SIGHT OF SAND: Chapter 1

Chapter 1
Age Six; Helmet



You were holding some kind of object that was unfamiliar to me. It was made of wood, a natural resource that was not readily available to us in the desert. Wood only grew in abundance in lands with thick forests and lots of rain. Neither of these things could be found in the vast deserts of Sulvik, the kingdom I called home. The only areas of Sulvik where wood could be grown and harvested were in the grand cities along the banks of the three great rivers; the Trec, Zwein, and Serep. This made wood a luxury that only the upper class and noble could afford. So, being a low middle class, the object amazed me. I gawked at it like a child gawks at sweets.

You started laughing when you saw this expression on my face. In the hollow and windowless room, the sound of your laughter ricocheted off the walls and bounced around excitedly. We had recently moved into this house from across town, and this very room was to be your gallery.

“Go ahead and try to guess what it is.” You smiled and held the object out to me. “Take it. But be careful.” I grabbed it with my small six year-old hands and observed it carefully. It was some kind of helmet, but even to my young eyes it was obvious that it was too small for any grown man’s head. It was designed to look like an animal I had never seen before and therefore did not recognize.

“It’s a helmet, but... it’s too small.” I held the object with one hand and I ran the other against the grain of the fine material. If I dropped it, would it split in half like a melon? Or would it shatter, like glass? I did not wish to find out.

“Yes! It’s a very special kind of helmet.” You grinned with the eagerness of sharing your knowledge with me, someone who could pass it down for generations to come. “It’s a helmet children wear with which to play war.”

“Father, where did you find this? Do the boys play war like the ones here?”

“There is an island south of the grassland kingdom, long forgotten by time and war.” Your voice had changed. Now, there was a little magic in it as you began to narrate a tale of your own. From the bag hanging on your shoulder you retrieved a world map. The very same map I had watched you spend hours meticulously sketching within the confines of your office in our old home. You pointed to a big island to the left of the map, divided vertically in half by a river that opened north to the sea.

“That is where we live. Sulvik.” I exclaimed loudly, excited to share knowledge of my own. Being female, I did not have the opportunity to go to school and get educated. Any education I got was from you. You were always very eager to share your own knowledge with anyone despite gender or class.

“Very good!” You encouraged. You moved your finger to a much bigger land mass on the right of the map. “Do you know what this is?”

“Euphasia. The grass kingdom.” I beamed with the confidence of a child.

“Amazing.” You smiled proudly. You then moved your finger to a very small island just south of Euphasia, one that I had already assumed was a part of the grass kingdom. “But do you know what this is?” I hesitated, then shook my head. “This is a country called Vernul. The people that live there are called Vernulan. But they are very different than humans.”

“Are they like elves?” The elves were the only other race I knew of. I knew there were more, and you had told me many stories about them, but I could never remember their names. You shook your head.

“No, they are something much different. Do you remember my stories about the dragons?”

“Oh, yes!” I exclaimed, my memory jogged. “The big scaled beasts with wings that breathe fire.”

“You have a very good memory. I’m proud of you.” Your excitement pleased me. “The dragons lived during the time of the Ancients, the same time as the High Elves and Merfolk. Together, they were the first three races to roam this world. During their time, long long ago, was when they spoke the ancient language.” You rolled up your map and put it away. I was glued to your words, and you continued. “But the dragons and elves and Merfolk began to die away. So they needed people that would carry on their legacy. As the land and times changed, so did they and each race evolved to better suit their environment. The dragons became the Draconi people of Draconia, the mountain kingdom.” You paused. “Do you remember the Draconi, Mari?”

“No.... I forgot.” I pouted, but you were not upset.

“They are the dragon people that walk on two legs. They evolved to be masters of land as well as the sky.” I beamed, suddenly remembering as you spoke. But, then a question came to mind.

“So who are the Ver... Ver...?” I stuttered, not remembering the name.

“The Vernulan.” You chuckled at my childishness. “Long ago, but not as long ago as the time of the Ancients, the Draconi began making children with the High Elves.” Shock spread across my face, but you continued without question. “When this happened, the dragons rejected these children. They hated them, because they said they tarnished the pure blood line of the dragons. The dragons rejected these children to the small island you now know to be Vernul, and those dragon-elven inbreds are those called the Vernulan.”

“But what happened? How come you said their island is forgotten?” I was trapped in your story, mesmerized by your words. You had told be about the dragons many times before, you had told me about all three ancient beings that spoke the legendary and long-forgotten language. But only now was I beginning to realize that the legend was much deeper and much more complicated than meets the eye.

“The small island is trapped by two greater kingdoms. Euphasia to the north, as you already know, and another kingdom to the south. Over the course of history, Vernul had been raided and conquered many times. War ravaged the island dry. Once a thick, fruitful forest the island is now entirely a rocky plane. The dramatic change in the island’s environment in such a short amount of time caused people to start believing that the Vernulan had died along with the island’s forests. So they, and the island, were eventually forgotten. Forgotten, that is, until your very own father found it again.”



After that day, I told you I wanted to know everything that you knew. You pleaded at first that women, especially young girls like myself, shouldn’t have to worry about the quarrels of ancient men and of the death and destruction of many people and kingdoms. But you gave it some thought, and told me I could be your apprentice. You said when you came home from every expedition you would bring ancient relics and artifacts for us to study, and you said we would learn about the secrets of this world together. Then you promised that when I was old enough, the day I turned 18, I would go with you on your expeditions and we would travel the world.

SIGHT OF SAND: Prologue

Prologue

“Analyze the situation. Adjust. Accept, and you will thrive.”

Those were my father’s famous words engraved on his headstone in the middle of a country of sand I am no longer familiar with.

