A Disquiet Follows My Soul [PM to join]

[Jerek Zenduu]

It was quiet. The air was still, as if it hadn't been for years and years, and had only just calmed. But a child of the maelstrom hears the quiet, feels the stillness and grieves for the storm, wails for its comforting embrace, understanding only the chaos. Peace, joy, light, these mean nothing to him, and this strange touch unnerved him. Moved him to resist, to break the stillness, to rage though the storm had passed.

He opened his eyes, light flooding in between pale eyelids. Watery tears blurred his vision, as they always did after an extended meditation. He blinked to clear them, letting the world resolve into form around him.

As usual, he wished he hadn't.

Like most days after meditation, Jerek emerged feeling conflicted. He stirred, moving stiff joints and muscles that threatened to cramp from sitting in one position so long, letting the mundane worries of his body distract him from his disquieted heart. More so than simply the progress of adolescent fears and anxiety, the fourteen-year-old boy's lonesomeness that was generally no more than a dull throb now pricked sharply as a distinct pain. A loss that time had not healed. No matter how many times one of the masters said it would, it never became true.

Slowly, the boy stood, shaking out his limbs and pacing a few times to clear the residual effects of morning meditation from his body. His mind would need a bit more prodding.

Moving into the corridor, he joined the throng of fellow Jedi moving about the Ossus temple. The boy melted into the crowd, letting it carry him along the stony hallways and towards the main hub of the Jedi headquarters. Here, quickly affirmed by a rumble from within his stomach, was the most important area in the temple. The cafeteria.

Food options were both plentiful and simple, catering to the wealth of species the temple hosted, while still maintaining an air of humble modesty expected of the Jedi. Few would call the temples' meal offerings ornate or delicacies, but they certainly did not lack for choices. Nor would any go hungry, being guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy was famishing work.

Today's tray was piled with some kind of hot dish based on meat from an imported grazing animal, mixed with vegetables from the garden and a colorful rice pilaf. Jerek had passed by the table full of deserts, a constant source of temptation for Jedi youngling and master alike, without realizing it until he found his seat.

He sat next to a cadre of his peers, padawans like him, back from some missions or the other for training or an assignment in the local Ossus area. Though he had grown up with many of them, those assembled were neither close nor particularly of interest to Jerek today, so for a while he simply ate in subdued silence as the conversation rose and fell around him. As the other Jedi-in-training filtered out, the teen found he was glad for the reprieve.

His sullen brooding was abruptly cut off by the shuffle of another padawan taking a place at the table, tray and implements clattering as they made contact with the hard surface. Jerek didn't look up, hoping the newcomer would take the hint and eat quietly. No such luck.

"Hey, Jerek," the greeting came across in a familiar voice that made the boy lift his shaggy, blond head, hazel eyes peering across the table into the piercing blue of his friend.

"Hey, Dash," Jerek cheerily returned, his contemplating momentarily forgotten. Eying the contents of the other boy's tray, he grinned. "Went for the Cookies, Cake and Pie diet today?"

"All part of a balanced meal," Dash quipped a reply. He flashed a set of straight, white teeth, contrasting sharply against his dark skin. The Tholothian boy had been one of Jerek's first playmates as a new youngling, and their friendship had weathered the years kindly. Despite his excessive love of food and obsession with all things lightsaber combat ―Dash would often test out new combat moves on a hapless Jerek during their friendly spars― Dash was an all right kind of guy. Someone that could be relied on to point out the painstakingly obvious with the right dose of humor. Someone who was never afraid to question authority and succeed in planting seeds of doubt in their minds. Someone who got Jerek more than most.

And the only someone in the entire temple to know why Jerek flew.

"Just hope Master Ulthas isn't on 'guard' duty today. He'll give you shab for that," Jerek threw back, grinning all the while. He wasn't a Master's Pet, but he still took delight in making Dash squirm.

"Hey, I don't have to bow to that purple-skinned sack of bones anymore," Dash claimed proudly in between bites of what appeared to be a fruit-dotted cookie. Jerek dismissed the thought as soon as it had surfaced, his friend wasn't as geriatric as to have fallen to the cookie dark side so early in life. The Tholothian boy puffed out his chest as he continued, "I answer to a higher to a higher power now!"

"You know that Master Ulthas is taller than your Master Roth, right?" Jerek pointed out, trying desperately to hide his grin.

The Tholothian boy just gave Jerek a look in response, one that filled the Human youth with immense satisfaction. It took a considerable effort for Dash not to dish it out, and Jerek would take what small victories he was afforded. His own independent attempts at poking fun at Dash's shortcomings often paled in comparison.

