Jedi Apprentice #1
The Rising Force
By Dave Wolverton
The blade of the lightsaber hissed through the air. Obi-Wan Kenobi could not see its red gleam through the blindfold pressing on his eyes. He used the Force to know precisely when to duck.
The searing heat of his opponent’s lightsaber blade slashed overhead, nearly burning him. The air smelled like lightening.
“Good!” Yoda called from the sidelines of the room. “Let go. Let your feelings guide you.”
The words of encouragement spurred Obi-Wan on. Because he was tall and strong for a twelve-year-old, many assumed that he’d have the advantage in battle.
But strength and size counted for nothing where agility and speed were needed. Nor did they have any effect on the Force that he had not yet mastered.
Obi-Wan listened intently for the sound of his foe’s lightsaber, for his breathing, for the scrape of a shoe against the floor. Such sounds echoed loudly in the small, high-ceilinged chamber.
A random jumble of blocks on the floor added another element to the exercise. He had to use the Force the sense those, too. With such uneven ground, it was easy to lose his footing.
Behind Obi-Wan, Yoda warned, “Keep your guard up.”
Obi-Wan obediently raised his weapon and rolled to his right as his opponent’s blade slammed down into the floor beside him. He took a small leap back, clearing a pile of blocks. Obi-Wan heard the sing of the lightsaber as his foe attempted a hasty strike motivated by irritation and fatigue. Good.
Sweat trickled underneath the blindfold, making his eyes sting. Obi-Wan blocked it out, along with his please at his opponent’s clumsiness. He could imagine himself a full Jedi Knight, battling a space pirate . . . a Togorian with fangs as long as Obi-Wan’s fingers. In his mind, Obi-Wan saw the armored creature glare at him through eyes that were mere green slits. Its claws could easily shred a human.
The vision energized him, helped him let go of his fears. In seconds, his every muscle was tunes to the Force. It moved through him, giving him the agility and speed that he needed.
Obi-Wan swung his blade up to block the next blow. The attacker’s lightsaber hummed and whirled down. Obi-Wan leaped high, somersaulting over his attacker’s head, and thrust his lightsaber down where the Togorian’s heart would be.
“Aargh!” the other student howled in surprised rage as Obi-Wan’s hot blade struck his neck. If Obi-Wan had been using a Jedi Knight’s lightsaber, it would have been a killing blow. But apprentices in the Jedi Temple used training sabers set to low power. The touch of the blade only gave a searing kiss, one that the healers might need to tend.
“That was a lucky blow!” the wounded apprentice shouted.
Until that moment, Obi-Wan had not known who he was fighting. He’d been led into the room blindfolded. Now he recognized the voice: Bruck Chun. Like Obi-Wan, Bruck was one of the oldest apprentices in the Jedi Temple. Like Obi-Wan, Bruck hoped to be a Jedi Knight.
“Bruck,” Yoda called calmly. “Leave your blindfold on. A Jedi needs not his eyes to see.”
But Obi-Wan heard the boy’s blindfold slap to the ground. Bruck’s voice was choked with fury. “You clumsy oaf!”
“Calm yourself, you will!” Yoda warned Bruck in a sharp tone he rarely used.
Every student at the Temple has his or her weaknesses. Obi-Wan knew his own too well. Everyday, he had to struggle to control his anger and his fear. The Temple was a test of character as much as skill.
Bruck struggled with his own simmering anger that could quickly ignite into hot rage. He usually kept it well under control, so that only other initiates glimpsed it.
Bruck also held grudges. A year ago, Obi-Wan had stumbled in a Temple corridor, tripping Bruck, who had fallen. It had been an accident, caused by legs and feet that were growing too fast on both boys, but Bruck felt sure that Obi-Wan had done it on purpose. Bruck’s dignity was very important to him. The laughter of the other students had goaded him. He’d called Obi-Wan an oaf then – Oafy-Wan.
The name had stuck.
The worst thing was that it was true. Often, Obi-Wan felt that his body was growing too fast. He couldn’t seem to catch up with his long legs and large feet. A Jedi should feel comfortable in his body, but Obi-Wan felt awkward. Only when the Force was moving through him did he feel graceful or sure.
“Come on, Oafy,” Bruck taunted. “See if you can hit me again! One last time, before they throw you out of the Temple!”
“Bruck, enough!” Yoda said. “Learn to lose as well as win, a Jedi must. Go to your room, you will.”
