For years, there had been a duality to Zark Ekan.
He had wrestled with himself, with his identity. Growing up on Coruscant with no family had not been easy. The Order had rescued him from the orphanage he had spent his adolescence in, whisked him far away from the Core to Naboo, given him a home amongst true peers. That had been his life. The life of a Jedi.
Still, as a young man he could not help but wondering about
before. Before the orphanage, before his own memory of himself. He could not help but wonder what might have been. His decision to leave the Order and follow Gash Jiren had rooted this doubt of self deep within his mind. His past, his own name, had become to him a deviation from what ‘should have been’.
And so he searched, and found nothing but a name and grief. Arix Askrima. For many years those two words had driven him in a search for truth, for self. And yet, it seemed as if the more he searched, the farther he felt from any sense of the self that he had known during his training as a Jedi. He had felt lost.
On Naboo, during the fall of the Jedi Temple, he had received a vision of Luke Skywalker, a vision that had led him to the Temple’s imprint in the Force. Skywalker had said to him that one day he would have to choose. He was a man of two identities, of a duality of self, and one of these must eventually fade away.
Seated with Leia and her apprentice, dining within the bowels of the Library he had helped to restore, Zark Ekan knew that his vision had been right. He no longer thought of himself as Arix Askrima. The tantalizing mystery of what the name had once represented to him no longer held root within him. He had found no answers along that path, only more questions and a deep sense of uncertainty.
In this galaxy, there was no longer any room for uncertainty. Uncertainty, particularly uncertainty of self, could destroy you.
images fade in. fade out.
the light of the temple. outlining it another light, not brighter but subtly brilliant.
serenity gives way to terror.
a growing darkness, a shadow.
a statue immolated.
the tattooed face of a man.
a gnarled hand, grasping.
awake.
Sweat poured from his face as the Grandmaster’s eyes snapped open.
Before he realized what was happening, Zark was out of bed with his saber drawn, the humming blade giving off a brilliant glow within the dark chambers. He stood there, motionless, reaching out with the Force in all directions, yet he could detect no imminent danger. Confused, he let his muscles relax and deactivated the weapon.
Odd.
As he had emerged from sleep, he had immediately sensed a threat. Having been ambushed in his sleep enough times during the return of Thrawn, Zark had quickly learned to implicitly trust such gut feelings. This had been the first time he had ever experienced one that had turned out to be a false alarm.
Was it?
That thought disturbed him. During the guerilla resistance fighting in Orilcia, he had been but a Jedi Knight. Any looming danger could be solved rather quickly with the business end of his saber. It had been a long time since Orilcia. He was a Jedi Master, the leader of the Enclave, and (though this thought elicited an involuntary shudder) a politician, of sorts. Not all threats involved Sith Knights or Imperial stormtroopers.
“Windows, reduce opacity gradually to full transparency,” he commanded absentmindedly as he crossed his chambers to the fresher.
Along one wall, the transparisteel slowly let in a dim red glow. Looking out at the horizon, Zark noted that Adega Prime was just beginning to crest the horizon, marking Ossus’s first sunrise. He smiled softly to himself in satisfaction that his body was becoming more and more in synch with the planet’s day/night cycle.
The smile faded just a little as the Jedi remembered the game he used to play with Gash. The Rogue Jedi Master had once astounded him with his ability to point out Adega Prime and Besh’s position in the sky, no matter the time of day, whether he was inside or out, at a moment’s notice. For weeks, Zark had tested his tutor, and in his own time had practiced, intent on discovering what method Jiren had used to sense of the alignment of the stars through the Force.
After his ponderings had shown no hope of providing an answer, frustration had won over him and he had finally begged Gash to tell him how he did it. His Master’s answer, at the time, had dumbfounded him. It had not been a trick of the Force after all, Gash had just
known. He had spent enough time living on Ossus that he knew where they ought to be and when they ought to be there.
The simplicity of it had embarrassed him, but to a man that had spent his entire life exploring the galaxy as a member of the Jedi Order, it had never really occurred to him that one could grow so used to their surroundings. The longest he had ever lived on one planet had been Naboo, and even then he had spent most of his time either in Otah Gunga or within the Temple, lost deep within his studies of the Force.
In a time of great strife, when Zark’s tutelage within the Order had been wrought with lightsaber drills and concentration exercises, Gash had somehow maintained a healthy appreciation for all the little things. That was what had impressed Zark the most about the man. Say what you would about his skills with a saber, his prowess for command, and his ability to organize, the fact that the man had not only been capable, but perfectly willing to stick his arms in the air like an idiot at a mere word from one of his pupils, and hold them there while that same young man had checked them for their astronomical validity, was a true testament to Gash Jiren’s character.
