CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: THE FINAL BATTLE

0700 HOURS

"Are you ready for this, Per'dra?" asked Alana in the dining hall at breakfast. "I'd hate to see you - well, you know…" She took a tentative bite of her cereal, and its crunching spoke the volumes that more words couldn't. Still, she said more: "I mean, I'm already being punished because it's what I deserve, but Master Voyna seems to have it in for you. If she wants to humiliate you so badly, why not send you back to Basic Sparring class with me? I guess she thinks I'd be a bad influence on you, no matter if we'd both be embarrassed to return to training with Younglings." Alana's spoon thunked into her ceramic bowl. "I wish I could watch. I know that during a sparring match, everything's a blur, but at least I'd be there for you."

"I know." I wanted to hug Alana, but a certain reticence held me back. Jedi don't hug. They shake hands. So, I held out my palm, and we did. "I know that you'll be with me in spirit, and that's what counts."

"I didn't think I'd say this," interjected Noth mildly, "but you know what? You've been through enough, and deserve the stalemate against Master Voyna. I wasn't the only one who watched you train with Knight Sten. All of us spectators agreed that you were both enduring quite a trial by fire. Honestly, I couldn't have progressed as you did; my talents lie in gardening, not sparring. You've proven yourself. End of story."

An involuntary grin perked my cheeks up. "Thanks, Noth, but I don't think this story's over yet."

0830 HOURS

At last I was prepared for the match, both physically and mentally. Instead of my heavier regular tunic, I wore a white uniform designed for sparring. It covered the area from my torso down to my thighs modestly enough, but otherwise allowed for nearly-perfect freedom of movement. If I were going to be hindered in battle, it wouldn't be because of my clothing. I'd also had one of the cosmetic droids in the Temple's salon cut my hair yesterday night. I looked rather like a boy, but the style suited me. If I had my way, my sweaty clothes as well as my hair would stick to my body so tightly that neither of these things would impede me.

"Excuse me, sir." An all-too-familiar voice startled me as I strode down the hallway toward the specific Training Room that Master Voyna had specified. "I don't believe we've met. My name is Lixivia Falt, and I'm a Padawan-in-training." Her expression was a cross between a smile and a sneer. "How about you?" She paused, allowing time for her insult to sink in. "In fifteen minutes, I can't wait to witness your defeat."

"No." Not only did I mean no, you won't be allowed to watch, but no, I won't lose. I continued walking.

Lixivia tried to grab my arm, but then thought better of it and yanked it back. "Oh, you haughty little - !"

Haughty?

I almost stopped cold in my tracks on the polished tile floor. This was the second time that accusation had been leveled against me, and I was ashamed to remember who'd said it first. Like Master, like student. Suddenly the hallway seemed a million miles longer than it was. My steps, once so quick and urgent, dragged. Then, just as suddenly, I turned the nearest corner and bolted to a nearby decorative fountain. Sitting on its stone rim, I took several deep breaths and looked at my chronometer. 0845 hours. I had fifteen minutes to calm down, forget Lixivia and her cruelty, and think of the ultimate "backup move". What was I going to do if Master Voyna forced my back to the wall, literally as well as metaphorically? Sure, I'd had several ideas before now, but now I was certain that all of them would be too weak to work.

First, however, I had to get rid of the taunts in my head. Whispering as softly as I dared, I said, "I'm still nervous. I'm doubtful. I'm not sure that I'll be able to force a stalemate. Yet, haughty or not, I'll fight fairly."

A calming presence filled my mind, startling in its clarity. Another familiar voice said: "You've already won."

Flooded with relief, I silently thanked Kreia - however was she able to speak to me without her holocron? - and considered my options for saving myself from defeat. If push came to shove, what should I attempt? The next person I remembered was Sten, and as I recalled his advice, everything clicked into place:

"There is a tactic," he'd informed me, "that it would be fair to try against Master Voyna if you're in a bind. It is not a maneuver that Padawans-in-training typically learn, but then again, you will be sparring against the finest duelist that our Order has at present. She knows this move, and so should you." We practiced and practiced it - in fact, that was almost the only thing we did during our last day of training. I would have thought the crowd around the Outdoor Arena would have gotten bored and left, but they didn't. The more refined I grew at such a potent technique, the more riveted they - and I - became. It was nearly addicting.

"The only way for Master Voyna to counter it," Sten explained, "is with a decisive advantage, and nothing less." This meant that she would have to vanquish me outright, and not just deflect the tactic, in order to win. It was a kill move, not just an attack, and it made me more than a little scared to think of using it.

Still, does that mean I won't if I have to? I knew the answer to that unsettling question perfectly well.

0900 HOURS

"Good morning, Miss Yllari," said Master Nurk, who was the first person I saw in the Training Room. She was near the entrance. I felt glad to see such a kind, if stoic, face before I saw Master Voyna's. "Come." We went inside, and the Mon Calamari took her place at the referee's station. Outside the boundaries of the sparring mat, she was not outside the boundaries of its rules, and was here to enforce them. It was she who would see that both Voyna and I fought as Jedi did, not as Zetto's hardened compatriots did.

