Читать книгу The Weight of Honor - Morgan Rice - Страница 6

Kyra looked up into the breaking dawn and saw a figure standing over her, a silhouette against the rising sun, a man she knew could only be her uncle. She blinked in disbelief as he stepped into view. Here, finally, was the man she had traveled across Escalon to meet, the man that would reveal her destiny, the man who would train her. Here was her mother’s brother, the only link she had to the mother she never knew.

Her heart slammed with anticipation as he stepped forward out of the light and she saw his face.

Kyra was amazed: he looked startlingly like her. She had never met anyone who bore her resemblance – not even her father, as much as she hoped. She had always felt like a stranger in this world, disconnected to any true lineage – but now, seeing this man’s face, his high, chiseled cheekbones, his flashing gray eyes, a man who stood tall and proud, with broad shoulders, muscular, dressed in shining gold chain-mail armor, with light brown hair that went down to his chin, unshaven, in his forties, perhaps, she realized he was special. And by extension, that made her special. For the first time in her life, she really felt it. For the first time, she felt connected to someone, to a powerful bloodline, to something greater than herself. She felt a sense of belonging in the world.

This man was clearly different. He was obviously a warrior, proud and noble, yet he did not carry any swords, any shields, weapons of any sort. To her amazement and delight, he carried only a single item: a golden staff. A staff. He was just like her.

“Kyra,” he said.

His voice resounded through her, a voice so familiar, so much like hers. Hearing him speak, she felt not only a connection to him, but even more exciting, to her mother. Here stood her mother’s brother. Here was the man who knew who her mother was. Finally, she would get the truth – there would be no more secrets in her life. Soon enough she would know everything about the woman she had always longed to know.

He lowered a hand, and she reached up and took it, standing, her legs stiff from the long night of sitting before the tower. It was a strong hand, muscular, yet surprisingly smooth, and he helped her to her feet. Leo and Andor stepped toward him and Kyra was surprised they did not snarl as usual. Instead, they walked forward and licked the man’s hand, as if they had known him forever.

Then, to Kyra’s amazement, Leo and Andor stood at attention, as if the man had silently commanded them. Kyra had never seen anything like it. What powers did this man have?

Kyra didn’t even need to ask if he was her uncle – she sensed it with every ounce of her body. He was powerful, proud, everything she had hoped he would be. There was something else in him, too, something she could not quite grasp. It was a mystical energy radiating off of him, an aura of calm, yet also of strength.

“Uncle,” she said. She liked the sound of that word.

“You may call me Kolva,” he replied.

Kolva. Somehow, it was a name that felt familiar.

“I crossed Escalon to see you,” she said, nervous, not knowing what else to say. The morning silence swallowed her words, the barren plains filled only with the sound of the distant crashing of the ocean. “My father sent me.”

He smiled back. It was a warm smile, the lines in his face bunching up as if he had lived a thousand years.

“It was not your father who sent you,” he replied. “But something far greater.”

He suddenly, without warning, turned his back and began to walk, using his staff, away from the tower.

Kyra watched him go, stunned, not understanding; had she offended him?

She hurried to catch up, Leo and Andor at her side.

“The tower,” she said, confused. “Are we not going inside?”

He smiled.

“Some other time, perhaps,” he replied.

“But I thought I had to reach the tower.”

“You did,” he replied. “But not enter it.”

She struggled to understand as he hiked quickly, entering the woodline, and she hurried to catch up. His staff clicked on the dirt and leaves, as hers did, too.

“Then where shall we train?” she asked.

“You shall train where all the great warriors train,” he replied. He looked ahead. “In the woods beyond the tower.”

He entered the woods, moving so quickly Kyra nearly had to run to keep up with him, even though he seemed to be walking at a slow pace. The mystery around him deepened, as a million questions raced through her mind.

“Is my mother alive?” she asked in a rush, unable to contain her curiosity. “Is she here? Have you met her?”

The man merely smiled and shook his head as he continued to walk.

“So many questions,” he replied. He hiked for a long time, the forest filled with the sound of odd creatures, then finally added, “Questions, you will come to find, have little meaning here. Answers have even less. You must learn to find your own answers. The source of your answers. And even greater – the source of your questions.”

Kyra was confused as they hiked through the forest, the trees a bright green, seeming to glow all around her in this mysterious place. She soon lost sight of the tower, and the crashing of the waves grew quieter now. She struggled to keep up as the trail wound every which way.

She was burning with questions, and finally, could no longer contain her silence.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked. “Is this where you will train me?”

The man continued hiking, over a running creek, twisting and turning between ancient trees, their bark glowing a luminescent green, as she followed on his heels.

“I shall not train you,” he said. “Your uncle shall.”

Kyra was baffled.

“My uncle?” she asked. “I thought you were my uncle.”

“I am,” he replied. “And you have another.”

“Another?” she asked.

Finally, he burst into a clearing in the woods, stopping at its edge, and she, out of breath, stopped beside him. She looked out before her and was stunned at what she saw.

On the opposite side of the clearing sat an immense tree, the largest she had ever seen, ancient, its branches stretching everywhere, shimmering with purple leaves, its trunk thirty feet wide. The branches twisted and intersected with one another, creating a small tree house, perhaps ten feet off the ground, looking as if it had sat there forever. A small light came from inside the branches, and Kyra looked up and saw a sole figure sitting on the edge of the branches, looking as if he were in a state of meditation, staring down at them.

“He is your uncle, too,” said Kolva.

Kyra’s heart slammed in her chest, not understanding any of this. She looked up at the man he said was her uncle and wondered if he were playing a trick on her. Her other uncle appeared to be a boy, perhaps ten years old. He sat perfectly straight, as if in meditation, staring straight ahead, not really looking at her, his eyes glowing blue. His boyish face was lined, is if he were a thousand years old, his skin a darkish brown, covered in age spots. He could have been hardly more than four feet tall. It was as if he were a boy with an aging disease.

She did not know what to make of it.

“Kyra,” he said, “meet Alva.”