Arc 2 Chapter 37

Anaïs regarded her opponent across the arena grounds, the spoiled heir of some Mage family that had declared he’d marry her because ‘hurr durr I strong, you weak’. He’d created Force-controlled pseudo-droids that looked like iron bulls, just like the man’s own Presence appeared to be, though their insides were surprisingly complex.

She’d managed to take over one, her control of it far more awkward than the Badoli heir’s, but, with the assistance of the Light Side of the Force, it had become almost autonomous, as it leaned into her hand while she scratched its metal mesh skin behind one horn.

The dark skinned man, whose Presence was now shot through with a Dark combination of fear and anger, snarled, “You will return my creation!”

“Mine now,” she shrugged, trying herself not to find amusement in causing the rude man distress, and mostly succeeding. “Unless you can take it back.”

The Mage held a hand out, casting, copper sigils forming in the air, the Padawan picking out ones for ‘control’, ‘take’, and others, the formation in the Force interesting to watch spring to life, creating an odd sort of ‘key’. With a grunt of effort, the man cast it, sending an orange wave of energy outwards. It hit his own four bulls first, the ‘spell’ wrapping around them and pushing into the bits of Force controlling them, their connections to him stuttering for a second before resuming, and then the wave tried to do the same to her commandeered construct.

But, when it tried to ‘key into’ the part of her Force Presence that was maintaining it, there was no ‘lock’ for it to key into.

It was a bit like trying to open a root by shoving a key into it, with about the same amount of success.

“Maybe try again?” she offered, as the Mage stared at her, confused, and he obliged, putting more effort into it, for about the same result.

The Jedi leaned against her bull, tapping its side with her blade, made of compacted, Force-infused Ice, and slowly said, “So it’s. . . like this?”

She reached out to one of the other bulls, and tried to replicate the spell with her own ‘magic’, to ‘key’ into it, and the creature dropped bonelessly to the ground, but didn’t shift to her control, the framework of odd Force energy that animated it still intact, and not completely broken like she’d done to the one beside her. “Hmm, maybe-”

The enemy mage shot another iron spike at her, which she deflected with her blade, the man quickly taking control of his stunned creation once more, as he yelled, “Stop doing that!”

“Then stop bothering me,” she replied absently. “You’re the one who wouldn’t leave me alone. Now, what if. . .”

Reaching out again, she tried to re-key the construct, eliminating Badoli’s control, but, when she tried to assume it herself, faking the connection, it was just so. . . wrong that, while the iron bull spasmed on the ground, it didn’t do anything she wanted it to. Again, the Mage tried to take back the creature, but she was busy, and so easily blocked the attempt, however, no matter what she tried, she couldn’t figure out how to make the pre-existing Force construct that let the metal bovine follow anything less than her style of direct control worked.

“You court death!” the Mage screamed, sending his other bulls charging for her, casting another volley of iron spikes, which she and her bull leaned out of the way of, the construct under her control looking to her for permission before, with a nod, she sent it to go fight the others.

Starting to walk forward herself, she informed him, her voice carrying, “I did not want to court anything. That was the issue, apparently.” Using the physical blade was still a little awkward, but, keeping here eyes open to the shades of Danger coming her way, she found that, as she moved it into the path of the shots, she could also then predict the ricochets the projectiles would make.

It was nothing like using a saber, where the instinctive knowledge of how to bounce the packets of plasma that were blaster bolts was simply interposing your blade into their path and tilting it in the direction you wanted them to go, sometimes causing the blasts’ direction to do a complete one-eighty degree rotation in the process. No, the original direction of the shot was mostly maintained, and she had to worry about deflecting the spike into herself, though the Light naturally nudged her away from doing so.

Her bull had tied up three of the others, darting between them, using its horns to strike into their joints with far more agility than they possessed, disabling them while rolling about to avoid their own attacks, while the last one got by it, charging her, as she stepped between spike barrages, barely paying attention to them.

