Printable View
"I just hit my second wind. I'm good for another 18 hours or so." Morgan explained. Over the years, he'd discovered certainly functional thresholds for his body that were unusual. His ability to stay awake and alert for extended periods were one of the least strange ones. There was a price of a solid 8 hour sleep cycle later, but given the trip back, Morgan knew he would be fine.
"So what are you supposed to do with these things aside from pointing the glowing end at someone else?"
That brought a smile to Solomon's face. "Oh, it's been a while, but I might remember a thing or two."
Serena was still asleep, but Morgan was able to pass a message on to her host so she'd know where to find them when she woke. A few minutes' walk out from the village took the pair of them to a grassy promontory surrounded on three sides by a valley of lakes and rivers that reflected the morning sky like shards of a mirror. The wind tugged at the hems of Solomon's nerfhide coat as he paced off a level square of grass. "Yes, this'll do nicely."
The preacher turned to face his pupil. "There are seven major forms of lightsaber combat: Shii-Cho, Makashi, Soresu, Ataru, Shien, Niman, and Juyo. Your master is accomplished in Soresu, the Resilience Form, excellent for defense and stability. As a warrior-in-training, I studied both Makashi, the Contention Form, and Djem So, a variant of Shien. But every novice begins with Shii-Cho, the Determination Form, also known as Form I. It is the oldest of the forms, developed from ancient fencing techniques, and it lays the foundation for all the others. Have you ever had any martial arts training before, Morgan?"
Morgan nodded, recognizing the names from the limited library of documents Serena had given himself and Rhianna. Looking back, it was probably best that they had not engaged in any lightsaber training. There were so few wielders and virtually no one had the Jedi weapons except collectors, and they certainly were not used in combat. It would attract unwanted, dangerous attention for the fledgling Jedi.
"Sure, I had some when I was little, and then from Adia on Vortex. I'm more used to vibroknives and blades than anything of this length."
"Then you should know that learning a weapon is as much about muscle memory as it is about strength or speed," Solomon replied. "What I'm teaching you today will have to become as natural to you as breathing and walking on two feet. That is, if you hope to keep doing either one. Draw your weapon, but don't ignite it."
He stepped toward Morgan and took some time to position him in the proper stance: a slight crouch, dominant foot held back, shoulder presented to the enemy at an angle, lightsaber held vertically. It was the aptly named "Jedi Ready," the most basic of the opening forms. Solomon circled the padawan, making slight adjustments until he was satisfied.
"There are six zones of the humanoid body," he said. "They all can be attacked, and they all must be defended. Now, before you learn to strike you need to learn to parry, so that's what we'll work on first. Zone number one is the head..."
The preacher brought his hand down in a cleaving motion toward the center of Morgan's forehead. "A zone one attack is a vertical strike through the head or shoulders. To block it, you raise your blade to one side and hold it horizontally."
Solomon placed his hands on Morgan's and raised his weapon into position. The blade, if it were active, would describe a horizontal ray just above his eye level.
"Good. Now, return to ready. Zone two is your right arm and side. Zone three is your left. For most humans, the right will be the the weapon hand. It is the highest achievement in combat for a Jedi to disarm one's opponent without seriously injuring them, or, failing that, without killing them. A strike to zone two or three is horizontal at the level of your body. You block to either side with a vertical blade."
The ready stance was already a zone two parry. Once Solomon was satisfied with Morgan's movements from side to side, he took a step back and drew his own saber.
"Now, ignite your weapon."
Solomon's blade hummed to life, a brilliant streak of ice-blue.
Morgan took a deep breath, switched his blade on, and exhaled. Something in the ancient, tens of millennia old ritual art daunted him. He pushed his awe and minor intimidation of the art aside, and waited for Sol to move. The older Jedi paused for a moment, evaluating Morgan with his blade as a single, new entity.
"One." Sol called out, and brought the saber down toward Morgan's head. Confident in Sol's control, but aware of the danger presented by the weapon, Morgan brought his own saber up. He lifted his arms and rotated his forearms a fluid motion that would provide good protection if Sol had altered the angle of the blow. The energy blades met with a hiss and crackle. Sol withdrew, and Morgan reset his stance. Instead of watching Sol's eyes or blade, he watched his upper chest, where Sol's movement would stem from.
"Two." The blue blade moved a touch faster. Morgan rotated his body and footing to counter. His saber was vertical between himself and Sol's. The blades met with a breath more force.
"Three." Sol said. He didn't wait for Morgan to reset his footing, but the Padawan's saber and stance slid smoothly into the correct block. While part of Morgan wanted to counter, he recognized the poise of an experienced practitioner of a martial art. The only press he could offer would come from his strength and speed. He returned to postion, and awaited the next lesson.
There wasn't a flicker of approval or disapproval on Solomon's face, not even the sheen of concentration. His expression was relaxed, even meditative. The strikes came more quickly.