My father was a wise man. Wise, yet so very stupid. He was an explorer, and a lover of the fine arts. He was also a sweet talker who understood how people work, and often times used it against them. My father had a disturbingly accurate interpretation of the world... which made him very interesting and yet very dangerous.

I was born in the land of golden sands. The land, called Sulvik, is strange and foreign. The kingdom boasts a people of an ancient culture and society, with a dress code as strange as the language they speak.

Growing up, it was always obvious to me that my mother greatly disapproved of my father’s line of work. Before his hobbies and loves, he was an explorer, and a great one at that. It brought home money, but he was gone for very long periods of time. He would leave on such short notice, leaving my mother, sister, and I to forever wonder when he would one day show up on our doorstep once more. Expeditions called him away for weeks, even months, at a time. As a result of this, most of my childhood memories were of my overburdened mother crying alone in her private quarters when she thought no one was watching.

When my father died, I was at the young age of 13. My sister even younger still, at the age of eight. His death burdened us all financially and emotionally. It affected me much more that I could admit, for in my mother’s distraught state I had to be the emotionally stable rock that would carry both her and my younger sister. My mother was always very vocal about her emotions and thoughts. My sister, who was the sibling closest to my father, took it the hardest of all. She was never quite the same.

My mother wanted very badly to get away from Sulvik, mostly to run away from my father’s ghost and hopefully remain as far away as possible. She moved us to her sister’s house in a city called Cerius located in the grassland kingdom across the sea.

The grassland kingdom of Euphasia, my mother told me, calls no man ‘king’. Euphasia, as we call it, is really just a compilation of self-sufficient cities and towns with their own governments and legal systems. In Euphasia, my mother said, we would be able to live in peace without falling victim to an unjust social hierarchy that made life in Sulvik very difficult for women.

I was the only one who would admit to the truth. The memories of my father were too fresh and strong in Sulvik. We were running away.

HISTORICAL TERVIK: Chapter 1

Chapter 1
Beginning

The port city of Hemyl rested on the western coastline of Euphasia, a rather large place famous for trade and fishing. It was old, yet over the years had only ever gained popularity. It was a single day's travel north of the capital city, and for that fact alone attracted quite a good amount of attention.


Being near the ports, the air was cool and salty. Surrounding the large port was the typical scenery, thick forest with dark green leaves reaching towards the sunlight above them. The trees varied in size, the older ones holding onto their thick sturdy trunks while the newest of the threes weaved their way through the older one's, making there own path as they reached for the sky. There were not many houses near the port, only those of fisherman and those who owned a boat. Small worn paths lead to smaller huddles of houses that kept near the shore, but were not close enough to be disturbed by its constant business. Men were mainly the ones walking around during this time of day, the occasional wife or woman fluttering around a small fisherman boat, seeing her husband off as he left to go fishing some more, or helping him unpack his things as he returned from an early morning of work


Standing on one of the town's many ports was a group of three, a man in his mid- twenties, an adolescent boy, and a woman no older than the man. Around them people hardly took note of their existence, going about their daily lives just as they always did. Around the port fishing was its top priority and with the sky looking to turn to the worst, they wanted to gather their catch now while they could before a possible storm would set in, ruining the traps they had left in the waters overnight. Their hope to catch something large slimmed as the sky grew darker. The group, however, had no fishing type business to attend to that afternoon. They waited for a new arrival who was traveling by boat, a man from the deserts of Sulvik, of a strange culture and even stranger people. What the man and woman had been told was this man was of noble status, and knew nothing of his language or culture.


The woman, a brunette who grew her hair long and tied back into a single braid, stared out into the ocean with her forest green eyes, her face unmoving and unchanging. There were many barriers between themselves and their new team member, but the biggest one, the language barrier, would be knocked down by their adolescent companion who knew both their language and his. They would all be relying on him, and the only thought Farah Adair could give it was 'well, he better do a good job then.' Said adolescent was now standing underneath a large tree with it's branches spread out far. The young teen crossed his arms in front of his chest, glaring at the large body of water as if it would make what they were waiting for appear. He wore a loose shirt, the sleeves cut off and a deep rip in the front, two loose strings dangling off his chest as they connected the shirt with the hood currently resting against his back. The shirt was made of a thick material, easily keeping him warm, despite the absence of his sleeves. His hair was a dark brown, nearly black, although part of it was shaved off, leaving a brighter color, a patch of short fuzzed hair behind. His deep, rich colored purple eyes stared fixed at the ocean. His skin was much darker than of those around him, a natural tan that never left, darker freckles scattered about his shoulders and face. One eyebrow completely shaved off, the circled markings replacing them as he watched ahead.


Farah wore a deep red dress, short-sleeved and reaching to just above her knees. It was form-fitting without being revealing, and was of a fine fabric that breathed easily and kept her cool. She wore thin skin-hugging pants beneath her skirt and boots over top that stopped just below the knee. Her eyes remained focused on the sea ahead, watching for any sign of the boat they waited for. They had been waiting for what felt like at least hours. The only thing that kept her group going was the knowledge that the man should be coming soon- very soon. If not now, then never. Besides her, her male companion shifted. She glanced over to consider him. Aneruin, the oldest male of the group of three stared out to the ocean as well, giving an almost impatient sigh as he did so. He wore similar clothing to the teen, although his shirt had sleeves and no hood. His pants were kept out of the way, tucked messily into his boots that were thin as well, proving to help while walking. He had a cloak wrapped around his neck, the hood drawn down. He had icy blue eyes, his thick black hair resting messily around his face. His body was toned, although he had always been on the slimmer side, due to his childhood. For a moment he turned his head and their eyes met.  Behind them the adolescent boy, Rune, opened his mouth to speak.

“Why is Father Arin sending us this man from the desert?” Rune broke the calm silence. There was a certain level of bitterness in his voice, and both Farah and Aneurin turned their heads to regard him.

