WeatherMaker Hearts Desire Prologue

The band of nine men made their departure swift, travelling east, away from the village in no particular direction.

‘Why did we bring her again?’

‘We don’t know what will happen to her if we leave her’ Shawn told Woodworm. ‘We don’t even know if those men planned to kill her. She is hunted, and now so are we. It makes sense to bring her with us.’

He looked to Annabel as he spoke; she was riding behind Flute Stick, holding onto the back of him tightly. She seemed so frightened, it looked as if she couldn’t hear their conversation; so wrapped up was she in coping with this new and unfamiliar stress.

‘Maybe we should kill her ourselves and save the trouble’ Woodworm said glaring at her.

‘And if she is wanted alive?’ Shawn reasoned with him as they rode. ’What would be the punishment for all of us if we do such a thing? If she is wanted by royalty….she must be important. Imagine what they would do to us.’

Woodworm fell silent in thought.

‘The horses are tired’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s a good idea if we rest them.’

‘No’ Arlen shot back at them. ‘We have to reach the other side of that hill’ he said pointing to a place some distance away. ‘We have to get out of sight of the village.’

‘You think they still chase us?’ Flute Stick asked uncertainly.

Arlen glanced back towards the village.

‘We mustn’t take the chance.’

As the sky began to darken, the small band of men dismounted their horses, clinging to the edge of the tree line watching the horizon. Annabel, clearly still terrified sat at the base of one of the trees with her knees pulled up; eyes darting all around her in a state of heightened awareness. The others, her ‘captors’, stood around her.

‘Why did you take me?’ she sobbed. ‘I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to my parents. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye…’

An image flashed in Farrell’s mind then as he listened to her words, and he thought of how he had been a part of the group that had taken Annabel from her parents without a word, and killed those men.

And then he remembered something from long past.

Arlen burst through the doors to his manor.

‘FARRELL!’ he cried.

‘What is it Arlen?’ Farrell demanded.

‘Ramana is dead!’ Arlen blurted out. ‘Amaia is missing. She’s been taken!’

‘We have to go now! We have to look for her.’

Guided by Arlen’s directions, Farrell rode out of the village, and to the section of woodland where Ramana’s body rested.

Arlen was able to slide off the horse, just before Farrell sent Alastor racing onwards, followed by the other mounted soldiers in search of the culprit.

Further down the road, Farrell and his men had ridden.

Farrell pulled his horse back, surveying the bodies of twelve soldiers that lay scattered in their path, soldiers who were armed and armoured.

It looked as if they had been ambushed.

They were all dead. And Amaia could not be found.

‘It’s like it’s happened all over again’ Farrell mumbled to himself incoherently, ‘but this time….the other way around….’

‘What are my parents going to think?’ Annabel continued to worry, wiping her teary eyes. ‘They’re going to be so worried….I never got to say goodbye…’ she repeated.

‘Well you’ve lost your chance now’ Woodworm replied heartlessly.

‘Don’t be so cruel’ Carrot scowled at him.

‘What are you going to do with me?’ Annabel asked tentatively, frightened of what the answer might be.

‘Well you can’t go home’ Flunkit told her. ‘Not now.’

‘Are you going to kill me?’ she asked, her voice as quiet as a mouse.

‘Yes’ Woodworm answered callously, eyes gleaming brightly in the last sliver of red sun that clawed at the edge of the horizon. ‘We are going to slaughter you…piece by piece. We are going to cut you open, pull out your intestines….and murder you….from the inside out….’

Annabel paled instantly.

Shawn rose to his feet before Woodworm had even finished his sentence. He struck him hard across the face with the back of his hand with all the force he can muster.

Woodworm stumbled, body hunched over as he slowly comprehended what had just happened.

When he turned back to Shawn, it was in a swift movement, with knife in hand.