Obi-Wan tried not to feel the sing of Bruck’s words. In four weeks he’d turn thirteen and would have to leave the Temple. Taunt'’ like Bruck'’ were becoming more and more frequent as his birthday drew nearer. If he did not become a Padawan within the next four weeks, he’d be too old. He’d been listening for rumors intently, and had found that no Jedi was scheduled to come in search of a Padawan before it was too late. He was afraid that he’d never become a Jedi Knight. That fear angered him. Enough for him to make a foolish boast.
“You don’t have to send him away, Master Yoda,” he said. “I’m not afraid to fight him without his blindfold.”
Color blazed in Bruck’s cheeks, and his ice-blue eyes narrowed. Yoda merely nodded, taking in Obi-Wan’s words. The truth was that Obi-Wan was just as exhausted as Bruck. He hoped that Yoda would send both of them to their rooms instead of allowing them to fight again.
After a long moment, however, Yoda said, “All right. Continue. Much to learn, you have. Use the blindfolds, you must.”
Obi-Wan bowed to Yoda, accepting the order. He knew that Yoda was fully aware of his fatigue. Although he wished that the Master would grant him reprieve, he accepted the wisdom of all of Yoda’s decisions. Great and small.
Obi-Wan tightened his blindfold. He pushed away his fatigue, willed his muscles to obey. He tried to forget that he was fighting Bruck, or that his chance to become a Jedi Knight was almost past. He concentrated instead on the image of the image of the Togorian pirate, it’s orange-striped fur covered by black armor.
Obi-Wan could sense the Force flowing around him, within him. He could feel the living Force in Bruck, the dark ripples caused by Bruck’s anger. His impulse was to match that anger with his own. He had to resist it.
Obi-Wan assumed a defensive stance as Bruck lunged. He let the Force guide him as it had done earlier. He blocked the next blow easily. Then he jumped high to avoid another blow and landed behind a pillar. Lightsabers smashed together, sputtered and burned, then whisked apart. The air felt thicker, clogged with the energy of the battle.
For long minutes, the two students fought as if in a graceful dance. Obi-Wan leaped away from every attack and blocked every jarring blow. He did not try to hit Bruck.
Let him see that I’m not clumsy, Obi-Wan thought bitterly. Let him see that I’m not stupid. Let him see it over and over again.
Sweat began to drench Obi-Wan’s clothes. His muscles burned. He could hardly breathe fast enough to get the air needed. But as long as he did not attack in anger, the Force remained strong with him. He tried no to think about the fight. He lost himself in the dance, and soon he felt so weary, he did not think at all.
Bruck fought slower and slower. Soon, Obi-Wan did not even need to leap away from Bruck’s weary attacks. He merely blocked them, until finally Bruck gave up.
“Good, Obi-Wan,” Yoda called. “Learning you are.”
Obi-Wan switched off his lightsaber and hung it on his belt. He used the blindfold to wipe the sweat from his face. Next to him, Bruck was doubled over, panting. He did not look at Obi-Wan.
“You see,” Yoda said. “To defeat an enemy, you do not have to kill. Defeat the rage that burns in him, and he is your enemy no longer. Rage the true enemy is.”
Obi-Wan understood what Yoda meant. But Bruck’s glazed glare told Obi-Wan that he had not defeated his opponent’s anger. Nor had he won the boy’s respect.
The two boys turned to Yoda and bowed solemnly. A vision of his friend Bant rose in Obi-Wan’s head. One of the best things about beating Bruck would be telling her about it.
“Enough for one day,” Yoda said. “Tomorrow, a Jedi Knight comes to the Temple seeking a Padawan. Ready for him you must be.”
Obi-Wan tried to hide his surprise. Usually when a Knight came to the Temple in search of a Padawan, rumors beat the arrival by days. That way, is a student wanted to earn the honor of becoming the Knight’s Padawan, he or she could prepare mentally and physically.
“Who?” Obi-Wan asked, heart racing. “Who’s coming?”
“Seen him before, you have,” Yoda said. “Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”
Obi-Wan’s hopes rose. Qui-Gon Jinn was a powerful Knight, one of the best. He had been to the Temple before to look at apprentices. Each time, he’d left without taking a new Padawan.
Obi-Wan had heard rumors that Qui-Gon had lost his last apprentice in a tremendous battle, and had vowed never to take another. He came to the Temple very year only because the Council of Masters asked him to. He would spend a few hours watching the pupils, studying them as if looking for something no one else could see. Then he would leave, empty-handed, to fight the darkness alone.
