Lacuna | NR Walker
Genre: LGBT Fantasy/Gay Fiction
Release date: October 23, 2020
Tropes: Enemies-to-lovers, action
and adventure, swords and sorcery, romance
Amazon Universal:
http://mybook.to/Lacuna
Synopsis:
A boychild swathed in green, a
distinct tree-shaped birthmark on his wrist. A girlchild enveloped in red,
marked with the three lines of the desert winds. A boy bundled in white, the
koi mark on his wrist as defined as his shock of red hair. And a boychild
wrapped in black, a raven his mark to serve his fate.
*
* *
Twenty-five years ago, the hand of
fate marked four newborns and sent them to the four corners of the Great
Kingdoms. They were schooled and trained as rulers of their lands in
preparation for the Golden Eclipse ceremony: a festival to celebrate a thousand
years of peace and prosperity since the Great War.
Crow, ruler of Northlands, a skilled
swordsman and expert tactician, is as reclusive and stoic as the mountains that
surround him.
Tancho has spent his life in strict
discipline, governing the Westlands with a fair mind and gentle hand. Quiet and
unassuming, yet lethal in combat, he is the embodiment of the waters he lives
by.
Yet the same hand of fate unknowingly
linked Tancho to Crow in ways they cannot comprehend. Ruled by the stars, the
Brother Sun and the two Sister Moons above them, and marked by an alchemical
sorcery as old as time, their destinies were never their own.
As the eclipse draws near and the
festival begins, word comes of another threat. Invaders from unknown lands bring
a war no one was prepared for, and Crow and Tancho must decide on which side of
the battle line they stand.
In life or death, their destinies
will see them joined either way.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
The winter sun was at high noon,
shining a spotlight on the two men sword-fighting in the open courtyard of the
Northlands’ castle. Mirroring the rocky outcrops in the snowy landscape, black
flags marked with a single white raven shimmered in the cool winds. Dark grey
stone bricks gleamed as the sunlight turned icy frost into fleeting jewels, and
the clang of metal on metal, grunts of effort, and bouts of laughter echoed
skyward.
The broadsword grazed Crow’s cheek,
the burn of sliced skin and a warm trickle of blood down his cheek made him
smile. Soko paused for the briefest moment, horrified that he had struck his
king. Crow used the moment of distraction and swung for his neck. Soko parried,
and with another bark of laughter, the fight went on.
Plumes of steam escaped with every
exhale, sweat cooled on heated skin. Crow’s dark hair was damp and clung to his
pale face; his dark eyes sparkled with delight as they always did when he
sparred with Soko. Friends since childhood, Crow trusted no one as he trusted
Soko. Surrounded by consuls and guards and staff who abided by his every whim,
he could count on Soko for his honesty and reason. He told him truths when no
one else dared, and he never held back when they fenced or sparred, such as
they were doing now.
Crow was bound by responsibility and
duty, as kings often were. Even as a small boy, Crow had studied the ancient
ways, the lore of his ancestors of the Northlands. Studied, trained, studied,
trained when he’d have rather done anything else, and yet it was Soko who had
willingly stood beside him. Brothers, even if there was not one drop of shared
blood between them.
Soko’s hair was ashen blond and
shaggy, his eyes blue and sharp. He had a smile of mischief and wit, a keen
mind for learning and a keener eye for women, whereas Crow was dark and
brooding, and his eye was drawn to the forms of men. Soko was free to act upon
his impulses and there had never been a shortage of satisfied women in the
Northlands’ castle, yet Crow had never been free.
Who
wears the mark bears the crown . . .
Bound by responsibility and duty. And
the birthmark on his wrist. Even the mere thought of it . . .
He hissed at the pain and dropped his
sword, pulling at the leather wrist guard, fumbling to get the straps undone.
“What is it?” Soko asked, immediately
concerned. “It itches still?”
“No,” Crow breathed. He finally
pulled the guard from his arm and covered the birthmark with his cold fingers.
“It burns.”
“Burns? What the—”
Just then, the heavy wooden doors to
the courtyard swung inward. Soko spun into a ready stance with his sword raised
to protect Crow, without fault, without question. The young messenger raised
his hands in alarm, breathing hard, his eyes trained on the blade.
“What is it?” Soko demanded.
“Excuse me, my lord,” the messenger
said, bowing his head to Crow. “A lone rider comes. At pace.”
A lone rider coming to the city was
not uncommon. Villagers traded food and wares all the time. “What of it?” Crow
asked, still clutching his wrist. “Why the urgency?”
The messenger swallowed hard. “The
rider and horse bear the yellow flag of the Elders’ Consul.”
Soko lowered his sword and turned to
Crow, his eyes wide and face ashen, for it could only mean one thing.
The birthmark on Crow’s wrist
continued to burn.
* * *
Dressed now in warmer clothes, Crow
and Soko stood at one of the grand hall windows watching as the yellow-clad
rider made his way through the gates of the castle. Crow had his guards meet
the man, one taking his horse, one escorting the rider inside, out of view,
knowing it would take several minutes for the rider to be brought to see him.
Crow held his wrist, trying to ignore
the burn.
“It’s never caused you pain before,”
Soko noted. “And I don’t think a visit from the Elders’ Consul is a
coincidence.”
Crow winced again and Soko took his
hand, inspecting the birthmark. It looked as it always had; dark against his
pale skin, oddly beautiful and abstract, the clear form of a raven in full
flight, its wings outstretched. The mark which showed Crow’s predestined fate
appeared no different; though it had begun to itch at the last full moons, now
it burned like fire ants crawling beneath his skin.
Crow tugged his hand away and pulled
down his coat sleeve. “I’m fine, and make no mention of it in front of
company.”
After a brief pause, Soko sighed.