“It is some sort of new foreign exchange study program that Father Arin wants to try out.” Farah met Rune’s eyes. “I don’t know much beyond that.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“I think he means to ask why a nobleman from the desert specifically.” Aneurin turned his eyes to Farah.. “And he has a good point. Why a nobleman?”

“I’m sure Father Arin has his reasons...” Farah’s voice trailed off, and she was cut off before finishing the thought.

“But there are plenty others to choose from.” Rune spat. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either.” Aneurin nodded. “I believe Father Arin has some hidden intentions. But his business is not ours.”

“Father Arin doesn’t have any hidden intentions.” Farah begged, certain in her faith in the aforementioned man. “Why would he lie to us?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Aneurin pointed out. Farah shook her head in disbelief. “He has an entire League to run. Of course he won’t tell us everything.”

“We shouldn’t question him, Aneurin.” Farah pleaded. Aneurin said nothing, and the issue was dropped.

The salty air filled their lungs and the smell of ocean life filled their noses. The waves began to roll, crashing against the wooden piers, the boats sails shifting with the wind as its sailors changed their paths to accommodate the change. Around them were all wooden houses, each having its own flare and style, but all made of wood. That was the only thing houses were made of around here. Wood. Seeing as the area was all plains of grass and forests, wood was the smartest option.

Behind him, Aneurin could hear the shouts of older men, their orders clear as they managed the larger of the fishing boats. When he looked out to the waters, he stared at the family owned boats, much smaller, and seemingly more efficient. They pulled up their nets, dragging in the fish with ease, their hands skilled in its task and it looked as though they could perform it in their sleep.

The teenager, his name Rune, drummed his thin fingers across his forearm, pressing the heel of his leather made shoes into the ground. They were very thin and hugged his skin, making less noise when he traveled, something he needed when he relied on silence for his type of fighting. Aneruin, the oldest male, continued to stare out into the ocean. He could smell the fish and the water. He could hear the leaves rustling in the trees as well as the animals that chose to make their homes there, various birds and other small forest animals. He ignored the small boy behind him, simply because he had no desire to make his acquaintance. He preferred the easy flow of his team of two, but that team of two was becoming quickly a team of four, disrupting the flow he had between himself and his female partner. He was not pleased, but he kept it to himself, the only one most likely to notice the true feelings, would happen to be the female beside him. And notice she did. Without having to look at him, Farah could feel the tension Aneurin was creating. She understood exactly where Aneurin stood with his feelings of the boy, and could not help but sympathize. Farah herself enjoyed the boy’s company, but at the same time missed the days when it was just her and Aneurin just as much as Aneurin missed them.

Off in the distance Farah could see a boat, though she did not get her hopes up until the boat came fully into view, and she could see the clothes of a man with a single bag slung over his shoulders. He wore typical Sulvikian garb, decorated with large flashy jewelry and his hair pulled back high. Upon seeing all of this, the woman could not help but sigh softly. Perhaps he didn't understand the concept of 'being part of the crowd.' From the bottom of the boat the man pulled up an ankle-length cloak and tied it around his neck, hiding most of his jewelry, but it did little to distract from how foreign his clothes were. He certainly would be noticed, which was exactly what Farah, who specialized in stealth, could not stand. It was a bad first impression, but of course Farah could not make any assumptions just yet. She glanced at her partner sideways, standing besides him.

"I believe that's him." Farah placed one hand folded in a fist comfortably resting at her side and the other she let hang. Her feet were spread equally apart, and she distributed her weight evenly.


"I see it," Aneurin mumbled his displeasure. He noted the flashy outfit, taking a disliking to that as well. Flashy clothing was not made for their type of living. Flashy clothing would get them all killed and this man surely must know that already. At least he knew well enough to hide the gaudy things he used to decorate himself with, but hiding the fact that he was not from around here was impossible. He saw the small families who never saw much in their little port took interest and stared for a few seconds before continuing on. Immediately Aneurin wondered what his league was thinking, inviting someone like this to their territory, but he would never really question them. They had their reasons just as he had his.


Farah and Aneurin’s eyes turned away from the man to stare at the teen behind him, waiting for him to move forward, because without him, there would be no understanding between the two different cultures. Rune was not pleased to see the man either. He looked foolish with the clothing he was wearing. Flashing to the whole world that he was indeed not from around here and no less had money. Showing off how much money you had was normally not very settling in lands like this. To show off with your jewelry was almost offensive, to him at least it was. It was an annoying show of status and it was displeasing to look at. Still, he would need to translate and he disliked that even more, because it meant he needed to talk to the man as well.


The wooden boat slowed as it approached the dock. The captain grabbed a rope and stood, moving to the side of the vessel and prepared to reach out to grab the wooden post and tie the rope to anchor them. As this went on, the Sulvikian gathered his bag and prepared to exit.


Farah observed the man's movements, observing the way he looked at the man steering the boat, the way he stood, and the way he carried himself. She was no expert on body language, but she had been told of a nobleman's attitude and attempted to witness any signs of this for herself. The boat was tied to a post and Tempest stepped out, without thanking the captain, and without looking at him as the captain bowed. Other than this, Farah witnessed little else. She was much better at observing her enemies than she was fellow humans, it seemed.


As soon as Tempest's feet touched the wooden pier, he looked around to consider his surroundings. This was his first glance of Euphasia, and the things he had heard time and time again did little to compensate for the actual sight of it. He had never seen so many trees clumped together in one place, had never felt an air so cool in the middle of the day. Normally in Sulvik, this would be the hottest time of day. Was this what 'hot' or 'warm' was to them? The buildings were mostly made of wood, Tempest could see, and everything was so... bright. It was strange, but he did not give himself long to take it all in. He would get time enough to look at it; it would be all he saw for a long time. Tempest must meet his new comrades, now.


