The Disciple Part VIII

 

 

IZIZ, ONDERON

The war droid screamed through the thick atmosphere of Onderon, dodging laser blasts that sliced the air with vehemence. Mandalore helmed the controls, barely suppressing his glee. "I haven't ridden one of these in over 40 years!" he cried, blasting an offensive fighter out of the sky, and Anet heard the grin in his voice. The plating around them was oppressively hot; she saw Mical pull at his sweaty tunic and she dimly wondered how Mandalore felt, encased in the traditional armor of the Mandalorians.

"We will most likely have to fight our way up the Sky Ramp and through the Palace!" Anet shouted over the roar of the wind around them and Mandalore nodded.

"Vaklu's troops will not be a challenge for us," Mandalore agreed, "but the Sith may pose some trouble."

"Leave them to me," Anet said and glanced towards Mical, who was sitting quite still; she realized with some pride that he was meditating.

"Hold on!" Mandalore called as he pulled back on the controls and the thrusters on the Basilisk shot out, slowing their assent enough for them to make a landing, albeit a rough one. Mandalore was the first to exit the steaming war droid, shouldering his huge repeating blaster. From around the corner, a troop of Vaklu's fighters emerged, crying in outrage, "The Mandalorians are attacking the city!"

Mandalore chuckled. "Looks like they still remember us."

Anet landed beside him lightly. "Your people leave an impression wherever they go, Mandalore," she grinned. "It is an honor to fight alongside you."

"The honor is shared, Jedi," Mandalore said, inclining his head before running to join the fray. "For Clan Ordo!" he yelled.

She focused on the hum of her lightsaber running through her body and the battle became oddly quiet, as if she fought in a vacuum. She was totally in tune to her body and its responses, and to her companions. Mandalore was all brute force, firing away without discrimination; his mind was a shrewd map of battle. In Mical she found total focus, power streaming like water from his deadly calm.

Anet's lightsaber cut a clean path through the Sith Acolyte she was battling, and the man's scream was quieted even before it even left his mouth. Before she could regroup, however, another one seemed to take his place. He snarled at Anet and hate streamed from his very body, darkening his eyes, fouling his mouth. Her left hand swung its shoto in a quick defense utilized from Soresu, severing his arm. Ahead of her, Mical repelled Vaklu's troops with a blast of the Force and their bodies slammed against the walls. Through the Force, Anet propelled herself forward, lunging towards a captain intent on exacting revenge on the blonde Jedi, cutting him down swiftly.

They battled fiercely, ignoring wounds, to reach the Palace. Anet had to admit to herself, that saving the Queen was only part of the reason why she was here now. Kavar loomed in her mind like a dim specter. She wanted to stare him in the face; she wanted to hear what his reasons were for deserting her when she needed him. The familiar anger that had burned in her heart through her exile threatened to rise again, and she pushed it back through sheer force of will. She didn't know why, but something was drawing her to Kavar.

Like the Sky Ramp, the Palace was a smoldering battlefield. Bodies were strewn everywhere, some beaten beyond recognition by the beasts the Sith had harnessed. Anet's sense of panic intensified. Should the Queen die, the Republic would be spliced even further. Should Kavar die, the answers she sought would die with him. Shouts could be heard from behind the closed doors to the throne room, and Anet's frustration peaked. She slammed her fist against the polished wood.

Mical put his hand on her shoulder, breathing hard. "Come. If we are quick, we may yet save Onderon," he said, conviction on his young face. She grasped his hand briefly, then veered off towards the right.

Mandalore spoke up. "There should be a main terminal around here, one that overrides the lockdown on the throne room."

Mical grinned. "It's this way," he said, rounding a corner.

Anet caught up with him, panting. "How in the world would you know?"

"An educated guess," he replied, but said no more.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was calm, stoic, purpose driven. She envied him. Her own being was overridden with uncertainty and anger boiling beneath the surface as the thought of speaking to Kavar again reached a point in her mind that was less a possibility and more an eventuality. She felt under pressure, ready to snap, as if she was fraying at the edges. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, and her hands shook.

They overrode the lockdown on the Throne room door, and as Anet ran towards the battling figures, she saw Talia and Vaklu, locked in a fierce duel. Vaklu himself was not such an imposing figure; in fact, he may have been handsome at one point. However his skill with a blade was worrying, and Talia seemed to be faltering. But before Vaklu could strike her down, he noticed Anet and her party.

"The Jedi! You let the Jedi through, you fools!" Vaklu cried, incensed.

"Your machinations end here, Vaklu." Anet said, drawing her right hand saber and spinning it.

She leapt forward using the Force, and Vaklu's shock prevented him from properly defending himself at first, but his counter-attack was fierce. Anet felt herself slipping into the Makashi form to counter his dueling expertise, but his weakness was his anger, which showed itself in his narrowed eyes, his violent grimace. She submitted to the Force, allowed it to make her movements tight and efficient. She struck hard and quickly, wearing him down, and then she saw opportunity. She looped her lightsaber around and inverted it, pulling it around Vaklu's vibroblade and severing his weapon hand; a flawless execution of cho mai.

Vaklu's scream echoed throughout the hall and he fell to his knees, clutching his wrist were the hand was severed. "You have won this battle, Talia. But there will be others in my place! My followers will free me from you!"

