WeatherMaker Hearts Desire Prologue
Chapter 48: Prayer

‘Please help me’ Arlen whispered to the healer as he lay on the bed clutching his stomach. ‘My body…it’s in agony…….it feels like I am……..burning from the inside…’

‘Here’ the healer said, stirring a white powdery substance into a glass of water and handing it to Arlen. ‘Drink this. It will ease the pain.’

Arlen reached forwards with shaking hands and took the glass, putting it to his lips and drinking.

Before he was even half finished, the glass slipped from his hands, and he threw his head back, screaming at the top of his lungs and pawing at his stomach. The healers all rushed to him, trying to hold him down as he thrashed around.

‘What’s happening?!’ Farrell called to the healers in panic. ‘What’s wrong?!’

‘It must be the poison’ one healer shouted, another beside her bound a gag around Arlen’s mouth to keep him silent, fighting him as he clawed desperately at her arms as she did so, leaving scratches in her skin which bled.

Farrell watched helplessly as his brother struggled, Arlen’s eyes screwed tight shut, tears running from them.

His body began to convulse, he was heaving as if he were about to be sick.

‘Quick!’ the older healer barked. ‘Take that off and let him go!’

The instant the gag was removed and the healers released him, Arlen rolled onto his side, being violently sick. Farrell’s crippled hand went to his mouth in shock. Arlen had coughed up blood.

The room fell silent. Arlen stayed hanging off the edge of the bed, having fallen silent also. He gagged again, throwing up more blood, and the medicine he had ingested.

He rolled onto his back again, moaning in pain and clutching his stomach, shifting constantly, never staying still. He didn’t speak, but began to cry. The healer beside him leant over him again, beginning to examine him. Arlen’s blood dotted the front of her white dress.

The old healer turned from him silently, taking Farrell by the arm and marching with him out of the room.

‘I must speak with you’ she murmured to him, leaving the other healers to tend to Arlen and closing the door after them. ‘Come with me to my office.’

‘I know what ails him’ the old healer said in a low tone a short while later. ‘I’m afraid the news isn’t good.’

‘Just tell me’ Farrell urged. ’Please!’ his voice shook as he spoke, the horror of witnessing his brother in so much pain was more than he could bear.

‘Please’ Farrell whispered quietly now. ‘I have to know the truth.’

The old healer pursed her lips, she answered only reluctantly.

‘Your brother has been poisoned’ the older healer replied. ‘It is a particularly nasty poison, its purpose to cause as much suffering as possible before death. If the victim ingests anything, medicines and painkillers included, the poison in their system begins to react. They cannot even drink water.’

‘What can we do?’ Farrell whispered.

‘I’m sorry’ the healer bowed her head. ‘There is no cure. The best thing we can do is to end his suffering.’

‘No’ Farrell began to shake his head. ‘No….’

‘It’s the only way’ the healer spoke gently. ‘The other alternative…..’ she broke off. ‘It’s best if we end his suffering as soon as possible.’

‘I want to see him again’ Farrell said in a dead tone. ‘I have to.’

‘If you must. He is your brother’ she said. ‘It’s your call.’

Farrell rose from his seat slowly, moving away from the desk and leaving the office. He wandered down the corridor, reaching out to the wall for support.

He stopped at the end of the corridor, covering his mouth with a hand, his body hunched over as he fought back tears.

He glanced up, seeing the closed door to the room his brother lay in.

Farrell straightened, heading reluctantly over to it.

He opened the door and stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him. Inside the room was dark, there were no windows. His brother was on the bed utterly still, lying on his side curled up and holding his stomach.

Farrell approached him slowly, standing before him.

‘Arlen?’ he said in a low voice. ‘Can you hear me?’

Arlen did not move. Farrell knelt before him, reaching out a hand to gently shake him.

‘Arlen?’

He slowly opened his eyes, staring back at Farrell blearily. There was no recognition in him. His skin was sickly pale and beaded with sweat.

He stared at Farrell for a few seconds, his gaze out of focus, before closing his eyes again.

Farrell blinked several times, fighting back his tears, his face screwed up in grief.

