Chương 19: Temple-Bound

A wall keeps two things in equal measure: what threatens the garden, and the gardener. — Attributed to Master Sinube ~*~*~*~ 59 BBY – 941 ARR – Alderaan After two weeks of information gathering, followed by their testimony and another day of deliberating, Rann and Nu were summoned back before the Council and handed back their verdict: a full year of Temple seclusion. Of course, this was time to ' reflect and meditate on one's actions' in Council parlance.

But any Jedi past the age of 10 knew this was a punitive measure to remind Master Nu and Padawan Crys that the Council's 'advice' shouldn't be ignored.

"This is in line with my own expectations of the decision," said Master Nu once they got back to their quarters.

"Really?" asked Rann.

"How could you guess?"

"The Council has not changed so drastically since my time on it that I cannot predict its outcomes with some degree of accuracy." She shot him a somewhat wry look.

"Of course, with how many times you have made an appearance before the Council, I should suppose your own sense for such things should be developing quite nicely." Rann said nothing but rolled his eyes, prompting a brief admonishment in the Force. The routine helped them both as they came to terms with their foreseeable future being spent cloistered in the Temple. Really, it wasn't the end of the world.

Master Nu was still doing a lot of work getting the Archives and EduCorps up and running again, so naturally Rann's time not spent in classes would be spent working as her aide. But it was humiliating. News of their censure would spread throughout the Temple, as gossip moved even swifter than the Force through these ancient halls.

"Nothing for it but to do it," muttered Master Nu.

"Well, let's get to it. We still have work to do today." With that, they made their way to the Archives. In that moment, Rann appreciated his Master's tendency to ignore distraction and focus on the work in front of her as he likely would have overanalyzed his own actions on Alderaan and the Council's decision if not for her. Passing through the marble corridors with soft red carpet and soaring columns that made up many of the Temple's high-traffic areas, she strode forward seemingly unbothered.

Rann followed behind, his ansata-patterned obi flashing in a reflection of his Master's glittering robes, he his master's pale shadow. Before long, they were ensconced safely in soft blue glow of the archive's many holobooks. Rann could feel his stress melt away into the hushed activity of the archives, a mix of whirring archival droids, Jedi scholars, masters, and padawans. Then he heard Master Nu sigh just as he spotted the same thing as her: Arath Tarrex.

He looked significantly worse than when he had taught Rann's initiate clan a class hungover. Now he was slumped over with long, straggly hair in a concentric ring around an ever-growing bald spot and the expansive gut of one who had decided to just… let themselves go.

It had been two years since it had been discovered that he was gambling and performing favors for shady underworld characters to pay off his debts, and that his mother, former Councilwoman and current gaoler of Lola Sayu, Yula Braylon, was covering for him. The Council had eventually decided that he would be stripped of the title and rank of Knight, which in essence left him the option of joining a Service Corps or leaving the Order entirely.

He had been placed into the EduCorps for ease of monitoring, and been a thorn in Master Nu's side ever since. Currently he was manning the reference desk, though this was a generous assessment given the snoring and visible line of drool running down his slackened face.

"Jedi Tarrex," said Master Nu rather loudly once she was directly in front of the man.

"Wah- " he said as he startled awake.

"Who karkin– oh. Hello, Jocasta. Slow day today." The man's eyes looked especially beady as they darted around his alcohol-induced puffy face, looking anywhere but Master Nu.

"Jedi Tarrex," repeated Nu with exaggerated precision.

"The Archives are no place to nap, and certainly not a place for one to be napping while they are supposed to be working. Am I correct in assuming that this issue will not occur again?" This was, in fact, not the first time. Though it was the first time that he'd been caught by Master Nu herself.

"No, no, of course not." One did not need to be a Master to feel the falsity in the Force emanating from the disgraced Jedi. He withered visibly under Master Nu's austere silence, though she eventually nodded before turning to Rann.

"Rann, why don't you assist Jedi Tarrex for the remainder of his shift." Internally, Rann sighed but didn't protest, instead shifting to sit behind the reference desk next to Arath who he could now tell hadn't bothered to maintain particularly high personal hygiene standards. Wonderful. Rann watched forlornly as his master continued onward to her office, where his tiny little intern desk was waiting.

"So," grunted Arath.

"You got busted too, huh." Busted? Rann thought incredulously. I prevented the usurpation of a throne. You manipulated podraces over gambling debts.

"From a certain point of view, yes," he managed to reply coolly.

"Not so high and mighty now, huh," said Arath, not even looking at him. What?

"What?"

"You're not the golden child anymore, are you." Arath turned to him, a faint smirk not improving his much-diminished countenance.

"People don't look up to you anymore, or respect your skills. Sucks, huh?"

"I guess?" replied Rann, feeling more off-kilter than anything.

