End-meal had been prepared and Deshtine was still furious, so Niale went to find Vernomir and Yarshmir. There was no point remaining while her brother railed about Vernomir. An angry Deshtine was bad enough, but he was worse because he knew Vernomir was right.
She knew Yarshmir wanted to learn to use the sabre, and that Vernomir had wooden practice sabres, so the river was the obvious place to look. There were clearings surrounded by forest that afforded both space and privacy. Vernomir preferred privacy to train.
She was right. They were sparring with the wooden sabres in a clearing a few minutes along the riverbank. Vernomir saw her arrive, but didn’t acknowledge her, continuing the contest. Yarshmir seemed too intent on his practice to notice anything else. Rather than interrupt, she contented herself to sit and watch.
She remembered her amazement the first time she watched Vernomir practice. The speed with which he could wield a sword was beyond what she thought possible. Now she was amazed at how quickly Yarshmir was developing his skills. There must have been some cross over between his skills as a hunter and his newly developed skills with the sabre.
They stopped their sparring briefly and Vernomir shook his head at Yarshmir. “You’re concentrating too hard on what my sword is doing,” he said.
“How can that be?” Yarshmir asked. “It’s your sword I’ve got to avoid.”
“No, it’s me and not my weapon you need to be aware of.”
Vernomir put his sword up again and started toward Yarshmir. Yarshmir raised his own wooden sabre and waited for Vernomir to lunge. Vernomir took his gaze from Yarshmir and concentrated it to the end of his sword, then feigned a lunge, Yarshmir reacted - remarkably fast - and Vernomir was quickly inside Yarshmir’s reach, sweeping his feet from beneath him.
“If you weren’t looking at my sword you’d have seen me prepare for that,” Vernomir said, helping Yarshmir to his feet. “You must not let your opponent effect your attention, nor your emotions.” He glanced at Niale.
“What emotions?” Yarshmir asked.
“Hurt, grief, hatred, fear,” Vernomir said. “I smell them all.”
“I will stop them,” Yarshmir said. “They are emotions warriors shouldn’t feel.”
“You can’t stop them,” Vernomir told him. “You can only feel them and let them do their work.”
“I thought a warrior shouldn’t—”
“A warrior feels,” Vernomir snapped. “But he feels when and where they won’t kill him. He feels because he must, because to not feel is to fight against himself and on the battlefield, your enemy is enough.” Vernomir looked to Niale. “A warrior feels deeper than others because we’ve the most regrets; we’ve done too many things to regret.”
Niale wondered what feelings Vernomir could sense from her.
“You have about you a desire to kill,” Vernomir said. “You can’t go into battle with that.”
“Then what should I desire when I fight?” Yarshmir asked.
“To prevail,” Vernomir answered. “To survive first and then to win.”
“I will kill what killed my father,” Yarshmir seethed.
Vernomir looked at the lad, now no longer a boy, but not yet a man. “That’s not what you want though,” he said gently. “You want your father alive again. You want things the way they were, before any bad things happened. Don’t confuse this with revenge, it’ll get you killed.”
“I can have revenge, not my father.”
Vernomir shook his head. “Look inside. See your desire for vengeance, then look on your desire for the way things were. Touch that longing for what once was and feel the difference. You’ve touched vengeance enough. Tell me, which is bigger? Which is stronger? Which demands the greater response and which will control you?”
“Revenge.” Yarshmir sniffed.
“Do you want this to control you?” Vernomir looked into Yarshmir’s eyes. “Is this so important that you’d allow it to even destroy your beloved Rashale? Because it will. Unfettered, it will not just consume you, but harm everyone you love, and everyone who loves you.”
Yarshmir looked away.
“Revenge is destructive, but it can’t destroy grief, because it is grief. It’s grief tempered with hatred and it pushes those it controls into foolish actions. Pure grief is a powerful force, one you can allow to make bad things in you become good. It’s your choice. Take the place of the warrior; allow your feelings to wash through you. Grow through them and honour your father, as he should be honoured. Or take the place of the child, hiding behind revenge because you’re scared to grieve and fear its sting. Allow it to build or destroy you. You can choose only one path, so choose the honourable path.”
Tears were making their way down Yarshmir’s face.
“Now’s a good time to feel this,” Vernomir said, dropping his wooden sabre and walking to the boy. “Feel it now and let it do its work inside you. Feel it so it bring you strength, and not death.”
Yarshmir was now sobbing and Vernomir put his arms around him and held him close. Niale could see a fatherly pride in Vernomir’s face. There was something else. Tears? Yes, she saw tears.
Vernomir released Yarshmir, stepped back, wiped his nose and smiled. “I just embraced a boy, but I see a man.”
Yarshmir nodded a smile.
Vernomir looked at the darkening sky. “Sauilin, the light of day, has almost left us. Let her take your hatred with her, let her embrace it and burn it and transform it. Then let her present it back to you, as strength, in the morning.”
“How many nights should she take them?” Yarshmir asked.
“As many as she needs.” Vernomir smiled. “It’s seldom only one, but if she doesn’t take it, it’ll remain weakness, never to become the strength it’s intended.”
Niale couldn’t remain. It was partly because her own tears bothered her, but mostly because she didn’t want to feel like this for Vernomir again. Perhaps that was something Sauilin should also take.
Copyright © 2015 Scott E. Douglas
All rights reserved.
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