WeatherMaker Hearts Desire Prologue
Chapter 3: The Wall

The days stretched into weeks, and Ramana had not ventured from the manor or its grounds since the day Arlen had seen her for the very first time.

It was midday now, and Arlen had been sitting on this rock for far too long. He decided it was time to leave. Leaning forwards and groaning at the aches in his body he rose to stand, straightening up with great effort, stretching his muscles which had become stiff. Arlen slowly made his way down the hill, away from the manor he had been watching over, and back towards the town. There was nowhere he was expected to be that day, and so he headed home. Only because he was hungry, otherwise he would have gone to the temple instead.

But when he reached his front door minutes later, there was a shock waiting for him.

‘What’s this?’ Arlen protested.

The one man in the world he didn’t want to deal with rounded on him with a sour expression and a finger in his chest.

‘You’ve had your last warning’ the landlord growled, jabbing Arlen again. ‘If you refuse to pay your rent, then you can sleep in the fields.’

‘No!’ Arlen cried in panic. ‘Please.’

‘Spare me your excuses’ the landlord went on, turning from him and hammering another plank across the front door. ‘I don’t want to hear your petty sob stories. I don’t care. I have a business to run. If people don’t want to pay their rent then that’s not my problem.’

‘Please’ Arlen begged. ‘You can’t kick me out.’

‘Then pay what you owe’ the landlord said, lowering the hammer and facing Arlen.

‘I don’t have any money’ Arlen admitted, his whole body sagging as he said this.

The landlord turned away again, and began hammering up another plank. ‘Then I hope you don’t mind being trodden on by cows in the middle of a cold night.’

‘Winfred’ came another voice.

The landlord and Arlen both glanced round, seeing Farrell standing there.

‘Now I don’t want trouble from you’ the landlord began, scowling at Farrell. ‘You may be a respected man but this building belongs to me, and I don’t offer it out of charity.’

‘I apologise for any inconvenience caused’ Farrell said to the man in a dead tone. He pulled out a pouch from one of his pockets and handed it to the landlord. ‘I hope this will clear any problems you have with my brother.’

The landlord took the pouch suspiciously. Farrell walked past the both of them, only offering Arlen the briefest of acknowledgments.

‘My goodness’ the landlord exclaimed as he counted the coins in the pouch. ’There’s enough rent here for an entire year! Well…you must be doing something right for your brother to care so much about you.’

Arlen gave him a flat expression.

‘Well…’ the landlord bobbed at him suddenly cheery. ‘Good day to you. And be sure to get rid of these planks from the door, they look unsightly.’

Arlen glared at Winfred as he bounced away, feeling only cold in his heart. And then he felt worry.

‘Farrell!’

He ran to catch his brother up.

‘I don’t want to hear it’ Farrell droned.

‘Listen.’ Arlen continued anyway. ‘I promise I’ll pay you back…and thank you’ he added hastily.

‘It’s not about the money’ Farrell sighed in exasperation, coming to a halt to speak to Arlen. ‘We both know you haven’t any money and paying that amount is no trouble for me.’

‘Thanks’ Arlen repeated, sarcastically now. ‘Thanks for outlining my shortcomings.’

‘Oh for gods sake don’t make this personal’ Farrell groaned walking away again.

‘You started to make this personal’ Arlen called after him.

Farrell stopped. He turned back and marched up to Arlen.

‘You think you can blame your failures on other people?’ he snarled losing his temper. ‘I stick my neck out for you, I cover up for your absences and time and again you let me down.’

‘You think I let you down?’ Arlen hissed back.

Farrell grabbed him by the front of his shirt, shaking him roughly. ‘Every time you fail to show up for duty, it looks bad on me. My own brother.’

‘I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you’ Arlen said flatly.

Farrell shoved him back.

’Gods I’ve never known anyone so selfish’ he spat. ‘You drift around from one day to the next living in your own little world. You see nothing around you beyond your own interests. It hurts Brice and me to see you like this. But the one person in life you’re hurting most of all is yourself. You just don’t see it.’

Farrell turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving Arlen to wallow in his misery.

After a time, Arlen decided to move. He didn’t want to go home; he wasn’t that hungry after all he decided. So instead, he returned to his rock, and continued his vigil over the Duke’s manor.

He had spent hours that day, like many before that, just sitting and watching the manor, hoping for even a brief glimpse of Ramana. But on this day, like the last and many before that, there was not even a whisper from her.

‘I’m worried about Arlen’ Farrell said as he entered Brice’s home, not even bothering to knock.

Brice glanced up from his meal, his wife Alice and his son Shawn were sat around the table with him.