Right now, Dash was as pale as Jerek's humor as the youth felt a shadow grow over his shoulder. Without turning around, Jerek could sense the disapproving glare of the Keshri master radiating onto the table. From the look on his face, Dash was probably re-thinking the whole Desserts For Dinner scheme.

"Padawan Dashmont," the grave voice of Master Ulthas resounded, his words crisp and clean, and they seemed to echo throughout the chamber. "Did we instruct you to make such poor life choices?"

 

[Jerek Zenduu]

"Padawan Dashmont," the grave voice of Master Ulthas resounded, his words crisp and clean, and they seemed to echo throughout the chamber. "Did we instruct you to make such poor life choices?"

No doubt the table was drawing curious looks from across the expansive lunchroom. The hairs on the back of Jerek's neck stood at attention, his own body going rigid in suspense, tensing at each of Ulthas' words. Should the 'purple-skinned sac of bones' ―as his Tholothian friend had so eloquently put it― turn attention on him, Jerek wasn't sure he would have the power to resist.

For the boy's obvious fear, Dash was putting on a front that would give a Sith Warrior second-thoughts about approaching. Still, Jerek wasn't sure if that would be enough. The Keshri master's reputation alone would have that Sith Warrior begging for mercy, what chance did a mere padawan face?

"No, Master," Dash admitted, his resolve crumbling underneath him as his friend watched. The Tholothian shook ever so slightly, imperceptible except through Jerek's Force-attuned senses. Ulthas was a firm believer in heavy-handed discipline, and even a padawan was not safe from his ire.

"Then exactly what would you have me alter in my diet? You seem to have discovered some new nutritious facts about sweets that I know nothing about."

Jerek wore a pained expression as he look back at Dash. There was no way he could help his friend, Ulthas would happily extend his interrogation to any who stepped up to defend a classmate. Dash knew this well, but the blond-haired youth couldn't help but feel as if he had just abandoned his closest comrade to the Krayt Dragons.

"Excuse me, Master." The petite voice of the brunette girl sounded as she maneuvered between the Keshri master to take a seat next to Dash. Her round, brown eyes glimmered as she seemed to tak in the scene with aplomb. Even Ulthas was unusually silent at the padawan girl's request, though he did allow her to pass unobstructed. Ignoring the bearded Jedi master at their table, the girl turned to Dash, her full lips pursed as if a mother hen about to pass judgement over her brood. "Tylen," she clucked with a sharp sound. "You forgot the rest of your lunch back on the counter."

Placing a plate of food in front of the Tholothian boy, who stared in mild surprise, unsure whether this was a prank or his saving grace. Thankfully, Dash, ―who was quick witted but frightfully thick otherwise― caught on quickly and nodded in knowing acquiescence. He was quiet, however, as the girl continued, "You're just lucky the cooks saved it for you."

"Yeah," Jerek chimed in fluidly, catching her eyes in hopes of passing a quiet thanks for doing what he could not. He knew Ulthas wouldn't buy just one odd story alone. So corroborate he would, "you'll need your strength for our duel this afternoon."

"Sure, thanks," Dash muttered casually, though Jerek could see that Dash was, in fact, grateful for the help of his friends. By the time the three of them had recovered from the impromptu theatrics, the Keshri master had departed, taking the threat of action with him. Dash breathed an audible sigh of relief as he pointed it out, and Jerek mentally joined in. It was likely both of them would have kitchen duty tonight if not for the brown-eyed girl's quick thinking.

That was Win-Tris Otega, though. First to the answer, strong in the Force, and pretty to boot.

"So, when'd you get back, anyways?" Dash asked Win-Tris through a mouthful of food from his gifted plat. Jerek admired that about Win, the ability to get through to Dash without even trying. Dash was a good friend to the Jedi youth, but even at the best of times, the two boys could argue over a small issue to the point of anger. Sometimes, it felt like Dash just didn't get Jerek.

There was only ever one person who had 'gotten' Jerek. When the boy recalled his face, it was like looking in a mirror. His twin, Elias, had been built a little bigger, could run a little faster, swim a little further, all properties that youngling Elias had attributed to being the first born. Yet apart from their figures and athletic stamina, the two boys shared features neither could claim for their own. The same hair, the same eyes, the same face and the same affinity for the Force. Though while Jerek was cautious and analytical almost to a fault, his older twin was an aggressive risk-taker and often acted rashly.

