The WeatherMaker - Prince of Light

Prologue

The four masked figures walked on through the woods until they reached a clearing. They stopped and placed the stretcher they carried between them carefully on the soft grassy earth in the centre.

The clearing around them was beautiful in the morning sunlight, bathed in a golden glow; all around leaves slowly fell from their trees, landing softly on the forest floor.

The four figures all wearing plague-masks waited, standing at four points around the body and looming silently over it.

They waited.

The body was still. Not breathing.

Then all of a sudden, his eyes opened, and he took his first steady breath.

He sat up, resting with an elbow upon a knee. He looked at his hands, grinning widely. He spoke.

'It worked? Are those my hands?'

He touched his face then, feeling only smooth skin, and no scarring.

'I can see clearly now' he said beginning to laugh. 'I can see. I can feel.'

'Did you ever doubt us for even a moment?' one of the masked figures asked him leaning forward.

The masked figure spoke the man's name.

The man glanced up at the figure, seeing the gloved hand of his offering him a mirror. He took it, staring back at his own reflection. He began to laugh out loud, touching his skin, his hair, his nose, his lips.

'Handsome' he beamed, showing himself perfect white teeth in his reflection. 'I'm perfect.'

He handed the mirror back to the figure, rising to his feet.

'I remember you' he told the figures as he looked around at the four of them. 'All of you' he said turning on the spot. 'But I don't know who each of you are behind your masks.'

'You don't need to know' another of the figures spoke, this voice was female.

'What happened to me?' the man furrowed his brow. 'I...I remember my own name, and I remember her...' he thought further. 'I remember my body was scarred, I remember pain, but not where it came from. I remember my legs were burned, but I don't remember why. I remember....I remember...'

'Only what's recent' one of the masked figures finished.

'I don't remember anything of my childhood' the man realised.

'You suffered' the masked figure said. 'Horribly. Both mental and physical pain and for very a long time, most of your life in fact. We gave you a new body. Your memory reaches only as far as a few days ago when you first saw your new body; and nothing after or before that. Except for your memories of Lucy. They stretch as far back to the time you first laid eyes on her. You chose to have everything else erased.'

The man listened to these words closely.

'I remember when I first saw her....from the tower' the man realised. 'Yes. I remember. But...' he lifted his head to the others, 'why would I choose to erase my own memory?'

'You made the choice yourself' another masked figure reminded. 'You want it to be this way. So it's best we don't tell you.'

'Lucy' the man said. 'All I can think of is Lucy.'

'The love you have for her still burns strong' the other said to him.

'Yes' the man nodded. 'Yes I know.' He drew a steady breath. 'I know where she lives. I know she is waiting for me.'

'Before you go' one of the figures spoke up, stopping him in his tracks, 'there is one last thing we want you to do. For your own benefit...well...for someone else's....it's just best that you do it.'

'What?' the man asked.

'Three days from now, at midday...' the masked figure said, 'I think it's a good idea if you stand by the clock tower in the town where she lives in. Bring her with you and wait. Wear that coat' the figure indicated, and the man glanced down at the long coat he wore, bright blue it was and beautifully decorated. He would surely stand out anywhere wearing this. 'A man will come to see you' the masked figure continued, 'but he won't speak to you.'

'Do I know him?' the man asked.

'He is someone from your past' the masked figure replied vaguely. 'You knew him before your memory was erased, and he still knows you. He just wants to see that you are well, then you will never see him again.'

'Who is he?'

'It's best you didn't know.'

'But...he knows my memory was erased?' the man asked.

The masked figure dipped her head slightly. 'Yes.'

'Then why can't I know him?' the man asked, feeling suddenly a bit sad. 'He must have been someone important to me.'

The masked figures glanced at each other, one of them sighed.

'We shouldn't tell you' this one said. 'But the reason he wants to keep a distance from you is because he wants you to live a normal life. You didn't have a normal life before. You lived happily with Lucy for a short time, until things changed.'

'All he wants' another figure spoke, 'is to see that you are alive and safe and happy. That is why he chose for things to be this way. For you.'

'So' said another masked figure. 'Can you do that? Can you wait by the clock tower three days from now, wearing that coat, with Lucy by your side?'

The man stared at the blank faces of the masked figures silently as they waited for his response.

'Yes' he said at last. 'I will do that.'

