WeatherMaker Hearts Desire Prologue

They spent the next few weeks after that teaching Amaia, helping her re-learn everything she had forgotten of her past. But she wasn’t the same as she had been before. It was as if she had lost a piece of her, a piece they could not find nor replace.

‘I feel like there is a void inside me’ Amaia said one day. ‘There is something missing in my life, something dear to me, something I had before….but for the life of me I cannot remember what it is.’

Carl had tried to comfort her, but she was beyond even his reach. She was not the same anymore, and began to spiral into depression, despite all their exhaustive efforts.

Nothing worked.

One evening, Farrell invited her to his home. The two of them sat alone at the table in the dining room, the fire crackling happily warmed up the room around them. Farrell brought Amaia her food; then sat at the other side of the table with his own, watching Amaia closely.

‘Amaia?’ he said after a time when she hadn’t moved.

Amaia stared in silence down at her plate, her food untouched.

‘What’s wrong?’ Farrell asked her.

‘I feel an absence beside me’ she answered, ‘a presence I lost and a name I cannot remember.’ She furrowed her brow, teeth gritted in frustration. ’Who is it?’

She bowed her head, her long red hair falling over her face.

‘You know what I am’ she said to Farrell. ‘I am a Weather Maker.’

‘Yes’ Farrell replied uncertainly. ‘Yes I know.’

‘A Weather Maker can only be reincarnated a certain number of times’ Amaia went on. ‘I am on my last life.’

Farrell raised his head, but she said no more.

He looked down at his plate.

‘Could you get me some wine?’ Amaia asked him.

‘Yes’ Farrell faltered. ‘Yes of course.’

He rose from his seat, turning his back to her as he went to the drinks cabinet. Amaia watched in silence as he poured them both a goblet.

He brought hers over to her, placing it before her.

‘And can I have a napkin?’ she asked of him.

When Farrell turned away to oblige, Amaia pulled a tiny vial from her sleeve, tipping the contents into her goblet, before returning the vial again to her sleeve.

Farrell returned with the napkin. He held it out to her in his crippled hand.

‘I don’t want it’ Amaia said shortly, not looking at him.

Farrell lowered his hand, staring at her uncertainly.

He moved slowly away, returning to his seat and sitting, watching her closely.

Amaia began to eat. Farrell followed suit.

They ate in silence for a time, until Amaia at last spoke.

‘Where is uncle?’

‘Arlen is…at home probably.’

‘And Carl?’

‘He’s….probably at home too.’

Amaia took another sip from her goblet.

‘Will you tell them….’ she hesitated. ’Tell them I am grateful for everything they have done, and I’m grateful for everything you have done’ she said to him. ‘I wish I could repay your kindness.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be’ Amaia replied miserably.

She leant forward on the table, head in her hands, becoming still.

‘Amaia?’ Farrell asked her, worry laced his voice. ‘What’s wrong?’

The fire from the candles upon the table flickered slightly, through the window beside them the sky was dark, and nothing could be seen outside. Rain pattered gently on the window panes, the only sound now in the room besides the sound from the burning hearth.

Amaia’s elbow slipped and she fell from her chair. Farrell rose so fast his chair fell back as he rushed over to her.

‘Amaia! Amaia what’s wrong?’

She was unresponsive, lethargic. He noticed then a tiny vial on the floor that had fallen from her sleeve. Uncorking it and sniffing it, he rose swiftly and went to the table where she sat, picking up her goblet and smelling it too.

‘Poison.’

He turned to her in realisation as she lay half on the carpet, half on the wooden floor, the flickering light from the hearth dancing on her still profile.

‘You poisoned yourself’ he moaned in shock and disbelief. ‘How could you….why…?’

‘My mother’ Amaia whispered weakly. ‘Ramana………..I will see her again……in the afterlife………..’ She sighed. ‘There is no place for me in this world…’

‘No!’ Farrell screamed picking her up and cradling her in his arms. ‘No Amaia! You can’t do this to me! I can’t lose you again!’

‘Move back!’ came a sudden unfamiliar voice.

Farrell was so shocked by the presence of the strange figure that he did not resist as the figure knelt and took Amaia in his arm away from him.

He was lean, young in appearance and slim-faced with almost feminine features. His slick black hair was handsome, and a long fringe hung low over his face. There was a severe injury in his left eye, and scars all over his body. He had been tortured.

He bent over Amaia, placing his mouth over hers.

The stranger breathed inwards deeply. As Farrell watched, the figure’s body began to pale to a sickening shade; black cracks appeared all over his skin. But he still did not release Amaia.

Amaia was in a strange place then, a place that felt incomplete, yet safe. She walked forwards, but saw nothing around her.

And then she heard a voice.

‘I like your hair like that.’

Amaia turned towards the voice. She gasped in shock at the figure she saw, hands over her mouth.

‘Is that really you?’

She lowered her shaking hands, eyes wide with astonishment as she uttered a word.

‘Mother…?’

Ramana stepped towards her, smiling widely. Beautiful she was, wearing her red dress that ran across her shoulders, with her long black hair cascading down her body.

She was just as Amaia had once known.

‘I remember’ Amaia spoke in a trembling voice. ‘I remember you, I remember everything that happened.’

