WeatherMaker Hearts Desire Prologue

‘The petals wither and fall from their flower. The leaves from the trees, once beautifully they danced in the wind, now fall to the earth as only dead waste. The grass once green and lush now fades away, covered by a blanket of frost. Another year has passed’ the king said turning from the window in the study, ‘and another year I am forced to endure life without her. You have a chance to do a good thing. Why not make it so?’

‘There is nothing I can do’ the Weather Maker repeated for the hundredth time. ‘I think it’s time to face reality. Come out of your grieving. You have to face the fact that she may never wake.’

‘No’ the king repeated. ‘I will never stop trying to save her.’

‘Then many will continue to suffer because of your unwillingness to face the truth.’

‘If you will not help me’ the king said. ‘Perhaps there are others who can.’

‘So what are you going to do? Continue to kidnap until you are old and tired you’ve lost your mind?’

‘I will do whatever is necessary’ the king answered.

‘This meaningless quest will drive you mad’ the woman answered, ‘if it hasn’t already done so.’

‘I will never be mad’ the king answered simply, ‘if I have her.’

‘Then make the most of your sanity’ the Weather Maker stared coolly. ’And I say for the last time. There is nothing I can do.’

The king glared, controlling his anger well despite his rage and despair.

‘Then I have no need for you.’

The king approached the Weather Maker sitting in the chair, lifting his hands to grab her.

Instead of showing fear, the woman turned her head to look behind her, speaking to the figure that only she could see.

‘This is my last chance isn’t it? I won’t ever come back again.’

‘If there was anything I could do to save you...’ the figure answered, not even trying to hold back his grief, ‘then I would do it. But I can’t help you this time……I’m sorry…’

The woman looked forwards to face the king again, but continued to speak to the figure behind her.

‘Please’ she said to the figure. ‘Do not be sad for me. I’ve lived my life. Find someone younger and protect them. This is my final wish.’

She bowed her head with a smile, closing her eyes as if content. When she opened them again, she stared calmly at the king, and waited for his hands to close around her neck.

The figure watched helplessly as the Weather Maker was slowly strangled. Her body slumped in her chair seconds later and she became still, lifeless.

The king let out a breath, turning mournfully away from the woman. The figure who stood behind her glared with pure hatred at the king, in his head swearing vengeance.

The figure walked past the king and across the room. He spared one last glance back to the woman he had known for so long, feeling like he had lost a piece of himself. But with her dead, there was nothing left for him here now, and he remembered her last words.

Find someone younger and protect them. This is my final wish

The figure released his delicate wings. He tip-toed quietly to the window, and placing his hand upon the sill he climbed up. Leaping forwards he fluttered through the air and away from the tower, and that dreaded place that had become a hell.

Sarah giggled, shoving her friend playfully.

‘Stop that’ her friend scolded, grinning and pushing her back. ‘You have to serve the lady now; you wouldn’t want to keep her waiting would you?’

Sarah set the tray, with tea, sugar and a single cup and saucer. Before leaving the kitchen she composed herself, taking a deep breath and bowing her head before picking up the tray and walking out. She regained her submissive quiet character, as the servant she was expected to be, and walked quietly down the long corridor towards the room where the lady waited.

She approached the woman, who as usual wore the most beautiful of dresses. Today it was royal blue and deep in shade.

Sarah placed the tray carefully on the low table before the woman, keeping her head low as she one by one put the cup and saucer and the sugar and the tea neatly on the table. Before she knew it, the woman’s hand shot out, grabbing her by the arm. Sarah gasped in shock at the sudden movement, staring back at the woman and making eye contact with her for the first time in months. Her heart was pained to see the woman’s eyes were deep with sorrow and full of despair.

‘Please’ the woman begged. ‘Please just speak to me!’

Sarah held the woman’s gaze for far too long. Several seconds later, when Sarah had recovered from the shock of the woman’s suddenly outburst, she realised herself. Taking the woman by the hand and prising her fingers open so that her arm was freed again. Sarah averted her eyes from the woman, returning to habit and staring at the ground.

Sarah kept her head bowed low as she rose, turning swiftly away and scurrying off with the tray clutched to her chest. She closed the door with a snap, leaving the woman, once again, alone.

She tried not to think about it, but the guilt and sadness gnawed at her each time she was around that woman. She could only imagine how she must be feeling, to be so alone. What did all this service and good food matter when you had no one to share it with? The woman likely did not appreciate the beauty of the home she lived in. The large and lavish halls and glorious designs and colours of the mansion she had spent the majority of her life in all meant nothing, when you were trapped by them. Sarah found it sad to think, that despite being a lowly servant who spent most of her life grovelling to her superiors (which included everyone besides her own family) that she was perhaps richer than that woman. In reality, despite first glance, the woman had nothing, and the servant had everything.

Sarah tried not to think about it, for there was nothing she could do. She wished sometimes that she could go away and work somewhere else, so she did not have to see the woman’s sadness and misery. But she worked where she was ordered, as a servant does.

