WeatherMaker Hearts Desire Prologue
Chapter 68: The Man behind the Mask

Many months passed, and on this night, in the town that Amaia now called home, there was a great celebration.

‘This is all so beautiful!’ Amaia cooed, hanging onto Carl’s arm and squeezing him. ‘Where should we go first?’

‘It doesn’t matter’ Carl squeezed her back. ‘It’s all so wonderful, the whole town is celebrating. No matter where we go, we’ll see things worth seeing.’

All around them people were laughing and drinking and dancing and having fun. Amaia watched as a small group played music, on violins and drums and lutes, as others dressed in the most striking and flamboyant clothes danced around them. And people flocked the streets now, as many coming out of the inns and drinking houses as went in.

‘Let’s go to the town centre’ Amaia beamed, casting her head back as fireworks danced in the sky above them, their glowing lights exploding in bright flashing colours before dissipating the fading away. So beautiful, yet so brief. ‘I hear there is a masquerade happening there’ Amaia went on, facing Carl again.

‘How mysterious’ Carl said, raising an eyebrow at her seductively.

‘How fun!’ Amaia added.

She held his face tenderly, kissing him deeply, before grabbing him by the hand and moving off, dragging him after her.

The closer they drew towards the town centre, the more figures they saw who hid behind masks. First there were few; then there were many. As they reached the centre, nearly everyone around them wore a mask.

Carl bought one for each of them from a stall selling them nearby. The masks were the most beautiful and ornate designs. Colours of burnished gold and purples and greens and blues, some with great plumes at their head.

They danced together under the firelight of the touches that burned all around them, smiling at each other from behind their masks as they moved through the crowd of dancing couples.

‘I love you so much’ Amaia said to him from behind her mask when the melody ended.

‘I love you more’ Carl gleamed back; eyes shining as the fireworks whistled in the night.

They removed their masks for a moment so that they could reach a kiss, locked in each other’s arms as the lights exploded above their heads.

Carl cast his head up as the sparks crackled over the town. He noticed then in the crowd dancing around them, a single figure that stood alone, standing still and facing them, wearing a white mask with black eyes and a great crest of black feathers at the head. It was clear by the clothes and build that the figure was male.

Seeing he had been spotted by the figures that he watched, he extended a hand silently.

‘I think he wants a dance’ Carl said to Amaia, still holding her in his arms. She had noticed the figure also. ‘Go on’ he smiled at her. ‘I’ll wait.’

‘Are you sure?’ she asked him tentatively.

‘Go on’ he repeated. ‘I don’t mind.’

Amaia kissed him on the lips one last time, before gliding away from him and towards the mysterious figure. She went to replace her mask, but the stranger placed his hand gently on hers to stop her.

‘Such beauty should not be hidden’ he spoke.

Amaia lowered the mask again, instead tying it to her side and leaving it to hang there.

The strange figure took her hand in his, and placed his other hand around her waist.

They began to dance.

Moving in the firelight, they never took their eyes off one other as they danced amongst the crowd.

For a moment Amaia felt safe, felt comfortable, even though she didn’t know who hide behind the mask.

After a time, before the music had stopped, the figure slowed gradually, letting go of her hand and withdrawing his other from her waist.

‘I was hoping to see you again’ the figure said lifting a hand to his mask, his tone was sincere. ‘I knew I’d find you here’ the figure spoke as he removed the mask from his face.

Amaia took a step away from him as he revealed his face.

‘I’ve missed you. My daughter.’

Amaia balled her fists, puffing her chest out.

‘Are you trying to hide from me?’ she glowered. ‘Are you trying to trick me?’ she gritted her teeth. ‘I am not your daughter. Farrell is my father.’

‘You are Amaia’ Tristan replied quickly. ‘You are my daughter.’

Amaia didn’t answer, only pursed her lips in anger.

‘I have….some bad news’ Tristan said bowing his head. ‘Your mother is dead.’

‘She’s not my mother’ Amaia said curtly. ‘And I’m very sorry.’

Amaia made to leave, but Tristan grabbed her wrist.

‘I want you to come home’ he spoke firmly to her.

‘Let go of me’ Amaia struggled. ‘I already have a home.’

‘It’s not where you belong’ Tristan spoke harshly, tightening his grip.

‘Let go! You’re hurting me!’ but her cries were barely heard over the noise of the celebration around them, and the people were too distracted, too drunk and too happy to even notice that something was wrong.