More spike-paths appeared, in the direction she would’ve taken if she tried to avoid the oncoming construct, but she didn’t need to. Instead she reached out with the Force, getting a good mental ‘grip’ on the charging construct, which, as an object, held no resistance to her manipulations, while simultaneously increasing the Force in her own body, remembering how Lucian had done it before, when, during their training, she’d gone all in on Telekinesis and thrown a light turbolaser cannon’s barrel at the infuriating man, who’d not only caught it with a single hand, he’d juggled it, before hurling it back at her!

And then he’d made her learn how to do it too!

Letting go of her blade above her head, it was easy to use a mental finger to hold it still in the air as she took a wide-stance, and, with a grunt of effort, lifted. ‘Most things can’t generate force if they’re off the ground, Padawan,’ he’d instructed, and, while the creature was at least a thousand pounds, she’d done worse, using the more ‘efficient’ method of Telekinesis he’d taught her, one that only pushed in a single direction. As such, it maintained its momentum, which was what she was ready for, positioning her hands just so to catch two of its four horns, the metal slapping into her palms hard enough to sting.

I need gloves, she thought, not negating the force of it charge, but taking a step the side, which also let her dodge another volley of iron spikes, and pull, spinning about, arms straining from the effort, before she after a full rotation, she released, sending the bull right back at its owner.

Well, kind of.

She was going to miss him by a good dozen feet.

Lemme just. . . she thought, reaching a hand out, and nudging mentally it back on course, as the heir paled, casting a rapid spell before. . . meeting it head on?

He didn’t dodge, didn’t deflect, the idiot moved to punch through his own beast, so the Padawan, with a flick of her hand, shoved it to strike the moron even harder.

She was sure it was a very impressive looking strike, if you didn’t know anything about combat, but the added kinetic force she’d imparted sent the man staggering back several steps, as she lifted an arm and took hold of her blade once more, starting to walk forward once again.

Off to the side one of the Mage’s bulls was about to strike hers, one of the others disabled, and the last of the three backing away, so, copying the formations Badoli was using thoughtlessly over and over again, she made an Ice spike, though it took her a bit longer than his did, her own construct getting gored before she was done, which caused her to frown. Gripping the spike telekinetically, she shoved it forwards harder than he did, the frozen projectile whistling as it slammed into the other construct, tearing its head off, ruining its central assembly, the iron automaton meant to take straightforward collisions but, apparently, weak to shearing damage.

Her bull staggered, in pain, but she felt a connection to it, and, focusing on that bond, sent it the same sorts of feelings through the Force she would if she were healing someone, the Light guiding her, and watched as the shattered joint re-aligned itself, allowing her bull to turn and counter-strike the construct that was going for it, parry the attack, as much a bull could parry anything. Her construct lunged forward and gored its shoulders, doing the same kind of damage that’d just been done to it.

Then she felt danger, though one that lacked intensity, and glanced over, seeing the metal-horned, metal-skinned Mage stomping the ground like a bull, Dark rage boiling off him.

“You will die!” the man screamed, in a way that was a little unhinged, and Anaïs decided that, while she was learning a good deal, it was probably time to end this.

“No, I will not,” she replied calmly, almost sounding bored, half-meditating, sinking into the embrace of the Light as she turned to face him, bringing her blade up, able to clearly See what he’d do, a charge on par with a Jedi using Force Speed, his arms held cocked out as his hands gripped his own crown of horns to stabilize it with more than his own now-beefy neck, upon which he was going to gore her, relying entirely on speed and power, which, while likely high for a Mage of his rank, was the utterly braindead technique that every Initiate tried as soon as they learned how to Force Jump horizontally.

And the technique that Battlemaster Drallig brutally punished in the Temple’s sparring grounds, for any who were fool enough to try it on him.

As she’d watched tat man do, she centered herself, holding her blade up, and infused it with Telekinesis, forming a Force Barrier behind it for extra stability, and waited.

Sure enough Badoli dismissed her as a threat, and blasted forward, steps digging divots out of the stone floor as he blurred towards her, head down, not even looking at her in the process, and so missing as she took two short, rapid steps to the side she took, moving the barrier with her, lowering the height of the blade slightly, and then she braced.