Master Voyna emerged from a changing room, dressed as I was, and nodded to me in acknowledgement. "Good morning." We both assumed positions across from one another on the mat, within bounds, and looked towards Master Nurk. "Would you please announce the rules for this match?" Voyna asked firmly.

Nurk cleared her throat. "First, it is a timed one. You shall have two minutes to try and claim victory. With that said, for Miss Yllari, her victory condition is this: If she can force Master Voyna to a stalemate, or draw, then she shall be declared the winner. Second, all usual rules of sparring shall be observed. The only Force tactics you may use are the ones directly related to lightsaber combat. No throwing each other against the wall! Your weapons shall be of our training variety, whichever ones you select. Miss Yllari?"

"I choose the silver saberstaff," I told her, "because that's the weapon with which I usually spar in class."

"I will take two yellow blades," said Master Voyna, "for the same reason. Our weapons are still equal."

Mine is silver, and hers are gold. Did she choose that color of blade on purpose? I tensed. Maybe I was reading way too much into this. What did it matter? If I reached deep inside me, I would stalemate her.

Master Nurk gave us our sabers, which emitted light but no heat, and returned to her station. "The match shall begin in five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One."

0:00

I ducked and rolled out of the way of Master Voyna's first attack, an acrobatic jump and hard landing. Like a bolt from a blaster, she wasted no time in trying to connect with her intended target. My heart raced.

0:15

It's a good thing that I remember how to play "Stay in Bounds!" That was one of the first combat games I'd learned as a Youngling, and with good reason. One of the legitimate tactics of sparring was to try and force your opponent either off the mat or out of bounds. If you succeeded, the fight was over, and you won. Step by step, through a series of advances and retreats, I managed to hold my own mat territory.

0:30

Attacks, parries and ripostes: the heart of combat. This is hard, this is hard, this is hard, this is hard…

1:30

Master Voyna and I had fallen into a steady rhythm at last, or at least that of a solid draw. That doesn't mean, however, that it was effortless or feigned. It took all of my strength to defend myself against her continuous series of maneuvers, and if I could only keep it up for thirty more seconds, only thirty more!

1:56

Oh, kriff. No, no, no. She's going to make me go out of bounds! Desperate to stay within the correct area of the mat, I began to panic, but then a wave of serenity slowed my thoughts. Propelling myself high into the air with every bit of power I could still muster, I held my saberstaff out at what would have been a lethal position, had it been real. Time slowed to a crawl. All of the emotions I'd been feeling for the past few days surged like a storm within me: tension, anger, fear, frustration, pride. Desire. That, above all, fueled my flying body. I knew as I descended that this was the move that would either force a stalemate, or not at all.

1:57

AT LAST -

1:58

I landed. Two golden lightsaber blades positioned themselves on each side of my neck in scissor form.

1:59

The only two words I could cry out, with my body turned to liquid and my soul as well, were:

"I surrender!"

2:00

Master Nurk's words echoed throughout the training room: "Decisive advantage: Voyna. A fair match."

After spotting my deactivated saberstaff on the edge of the in-bounds area, I knelt. "Your victory." This was what we Padawans-in-training said after sparring with each other, but rarely. We only did so if we'd been totally surprised, even more totally outmatched, or filled with the deepest respect for our opponent.

I was all three.

The only thing that broke the weighty silence between Voyna and myself was a slow clapping sound…

Lixivia Falt walked in, not even wincing at the fresh stench of body odor. "Congratulations, loser," she said slowly, using an Echani term that implied that this condition was permanent on my part. "I eavesdropped, again, and now I'm coming to tell you that I knew this would happen. I bet the next thing you'll be doing is soaping up this training mat until it's white with suds. Based on your smelly uniform and sweaty hair that's plastered to your head, you don't look too fine for the work." She herself, however, was dry and perfect.

"Lixivia!" smiled Master Voyna, just as wet and odiferous as I was. "How nice to see you! Your turn."

"What?"

"Miss Yllari put up a magnificent fight, but I'm still in the mood for another match. It's your turn."

I didn't think that an Echani could be any more pale than Lixivia turned at that moment, but I was wrong.

"I decline!" Without one word more, she initiated a burst of energy through the Force and raced out of the Training Room. It was my rival, and not my opponent, who became a white blur of retreating speed.

Master Voyna, against all my calculations or imaginings, helped me rise to my feet as I quivered. "After you shower and rest," she said softly, "please report to me at 1100 hours. If we work together, we can have this arena scrubbed completely by lunchtime. It'll be dry by 1300 for the next class." All I could do was nod. "Combat and Force mastery are nothing without the willingness to serve, and one more thing: Master Severns told me that despite whatever else he had in mind for you, you are now his Padawan."

It was all over.

I had passed my third and final trial.

I'd lost, and yet I'd won.

END OF BOOK ONE

FINIS 6-24-13