backed away from the swinging movements of his own sword, his neck flexing, his knees bending in a defensive posture.
It was coming, and Obi-Wan prepared for it. Ma-Ul had no choice. His other weapon lay on the other side of the arena, and Obi-Wan's own was discarded against the wall. Between both and Ma-Ul, was a stinging sword in the hands of a skilled Soturi.
The springing jump wasn't nearly as high as the one Obi-Wan had witnessed in practice, but the opportunity was just as great.
It was a fool's desperate decision. Obi-Wan had only tried it once during his training, but Qui-Gon had taught him a quick and painful lesson: You can't maneuver in mid air.
As neatly as if slicing a loaf of bread, Obi-Wan's sword cut through Ma-Ul's middle just as the warrior spun over his head.
The marked tribesman landed on the sand behind him in two pieces; a top and bottom.
And the crowd went wild.