‘I hear what you’re saying’ Brice replied, not at all surprised to see Farrell there. The brothers were far too familiar with one another to bother announcing their arrivals. ‘He’s been so distracted lately, even more so than usual.’

‘My lady’ Farrell bowed to Alice respectfully as she smiled welcomingly at him. ‘How are you today?’

‘Oh I am quite well’ she beamed back. ‘Please, have a seat.’

‘Are you hungry?’ Brice asked Farrell as he drew up a chair.

‘No’ Farrell replied. ‘Thank you. I’m too worried to feel hungry.’

‘So what’s wrong with Arlen then?’ Shawn asked Farrell, admiration glowing in his eyes at the sight of the prodigy.

‘I’m honestly not entirely sure’ Farrell admitted. ‘He’s so distracted all the time. I sometimes feel he doesn’t even notice me when I’m speaking directly to him. He’s not even visiting the temple like he used to. In fact I’ve hardly seen him there in weeks.’

‘I’ve hardly seen him at all’ Brice added. ‘I feel sort of bad about it, but he does like to wander off.’ He lowered his fork, regarding Farrell closely. ‘If he’s not going to the temple anymore, then where’s he going instead?’

Farrell shrugged. ‘His favourite spot now seems to be a rock he likes to sit on.’

‘And where is this rock?’ Alice interrupted.

‘It’s…’ Farrell began, ‘outside the Duke’s manor.’

Alice began to chuckle lightly at this, shaking her head at the ignorance of the two soldiers that shared her table.

‘You men’ she sighed, calming herself. ‘You really are so blind aren’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’ Farrell asked her uncertainly.

‘Don’t you see?’ Alice told him with a smile, picking up her fork and chasing the food across her plate. ‘It’s so blatantly obvious. Arlen is in love.’

‘In love?’ Brice shared a confused expression with Farrell. ‘But Arlen has never been interested in any particular woman; he’s never found the right one he’s told us.’

’Well…’Alice smiled playfully. ‘Now he has.’

The next day, Arlen returned to his rock outside the walls of the manor. And there he waited, there he watched.

It was many hours later in the day, when the sun was beginning to dip and the sky darken, that he heard a sound. Something beautiful.

A heavenly voice, sailing up from behind the wall. Arlen heard it.

It was truly angelic, holy, and almost eerie. The voice seemed to echo, stretching far and wide. Arlen was mesmerized.

Very slowly, he rose from the rock he sat on, forgetting his stiff and aching muscles, and wandered closer towards the wall. Beyond the wall, just on the other side, an angel sang.

The voice, so beautiful, and so sad moved him. He longed so strongly to be on the other side of the wall. With her.

With Ramana.

The voice sang in a language he did not understand, so high, so light.

So perfect.

Arlen reached forwards, touching the stone of the wall which had cooled as the day grew late. He listened to the final notes of the song, before everything went quiet again.

He stepped back, withdrawing his hand from the wall, and realised a tear had run down his cheek. Arlen caught it with the tip of a finger, staring at it closely as the last rays of the sun dipped behind the hills on the horizon.

He looked up again at the wall that was so tall before him, towering over him; thinking of the woman on the other side.

He took a breath, calming his racing heart.

‘Ramana…’ he whispered to the night.

Arlen’s rest was uneasy that night, he was thinking only of the voice, which haunted him now, echoing in his dreams as he tossed and turned.

He woke with a start, sweating and panting. Throwing the thin sheets back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there on the edge, elbows rested on his knees and head in his hands.

He straightened, turning behind him to face his bedroom window and looking to the world beyond. The very first hints of the coming day were creeping into the sky. He abandoned thoughts of any more sleep, instead he rose and got dressed, leaving his home early and heading to the forest. The little birds were beginning to sing now, having woken with the first hints of morning light, as he had done.

So fresh was the air, so clean and still, everything was so tranquil. There was not a soul other than himself that Arlen saw in the town as he passed through. Never the less, he moved quickly, not wanting to be seen, only wanting to be alone with his thoughts at this time.

His pace slowed after he passed the border of the woods, the first trees were small and grew far apart, but as he ventured further, the woods became thicker and wilder.

It was many hours he walked, heading deeper into the forest. If someone was to go searching for him here now, they would never find him. And that was the way Arlen liked it.

Back in the town, a group of men on horseback were gathering in preparation for the next big fight. Farrell’s eyes slid over the faces of the men, searching for Arlen, and growing ever more annoyed when he didn’t find him. He shot a furious glare at Brice behind him, who shrugged, exasperated.

Farrell ground his teeth in anger, huffing as he placed the helmet upon his head. He called to his men.