Chapter One

The queen leant forwards on steepled fingers, listening to the advisor ramble on. He had been going for quite some time, but she waited until his mouth stayed closed for more than five seconds, before drawing breath to speak herself.

'This is all terribly interesting' she said without sounding terribly interested, 'but why should we care about what the peasants do?'

'They may be on the very bottom of society' the lord reasoned, 'but they are the ones who grow our food.'

'They are at the very bottom for a reason' Miranda retorted. 'If they don't like the way things are then they shall just have to suffer in silence, and anyway' she spoke up quickly as the advisor opened his mouth to interrupt. 'I thought you brought us here so we can talk about something important. Like the war. Not filthy peasants.'

'Many people would find the way you talk about them disagreeable.' The second advisor beside the first said.

There were many here now, all watching the queen with scrutiny and distain. They hated her; she could see it in their faces, though she couldn't have cared less.

'Many people think many things' the queen spoke aloud. 'And I do not care for any of them. This war' she spoke suddenly louder, to emphasize the fact she was speaking and wished not to be interrupted, 'has been going on for nearly five hundred years. I wish to see it finally come to an end. In my lifetime.' She spoke quieter now. 'Slaughter should not be a way of life.'

'But my queen' another advisor spoke up, a small and dull man, just as dull as the one that sat beside him. 'Our soldiers are forced to invade other lands because of what the peasants have done in our own.'

The queen could not suppress a sigh now, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, wishing it would all just go away.

'The peasants' she began, 'protest high taxes to pay the war, by burning the food they grow to feed the soldiers, in doing so they cause more suffering than would otherwise be....starving themselves as well as the rest of the country...'

'They are aware of this' another advisor spoke out, leaning forwards on the marble table. 'But many believe that their suffering will shine a brighter road for their future.'

'They think we will give in' the queen put simply. 'They think we will reclaim our men, and bring them back home. In truth they are only giving more incentive for us to attack others for food.' Miranda sighed again, scratching her forehead briefly before looking up. 'If we cannot control even peasants...'

'We cannot punish them' one of them spoke up hastily. 'There are too few of them as it is, and many are already willing to die. So what can we do?'

'Maybe we should ask the king what he thinks' the one beside him spoke.

Miranda glanced sideways to her husband. The king was sitting with his head down and hands covering his face as he leant on his elbows. It was as if he were in deep thought. But Miranda knew otherwise.

'Carl' she spoke firmly. 'The council wish to hear your view.'

The king lifted his head reluctantly. 'Anything my wife says' he spoke in a mumble.

The council exchanged unsatisfied looks and began to murmur amongst themselves. Miranda leant forwards, speaking to the king in harsh whispered.

'Sit up straight and look livelier. You look on deaths door as it is.'

'I would like to express my concerns in...'

'Another time perhaps' Miranda spoke over the lord as she rose to her feet. 'I'm afraid I feel unwell and a bit light headed. Please will you come with me my dear husband' she said to him in a gentler tone. 'If I should faint, I want you to carry me.'

'When do we continue this meeting?' one of the many surrounding the circular grey table spoke up as they made to leave.

'The king will have something arranged in time' she told them, moving with her husband out of the room. 'You will be gathered again when that time comes.' She snapped the door shut behind them before she could be interrogated further, sighing heavily and leaning against the door.

She straightened and to face her husband the king.

'How do you feel?' she asked him.

The king drew a deep and steady breath before answering.

'Ghastly' came his answer at last.

'Well you look terrible' she said walking past him, and then she paused. 'Are you coming?'

The king moved towards her, walking slowly with his body hunched over and head hung. The queen held him by the arm as they walked, trying her best to support him, but he was larger than she was, and heavier, and she struggled as they went.

They managed to leave the building that was the council's office without being bothered, or even seen by anyone, for which the queen was extremely grateful. They left the empty halls with their grey and black marble floors behind them, stepping through the ornate glass doors and descending the high steps which led to the courtyard below. Here waited a carriage to take them back to the palace.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and ambled towards the carriage. Miranda stumbled under the weight of her husband as she carried him. He was not a heavy man by any means, in fact he had lost weight, but Miranda was delicate of frame, and she struggled as they moved closer towards the carriage.

'Leonardo!' Miranda called to the driver. 'Can't you park this thing closer next time?'