It was over in an instant, as the Mage charged through the space where she’d been, his ‘unstoppable’ force missing her, but still catching on the ‘immovable’ object of her blade, the edge meeting his metallic bicep.

And then something gave.

And it wasn’t her sword.

The metal clad boy went flying, flopping and rolling, clanking the entire way, to the edge of the arena, his arm flying off into the air, as his blood splattered the ground behind her.

The Padawan froze, as that had been a good deal more. . . wet then she was used to, which, obviously, her ice blade didn’t cauterize the wound in the process, another point for lightsabers being the superior weapon, but her dismay was alleviated by the Light, which helped keep her on task.

Turning, the man, no, the boy was screaming, thrashing about, holding the stump of his right arm, which, wow that was a lot of blood!

Looking at him, the ‘man’ who’d declared she’d be his, some part of her wanted to take pleasure in seeing him humbled, but seeing the pathetic Force Adept now didn’t make her feel good, only sad. And, with what her Master had taught her, if he didn’t get healing in the next couple minutes, the boy was going to die.

Ugh.

With a sigh, she started to walk towards him, noting the bit of red slush that now stained her sword, so, with the flick she’d seen Lucian use to clean the paint off his blades, she removed it, reaching her free hand out to the removed arm. It was a little hard to mentally grip, still holding the boy’s Presence, but not that bad, as she approached the downed Mage, who, seeing her, reeked with Fear, polluting the Force around himself.

He directed the remaining iron bull construct her way, but, pointing her blade at it to concentrate better, she ripped apart the ‘spell’ animating it, making it drop ‘dead’, and continued to walk, idly noting the stands were completely silent.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Coming upon him, the boy was sobbing, “D-Don’t kill me! I-I’ll get you whatever you want! Money! Materials! Servants! Anything!”

Sighing, she shook her head, reaching out with a Mind Trick to make sure he understood. “There’s nothing you have that I want. Now stop talking, and hold still.”

His Presence tried to buck hers, but the Light was with her, and she pinned him down far easier than she had the soldiers on Noonar. Then again, she’d been planning on killing those men, once she’d gotten the information she needed from them, and they’d wanted to kill her, while here this boy was just scared, and she wanted to heal him, something the Light was all for.

Both times she’d been doing what the Force had wanted, but Lucian had been clear on how the Light could be. . . difficult when it came to nuance.

Regardless, she pinned him with Telekinesis, as she needed to line this up correctly or it’d be a pain to reattach, like she had to do when Lucian had made her heal her own finger after she’d managed to cut off the tip during training, and this was the same thing, only bigger.

Right?

. . . Really hope this works.

Kneeling down, she gripped the amputated limb by the cut section, and jammed it into the stump, which was still bleeding everywhere in slowly weakening spurts, causing the Badoli heir to scream in pain, which was really his own damn fault for trying to kill her, as she put down her sword on his now immobile chest, making sure not to cut him, and used her other hand to gather the Force, silver mist forming around her fingers and streaming into the wound.

Thankfully, with him pinned in place, he couldn’t move, so she didn’t have to try and work to keep everything aligned once she got the ok from the Light that it was all good, and instead could focus on pouring her energy into reconnecting the bones, nerves, and blood vessels. After that was repairing enough muscle tissue so that natural healing could take care of the rest, only vaguely aware of what she was doing, just enough to prioritize the healing.

Master Lucian had insisted that, the more she understood the biology of what she was restoring, the more precise she could be with it, and thus the more efficient, as most Jedi’s ability to recover via healing trance was indiscriminate, and while it’d keep you alive, it’d take care of minor wounds the same time it tried to reverse mortal ones. Anaïs had tried to learn, but human biology was difficult enough, and the man’s insistence on learning the biology of every major race in the galaxy had been the cause of a good deal of academic frustration.

