The Tempest

The Tempest
Book 1
Tide of Seasons

Locke Trueheart, a capable bowman from the north and of royal blood. He was firm in stature and physique. His hair was dirty blonde and a tangled mess for the most part. It was just over shoulder length and unruly. His eyes were as blue as the deepest sea and his cheekbones were well defined. He hailed from a long line of Kingly hunters as far back as history recorded it in the citadel of the great city he had always called home. The Humans of the North were, for the most part, a kindred lot who embraced the harmony of nature. They sought out balance in the entire realm. And while any lands outside the gates, protected walls, and reinforced magical barriers of the main cities of Seventh Realm, were inhospitable and full of dangers, they seemed to not only survive but flourish against such odds.

Locke was an able swordsman, adept at some magic. He was especially skilled at manipulating the magical element of water. He was prone to confront odds sorely against his favor of winning. He was a loyal friend, and no racist by any means, except the Dark Elves. He harbored an especially select bitterness towards that race for no matter what places he visited around the world, he only found darkness, evil, and desolation in their midst. While the majority of the Bowmen from the north were an unruly, inhospitable, and distrusting bunch, Locke had an uncanny trust in nearly everyone he met. He was an amazing judge of character. In a way, he broke the mold, yet that made his place among his own people shady to say the least. Not to mention the rest of the Human race frowned upon any a Bowman who would step inside the sacred grounds of the capital cities.

The young prince had never ventured beyond the icy embrace of his homeland and he had never felt the need to. There was a peace about Norenpath. There was a soft wind that blew across the land that made him feel so calm. He had seen his share of violence, yes, but he was not particular to pursue it just because he wanted a quick rush of adrenaline.

This was the exact opposite of his sister and brother. Both of them embraced danger and pushed the envelope of adventure above and beyond the norm. He smiled as he thought about the fact that his siblings had enough boldness to take his lion's share if he ever had any.

Locke's father continually held him to a higher standard. He was constantly pressing Locke to join the Prima Hunt and partake in the festivities and parades during the entire series of events that took place. The fact that Locke had not completed a Prima Hunt in his life meant that his true nature as a Bowman from the North could never be defined as a Bowman of the North. While the two had similarities in wording, their definition within the lands of Norenpath was something else entirely.

This lack of ascension had caused such a wedge between them that Locke rarely came to the inner courtyard and chambers unless he was explicitly summoned. The tension when he entered the room sometimes took physical manifestations. Any element of fire would grow in strength tenfold when he would enter a room with his father in waiting. This was an underlying conflict that had raged for the past few years between sovereign father and heir-apparent son.

Locke sat on the shore just outside the city gates. He had made it a habit of coming to this one place to clear his head, to cast rocks into the harbor, and to watch the sunrise. The weight of the kingdom was something he never wanted to face and every year he would separate himself from the Hunt as best he could. He was a free spirit. He was like the waves crashing against the shore, carving their own path along the rocky coast.

His locks of long sandy blonde hair were untamed across his forehead as the night air softly blew through them. He looked out at the twin moons just cresting the horizon. The reflection of the sun off of them gave a soft glow to the water as the waves crashed gently against the rocks protecting the foundation of the capital city. His soft blue eyes were full of life. They almost glowed in the pale moon light.

He looked down at the water and could see his reflection ripple with each wave that passed. He shook his head as he heard approaching footsteps. He closed his eyes again, taking in the moment, breathing softly. “Sister...” He laughed a little as he could sense her cautious approach change. “You should know by now that I can hear you a mile away.”

Larissa laughed as she came up and sat right beside him. “I knew I would find you out here.”

“Like clockwork right?” He responded.

“Sometimes I wonder if you could sense me approaching if you truly were blind!” She laughed.

“Mother says I have been since I was born.” He grinned.

“Maybe she was right. You never could strike a target with that old fashioned bow of yours.” She leaned against his shoulder as they both laughed.

A moment of silence passed between them. They both peered up at the twin moons together. The lack of conversation shifted to an uncomfortable undertone as she shifted her position among the rocks and leaned back away from him slightly.

“Brother, you already know your abilities. Why don’t you just do what needs to be done and fulfill your part for the kingdom?”

“You mean like you did sister?” he asked as he turned his eyes to her.

“That’s different.”

“Is it really? Come on, have you really bought into that?” He looked back at the twin moons.

“”That’s not fair Locke. I still have my honor.”

He grimaced. “Go ahead and keep convincing yourself of that. You did indeed stand your ground and you took down your target as expected, but you were left with a sad fate. One that few are and all along I walk these streets of Norenpath every day and I see how people look at you. I hear what they say about you, the eldest daughter of the great King Raffe Trueheart.”

“Those are just words...”

“Are they sister?” he looked back at her. “You can never rule our kingdom as your birthright, you can never marry, and you can never be recorded in the art of histories that litter our great citadel. Such a thing is an unspeakable travesty.”

She took his hand into hers and then turned and faced him fully. The side of her face glowed softly from the reflection of the moon. The scar of a massive claw mark ran down the entire length of her left face and her dormant eye was a frothy grey color. The scar ran down the side of her left neck and abruptly ended at the edge of her shoulder that had a large cloak covering it. “But I still have my honor and that is all that matters to me.”

“You have your honor but what is left of your dignity? Just for the mere fact that you could not land a killing blow on the prey that mortally wounded you all of the honors and rights that come with the Age of Ascension do not apply to you. That is foolishness to me!’

“Locke, it is the law of our land. It is our custom, tradition, and legacy. I have my family and our people accept me.”

“They accept you because they have to. We have an entire section of our city littered with the memories of long-forgotten warriors. Men and women who once stood tall are now reduced to peasants.”

“But they have food and water, shelter from the elements. Such things give dignity.”

Locke cursed under his tongue. “I will refuse to act upon my birth right to participate in Prima Hunt until my dying breath. It is hypocrisy in its most base form. A spectacle...”