‘WE RIDE WEST!’

As the men rode the many miles, they were met with several other groups along the way, and by the time they arrived at their destination hours later, the mass was now thousands strong.

Riding under the banner of the king, Farrell formed the army ready to charge. He raised his sword to signal, and men behind him blew on horns the order to attack. With Brice close by his side Farrell led the army towards their enemy. The sound of the horse’s hooves thundering on the ground was terrifying enough; the beasts specially trained for war did not hesitate as they crashed into the lines of their foe. The king, mounted on his white stallion and standing at a safe distance upon a hilltop, watched as the highest ranking soldier in his kingdom led his men to a decisive victory. Surrounded by his guards, he watched as the battle turned into a slaughter.

The enemy had been vanquished, and as Farrell broke away from the fight, he was met by the king. Farrell dismounted, bowing low to the king, showing his utter respect and loyalty.

Back in the woods near the town of Ketts, so far away from the bloodshed and violence, Arlen walked. It was a lonely world. The trees were so thick, that no wind could penetrate here, and everything was utterly still. Save for the birds that could not be seen, but whose calls could be heard as far as one could walk and still remain in the forest.

His footsteps were light on the forest floor as he made his way slowly forwards, heading in no particular direction.

Arlen stopped for a moment, noticing something.

It was raining all around him, not water, but seeds. He cast his hand out, catching one of the seeds in his open palm. It was a sycamore seed. Everywhere they were falling to the ground, their descent slowed by the fan that sprouted out from the centre, causing them to spin continually, until they landed gently on the forest floor.

And then, he was struck with an idea.

Farrell and Brice returned home with the other soldiers some days later, very few of which had been lost. Farrell had washed the blood from him before he began his journey, now clean he walked Alastor slowly through the town. He was heading to his home when he saw Arlen at a distance, sitting outside the Duke’s manor. Farrell was about to confront him, and demand why he had not been present where he was expected to join in the battle, but something held him back. It was some strange feeling inside that he could not explain. Farrell pulled the reins back lightly, and Alastor obediently slowed to a stop. Farrell stayed for a moment, watching Arlen sitting on that same rock he had been for days, and staring towards the Duke’s manor, seemingly oblivious that he was being watched.

‘Let’s leave him to it’ Brice suggested, coming to stand beside Farrell on his own horse.

Briefly, Farrell remembered the words that Alice had spoken days before.

Don’t you see? It’s so blatantly obvious. Arlen is in love.

Farrell shook his head.

‘I will never understand him’ he sighed to Brice. ‘He is our brother, yet he is so different from us.’

‘That he is’ Brice nodded. ‘That he is.’

The two of them moved away, leaving Arlen alone.

Arlen waited until his brothers were far away, before pulling from his coat the thing he had created, the thing he had been hiding. It had taken a few hours to make, but a few days to perfect.

Like the sycamore seed, it had a large fan protruding from its centre, and like the sycamore seed, would fall the same way. The entire thing was made of paper, and was very light in weight, so would fall slowly.

Inside the middle piece, was a ring made of flowers. The flowers, once picked, would last only hours. Like all beauty, it was fleeting.

Arlen rose from the rock; taking several steps back he threw the thing as hard as he could, finally succeeding to get it over the wall only after several attempts. It was so light; it didn’t travel far when thrown, but indeed fell slowly, as he had designed it to. Quickly he slipped away, returning to his home, to think of the next thing he could create to send over the wall, and convince the beautiful maiden inside to emerge from her fortress. He became very excited.

What wonderful thing could I do next? He thought happily.

Days later

Arlen glanced up from where he sat upon the hill. From here he could see the field belonging to Farrell in which the stallion Alastor now shared with the mares. He would interact with them constantly in a quiet affiliation. Restless and alert, the stallion would wander about the heard, nudging them frequently and raising his head, his upper lip curled back.

Arlen recognised this courting behaviour, and thought to himself with a smile, you will sire many strong and handsome foals, black and beautiful like yourself.

Nearby, his brothers Farrell and Brice practiced sword fighting together, swinging their blunted weapons and dancing back and forth in perfect motion.

Arlen returned his attention back to his own, sitting with the large sketchbook open on his lap. He lifted the coloured pencil, adding the details to the picture he saw before him. He was interrupted moments later when a shadow fell across his page.

‘Hey!’ Arlen protested. ‘You’re getting in the way of the light.’

Farrell frowned down at him, stepping to the side out of Arlen’s way. Arlen shot him a glare of annoyance quickly before returned to his drawing.

‘Since when do you draw silly pictures?’ Farrell asked him.

