The Weight of Honor. Morgan Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Merk entered the Tower of Ur, walking through the tall, golden doors he never thought to pass through, the light shining so brightly inside it nearly blinded him. He raised a hand, shielding his eyes, and as he did, he was in awe at what he saw before him.

      There, standing opposite him, was a real Watcher, his yellow eyes piercing as he stared back at Merk, the same eyes that had haunted Merk from behind the slot in the door. He wore a yellow, flowing robe, his arms and legs concealed, and the little flesh he showed pale. He was surprisingly short, his jaw elongated, his cheeks sunken, and as he stared back, Merk felt uncomfortable. Light shone from the short golden staff he held before him.

      The Watcher studied him silently, and Merk felt a draft behind him as the doors suddenly slammed shut, trapping him in the tower. The hollow sounded echoed off the walls, and he involuntarily flinched. He realized how on edge he was from not sleeping all these days, from nights of troubled dreams, from his obsession over entering here. Standing inside now, he felt a strange sense of belonging, as if he had finally entered his new home.

      Merk expected the Watcher to welcome him, to explain where he was. But instead, he turned wordlessly and walked away, leaving Merk standing there alone, wondering. He had no idea whether to follow.

      The Watcher crossed to a spiral, ivory staircase at the far end of the chamber and, to Merk’s surprise, he headed not up but down. He quickly descended and disappeared from view.

      Merk stood there in the silence, stumped, not knowing what was expected of him.

      “Shall I follow you?” he finally called out.

      Merk’s voice rang and echoed back at him, off the walls, as if mocking him.

      Merk looked around, examining the inside of the tower. He saw the walls, shining, were made of solid gold; saw a floor made of an ancient black marble, streaked with gold. The place was dim, lit only by the mysterious glow coming off its walls. He looked up and saw the ancient staircase, carved of ivory; he stepped forward and cranked his neck and, at its very top, he spied a golden dome, at least a hundred feet high, sunlight filtering down. He saw all the levels above, all the different landings and floors, and he wondered what lay up there.

      He looked down and, even more curious, he saw the steps continuing down below, to subterranean floors, where the Watcher had gone, and he wondered. The beautiful ivory stairs, like a work of art, twisted and turned mysteriously in both directions, as if rising up to heaven and down to the lowest levels of hell. Merk wondered, most of all, if the legendary Sword of Flames, the sword guarding all of Escalon, lay within these walls. He felt a rush just thinking about it. Where could it be? Up or down? What other relics and treasures were stored here?

      Suddenly, a hidden door opened out of the side wall and Merk turned to see a stern-faced warrior emerge, a man roughly Merk’s size, wearing chain mail, his skin pale from too many years of not seeing sunlight. He walked toward Merk, a human, a sword on his waist with a prominent insignia, the same symbol Merk had seen etched outside the tower walls: an ivory staircase rising to the sky.

      “Only Watchers descend,” the man said, his voice dark, rough. “And you, my friend, are no Watcher. Not yet, at least.”

      The man stopped before him and stared him up and down, laying his hands on his hips.

      “Well,” СКАЧАТЬ