Obi-Wan felt his hopes dim. Qui-Gon gad rejected so many students. What made him think that he would be able to please him?
“He won’t want me,” Obi-Wan said in defeat. “He’s seen me fight before, and he did not chose me then. No one will.”
Yoda squinted up at Obi-Wan with wise eyes. “Hummmph! Always in motion the future is. One cannot be sure, but I have sensed . . . a kinder destiny for you.”
Something in Yoda’s tone made Obi-Wan wonder. “Will he choose me?” he asked.
“On Qui-Gon that depends – and you,” Yoda said. “Come back tomorrow and fight for him with the Force as your ally. Perhaps accept you he will.” Yoda put a comforting hand on his arm. “either way, it matters not. Leave the Temple soon you shall. But tell you I must, to lose such an apt pupil, I am sorry.”
Startled and pleased, Obi-Wan looked at Yoda. The Master’s eyes glowed as he blinked at Obi-Wan. A compliment from Yoda was as rare as an expression of regret. That was what made his opinion so highly prized. At that moment, Obi-Wan felt that even if he didn’t become a Knight, he had earned Yoda’s respect. That was a great gift.
Yoda turned and walked from the training room, the echo of his small feet thumping on the floor. He rounded the doorway into the hall and was gone. The lights powered down automatically and the room grew dusky with shadows.
Behind Obi-Wan, Bruck began to laugh. “Don’t get your hopes up, Oafy. Yoda is just trying to make you feel better. The Masters won’t be able to push you on anyone. There are plenty of better candidates than you.”
Obi-Wan stiffened in anger. He felt tempted to point out that Bruck was not one of those better candidates. Instead, he headed for the doorway.
He had taken a single step when something hard hit him in the back of his head. The sound of the blow against Obi-Wan’s skull echoed through the room. Bruck had thrown a training probe.
As Obi-Wan spun to face Bruck, the bow powered up his lightsaber. Its red light cut through the gloom.
Obi-Wan looked at the empty corridor. Yoda was gone. No one would see if he gave Bruck the beating he deserved. Bruck was often cruel, but usually not so brazen. He was deliberately provoking Obi-Wan, trying to get him to loose his temper.
But why? Obi-Wan wondered.
Of course! “You knew all along that Qui-Gon Jinn was coming to search for a Padawan, didn’t you,” Obi-Wan said slowly, as the suspicions hardened into certainty. Since Obi-Wan was the oldest apprentice in the Temple, the Jedi Masters would encourage Qui-Gon to take him – the lost cause. Bruck would not want that to happen.
Bruck laughed. “I made sure you didn’t find out. If I’d had my way, you wouldn’t have found out until he’d left.”
Bruck hoped to become Qui-Gon’s Padawan! And the only way to do it was to make sure that Obi-Wan failed. He’d tried to keep him from preparing, and now he was trying to make him mad. Obi-Wan’s anger, his impatience, had been his downfall often enough in the past Bruck hoped to fill his mind with rage and despair so that he would not be open to the Force.
Obi-Wan had been raised in the Jedi Temple since he was a baby. He hadn’t seen much of greed or hatred or true evil. The Masters shielded the children from such things, the keep them from turning to the dark side of the Force.
Yet now Obi-Wan saw into the heart of ruthlessness. Bruck was plotting to steal his dreams.
He could not let him know how important Qui-Gon’s visit was to him. He could not let Bruck know how he’d caused the fear to rise in him, fear that he would never be a Padawan.
Obi-Wan smiled. “Bruck, three months from now, when you turn thirteen, I hope you’ll make a great farmer.” It was the single worst insult that he could muster, to suggest that Bruck’s mastery of the Force was so small that he would be fit only for the Agricultural Corps.
Bruck leaped toward him with a snarl, his lightsaber held high. Obi-Wan spun to meet him with a cry on his lips. Flashing blades clashed in a burst of light and buzzing sound as the boys met in the room’s center.
Weary as they were, the boys fought until they could hardly move. By the time they crept from the training room, both boys were badly burned and bruised.
Neither had won, and both had lost.
As Obi-Wan headed to his chamber, Bruck took a lift to the upper rooms of the Temple, where the healers practiced their arts. He limped into the medic’s chambers, pretending to be more hurt than he was. His clothes were slashed and singed from the practice sabers, and blood ran from his nose.
When the medic saw him, their first question was, “What happened?”
