Дэйв Волвертон - Jedi Apprentice 1 - The Rising Force

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.

Seat 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.