Chapter Thirty
Web Dance
At first he did not believe this possible, but that first night after practice, he lay on his back and felt himself float up above his body, as Chala-Non had suggested. And while fully awake, he heard himself snoring.
That was different. And once he experienced the truth of this path, he was more willing to take another step.
The next day, he happily reported progress and was a little surprised when Chala-Non, his guide, seemed doubtful.
Chala-Non was young for a teacher, perhaps no more than twenty standard years, but as a prince of his people, he led a group of adolescents through their paces. Seven Sa’ad children walked in a circle, reminding him of the Hillian grubs. Each step was taken with great care. An elder Sa’ad father called out rhythm and critiques.
Mace joined the dance.
“Move! Feel! Breathe! Pay attention!” Chala-Non called.
The senses, body, and mind all came together with every step. This was basic exercise to Mace, but he felt no irritation or impatience. It didn’t matter that he had performed and even taught such exercises himself. There would be a pace and intensity to this that was specific to the Sa’ad and specific to this moment in Sa’ad history. Only by forgetting what he knew, or thought he knew, would he join their tribe.
Mace felt a little odd to be among them, and no matter how he moved, Chala-Non and the old man—his name was something unpronounceable that meant “treasure”—constantly corrected his posture, the tilt of his head, and the pace of his movement. He refused to get frustrated.
“Let it go,” Treasure said. “You want progress today. Progress is tomorrow. Today is movement, in this moment.”
“Surrender,” Chala-Non said. “You must work softer.” Chala-Non’s roundish face tightened primly. “Every motion and breath is a request. You are asking Metagos to reveal the mystery of the Web.”
Mace felt a flare of anger. Why were they putting him through these hoops?
And then he caught himself. Something about this place was far more challenging than he had anticipated. “I ask to be shown your truth.”
“Lie quietly,” Chala-Non said, “and let your mind roam through your body, from the fingers to the palms…all the way through.”
There were no musicians visible in the cave, but suddenly music drifted through the air. The rhythms took him deep.
“Yes,” Mace whispered.
“Now the wrists. Forearms. Upper arms. Shoulders. Neck. The mouth. Cheeks.” This was a basic set of instructions, but he was careful not to say that aloud. “Emptying the bowl,” Yoda had called it. Temporarily forgetting what you already knew to make room for additional wisdom.
“Yes,” Mace said.
“Left side of the chest. Right side. Left side of the belly. Right side. Hips. Groin. Thighs. Calves. Feet. Right leg together. Left leg together. Both legs together. Whole trunk together. Whole body together.”
As Mace lay, hearing himself sleep, he felt as if he were rising from his own body, observing it like a ghost without a grave.
“In this place, your body can rest, even if your mind is alert. Rest, Mace Windu.”
and this time there were no dreams save those of the darkness between the stars. Waking came easily, without that tarry residue of guilt and death.
He washed and prepared, then presented himself to his guardians, who escorted him into tunnels as yet unexplored, through passages concealed by shadow. Chambers within chambers, caves within caves, tunnels that led to tunnels that led to channels that led to other tunnels. Through it all, Mace realized that he could spend a lifetime down here and still never know everything there was to know about this place.
The next room was part of a larger cave system, with ledges and looming stalagmites and stalactites. What he noted most rapidly was the immense network of webbing anchored to rock shelving, dividing the cave in twain.
Sa’ad people swung from the strands, so he knew these were not adhesive. They seemed a different composition, grayer and thinner, but when a coil of the stuff was placed in his hands, it was unexpectedly heavy.
“We are not helpless,” Chala-Non said. “Every year, a few of the Depth Dwellers escape and climb to our level. And then we have to protect our families and our friends the Hillians.”
That was as he had suspected. “What do I do?” Mace asked. Even as he spoke, the cavern thrummed with drumbeats. The players were concealed in shadow.
“Hear the drums. Move to the rhythm,” Chala-Non said.
“I will. I do.”
to a ledge high in a northern Hillian chamber wreathed with webs in various configurations. He noted that they were absent mucilage, so these were not for catching prey but rather for various forms of exercise and preparation. Another ledge on the far side, twenty meters distant, held two young Sa’ad boys. The cave was cool enough that they shifted back and forth on the balls of their feet, their typical loose-fitting, coarse cloth pants and shirts flapping. Chala-Non and another man handed him the ends of two web cables. “Feel the web,” they said.