Farah stood out to him straight away. A woman, wearing a form fitting dress and both her face and hair displayed for all to see. She was good-looking, yes, but completely improperly dressed. Tempest couldn't help but scowl; he did not approve. Apparently, this was how all the woman dressed. He turned his head to observe the woman of the town to see if this were true; he found that it was. No woman wore cloth to cover their face, and none of them wore long, loose- fitting dresses like those from home. It would take quite some time to get used to this.


Farah noted the scowl, and frowned. Yes, she knew he did not approve but she had hoped he would have a much better attitude about it, considering the situation. She decided to step forward and greet him, in a way that would put him in an uncomfortable position. He would have to get used to things around here, it was her duty to make him feel awkward.


"Hello." The woman approached Tempest, extending her hand, and looking him straight in the eyes. He stared back, but when the hand did not go away he was confused. Why did she think he would shake her hand? The woman did not wait for him; impatient, was she? "I am Farah Adair. There's no need for you to introduce yourself. We're well aware of who you are." She offered a friendly smile, out of obligation more than anything else. Behind her a teenage boy was waiting, and she looked back at him to translate.


At first, Rune was surprised the woman was still willing to talk to him, but then he realized it was not a surprise. He watched her carefully as she approached. Did she expect him to be able to answer her? To look at her and accept who she was and respond? Out of all of them, she had the least chance of getting him to speak.


Tempest looked at the woman in obvious confusion, not moving his hands to meet hers. All he heard were sounds, hard consonants strung together by the occasional vowel. So this was their language, then? He understood the word 'hello.' That much he had been told. But he was lost after that. He decided not to respond until her words were translated. Tempest was well aware that they would have a translator with them; the teenage boy, no doubt. He looked down at him without moving his head, Tempest’s head held high with a rich man's confidence and Sulvikian pride, as he waited for Farah's words to be understood by him.


Aneurin was already annoyed, irritated by his attitude. Did they teach him nothing back where he came from? Apparently not if he was to treat Farah the way that he was. He understood their cultural difference, but he assumed he would be taught enough to learn how to dress properly and to treat others as everyone did in Euphasia, but it seemed his high status led to him learning nothing but the main aspects of his job and nothing of the culture, while Farah seemed to read and understand as much as she could to be able to communicate somehow with the male. After she spoke, both their eyes fell to the teen, waiting for him to translate. He seemed a bit put off by Tempest, but stepped forward anyway.


"She said hello and she's telling you her name. Farah Adair. She said you have no need to introduce yourself, we already know who you are." There was a short pause in Rune’s words. They flowed off his tongue with ease, the only thing the two on either side of him would understand was Farah's own name, while Tempest was the one who could gather it all. He added another quick sentence, holding a poisonous sting to it as he spoke.


"You are supposed to take her hand and shake it. It would be rude to them if you didn't." There was so much more Rune could say to the man. He could tell him to step down and realize he was not a noble here. He could cut the royalty act and stop acting so disgustingly rude to them all. His blood boiled for a moment, although he understood why and it really was not because of Tempest, he decided to take out his anger on the male anyway. His deep purple eyes focused on Tempest's, challenging him in a sense before he stepped back, nodding to Farah with a slight smile. "I'm not sure if he will shake your hand.. Since his previous position would almost laugh at you for trying," Rune admitted with a small shrug. He knew the culture so well, because he had lived there once, understanding them both and trying his best to make it seem that Tempest was a royal snob and it would be difficult to crack the shell of his.


Tempest considered the boy for the first time. He stared long and hard at him, looking at everything that was wrong with his looks. This boy was obviously Sulvikian, that much he could gather from his darker skin tone. Even this girl standing with a dumb expression on her face in front of him must see that. First he noticed the hair, styled in some ridiculous half-shaven manner. And what was with the color? How did he get it like that? And then was the eyebrow. The shaved eyebrow. Who would do that? Why did he wear such a strange jacket? He was rebelling, for some strange reason. Maybe he was unhappy being nothing more than slave class, because that's all he obviously was. Tempest couldn't stand the kid's purple eyes that matched his own. What humiliation he must feel standing in front of the nobleman now.


Even after the kid's words had been spoken, Tempest remained starring. Why was this kid not bowing? It took Tempest a second to register what the kid had said. He was supposed to shake the woman's hand. He looked at her, considered her again, and reluctantly shook her hand just to get it over with.

Farah picked up on how reluctant he was to shake her hand, but was glad he did anyway. This meant that somewhere inside of his heart he would at least try sometimes to be respectful of them. So there was.. some hope, to say the least. Tempest was definitely a piece of work. She glanced over at Aneurin, revealing neither disapproval or anger. Just neutral, since she expected as much. But she was more curious to see how Aneurin was reacting to all of this.


Seeing the desert male turn to Aneurin next, he said nothing, his icy eyes focused on Tempest, almost daring him to speak, but the challenge was so subtle, it would have hardly been noticed by anyone. He did not care whether he was greeted or not. The less hello's meant the less waiting to get a move on. He wanted to return back as quickly as he could, considering he was already close to threatening the nobleman's life. First impression meant much to Aneurin and this man would have a difficult time, whether he changed or not, to get him to like him. "If that's over with we can move on now.” Aneurin began to walk towards town, headed for the stable that he knew stood just outside the gates of town. Farah took her place besides him and Tempest and Rune filed in place behind them. Taking the hint, the teen sidestepped so he was walking somewhat beside Tempest, mainly to annoy the nobleman. If he was considered slave class, having someone of his status walk beside him was insulting. Insulting it was, though, it would have been even more insulting to Tempest to look down and consider the boy, so Tempest said nothing save a small insult that passed his lips.