One day, Zark hoped to inspire that same reverence in his pupils. He just hoped that he wouldn’t have to look quite as silly doing it.
As he stepped out from the fresher and into his robes, he found himself wishing once again that this could be a sunrise he didn’t have to watch without his old friend. Time had made the pain easier to bear, and more and more when he thought of Gash he thought of little things like that, small aspects of the man’s personality that made him smile.
When people spoke of the Rogue Jedi Master, they tended to view him as more of the caricature of a movement than anything. They made him out to be more than a man, and in doing so, they lost sight of the man he really was. Mourning Gash Jiren had become more about mourning the nostalgia of things as they had been before than the death of a hero. Zark had found that, at least in his own mind, remembering fondly all of the tiny intricacies of his mentor’s personality did more justice to his memory than remembering his great accomplishments.
In the end, Gash Jiren had been just a man, the same as Zark.
His smile faltered as old wounds of guilt festered. He suffered no illusion that any action he might have taken would have saved his friend. Searthen had always been right in the thick of things; he had been almost destined to die in battle one day. What Zark truly regretted was that he had never had a chance to really say goodbye.
He had been too involved in his own search for truth; in his own obsession over the past…it had been years since the two of them had really spoken. After Thrawn had been defeated and the New Republic cleansed of his corruption, Zark had abdicated his posts within Navy and Rogue Jedi Order on an ‘indefinite personal leave’. The two of them had not said a word. Deep down, Zark knew that Gash had not tried to stop him because he had known better.
Of all people, Searthen Jiren understood the desire for truth about one’s past.
But on the surface, Zark wished that he had confronted him. That he had said something, anything. Neither of them could have known that they would never see each other again, but looking back on things he would have given anything to be able to say goodbye, to say see you around.
The lower rim of Adega Prime finally crested the horizon, and Zark knew that Besh, its binary counterpart, would not be long behind.
The day had begun.
“Again.”
It was perhaps more than a bit idiosyncratic that Zark felt most at peace in the midst of combat. Even more so than during his meditations, he found that to fight helped him concentrate, helped him think. It brought him into a state of calm unlike anything he had ever known. Ever since he had first wielded a lightsaber, Zark Ekan had been a true warrior.
Combat was his home.
There were six of them, all apprentices. It was nothing more than a sparring routine, yet each of them took it as seriously as if it were life or death. They wielding training sabers, toggled to their lowest power settings. The blades were not hot enough to melt through skin, but still gave a healthy singe upon contact, burning through the lightweight fabric of training robes.
His eyes were open, but if his irises had not been as white as his cornea they would have belied a glazed expression. It had been a long time since Zark had relied on sight to any degree in saber combat. Rather, he saw and moved through the Force. The twin sabers he wielded in each had flashed out in the peculiar rhythm that Jedi often displayed in a saber duel.
He worked their numbers to his advantage. There were only so many angles at which they could come at him without fear of wounding each other, yet his weapons flashed with a blinding speed in order to keep them at bay. They could still swarm him if he allowed them the opportunity. He would not.
This particular group had shown much promise in their skills with the ancient Jedi weapon. There was little doubt that they saw it as an honor to spar with the Grandmaster. Though he had told them as much, he doubted that they believed how much that feeling was mutual. It had been far too long since he had had the opportunity for a friendly spar, and having the opportunity had made him feel more alive again. These pupils did not know it, but he owed as much to him as he did to them.
That did not mean that he would go easy on them.
Although they were a promising group of padawans, and highly effective fighting in unison, they were only as strong as their weakest link, and Zark had no trouble discovering it and breaking it at the first opportunity. He did not have to wait long. A brash strike came, overextended and out of synch with the others. Zark’s deflection exposed the wielding arm, and a quick lash frayed a line across the student’s forearm.
It was a disabling strike, not meant to kill, but if they had not been training it would have severed the young Sullustan’s arm. The padawan quickly backed out of the area of combat, bowed low, and retreated further to the sidelines with a sulk in his stride. Only five remained.
Up until that point, there had been relatively little movement throughout the sparring chamber. Zark decided that, with fewer variables to consider, it was time that changed. He slowly moved them across the chamber. Try as they might to put a stop to it, somehow he was always able to dictate the flow of the combat, to have them striking when and where he wanted them to, and to move with him rather than against him.
Still they moved throughout the chamber, still they fought on. Zark had gotten all the way to ‘r’ before one of the students realized he was using their movement along the mat to spell his name on the floor and gave a cry of frustration. She pressed her attacks even more ferociously in an attempt to stop the mockery, and it cost her.
