The Golden Padawan

by Diane Lau

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  THE GOLDEN PADAWAN

  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.

&n
bsp; “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.