As they walked, it began to rain. The rain was slow, but it was a sign enough that they were spending too much time talking and not enough time walking. The group grew quiet, focused on a silently understood goal of getting out of Hemyl as quickly as possible before the eminent storm came. Each person at some point glanced behind them at the shore, whose waters were always in view no matter where in town they were, to see and hear the loud waves crashing violently against the coastline. As they should, every member of the group observed the behaviour of the townspeople who hurried to finish their errands so they could shelter themselves at home and the fishermen who gathered their supplies and rushed to dock and secure their boats at the ports so they could return home to their wives and children, where they would all weather out the storm together. Aneurin, Rune, and Tempest, who all wore articles of clothing with a hood, drew their hoods over their heads to protect themselves as it began to rain harder. Farah, who left her hood in her bag attached to the saddle of her horse, was left hoodless. She did, however, catch a knowing smile from Aneurin as she watched him draw his hood and she felt her hair becoming wet.


As the stable came into view, a thought occurred to Aneurin. “It's a days trip back by horse." He paused for a moment, wondering if the nobleman had any clue on how to ride a horse. "Tempest does know how to ride a horse, correct?" he turned to the teen, waiting for him to translate, because if the nobleman had not a clue, things would take much longer than he as well as Father Arin would have liked.


Rune looked up at Tempest. "We're taking horses back. It will be a day. You know how to ride a horse right? It's really simple," Despite the fact the sentence could have been taken as friendly, Rune's tone was all mocking to the desert male. "If you don't you'll have to walk and I'm sure someone like you has never traveled far by walking. I doubt it was even a concern for people like you." All of his bitterness towards the noblemen of Sulvik was poured into talking to just one of them. His tone might have been caught by the two in front of him, but he always spoke that way, unless speaking with Farah, when he was much nicer.

Tempest picked up on his name and glanced over at the male, as though trying desperately to understand why his name was being brought up in conversation once more. He did not understand until the teenage boy addressed him, with a hint of mockery in his tone that Tempest did not appreciate. Tempest scowled once more. Farah noticed this glance, though said nothing. It was not her place. Tempest did not look at the boy, hating that he would have to admit that he could not ride a horse. Instead of telling him, he instead turned to Aneurin who seemed to have initiated the conversation.

"No." Tempest shook his head, knowing Aneurin would understand at least that. He ignored everything else the boy said. Farah, having understood the single word, expected exactly that response but sighed anyway. The thought of offering to teach him herself crossed her mind, but she knew that he would not accept his help. He would mock her for even asking. So she left that to either Aneurin or more preferably Rune, who spoke the language and would therefore be the best teacher out of all three.

"In the desert they travel by camel." Farah spoke to Aneurin, anxious to share her knowledge. Turning to his female companion, Aneurin listened to what she had to say. He knew she had studied for months on his culture, learning what she could from pages to pages in books, but it was nothing compared to the real thing standing in front of them. He never imagined things would be this much of a handful.

"Camels lay on the ground and wait for the rider to climb onto their backs. Tempest won't know how to ride a horse, he won't even know how to get on." She was surprised that they hadn't thought of that before. It was a strange revelation, and one that would have consequences. Tempest would either have to learn how to ride one fast, or he'd have to ride with one of them. Knowing Tempest wouldn't want that to happen, it would be best if someone taught him right then so they were not delayed. If they did not return when expected, there would be ramifications. But Farah knew they would find a way, and it would not have to come to that. Aneurin sighed heavily as he was informed about the camels. He was not pleased, but whatever happened, it was not going to be his problem, nor Farah's.

"Rune, you will have to teach him." Farah called, looking back at him. Tempest did not look at her when she raised her voice, instead keeping his gaze settled ahead as they approached the stable. Animals that he had been told to be horses, with big heads and long legs with a swishing tail, waited for them patiently. There were four exactly, and Tempest knew then they were going to make him try and ride one himself. Tempest observed the behaviour of the strange creatures. Farah and Aneurin both mounted as though it were second nature. Once on top of her horse, Farah pulled out her cloak and drew the hood over her head, although she knew it would do her no good for she was already very soaked. For learning purposes, Tempest watched both her and the black-haired man, but their movements were so fast that he learned nothing.

As both Aneurin and Farah climbed on their horses, Rune lagged behind to make sure that Tempest was paying attention. He seemed to have tried to learn from the other two, but it was impossible for a beginner. They grew up, just as he had, learning these things. It was almost second nature and they did not have to think about it. Neither did he and he had to pause for a moment as he was about to climb on. He huffed faintly in annoyance, shrugging his shoulders a bit before turning to face the desert man, standing beside his horse.

"It really is not that difficult," he informed the man with a bored tone. "I could help you, but I don't feel like I need to go that far. I'm sure you can manage," he smirked gently. There of course was a way to help another onto their horse, but he had no desire for that. He simply wanted to watch the nobleman struggle a little.

Rune looked at his horse, giving it a gentle pat before slowing his movements a bit for the desert man to see, as well as explaining the steps as they happened. “Make sure you've got the saddle on correctly. It already is. I'll tell you now, but you'll have to do it yourself eventually. Stand on the left side of the horse, putting your foot in the stirrup," He pointed to the metal device attached to the saddle for the rider to place their foot. He hooked his left foot into the stirrup, grabbing the saddle with his right hand and lifting himself up onto the horse, swinging his leg over the saddle and grabbing the reins at the same time, landing gently on the back of the horse.

"Alright. When you're lifting your leg up, try not to kick the horse, otherwise it will just kick you back. They don't care what or who you are. You hit them. They hit back. Don't slam down when you sit either. Land gently otherwise you'll spook the horse and it will run forward." He laughed slightly at the thought.

