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The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 5241

Updated: 2018-07-10 19:02


He grabbed Farrell by the hair, slamming his head back hard against the wall, and lifting the blade higher against his throat, pushing harder. Farrell felt the slice of metal and the hot trickle of blood. But he did not resist. He almost whished his brother would kill him.

But Arlen could not bring himself to do it.

He drew back, letting the knife slip from his fingers, as he backed away, sobbing and gasping.

'You were supposed to protect her….' he whispered. 'You were supposed to protect her….'

And then he was consumed with another wave of anger. His brow knitted together and his gums showed in a snarl. He looked at his brother, in a way he never had before in his life.

With loathing.

'I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!' he cried turning on the spot and marching away. 'I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!' He unclasped the cloak from around his neck as he stormed off. The cloak Farrell had given him as a gift years ago. He had worn it all this time, so much had it meant to him. A gift from his brother.

Arlen paused at the door, speaking one last time.

'Never try to look for me. Never try to find me. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.'

He slammed the door, and Farrell was left, completely alone.

The next morning, Farrell had learnt that Arlen had left the town altogether.

He was not seen again.

Chapter Seventeen

Deep Sleep

Twenty years ago

Her laughter was like the tinkling of falling rain. She swung the sword she carried, a long and delicate blade. She danced with it, the skirt of her long dress swirling around her long legs. Poising her body and standing in perfect form with the sword held high.

'I have never known a woman like you' came another voice.

The woman smiled. She flicked back her short hair, lowered her sword and turned to face the man behind her.

'Husband' she beamed, hiding the sword shyly behind her back.

The man smiled at her. He bowed.

'My queen.'

Mearah skipped forwards. She twirled once with her arms swung out, dancing with her long sword and sheathing it before she reached him. The queen bowed to her husband, as he had done for her. He lifted her chin, and she straightened up again, facing him.

'You are so beautiful' the king said to her.

'You always say that.'

'That's because it's always true.'

Mearah giggled.

'You are too good to me husband.'

'Such a wonderful woman deserves to be treated like an angel.'

Mearah giggled again.

'Sometimes I think you are a gift from the heavens themselves' he said. 'Never in all my life have I seen such beauty, such radiance. Never in all my li

fe have I had the honour of being allowed to witness such magnificence.'

'Oh husband' Mearah said turning from him. 'I don't know how to repay such kindness.'

The king reached out for her, touching her gently by the arm and turning her back around. Mearah gazed at him, cheeks blushing.

'You are the kindest person I have ever known' the king said to her. 'Even in the darkest places….you see only good.'

The queen smiled warmly at her husband.

'I love you dear husband, I want us to spend the rest of our lives together, the rest of eternity….'

But then something happened, something that had never happened before.

Mearah stumbled. The sword fell from her grip, and her hand went to her forehead as she hunched forwards.

Then she straightened up, staring back at her husband the king with utter shock.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed.

The king caught her as she fell, calling desperately for help. Servants began to flock to the courtyard, calling to others still inside the building, who called to others further away, all calling for help from someone else. Anyone else. All the while, the king knelt beside his wife, holding her close to him, hands trembling in terror of what had happened to her, trying in vain to shake her awake.

But the queen lay utterly still, though her heart continued beating.

She did not wake.

Part 2

Twelve years later

Chapter Eighteen

The Dream

This day was a rare day. It was a religious holiday that celebrated the first rays of sunlight that shone in the sky after an eighty year long winter. The holy stories tell of the god Ezla, imprisoning the goddess Micro for eighty years beneath the rocky earth in a great cavern. He did this because he was madly in love with her, and wanted her for himself. Without the warmth in the world that Micro created, everything grew cold. When at last she was freed eighty years later, a great party was held to celebrate her return. And this was the holiday many people rejoiced in.

But not Farrell.

It was a precious celebration for many, and one that most would see only once in their lifetime. But Farrell cared little for such things nowadays. There was once a time he would have rejoiced in such an occasion, alongside everyone else. There was once a time where he would have spent a day like today celebrating and laughing with his family.

But things had changed.

He stayed at home that evening, alone as he slept. The sky outside was lit up with fireworks, but Farrell cared not for them. He did not see the bright flashes of light, nor hear their bangs.

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