As she pressed in on him, he surprised her by halting his momentum and, instead of beginning work on the ‘k’ stepping into her assault, harmlessly deflecting it aside and slashing at her waist with his other saber as he passed by her. A neat horizontal line exposed her skin and reddening it with slight welts. That strike had been a killing strike, meant to split her in half.
Her frustrated mistake ended up not only cost her but one of her peers as well. As the remaining four padawans struggled to move around her to re-engage the Grandmaster, they failed to coordinate their assault properly. One padawan reached him before the others did, and, realizing his mistake, attempted to back up to correct it.
It was only two seconds before his allies caught up with him, but that was two seconds one on one against Zark’s two sabers. The Jedi Master had only needed one, and the young man bowed low as he moved off to join the Sullustan and the Twi’lek female from before, her lekku twitching in a mixture of annoyance and guilt.
It was now three against one, and the students were showing signs of fatigue. Zark had not broken a sweat, his ever-calm expression unnerving them to say the least. To their credit, they proved very adaptable at switching strategies. They formed up in perfect formation, each forming tips to a triangle in which he found himself in the center, exactly what Zark would have done had he been in their position. It allowed themselves the most comfortable area to attack while keeping him in an awkward position, always having to rush to turn and deflect the third strike.
Knowing that they understood this, he lulled them into a sense of security at remaining off balance until he found an opportunity. The first two strikes came and were deflected by his sabers. Behind him, he could sense the third strike coming wide, meant to destabilize his balance further by forcing him to move that much farther to deflect it.
It was a smart move, in theory, but in practice it left the padawan’s center exposed. Before the Trandoshan could react, Zark sent a kick snapping backwards at his midsection, the force of the blow sending him flying across the chamber and sprawled out upon the floor. This left the Grandmaster with only two opponents to worry about.
They did not last long.
Sensing that the Trandoshan was still conscious and rising, albeit groggily, to his feet, Zark belied the smallest grin upon his face. In the process of dispatching the first opponent, the Jedi Master allowed the saber on his right hand to be stripped away, eliciting a collective gasp from the onlookers and a shocked expression from his remaining opponent.
So surprised was she by this unexpected lapse in what had always seemed to them to be a flawless fighting style, she failed to take advantage of it right away, which cost her. Batting away her defense with his left hand, Zark scored an impaling strike against her breastbone. She would be feeling that bruise in the morning as a reminder not to hesitate.
But Zark had not expected too much from her. Even with one saber, he was more than a match for any of them one on one. No, what he had expected was the Trandoshan’s charge. He showed no signs of having anticipated, and the student’s eyes widened even further as they realized that, even with his unnatural speed, there was no way he could bring his left arm around fast enough to deflect a killing blow. The Trandoshan realized this too, and put all his strength into the swing.
Which was why, when the golden yellow blade emerged from his right prosthetic, the casual deflecting swipe it sent the apprentice’s way not only blocked the blow, but sent him sprawling face first into the mat. By the time he had flipped onto his back, two sabers lay inches away from his neck.
“I yield, Master Ekan,” he gasped.
“Yes, you do,” Zark laughed, deactivating both sabers and offering the padawan a hand onto his feet. He patted the embarrassed youth on the shoulder as he turned to regard the rest of the learners, “I hope that, apart from the exercise, you’ve learned some valuable lessons today.”
“Yours, my friend,” he grinned as he regarded the Trandoshan, “was to always expect the unexpected. You can never assume your opponent is defenseless. Err on the side of caution, at all times, even…no,
especially when victory seems imminent. The Sith excel at treachery. And that goes the same for you,” he continue as he turned to regard young woman who had failed to react to his lapse in defense, “Just as you cannot assume the enemy is defenseless, you also must never hesitate to take advantage of their mistakes. Even a second’s hesitation can mean the loss of an opportunity.”
Looking upon the human, he said, “Yours is a basic one. Always be conscious of your surroundings, even the position of your allies. You may not have meant to rush blindly into a situation you could not handle, but intentions and actions are not always the same.”
“And as for you,” he turned to look at the twi’lek girl, his smile belying the seriousness of his tone, “never give into frustration. Your opponents will often try to taunt you, to throw you off your guard. Don’t let it work; you’ll only be letting them win. And your actions can have consequences for others as well.”
“And finally, we come to you, young padawan,” he felt a pang of sadness as he regarded the Sullustan’s expression. The apprentice had made no mistake other than a lack of experience with the lightsaber, “Your lesson is this: never let defeat shake your resolve. Only by making mistakes can we learn to correct them. There is no shame in learning.”
The Sullustan’s expression brightened somewhat, and Zark hoped that he would take the advice to heart.