‘Arlen’ he sobbed, grabbing his brother’s hand, it was cold to the touch. ‘Please…’ Farrell begged, ‘please don’t die……please don’t leave me…….I can’t live in this world without you….’ He bowed his head, tears streaming down his cheeks now. ‘There’s too much in my life I’ve already lost….too much in my life that I regret….’ He leant forward, resting his forehead against Arlen’s. ‘I’m sorry Arlen’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry this happened to you……I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you…’

He rose to his feet and headed out of the room, glancing back one last time at his brother through his tears, before he left.

He went away to be alone after that, his feet taking him to a secluded part of the temple, far from the other holy figures that wandered the silent corridors. He found himself a time later in a small room, a private quarter meant for praying alone. Before him was a statue, a depiction of the goddess Kachi. A beautiful maiden, the mother of the sea, where it was believed all life began. Head thrown back, arms extended, she was surrounded by great eels which were enveloped around her scaly tail.

The door swung shut behind him, and Farrell listened to the echoing silence, alone with only himself, and the statue.

She was so beautiful, so perfect, like Ramana had been, like Amaia would have grown to be….if she were….

Farrell’s hand went to his mouth as he began to tremble. What if she was really dead, and they were searching for nothing? What if all their troubles had been in vain, what if Amaia had suffered, as Ramana had before she died? And now Arlen… his last remaining brother….

Farrell sunk to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

‘Oh gods…..gods I’ve failed them all…!’

Tears ran from his eyes, he balled his fists, nails digging into his scalp as he ran his fingers through his hair.

‘I’m alone…’ he sobbed in despair, ‘…completely alone…’

He fell forwards, curled up on his hands and knees now with his face buried. Nothing else in the world mattered now. There was nothing left for him, no reason to live anymore.

‘I’ve failed them all!’ he wailed. ‘Gods help me for all the wrong I’ve done…’

He sat back on his heels, crying opening, eyes red, cheeks streaked with tears.

‘Gods help me….’ he whispered.

He reached a shaking hand to the inside of his coat, pulling forth a knife.

He stared down at the clean and shining blade, gritting his teeth and rocking back on his heels again, staring about the small and silent room as if looking for a way out.

‘Gods…’ he sobbed, red faced. ‘Oh gods…’ he brushed his hair back, running his wrist across his forehead, now damp with sweat.

He forced himself to calm, to steady his breath. His body slumped, and his head hung. He lifted the knife again in a hand; then gripped the hilt with both hands.

The metal was cool in his touch.

He gritted his teeth, shoulders trembling.

He turned the knife over, so that the sharpened tip was pointed towards him. He pressed the tip to his skin, between his ribs and pointed up towards his heart, feeling the sharp sting of the blade as it dug into his flesh.

He drew a slow breath to steady himself, breathing slowly and deeply several times.

Farrell stopped suddenly, his body frozen.

The knife slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. He threw his head up towards the statue Kachi.

His body trembled as he stared at the carved face, emotionless, with eyes unseeing.

Farrell bowed his head again. He didn’t reach for the knife, but instead clapped his hands, fingers weaving together.

I’ve nothing to lose Farrell thought to himself as he stared at the floor beneath him.

‘Please my goddess Kachi. Answer my prayers….’

He met with the healers a short time later.

‘Have you reached a decision?’ the old healer asked Farrell.

‘Yes’ he choked. ‘I think…..what you say is best.’

The old healer nodded sadly.

‘I will do it’ she said.

‘No’ Farrell spoke up. ‘I will…he is my brother after…..’ he trailed off.

‘Only if you’re absolutely sure.’

‘Yes’ Farrell whispered. ‘I will…’ he held his breath, forcing himself to speak calmly. ‘I will do it.’

Farrell turned away, heading back to the room his brother lay.

He entered the room slowly, and faced his brother. The door closed behind him.

Arlen lay on his side in the same position as he had been before. Farrell watched him for the longest time, before reaching down to his belt, and unbuckling it, struggling with his crippled hand.

He pulled the belt free, holding it in one hand as he stepped slowly across the room towards Arlen, never taking his eyes from him.

He stood behind him, heart racing in his chest, palms sweating. His fingers twitched around the leather of the belt he held in his hand.

Farrell took a deep and steady breath to calm himself. He reached forwards, slipping the belt beneath Arlen’s neck as he lay, listening to the sound of the metal buckle clinking as he did so.

The belt was around Arlen’s neck now. Farrell hesitated, watching his brother closely. His heart was soaring now, the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

He took another steady breath; then pulled the belt. But before he could pull it tight, a hand stopped him. Arlen’s hand.

