The Weight of Honor by Morgan Rice

centuries longer than you have.”
    She frowned, confused.
    “Centuries?” she asked. “I don’t understand. You look young. And you look nothing like me.”
    Kolva stood at the edge of the clearing, patiently awaiting Alva’s command, and Kyra looked from Kolva to Alva, her two uncles, saw the stark difference in appearance between them, and wondered how they could both share her bloodline.
    “We don’t choose our relatives,” Alva replied. “Sometimes family can disappoint us. We search for pride in our ancestors, pride in our relatives. But this pride is meaningless. The pride you seek must come from within.”
    Kyra shook her head, feeling overwhelmed. She wanted to discount this boy, and yet, as she stood there, she had to admit she sensed a tremendous energy coming off of him, a power she could not quite grasp.
    “I must return to my father and help him,” she said.
    “Maybe you are helping him,” Alva replied. “Right now. By standing here.”
    Kyra was perplexed; she had no patience for riddles.
    “I haven’t time for this,” she said. “I must train.”
    “You are training right now,” he replied.
    She raised her eyebrows.
    “Training?” she asked, wondering if he were mocking her. “I’m standing in the woods, far from battle, talking to a boy sitting in a tree. Is this training? Can you teach me to wield a staff, to fire arrows, to become a great warrior?”
    He smiled, unflappable.
    “Is that all you wish to learn?” he asked. “I can teach you far more than that.”
    She stared back, wondering.
    “Those things of which you speak are trivial,” he continued. “They have little to do with true power. Any warrior can wield a weapon. What I teach is far more than that. What I teach is the source behind the weaponry; the hand that wields the sword; the spirit that guides the hand.”
    She stared back, not understanding what he meant.  She did not know what to say or feel.
    “I thought…” she began, then trailed off. “I thought…you would lead me to my mother. That, if you were my uncle, you would reveal who she is. Who I am.”
    He closed his eyes and shook his head, his smile beginning to fade.
    “Too many questions,” he replied. “Questions that cloud you. You are full of demands—from myself and from the universe. Sometimes the universe is not ready to yield answers. Your mother understood that.”
    Kyra tensed at the mention of her mother.
    “You knew her then?” Kyra pressed.
    He nodded.
    “Very well, indeed,” he replied. “We both did.”
    Kyra looked to Kolva, who nodded back.
    “And what was she like?” she asked, so eager to know.
    Alva opened his eyes and looked down at her, a twinkle in his eyes.
    “Just like you.”
    Kyra felt a flood of excitement at the thought, eager to know more.
    “Tell me more.”
    He closed his eyes and shook his head.
    “Release all questions and demands, or you will be unable to train. Let go of everything you have, everything you are.”
    Kyra stared back, unsure.
    “I had expected to arrive at a place with a great training ground,” she replied. “With great warriors to train with.”
    He shook his head.
    “Still fixed on illusions,” he replied. “I offer you much more. I offer you this,” he said and spread his arms wide.
    She looked around and saw nothing but trees.
    “What is this ?” she pressed.
    “You do not see the trees before you,” he replied sadly.
    Kyra could contain her impatience no longer. She felt sure she was being tricked, that she was being tested, that this was all somehow part of her test.
    “I do not wish to offend you,” she repeated, “but my time is short. I cannot let my father die out there while I stand here, wasting time.”
    Kyra turned, hurried across the clearing, and mounted Andor. She directed him toward the woods and prepared to kick and ride off, unsure where she would go—anywhere but here.
    Yet as she prepared to ride off, she looked at the woods before her, and was