Bruck gasped, “Obi-Wan Kenobi . . . “ and then pretended to faint.
One of the healers looked at him, then said brusquely to a droid, “Go notify the Masters.”
Obi-Wan Kenobi was bandaging his burns in his room when he got the bad news. He was trying to imagine ways to impress Qui-Gon in the morning. He considered ways to improve his fighting skills – anything he might say or do to convince the Knight that he was worthy to become a Jedi’s Padawan Learner. But then Docent Vant brought a data pad and showed him his orders.
Suddenly all his plans and dreams were shattered.
“Here now, it isn’t that horrible.” Docent Vant said. She was a tall blue-skinned woman with an elegant headtail that twitched nervously.
Obi-Wan stared at the orders in shock. The data pad told him that he would ship out of the Temple in the morning. He needed to pack his bags.
He was to report to the world of Bandomeer -- some planet he’d never even heard of , out on the Galactic Rim. There he would join the Agricultural Corps.
“But I don’t understand,” he said numbly. “I still have four weeks until my birthday.”
“I know,” Docent Vant said. “But your ship, the Monument, leaves tomorrow, with a thousand miners aboard. It can’t wait just because you have a birthday.”
In shock, Obi-Wan looked around at his room. Overhead, three model Verpine fighters droned near the ceiling. He’d made them himself. Repulsorlift fields held them aloft, and their running lights flashed purple and green as they hummed about. Miniature insectoid pilots swiveled their heads, as if to look around. Books and charts were piled on his study table. His lightsaber hung in its usual place on the wall. He couldn’t imagine leaving here. It was his home. But he would leave it all gladly for the hard life of an apprentice. Not a farmer!
He would never be a Knight now. Bruck had been right, Obi-Wan thought bitterly. Yoda had been trying to make him feel better.
The shock and despair made him feel sick He raised his gaze to Docent Vant. “I could still be a Jedi Knight.”
Docent Vant touched Obi-Wan’s hand tenderly. She smiled, revealing pointed teeth. She shook her head. “Not every one is meant to be a warrior. The Republic needs healers and farmers, too. With your Force skills, you will be able to treat sick crops. Your talent will help feed whole worlds.”
“But –“ Obi-Wan wanted to say that he felt cheated. He deserved four more weeks. “It’s a job for rejects, initiates too weak to be knights. Besides, tomorrow Qui-Gon Jinn will be looking for a Padawan. Master Yoda said that I should fight for him.”
Docent Vant shook her head. “That was before the Masters heard of the beating you gave initiate Bruck. Did you really think the healers would not tell what you had done?"
In dawning horror, Obi-Wan realized what had happened. Bruck had set the trap, and he had walked straight into it. He wanted to protest, to say that he was innocent. It had been a fair fight. And healers? Surely Bruck had not needed healers – except to back up whatever story he had told.
“This is not the first time you have let your anger get the best of you,” Docent Vant said. “But let us hope it is the last.” She nodded briskly. “Now, try not to look so sad. You will need to pack your bags and say good-bye to your friends tonight. The galaxy is a big place. They will want to see you before you go.”
She left, closing the door softly behind her. Obi-Wan was left alone with only the sound of the model fighter flying overhead.
There was nothing else to do but pack his bags. Obi-Wan felt to devastated and ashamed to say good-bye. Not to Garen Muln or Reeft, or even to his best friend, Bant. They would feel angry and hurt if he left quietly, but he couldn’t face them. His friends would want to know where he was going. Once he had told them that he had been ordered to report to the Agricultural Corps, word would get around. He could imagine how some of the others would laugh, There was nothing he could say or do to clear his name.
Because the truth was that if Bruck had set the trap, he had walked into it willingly. Blindly and without though, perhaps. But it was his own will that led him there. What kind of Jedi would he make if he could fall for the tricks of a bully like Bruck?
Obi-Wan threw himself back on his sleep-couch. He had let Master Yoda down. He had thrown away his one last chance by letting anger cloud his mind. Now his worst fear had come true. After all his years of training, he was not good enough to be a Jedi Knight.
Yoda had always told him that anger and fear drove him too hard, that if he didn’t learn to control them, they would lead him down a path he didn’t want to follow. “Befriend them, you should,” Yoda had advised. “Look them in the eye without blinking. Use faults as teachers, you should. Then, rule you, they will not. Rule them, you shall.”
Yoda’s wisdom was engraved on his heart. How could he have failed to follow it?
