SWNOVELS Nectar of War: Part 3 – Chapter 43
LEVORA APOLLA ARVENALDI
T he arduousness within the unknown.
The unknown factor if you should go to someone to learn if they need help coping or if they cope better alone.
I cautiously watch Laven as we sit in the Ryverian House far in the Western Woods.
The others are speaking quietly amongst one another in the kitchen. Laven sits slouched in the large armchair as he rubs his finger over his lip that holds his teacup.
“Vora,” he mumbles, and I urgently walk towards him. “You will start training again soon. Possibly tomorrow. Do you still have your dagger?”
“Yes.”
“Start carrying it around again. Tomorrow you will come with me to the Training Grounds, and we will craft you a sword and a spear. Then you will begin training with Amias and Hua.”
Suddenly, everything I have wanted is before me and I am frightened of it.
“So soon?”
He looks down at me as I kneel next to his chair. “I need you to train and carry lethal weapons and know how to use each of them, for my sake. This world is full of threats, and you came home to a clustered and disoriented nation. There is too much transpiring for me to sanely allow you to walk around untrained and unarmed.”
“What–what if . . .” I shake my head. “What if I am no good at it?” I want this but I am now afraid of the outcome. The discovery of truth. The discovery if I am capable.
“Levora,” he leans in closer. “You are not weak. You are fully capable of being the version of yourself that you dream of. Your mindset regarding your lack of abilities must change if you want to succeed. And not only for my sake do I need you to realize this, but for you. Neither of us inherited father’s gifts. I overcame that by learning to be a weapon and it is what I need you to do. Train daily, educate yourself in all areas of life, trust your intuition, know your Wolf, eat copiously and well, test yourself in forms you never imagined you could handle.”
“Strong like you is what I crave.”
“What about being strong like Levora?” His hand holds mine as he speaks. “Comparison is not only the thief of joy but a thief of prosperity. You are not me, and that is your power. You are you and you will be strong like you. You have always seen strength in everyone else and wanted their strength, now I must urge you to see that vigor in yourself. I can no longer enable you to see so much in everyone but yourself. You are not in the Mortal Lands anymore, you are here in Voschantai during the ages of war, Vora, and because of this environment you must learn. I cannot handle the possibilities of losing someone again.”
My chin quivers as I stare down at his hand tightening on mine. “What if I fail?”
His forehead presses to mine. “You will never fail, you are an Arvenaldi. We have history of the Old Voschantai in our veins. Strong souled.”
I nod as quiet sobs release hearing the words our father used to say. Yet these words were always told to the boys, Laven is the first to ever say them to me. And as I say those two words, I feel the ancestry of past Arvenaldi women move through me.
“Strong souled.”
PHYV LOOKS ODD IN the black leather armor. I never thought I would see the day that we train together here in this realm, but time has come for it to happen.
“No matter how your training ends today,” Phyv straightens the cloak over my shoulders. “Do everything with intention and you can leave the Training Grounds everyday knowing you gave it your all.”
Nyt aggressively sniffs our attire before huffing and throwing himself to the ground next to Salem who is laid on the chaise next to the fire.
“Come, Laven is waiting downstairs.”
When we breach the doors of the palace Laven is speaking with Axynth who ascends before he can see us.
“Remember,” Laven knocks a knuckle against my chin.
Strong like Levora.
“I did not forget,” I say. “How are you this morning?”
By the look in his eyes I can see the lack of rest.
“I will be fine,” he tries to lessen my worry. “Good morning to you, Phyv. I am glad to know you will be joining us.”
“If there is anything I enjoy most about Voschantai Universe, it is the way we fight. Warriors here are much different than the soldiers on human territory.”
Laven snickers. “You can say it if you like.”
He is dying to hear that they are weaker than us.
Phyv only laughs and touches Laven’s shoulder as I do, and we ascend to the Training Grounds.
As we walk through the grounds, far in the distance stands Hua and Amias delegating hundreds of rows of men and women.
There are one too many pairs of eyes looking over us and Phyv and I follow Laven in his path toward Hua and Amias.
“High Prince Laven holds to his word,” Amias smirks.
“I do when my General complains about inconsolable new trainees.” Laven nudges Hua.
When Laven overlooks all of the young people before us, he lands on one who is reaching across his line to push his friend who does his best to hold his composure.
“What is your name?” Laven asks the boy causing commotion.
“Vargas Yeshti.” He says all too proudly.
“Yeshti,” Laven’s eyebrows raise. “I ran across your mother yesterday at Solstice.”
“I am certain you did; my family holds rather high rank, so it is only natural that she is on the Palace Grounds for such an event.”
If there is one thing about the Yeshti’s, they have always been the snobbiest of the rich in our highest societies. Many of our Gala’s were, and possibly still are, hosted by their family and there were many people who found their gatherings to be tedious and uptight.