Sometimes, Jerek wondered if that was the reason the Netherworld had consumed his brother instead of him. Perhaps if he had been more like his brother, they would be together right now. Perhaps they would be dead, perhaps lost in the Netherworld, but still together.

"Jerek? Yo, Ossus to Jerek!"

A blond head perked up, hazel eyes refocusing on the two friends before him. They were staring at him expectedly, and it seemed that they had been seeking his attention for a short while. Jerek offered a weak smile, nodding to show them he was still there, "Sorry," he offered but nothing more.

"You looked like you were far, far away," the soft voice of Win-Tris sounded concerned. He could feel her warm, brown eyes looking him over, their gaze sinking a bit too deep for comfort.

"I'm fine," the boy said dismissively, cutting her off. He repressed the urge to shudder. Win was a good friend, but he always felt like there was something between them, some barrier that he couldn't breach like he could with Dash. The Tholothian boy had a way about him, a level of deep understanding that would one day make him a great Jedi.

"Good," the blue-eyed friend remarked as he finished off the last of his desserts. Jerek was hardly surprised about that, Dash may enjoy his food a bit too much, but he never let that stop him from quickly snarfing it down. At times it appeared that the boy merely inhaled his food while others ate, and spent the rest of the time jabbering happily to anyone who would listen. "Because I'm going to whup your smooth, little behind in our math."

"You know I was just joking about that duel, right?" Jerek pointed out, but it was fruitless protesting. He would spar with his friend anyway. Perhaps it would do him some good, clear his head ―or at least give him something more to think about. With luck, Dash would even have a new move to try out on Jerek, and he could spend the rest of the day finding ways to counter it. As he rose from the table with his tray of half-eaten food, Jerek raised his voice in complaint at the friend who had already moved off from the table a ways. "And my behind is not smooth!"

 

[Jerek Zenduu]

His breath came in heavy spurts, subconsciously measured to keep quiet throughout. A hum sounded in Jerek's ears, leaving him disoriented in the darkness. The heavy cloth against his eyes ―the addition of which he had protested― caught beads of sweat against his brow, just another distraction that the boy forced himself to ignore.

For at the moment, concentration was key.

The boy took a step, cautiously planting his foot as he listed for changes. Listened with more than just his ears. His mind reached out, seeking his opponent, gauging his moves against his enemy's. A split second to decide if the move was the right step or a misstep.

Jerek shook as a dreadful clash sounded in his ears, momentarily drowning out the hum and sound of his breathing. The blow moved down his arm from the energy sword clutched in his two-handed grip, threatening to knock him off his feet, or worse, cast his blade aside to leave him defenseless. The boy held on, his legs stiffening and teeth gritting with the effort. his opponent was bigger and stronger than he was and it wouldn't take much to lose his footing against the smooth flooring of the arena.

Clearly, it had been a misstep.

His opponent was silent, not even a grunt of effort despite the ferocity of the attack, yet Jerek could hear the expected taunt in his own mind. His resolve strengthened, but in the moment of response to the imagined jeer, he took another step. Another misstep.

The pressure on his blade increased, forcing the boy back, his careful footwork undone. Jerek disengaged, stepping back and to the left with more careful consideration, hoping to draw his opponent forward. The signature hallmark of his Soresu form, making the enemy come to him, winning over his opponent through exhaustion rather than physical prowess. As he moved, the padawan made his intentions clear, knowing this opponent had the same Force-attuned senses as did he. It seemed like a foolish move, letting his opponent know exactly where he was going to be.

At the last second, he whirled away, not caring where, letting the Force guide his feet away from his opponent's approach. A feint. Spinning about, Jerek moved his blade, striking out to where his opponent should be. Springing the trap. Bringing his blade across, its deadly energy set to bruise rather than wound, he felt the lightsaber make contact.

With thin air.

Jerek frowned as he recovered from the swing, stepping away to remove himself from danger. Another bead of perspiration fell onto a closed eyelid. He could do nothing about it, however much it annoyed him, like a splinter underneath a fingernail for weeks. He focused on the action before him, the senses that told him when to act and move, when to defend, when to attack, immersing himself in the plight of the moment. It wasn't enough. The feeling of despair clawed out with spindly fingers, seeking to poison Jerek against the outcome of his match. Just one more distraction.

