The Disciple Part X

JEDI ENCLAVE, DANTOOINE, 11 Years Ago

The stormy season had descended on Dantooine, and Mical felt that it was appropriate this year more than ever, for never before in his memory could he remember the Enclave so taut with frustration and division. Arguments echoed throughout the dim halls, sharp words were flung back and forth from Master to apprentice, friend to friend. The day before an actual brawl had broken out in the Archives, and yet Master Atris had been too preoccupied to break it up. Whispers of the war between the Mandalorians and the Republic rippled through his classmates, and at the center of their gossip was Anet.

Since that day a year ago when she had taught his class the beauty of combat, Mical had watched her from the shadows, drinking in her easy ways with others, her strong rapport with all who crossed her path. Her way was friendly, but not overt. People seemed to gravitate towards her regardless of what she did, and now that the Mandalorian War had become so desperate, her star power increased, for all knew her opinions on the matter. She was avid about the Jedi's role as a protector of the galaxy, a servant of peace, and the fact that the bulk of the Jedi remained content in waiting out the war was a great source of frustration for her and her group of followers.

Although Mical didn't consider himself a part of Anet's following, he mostly agreed with their view. The Jedi abandoning the Republic was cowardly and isolationist. The Jedi were servants and guardians, not stodgy seclusionists. However, he didn't understand why they felt that open war was their only option. He felt that the Mandalorians needed to be brought to justice not at their level, but at the level of the Jedi.

It was a few hours before the nightly meal, and Mical sat in the Great foyer watching the stormy wind rumple the leaves on the blba trees. He had been there for a few hours, skipping class because diplomatic theory had become a shouting match between the opposing factions concerning the war, and he supposed he would learn more from quiet contemplation. He fiddled with his lightsaber on his belt, making it levitate a few inches from his palm when he heard raised voices approaching him from down the hall. His first instinct was to retreat to his quarters but when he saw who led the shouting group, his heart stopped.

It was Anet, looking disheveled, as if she had just emerged from a fight. She was surrounded by more than half of the senior Padawans close to Knighthood, and on all of their faces a furious expression bloomed. A Lethan Twi'lek male was shouting at her.

". . . he had no right to hit you like that!"

Anet held a placating had towards him. "You should not have hit him back, Gelad. Now things are worse."

Gelad snapped his lekku furiously. "Just because he is Vrook's Padawan does not mean he can act like he runs the place!"

"Let me see your face, Anet," a Zabrak with dark hair and simmering eyes said.

Anet waved her away. "He just slapped me, Kadrian; it was nothing serious."

The members of the group muttered darkly, and Gelad grimaced. "He's a coward, and I would have made him sorry had I been there."

Anet rebuke was sharp. "That is the dark side speaking, Gelad. Be mindful of your feelings."

No sooner had the words left her mouth when the hall once again reverberated with shouts, only this time it was Master Vrook's powerful voice that rang through the enclosure. "PADAWAN TAINER!" he bellowed, and Anet visibly flinched. Master Vrook strode into the Foyer, his face ugly, followed his Padawan, Drent; Master Atris; and a dozen other Knights and Padawans.

Vrook spoke, his voice tight with anger. "My Padawan tells me you initiated a fight with him!" Behind Vrook, Drent looked smug.

"Drent was the one who started it, Master Vrook! You're favoritism is appalling!" Kadrian shouted. Behind Anet, her followers tightened closer to her, their faces grim and defensive, as if expecting a lightsaber brawl.

"That's not true, Master. Anet struck me when I disagreed with her views on the war. She called me a coward." Drent said.

Gelad burst from behind Anet. "You ARE a coward, Drent. You only pick fights with those you know won't fight back!" He drew his lightsaber and brandished it threateningly towards the furious Masters. "Your Padawan reflects your teachings perfectly, Master Vrook."

Gasps rippled through the gathered Jedi, even Anet looked struck. "Gelad!" she hissed! "Control your tongue!"

Atris spoke. "Is this how you council your friends, Padawan Tainer? By encouraging them to defy authority and defer to you?"

"I encourage them to think for themselves, and therein lies your problem with them. They have reached their own conclusions about the duty of the Jedi in these Wars and that is what frightens you." Anet face blazed with passion.

"You are a poison to the Jedi and a detriment to our name!" Atris screeched, losing her temper.

"And you are cowards content to hide in the Archives rather than live and serve in the galaxy!" Gelad interjected. On either side of the argument, lightsaber were drawn, and the snap hiss of ignited blades filled the stormy air.