A player on the far side of the cavern shook his arm, and a wave of web traveled down the line to Chala-Non, who timed it and sent it back. The other Sa’ad player timed that in turn, then bounced the wave back again. Back and forth, several times, the flexible line finally trembling so rapidly that it began to hum.
“Understand? Make it sing.”
“I do,” Mace said. And he did. Jedi arts covered lightsabers, empty hands, and even thrown weapons, but nothing formal about flexible weapons. However, some of the teachings involving empty hands were germane to the current challenge, especially the concept known as Na Jang. This was a term borrowed from the martial disciplines of the Kaleesh hunters, adapted for the training of military units.
Na Jang could be translated as “explosive power” or “issuing power.” This principle focused on the coordinated and efficient generation of force, often involving a sudden release of energy. The key to Na Jang was the perfect coordination of body mechanics, breath control, and focused intention to generate powerful and precise movements.
He knew this. Even though he had never been taught explicitly (unarmed combat arts were, for a Jedi, merely “a stopgap until you can regain your lightsaber”), the internal mechanics of all living bodies were similar enough that some universal observations could be made about generating combative power.
Instead of relying solely on the strength of individual muscles, Na Jang emphasized the integration of the entire body, using the legs, hips, waist, and shoulders in a coordinated manner.
In addition, Na Jang as applied to flexible implements required precise timing and quick execution of movements. The power was often unleashed in a sudden burst, catching the opponent off guard. Proper breathing was critical, synchronized with the application of force.|
This was perfect for those attuned to the Force. Jedi were encouraged to look beneath the skin and sense the movements of tendons and muscles within the body. Economy of motion was critical, because timing required micro-movement awareness. Anyone who used more power than was needed would miss the moment when the energy came back and could be “bounced” at the opponent smoothly.
As they led him through the paces, Mace thought this a fine exercise, one that taught complex concepts without words. As a fine sheen of sweat began to build on his skin, he found himself thinking how much he would have enjoyed this as a boy.
The wave hit him, and he rocked back on his heels and created a “hollow body” with a rounded back and tensed gut to absorb, and with a hiss sent it back. Over and over. Again and again, until the rolling waves of energy consumed him.
“Can you feel it? Feel the rhythm?” Chala-Non asked.
“I do.”
“Then send it back to him sideways now,” Chala-Non said. “You understand the up and down of it. Feel it. Send it back.”
Mace followed the instructions to the letter.
He web-danced with them for hours, one man against two. After a while, he noticed that other candidates were web-dancing to either side. When had that begun? He, Mace, had been too engaged in the moment even to notice.
Chala-Non called a halt to the dancing, and the men on the far side of the gorge climbed down as half a dozen Hillian worms climbed up to replace them.
They took up the lines and began to wiggle.
Their movements seemed simple at first, but then he realized they were using tripartite rhythms, like the clans of Christophsis who “sang” fish into their nets. It was easy to think you were moving in sync, but…
Yes. Sync.
That was the term he had mocked. But now, he had to let not just these people but also a species of worms guide him. And where he initially matched tensions, he realized that it was matching the counter-beats, the relaxations, that really mattered.
Speed, he thought. How rapidly you could move was limited by how swiftly you could relax. Most made the mistake of thinking it was about how swiftly you tensed. Within still water, you could detect the slightest vibrations, and it was in detecting those micromotions that the Hillian rhythm could be found and followed.
“Do you see?” Chala-Non asked.
“I see,” Mace said, gasping. This was serious work! His galaxy-class fitness was tested by something the Sa’ad youth were expected to master before adulthood.
Truly, “fitness” was specific to the activity. He had never experienced this!
“What do you see?” Chala-Non placed his hands on Mace’s wrists, bidding him to cease.
“I see…that you Sa’ad display your strength differently. Your enemies do not know you. If you pushed back, a criminal army would have been challenged by your strength and annihilated you. You are…durasteel wrapped in cotton.”
Chala-Non smiled. “Our people are not hard. Nor are we soft. We are life, and life is both. But we can be either when it is appropriate. It is not our minds that matter but rather the dream of our future, of our children. There is strength in those who nurture, just as there is strength in those who protect.”
“I see that now.” Mace meant it. “You have much wisdom. And we will need all of it in the days ahead.”
exhaustion drained the last of his strength, then was instructed to sleep in the Hillian egg chamber as the sleepy spider-worms chewed mycelial cud around him, unconcerned. He was no longer a stranger. Mace was becoming a Sa’ad and as such…family.
A Hillian larva nuzzled him. He smiled and, without opening his eyes, stroked its scaled head.