Sarah closed the door behind her, returning to the kitchen in the servant’s quarters. She danced up behind one of the girls who was chopping carrots, and poked her hard either side of her waist with a sharp prod.

The girl squeaked, leaping up into the air.

‘Sarah!’ she squealed. ‘Don’t scare me like that; you know how I hate it.’

‘But I love the look on your face when you jump’ Sarah giggled, tickling her friend. ‘It’s so amusing for me.’

‘Be careful’ her friend warned indicating the knife she held. ‘You wouldn’t want to get cut now.’

Sarah kissed her friend on the cheek, sailing away happily with her arms out as she glided across the kitchen towards some of her other friends, who were working feverishly on the next meal they would prepare for the important woman. Sarah immediately began to engage in conversation with them, talking and laugh with her friends, completely unaware of being watched.

The important woman had opened the door a crack, hearing the animated conversations from within. Looking into the kitchen she saw the woman who had served her tea bustling about, far too busy to notice her. She watched them all closely, despite being servants, and working for so many hours in the day, they did not seem tired. In fact they seemed happy and lively. Herself, with so little to do, grew bored very easily, and spent long hours of the day just sleeping to pass the time, be it night or day. She woke when she felt like it, having nothing to look forward to in the day, not ever. The books she read could always wait; and the views outside her window would always be there. Beautiful though they were, over the years, they had lost their appeal.

The important woman closed the door sadly, turning away from the sound of laugher with an ache in her heart. How she longed to have someone to care for, and who cared for her in return. How she longed to meet someone who would speak to her, smile at her, even look her in the eye for more than a brief moment. But there was no one; there had not been anyone, not since the days when she was younger. Not since that day she had been taken.

She had grown up very quickly after that.

The important woman glided down the halls, away from the kitchens and towards the quieter rooms in which she lived. And then, she began to sing.

A heavenly voice which echoed through the many halls in which she wandered, sounding eerie, though no less beautiful. She drifted through the building, her home, singing as she did so in a truly angelic voice, singing in a foreign language, sounding almost otherworldly.

She continued with her mantra, her notes long, drawn out and sad. She came to one of the windows, slowing to a stop before it and gazing out at the horizon beyond her reach. She sang her last notes, light and beautiful, before stretching into silence.

She gave a deep sigh, eyes glazed over; then stiffened suddenly at an unexpected noise, a rustling just outside the window. She straightened, becoming slightly nervous.

There came the rustling again.

She stepped tentatively forwards, uncertain as to what she might find. Perhaps it was just a squirrel she thought, or a bird.

But when she reached the window and leaned out to see, it was not a bird she saw, nor a squirrel, but a man, or what appeared to be at first glance a man.

She gasped and started back, withdrawing quickly from the window in shock.

The man (or so it appeared to be) had been balanced precariously on a very thin ledge outside the window and just out of sight. He had grinned at her as she glanced him, balanced carefully as he was. The ground was a considerable distance below him, to fall would surely kill a man. But he was not a man, as the important woman was about to find out. His hand reached around the edge of the open window, and she watched as he clambered in, maintaining at least some level of dignity as he did so.

He did not acknowledge her at first, but straightened up, brushing away leaves and dust from his person; much like a cat would preen and fuss over its appearance. And then he looked at her. And then he smiled.

‘Hello’ he said.

The woman was so stunned at his sudden and unexpected appearance, and the fact he had willingly looked at her and chosen to smile, that it took her many seconds to realise he had actually and willingly spoken to her.

‘Uh’ she said.

‘Is that how you greet all new people?’ he asked her teasingly, leaning towards her and placing his hands on his hips. ‘Uh.’

‘Eeeeee.’

‘Oh so now we’ve progressed onto eeee’s, how lovely.’ He flashed her a mischievous grin, baring his perfect white teeth in a self confident manner.

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.

‘My name is White Feather’ he said to her, flicking back his fringe to see her better. He bowed to her, taking her by the hand and kissing the back in a way she had only read about in books. ‘I am a friend’ he told her. ‘I come with intentions of peace, I will never harm you. I am an ally.’

When she didn’t answer, he looked up at her, releasing her hand slowly and straightening up.

‘Dare I ask’ he began, ‘the young lady her name?’

She gathered herself mentally, taking a deep breath before speaking.

‘Amaia.’

‘So the lady can speak’ White Feather glowed. ‘And might I say what a beautiful name you have.’

‘Who are you?’ Amaia asked White Feather.

‘Well’ he bowed his head. ’I am sure I already told you my name. Perhaps you should be asking, what am I?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Then permit me to explain.’

He closed his eyes; smiling as he revealed four, long thin glass-like wings that grew from his back in a glow of white light. They were beautiful, with black veins running down them, looking almost like spider web patterns, or the patterns on a leaf. And for some reason, at the sight of them, Amaia suddenly felt very safe around this character. She felt that she could trust him.