He disengaged again, moving to a spot in the arena he hoped was safe. He could just feel the vibrations in the floor that told him his opponent was moving, but nothing to indicate where. Jerek stood passive, his breath steady, his arms loose at his sides, waiting. Had his eyes been open, he would have closed them in this moment. Normally, this was a pose in which Jerek would seek out the Force, but instead he let the Force come to him. To whisper its secrets, to guide his movements.

For several seconds, there was nothing. Jerek could feel his opponent moving still, his heart skipping a beat each time the small rumbles from the floor reverberated up through his body. He wanted to move away, to find somewhere far from his opponent to perpetuate the stalemate. If he could last longer, let his opponent wear out, it would be a simple matter to end the match in his favor. Yet he waited patiently, waited with an empty mind, an open heart.

It surprised him when he finally did move. As he stepped away from his vigil stance, the boy felt the white-hot energy of his opponent's blade brush within a hair's width of his bare cheek. Jerek had no time to be grateful, he was already away, already stepping through the rote motions of the counterattack. His arm, his feet, his body moved automatically, controlled by years of practiced learning and the Force. His body shook as the lightsabers made contact once more, but this time it was Jerek's blade that struck. His opponent seemed unprepared, staggering back and giving Jerek a centimeter before holding firm against the crossed swords.

A centimeter was all he needed.

He spun round again, no feint or trickery on his mind this time, just sheer speed. Aiming low, Jerek brought his blade against his opponent's legs, knowing that there had been no time to jump, no time to get out of the way. He could feel the warmth already flooding through his body, the glow against his face, the endorphins rushing to his head. He had won. A savory taste filled his mouth as he delivered the final blow, it permeated his senses, filling him, consuming him.

So it came as a shock when his blade, once again, sliced through air just as he felt the sharp kiss of his opponent's lightsaber against his neck.

The sound reached his ears like an unfamiliar friend, reprehensible in its brazen assertion. Jerek grimaced as he hear it, the cold swelter already filling his being, eagerly replacing the victory he thought was so close. So close he had literally tasted it.

"Match, Padawan Dashmont." The cold words sank through his skin, penetrating him as no lightsaber blade could. Though it was merely a friendly spar, Jerek couldn't help but feel the sharp edge of his nerves as they grated against a win that should have been his. Stolen at the last moment by Dash.

No, the boy admonished his own wayward jealously, not stolen. His friend Dash was an excellent swordsman, a dueling master among his peers. It took Jerek hard work to match what came simply to the Tholothian boy, who invented moves and techniques that Jerek would have never dreamed of. It was a serious contest to best Dash in a sparring match, and it was clear that Jerek was not on his serious game today.

Stripping the blindfold from his head and deactivating his lightsaber, his hazel eyes peered at Dash's lit face for the first time since they had begun. Matted locks of tightly curled, brown hair pressed against the dark-skinned boy's face, bright blue eyes peering out from behind to gleam excitedly at Jerek. As the two peeled off to the side to give over the arena to someone else, Dash's mouth opened, regaling the details of the match that Jerek had just been fighting.

"You should have seen me at that last second," the Tholothian boy was saying to Jerek's only-half-listening ears. "Your saber went that way, and I went this," Dash gestured with his hands and body, demonstrating the move for the boys' seeing eyes. It was different, seeing his techniques analyzed by someone who was not an instructor. Jerek blinked, watching with interest as his friend laid out the final seconds of their duel in painstaking detail. "And then I did this and it was over."

Jerek stopped, staring at Dash's solution, marveling at its simplicity. The move was nothing special, something a youngling could have done after only a few years of lightsaber training, but it was the application that made it unique, that made Dash the better swordsman. The loss still chafed, but not as much now. The padawan nodded in understanding as Dash returned to his normal form and the two of them continued their walk.

"You'll have to show me how to use that one sometime," Jerek said in an off-handed manner, his body suddenly rejecting the modesty. He wanted to shout at Dash, to declare the move unfair, that the match should be recalled. A loud voice in his head said that he should. Demanded it. Nearly willed it to be so.

Be quiet, Eli.

A sweaty arm roped itself around his neck and shoulder and Dash leaned on him as they went along. The contact was comforting, and the loud voice faded from the echo chamber of his mind. Jerek felt himself being pulled along, and he let Dash guide them, to lead him from the melancholy and disappointment of the arena. And as they stepped out into the sunlight of the courtyard, the padawan heard the mellow tones of his friend's voice whispering in his ear.

"I'm here for ya, pal."