"One. Three. Two. Three. One. One. Two."
Each time Morgan moved appropriately, gaining confidence and fluidity with each repetition. And then, the moment Solomon sensed the slightest spark of boredom, he threw Morgan a spanner.
"Five."
Solomon's blade bounced off of Morgan's leftside parry and arced back around before sweeping down toward the Padawan's right knee.
Five? What? What's a five? Morgan's mind raced. It managed to deduce that it was referencing one of his legs, and began to draw up solutions to this new dilemma. However, his body moved mostly on it's own. Since it lacked any preconceived notions on what to do, it did the most logical thing and took a quick step back to remove the knee from impending danger. The blade hummed by.
"So five is my right leg?" He asked, vision unwavering from Sol's core, his stance a simple mirror of the Jedi Ready it was moments ago.
At last Solomon smiled. His blade had stopped inches from where Morgan's leg had just been.
"That's right," he said. "Zone five is the right leg, zone six is the left. Don't worry about four, we'll get there in a minute. A lower-zone attack is a leg sweep to either side. To block it, you need to perform what's known as a drop parry."
Solomon held his blade upright in front of him in a one-handed grip and then, with a twist of his wrist and elbow, let the blade swing downward like the arm of a windmill so its point singed the grass at his feet.
"When your enemy strikes low, always drop your blade to the opposite side. If he goes for your right leg, you block him from the left. Never chase him. If you had swung straight down at my blade, you would have landed on top of it and pushed it straight through your own leg. It's a rookie mistake that no one ever makes twice."
"That makes sense. You'll keep your balance better, too." Morgan observed, and wondered how well he could heal from a saber burn. Morgan mimicked Sol's motion, then mirrored it, and then did it once with each hand before his body returned to the Jedi Ready.
"Six." Sol attacked with the same precision and marvelous fluidity he had the entire exercise. Morgan's movements were not as fluid, but they were crisp and precise with little wasted motion. It was obvious to the Jedi Knight that Morgan had speed to spare.
"Two, one, three, five." Sol attacked while Morgan kept his movements uniform, each blow cleanly deflected. The adrenaline began to flow, and part of Morgan's brain craved harder, faster. It wanted to counter-attack, but it also boasted that it could keep this up all day.
Morgan's rate of acquisition was impressive, and it was tempting to push him on, to skim through the next several lessons and really put his mind to work, but Solomon resisted the urge. It wasn't just about knowing the parries. It was getting used to all the transitions between them, one to five, five to two, two to six, six, to one again. The only way to train reflexes was by rote. Every repetition was a down payment on future reaction times.
After another ten minutes of drills, Solomon began calling out sequences of three or four strikes at a time. Morgan didn't know it yet, but these were some of the rudimentary velocities - chains of maneuvers practiced in sequence to improve balance and flow. Now the pace increased, and even in the cool of the morning, both men developed a sheen of sweat on their foreheads.
Finally Solomon stepped away, doused his blade, and offered Morgan a canteen. He took a few mouthfuls of water from his own before returning to the lesson.
"Now, zone four," he said. "Zone four is your back. The best way to protect your back is to keep your enemy from getting behind you. But if you must defend a strike from the back, the fastest way is with a drop parry over either shoulder."
He turned around and demonstrated with his own saber.
"A successful zone four parry requires a thorough awareness of your surroundings and, more often than not, a keen sense of the Force. We won't be going there today, but eventually you'll need to be able to defend all six of your body zones blindfolded."
"I can do that already. The blindfolded part. Because of the teleportation, I have to be able to perceive exactly where I'm going to end up." Morgan explained. His natural senses, while keen compared to a human, paled in comparison to his spacial awareness through the Force. It was his strongest ability.
"If you want, I'll wrap my shirt around my head." He offered.
"Well, I'd hate for you to miss out on the joys of getting shot by a remote," Solomon said with a wry grin. Admittedly, he couldn't help but feel a little envy on behalf of his own ten-year-old self if Morgan already had a leg up on that exercise. It just wasn't novice saber training if you didn't come away with a few blaster welts.
"All right, then, let's give it a try."
Solomon waited as Morgan blindfolded himself and settled back into Jedi Ready. This was where the art of the lightsaber diverged from mere swordplay, where the numbers and names gave way to perfect unity: the Jedi, the weapon, and the Force, all flowing in an unbroken circle.
The preacher took his stance and ignited his saber. "We'll begin now."
In some ways, it was easier to see Sol now. Morgan couldn't sense his aura in the Force the way other Jedi could, but he could feel the space that he displaced clearly. Sol's mass, his motion were all clear to Morgan. He ignited his own saber. Sol began to move around him. Morgan tracked him as if he could see him clean through the blindfold, his blade kept between himself and his adversary. Sol attacked, this time with no announcement as to his intent.
