ED : Chapter 7: If They Have More Time II

I didn't need a smiling older brother figure trying to muddle his way through training his first Padawan simply by trying to replicate everything his own Master had done to and for him. 

No, what I needed was someone who knew exactly how to draw out and refine my talents to their best effect. Someone who knew the pain the metal experienced in the fire of the crucible would be forgotten as soon as the bright and tempered blade was polished and drawn forth for the first time.

...

At least that's what I told myself in the shower as the throbbing pain caused tears to slowly trickle down my cheeks. 

It was something I'd told myself a thousand times before, and no doubt would again. Along with my endlessly reiterated refrain: "Master Dark Woman knows my limits far better than I do. She would never push me far enough past them to permanently harm me. 

If I want to be good enough to stand up to the kind of evil, broken, and downright deadly rogues Palpatine will use and use up in his rise to power, then I must endure. It's the only way to be ready in time to make a difference. 

Qui-Gon Jinn or Obi-Wan Kenobi could never have taught me to be anything but the equivalent of a target-droid for the likes of Sora Bolq."

The name of the Weequay Jedi Master that Mace Windu had perfected Vaapad; his Form VII variant with was still capable of chilling my blood. 

I wasn't making Anakin's mistake of considering my dreams a set-in-stone-and-on-rails road to the future, but when you dream of the man giving orders to a Zabrak with a prosthetic arm and a balefully red cyber-eye as a great hooded and extremely indistinct blackness stands amidst a deeper darkness behind both more than two dozen times? 

Well, you begin to suspect Master Bolq's fall might have been inevitable even without a corrupted Dooku's prodding. 

It was knowing Juyo/Form VII in general, and it's Vaapad variant in specific which had lead more Jedi Guardians to their fall than any other single piece of Force-lore that had convinced me to avoid the dangerous Form. 

If the likes of Obi-Wan Kenobi was considered too reckless and shallowly grounded in the Light for Juyo, then Form VII would devour me whole.

Emerging from the refresher wearing a clean change of clothes, I returned my lightsaber to my belt immediately as my Master had ground into my head every day since leaving Ilum. 

"The lightsaber is one of the most deadly personal weapons in the galaxy. It is capable of ruining or outright ending a sentient lift with minimal effort, and you built this one with your own two hands. 

Meaning everything done with it is your responsibility to a greater or lesser extent. 

It is a grave responsibility to bear such an implement, so you will live up to this responsibility, or it will not remain your responsibility whilst I remain your Master. Have I made myself perfectly understood?" It had made me respect the old Jedi more. 

Seeing such iron resolve in her eyes as she'd made this declaration, because despite all the take-the-Initiates-or-Padawans-to-build-their-first-lightsaber scenes in the novels and comics, you seldom if ever saw the Knight or Master driving this point home.

Dark Woman didn't take her eyes from the controls as I entered the cockpit, but she did gesture toward a tiny square parcel sitting to her immediate right on the edge of the console. 

The little square box wasn't wrapped, but it did have a simple four-point bow of thin dark blue ribbon about it. 

When I picked up the box, my Master stated with quiet warmth "Best wishes on your life-day, Anakin. I know you aren't any fonder of useless knick-knacks than I am, so I got you something useful."

Genuinely curious what the always pragmatic Jedi Master would consider a useful life-day present, I tugged the ribbon from the square white box and lifted off the lid to reveal a small scrimshaw-like pendent covered in arcane etchings of exquisite detail upon each facet of it's eight-sided polygonal shape. 

The moment I touched the pendent while lifting it out by it's thin silver chain, I gasped.

"This has it's own presence in the Force! Not quite like something alive, but steady and pulsing with a faint echo-reflection. It's a little like parts of Ilum" I exclaimed with genuine surprise.

"The pendent has been imbued with a Force-resonance aligned with the Light by an old acquaintance of mine. Someone from a Force-using tradition you won't have heard of. 

Since telekinesis is one of your great strengths, I thought a focus which will amplify your fine control and increase by a small amount the speed with which you can channel the Force into various telekinetic techniques would be playing to your strengths. 

The focus loses its associated resonance slowly as it's used, but I know just enough about the Witch's spells to show you how to recharge it. 

I know it's against tradition to speak of value when giving a life-day gift, so let's just say this absolutely cannot be replaced if lost or broken, all right?" Dark Woman explained. 

Looking up for the first time as she did so to favor me with a much wider smile than the rare small flashes I generally saw.

"You have worked very hard up to this point, Apprentice. Throwing yourself into your training with unwavering resolve. One of the biggest initial hurdles most Padawans face is coming to terms with the reality that their present training represents the beginning of a lifelong vocation. 

You; Anakin, seemed to intuitively understand that from the very beginning. In a way that was almost unnerving to witness in a boy not yet six. It's this drive to grow and progress, as well as your thirst for learning which are your greatest strengths. 

Not your natural talents or unusually strong connection to the Force. We are each the sum of our choices, and you have to date chosen well. Keep this up, and it is conceivable you might be ready to face the Trials in as little as another seven or eight years." 

The Jedi Master's tone wasn't complimentary, so the words meant all the more to me for being a simple statement of fact as the veteran instructor saw it.

I dropped the chain over my head and smiled at my teacher, but before I could think of something to say she concluded in a stern tone. 

"All of which means I have been doing you a grave disservice, Padawan. Clearly, I have not been working you to the utter limits of your potential. 

A failing on my part I vow to correct from here on out. Now, go get some rest. We'll reach Zonama Sekot in approximately eight hours. Since it's your life-day, you may sleep in an extra hour; if you wish."

"Missing the opportunity for an hour of active meditation to work all the stiffness out after I wake, Master? You've taught me well enough I no longer need unnecessarily aching muscles to convince me of the virtues inherent in diligence." 

The words were respectful, but I let a bit of teasing irreverence slink into my tone to let her know I'd recognized the offer for the trap it was. 

I couldn't see the Jedi Master's face as I rose and trudged tiredly from the cockpit after eighteen hours of training, but I felt the warm trill of approval from her lingering as I fell into my cot. Sleep found me less than five minutes later.

Once asleep, it didn't seem to take long for the dream to find me. Coming as it did in two separate and distinct parts like always.

From the deeply recessed dark brown eyes glaring fiercely or at least passionately out at something I couldn't see, to the flaring nostrils of the flattened and divided nose, and the tension obvious to me in the muscles surrounding the lipless mouth. 

Some great emotion had overcome the former Jedi Master, as he opens his mouth to address an audience invisible to me.

Only his face, neck, and upper shoulders are visible to me as Sora Bolq speaks, but I've seen this exact several second-long interval so many times I can make out a few words reading the Weequay's lips. 

"I assure the Parliament something ... something-something ... something will force the Republic to something-something-something right to something ... something." His head tilts ever so slightly, as if he is paying close attention to something being said, if one judges by his intent expression. 

I try this time, as I always do, to make out any portion of his reply to the invisible and inaudible speaker(s), but fail as I always do. His face breaks apart into tendrils of thick gray smoke which then spread to blot out the entire picture.

...

I'll appreciate if you guys can throw some power stones to keep the story going.

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