'I'm sorry your majesty' the coachman bowed.

'Don't sorry' Miranda snapped back, gesturing for him to stay in his seat as she opened the door herself, allowing the king to crawl in before her. 'Just do it next time.'

She climbed into the carriage after her husband, slamming the door after her and sitting opposite him as the diver snapped the reigns. The carriage jolted into motion as the horse began to trot, heading at a gentle pace back to the palace.

'The council are beginning to notice' Miranda said to him with folded arms. 'If this carries on, it won't be long before they start ripping at each other's throats. If you don't get better soon....'

'I can't make myself better' the king gasped back.

Miranda fell into silence, watching him with a bored expression. She turned away, gazing out of the window, and watching the city pass them by.

'We'll be at the palace soon' she said after a time. 'Do you need to be carried?'

'No' the king whispered. 'I think I can make it.'

They trundled onwards. Miranda saw the city around her as they went, with the cold grey stone that made up the buildings that looming over them, built tall and close together. It was suffocating. She felt eyes in every window, on every street corner.

She hated this city, hated everything about it; hated the common folk, but not as much as she hated her own home.

They stopped before the palace, the driver parking right outside the doors. The queen rose first, opening the door and holding it open for the king as he followed gingerly after her.

She closed the carriage door behind him with a snap, glancing about the palace at the faces that watched them. Above them a few faces of the soldiers that guarded the palace looked down upon her through the windows and balconies. Miranda looked up at them, as her husband entered the palace before her.

'Take the carriage back to the stables' she told the coachman shortly.

'Yes your majesty' Leonardo bowed.

She nodded to him, turning on her heel and striding towards the palace after her husband, slamming the large doors behind her. Across the hall she saw the king slouching away and through an archway, heading to his bedroom that had been moved downstairs some weeks ago, to save him the trouble of climbing the stairs. And in this palace there were many.

Miranda huffed deeply, making her way towards the nearest stairs and lifting the skirt of her dress as she began to stomp her way up.

The palace was a tall building, and if one wanted to get anywhere in it, most likely they would have to climb either up or down a set of stairs. From a distance, the palace looked as if it were made of glass, built with many towers, topped with sharp steeples that grew high into the sky like spears. A pale and in some places transparent building, that almost looked as if it had been built on the clouds, alongside the angels that sang there, a place where the seven gods themselves might live.

Many people would call this palace striking, ornate, eloquent and breathtaking.

Miranda would call it boring.

She thought to herself as she climbed in circles higher and higher up the palace stairs, how many levels the palace might have. She wondered to herself, and came to one clear conclusion.

Too many.

At long last and after becoming a little breathless, Miranda reached the correct floor.

Letting her gloved hand slip off the glass balustrade, she let her skirt go, stepping down the corridor and heading towards one of the closed doors in sight. A large door painted white with a grey spider pattern engraved upon it.

She reached the door and opened it without pause, standing in the doorway with her hand still on the handle.

Inside were two boys, twins, seven years in age. They both glanced up at her as the door to their bedroom opened.

'Are you boys alright?' she asked

'Yes mother' Cam looked up smiling, holding a large brightly coloured ball in his hands.

'We're soldiers!' the other twin Luke called out happily, marching on the spot with a real soldier's helmet that was far too big for him upon his head, and a wooden sword resting against his shoulder.

'Is father back?' Cam asked her, dropping the ball which rolled away and moving closer to her.

'Yes. But I don't want you seeing him. He needs his rest. Just stay here and...play or something...' she closed the door after her, leaving swiftly without another word.

Miranda stepped lightly down the corridor, heading to her own room where her handmaiden was waiting for her.

She strode through the door briskly, marching up to her dresser and sitting in the seat heavily before it. Behind her, her handmaiden closed her bedroom door swiftly, before returning to her side in silence. Miranda's stared at herself in the mirror, her long blonde hair was glossy and bright, wavy and beautiful. Looking this way made herself in general prettier.

She hated it.

Miranda lifted her hand to her wig, pulling it off. She always wore her wig in public. Her natural hair beneath was jet black like both her sons, and short. She had hacked it off herself, it was cut uneven lengths and looked scruffy.

Her handmaiden took the wig that was offered to her, returning it to its place on the mannequin which sat upon the dresses. As she did so, Miranda rose from her seat to stand, pushing her chair back. She removed her gloves slowly, one after the other, revealing lines of scars that ran up both her arms. Always when she was in public, like her natural hair, she would hide these too.