Morgan blocked the overhead blow that was transitioned into a thrust toward Morgan's left midsection. Morgan sidestepped and performed a traditional left block, pushing Sol's blade away from his midsection. Sol countered with a low spin right. Morgan's blade rotated and dipped. Sol continually tested Morgan for the next five minutes. Morgan's nostrils began to flare, and he began to fight the urge to counter-attack again as the adrenaline started to flow under Sol's fury. After another three minutes of rapid-fire attack, Morgan's discipline broke.
Had the drill been an honest-to-goodness spar, Solomon's reaction would have been faster - as it was, he was a split-second late in recognizing that Morgan had gone on the offensive, and he had to stumble backwards as he twisted his saber around to intercept the Padawan's blade swooping in at his left side.
Solomon stepped out of Morgan's range with a look of stormy disapproval. "Extinguish your weapon," he ordered.
Serena woke late, the sun already over the mountains and most of the women of the clan setting about their morning chores. A gaggle of children followed her as she had a late breakfast, and one carefully informed her of where Sol and Morgan had gone. Their eyes were intensely curious, but she told them to stay with their mothers and siblings as she made her way out of the caer.
They had found a good place for practice - off the beaten path and out of site of the caer, in a clearing surrounded on three sides by water and one by trees. Unwilling to interrupt, especially since the drills Sol was putting her padawan through were dangerous even if one's concentration did not slip, Serena leaned against a rough tree trunk and observed quietly.
Morgan blinked, and turned the saber off immediately. He pulled the shirt off his head to confirm what he saw through Force was what his eyes would see.
No disparity there. A flood of understanding hit Morgan. He felt very much the ogre.
"I'm sorry Sol. I can't remember the last time I had that much adrenaline. Not since Nar Shadda, in a street fight." He looked up at Sol, his eyes dilated just below the point of discomfort. Bright green rimmed a rather reflective black pupil. His entire body was flush with a fresh blood supply, thanks to a similar mechanism that a kath hound used to allow it's platelets to carry more oxygen. Morgan's fingers flexed, and he forced them back open. There was obviously a battle being waged between his body and his mind. His body very much wanted to hit something.
"It won't happen again." He said, but wasn't sure if it meant anything to Sol at this point.
Solomon nodded slowly, and he let his own blade swing down toward the ground before extinguishing it. "I let myself get carried away," he admitted. "I was pushing you too hard, trying to find your boundaries. I think I just found them."
The preacher could sense Serena's eyes on them without even looking back over his shoulder to her perch. He was embarrassed to have been caught in a blunder by Morgan's master, but the important thing was that the lesson was not lost.
"At this stage of your training, discipline and consistency are more important than speed," he said. "Until you have complete command of your weapon, a lightsaber is more dangerous to you than to your enemy. If I hadn't started with a training saber as a kid, well, I'd have wound up with several fewer limbs."
He looked over Morgan's shoulder and charted the sun's progress through the eastern sky. At last his face softened.
"You've done well for your first day. Anything you'd care to add, Serena?"
"No, I think you covered it." She pushed away from the tree with a smile. "I see you completed your lightsaber, Morgan."
Serena put her hand out, "May I see it?"
"Sure." Morgan said, his breath had become almost normal. He handed Serena the saber. It looked more like a part of a military speeder bike or a plasma cutter than a refined Jedi weapon, but there was care and precision in it's construction. It was noticeably larger around and longer than Serena's own weapon, and, as observed by Sol, would either accommodate one or both of Morgan's oversized hands. It was a somewhat heavy weapon, even for it's size. The rubberized outer casing was a heavy gauge durasteel. There were only two outward controls: a dial to adjust the blade diameter and a toggle for power. Aside from the blade emitter, blade adjustment and the power button, there were no exposed items save a thumb screw on the bottom. Once that was removed, the end cap covering the power supply could be screwed off.
"The thumb screw that holds the power cell in is also the disassembly tool." Morgan explained. He'd cut and welded a hex key onto the end of the thumb screw. Every other screw used in the saber's construction was standardized to the hex key.
"Solid construction," Serena said, pleased. "You made good use of the plans in the database, but modified it to be unique to your needs."
She balanced the hilt on the palm of her hand, then closed her fingers around it and ignited the blade. "You have done very well, Morgan." She disengaged the blade and flipped the hilt around, handing the lightsaber back to her padawan. "I did not expect you to have it completed so soon."
He was growing with leaps and bounds, and part of her was proud - but another part worried that too much power gotten too quickly could corrupt. There was a reason that children had come to the Jedi as infants. If one was considered too old to begin the training... well the last Jedi to join as an older child had been Anakin Skywalker. Enough said.
Morgan had joined as a young man, and although she had been training him for years now she could not help but worry that she had chosen to do the wrong thing. Better to leave the young man as an untapped adept than raise up the next Dark Lord of the Sith. The memory of her vision from the day before made her mouth a little dry, but Serena smiled at Sol. "You are a great teacher, Sol. Have you considered taking a padawan of your own?"