Trial of Spirit/Part 3

“Let’s review the Shii-Cho stances,” said Rhan Turvo as he used the Force to pull his lightsaber from his belt to his hand. He activated the blade, but did not change his stance as he continued, “Tell me the six zones.”

Karalin, lightsaber hilt in hand, rolled his eyes. “Master Turvo, I learned this at least twenty years ago.”

“And you will learn it again,” Turvo stated with authority in his voice. “Repetition is the key to mastery.”

Karalin grunted under his breath. “Zone one, head. Two, right arm. Three, left arm. Four, back…” He began glancing around the cobblestone courtyard as he spoke, “Five, right leg. Six, left leg.” He returned his attention to his master, a brow raised. “I know Shii-Cho like the back of my hand, Master. It’s one of the first things we learn as younglings.”

Turvo gave the Zabrak a wry smile, “Very well, then. If you claim to know the first form so much, then let us spar.” He placed his feet in an L position, right leg forward, and held his green-bladed lightsaber in front of himself, at a slight angle towards Karalin.

The Zabrak rolled up his tunic sleeves and activated his own lightsaber. He adjusted his position to mirror Turvo’s. For a brief moment, Karalin had an opportunity to analyze his opponent. Rhan Turvo, a green-skinned Nautolan wearing a brown tunic, was a Jedi Consular. Unlike Karalin, who studied the various lightsaber forms with a clear purpose in mind—to eliminate his archenemy Nerox—Turvo utilized the Force not just in combat, but also in healing, physical and mental.

The two combatants began circling the courtyard in which they stood, slowly drawing closer to each other. The courtyard was some ways off from the main Jedi Temple campus, surrounded by the beautiful Tython landscape. Green grass and towering trees contrasted the majestic mountain peaks in the distance.

After several seconds of staring each other down, Turvo raised his lightsaber as he went on the offensive. He swung downward at Karalin with an almost unnoticeable swiftness, but the Zabrak’s speed was faster as he held his lightsaber above him. In retaliation, Karalin swept his lightsaber back around, aiming for Turvo’s left side. The Nautolan stuttered backwards slightly when he held his lightsaber in front of him to block the attack.

“Watch your aggression,” Turvo sternly stated as he fell back. “You know the Council doesn’t approve of your behavior.”

Karalin lowered his weapon, “I don’t need their approval.”

“You will need it if you want to become a Knight,” Turvo retorted, deactivating his weapon and hanging it from his belt. As Karalin did the same, rather frustratingly, Turvo continued, “Well done. I only ask that you maintain practice. Speaking of which, have you practiced Form Six as I requested?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Karalin shook his head, “I’m no good. I don’t know how to utilize the Force like you do, Master. I’m better off sticking with Ataru. My fighting style is fast, and aggressive—you know this.”

“You just contradicted yourself,” Turvo said, approaching his Padawan. “In utilizing Ataru, you call upon the Force to strengthen yourself as much as you would in utilizing Niman. Your acrobatic skills are beyond impressive, but it is not physical strength alone that allows for that.”

Karalin sighed, “You’re right. I also rely on my strong determination to succeed.”

Turvo grinned. Indeed, Karalin’s determination was an admirable trait of his; it drove him towards an admittedly long-overdue success. Since the Sacking of Coruscant, the Jedi Council found themselves constantly concerned for Karalin’s frame of mind, which was the reason they had assigned Turvo, a Consular, to train Karalin, who sought to become a Guardian. Even ten years ago Karalin was adept in the various forms of lightsaber combat, and since then his skills had only improved. He likely would’ve been knighted long ago had it not been for his constant behavior akin to that of a Sith—for the last decade he trained under the impression that he would grow strong enough to execute his mortal enemy, the Sith who killed his former master. Lord Nerox.

“Come then, let us resume our duel,” Turvo said. “Freestyle.”

Karalin grinned in an almost malicious manner and reactivated his blue lightsaber. As Turvo held his lightsaber in the same starting position as before, Karalin held his own lightsaber vertically beside him in a prepared Form IV stance. For a long moment, the two stared each other down, just as they had before, only this time it was the Zabrak who engaged.

Letting the Force flow through him and guide his blade, Karalin leapt towards Turvo in the blink of an eye. Forcing the Nautolan into a defensive stance, Karalin attempted a quick strike head on. Turvo blocked it and pushed back, prompting Karalin to begin relentlessly attacking his master while circling him. His footwork was intricate as he danced around Turvo, throwing constant attacks at him and never letting his guard down. One wrong move would leave an opening for Turvo to strike back; Ataru had no defenses, and Karalin was fixed on utilizing only that.

Suddenly an image flashed before Karalin’s eyes. It was like fire, and he could feel its heat burning straight through him. He began to stutter backwards, but hid that stumble by turning it into a retreat as he leaped away from his master. Taking a moment to recuperate, he stared on at his master with a relentless intent.

Karalin!

A familiar voice echoed in his head as he resumed his duel. He tried to pay it no mind, but he could not unhear the voice of Master Alric as he furiously struck at Turvo. His strikes grew more and more aggressive as images flashed before him. He saw the monstrosity that was Nerox, towering above him in a battle ready position. He saw the mutilated body of Alric beneath that behemoth of a Sith.

“No…” he muttered, seemingly catching Turvo’s attention.

And finally, he phased completely out of reality as a bright red light flashed before his eyes, followed by searing pain across his face. An agonizing howl echoed in his mind, alongside so many voices shouting his name.

