Page 7 of Lorran
Lorran leaned in, as if to disclose a secret. “Better. We will go to the training arena.”
Gavran’s eyes went wide, and he shoved a piece of breaded protein in his mouth. “Can we shoot? I want to shoot.”
“Negative. You are too small yet for such weapons. There are other activities suitable for a young warrior.” Despite Gavran’s moaning about everyone saying he was too little, Lorran was pleased that his nephew took an interest in weaponry. He could not wait until the day he could introduce Gavran to his favorite weapon, an antique plasma rifle.
Yes, it was wrong to have a favorite weapon—all weapons were useful and had their place—but this plasma rifle belonged to his father’s father. Lorran felt a connection to the relic.
Being a responsible adult was easy. He did not understand why his brother constantly complained that Lorran lacked focus.
* * *
“I can carry it.I’m not little,” Gavran insisted. He dragged the equipment bag along the floor.
Lorran resisted the urge to snatch the bag from the child, but the look of utter joy on Gavran’s face made him pause. A few more scuffs would not impair the functionality. Instead, he stooped to carry one end.
The training arena was a series of specialized rooms. Some were nothing more than a sandy floor and benches for spectators. Others had equipment for building muscles, drones for sparring, and targets for shooting.
Lorran particularly enjoyed spending his time in the training arena because of the facility’s solitary nature. He only competed with himself and his physical limits. No one compared him to his brothers. When he sparred with a drone or ran under simulated heavy gravity, his achievements and failures were his and his alone.
He loved his brothers, but his entire life had been a competition for his parents’ attention. Whenever it fell on him, it was only to compare his accomplishments to those of his brothers, Seeran and Mene.
Lorran dropped the equipment at the base of a rock-climbing wall. Gavran tilted his head back to get an eyeful. “It’s so tall.”
The rock wall stretched far overhead, the handholds growing progressively smaller and farther apart. Some sections were smooth with no means for grip at all. Other sections had simulated rockslides or trap doors which released drones that attacked like avian predators. Panels shifted and changed texture. Occasionally, handholds vanished into the rock face. The wall was never the same challenge twice.
Lorran pointed to a cluster of boulders and a wall with a wide ledge designed for youths. “We will start there.”
“That’s for babies,” Gavran said.
“Then you will demonstrate your mastery and we will move on to the next level. A warrior does not skip steps in his training.”
Gavran’s lower lip stuck out in a near pout, but he nodded. Lorran suited up the youth in protective gear.
“Ugh, I can’t breathe,” he complained.
“Your mother will be displeased if I return you damaged.”
“I can’t move. I’ll fall and damage myself and then Mommy won’t let you have cookies.” Gavran stuck out his arms and flailed them about, demonstrating how his range of motion was impaired.
“Your range of motion is acceptable. Now, tell me more about your mother making cookies.”
Gavran’s eyes went wide. “It is a surprise.”
“I will not tell.” Lorran adjusted the straps to the helmet, but no matter how he tugged, the helmet was too large for Gavran’s head.
“I don’t need it. I promise. I’ll be careful.”
Lorran doubted that the youth could keep such a promise, but he acquiesced. “We will be cautious. Now, allow me to demonstrate.”
He stood at the foot of the wall. “Start easy. You will use your feet, thighs, and back, as well as your shoulders and arms. Be aware of where you put your feet and how you balance.”
Lorran climbed onto the first ledge, hauling himself up with exaggerated care. He reached a flat platform and crouched down to peer over the edge. “Now you. Join me.”
“I wanna do it.” Gavran bounced in place. “I’m gonna climb to the top!”
Lorran doubted the youth could reach more than the summit of the beginner’s wall, but he felt compelled to indulge his nephew’s ego. “That would be most impressive. Come on up. Mind your horns,” he called down.
Gavran giggled. “Silly Uncle Lorran. I don’t have horns.”