Shawn caught Woodworm’s arm as he made a lunge for him, directing the knife away. The two began to wrestle, Shawn holding Woodworm’s arm down, hands tight around Woodworms hand that held the knife. The others rose to stop them. Barrel and Carrot grabbed onto Woodworm, pulling him back. Someone grabbed Shawn from behind, holding him under the arms and disabling him. Without a second thought Shawn threw his head back hard, head butting Flunkit in the face. Flunkit stumbled back, hands over his bleeding nose as he protested loudly.

Shawn was about to go for Woodworm again, but Arlen came between them, hand upon Shawn’s chest, pushing him back.

‘Enough’ he said calmly.

Shawn let out a breath, stepping away.

‘They’re following us’ Flute Stick told the others loudly, his accent was thick.

Everyone tensed then, approaching the top of the hill to see a group of men riding towards them, led by a man on a white horse.

Flute Stick grabbed Annabel roughly by the shoulders, lifting her onto his horse and mounting the saddle before her. She whimpered pathetically, squeezing her eyes tight, too frightened to look at what was happening as she held onto the back of Flute Stick. The others mounted quickly their horses, ridding in the opposite direction to the men that pursued them.

‘Where do we go?!’ Farrell called to the others as they rode.

‘I know the way’ Blunkit answered, kicking his horse hard in the flank. ‘Follow me!’ He wheeled the animal around and towards the left, heading to the forest nearby.

The sky was getting dark now, and as their pursuers were riding fast, they were gaining ground.

They managed to lose them in the woods, following Blunkit who led them to a mouth of a cave, the band descended through the chasm. They were forced to slow as the horses began to stumble on the uneasy ground, neighing in worry and tossing their heads. They dismounted, leading the creatures on foot now.

The small group hid in the darkness, waiting for time to pass.

After a while they began to relax.

‘I think they’re gone’ Arlen spoke at last.

‘We can’t go back out there’ Flunkit told them. ‘It’s not safe. They’ll find us for sure.’

‘Then lets traverse the cave’ Woodworm said. ‘It has to come out somewhere.’

‘But what about the horses?’

‘We’ll take them as far as we can’ Woodworm replied. ‘We can always leave them and find new ones later if they can’t make it through.’

‘I’m not carrying all those bags myself’ Flunkit argued.

‘In any case’ Blunkit spoke up. ‘It’s too dark to travel. We’re not going anywhere now; it would be too dangerous to try.’

‘I could light the way’ Annabel spoke up bravely. ‘I could make it safe.’

The mercenaries fell silent then. They all paused as they considered her. Annabel felt suddenly uneasy, being the centre of attention for all these men she found so scary.

Blunkit frowned thoughtfully at her. ‘I think we’re safe enough waiting here for the moment. And besides, I think we could all do with some rest, you especially.’

Annabel sat back as the others milled around, fumbling in the dark to their horses and unpacking their bags, rolling out their sleeping mats and lying down uncomfortably on the rocky floor. They were only just about able to see each other in the failing light; and recognised each other now only by their voices as they spoke.

‘I’ll keep watch’ Flunkit told the others quickly before moving away and slipping out of sight.

When things had settled down, Shawn approached Annabel, offering her his sleeping mat.

‘Thank you’ she whispered to him, taking in tentatively.

‘What did you mean when you said you could light the way’ Shawn asked her as she sat down.

It was quiet in the cave, and her voice echoed slightly as she spoke, she was clearly heard by all the others.

‘I am not like other people’ Annabel told as Shawn sat on the rocky ground beside her. ‘I can wield magic and do things that others would never think even possible.’

Farrell listened to her as she spoke, and suddenly remembered Danior’s words that he had spoken, what now felt like years ago.

‘There is a woman I have heard of that has the same abilities as Amaia is supposed to have. There is a good chance that she is the one you seek. Her kind are so rare after all.’

‘What do they call your kind?’ Farrell asked turning to her.

‘My kind?’ Annabel said. ‘We are known as Weather Makers.’

‘Weather Makers?’ Carrot spoke in his accent, leaning forward closer to her.