Laven laughs at the boy’s cockiness. “What is your strong suit, Vargas?”
“As the largest man in this subdivision, I thrive in all areas.”
Even at his current large size, Laven still topples over him.
“Oh, then you must be a great Warrior already. Would you mind showing me?” Laven steps backward letting there be space. “Choose another upcoming Warrior to challenge.”
Through his confidence, I see him waver, but he covers it with a laugh. “I do not need to show you that I am qualified to be great.”
“Great?” Laven speaks with surprise. “How old are you, Vargas?”
“Eight and ten.”
This time, both Phyv and I get a chuckle out of this. Even as someone who is not qualified to judge any upcoming Warrior, I know he has had no training powerful enough to qualify anywhere near great.
“Funny is he not?” Amias speaks and I can see his annoyance rising.
This is the problem child Hua was speaking of.
“Very,” Phyv nods.
“You are eight and ten, and believe you are a great Warrior. Why?” Laven asks.
He does not answer Laven out of humiliation of so many thriving Warriors before him.
“Is this the one you said was all talk when we spoke the other day?” Laven asks Hua.
“And a few of his other companions as well.”
“Very interesting . . . So, you want to be a great Warrior, but you do not want to put in the effort to become one and will not show me that you are capable. Your family’s wealth, Vargas, has generated a lot for you, but it will not secure your name as greatest Warrior. Your family’s money will secure you as a privileged Warrior, and those are two entirely different titles. You need to suffer and understand your abilities before claiming you are great for anything. Since a child you have never known what struggle is, and this will be your weakness.”
As cocky as this young boy is, he seems to listen to Laven and crave his words. Maybe because he is speaking with a High Prince or maybe he secretly wishes to impress Laven and is afraid to embarrass himself. Vargas is vividly defiant and lacks discipline. Laven has been known to have discipline in his life but with our brothers and people around him as well. Sometimes his discipline is his downfall, nevertheless, there is no other person fit to speak with Vargas than Laven.
“Fight to find your purpose and then you will know your worth.” Laven continues. “As of now, your purpose is nothing, as is your worth. You will heed my orders to succeed, or you will pack your things and go home. And I do believe your father would not be too pleased to see his only son standing at the doors of his home because he failed to become a Warrior.”
Vargas still does not respond.
He has been humbled.
“Stand up straighter when I speak to you.” Laven’s words shock the young boy and he takes his place in line.
Now fear has been instilled.
“Amias,” Laven sharply turns to him. “Train them as we were trained by our fathers.” The methods used in the Quamfasian Games. “Find the tallest trees in the woods located here on the Training Grounds; remove their branches and secure rods into the body of each tree—make them learn true strength by carrying themselves to the top and then carrying another on their back. From there make them learn stability by turning the trees into pillars and they will practice in the Pillar Race. Take them to Terseius daily to climb the mountain where stray Dragon’s roam. Then lead them to Gordanta where our waters go twice as deep as the Terseian Mountains are high—where the currents are so strong even mature Water Dragons struggle.”
“Riveting,” I hear the voice of a young woman say from afar, our eyes meet mine and we smile at one another.
She is small in comparison to everyone else here. Small yet mighty. Her leather armor is thinner in comparison to the others, this makes it easy to tell a commoner from the rest by the leathers they have to fight in. Not all armor is built the same, some are built lacking in protection so that people of lower income can afford them.
“That is torment!” Vargas exasperates.
“You are a man. Is that not what you said? Men can accomplish these tasks, so prove to me how this is torment.” Laven dares. “Unless you are unequipped for the wrath of war?”
He does not speak again and chooses to cling to his worthless pride.
“You all will learn to be swift, vigorous, and sturdy before you are allowed to touch a weapon again. A real Warrior knows that the weapon is not in their hand, they are the weapon.” Laven observes the rows upon rows of young men and women training to be like him, Hua, and Amias. “Only three-hundred enlistees?”
“Yes.” Hua answers.
“And this is all of them?”
Amias nods in response.
“I will give it two fortnights to have three-hundred more enlistees, or we begin drafting.”
Hua smiles, the word draft is music to her ears.
“The Spartans succeeded quite well with three-hundred.” I say.
Laven smiles. “Unfortunately, little sister, not all three-hundred of these young men and women are built for their profession to be a Warrior. I can see plenty who will be attending Vuamsati Academy instead of pursuing a title here.”
Since the beginning of time, the greatest profession to have has been to be a Warrior. There are plenty of other well known professions to have, but to be a Warrior, you are the mightiest of mighty.
Hua tops her Pegasus before it trots through the rows of upcoming Warriors, and she selects the girl with the most urgency. The one who was most excited to participate in the trials of the Quamfasian Games. “You will aid me in building the courses, come.” Hua nods her head, and the girl is quick to saddle the Pegasus with Hua.