Anet held out her hands to both sides. "Stop this!" she cried.

Atris strode forward to Anet, bearing down on her. "You are not welcome here! You would destroy the Order!" she shouted.

"You do not speak for the Council, Master Atris," said Master Kavar, striding forward quickly and joining the fray. "We will discuss this as a Council." He took Atris's shoulder, leading her away. Gradually, one by one, the Masters and their stragglers left the Foyer, leaving Anet and her followers.

"I can't take this anymore, Anet! I can't just sit around and wait for everything to be destroyed!" Gelad cried, his lekku thrashing.

"You're right, Gelad. I think we should leave." Anet said quietly.

All of the Padawans snapped their head and looked at her in disbelief, as if they had expected her to rebuke them for their display with the Masters and by proxy disagree with leaving. But Anet shook her head, seemingly diminished. "We were taught that a Jedi protects the innocents of the galaxy. Now it is time to put our beliefs to the test. We leave tonight." She nodded to them, and they one by one left the Foyer, looking over their shoulders so as not to be stopped until only Anet was left.

Mical felt his heart fall somewhere into the region of his stomach. Anet was leaving. Somehow he had always thought that she would be there, he had hoped that when she was Knighted, she would take him as a Padawan. Despair engulfed him, but as he turned to leave, he noticed her sitting on the stone wall, her slight shoulders shaking. She's crying, he thought. He emerged from his spot in the shadows and approached her despite his nervousness.

"Are you all right?" he asked, leaning forward awkwardly.

She looked up at him, wiping her eyes. "Did you see what happened?"

He nodded, struggling for something to say. "Master Atris is wrong. You are welcome here," he finally blurted, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks at his choice of words.

Her eyes pierced into him and she gave him a small, ironic smile. "If only that were truly so," she said, her voice a hair above a whisper. She patted the stone beside her, beckoning him to sit.

He did so, nervously. His throat felt thick. "I don't understand why they spoke to you like that," he said almost to himself.

Anet sighed. "The Masters are human, just like anyone else. I have challenged their wisdom."

"But they let their pride stand in the way of doing the right thing. That is not the way of the Jedi," Mical said disconsolately.

"Then you should use them as an example of what never to be," Anet said. The irony was gone from her voice.

Mical stared at his hands, which suddenly felt large and unwieldy in Anet's presence. He ached to tell her not to go. "You shouldn't have to leave the Jedi to serve the Republic," he said finally.

"The galaxy is hardly a fair place. I will do what I must to serve the good of it, even if the Jedi won't," she said, and her eyes were far away.

"Anet?" a voice asked from the shadows. Gelad and Kadrian had returned, with the others trickling in from behind them. "We should leave for the Garang spaceport if we are to be undetected," Gelad said, eyeing Mical shrewdly.

"Yes, of course," Anet said, standing slowly. She began to leave, but then spoke once more. "You have a pure heart, apprentice. Never compromise it, no matter what happens now." Her eyes were sad, but she afforded him one last smile before joining the group, leaving him behind. He watched them until they had disappeared over the horizon.

The storm was in full effect now, the clouds billowing ominously above Mical's head. Rain spattered the stone walls of the Enclave and thunder split the sky, but Mical found himself rooted the spot where she had left him, grief tumbling through his heart. He cradled his head in his hands, ignoring the chill seeping into his bones. Suddenly the Enclave seemed to be very empty to him, devoid of her shining presence.

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THE EBON HAWK- En route to TELOS

Breakfast was a solemn affair. Since the revelation at Dantooine, the crew of the Ebon Hawk had been walking eggshells around Anet, whose countenance had become dour. She had become consumed with the threat of the Sith approaching Telos, spending most of the hours of the day in silent meditation, and her change in demeanor had started to affect the others. Atton seemed to be in a perpetual foul mood, rarely leaving the cockpit; Mira hadn't made a sarcastic remark in days; and even HK seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for destruction, if only a little.

Mical sipped at some caffa, now lukewarm. Mandalore had taken his byss cheese to the refresher, where he always ate. Mira pushed her food around her plate. Mical had considered bringing Atton something to eat, as the pilot had not left the cockpit for days, but before he could search for something appropriate to give him, Anet entered. She was pale, he noticed; her skin appeared to be almost translucent.

"Could you all meet me in the cargo hold? There is something I wish to teach you," she said, her voice cracking as if she had not spoken in days.