 

[Jerek Zenduu]

The courtyard was fragrant, the aromas of a thousand flowering plant species from a hundred different worlds wafted through the air on a crisp breeze. Above, wispy clouds parted eagerly for a bright sun, blessing a new patch of ground with their cool shade. A small class of younglings occupied one section of the garden, the instructor inducting her charges into a diverse understanding of biology. Other students and full-fledged Jedi roamed the grounds, taking advantage of the bright daylight and cool temperatures for their outdoor excursions.

These simple features of the temple's courtyard were mostly lost on a pair of Jedi padawans, a Human and a Tholothian boy who paraded about the gardens as they conversed about something that seemed deeply important in their adolescent lives. Curious bystanders who were paying attention might have heard the passion in their young voices, the mezzo highs and the baritone lows making music that only they seemed to enjoy.

"He was not!"

"Sure he was."

The blond-haired boy stared at his companion in an expression of pure shock. "Ban-Tuu Fryyda was not the greatest Jedi who ever lived."

"Yes he was!" The other boy's blue eyes crinkled as he adopted a similarly incredulous face.

Jerek straightened up, taking on the lofty tones of Master Ulthas. "What has led you to such misguided thinking, Padawan Dashmont?"

Dash, the seriousness vanishing, grinned at him, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact, "Well, you smelly, purple freak, he organized Great Bargain between the Wookiees and Trandoshans, mastered three lightsaber forms, and trained, like, half the Jedi during his council tenure."

Now Jerek was back in his own form, mouth agape at his friend's claim, "You're making that up. There's no way Fryyda mastered three lightsaber forms."

"Sure, he did." The Tholothian boy shot back, unabashed in his views.

Jerek remained unconvinced, and it showed on his face. He folded his arms, confident in his superior knowledge. "It takes half a lifetime to even master one."

The implication was clear, even Dash's thick head could manage that. Or so the hazel-eyed padawan believed. "So he lived a while longer?" Dash pointed out, not really asking the question. The dark-skinned boy shook his tightly-curled locks, "I don't know what to say, this is straight from Master Pechard's class three years ago."

Now Jerek's shock was of a different sort. "Since when do you pay attention to anything besides combat class?"

Approximating the stereotype of a lady of high society, Dash gasped and covered his mouth with his hand, "I pay attention!" He cried, moving his hand to his breastbone in a mock dismay. He swaggered for a moment, eliciting a giggle from Jerek, before standing akimbo. "Maybe if you had paid more attention in combat class I wouldn't have beaten you."

Dash's words touched on a sore spot, and Jerek quickly delivered his retort. "I would have won if you hadn't used that move on me!"

"But I did and you lost." There was no pretense anymore, Dash was vigorously defending his championship.

"Boasting does not become a Jedi."

"Oh, so now we're exchanging platitudes?"

"If you call wisdom a platitude."

"I do when it comes out of a padawan's mouth."

"So says a padawan!"

"It's not like I'm going to be a padawan for very long!"

"Sure, you'll be a knight before you can even grow the braid."

"Just you watch!"

"And you'll be a great knight."

"Of course I will."

"And you'll master four lightsaber forms!"

"Yeah!"

For a moment, Jerek just watched his friend as he processed those words, before laughter spilled forth from his mouth. After a moment, Dash caught on and the two boys spent a few minutes unable to speak, their sides hurting from the amusement of it all. Finally, Jerek, with a new lungful of air, placed his hand on Dash's shoulder and said with a full face of seriousness, "You know, there's more to the Order than just fighting. Not all the great Jedi were duelists."

As Dash recovered, in between small automatic breaths, the Tholothian suggested, "Well, name one."

"vonn Woltze?"

The dark-skinned boy laughed again, stopping short in a snort of derision. "Castina vonn Woltze? That lightweight? She couldn't take on a Sith Apprentice!"

"Sure," Jerek admitted, but he was far from defeated. The blond-haired boy regaled his friend of Jedi Master Woltze's accomplishments. "But she practically wrote the book on Force Stun, though. Plus a bunch of other techniques." After a moment, Jerek added thoughtfully, "Actually, she did write the book. I read it."

"Sure, she's the greatest Jedi ever, alright." At first, Jerek thought Dash had truly conceded, but the victory was short-lived. "Next thing you'll tell me is Azul Gol was the greatest."

"Who?"

"Now who doesn't pay attention?"

"I-"

"Jerek."[/color] The youth's retort was interrupted by the deep bass tones of a familiar voice cutting through the air. A moment later, Jerek reconsidered, wondering if he had heard the voice by way of ears or his mind. Turning his head, the padawan sought out the figure, standing far afield at the edge of the tree line, who most closely resembled the Korun Jedi.