Farrell hesitated, eyes wide with shock as he stared down at Arlen.

Arlen rolled onto his back, staring up at Farrell calmly, with a stony expression. ‘You’re trying to kill me?’ he whispered. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Farrell stepped back, the belt slipping from his hands as Arlen made to stand.

‘I’ve no strength to fight with you’ Arlen said to him as he rose. ‘Not now.’

‘I’ve no wish to fight with you’ Farrell whispered back, still in shock. ‘I thought…you were dying…’

Arlen looked at his own hands; then touched his own chest and stomach. ‘I hurt’ he whispered. ‘The pain….it was greater than I thought possible to endure. But it’s gone now….now I feel nothing….’

Farrell fell to his knees before his brother, grabbing Arlen’s hands as he did.

‘I’m sorry brother’ he cried. ‘Please will you forgive me….for all the wrong I’ve done? I’m sorry I neglected my family…..I’m sorry that I let Ramana die…..I’m sorry Amaia was taken, and that I didn’t look for her….’ he bowed his head, burying his face in his arms. Arlen gazed down upon him as he stood over him, his expression unmoved. ‘Please’ Farrell whispered to him. ‘Please forgive me…..’ he lifted his head. ‘I have something for you’ he told Arlen quietly. ‘You might not remember….but….here’ he said pulling a folded garment from beneath his coat. ‘This is yours. Do you remember it?’

Arlen looked down at the cloak Farrell offered him.

It was a beautiful garment, crimson in shade with vividly detailed patterns and swirls. It must have been very expensive to buy, and looked as if it had taken weeks to make by skilled hands.

‘This is the cloak you bought me…back when Brice was alive’ Arlen frowned in recognition. ‘You’ve carried it….all this time?’

‘I….was going to bury it with you…..but….’ he rose to his feet. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary anymore.’

Arlen spun the cloak around, draping it across his shoulders.

‘You look like a jester’ Farrell smiled weakly.

Arlen gave him a strange expression, one that Farrell couldn’t read.

Farrell turned away. ‘I should get the healers’ he said. ‘They would want to know you’re ok.’

‘This is impossible’ the old healer said incredulous as she held Arlen’s face in her hands, looking from one eye to the other, pulling his lower eyelid down to see the colour. ‘And you feel alright?’

‘Absolutely fine’ Arlen replied calmly.

‘Open your mouth’ the healer said, and Arlen did so. ‘Everything seems fine’ she spoke slowly, unconvinced at her own words.

She then took his wrist, feeling for a pulse, waiting for a few seconds, then touched his neck, feeling for another pulse. ‘Everything seems fine’ she said again.

The old healer straightened up, reaching to the table behind her. She poured a glass of water, then offered it to him. ‘A test?’ she said.

Arlen glanced at the water uncertainly, remembering what had happened last time. But he made himself forget that, and took it from her, bringing it to his lips.

Arlen drank; first half, then all of it. He handed the glass back to the healer silently, who took it from him, still staring at him in disbelief.

They waited. Nothing happened.

‘This is incredible’ she said to him. ‘This has never happened before. Never. You should have died’ she said, ‘you should not have survived this.’

‘I’m actually really hungry’ Arlen told her. ‘I would be grateful if someone could bring me something to eat.’

‘Of course’ the healer said, fumbling over her words. ‘But for the time being I think you should stay here, just so we can keep an eye on you. Just in case.’

‘Fine’ Arlen answered flatly, ‘just as long as I get something to eat.’

Farrell who had watched the healer and Arlen the entire time, turned suddenly, almost sensing a presence behind him. In the open doorway behind them, looming in the corridor, he saw the most curious thing. A figure stood there, wearing a mask of a crow, but with large glass eyes like windows, behind them was nothing but shadow. The figure wore black all over, the cloak was black, the hood, even the gloves also.

The figure, noticing Farrell watching, glided away silently out of sight.

Farrell turned back to Arlen.

‘I have to go’ he said to him. ‘There is something I have to do.’

Farrell wandered away, feeling happy, feeling as if there were new life within him, feeling purpose, and something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

His self from his moments of despair not long ago, felt like nothing but a distant memory, almost dream-like, as if it hadn’t really happened. He ambled down the corridors of the large temple, smiling and nodding to the holy figures that glided past, experiencing his new self.