But Bhoyarians were human, so she could do this much fairly easily. It was tiring, almost as much as the entire fight up to this point had been, but she got him to the point he could naturally recover, and that was enough.

Sighing, she stood, and then frowned, as her hands were now covered with blood. Going with a whim, she made an ice crystal, and rubbed it between her palms, freezing the blood while only slightly chilling her skin, collecting it all into a red snowball that she dropped on the now unconscious boy’s face, bringing him sputtering back to consciousness.

Letting go of the Telekinesis holding him down, he jerked his hands to his chest, and stared, shocked to see he had both of them once more.

“Next time, when a girl says no, accept it,” she informed him, the boy nodding emphatically, though his Presence only indicated servile fear, and she turned, only now noting that the referee, who’d done nothing once the fight started, was completely bound in vines, which, tracing them through the ground, came from the stands, and Professor Fatsani.

Huh, wonder what that’s about? the Jedi thought, mentally shrugging as she left the arena and started to climb the stairs, her bull following along behind them. Senara joined her, and the Padawan questioned, “You ready for dinner? I hope they have that green sauce. It’s rather good.”

Glancing back at the still silent crowd, the white-skinned adept chuckled. “I don’t know, I’m partial to zhe red.”

Well, at least they’re not interrupting me anymore, Anaïs thought, several days later, as Senara and her walked the halls, the Mages rushing to get out of their way, staring fearfully at her. “Okay,” she finally said, knowing the Adept would tease her over it, but the Padawan hadn’t been able to figure out the reason why. “What did I do this time?”

The white-haired girl shot her an amused look. “Vhatever do you mean, my Jedi friend?”

Waving to a boy a year or two older than herself, the Animalia mage flinched and took off running, causing Senara to laugh. “That,” Anaïs stated. “And in my classes, everyone didn’t want to use the Force until the teachers made them. And the same teachers acted like I wasn’t trying, even though I was.”

“Vheeel,” the Adept drawled, “it may have to do with ze fact that you, in front of nearly a hundred students, reverse-engineered zhe Badoli family’s clan spells, and zhen used them better zhen their heir did.”

“. . . is this about Oxnard?” the Padawan questioned. “I gave him back.”

She hadn’t wanted to, as, bulky as it was, the ox-shaped Force-droid had started to grow on her, but the Order was clear that attachments were bad, especially to objects, and, while Lucian didn’t quite agree, when the Headmaster had dropped by Senara and her training to formally request that she return it to avoid political problems, she hadn’t been able to think of a good reason to say no other than ‘I don’t wanna’.

The fact that they kept her sword, hadn’t helped either, not that she really cared about it, but that undercut the demands from the teacher who’d came from the same clan, and who she told to go to the headmaster if he had a problem with her, the man in his forties clearly wanting to threaten her in order to get the construct back, from how Dark his Presence had been, but had at least shown enough professionalism to not go that far.

“I can’t believe zhat you gave it a name,” Senara sighed. “And, yes, it vas the fact that you took command of it, something zhat only a master of their spells are capable of, and then controlled it as only zhe elders of zhe clan can do. And, from what I’ve heard, zhey have no idea how you did it.”

The Jedi shrugged. “Light Side of the Force.”

“Zhat is not an explanation,” the Adept sighed. “And if it vas, why could your own constructs not do vhat that bull could?”

Anaïs winced, as she’d tried her hand at making her own Force-droids, but they. . . hadn’t worked. “Because Oxnard was really complex, and was natural enough that the Light Side just went, ‘Yeah, okay’, and took care of all the finnicky bits.”

“Magick cannot go, ‘Yeah, okay’. . . can it?” Senara questioned, starting firm but running out of steam halfway through.

“I mean, it did,” the Jedi shrugged. “But that might be a Light Side of the Force thing, not a ‘magick’ thing. It’s definitely not a ‘magic’ thing, the way the Mages understand it, which is why they’re confused.” She’d dismissed the bit of Light animating Oxnard when she gave him over, which had been unexpectedly sad, but had only affirmed that she was getting too attached, as \ Draconis had insisted that she do so, and her Master trusted him, so she’d done what he’d asked.