After he was finished explaining to him, he pressed his foot into the horse's side, having it walk forward a bit before stopping a few feet in front of Tempest. "I'll be right next to you," he told him, mocking him as he said so. "Since I'm sure you'll have no idea how to control the animal either," he laughed gently, patting his horse on the neck. He would have enjoyed to see the horse kick Tempest off, although bringing back an angry nobleman might not be what the league had in mind. Not that he cared too much.

The desert nobleman stared at the animal, considering it and all he had been told. Rune made it seem easy enough, even if Tempest did not like the manner in which he spoke. Tempest knew the teenager was winning the moment he was forced to look at him and watch him, and had to admit that Rune was doing well in teaching him. When Rune was finished instructing, Tempest turned his head and watched the horse standing in front of him. The animal stood still and held its head up high, its frame full and sleek. It gifted Tempest with a passing gaze, but obviously did not regard the man highly. Tempest recalled all he had been told and slipped his left foot into the stirrup.

He hated the way Rune spoke to him, the way he laughed at him mockingly. This kid hated him just for being in his position, and if they were back in Sulvik his tongue would have been cut off. But here in Euphasia... He was allowed to treat him the way he did. No one cared about the way Rune treated him, no one cared about who Tempest was back home. Wasn't it wrong though? Tempest felt like he shouldn't have to stoop down to Euphasia's level; they should be respectful of him. Of his culture. So if Euphasia was as great as everyone said, why didn't they?

Tempest grabbed the saddle and pulled himself up. Farah watched, not understanding their words but knowing that Tempest was learning. She watched the culture happening. Letting Rune teach him meant more than she could know; again, he accepted the cultural difference and adjusted accordingly. Farah saw this: Tempest could have refused that Rune teach him, but instead he looked up and watched. Why?

She watched as Tempest took hold of the saddle and hopped up. As he began to throw his leg over- sloppily, no less- his left foot lost its grip on the stirrup. Tempest began to fall back the way he came, though his right leg was already over the saddle. He fell backwards and landed on the ground, on his back. Farah watched with widened eyes as Tempest just laid there on the ground, staring up at the sky, in aggravation and holding back moans of pain. Tempest had knocked the breath out of himself, and he laid on the ground for a moment to regain a normal breathing pattern. And then he stood, with a look of determination that said he would get it right this time.

"Are.. Are you okay?" Farah called out from on top her horse, though Tempest did not understand nor would he answer. Aneurin’s eyes lit up and widened in amusement, and a slight smirk crossed his lips. Rune let out a single laugh, biting the inside of his cheek quickly to stop himself from continuing. He had not expected the man to fall off his horse, but when he had, Rune was laughing on the inside. If he laughed anymore he was sure Farah or Aneurin would say something to him about being polite and respecting him, but how could they not laugh? It was funny. To him it was at least.

Tempest stood up and tried again, managing it this time. He landed roughly, startling the horse enough to sprint forward a few steps. This startled Tempest, causing him to let go of the reins and begin to bend backwards, but he managed to catch himself and the reins. Out of options, he regarded Rune.

"I would like to be taught how to control the animal. Now." Tempest urged, unhappy with how long Rune was taking to explain. The teenager was enjoying this, for sure. Already, Tempest was uncomfortable on this horse and wanted off.

"Well I'm honored you asked of my help," he insisted with a small nod of his head. "It's simple. First. Relax, seriously. The animal knows when you aren't in control. Therefore tends to run off. So sit tall. Use your weight to steer the horse. I wouldn't rely in the reigns so much. Shift your weight while your sitting to the right to go left, then left to go right. While you are shifting your weight, press your calf into the horses side, the inside, not the back of your leg." He waited until he was sure the man understood everything he was saying. He spoke calmly, knowing he was pressing his limits here with the jokes, Aneurin's eyes burning into the back of his skull. To stop push yourself forward a bit. Just around your waist, not your entire body. The horse will stop, as well as holding the reins.

Tempest listened to the boy's words and tried them out as they were spoken. The horse calmed down before Tempest did, as though taking control of the situation. He tried steering the horse a little bit in place, shifting his weight to see if the boy was steering him right or wrong. All the information proved true thus far, so Tempest was satisfied.

After his explanation, he brought the horse forward a bit. "He'll be fine. I told him as much as I could, if it can't learn from that, he just shouldn't ride the horse," he told Farah and Aneurin with a small shrug. He glanced over his shoulder, staring at Tempest for a moment.

"If that's the case, lets go, we're already falling behind because of this," he spoke in a sharp voice. He looked to Farah, nodding his head forward, indicating that they would be in the front, leaving those two behind him. Farah met Aneurin's gaze, nodding silently. The two trotted off ahead, Farah knowing fully well that they were wasting time. They had already fallen behind, and neither Aneurin or Farah were quite happy about that. They would have to travel at a decent pace just to catch up. How much of a challenge would even the slowest speed prove for Tempest, who was used to an animal who did not travel very fast to begin with?

Rune turned his head. "He said hurry up," he called to Tempest with a small wave of his hand. He would wait until the desert male was sure to have some control before trotting forward, although he would need his horse near the others, simply because he knew the discomfort of riding a horse for the first time. Not that he cared whether the nobleman was comfortable or not.

Tempest trotted after Aneurin and Farah, shifting his weight without meaning to and causing the horse to walk a crooked path. He was glad that Farah and Aneurin walked ahead of him; he wouldn't even want the woman to see him in such a state as this. Tempest, of course, still did not appreciate Rune's attitude. Farah and Aneurin had done nothing so far to disrespect his person, but Rune had done enough for Tempest not to even want to acknowledge his existence. Rune was a rude, delinquent child far from home. He was the dirt on Tempest's sandals. Yet strangely, he did not have something obnoxious to say when Tempest asked for help. That's how it should be. Rune should just do whatever Tempest wanted.

The group traveled on in silence, building the cultural and language barrier between Farah and Aneurin who traveled ahead and Tempest who traveled behind. Tempest ignored Rune, and even though he had many questions he let them go unanswered.