"No one treated me like a golden child anyway. That's always been Mace."

"Second-best, huh? Yeah I know that one." Arath's smirk widened into a grin, revealing yellowed teeth.

"Always coming up short, no matter how hard you try. To someone who always seems like they were given everything on an aurodian platter." Rann still couldn't piece together where the man was going with this.

"Sure. Yeah. Other people seem to get ahead of me." Arath's face lit up with his agreement.

"It's not fair, is it?"

"Guess not," he agreed warily.

"So why don't you help me out? Get your Master off my back." Arath was leaning forward now, his poodoo -flavored breath wafting across his face.

"How would I do that?" he asked, masking the grimace that wanted to cross his face.

"Could you watch the desk for me while I go to storage? It won't be too long, just an hour or two. Just cover for me if Nu comes back." Arath looked at him with what he assumed was supposed to be an earnest face, but instead came across as vaguely disturbed. Rann blinked several times. Really? That's it? He had been given a full-blown 'we're not so different, you and I,' villain speech just so this karking loser could go take a nap?

He slumped a little as he realized that he had been hoping for more excitement, not just a lazy person trying to get out of their impossibly easy job.

"No."

"What?" Arath's smile dropped, replaced by narrowed eyes.

"Why not?"

"I don't give a mine rat's rear about your hangover, and don't appreciate you trying to pawn your work off onto me," he said, whispering so loud it was almost a yell near the end. A nearby group of Knights and older Padawans had turned to them, but quickly looked away when Rann stared right back.

"You're just like they said, a total acolyte," sneered Arath.

"Glad to know you keep up with all the temple gossip about little boys," retorted Rann hotly.

"You should add that to your deeply impressive record." Arath gaped at him a moment before deciding to ignore him, turning around to his own work station. Rann decided to follow suit. The rest of the shift was characterized by a stiff silence and poisonous glances. ~*~*~ Rann watched as the consular Knights and Padawans filtered out of the lecture hall, exhausted from a particularly dense lecture on game theory in their Intergalactic Relations V class.

At thirteen, Rann was the youngest Jedi in the room by six years. His classmates weren't mean or even particularly exclusionary, always courteous during group assignments. But they weren't very interested in hanging out with a little kid. So he acknowledged each of them gently in the Force as he waited to hear what Master Barina had to say.

"Your most recent paper continues your interest with the Mandalorians, I see." The woman was looking at him in that intense, inscrutable way that Bothans were famous for. The race was well-known throughout the galaxy as skilled information gatherers, and part of that success was attributed to their ability to stare relentlessly until their target spoke. Which was currently being used on him.

"Yes?" he answered cautiously.

"Why?" she asked, her sphinx-like countenance confusing him further.

"I find them interesting, and a very good, modern model for how civil wars can begin." She kept staring.

"I'm also supposed to write up a report for the Council of Reconciliation on the matter." A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. A few more moments of silence, but Rann didn't let himself ramble any further and instead decided to wait her out.

"Three years ago," she began slowly.

"You were in my Diplomacy and Politics class. You wrote a paper regarding the tensions in Mandalore which prompted me to recommend you be elevated to a higher-level course."

"Yes." He felt as his shoulders tensed.

"After reading your current work – which we will discuss in further detail, some of your modeling was odd – I decided to revisit that paper. I was struck by just how… prescient some of your paper's conclusions turned out to be. The names of the factions and the leaders of this 'keer-stad' and 'Haht Mandoadeh' were very insightful, considering they would not coalesce for another year and a half. Especially considering the quality of your sources at the time."

Rann didn't let his rising panic at her words cross his face or presence in the Force.

'Prescient' was not a comfortable word for a Seer in hiding.

"Thank you." He clipped out. She stared again, all leonine features and gleaming yellow eyes. He stared back, willing himself to be impassive despite his hindbrain's calls to do something, anything.

"Your current paper relies on three different models to analyze the three current factions in the Mandalorian civil war, and no three-way interactions. Why?" Rann internally sighed in relief at the Bothan Master's apparent willingness to drop the topic before shrugging sheepishly.

"Quite frankly, I just didn't understand the theory behind the math with the explanations given in the book. Hopefully with today's class I can go back and add a section about three-way interactions. Should I reduce or remove the other section with the two-way models?" He saw her mane flicker, though he couldn't identify what the emotion was.

"I think not. It is good work, though I am excited to see what conclusions you can reach with a more robust model."

"Thank you, Master Barina." The Bothan motioned to dismiss him but paused.

"One last question, padawan. Do you speak Mandalorian?"

"Yes, why?"

"How did you learn it? No such course is offered here."

"Ah." He couldn't very well answer, well in a previous life I was a major nerd who learned a conlang for fun.