“NO!” he shouted as he suddenly swung wildly at Turvo. He swept his lightsaber in a wide arc in front of the Nautolan, who had barely avoided losing a head tendril. The attack was sloppy, without purpose, and Turvo managed to notice that. Again and again Karalin attempted to strike Turvo, seemingly with the intent to kill. His yellow eyes seemed to glow with fury now as he completely abandoned his agile form in favor of a sloppy, aggressive one.

Turvo kept on backing away from Karalin, not chancing a block. “Karalin! Karalin, stop this!”

But the Zabrak did not listen as his rampage continued. Karalin abandoned the Force completely as he tried to kill his master with physical, brute power. Turvo noticed his apprentice’s tight grip of his lightsaber, his knuckles white. His face appeared to be turning red with rage as he kept on missing his hacks.

“Enough of this!” Turvo shouted again.

The Nautolan thought he heard Karalin muttering something under his breath, “I will not fail again…not again…I must…avenge…”

Turvo grimaced as he understood what was happening now. He knew his Padawan would not deliberately try to kill him—despite his constant, disobedient behavior towards his higher-ups, he was still Jedi at heart. He was simply haunted by the past, and that past was now taking control of him.

“I said…” Turvo raised a hand as Karalin brought his lightsaber behind his head to strike, “…ENOUGH!” With a flick of his wrist, Karalin was sent flying across the courtyard. He landed hard on the far side, groaning painfully as he rolled onto his back. He stared aimlessly at the bright blue Tythonian sky, almost as if entranced. The sky above and trees around him spun infinitely before a moment passed and Karalin blacked out.

Karalin’s vision returned to him as another groan escaped his mouth. Everything was still dizzy and his stomach lurched as he tried to process everything. Then, he felt something lift his head to help him sit up. In that moment, nothing made sense to Karalin. What had happened? Where was he, exactly? So many questions ran rampant through his mind until a voice spoke from somewhere beside him.

“Karalin? Do you hear me?”

The voice was calm, and quite familiar to Karalin as he tried to turn in that direction. He was quite certain his mind was inoperable as he was unable to process anything at the moment. What had happened?

“Karalin?”

Finally Karalin realized where he was, and who was speaking to him. He turned to see several Rhan Turvos kneeling at his side, each one slowly fusing together to form one. Rubbing his eyes and squinting at the Nautolan, he muttered, “Master Turvo?”

“Ah, good. You still remember my name,” Turvo sighed in relief. “I had to clear your mind. You probably don’t remember…”

“What happened, Master?” Karalin asked as he glanced around the place. His vision was finally clearing up as he squinted around at the Tythonian forests surrounding him. “What—?”

Turvo placed a hand on Karalin’s shoulder, “Relax, Karalin. Your mind is dizzy after I cleared it. Don’t try standing yet.”

He just nodded, as if incapable of speaking.

“You…attacked me.”

“What?” Karalin seemed taken aback. But another moment of thought caused him to bury his face in his hands. “No, no…”

Turvo let out a heavy sigh, “You let your rage get the better of you again. Have you not been meditating like I suggested?”

Karalin looked away shamefully, “I have. But you know me—serenity is a luxury I cannot easily obtain. I…I keep on having those visions of…” He could not get that accursed image of Nerox out of his head. He wished he could forget, but as long as that Sith still yet lived, Karalin would never rest peacefully.

“Visions of Coruscant have become quite the commonality, haven’t they?” Turvo asked, helping his Padawan to his feet. When he was standing, Turvo placed a hand on Karalin’s shoulder and spoke in a seemingly careful manner, “Karalin, I understand that coping with a dark past is quite a difficult challenge. But I ask that you understand that in order to become a Jedi, you must look ahead to the future. Never dwell on the past, for it is behind us.”

“And forsake the justice Nerox deserves? Are you saying I ought to…forget about Master Alric’s sacrifice?” Karalin spoke in a slight shout; he knew he needed to mind his tongue. Although rather old for a Padawan, Turvo was still his superior.

“Absolutely not,” Turvo quickly responded as if correcting himself. “I was not on Coruscant, but from what I’ve heard, Alric’s sacrifice allowed you and many others to escape. Do not hold regret and bitterness, but rather be proud of your master’s actions. And always remember, Karalin, Master Alric will forever be with us through the Force.”

Karalin was not pleased by these words; he found them rather typical of a Consular like Turvo. But the building rage inside him could not easily be contained, and so he burst out, “Master Alric will never return! Ghost or not, he’s gone!” He spat that word in such a way that Turvo appeared distraught. “And the only way we can both find peace is through vengeance! Only then, once I have slit Nerox’s throat clean open, will I be satisfied and certain that he may finally rest.”

Turvo frowned, “Vengeance is far from the path of a Jedi. It leads to the dark side, and you know this.”

As he said this, Karalin recalled what happened in his quarters last night. It had not been the first time, but the chill he felt was obviously the dark side’s influence. “I don’t care. The dark side has no influence over me. And no matter what I face, I will kill Nerox for Master Alric.”

The Nautolan raised his chin disapprovingly before stating, “That is enough training for today. You’re dismissed.”

Karalin grimaced as he noticed Turvo seemed to drop the previous pleasantries in his tone. Almost insincerely he bowed to his master before turning his back on him and leaving the courtyard. The path from it split off in two directions; to the left was the main Jedi Temple campus, and to the right was the Tythonian wilds. He opted for the right.