“It’s time, isn’t it? That’s what this means? The festival draws near.”
Crow gave a nod before the sound of
approaching footsteps put an end to this conversation. The two heavy doors
opened and a guard appeared and bowed his head. “My lord, messenger of the
Elders’ Consul.”
He stepped aside and the visitor
strode forward. He wore the Consul’s yellow tunic under a heavy coat of the
same colour, with the four-pointed compass rose emblazoned upon his chest. He
appeared slightly dishevelled and tired, though he bowed his head. He produced
a scroll from inside his coat pocket and offered it to Crow. “My lord.”
Crow took the paper from him but did
not open it. “Your name?”
“Roulant,” he replied quickly.
“You’ve ridden far.”
“Six days.”
It was perhaps a seven- or eight-day
ride to the Elders’ Consul temple, and the ride itself was not an easy one.
Northlands was mountainous, rocky roads, and deep snow; hard and brutal land,
almost as hard and brutal as the men and women who called it home. Given this
rider had done it in six days meant there was urgency. “You rode alone?”
“Yes, my lord. Four riders sent to
the four quarters.”
The Great Kingdoms had long ago been
divided into four quarters. North, of mountains and snow. West, of oceans and
rivers. East, of jungles and forests, and South of desert sands and dunes. At
its centre, was the Aequi Kentron; a
huge moated temple of sorts, where the Elders’ Consul presides, upholding the
law of the four lands and keeping score.
Formed a thousand years ago after the
Great War, nine high priests protected the ancient ways and traditions,
ensuring laws remained unbroken and territory borders intact. They overlooked
the trade between kingdoms and ensured fairness at every turn, and the last
thousand years had been peaceful and prosperous.
Steeped in history and tradition, and
by definition the equal centre, Aequi Kentron was the heart of all four
kingdoms.
Each of the four rulers was chosen at
birth by the birthmark on their wrist. They would each rule their lands
independently and in their own right, with their own laws and governance, yet
there were some laws they could not ignore.
The law that stated when each ruler
was beckoned, they would come.
The law was written when the Consul
was established, that when the Brother Sun and the two Sister Moons aligned at
the equinox, they would partake in the Festival of the Eclipse. They would
abide with honour and with the dignity of the rank they held.
Crow was proud of his title, proud of
his people, and he would lay his life down for his kingdom. And he should have
been proud to be the chosen one in the time of the eclipse. Once every thousand
years and it happened in his lifetime, his rule. Yet destiny was a weight like
no other, and unease filled his belly for reasons he couldn’t put name to. The
fact his birthmark now caused him pain was one he couldn’t ignore, and now with
the news from Aequi Kentron, it could only mean one thing.
His time was now.
Realisation skittered down Crow’s
spine like a cold spider. So, it was
time. Every arrow of his life was pointed to this. He gave a reluctant nod and
turned to the guard. “See this man to hot food and warm quarters, and see that
his horse is tended to.”
Roulant’s gaze shot up to Crow’s. “My
lord, I am thankful.”
“As am I.” Crow gave him a smile.
“Eat and rest as you need.”
Roulant gave another nod of
gratitude, and he was escorted out by the guard. Soko waited patiently as Crow
held the scroll. There was a wax seal atop the Consul’s writing in old
calligraphy ink.
King of Northlands
Crow slid his finger beneath the seal
and unrolled the thick paper. At the centre top was the Consul’s four-pointed
compass rose stamped in blue ink. The writing was impeccably neat, the strokes
delivered with such importance not even the ink dared to bleed.
Your
Royal Highness, King Crow of Northlands,
The
Eclipse befalls on the Equinox in your twenty-fifth year.
Your
attendance is formally requested at the Aequi Kentron one week before the
Equinox, for the festival of the Golden Age.
We
eagerly await your arrival.
Crow read it again, then handed it to
Soko who read it, frowning. “What does this mean?”
Crow stared out the window at the
snow-covered valley below, at how the blackened rocky crags tore raggedly
through the serene whiteness looking like open claw marks in flesh.
“I ride for Aequi Kentron in two
days,” Crow replied.
Soko’s eyes hardened. “You will not
ride alone.”
Crow almost smiled at that. “I didn’t
think I would.”
“And the eclipse?”
“A golden sun for a golden age,” he
replied with a sigh, turning back to stare out the window. “My birthright is
finally upon me.”
Soko’s voice was quiet, as though he
dreaded to hear what he already knew. “What will you do?”
Crow took a long moment to answer.
Was it fear or dread? Acceptance or resignation? “My choice in this was long
ago removed,” he murmured, finally meeting Soko’s eyes. “I will attend their
festival, and when all the fanfare and nonsense is done, I will return as if
nothing has occurred.”
“It’s supposed to be a celebration,”
Soko replied. “Yet it hangs over you like a dark cloud.”
Crow sighed. He would have quite
happily been left alone for all his days, but this felt different. This felt
ominous and he couldn’t explain why. “True metal does not fear the furnace,” he
murmured.
It was a favoured Northlands saying,
cited by the miners who dug ore from frozen mountains and by the blacksmiths
who turned it into steel.
Yet Crow feared . . .
something. He feared this festival and ceremony; he feared the change he felt
would rise with the golden sun. He feared the unknown.
And he feared the greasy dread in his
belly and the burn on his wrist that told him his life was about to change
forever.
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N.R. Walker Bio
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who
loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time
doing it, but wouldn’t have it any other way.
She is many things: a mother, a wife, a
sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who live in her head, who don’t
let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words.
She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things…
but likes it even more when they fall in love.
She used to think having people in her
head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers
who told her it was normal.
She’s been writing ever since…
Keep
up with everything NR Walker here: https://smart.bio/nrwalkerauthor/