Arlen pursed his lips, gritting his teeth; his brow furrowed impatiently.

‘It may be silly to you, but some people appreciate the beauty of art.’

‘I’m sorry brother’ Farrell said hastily. ‘I didn’t mean any offence by it.’

Arlen shot him a dark look, turning the other way and sitting now with his back to Farrell.

‘We were wondering’ Farrell went on, ignoring this behaviour, ‘if you wanted to come and practice with us.’

‘I’m afraid I’m busy’ Arlen replied shortly. ‘Just go back and return to playing your games with Brice.’

‘War is not a game’ Farrell replied sternly. ‘And weapons are not toys.’

Arlen gave no response to this, so enveloped was he in his drawing.

Farrell sighed shaking his head, moving away from him and shrugging at Brice who waited nearby. The two returned to their sparring, as Arlen added the finishing touches to his work.

‘There’ he said with satisfaction when it was complete. ‘It is done.’

He tore the page out of the book, glancing back at his brothers who were completely distracted with their fighting. Rolling the page up, and leaving the book and pencils where they were, he slipped away.

Sometime later, his brothers noticed he had gone, seeing the empty page in the book and the pencils left behind.

‘Where did he go?’ Farrell asked curiously.

‘I think I know’ Brice replied, his attention drifting towards the Duke’s manor.

Arlen tip-toed along the boundaries of the Duke’s home, holding in one hand the drawing he had rolled up. He tied a weight to the paper with a piece of red cloth, backing away he threw the rock, aiming as high as he could. The red fabric trailed through the air as it flew over the wall.

Within the garden behind the high walls, Ramana sat waiting. She saw as the thing fell into the garden, landing with a thud on the grass. Ramana stood, sauntering over towards the item.

She bent down and untied the beautiful red fabric, unrolling the paper. She held the large drawing in both her hands, smiling down at it.

She recognised the glowing pink blossoms of the trees that were drawn in the background of the picture, as the ones that grew near her home. In the foreground, growing amongst the tall sweeping grass were lilies, coloured pure white and lightning blue. And scattered throughout the picture, beneath the trees and wading through the grasses, were mother horses with their foals. In the centre of the picture, rearing up dramatically with mane tossed back was a mighty black stallion. The picture was beautifully drawn and intricately detailed.

Ramana smiled widely, putting a hand over her mouth. The edges of her eyes crinkled. She lifted her head up towards the wall, thinking of the one on the other side.

Her heart beat heavy in her chest, and she longed to see the man on the other side of the wall, longed to know who he was. She rolled the picture up again, holding it to her, her eyes shimmering.

She left the garden, creeping through the corridors of her home quietly and returning to her bedroom. Ramana unrolled the picture again, placing it upon the wall. She took a step back, admiring the drawing in all its splendour.

Ramana was happy.

It was the next day that Arlen was in the forest, having risen early that morning, as he had so many mornings before that. As had become habit. He slept little nowadays, and when he did, his dreams were dominated night after night, by that voice.

Today, Arlen found his wandering feet had taken him to a small pond deep within the woods. A beautiful place it was, much like the rest of the forest. But the pond made him stop, so tranquil was the sound of the trickling water of the little river that ran into it.

Arlen rested on his knees, placing the things he had brought with him on the ground beside him. Pots of paint, paper of different colours, some thick card, and some paper thin enough to see through, ribbons and cloth of several different materials and string also. Arlen poured gleefully over the items he had brought with him, thinking about what he should do with them.

Sometime later he had created a large butterfly. With a painted twig body, its wings were made of many different colours of the thin paper, held together at the edges with thin twigs bent around.

Arlen smiled at it. He had finished, and it looked beautiful.

Arlen turned it over in his hands, examining it closely, wondering if there was anything else he could add to it, when he noticed a ripple on the water of the pond.

Arlen raised his head and gasped as he saw a figure.

It was Ramana. She had followed him into the woods earlier that morning, and watched from a distance as he worked.

She stood there, peering at Arlen closely as he sat there in shock and awe of her beauty.

And then she smiled.

Sometime later, the soldiers were gathering once again in the centre of the town for battle. Farrell wheeled his black stallion around, the feisty beast tossed its head as it moved, excited by the commotion. Farrell surveyed the bustling scene. As always Brice was by his side, mounted on his own chestnut stallion. But this time, much to the surprise of both Farrell and Brice, Arlen was present also.

‘Arlen’ Brice said. ‘You’re here.’

Arlen answered his brother only with a flash of teeth. He was smiling. Farrell hummed thoughtfully to himself at this, but said nothing. He signalled to the men around him, commanding them, and sending them out of the town and onwards.

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