‘What are they?’ Shawn asked her.

‘We are beings who can use magic to manipulate the elements, and bend them to our will. There are more of us out there, many throughout history, but our kind are scattered. There was once a time when we were many. Now we are rare.’

‘How do you know all of this?’ Flute Stick asked her.

‘My grandmother was a Weather Maker’ Annabel explained.

‘Soooo’ Arlen said, speaking slowly. ‘You’re saying….this ability is passed from parent to child?’

‘Yes’ Annabel told him. ‘Occasionally it skips a generation, but if your mother was a Weather Maker, then there is a high chance you will be one too. Well…except if you’re a boy. For some reason there are only female Weather Makers.’

‘How strange’ Arlen mused.

‘Hey Arlen’ Farrell said with surety. ‘Do you ever remember seeing Ramana’s mother at all?’

Arlen was so caught up in the strangeness of the situation and the strange question he had just been asked, that he forgot for a moment he still hated Farrell.

‘No?’ Arlen replied without hesitation. ‘Why would you ask that?’

‘Do you remember’ Farrell went on, ‘that all her early life Ramana was kept behind walls…?’

Arlen stared at his brother with his brow furrowed and mouth half open.

The penny dropped.

‘Oh gods’ Arlen said. ‘You’re saying Ramana was a Weather Maker?!’

‘Her. Her mother. Amaia. Why do you think Ramana was hidden from the world for so long? She was imprisoned for the first eighteen years of her life. Why do you think her father kept her behind such high walls? Why do you think that neither of us ever met her mother, not once in all those years?’

‘I just thought that the grief from losing so many children…’ Arlen trailed off.

The other mercenaries, unfamiliar with the situation the brothers spoke of listened silently.

Arlen stated at his knees as he spoke.

‘That day…’ he said quietly, ‘the day she was killed…everything seemed out of place.’

‘We found bodies further down the road’ Farrell informed him. ‘I never told you before…’

‘Bodies?’

‘Dead men. Soldiers, bearing the crest of the king. But…one of them bore no injuries at all. It was as if he had suddenly died of a heart attack. But he wasn’t that old.’

‘You think that was Ramana’s doing?’ Arlen asked lifting his head.

‘I don’t know’ Farrell shook his head. ‘It could be Amaia’s doing for all we know.’

Arlen looked back at his knees. ‘I saw something strange also. It seems unimportant now…but…’

‘What?’ Farrell asked.

Arlen looked up again. ‘There was a great crack running across the road. I walked in the woods often in those days, and have never seen anything like it. The falling leaves hid it from view…but I tripped….and….’ he shook his head as if to clear unpleasant thoughts. ‘It was so out of place.’

‘That does sound like something a Weather Maker could do’ Annabel spoke up.

‘What do you mean?’ Arlen asked her.

Shawn’s attention and the attention of the silent mercenaries moved onto her now.

‘While each Weather Maker is different, each has many powers, many of which they can combine. It is possible for some to crack the earth, and to stop a man’s heart in his chest and kill him where he stands.’

’Can you do that?’ Carrot asked her.

’I can’t’ Annabel replied. ‘But there are others who can. Each Weather Maker is as different as the changing seasons.’

As the mercenaries began to question Annabel of her abilities, Farrell became lost in thought.

Perhaps this is why Amaia was taken? All of this seems so strange…could it really be true?

And then he remembered something, a time long ago when he lived another life, a different one than the one he led now. He suddenly remembers strange things that happened around his wife, things that at the time he had not spared a second thought to…but now….

Ramana….

Farrell gazed at the painting. It was beautiful indeed. A stunning scene of woodland; with tall grass between the trees and lush green leaves in the branches. There was only a thin sliver between the trees in the centre of the painting where the blue sky could be seen. At the forefront was a doe, walking across the painting.

‘It’s wonderful’ Farrell told her. ‘You’re very skilled.’