Both boys approached, Jerek's steps cautious, his mind shifting through the reasons for his master's appearance. The figure resolved into the strong form of Beck as they drew near, and the boy could see that his master was dressed in only a pair of boots and leggings, his torso free and unencumbered. Sweat brimmed the large man's forehead, prompting Jerek's muscles to report on their own soreness from his earlier spar.

"Come," Beck instructed his padawan, giving Dash only a cursory glance. The Tholothian looked to Jerek with a conflicted expression, clearly disappointed by the abrupt end to their break time. Jerek, however, was less enthused and said as much to his master. The Korun man was unsympathetic, "I see. The day is warm, you're tired and you wish to remain with your friend. All good reasons to let you rest for a while.

"Which is why you must come with me now to train." Before the boy could object again, Beck silenced him. "There are no reasonable Jedi. Only live ones. And live Jedi train on warm days when they are tired."

The Korun Jedi did an about face, leaping into a jogging pace back towards the thick, wooded region beyond the temple. Defeated in a way Dash could never hope to accomplish, Jerek nodded slowly and turned to his friend. With a mere look, they parted ways, and Jerek hustled to catch up with his master.

 

[Jerek Zenduu]

The trek was long and arduous for the Jedi youth, whose muscles were already strained from the sparring match with Dash earlier. Ahead, Beck jogged at a steady pace, the Korun master seemed no worse for the wear despite claiming to have been training since the morning. The boy's chest heaved as he struggled to keep up, finding the effort was pushing his body to a limit he didn't know he had. Wherever they were going, he hoped they would get there soon.

And then, Jerek thought wistfully as the realization hit him, they had to go all the way back.

Feet pounded the hard ground as Beck led him up a trial that was overgrown with disuse. Thick foliage bordered the sides of the path, and often threatened to leech it entirely from existence. A dense canopy blocked the boy's view of the sky, but he knew that the sun was already making headway on its slow decline towards the horizon. The trail led uphill, deep into the wooded regions of the Kingwood trees that surrounded the Ossus temple, with every passing minute brining the pair further away from the safety and comfort of their home.

Many times, Jerek opened his mouth to complain or protest their continuous march through the dense forest. All he wanted to do was go back home and stretch out on his bed, close his eyes and await the smells and sounds of chatter that would signal the evening meal's beginning. Yet the youth already knew that such words were useless, they would fall on deaf ears. Beck was not one to enjoy being second-guessed, as Jerek's earlier exchange in the gardens had made clear.

After a while, perhaps an hour of hiking or so, the Korun knight halted their advance before a chasm that separated two halves of the forest by a hundred meters or so, cut deep by the flows of an ancient river that the planet's regrowth had seen fit to divert elsewhere. The canyon bed below was rocky and uneven, scattered with the bones of prey animals herded to their deaths by canny predators. Spanning the chasm, too wide for either of the Jedi pair to make it over even with a Force-imbued leap, was a narrow foot bridge constructed of rope. At least, it had spanned the gulf, now the anchors of the bridge stood proudly across the divide, their offspring hanging limply against the opposite canyon wall.

"Is this where we turn around?" the blond-haired boy asked hopefully, brushing the sweaty, matted locks from his brow.

"Turn?" The knight ahead of him returned, but he stayed facing the precipice. "We've barely started."

Inwardly, the padawan sighed and suppressed a groan. He was shocked but not surprised, Beck's mood that day seemed to take some kind of satisfaction in making the boy miserable. He stared at the posts that marked where the bridge had once attached to their side. "How are we going to get across that?"

The man turned to face him at last, and in that moment Jerek wished he hadn't. Under Beck's gaze, the boy felt small, as if he had shrunk three sizes in as many seconds. Though it seemed that there was no need to say anything more, Beck did so anyway, rebuking the youth's hasty exasperation, "Are you a Jedi or not? Bring us the bridge!"

The question struck the boy like a blow. Perhaps it had been his fatigued body, his worn-out muscles or his exhausted mind, but the thought of repairing the expanse, even temporarily, seemed like a foreign concept. Once exposed to it, however, his mind agreed that it was a good idea. Lifting his hands, Jerek looked to Beck, waiting for him to join in. Instead, the older man simply crossed his arms and stood back, his body language making it clear that he was all too happy to let his padawan do the heavy lifting ―of sorts.

Jerek sighed outwardly this time, punctuating his frustration with a good, old fashioned eye roll.