‘And what about me?’ another figure said, appearing by her side.

Amaia turned to the male figure now, staring in surprise.

‘Alan?’

Alan grinned, eyes warm and gentle.

‘Hello sister.’

The scene around them changed suddenly. Amaia felt a strong wind about her, felt a tightness in her stomach. Then everything calmed.

When she opened her eyes next, she saw they stood in a forest, like the one Amaia had so often wandered through with Ramana when she was a child.

‘What is this place?’ Amaia asked. ‘It looks like home.’

‘It is’ Ramana beamed. ‘You see that?’ she pointed towards one of the trees. ‘That’s the tree house I built for you and Gracie.’

‘Tree pirates’ Amaia smiled, a tear running down her cheek. ‘I remember.’

Amaia noticed suddenly, a little green bird walking by their feet, a long beaked creature, chirping and tilting its head up at them.

Amaia looked back at Ramana and Alan. ‘Why are we here?’

‘You brought us here’ Ramana said. ‘You must have been thinking about this place. It is your home after all.’

‘I like this place’ Alan spoke. ‘It’s peaceful….quiet…’

Amaia glanced at him. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to you’ she said, tears streaming down her face now. ‘I’m sorry…’

‘Hey’ Alan smiled kindly. ‘I chose this……to protect you.’

‘I never wanted anyone to die for me.’

‘My sweet daughter’ Ramana said, gliding towards her, caressing her cheek with a hand. ‘My precious treasure.’

‘Oh mother’ Amaia whispered, sobbing now. ‘All this time….I’ve missed you so much…..it hurts…’

‘I know’ Ramana replied sadly. ‘But I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘There is no place for you here’ Ramana told her. ‘At least not yet.’

Ramana embraced her one last time, before pulled back. She turned and walked away.

‘Goodbye my dear sister’ Alan nodded to her, ‘it was good to see you one last time’ he said, before turning to follow Ramana.

‘Wait!’ Amaia called after them. ‘Just tell me one thing!’

The two paused to glance back to her.

‘Who is my real father?’ Amaia asked.

Ramana and Alan shared a look.

‘It doesn’t matter anymore’ Ramana answered. ‘Things are the way they should be.’

Amaia watched as they walked away from her, their profiles glowed white for an instant, before fading away.

Amaia felt a strange sensation in her stomach, as if she was being suddenly lifted. And then everything went black.

White Feather pulled away from her, hunching over and coughing hysterically. His body shook violently as he leant back against the wall behind him, gasping; his skin pale and beaded with sweat. The magic he had used to draw out the poison from her had been a great drain on him.

He lay back breathing heavily and watching Amaia. She began to stir.

Farrell moved close to her again, leaning over her.

‘Amaia?’ he spoke tentatively.

Amaia opened her eyes, sitting up to face him now.

‘Father?’

She looked around then, gasping at the sight of him.

‘White Feather?!’

She crawled over to him, hands running all over his body in horror as she saw all his old wounds that were now only scars. She saw his left eye, horribly disfigured. He was completely blind in this eye.

‘What happened to you?’ she whispered in shock. ‘I thought you were dead. Tristan told me you were dead.’

White Feather smiled weakly at her, the colour slowly coming back to him as his body fought the poison he had consumed. He drew a steady breath, before speaking to her.

‘Tristan lied.’

‘You’re right’ the king said at length. ‘It’s not the girl I should pay my attentions to. It’s you.’

He grabbed the knife from the soldier, and in a few strides was upon White Feather. He swung his fist, knocking the fairy onto his back. The king sat on his chest, using his knees to pin down the fairy’s arms, he held White Feather’s throat with one hand, the other he raised the knife. White Feather was too weak to fight back or attempt to free himself.

‘Coward am I?’ the king said in a deadly whisper.

The king brought the knife closer to White Feather’s face, forcing the point through his left eye.

White Feather began to scream.

Amaia had been taken away after that, after being forced to witness all the horrible things the king had done to him, and the suffering he was forced to endure. The king had not gotten what he wanted; Amaia did not know how to help the queen.

The king had stormed out in fury after that. White Feather was left alone in that hall with the sleeping queen, thanking the gods the king had forgotten about him, and praying to them to be allowed to escape, so that he could return to Amaia once more.

He stayed here for long while, weak from hunger, in pain and in constant fear of what might happen to next.

Eventually, sometime later as his eye began to slowly heal, he saw Tristan enter the hall alone, and approach the sleeping queen.

He watched as Tristan slit her throat. He watched as the king in his grief, took his own life.

The prince stared down in disbelief and shock at what the king had just done, broken from his trance only when he noticed White Feather, sitting hunched against the wall and nursing his injures.

‘You…’

White Feather with a great effort rose to his feet, using the wall for support. Doubled over, each step was an agonizing task as he made his way towards the great window at the back of the hall.

Tristan watched him unmoved as White Feather drew closer to the window, breaking the glass that tinkled to the floor like falling rain.

White Feather stepped forwards, and vanished from sight.

’Who is this?’ Farrell asked Amaia, glancing from one to the other in confusion.

‘This?’ Amaia looked happily to him. ‘His name is White Feather. He is my guardian angel.’