‘Oh?’ Ramana teased as she covered up the painting again. ‘You think so?’

Farrell took her by the hand, kissing the back of her hand tenderly. His eyes lifted to hers, and he pulled her to him, slowly, holding her body close to his.

‘Not a day has passed’ Farrell said, ‘since the day Amaia was born, that I haven’t felt like the luckiest and happiest man on earth. The both of you have given me so much joy….and so much grief.’

‘And you are still happy’ Ramana asked him, brushing his cheek, ‘even though we give you grief?’

‘I wouldn’t give you away for the world’ Farrell murmured. ‘Either of you.’

Ramana lifted her beautiful eyes to Farrell’s, staring deeply into him.

‘I know you speak the truth’ she said. ‘I feel it in my heart.’ She stepped back. ‘I would rather we spend one day together, than face the ages of this world apart. I want to be with you, now, and forever. In this life…’ she sighed happily, ‘and the next.’

‘Well’ Farrell smirked approaching her. ‘I do not believe in an afterlife. I think time is precious, time is short. I believe we spend far too short a time on this earth, too short a life we live, too soon we die.’ He moved towards her, his lips hovering over hers as he cupped her face in his hands. ‘I believe we should make the most of the things we love.’

‘I think’ Ramana whispered in sweet breath, ‘that you speak the truth.’

She glided away from him quickly, moving out of the room. Farrell followed her, heading towards the corridor where she was waiting for him.

Farrell glanced about the hall around him curiously, noticing suddenly that all the burning candles that had lit up the room had quickly been extinguished. Even those that were far away had been put out; when he was sure they had been burning not a moment ago.

He noticed Ramana then. She was standing a short distance away from him in the centre of the hall, the moonlight from the window nearby lit up one side of her body in a white light.

Her skin glowed. She looked radiant, beautiful, like a goddess herself. She giggled childishly, skipping away from him into the next room. The lights in the next room instantly went out.

‘Wait!’ Farrell called after her.

The house had fallen quickly silent; there was not a sound to be heard. Farrell listened carefully, noticing more of the candles being blown out as Ramana crept through the manor, teasing him. Before long, the only light that existed, was that given by the moon, pure white against the dark sky above, frozen in the air in its celestial beauty.

Farrell stepped slowly across the hall, moving carefully to avoid bumping into something. He moved into the next room, taking in what little he could see. Dark shapes, and outline of the furniture.

He looked around him; utter silence was all he experienced now. He saw no movement. Farrell spoke, but it felt like he was addressing the very darkness himself.

‘Ramana?’

His voice, though he spoke it softly, sounded loud in the still world around him.

‘Where are you?’ he whispered now, as if speaking to himself.

He felt a touch from behind him, arms reaching gently around him, holding him tenderly. Ramana rested her cheek against his back, sighing deeply, content.

Farrell lowered his head, smiling. He lifted his hands to Ramana’s arms that held him, holding her to him.

‘I love you’ she whispered from behind him.

‘I love you too’ Farrell responded.

He heard her sigh happily again.

She let go of him, and he turned, but she was gone.

The next he saw her; she was waiting on the stairs. Noticing that he had spotted her, she skipped away, heading up the stairs towards their bedroom.

He followed her, stepping carefully through the darkness and up the stairs. He reached the open door to their bedroom. Two hands reached out of the shadows and grabbed him, pulling him into the room.

Farrell bent forward and kissed his wife, the two wrapped up in each other’s arms. Farrell felt something strange, like an electrical current running through his body as he touched her. The hairs on his body were standing on end as they caressed one another.

He pushed her back into the room, further and further until the back of her legs touched the end of the bed. She slowly fell back onto the bed, inviting him towards her. Ramana reached her bare foot out to him, running it down Farrell’s chest. Through the closed window, the full moon shone, and Farrell could see his wife lying back on the bed. Her long beautiful black hair thrown back and her arms above her head as she watched Farrell expectantly. The clouds gliding across the sky outside concealed the moon once again. The bedroom fell into shadow, and Ramana’s outline as she lay on the bed, became concealed.