"A mixture of being online and practicing in person with the Mandalorian community here on Coruscant." Her impassive face suddenly broke out into a feline grin.

"And I'm sure your trips to speak with the Mandalorians of Kih'Keldabe were sanctioned." He matched her with a grin of his own.

"Well, they were expressly forbidden." The Bothan chuffed, before turning to collect the last of her things.

"You are far too clever to be confined to the Temple. It is a waste of your time and the Order's resources. Well, I do hope you can make the best of it."

"Thank you." Rann blinked in surprise at her statement. It was rare for a Master to openly gainsay the Council's decisions, even if they disagreed.

"I think I have much to learn here from Masters like yourself." She chuffed again.

"Learning how to model three-way interactions and the more esoteric elements of diplomacy may perhaps aid your argumentation, but I doubt it will impact your conclusions, will it?" Rann shuffled, looking anywhere but her knowing eyes, but answered truthfully.

"No, I don't think it will." She nodded once.

"You have your own way of making predictions. Hopefully this course will give you the tools needed to confirm them empirically, so you may avoid making claims that seem too bold in the future. I have taken the liberty of having your initial paper removed from the library." Rann felt the blood leave his face, even as his eyes got watery. Master Barina had been one of his teachers for years, but he had never really considered that she would… look out for him, care for him.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion.

"Of course." She reached out, placing a furred hand on his shoulder.

"Rann, the Order has a way of making some of its best and brightest feel… unwelcomed. My cousin. Knol Ven'nari is one such Knight. She is a Jedi yet, even if she has chosen to walk a path which does not bring her back to the Temple frequently. Remember that." Rann stood there as she swept out of the classroom, taking the time to compose himself. ~*~*~ After the conversation with Master Barina, Rann wanted some time to himself.

So he went deep into the Archives, past the main halls of holobooks and deeper, nearer to the Holocron Vault and Bogan Collection. Though his destination was nowhere near as restricted as those housing the Order's holocrons and dark artifacts, it still required the approval of the Caretaker of First Knowledge, Astaal Vilbum, to be allowed access into the Ossus Vault.

After the fall of Ossus almost four thousand years ago, countless and ongoing archaeological expeditions were sent to recover what they could from the ruined planet and the Great Jedi Library it once housed. Ironically, Rann's application to work with the rare, delicate documents salvaged from that ancient library was approved during his mission to Alderaan. Either the High Council didn't see a need to have his permission revoked or hadn't known about it. He certainly wasn't going to bring it up now.

Upon swiping his ident and entering a custom code, he was let into a small room where he could shed his robes and put on a new set of specially-laundered archival robes that wouldn't shed fibers and then put on archival-grade gloves for handling the documents. He then passed through another set of doors into a vaulted room. Inside he saw the Caretaker himself hunched over an honest-to-goodness parchment scroll. He didn't react until Rann stood right next to him and cleared his throat.

"Ah, hello?" the leathery, wrinkled face of Astaal Vilbum turned toward him in confusion before lighting up.

"Ah! You must be young Rann. I must say, you are the youngest allowed into these vaults in twelve generations of Caretakers. But your proposal was well-written, I suppose, even if a bit scattered. You wish to look at both records of the old Council Writs and into the production of Jedi Katanas. An odd combination, to be sure." The ancient Baragwin nodded sagely at him before realizing that he hadn't actually posed Rann a question.

"Well. Which do you want to investigate first?"

"The katanas first, sir."

"Hmm." Astaal turned back to his desk, digging through a pile of reference cards.

"It will most likely be an easier topic to be read up on, simply because we have very few documents reaching as far back as Tython. Here." Rann almost goggled at the honest-to-goodness paper reference card he was handed, listing out several different codes.

"These are all the documents this vault possesses regarding not just Jedi Katanas, but also the temple on Tython where they were produced, Vur Tepe. I must say young Rann, your research interest sent me to parts of the vault I haven't laid eyes on in some two hundred years." The Baragwin's wheezy voice faded into a chuckle.

"And of course, with forewarning I can show you the vault's sole example of a katana, broken as it is. Do you truly think you can produce one?" Rann's proposal to examine documents and artifacts related to Jedi Katana production had laid out his assertion, but he wasn't surprised the Caretaker would question him in person.

"I think I am well-suited for an attempt, Master Vilbum. My particular style of meditation has given me a stronger attunement to physical object's presences in the Force, and the physical aids I use in this meditation have even begun to have their presences in the Force be modified by my constant manipulation of them."

"Indeed?" Rann saw the scholarly interest of the other Jedi pique.

"You shall have to show me sometime."

"Of course, Master." Rann paused to collect his thoughts before continuing.

"I think the hardest part of producing a katana will be the actual forging process, since it relies on skills I don't yet have."

"Don't let your abilities in the Force guide you to a false confidence," warned the Caretaker.