 

[Jerek Zenduu]

Jerek stretched out his arms and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind for the task. Problem was, his empty mind wanted only one thing: sleep. Shaking off the sensation, the boy instead resorted to focusing his tired mind, concentrating on the dangling ends of the bridge hanging across the chasm.

It was difficult to keep his arms steady, much less his mind. It wandered back to the day's duel, replaying the events as if his mind was a holoprojector. Now that he knew what to look for, Jerek saw the move coming. He could easily block it, he just had to shift his arm like so, even preserving his attack, and meet Dash's weapon in the middle.

It wasn't Dash's weapon he met, but his arm. The sweaty, cotton-clad arm of his Tholothian friend. As his friend's arm met his, the boy clasped it, pulling it against his own forearm, leaning into Dash as he did so.

Something felt off about his grip. Jerek looked down at it, pulling his hand back enough to grasp the other's, using his free hand to push up the arm's sleeve. He nearly gasped, for Jerek saw not the toffee colored arm of his best friend, but a creamy white arm. In surprised, he dropped it, but the arm was on its way, moving a plate of food in front of Dash. The owner smiled at him, opening her full lips and grinning with her perfect white teeth. Then she parted them in speech, but her voice sounded not at all like Win-Tris.

"You're distracted." The bass tones of Beck's voice issues forth into the boy's ears, shattering his daydream. As his eyes returned to the scene before them, he noticed the bridge was halfway across the gap, but off course and twisted, one side spun over the other.

Gee, Master, how could you tell?

"I was thinking about something," the boy admitted and it was almost a good defense. His cheeks reddened as he realized why it wasn't just seconds before Beck chided him.

"Focus on the here and now, my padawan. Clear your mind and let go of your feelings."

Jerek knew he this was supposed to help somehow, but the only thing Beck's words did was cause his frustration to grow. The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was speaking, and for once that day he was pleased with them. "I'm trying!"

"A wise Jedi once said that there is no try."

"He sounds kinda foolish to me," Jerek remarked with a sly grin.

For once, smarting off did not stick the boy with a rebuke. Beck seemed to sigh, as if his own thoughts were far distant. "Sometimes we are all kinda foolish. The point is, if you believe there is no chance of failure, then there will be none."

Jerek stopped and turned to look at his master. The boy's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as he considered the Korun's words. "But, Master," he started, second-guessing for a moment if he had truly heard what Beck had said correctly. "Isn't there always a chance of failure?"

Whatever distant and nostalgic Beck had been with him a moment ago, he was gone, replaced by his teacher once more. Teacher Beck said simply, "Not today. Enough philosophy now, complete your task."

This time, the boy nodded and without protest turned back to his master's task. Fighting past fatigue and distractions, Jerek's mind finally made connection with that ethereal body, The Force, and with it as his ally, the bridge began to move towards the pair. As it rose to their level, Jerek could see that the end had been cut short of the full length of the chasm, and the bridge hung suspended as the padawan completed his job, waiting several meters away for its occupants.

With a wry chuckle, the boy nearly dropped his payload as he turned to his master, hoping Beck had an idea of how to fasten the shortened bridge to its waiting anchors. Perhaps there were small saplings of vines that could be used as a rope, but Jerek wondered what could be done to ensure it would hold up to the weight of Beck's bulk. He never found out, as the Korun was missing by the time the boy turned to look, while at the same time the bridge shuddered and Jerek had to fight to keep it aloft.

Beck had leaped the distanced and landed on the suspended bridge.

Simultaneously, Jerek was surprised at his master's level of trust. Both of the integrity of the old bridge, but also of Jerek's own ability to keep it hovering in place. Astonishment, thankfully, didn't stop the boy from maintaining his focus on the levitating bridge, but he really wished that Beck would not cross with such a leisurely pace.

By the time Beck completed his advanced across the chasm, and motioned that he had taken control of the bridge's suspense, Jerek's arms were trembling. They shook even as he let them hang loose at his sides, and instinctively he gripped one shaking arm with the hand of another.

Leaping across the void, the boy began to make his way across the chasm, carefully planting his steps, wishing his arms would stop shaking so much.

As he neared the halfway point, two things happened at once and Jerek's only warning was the sound of his name shouted across the canyon. His head snapped up to see Beck struggling under the attack of three native predators, one of which had launched itself onto its haunches to wrestle with the Korun knight.

But before the boy could quicken his pace to reach his master, he felt the bridge beneath his feet give away, and suddenly it began to fall with him still onboard.

 

[Jerek Zenduu]

No time to think.