The room became suddenly cold. Farrell heard Ramana shifting on the bed before him, perhaps moving away to give him space to enter. Farrell moved onto the bed, reaching Ramana who had crawled toward the headboard. Bearing over her, Farrell felt a cold draft on the back of his neck, though the window was closed.

He lifted the skirt of her dress up, running his hand up her thigh. Ramana shivered, her breath shuddering.

The room felt cold, felt icy.

Ramana grabbed his shirt roughly, ripping it apart and tearing the buttons away, running her claws down his chest. Farrell did not flinch as her scratches left red marks on him. He ran his fingers through her hair, as her hands ran down his lean and muscular frame and to his belt. She fumbled in the darkness, trying to undo the thing. He helped her, throwing the belt and the trousers away and turning his attention back onto her.

Their bellies touched.

Ramana gasped, throwing her head back onto the pillows as she drew a deep breath. She moaned; reaching out to Farrell and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him close into a deep kiss.

Minutes later, Farrell’s pace began to quicken, until he let out a final breath, sighing in pleasure as he felt Ramana below him stiffen.

Their breathing slowed, and Farrell pulled away from her, his skin beaded in sweat. He collapsed beside her, feeling in his chest his beating heart slowly return to its normal rhythm.

Ramana lay on her back beside him, though he couldn’t see her clearly, she was smiling to the ceiling.

Ramana lifted a hand slowly to her head, brushing her hair back.

‘You’ve messed up my hair.’

Farrell chuckled to himself.

‘So vain’ he whispered.

‘Am not!’ Ramana cried indignantly sitting up.

‘Shhhhh’ Farrell voiced, pushing her gently back onto the bed. ‘Don’t be so loud, you’ll ruin the peace.’

Ramana flumped back onto the bed.

As they rested, Farrell held her close. Ramana’s skin was burning hot; it was as if her body was aflame.

‘Are you alright?’ Farrell asked her concerned. ‘You’re boiling hot.’

Ramana took a deep breath, closing her eyes. It may have been a draft, or the fact that they had stilled now, but her skin suddenly seemed to cool.

Oh Ramana…. Farrell grieved. My love…….my poor love…….what have I done to you……to us…?

Ramana…..I’m so sorry….

That night, as they slept in the cave, Farrell dreamed of her again.

‘Why don’t you play outside?’ Ramana suggested.

‘But why?’

Ramana slapped him lightly, smearing bright pink paint across his face.

‘Now look at the mess you’ve made’ she said laughing at him. ‘You look like a jester!’

‘Me?’ Farrell said indignantly back at her, reaching for a pot of paint behind him. ‘What about you?!’ he threw the paint at her, but missed.

‘Heads up!’ Ramana called suddenly from above him.

Farrell jerked his head up to the balcony above, just as an entire content of a paint pot fell over his head.

‘Dam you woman!’ he bellowed, wiping the blue from his eyes. ‘What is the matter with you?’

He was vaguely aware of a bird chirping loudly and running around in circles nearby, but when he cleared his eyes, he saw neither the bird nor Ramana.

Everything was silent, and he no longer stood in his home, but outside, in woodland.

He was no longer covered in paint.

He was alone, save for one figure, standing facing away from him.

He couldn’t see the shadowy figure clearly, but in his dream he somehow knew it was a young woman, with long black hair.

She turned to him, face hidden by the darkness of the cave that suddenly began to materialize around them.

‘Find me…’

He woke with a start. The others were still asleep.

Farrell lay back down, taking slow and steady breaths. Alone with his thoughts he remained for several hours, until one of the mercenaries beside him woke. Shortly after, the others began to rise also, and the faint morning light reached them from the mouth of the cave. And as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Flunkit returned to them.

‘The men are still out there’ he told the others. ‘They are circling the forest, looking for our trail.’