"Older Force abilities often rely on principles and mindsets the Order has not practiced in millennia. The specific implementation of the Force required can be just as much a lost technique as forging itself."

"I will keep that in mind before proceeding, Master."

"Good, good." With that leathery-looking Master bobbed his head in a lizard-like manner and gestured.

"Well, go on. You have plenty of work ahead, young Rann." Rann took the dismissal and began delving into the hard-to-parse Old Galactic Standard of the ancient scrolls of Tython. CHAPTER ENDS HERE, EXTRA SCENE BEGINS: [Warning: It's a total tone shift and a bit more emotional than this story normally gets] The Death of Master Ellinic [[around age 4-6]] Zucul was playing the Feather Game with one of his charges, Usthmool, a recently-arrived Ithorian who was having trouble integrating into the Bear Clan.

He was a bit on the older side at four standard years old, bringing with it the perils of homesickness and attachment, but by far the bigger issue was his inability to speak Basic, or even understand it. While he was working on comprehension, there were much larger barriers to him speaking with his fellow clanmates, as Ithorian biology made it impossible for him to even speak Basic. Vocoder technology was frequently used in such instances, it struggled mightily with the garbled speech of youth.

Knight Roron Corobb had taken on the task of teaching the boy his native Ithorian, while he was helping to deepen Usthmool's connection with the Force so he could use it for basic communication as well. <Good> he sent through the Force. The boy perked up, croaking something he couldn't understand despite the lessons on Ithorian he had begun taking at the nearby University of Coruscant in preparation for his charge.

Instead of replying or discouraging the boy by telling him he didn't understand, he waited until he felt a nudge in the Force. <Struggle/Hard/Fun/Play> felt the nudge. Like most younglings, Usthmool hadn't mastered separating out his emotion to communicate clearly, so his Force nudges were somewhat difficult to parse through. <Again? > he asked. The feather rose in challenge.

But just as he went to tug the feather with his own connection to the Force, he heard a shriek unlike anything he'd heard in all his years as Crèchemaster. It was a child's wail, matched with an outpouring of grief in the Force that threatened to overwhelm even him, much less his younglings. He leapt to his feet and raced to the source of the disturbance, working to dampen its effects on the Crèche as he went.

A youngling was clutching onto Elder Ellinic, a venerable Caamasi Master who frequented the Crèches, delighting the children with stories, treats, and the occasional memnii. The child currently pressed against the robes of the much older Jedi was decidedly not delighted, wracked with now-silent sobs as a furred, three-fingered hand softly brushed through his hair.

"No goed away, M-master Ellie," said the child, whom Zucul identified as Rann.

"No go sleep. Stay 'wake." Elder Ellinic sighed, even as his eyes and snout crinkled in a familiar Caamasi smile.

"I am old, little one. I, too, feel my time to join the Force drawing near. But look. Do I seem afraid, or sad?"

"No go," moaned the youngling, clinging tighter.

"All things pass on to the Force. One day, I will 'go sleep,' Rann."

"Bu-but," the child looked up at Master Ellinic with teary eyes and snot running down his face.

"Why now?"

"It's my time," he murmured gently. Zucul wasn't surprised. The elderly Jedi had shuffled through these halls for two decades, body slowing even as his wit remained. But the last few weeks had seen a sharp decline, as he now required a cane and responded to questions slowly. Rann said nothing, just burying his face further in the Caamasi's robes.

"What does the Code tell us, Rann," asked Ellinic.

"There is no death, there is the Force," came the muffled response.

"Yes. And so even when I'm gone, I won't really go away."

"Still miss you," replied a small voice threatening to give way to tears.

"And that's okay, little one. I'll miss you too. I still miss all my friends who have passed into the Force, and look forward to joining them in their communion." There was silence as the Elder let the child absorb his words.

"Now, why don't we go sit down and I can share some memnii with you?" Rann stepped back, wiping his face of tears and snot even as he sniffled, nodding along. Only then did the Jedi Elder acknowledge him.

"Forgive me, Zucul. I didn't know my presence would excite young Rann so. Though I believe the situation is now in hand."

"It is no problem, Elder Ellinic." Zucul paused, not quite sure how to phrase what he wanted to say.

"You will be missed, here." The Caamasi gave a dry, wheezing chuckle.

"You'll have to keep them contained and entertained without me, I'm afraid. Didn't know I looked quite so ready to keel over that even a youngling would notice."

"You didn't tell him?"

"I didn't. No need to burden a child with such a thing. He saw me and simply couldn't contain himself."

"I see." With that, the Elder went to settle Rann as Zucul did the same for the rest of the Clan, though they were restless even past their normal bedtime. That night, the venerable Jedi Elder, Ellinic, joined the Force peacefully in his sleep.