“And I hope you have learned something as well,” he said at last, turning away from the padawans to face the visitor he had sensed since the beginning of the exercise. He bowed his head in respect, “Padawan Karah.”
The young woman’s eyes widened in shock as he acknowledged her. She had been watching from the doorway, at first drawn by the sounds of saber on saber and then fascinated by the combat itself. Looking upon her, Zark realized that this might very well have been the first time she had seen lightsabers in action.
Oh, to be so young again.
“You are all dismissed,” Zark nodded toward the padawans, “You may return to your duties. I thank you for the honor of sparring with you all, and may the Force be with you in your learning.”
They mumbled semi-dignified responses as one by one they made their way out of the chamber, likely eager to nurse their wounds and share their own versions of what had just occurred. The comradery they showed made Zark feel good, made him feel like this Enclave could perhaps be something like what the Order had once been.
“Alesh,” Zark called, causing the Sullustan to turn back and regard the Grandmaster, “Wait a moment, will you? I’d like to have a word with young Karah here, and then I might have a job for you.”
The padawan, eager to redeem himself, bowed low and waited outside.
“Beautiful, is it not?” he asked, and it took Karah a moment to realize she was addressing him. She stuttered for a moment, unsure of how to respond, “Lightsaber combat, I mean. A tragic necessity that it must exist, but there is an art to it as well. Sometimes I like to come down here myself, just to watch them train. To watch the patterns the blades make as they float through the air.”
“I guess I had never thought about it…Master Ekan,” Karah stammered, still unnerved at having been discovered.
“May I see yours?” Zark asked, seeming to ignore her discomfort as he gestured toward the saber hilt that clung to her belt.
“Oh…uh, of course,” she said, wondering all the while if this were some sort of test. Were Jedi never supposed to relinquish their lightsabers? She couldn’t remember Leia having said something about that, but it sounded like it might be a Jedi custom. She hesitantly placed the weapon in his hand, and calmed down a bit when she saw no accusing gleam in his eye.
“Very beautiful,” he commented, turning the blade over in his eyes as if he were an experienced collector, “It has an elegance to it. Practical, but very aesthetic.”
“I…thank you, Master Ekan,” Karah replied, beaming with pride.
“It’s Leia’s, isn’t it?” he asked, grinning.
Her eyes widened in abject horror, “I…um…yes, Master Ekan. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” he laughed softly, his tone allaying some of her fears, “I’m sure you will construct your own in due time. Your first will be sloppy, crude, and likely more than a bit impractical, but it will be
yours, and that will make it a more powerful weapon than this one ever could be.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, confused at the seeming contradiction.
“It is not the blade that wins a duel, padawan,” Zark admonished lightly, “but the Jedi. This saber is beautifully crafted, but to you it will always be your master’s saber. Having your own will give you the confidence in yourself this one never could, and that confidence can save your life. Do you have much experience with the saber?”
“Yes!” she said, a little too excitedly, “I mean, a little…not a whole lot. I’ve sparred with Natalya a few times, but it hasn’t really been a part of my training. It’s mostly been meditation and controlling my emotions and lifting things, you know?”
“I know all too well,” he grinned, “Some things change, but your Master’s approach to training I doubt ever will. After all, why try and fix what isn’t broken? Still, you’re here now, and she’s given you a blade of her own, so I doubt she’ll mind if you learn a little more about using it. Alesh! Would you come back in please?”
The Sullustan reentered the training chambers, once more bowing low.
“Alesh, this is Padawan Karah, Master Leia’s pupil from Capricia,” Zark said, motioning toward the young girl. Alesh greeted her with another low bow, “Karah, this is Alesh, one of the students here at the Library. Unfortunately, I think that it is about time I meet back up with your Master to discuss business, but if you’d like Alesh could teach you some basics and spar with you a little.”
“Master Ekan?” Alesh’s eyes widened, “Surely there are other students more…competent who could…”
“Alesh, today you are going to learn a very valuable lesson, one that took me years to learn,” Zark put a reassuring hand upon the Sullustan’s shoulder, “You can never learn everything there is to know about a subject until you start to teach it. Remember the lessons Master Okko has been teaching you, and you’ll do fine. You don’t mind, do you Karah?”
“N-no Master Ekan!” she said, eager to learn.
“I’m sure you’ll both get along famously,” Zark smiled, “I must bid both your leave now. May the Force be with you!”
“And with you,” both padawans responded in unison, and then smiled bashfully.
“Aha!” Zark said triumphantly, startling Leia out of her reverie, “I thought I’d find you here, squirreled away in some dark corner with stacks of datapads surrounding you. How goes the research? Anything promising?”