The group, managing to make it out of Hemyl before the storm came, traveled onward through towns and fields, not stopping, and eventually the rain stopped, and the morning light faded into the golden hours of the afternoon. Farah tucked her rain-soaked cloak back into her bad, though Aneurin and Rune simply dropped their hoods. Tempest had to admit he was impressed by the way the sun turned everything gold; the grass, the rooftops, the trees, creating the perfect atmosphere. Of course everything in the desert was gold, but this was different. This was greenery, this was life given the smallest touch of radiant gold. Tempest was glad that he was going to get to see this every day. The air was crisp and cool, with the slightest breeze. Everything shined. It was something not seen in the desert. Tempest could only imagine that Euphasians must be really proud of this. If not, he thought at least they should be. It was during this time that Tempest decided it would be safe to speak again.

"How far away is our destination? Armastus. The famous city of Euphasia is where we are headed, no?" Tempest looked up, waiting Rune who would be the only one able to answer his question. He had not been told that much detail. He had begun to get the hang of riding, but his rear end was sore and his back numb. He could not take much more of this. His voice reached Farah's voice, who looked back wanting to respond, but not understanding. She was barely able to make out the words Armastus and Euphasia. Farah frowned, realizing that this language barrier was going to be a huge issue even if Rune was there to translate Rune translated, and Aneurin was the first to speak up.

“We should be arriving early tomorrow afternoon.” Aneurin answered smoothly without breaking his concentration on the path. “It’s getting late now, so we should stop at the next town and stay there the night. To arrive on time tomorrow, we have to wake up when the sun rises and leave immediately.” Besides him, Farah nodded her head in agreement. Behind the two of them, Rune calmly translated.

“Father Arin will wish to speak with you upon our arrival. Don’t be surprised if he sends for you the moment we return.” Farah’s words were translated immediately. She also did not take her gaze away from the trodden path. They were in the middle of a field now, and the air was cool though the sky was turning grey as it prepared for the setting of the sun. They didn’t tell Tempest how close the next town was, but it seemed as though they did not need to as Tempest did not bother to ask. If he had been asking himself though, his question was soon to be answered as the town came into view. It was a small, self-sufficient village that had no gate nor had it walls. It was quaint and quiet, unimpressive and very much like all the other smaller towns they had passed through.

Upon approaching the town, they found a stable situated just outside the village’s boundaries. After some trouble trying to teach Tempest how to dismount, the group handed the reins over to the stable master and made their way towards the closest inn. Tempest attracted quite a lot of attention, a lot of wide eyes and children who clung to their mother’s garb pointing and wondering. Tempest did not need to understand them to know that they were asking their mother why he wore such strange clothes and pointing out that his skin was notably darker, as he was a sight that Euphasia hardly ever saw.

Farah, Aneurin, and Rune all observed the behaviour of the townspeople quietly. They exchanged looks, silently agreeing that Tempest would need new clothes as soon as possible. Yet they were crunched for time, and there was nothing they could do about it now. It was a thought for when they returned to Armastus, and something that Farah and Aneurin would probably bring to Father Arin’s attention together. But for now, they needed their sleep as they had an early rising.

The sun set on the day as the group settled into an inn on the north side of the village, and Tempest was calmed knowing that at least the way the sun painted rich hues in the sky at the end of the day was the same as it was back in the desert land of Sulvik.

HISTORICAL TERVIK: Prologue

Prologue
Sulvik

There was the afternoon sun beating down on the golden sands of the desert, the cloudless skies hanging over the city with its sun-dried brick edifices and elegantly painted walls. There was also the river, marking the western border of town, giving life and color to both the city and its people. The grand city-state of Cur was coated generously by the bushes and palm trees provided by the great body of water that ran miles wide and split the entire country down the middle, creating two equal halves north and south. The city of Cur was a mosaic of tiles richly colored by the water, it was a thick medium smeared across a yellowed canvas, creating perfect harmony and combining desert life with the advantage of living along the banks of the Serpius, so named after the elegant serpents that snake their way along and create distinct tracks in the sand. 

The people of Cur flooded the streets, simply living and going about their business in a routine fashion. It was the day of the market and the streets were overflowing with shops, of merchants selling their wares and craftsman selling their creations. Farmers selling their crops, which were grown close to the banks of the rich Serpius and were watered by complex irrigation systems. Basketweavers, who made containers and even small boats out of tightly woven reeds. Leather workers, who made things like shoes, hair bands, even tools and smaller weapons from the hides of animals indigenous to the area. Men who sold clothes made of cotton made by women, who were expected to do little else. 

Even though there were so many people out and about, the crowd thick and the chatter reaching a boiling point, the movement was uniform. All the men of the working class dressed with the same basic fashion; they wore long, patternless, ankle-length skirts made of cotton sheared from the locally raised sheep and a large piece of fabric they wrapped around one shoulder, which partially concealed the skirt, and left one arm and shoulder bear. They wore their hair long but up, often in one or two ponytails as was the most common style. Their sandals were made of leather and always tied around the ankle. The wealthier would dress their garb up with large, brightly colored jewelry. Women, who were not allowed to show their faces in public, kept their hair braided and wrapped around their head and wore special head fabrics designed to hide themselves. They always wore loose-fitting and figure concealing dresses, and the only thing to differentiate between them was the color and design on their dress. And so the crowd moved, synchronized, as one culture and one being, speaking a strange and complicated language and dominant over their land, with skills only the people of the desert could master. 