Miranda waited as her handmaiden pulled her dress down, and quickly and silently untied the corset she wore beneath. When it was off, Miranda was able to breathe freely. She waved the handmaiden away who scurried out of the room silently, returning to her own sleeping quarters that were just next door.

Miranda sat down again, and leant forward with her elbows on the dresser, sobbing into her hands.

Cam and Luke stared at the door their mother had just closed. The second the door had shut, Luke turned to Cam.

'Let's go see father.'

'Yeah!' Cam cried joyfully, dancing towards the door as his brother dropped his sword and threw down his helmet, skipping after him.

The young princes opened the door slowly, peering around to see if their mother was still in sight. But she was gone.

'Come on' Luke whispered.

They slipped through the door, running down the corridor and towards the stairs. Cam leapt up onto the balustrade, laughing as he slid down to the next level. The brothers ran and laughed as they chased each other, sliding down most of the stairs and bolting down the corridors.

Luke slipped off the balustrade on the lowest level, Cam bent down to help him up, taking his hand and running with him as they headed to their fathers room. They slowed as they reached the door, letting go of each other, each gasping deeply. They waited for a minute or so to catch their breath again before Luke reached forward, struggling to open the round door knob. He pushed the door open.

Inside the room was dark, all the windows had been covered by thick sheets.

Luke and Cam slipped quietly into the room, closing the door gently behind them. The two boys padded across the room and towards the bed in the centre. Luke crawled on top of the bed, while Cam stood beside it, leaning forwards.

'Father' Cam whispered. 'Father?'

The king shifted in his sleep, waking slowly and smiling when he saw both his sons around him.

'Boys' he sighed. 'What are you doing here?'

'Mother told us not to visit' Luke told him as he sat behind him. 'But we didn't listen.'

'We're worried about you' Cam added. 'We had to come and see you.'

The king heaved himself up, propping himself back against the headboard.

'We wanted to see if you're alright' Luke said, shuffling up beside him and leaning into him. 'We missed you.'

'My sons' the king sighed happily.

'We're worried about you' Cam repeated. 'We wanted to see if you're ok.'

'Don't worry boys' their father smiled weakly at them, resting a hand on each of their heads. 'Everything will be alright in the end. I'll be fine. I promise.'

The funeral was the very next week. Cam stood beside his mother in the pouring rain, his brother standing on her other side. All three of them were dressed all in black, like the rest of the crowd that surrounded the procession.

As the coffin was taken away, Cam and Luke walked behind their mother, stepping carefully so as not to stand on the trail of her long black dress that dragged on the ground behind her.

Cam slowed to allow her mother to walk ahead, moving to her other side around the trail so he could get close to his brother. He walked beside Luke, hugging his arm as they went. The rain soaked through their clothes right to their skin, chilling their very bones. The boys shivered in the cold, clinging to each other for warmth.

When they had reached the garden the procession slowed to a stop. The boys watched with the rest of the crowd as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Cam fought back the tears, still holding his brother close, as Luke tugged on their mother's sleeve.

'Mother' Luke said. 'Why are they putting him in the ground? He said he would get better. He said he would be fine.'

'Be quiet' Miranda hissed down to him, shrugging him off her and tutting in annoyance.

'He said he would be fine' Luke repeated, beginning to cry now, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as tears spilled down his cheeks. 'He said he would be fine...'

Miranda watched her son closely, feeling a knot in her heart. She let out a sigh, kneeling beside him and holding him to her in silent comfort.

She raised her head to the heavy sky above them. The rolling black clouds rumbled, lightning flashing in the distance.

A storm was coming.

Chapter Two

It took hours for the hundreds of people to leave the palace garden, but Miranda had left at the earliest possible opportunity, taking her boys with her.

Some of the people who knew her tutted, the lords and advisers, and those who did not know her would say that she grieved, and could not stand the sight of her beloved husband being returned to the earth from whence he came.

But the truth was, she was cold, and fed up, and hungry.

And so she took her boys with her, back to their palace home with its many stairs and to one of the dining halls where food was being laid out for them.

Feeling ravenous Miranda tucked in, eating greedily whatever she fancied and drinking heavily the wine straight from the bottles.