The Arrogance of the Jedi

Part 1- Lore Traveler and the Jedi Academy: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1: The Baker and Armorer

I didn't like making the armor. The heat and the noise got to me. I don't know how Mom did it. In that dark corner, sitting astride the anvil, striking the small pieces, her white top and heavy skirt reflecting the light of the molten metal. Her striped red and brown curls tied back with bangs falling out and waving across her sweat spotted forehead. Focused. So focused on the smallest part of this smallest piece of armor.

"It's called a jatne ghet'bur. To protect the throat. People usually don't want one because it gets in the way of movement, but this client requested it specifically."

"What language is that?" I shouted over her hammering. I was finally tall enough to see her over the kiln in the center of the room.

"It's an old Mandalorian term."

"Is this for a Mandalorian?"

"No."
"Are we Mandalorians?"

She stopped and looked at me. I was always trying to see if we had some famous, mystic origin like the Jedi or a link to the Skywalkers or secret Sith blood in our family.

"No." She smiled. "We are not beholden to some ancient code. Do you see me in a helmet?" She mocked and shook her head. "Our people have borrowed some of their traditions as we've borrowed from others because we had to borrow lands after being pushed off our so many times. We are certainly not Mandalorian."

The metal was red hot again, so she took her attention from me and back onto the piece. It was almost done. I inched closer to the kiln to get a closer look and the sweat started to form on my forehead and my exposed arms. I always took off my cowl before I went in there because of the heat, but it made my mom so worried that an errant spark might burn my exposed skin.

"You need to get the armor weave done too, so I can make the cloak. It's all for the same client." It was her one of many ways to tell me to back up. 

She taught me how to do the armor weave, and I really liked that. In the morning while dad was out gathering spices and herbs from the market and trails on his way back and left me to keep an eye on the baking bread and cakes, I could sit in the light of the lantern and weave the metallic mesh sheets or finish up a cloak she started while they baked. This one was a really fine weave with a design, which is why my mother asked me to finish it.

"Your steady little hands are so skilled decorating the cakes and pastries. This commission needs your special touch. From a distance, it looked like a silken fine brocade cloth, but when it folded you could feel the metallic threads resisting.

"Who is this for?" She had come in for breakfast after finishing the jatne ghet'bur and to check on the cloak. I asked as was finishing up the last of the indigo metallic threads.

"Royalty." She replied as she munched on a Lahdia cake

"Who? Royalty where?"

"That's all I know."

My dad got back and didn't need me to watch the oven. So I went back to the shop to see if the pieces were cooled and dipped and ready for design.

 After my aunts told her about my skill with the calligraphy pen in helping them archive documents, she taught me how to control the brush and special acidic engraving inks to make the smallest detail like a vein on a leaf on a vine to represent the plant that appears on a family's coat of arms. I enjoyed the detailed work so much that's why I spend so much time decorating the pastries and cakes my dad makes in the bakery. He says that I'm giving people too much for their money. With the hours I spend early in the morning making the intricate designs, he says that more labor is going into the bake is not being accounted for in the prices he charges.