“Then, what, they’re scared I’ll copy their ‘spells’?” the Padawan questioned, looking around. “They’re not that complicated,” she added, a little loudly, getting a laugh from her friend. “And I can’t actually copy them. Just. . . fake it.”

“Like you did for zhe ‘Iron Teeth of zhe Behemoth’?” Senara questioned, laughing again at the blonde’s blank look. “Ze pointy things he shot at you, not zhat they did much good.”

Squinting, Anaïs questioned, “I’m sorry, what? But it’s just some spikes,” she formed a small one above her hand, holding it in place with Telekinesis, “that you throw.” With a gesture, she sent it thudding into the grass. “That’s it.”

“Zhey think it is important because it lets you summon volleys vithout having to cast another spell,” the Adept offered. “And with you able to ‘cast’ zhe Bodali’s ‘Mighty Indomitable Gorgon of Bodali’ spell well enough to seize control from little Limbani, it iz obvious that zhat is what you had done. Zhe fact that you do not need spells, Anaïs, being Jedi, is something zhose Mages cannot wrap zheir small, small minds around.”

“Is that why they’re freaking out, but you didn’t?” the Padawan questioned, wrapping her own version of her friend’s ‘wind mantle’ around her shoulders, the silver mist spreading out like a living cloak.

“No, I did not ‘freak out’ because I know zhat you were not doing so to steal but to grow,” the Adept stated, then paused, “And I did, a little, zhough I had the good grace to get over it instead of skittering about like blinded veshets. Ze fact that you are teaching me your Sect’s techniques also helps.”

Sighing, dismissing the mantle, as they wandered off the main paths, and away from prying eyes, Anaïs waved in the direction of the Mage students, “I’d teach them if they just asked. Wait, do all Mage spells have stupid names? The ones in our classes don’t have names!”

“Yes, zhey do,” Senara stated. “Zhe classes vhere you modify your spells? Everyone has a handful zhat only they use, yes?”

Thinking about it. . . “Yeah, I guess they do,” the blonde admitted. “So the base spells all have stupid names?” At her friend’s nod, she questioned, “Does that mean they think my Telekinesis is like ‘The Invisible Guiding Hand of the Jedi’ or something?”

Smirking, the Adept prodded, “Please tell zhem that is what it is called, but only if I am zhere to see it. Zhe look on your face when zhey nod sagely, of course having heard of zhis mysterious technique before, being learned Mages after all, vill make my week.”

“Then, because making a sword of Ice,” the Padawan slowly said, forming a dagger in one hand, “isn’t just ‘Make Ice, but sword’, it’s the, I don’t know, ‘Crystalline Blade of Frozen Peace,’ so then they think I wouldn’t teach them it?” At her friends serious nod, the blonde girl threw her hands in the air, “But they didn’t even ask!”

“Vhy ask vhat you already know?” Senara questioned archly. “You either get confirmation of vhat you thought you knew, making others zhink you didn’t, or you are shown to not know vhat you thought you did, proving ignorance to your peers, vhich, to accomplished Mage,s is a fate vorse than death.”

“But that’s. . . dumb!” the Padawn replied. “Draconis encourages questions, my Master does too, even Master Yoda, the Grandmaster of our Order says, ‘In the darkness of ignorance, evil lies, and shine a light upon it, questions do!’” She paused, at the white-skinned girl’s raised eyebrow, which slightly twisted the black patterns on the Adept’s face. “Grandmaster Yoda talks a bit strangely, but he’s not wrong.”

“And if others zhink you look foolish? Zhat you are ignorant?” Senara questioned with oddly forced indifference. “Zhat you are weak?”

Anaïs shrugged, “I don’t know everything, but I’m always learning, and, with the Force as my guide, that’s enough.” The other girl just stared at her. “What?”

“Jedi,” the Adept muttered, shaking her head. “Vhat’s worse, is I think I’m starting to understand zhe madness you spout. Just tell me, if I get zhe hang of zis ‘Light Side’ you keep talking about, I von’t have to wear one of zhose terrible looking robes, vill I?”

