Out 6th May, The Acolyte: Wayseeker from author Justina Ireland brings the world of The Acolyte to vivid life, and here we have an excerpt as Jedi Knight Indara searches for Jedi Master Vernestra Rwoh.
When I woke the next morning, I was ready for whatever the day brought me. I sent J-6 to speak to mayor Lansa as soon as I rose, asking for a meeting at the mayor’s earliest convenience. An idea had been percolating in my brain, but over my evening meal it had sprung into my mind fully formed, and now that I could see all the moving parts, I knew exactly what needed to be done.
But I could not and would not do it alone.
When I rose, I practiced my forms, moving through them slowly at first to warm up and then quicker after my muscles were feeling loose. It was a routine I did every morning. I would usually go for a run once my muscles were warm, but today I needed to meditate. Center myself. The holo from the Council—and Yaddle’s good-natured scolding therein—had unsettled me enough that I could sense I wouldn’t be at my best today without recentering my thoughts and intentions and feelings. My actions were always deliberate, and I had always prided myself on being logical, even when my emotions were involved. I knew this sometimes led to people thinking I was cold or unemotional, and that outside perspective hadn’t gotten any better as I’d gotten older.
Especially since I eschewed visiting Coruscant too often. But keeping myself grounded, centered, rational—well, it was why I’d been successful as a Jedi. The galaxy might tilt and sway with upheaval and change, but I—like the Force—was constant. An island in a raging sea.
When it came to failure or loss, I always acknowledged the emotion, let it wash over me, and grieved as I needed to. And then I put it aside, not letting it drive my actions. Some of the younger Jedi had taken that lesson to mean emotions and the connections they engendered were bad, and my heart hurt that they thought that cutting themselves off from connection was the way to be successful as a Jedi. Our connection with others gave us purpose as Jedi, but we could not let their fear become ours, and we could not let our personal worries drive our actions. That, to me, had always been the true meaning of the balance we Jedi strove toward: living without fear, loving and embracing the grief that ultimately came when such a strong connection was lost. The sweet and the bitter, forever entangled.
It was a simple lesson that was impossible to learn, and I had been trying for decades.
And for those times when the lesson was hard to remember, I bolstered my training through meditation. There was nothing like letting my body fall away and connecting to the cosmic Force to remind myself that I was nothing and everything all at once.
I did not want my worry over the Jedi High Council’s emissary or my annoyance with Cerifisis’s Council of Elders to impact my choices on that day, so a little focused meditation was in order. It wasn’t the difference between success and failure, but it was the difference between turmoil and acceptance. No matter what happened today, I would accept it as every living creature must, but being centered meant that the outcome would not weigh on me in quite the same way.
That, of course, had not always been my perspective on things. But I was older and far wiser than I had once been. Or, at least, that was what I told myself.
But I had no sooner taken up my position in the courtyard behind
my lodgings—legs crossed, eyes shut, breathing even, and the early-morning sun already punishingly hot—than I heard the door to my quarters open and close. I had expected the rhythmic clomping that signaled J-6’s return from speaking with Lansa. What I had not expected were the soft footfalls that accompanied the droid’s steps. I opened my eyes to see not just J-6 but also a Jedi Knight, a feminine human with pale skin and dark hair pulled back from her face haphazardly. She was somewhere between her late twenties and early thirties as far as I could tell—I was always uncertain when it came to human ages—but there was an air about her that made her seem younger. A confident veneer, but her movements betrayed an uncertainty, something awkward and hesitant. It was in every line of her body. She carried herself like she was unsure whether she should be or even deserved to be there, and her robes were incredibly pristine. Most Jedi had stains and fraying on their clothing, the marks of missions undertaken and completed. Her robes looked like they’d just been issued by the quartermaster, and she moved within them as though she wasn’t used to their weight.
It surprised me. I had been expecting Yaddle to send someone with the demeanor of one who would not take no for an answer, a hardy tree of a Jedi—someone like Burryaga or Porter, who had been ancient even when I was a Padawan. Someone I knew from the old days.
But instead Yaddle and the Jedi High Council had sent a sapling.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