I never thought I would ever believe in the gods Farrell thought to himself, but after this I am truly a changed man, and I believe I have changed for the better.

He came to a large shrine in one of the many halls, a shrine in which a natural rock grew out from the earth, out of which was carved a depiction of the god Ezla, a man growing out of stone, with a bare chest and sharp claws. The statue was huge, reaching almost to the high ceiling above. It looked as if the temple had been constructed around this shrine, with the statue being at the very centre.

Farrell approached the statue. There were many candles burning brightly around it. Each candle represented a loved one that had passed, the fire a prayer for the dead.

Farrell smiled warmly up at the statue, feeling a glow within his heart. He bowed his head, and began to pray.

Please, my god Ezla. Bring my daughter back to me; she is my heart’s desire. Let her be found safe and alive and happy. This is all I ask of you.

He opened his eyes when he heard movement by his side. Glancing around, he saw a woman nearby. He watched as she took a candle from a box, one of the many dotted about the shrine, and lit it from a flame of a nearby candle already burning. She placed it amongst the others, bowing her head and placing her hands together. She began to whisper.

‘Who do you pray for?’ Farrell asked her.

The holy woman, dressed in white with her hair covered, and a blue sash tied around her waist, turned to face him.

‘A friend’ the woman replied. ‘A very good friend, who died protecting me. I miss him dearly. I will never forget what he did for me.’

She stepped back and considered Farrell then.

‘Who are you?’ she asked him. ‘Are you a traveller?’

‘Traveller? Yes, I suppose I am’ Farrell answered.

‘My name is Layla’ the woman said. ‘I saw you from a distance.’ She smiled at him. ’What do you pray for when you speak to the gods?’

‘For things to be as they should’ Farrell replied simply.

‘Don’t we all wish the same’ Layla beamed.

She nodded to Farrell, before leaving the hall.

Farrell watched her go, before his attention drifted back to the great statue before, craning his head back to its tip, so tall that it was.

He watched the statue for several minutes, deep in thought. And then he heard a scream.

Farrell wheeled around, instinctively running towards the source of the noise. Through the hall beyond the archway he ran. He saw the healer Layla, being dragged by a soldier who held her by the wrist. Layla tried to resist, pulling back from the soldier, her efforts though in vain.

A memory flashed in Farrell’s mind then, one of Annabel. He remembered the day they had first taken her with them, the day she had been confronted by soldiers. He remembered how they had grabbed Annabel by the wrist, and dragged her.

On that day the others had rushed to her aid. On this day, Farrell did the same.

He charged towards the soldier, grabbing a heavy candle holder as he went and swinging it as hard as he could at the soldier, striking him across the head.

The soldier immediately let go of Layla, rounding on him and snarling in furry.

‘You bastard’ he growled, stepping towards Farrell and whipping out a knife from his belt. ‘I’ll kill you for that.’

The soldier lunged for Farrell, but he was young and inexperienced. Farrell was able to disarm him easily in seconds, driving the knife through his throat, and watching him bleed to death as he threw him to the floor.

Instantly cries of terror from the holy men and women sounded all around.

‘Defiled! Defiled! Our temple had been defiled!’

They began to scatter, the woman Layla had stumbled back and fallen in shock at what she had seen. The dead soldier lay still bleeding, and Layla stared up at Farrell now in fear.

Farrell turned to her, the pieces in his mind falling into place. He glanced back at the soldier at his feet, his armour bearing the crest of royalty.

Farrell’s heart stopped in his chest, recognising the symbol as the same one, not as the king wore, but as the prince wore. A wolf running up a steep mountainside.

He glanced back at the holy woman at his feet, holding his breath.

‘It cannot be’ he whispered, as the sudden realisation came crashing down upon him. Everything he had been fighting for since he left his home, all the pain and uncertainty he had suffered since he had first had the dream that set him on his quest. Since the very moment she had been taken when she was a child over a decade ago. Everything in his life, everything, had been driving him towards this point. Towards finding her. He had failed his wife, but he would not fail his daughter. Not again.

He fell to his knees, too weak with shock to bear it.

‘My prayers have been answered…’

‘What?’ the woman gasped uncertainly, her chest rising and falling as she breathed deeply, still in shock at what had just happened.

‘Please…’ Farrell breathed, reaching a shaking hand towards her. ‘Please let it be you…my daughter.’

Part 3

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