‘I won’t go!’ Amaia spat stubbornly. ‘I won’t!’

‘If you won’t come willingly then I will take you by force.’

‘LET GO!’

She tried to scream, but her cries were cut short when he clamped a damp rag over her mouth, holding her tight.

Amaia couldn’t hold her breath for long, and was forced to breath in the fumes, collapsing as she fell unconscious.

Tristan caught her and swung her over his shoulder, striding away from the dancing figures around them and out of town. None spared him a second glance.

He headed towards a waiting carriage parked just outside the town, and placed her carefully inside.

‘Home’ he said to the driver. ‘And be quick.’

Back at the masquerade, Carl searched for her.

He searched and searched, but he could not find her.

The next day

Amaia lifted her head to the sky, feeling the suns warm glow upon her face, drying the tears that ran down her cheek.

The garden around her was just as she remembered it, and nothing had changed since the last time she was here. It was the garden she had spent twelve years of her life overlooking, in the manor that White Feather had first found her in. If Amaia were to wander its grounds, she would find the plague, her own grave, where she had fallen from the tower, all that time ago.

She sat on a bench now, looking around her. It was a beautiful place, but it felt as dead to her now as it did before.

‘I grew up with Farrell’ Amaia grumbled miserably at him, ‘…and Ramana….for many years they gave me a good life…a happy childhood……you’ve given me only a prison of loneliness….for twelve years…’

Tristan turned to face her; he had been picking the peaches from the tree that grew nearby. Now he stared at the back of her head, her hair matching the light green leaves of the bush that stood between them.

‘I only did that to protect you’ Tristan snapped harshly back. ‘I was afraid to visit you in fear of my father finding out.’

‘You’ve hurt people’ Amaia added.

‘To protect. You!’

Tristan’s chest rose and fell sharply now as he breathed heavily, anger coursing through him.

‘It’s ok’ he said, taking a slow and steady breath, placing on the ground the basket of peaches he held. ‘Everything is as it should be. My father is dead, and you are here with me.’

‘I would rather be dead than be with you’ Amaia mumbled.

‘How could you say such a thing?’ Tristan asked her, feeling wounded.

She didn’t answer.

‘Amaia?’

He walked slowly around the bush to see her, gasping in shock when he saw Amaia fully.

She was deathly pale. The knife she had used to slit both her wrists lay now on her lap smeared in blood.

Tristan’s hand went to his side, but instead of finding the knife he had carried, he found only an empty hilt.

She had stolen it from him.

He rushed up to her, holding her his arms. Her head lolled to the side as he grasped her desperately, but it was already far too late. She was already lost.

Her body vanished then, disappearing into balls of white light that drifted upwards in the breeze, as Tristan arms fell through thin air.

He rose, calling after her as the sparks lifted ever higher, growing smaller now than could be seen.

‘I will find you!’ he cried. ‘I won’t let you go!’

His only reply was the howling of the wind, dancing the leaves of the trees around him, and the endless silence that followed.

Amaia woke on the open plains, somewhere far away, her hair now red like blood. She wandered alone for days after that, having lost all her memory of her past, of Tristan, Farrell, Arlen and Carl, even Ramana. And without White Feather there to guide her, she became lost, and spiralled into a pit of misery, though she couldn’t understand why.

Back at her old home, Carl had set out to find her. The first place he could think of looking for her, was back where Farrell and Arlen lived, in a town far away.

When he completed the long journey on horseback and entered the town, he found Farrell and Arlen at the blacksmiths where they worked together.

‘Farrell, Arlen’ Carl said as he approached them. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some back news.’

‘This is all Tristan’s doing’ Arlen sneered as they all sat around a table a short while later.

‘Tristan?’ Carl spoke the name. ‘Who is Tristan?’

Farrell and Arlen glanced at each other.

Farrell heaved a heavy sigh, running a hand wearily down his face.

‘Arlen’ he grumbled. ‘Why don’t you explain?’

‘Well’ Arlen said turning to Carl. ’It’s a very long story. Where do I begin?’ he asked himself. Arlen scratched his chin as he thought; then opened his mouth to speak. ‘You know how Amaia is different from others?’ he said to Carl.

‘You mean her powers?’

‘Yes.’ Arlen lowered his eyes. ‘I think that is the best place to begin the story. It started a very long time ago, with her mother Ramana. It started before Amaia was even born.’

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