No time to reason.

No time to blink.

No time to breathe.

No time to try.

Just react. Just do. Just succeed.

Or die in failure.

Failure would mean his body scattered upon the rocks littering the canyon bed a hundred meters below.

Failure would mean sending his friends Dash and Win-Tris into immeasurable grief.

Failure would mean never flying in his J-1 class starfighter again.

Failure would mean that the Netherworld had stolen the wrong twin.

Failure would mean abandoning his master to the vicious predator attack.

After everything that had happened today, Jerek was resolution in just one thing.

Failure was not an option.

His head still swam from the jarring lurch of the bridge's brief free-fall, but the padawan pushed it out of his thoughts, straining to keep the steps aloft ahead, below and behind him as he took them two, three at a time, judging the distance he'd need before he could jump the gap and abandon them altogether.

Five more hops.

Four more.

Three.

Two.

Jerek leaped a step too early, the distance too far for him to make it, even with the Force propelling him across the gap. Yet the boy could wait no longer, his strength was failing, his master was in peril, and there wasn't enough time for the ideal moment.

Now he simply had to do and trust in his ability to succeed.

It was a curious sensation, his jump across the remaining chasm. This was not free fall, no sudden loss of control, no certain death awaiting him at the bottom. Nor was it the comforting flight of his J-1, with instruments to tell him where he was going and engines with which to get him there. But to let go, to propel himself across an uncertain distance using only his intuition and some ethereal bond with a Force unseen to guide him, no way to change course, no way to take it all back and give it another go. This was it, this was the moment to fly, or―

Jerek hit the ground hard, his knees buckling under the weight of his sore body, tumbling head over heels to land sprawled upon the ground, his head connecting with a loud crack. He lay there stunned for a moment, too dazed to pick himself up. For the moment, the padawan just enjoyed the sensation of being alive.

Then the creatures were on top of him, snarling and gnashing teeth. Having been warned of the danger a split second before, Jerek pulled in his extremities, making himself a smaller target, rolling to evade snapping jaws and clawing feet. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it, to survive a harrowing leap on blind faith, to avoid a fall to certain death, only to become an animal feast as his prize for success. The boy tensed and braced himself for the attack that would finally award the pain he had so deftly avoided, the ripping of limbs he had unjustly saved, the loss of the life he had stolen from fate. He hoped to have the strength to hang on, to fight past it, to die honorably.

There was nothing. No attack, no pain, no fighting until his dying breath. Only a mewling whimper and the snap-hiss of a lightsaber as Beck's blue-bladed energy sword vanished back into its hilt.

A hand reached down, and with its help Jerek stood. He surveyed the scene, the carnage before the precipice. Those three furred creatures were either dead or dying, their shaggy manes branded with scorched wounds and their bodies mangled by deep injuries or dismemberment. A lightsaber's receipt. Beck himself looked surprisingly unharmed, only a few scratches on his face and hands betrayed his part in the attack. Jerek found himself looking into the Korun's sweat, dirt and blood-smeared face as the Jedi looked him over. The padawan felt his eyelids pulled up, his hand raised into view, his scalp felt and his torso padded. Jerek let the man check his condition, at the moment he was too consumed by his actions to worry about the aftermath.

"I'm sorry, Master. I should have timed it better, should have been ready for the attack." The words tumbled out of the boy's mouth almost as soon as he thought them, building up to the final confession of the moment, "I should have helped."

"You did," the knight said as he finished his impromptu examination of Jerek. "Your entrance gave me the distraction I needed to draw my weapon."

That was it? No lesson? No reprimand? No punishment? Jerek stared at his master, waiting once more for the proverbial blow to fall. For the second time that day, it never came. Instead, Beck simply continued on as if he hadn't noticed the boy's quest for self-prosecution.

"You don't appear to have a concussion. Just a bump on the head. It'll hurt, but you won't die."

You won't die. The words rattled inside his head, sounding over and over again in his thoughts. You won't die. Each time, it was as if he heard them for the first time. You won't die. He was alive, he had made it across the bridge, and survived the attack. He wasn't dead and he wasn't going to be.

Not today.

The padawan turned back to his master, not with the wistfulness of the teenager pushed beyond his comfort level, but that of a student eager to learn from his teacher. Jerek motioned with his eyes towards the bulk of trees that bordered the canyon and marked the second half of their journey both. Despite the pain in the back of his head, the soreness of his muscles, and the exhaustion of his mind, the boy was ready to carry on with their adventure.

"So, Master, where to now?"