‘Amaia’ White Feather gleamed. ‘We have a lot to catch up on.’

‘So tell me about yourself.’ Amaia said as the two walked side by side through the many rooms. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘Where did I come from?’ White Feather repeated. ‘I came…’ his eyes grew distant, ‘from a place far away, a terrible place. Before I met you, I served another.’

’You serve me now?’ Amaia asked curiously.

White Feather grinned, turning to face her. He placed a hand across his chest, dropping to a knee and bowing low. ‘For hundreds of years, my kind have served your kind, we are your guardians and servants.’ White Feather opened his eyes, looking up to her again. ‘My kind are rare, our only purpose in existence it to protect and watch over you.’ White Feather fixed Amaia with a deep stare, his body frozen in position. ‘I will always be loyal to you, I will never waver. Wherever you go, I go. I will obey your every wish, no matter what. Even if you asked me to take my own life, I would do so willingly, and with happiness.’

‘I would never ask of such a thing’ Amaia breathed.

‘Then what would you ask of me?’

Amaia reached forwards, holding White Feather gently by his shoulders and lifting him to his feet again.

‘I ask you only to be happy’ she told him. ‘And I would never ask anything wrong of you.’

‘Then let me serve you’ White Feather begged her. ‘That would make me very happy.’

‘Then stay here with me’ Amaia said. ‘For as long as you want.’

White Feather glowed at this. He held his hands together over his heart, breathing a heavy sigh. ‘Oh, Amaia, we’re going to be the best of friends, I just know it.’

Amaia smiled at this. ‘But…’ she said, ‘what happened to the one you served before?’

A dark look crossed White Feather’s face, and Amaia for a moment wondered if she had been wrong to ask. But White Feather was willing to answer.

‘She was murdered’ White Feather hissed, with raw venom in his voice. He snarled then, and Amaia for the briefest of moments was afraid of him. But then White Feather relaxed his body, letting out a deep breath. ‘I knew her’ White Feather began, ‘for a very long time. But’ he went on, ‘before she died, she asked me to find someone to protect, someone like you’ he said, raising his head to her. ‘I never realised I would find you in such a beautiful place.’

‘This place?’ Amaia said sadly, holding herself. ‘This is a prison’

‘But it is a wonderful prison’ White Feather sang, throwing his arms out dramatically. ‘There are worse places you could be after all.’

‘I know’ Amaia mumbled. ‘I’ve spent most of my life here alone in these rooms, but I’ve learnt a lot about the world through books and such. I’ve read of all kinds of things, good and bad. I have learnt about prisons that exist, and have existed, they are terrible places I know…but…at least......people in those prisons have company.’

‘It’s alright now’ White Feather told her, ‘we have each other.’

Amaia paused. Her eyes drifted past White Feather, and to his wings behind him.

‘They look so fragile.’

‘Trust me, they are not as delicate as they look’ White Feather winked. ‘Would you like to touch them?’

White Feather turned around so that Amaia could reach them. She ran her finger lightly over the black veins in his wings.

‘They’re so beautiful’ Amaia breathed. ‘I wish I had wings just like that.’

‘I would give them to you if I could’ White Feather smiled. ‘But I’m afraid they are attached to me.’

Amaia giggled. ‘The way you speak,’ she said to him, ‘it’s very strange.’

‘Do I amuse you?’ White Feather asked, placing his hands on his hips. He twirled, flicking his hair back as he did so and facing Amaia again.

‘You know, this place is really big’ White Feather said, changing the subject. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen a dwelling with so many rooms so large. I must say, you certainly have a lot of space to wander in.’

‘It is quite big’ Amaia agreed. ‘I grew up in a large home. But this is far larger than the home my father owned.’

‘Your father?’ White Feather asked. ‘Tell me more about your father, does he live here?’

‘No’ Amaia smiled sadly. ‘He is far away.’ Her gaze drifted towards one of the windows, beyond which was a world she did not know.’

‘Does he come to visit you?’

‘No’ Amaia sighed miserably. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t even know where I am.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was stolen from my family’ Amaia explained, ‘when I was very young. I have lived here alone in these empty halls for perhaps ten years, maybe more. I have lost track of the days…these past few years.’

‘That’s terrible’ White Feather cried, looking genuinely distressed at this. It was as if when she spoke the words, he felt her pain and sorrow within him. ‘I felt your sadness from afar’ White Feather told her. ‘That is what drew me to you. Weather Makers and fairies like myself have an ancient bond which dates back to long ago, longer than anyone can remember.’

‘Weather Maker?’ Amaia repeated. ‘That is the first time I have heard that word. Is that what I am?’

‘Yes’ White Feather bowed. ‘It is.’

‘My mother was a Weather Maker’ Amaia said, ‘she passed her gift onto me. If you could call it a gift.’

Amaia raised both her hands before her, staring at her open palms.

‘Weather Maker…’ she said.