Talia strode towards the fallen General, disdain on her pretty features. "Are you so certain of my decision? Vaklu, you are too dangerous to be left alive, and as Queen, I find you guilty of treason, to be punished by death."

This woman, Anet felt, was too young to have the blood of another on her hands. Anet reached out and touched Talia's arm. "Queen Talia, if you kill him now, you will make him a martyr. But if you give him a trial, the public will be less likely to sympathize with him."

Talia looked at Anet, weighing what Anet had said. The Queen was young, and Anet questioned her propensity for wisdom at her age, but then Talia spoke. "I will honor the council of the Jedi," she said heavily, gesturing for Vaklu to be removed. His screamed echoed from the walls as the soldiers led him away.

Talia faced Anet, and she saw how drawn the Queen's face was. "This crisis has been averted due in no small part to you...and Master Kavar. If you'll excuse me, I believe he would like to speak with you." She straightened the exhausted slump of her shoulders. "He should be here shortly," she said, before turning to leave.

Anet crossed her arms, hiding her hands in the sleeves of her robes, and looked around. She saw Mical tending to Talia's wounded soldiers, talking to them, smiling in his hopeful way. Mandalore stood off in the shadows, his back straight and proud. She reached out to them, seeking comfort in their familiarity. Her heart pounded and she felt the urge to run away.

She felt him before she saw him. Their damaged bond resonated hollowly, and she saw him stroll through the great hall, his piercing blue eyes on her. She straightened and set her mouth, striving to appear foreboding. Her hands shook as she spoke, a hard edge to her voice.

"Kavar," she acknowledged him.

He came level to her, a glint in his eye. "Exile," his voice almost seemed mocking, or maybe it was her imagination.

"You've got a lot to answer for," she said, struggling to keep her voice even.

"I suspected you'd feel that way," he countered. His voice, she found, grated on her nerves.

She felt anger rise up in her throat, threatening to overtake her but she swallowed it. "Why did you betray me?" Her voice trembled.

"You betrayed the Jedi, Anet. You threw our guidance and teaching to the wind, following your own impulsive desires. You forfeited your rights as a Jedi."

"Is that you or Vrook talking?" Anet spat sourly.

Kavar sighed. "It was a difficult time, fraught with emotion. You were my favorite Padawan. Did you stop to think that perhaps I felt just as betrayed by your actions as you felt betrayed by mine?"

Anet frowned. "If that is so, why did you agree with me when I returned? Why did you tell me I had done the right thing, why did you sleep with me? Was that part of my punishment?"

Kavar flinched. "It was a lapse in judgment on my part. I was overtaken by my relief to see you alive."

Anet's gaze was stony. "I see."

"Anet. I did not betray you, for exile was not the punishment you thought it to be. It was an opportunity for you to go out into the galaxy, tend to your wounds." Kavar's face was filled with compassion, an expression that provoked Anet's anger. 

"You did more than just exile me!" Anet cried. "You cut me off from the Force!"

Kavar was deadly serious. "We did no such thing, for that punishment is reserved for matters of desperate need. We do not know what damaged you so, only that you returned to us as a hole, a gaping echo."

Anet frowned, slightly mollified, for she remembered this to be true.

Kavar stepped closer to her and Anet swallowed, uncomfortable. "As a member of the Council, it was my responsibility to send you away, but as a friend? A fellow Jedi? I could not help but think that you were right, in some small way. You did not fall to the dark side as Atris believed, you left to protect those who could not protect themselves. You were the only one to return, and instead of trying to understand why you did so, we banished you. Sometimes I wonder if the current state of things is punishment for our close-mindedness."

"I have waited many years for someone to admit that to me," she said a little sulkily.

"Then perhaps we can all move on from out mistakes, now that we have asked forgiveness for them," Kavar said, attempting to sound bright.  

"Is that your idea of an apology?" Anet said, trying to sound derisive, but failing.

"It is, but I'm not used to having to apologize, so I'd appreciate some leeway," Kavar said cockily. 

Anet gazed at Kavar, and his face was earnest. "The others have gathered on Dantooine, to address the threat of the Sith," she said, averting her eyes.

"Then we will meet there, and perhaps we will explain to you what happened the day you returned. Perhaps we will face our decision at last."

"I will meet you there," she said, and bowed. He gazed at her imploringly, but she did not waver and he saw the truth in her eyes. There was no room for him in her heart anymore. He bowed in return. "Until then," he said, then swept from the great hall.

Anet watched him go, and found that she did not regret her decision anymore, as she had. The Force had guided her life here, and it wasn't to watching Kavar leave, brokenhearted. It wasn't being rejected by the Council. It lay in the tall blonde man gazing at her from across the room, his gaze level and steady. She felt the love radiate from him like the sun, and she ran towards him, burying herself in his arms. He held her close, and she felt his pride at her strength, his admiration for her courage. He lifted her face to his and kissed her deeply, and relief coursed through her.

Yes, things had happened for a reason. Mical was that reason.

He cradled her and she breathed in the familiar smell of him, the slightly salty scent of kolto. She broke from his embrace and looked up at him, love bursting from her heart, purpose coursing through her veins. "Let's go."