Mira raised her eyebrows at Mical, and a hint of a grin lit her face. Leaving her picked-at food on the table, she bounded after Anet, yelling for Visas to follow her. Mical found himself smiling as he cleared away her dish. He hadn't been the only one to suffer in the wake of her silence.

Mical found Bao-Dur in the garage, sitting on the workbench.

"Anet wants to see us," Mical said. He couldn't contain his excitement, that maybe he would see her smile, that her eyes would light up from the inside as they always did when she taught.

"Is she all right?" Bao asked.

Mical nodded. "I think so. . . " He hoped with all his heart she was; he realized he hadn't heard hear laugh in over a week.

They found her kneeling, surrounded by the others, and she beckoned them to kneel and face her. "Open yourselves to the Force," she said to them all, and her voice was tinged with calm. Mical obeyed, submitting his mind to the ebb and flow of the others around him, the Unifying Force. He felt his breathing slow gradually, he felt the determinedness of Atton, the fire of Mira, the submissive admiration of Visas, the devotion of Bao-Dur, all blended into one thinking, feeling being.

Anet spoke: "I have been removed from you, in meditation, for the last few days. I have seen, more clearly that I have ever seen, that the Jedi are all but removed from the galaxy, save for you. Together we are the Last of the Jedi." Anet looked at Mical, and a small smile spread over her face. "But I have not despaired, because together we are the First of the New. For the Order must change if it is to survive. Through our efforts together, we will bring the Order from the ashes, and a new age of wisdom and peace will overtake us."

She nodded towards her five students. "These events should forever remain a lesson to us. When complacency towards the suffering of others takes the place of our duty as protectors of peace, we will fall, and we will be divided. You have an immense responsibility now, towards the fate of the galaxy, the fate of the Jedi. You will be Masters, you will one day head the Council." Her smile widened. "And therefore it is of the utmost importance that you learn to complete each other, to rely on each other’s strength. Visas' Force Sight. Mira's ability to find people through the Force. Bao's understanding of mechanics. Atton's ability to hide his thoughts. Mical's medical skill and knowledge of the Jedi histories. These skills will buffer us through this hard time, while we do what we must. Your strengths become the strengths of the Jedi. Your skills are the mortar on which we rebuild."

Mical watched as Anet picked herself up from the floor delicately, as if in pain. "My Master once told me 'If you can, you must.' I tell you now that you must, for the sake of the galaxy." It was the closest she ever came to a direct order in her life.

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The five of them had continued in meditation and discussion for the better part of the day without Anet. She had disappeared again, and Mical found himself overrun with anxiety. He had never known her to be so isolated before in his life; she always seemed to be surrounded by others and this sudden change left him uneasy. Of the five of them, Visas was most inclined to plan. Her soft voice was infused with purpose as she spoke of a place to rebuild, how younglings would be trained, and the duties the order would most likely shoulder. Mira and Bao-Dur were equally involved, both offering suggestions, but Mical could feel unease surround them like a shroud. Atton underwent the process with a subdued irony, and his attitude put Mical on edge.

This whole situation was wrong, he felt. He wondered with increasing ire why Anet was isolating herself from them, why she wasn't at the head of them, in her place as the leader. He stood abruptly and sought her out. They were on the edge of crisis, and she hid from them, from him.

He found her in the med bay, sitting with her back to the wall on the gurney, and her face seemed to betray that she had been expecting him.

"What is wrong, Anet?" The question came out much harsher than he had originally intended, but somehow he felt some satisfaction at his tone.

She didn't answer. He chose to ignore her trembling lips.

"Anet!" Mical said. "You're planning on leaving us, aren't you?"

Mical saw the familiar play of anguish on her face but at that moment he felt no sympathy for her. And for the first time in many years, anger exploded in his stomach, hot and sick, and he slammed his fist against the wall of the Med Bay.

"What is it, Anet? What is your grand reason? I'm sure it very much escapes me at the moment," he shouted, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "Why is it that when people need you the most, you abandon them?! You abandoned the Republic, you abandoned the Jedi, and you abandoned me! Why do you return just to do it all over again!" He was breathing hard and his hands were clenched so hard at his sides that his nails broke the skin in his palms. He turned to leave.

"M-Mical," she sobbed brokenly. "What makes you think that I want to leave? I don't! I would rather stay here, with everyone, with you, but I have a duty, and I can't just ignore it because it is hard and lonely. I don't have the luxury to walk away from it."

She cried pitifully and Mical felt his anger melt away. "I don't want to leave you," she said again, and he sat beside her. She threw herself in his arms and sobbed.

"Then don't," he said, his voice shaking with suppressed tears.