>>5691950As she finished her kata, she only managed a single gulp of air before her master attacked. Farren drew a training ‘saber, striking towards her midsection. She pushed off the ground, leaping backwards as she fell into the opening stance of Form II. With an annoyed huff to blow her padawan braid away from her face, she only just had enough time to salute her master as he closed the distance and continued his attack.
It was a ritual they repeated almost every day. Katas until their robes were drenched in sweat, then a furious melee that left aches, bruises, and welts on both of them. Farren might have pulled his punches most of the time, but he otherwise held nothing back in terms of lightsaber combat. She learned quickly enough, reflecting that there was no better teacher than first-hand experience, but she couldn’t hold him off for more than a handful of ‘saber locks.
He had repeatedly said and insisted that the goal wasn’t to win. It was equal measures a test of her muscle memory, as well as a trial of endurance. Even as her muscles ached, and her body was wracked with fatigue, she fought on with a grim determination. Still, it left her with food for thought. In any other scenario (or teacher), she’d have thought it was bullying or padawan abuse.
But Ceyla knew better. Had to become better. The Blazing Chain adept she and Luaine dueled on the Chiller had been toying with them. The Triumvirate’s continued partnership with the MSDF all but ensured future conflict with slaver scum and villainous pirates. And the path she, Vuqu, Masters Farren and Larid walked meant that they would one day face the Sith…or worse.
“You’re distracted again,” chided Farren. He advanced, thrusting his ‘saber towards her shoulder. Her deflection turned it into a grazing singe on her robes. “C’mon, Ceyla.”
The goal might not have been to win, but she wasn’t going to go down without trying to disarm him at least once. The miraluka grit her teeth, clenched her lightsaber and made her counter attack. With his blade still outstretched, she side-stepped into his immediate space, elbow extended to ram him in the gut.
“Improvisation. Very good.”
The fist that had punched her suddenly reappeared from behind his back. Ceyla had only enough time to perceive the sunset catching off the blaster’s barrel before the stun bolt dropped her like a sack of bricks.
As she lay in an impotent, furious puddle of her own limbs, twitching and unable to move, Farren sheathed his weapons, and moved beyond the range of her vision. She fought through the nausea, straining to use the Force to watch her master clean the mess of the table. By the time she regained some control over her body, her master had poured them both drinks and a light snack.
Ceyla spat out a wad of iron-tasting saliva, stood on wobbling knees and brought up her lightsaber. The blade wavered as she tried to still her trembling hands. "I...can still fight!"
(cont.)
