CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: A SEA OF FACES

As I, too, departed from Master Nurk's classroom, I fumed: Who in the Force does Lixivia think she is? What gives her the right to demean Noth and me like that? We're all Padawans-in-training, so none of us outrank each other. Besides, even if we did, we'd be expected to show more class than that! Just because she trains under Master Voyna, that doesn't give Lixivia any special privileges. However… A worrisome thought occurred to me. Maybe it does. Perhaps Master Voyna told Lixivia about our sparring match, but it's more likely that "Miss Falt" was eavesdropping when she heard about it. Anyway, what's her problem?!

I suddenly remembered something I'd read years ago, as a Youngling, when we were studying the basic characteristics of alien species: "To outsiders, members of the Echani are nearly indistinguishable from one another. It is not courteous to mention this particular aspect of their race, especially in polite company. Do everything you can to remember their names and distinctive Force signatures." Aha! So she wants to get noticed, but she's doing it the wrong way. Lixivia's gifted in the forms and stances of unarmed combat, but so are the other Echani students here. Sighing, I shook my head. Still, that doesn't make her attitude right. I guess that for her, it's easier to bully and put other people down than stand out on her own merits.

I was angry all through my last course of the day, First-Form Algebra, and could barely pay attention. My mind kept wandering back to her sly smile, baiting stare, and oh-so-virtuous act in front of Nurk. Did she think that all of us were stupid, and couldn't see through her? Obviously so, but where did Lixivia get the gall to be such a hypocrite to our teacher? As I recalled her honeyed words laced with poison for me, my hands involuntarily clenched into fists. Now it was Lixivia that I wanted to fight, instead of her Master.

After class, it took all of my self-restraint to keep from storming down the hallways of the Jedi Academy section of the Temple. Even so, people quickly moved out of my way when they saw me coming. I was either going to find my rival and challenge her to a sparring match of our own, or return to my quarters and let a certain holocron presence know all about what happened today. When I saw that my chronometer read 1550 hours, though, I turned and dashed in the other direction. I have an appointment with Knight Sten! As he'd promised, he was in the Outdoor Arena, meditating in a lotus position upon its spongy turf.

"Good afternoon, Knight Sten," I said once he sensed I was near and opened his eyes. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you," he replied, but then looked alarmed. "What's wrong? You shouldn't practice yet."

"Why not?"

"I can feel the anger roiling off of you. Such feelings in either opponent can be very dangerous in a match."

I lowered my head, knowing he was right. "Agreed. I have a rival, who insulted me very pointedly today."

Instead of asking for juicy details, Sten kept the subject general. "I take it this isn't a friendly rivalry, then?"

"Not at all. It isn't the first time she's treated me this way, either. When she did in class today, I couldn't get her face out of my mind, smirking and looking at me like I was bantha dung she'd scrape off of her shoe."

Sten held out his hands, with the palms facing upward. "Will you meditate with me for a moment, please?" Nodding, I let him help me lower myself to the ground and fold my legs into the proper position. He did the same. "Close your eyes, and picture that same image. Imagine every detail." That wasn't very hard to do. "Now, imagine moving back from that face, still focusing upon it but thinking that you're a camera lens. Back and back you go, allowing your rival's visage to become smaller and smaller. What do you see?"

"There are other females around her in a vast sea," I told him. "All of them look exactly the same: white hair, blue eyes, and skin so pale that it's almost translucent. I can't pick out her face from among the others." This image in my mind's eye made me shudder. I yearned to open my eyes, but dared not.

"Good. This last step may be difficult for you, as it is for me, but take a deep breath anyway. Let all other details fade. What do you see through the Force? Your Master is a Miraluka. What might he envision?"

"Red," I replied, surprised at the odd and almost disembodied tone of my voice. "There is a scarlet light, a beacon to the Dark Side of the Force, among all of those perfectly white faces. That's her. That's my rival. Her talents are the talents of her people, the Echani, just as her appearance is. She feels such rage because she doesn't know how else to be different." I was speechless, stunned. "I didn't see it before -"

"Now you do," said Sten gently. "Allow the darkness of deep space to enfold you, and open your eyes." I obeyed, wincing at the assault of the afternoon's light. "How do you feel right now, Padawan Yllari?"

I decided not to correct him about my lack of rank. "Much better; thank you. I'm not angry anymore. I'm simply filled with a deep sorrow, because I don't know how to help her distinguish herself from her peers."

"That is a matter for your rival to resolve, not you," Sten replied firmly. "I am glad that you want to aid her, but in this case, I believe she must first look within herself." He paused. "Do you wish to practice now?"

"Indeed." A grin emerged upon my face, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "Let's do this!"