Within the city limits stood a large palace located directly in front of the river's bank, its walls painted with reds, blues, yellows, and purples, and decorated with statues of the animals said to be great protectors; Lions, and even tigers. This palace housed the man given the right to call himself the protector of the great city-state, and he called himself Ambassador. It was he who was in charge of ruling over Cur, and it was a position given to him by the Almighty Ruler of the great desert country. The very same Ruler bestowed upon every one of the country's city-states its own ruler, who worked directly below him. The Ambassador of Cur was a rough-faced man by the name of Hat'os Amar, who was both feared and respected. He kept a heavy law, and devoted his life to serving his king. Hat'os Amar lived in the palace beside the river with his family, his wife and two sons, his many servants, and the many rooms the building had to offer. 

The eldest of the sons was a man, a child in his father's eyes, by the name of Tempest Amar. And both Tempest Amar and his father Hat'os were inside the mighty palace, facing each other by the large door, a single bag swung over his son's bare shoulder. Not a word had been said for quite some time now, and they stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak but knowing they would not. Tempest stared at his father with his maroon-shaded eyes, felt his sandy-blonde hair that was pulled back and high brushing lightly against the nape of his neck as he raised his chin to meet his father's threatening brown eyes. Father and son continued to stare until the son caved in and decided if his father would not initiate the conversation, he would. 

"I am leaving this place, Father," He spoke, looking straight through his father rather than directly at him. "And I have only one request. That you leave my belongings where they are untouched, for the day I return." 

"It is simple. I will leave them until they become a nuisance, and the moment they do I will sell them for profit." His father wore the garb typical of a nobleman of his status; a long, short-sleeved and loose fitting tunic gathered at the waist and tied back. Hat'os Amar wore bracelets and necklaces of many different colors and designs, including a necklace in the design of an eagle with its wings spread out. He looked down upon his son, who showed no signs of being annoyed. 

Instead of retorting, Tempest said nothing. His eyes, as they often did, spoke for him. Surrounding the two were many servants, who had come to see Tempest off. They stood in silence, hardly moving, not having anything to do now that he was practically out the door, but they had much to do in the morning. The servants had to get his meal together, pack the food that would last him the journey, provide him clean clothes, dress him, feed him, and Tempest himself ordered half the group to tidy up his bedroom when he was gone. He was even given one final tutoring session not long after he woke up. It was early afternoon now, and Tempest needed to get a move on if he were to make it in time. Without warning, his father cleared his throat, breaking a heavy silence. 

"I have nothing else to say to you. Be on your way, or else you will be late. Though even that would not be much of a surprise, would it?" His father turned around and walked off, waving for a servant to follow him, a young girl with short curly black hair who had been there the longest, though was forgettable and not even Hat'os remembered her name. The rag-dressed servant hurried after him with a quickness, not wanting to anger her master. 

"Yes, Father." Tempest stated plainly, barely loud enough for the tall, strong-shouldered man to hear. He turned on his heels and, without giving his father a chance to look back, not that he would, Tempest left through the door and he stood facing his entire city. He left without saying goodbye to his younger brother, but felt no need to. Tempest did not like Varos, and felt justified in his reasoning. Because Tempest was leaving the country, the position of Ambassador would be going to Varos when the time came, since they assumed Tempest would not be coming back for a very long time, years and perhaps even longer than that. Tempest objected, naturally, but there was nothing that could be done. His father had made his decision, and Tempest could do all the kicking and screaming he wanted but nothing would change. Once Hat'os Amar made a decision, his mind was made permanently. 

His father would disown Tempest if he could, had said so many times. His son had become extremely involved in a certain League, thanks to his Grandfather who had been in close acquaintance with the League's head. It was ruled by a man referred to as Father Ramnill, and the League was the world-famous Assassin's League, founded out of necessity after the race of orcs known as the Ray'as rose to conquer the world only a few decades back. In the initial battle, Sulvik lost nearly half of their territory to them. That same battle began the war between the Orcs and all of Humanity, and eventually the League became Sulvik's main military power. Shortly thereafter, the great kingdom of Euphasia became involved, with their League who arguably held more power than Sulvik's own. 

Euphasia was where Tempest was headed now- a country of rich, green forests and endlessly fertile soil, of trees 
that were rumored to stand twice as thick and thrice as tall as the desert palms. A landscape of great rains and white snow, of storms that lit the sky and the entire town in the dead of night. It was a strange country too, of a culture unlike any other. Euphasia called no single man their king, and instead every grand city was self-sufficient and self-governed. Because of this, the Assassin's League there was able to establish bases in many towns, and in doing so connected the continent, twice the size of Sulvik even before the Ray'as claimed half the land for their own. After connecting the country, the Assassin's League itself became something close to a king. It became Euphasia's military, the navy, the king, the Royal family, the Royal guard, an omniscient power they said that only the Gods would dare to reckon with. And the Father of that League was treated like a God; respected above all other men, even worshiped by some as the one who would finally put an end to the war, rumored to live in a palace even larger than any king of Sulvik. That man's name was Father Arin. And recently, Fathers Ramnill and Arin have been putting their forces together, sensing that perhaps it would be better to work as one rather than two, to combine their power. Therefore, Father Ramnill of the desert was in even higher standing as of late. It was rumored that even the king feared Ramnill may rise one day to have more power than he, though Ramnill was a loyal and just man. 


The outside air was clean and still, which was the first thing Tempest noticed. The sun rays beating down on his tanned skin was life, and he was used to that. With his single bag slung over his shoulder, he easily found his way to the market and passed by without stopping to glance at a single stand. Seller shouted but did not dare force him to stop, for he was the son of a nobleman, therefore a nobleman himself, and they could not force this man to give them his time. So Tempest walked on with his head held high and ignored them, passing through his home city of Cur and eventually reaching the gates, large and painted blue. Just outside the gates waited an escort and a camel, a lot less than Tempest had expected, but he had been instructed by Father Ramnill that he would be traveling light. He tolerated it and hoped on, and made his way through the desert sands in the early afternoon.