“I’m not wearing one, and they’re not terrible, they’re humble,” the Padawan defended.

With a flat look, Senara replied condescendingly, “Anaïs, darling, anyone zhat goes out of zheir way to state ‘I am humble’, is not. Zhis Master you mentioned, does he, or she, vear zhose awful robes?”

“Well, no, he wears a black and grey one. And armor,” the blonde admitted. “And Jorel’s Master, remember, my friend? He wore a military uniform, the one time I saw him. It was brown, but it wasn’t a robe at all.”

Senara started to say something, paused, considered it, then shook her head. “Vhell zhen it appears zhey are not as standard as I was told.” Sighing, the Adept leaned back, and closed her eyes, “Vhell zhen, I suppose I should get back to ‘Meditating.’ Oh, vait!”

Her eyes sprang open, and she reached over to he satchel, “Zhere is going to be another festival next month, and I assume zhat you would rather not spend it harassed by admirers, or hunted by assassins, yes?”

“Assassins?” Anaïs questioned, a little alarmed. “Why would there be assassins?”

Rolling her eyes, Senara questioned archly, “Ah, yes, vhy vould zhe sects want to eliminate someone zhat has shown she can pick apart zheir secret techniques, and possibly share zhem with their enemies?”

“It’s not a ‘secret technique’ it’s just making pointy things and throwing them,” the Padawan argued, exasperatedly. “People have been making pointy things and throwing them at each other since the dawn of civilization!”

“Ah, but zhey make zheir pointy things with magick,” the Adept teased. “So clearly no one else could ever zhink of it on their own. Is zhat a ‘Yes, Senara, I vould like to go on another hunt vith you?’ zhat I am hearing?”

Turning palms upraised to try and convey the depths of the ridiculousness of the white-haired girl’s statement, Anaïs replied, “You could’ve just asked me to go on a hunt, Senara. I would’ve said yes.”

The white-haired woman lifted a finger, paused, then shrugged. “I suppose I might not be zhat above making assumptions myself, no?”

Laughing, the Jedi shook her head. “I do it to. So, what are we hunting this time. Lightning cats? Water birds?”

“No, nothing so boring,” the Adept waved away. “To be honest, my friend, I vould not do this on my own, or even just vith you, but zhe, shall we say, gains I have achieved from my admittedly sparse understanding of how you Jedi do ze things you do makes it possible. You see, ve shall be hunting zhis.”

From her bag, the woman unrolled a parchment, with a painting of an odd insect upon it.

[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/538506147196567565/1069815827295129661/00048-4035085159-Steel_Beetle.jpg]

“Oh, a metal bug. A little odd looking, but it doesn’t seem so bad,” the Padawan shrugged.

With a flat look, Senara stated. “Did you not see ze trees in the background? It is zhe size of a shuttle, Anaïs. Zhose mandibles? Bigger zhan you, and it can set them to close together so fast zhat they heat up from zhe air resistance.”

Blinking, the Jedi took another look, “But then those pieces of shell have to be. . .”

“Used by some rich Bhoyarians for hull plating, yes. Even your lightsaber vould struggle to cut it easily, and zhey can move very fast,” the Adept stated with utmost seriousness.

“Well, when you put it like that, are you sure we should be going after it?” the blonde questioned, no longer nearly so confident.

Nodding, Senara replied, “If I only had my vood, and you your saber, no. It vould run me down, kill me, and vhile you would likely survive, you vould only drive it off. However, if I can move a little, see it coming a little, like zhe Jedi do, and, given how it heats itself vhen it moves quickly, with your ice. . .” she trailed off.

“I could induce thermal stress, making it brittle enough for us to break apart,” the Jedi finished. “And, with you able to keep away, we’d have the time to do so. But you can’t do that yet, Senara.”

With a cocky smile, her friend remarked, “Vell, my Mother alvays said I worked best under pressure.”