Outside his door, he heard the rest of the initiates prepare for sleep. Goodnights were exchanged, shouted from chamber to chamber. Finally, the lights powered down, and the halls were silent.
Obi-Wan felt surrounded by the peaceful energy of the sleeping students. It did not sooth his raging heart. His fellow initiates could rest. They did not have thoughts that tormented them. Obi-Wan tossed and turned, unable to stop imagining the sight of Bruck’s triumphant face when he learned of Obi-Wan’s fate.
There was a soft knock at his door. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan rose and opened it. Bant stood, not saying a word, just looking at him. The young Calamarian girl wore a green robe that set off her salmon colored skin. Her clothes smelled moist and salty, for she’d just come from her room, which was always kept as steamy as the air off a warm sea. She was small for her ten years of age, and she watched him steadily with her huge silver eyes.
She took in his bruises and burns, all with an expression that said, You’ve been fighting again. Then she looked past him, to his bags packed on the floor.
“You weren’t going to say goodbye?” she asked, blinking back huge tears. “You were just going to leave?”
“I’ve been assigned to the Agricultural Corps,” he said, hoping she’d understand hoe humiliating it was for him. “I wanted to say good-bye, but . . . “
She shook her head. “I heard you were going to a planet called Bandomeer.”
So everyone knew already. Obi-Wan nodded dully just as Bant lurched forward to give him a clumsy hug.
“Yes, that’s where I’m going,” he said. He hugged her. So, my fate is decided, he realized in despair. I will be a farmer. Because this first good-bye would be followed by others. He couldn’t avoid them.
Bant frowned and stepped back. “It will be dangerous. Did they tell you it would be dangerous?”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s just the Agricultural Corps. How dangerous could it get?”
“We are not to know,” Bant said.
“We are to do,” Obi-Wan added softly. It was a phrase they had heard many times from the Masters, when they were asked to do tasks that they could not understand the significance of.
“Miss you, I will,” Bant said, echoing Yoda’s strange way of talking. She blinked back tears.
“So sorry, I am,” Obi-Wan answered. He tried to smile, but could not. In answer, Bant hugged him again swiftly, then hurried away to hide her tears.
With the help of Jedi healing techniques and the Temple’s marvelous ointments, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s burns and bruises were healed by morning. But the pain in his heart had not eased. He slept briefly, then rose well before dawn.
He said good-bye to Garen Muln and Reeft, two boys from different sides of the galaxy who had become inseparable in their years in the Jedi Temple.
All through morning meal, Reeft, a Dresselian with an abnormally wrinkled face, kept saying to everyone at the table, “I don’t mean to be sound greedy, but may I have your meat?” or “I don’t mean to sound greedy, but . . .” as he looked pointedly at some puff cake or drink. Though Obi-Wan had not had dinner the night before, he shared everything. Bant kindly handed over half her puff cake. With his leathery gray skin and all those wrinkles, the Dresselian could look awfully sad if he did not get everything he wanted to eat.
“It won’t be so bad,” Garen Muln told Obi-Wan. “At least you’re going on an adventure.” Garen Muln had always been restless. Yoda had often given him extra stillness exercises.
“And you’ll be around food,” Reeft added hopefully.
“Who knows where each of us will end up?” Bant added. “The missions to come will be different for each of us.”
“And unexpected,” Garen Muln agreed. “That’s what Yoda says. Not everyone is meant to be an apprentice.”
Obi-Wan nodded. It was good that he had given Reeft most of his food. He couldn’t eat. He knew his friends were trying to make him feel better. But they still had plenty of chances to become Jedi. That highest honor was what they all wanted, all they worked for. No matter what they said, they all knew his lost chance was crushing disappointment.
Around him, Obi-Wan heard the swirl of conversations at the other tables. Students looked over at him, then looked away. Most gazes were compassionate, and some tried to cheer him. But he sensed that the overwhelming feeling in the room was that everyone was glad that what had happened to Obi-Wan had not happened to them.
At Bruck’s table, the voices were loud and reached their ears. “Always knew he wouldn’t make it,” Bruck’s friend Aalto said loudly. Obi-Wan’s ears burned as he heard Bruck’s high snicker. He turned, and Bruck stared at him, daring him to pick another fight.
“Don’t mind him,” Bant said. “He’s a fool.”
Obi-Wan turned away and finished his meal, just as a huge black Barabel fruit plopped on the table near his tray. Juice from the fruit splattered on Bant a...
Januszek66