Windmaster - Prologue

Before you begin, a few words, this is my first ever novel, five years have since passed, I learnt a lot and wrote a few more books, then I decided to re-read my first and see if it was a hunk of junk. This prologue is very clunky, one day I shall re-write it, but today is not that day, get past it and on to the real story, which needs much edititng but is actually quite a good tale! Enjoy!

Prologue

The boy followed the old man into the east. Crossing the jagged spine of the Silent Mountains that cut the land of Hakaze in two they stepped into the Hidden Vale. An ordinary boy would have been turned back by the powers that dwelled there, but he was not an ordinary boy.

The wind blew strong and relentless as it did throughout Hakaze, driving them on across the grassy slopes to their destination. The boy had heard much about the Wind Gate, he had heard all the legends, poured over the story scrolls and listened attentively when the man he followed had spoken of it. But still he was not prepared for the sense of sheer awe he felt when he finally set eyes on the massive floating spire of rock. He wanted to ask his new Master how rock could fly, but found the spectacle had robbed him of his voice. The rock pinnacle turned slowly in the wind as it hovered above the bedrock. Beyond it, hidden in swirling cloud and vapour lay the abyss. He had heard tales of that too, he wished to look upon it, but knew that the strength of the winds would not let him approach. He had heard in legends that if you cast yourself into the abyss the tumbling, turning air currents would deposit you right back into the Land of the Winds. He wondered if it were true.

The old man cleared his throat to get the boy’s attention. A smile graced his kindly weather worn face he watched with pleasure at the boy’s wonderment, remembering it as his own.

They were close to the spire now, cloud swirled around it obscuring parts, revealing others. In the space of a single breath they ascended to the Wind Gate then climbed to a cavernous opening in the rock needle.

 The boy’s astonishment only increased. Here was the Wind Willow, ancient and gnarled beyond reckoning. Its long branches bent over caressing the waters of the Mirror Lake which surrounded it. The scene reflected with perfect clarity, tiny silver fish darted like birds among the image of the Willows leaves. It was all as the tale tellers had described it and even more wonderful. They skirted the lake’s shallow shore, out of the shadows the boy now saw the tiny house nestled among the Wind Willow’s writhing roots. Its wooden walls smoothed by wind and water and bleached by sun. The gracefully curving tile roof merging with the Willow’s trunk, covered with lush mosses. It seemed as if it had grown there, as part of the tree itself. He longed to enter that fantastical house, the house of the Windmaster and his apprentice, his house now, his new home, but the Master continued on along the lake shore.

From that sheltered haven the old man led the boy up twisting rock stair worn smooth by the tread of a thousand feet. The boy kept close now to his Master, afraid of the perilous drop below and of the magical and mysterious place that lay at the pinnacle’s summit above. He had heard little of their destination, few had ever seen it and it was beyond even the imagination of the tale tellers. The climb was hard but his aged Master stepped lightly ahead of him. They reached the peak, the boy stood breathless in awe as the cloud and mist swirled apart revealing the crown of jagged rocks thrusting from the summit. The air was cold and fresh against his hot face, purer and sweeter than any breeze he had ever tasted. He felt fear and joy and a thousand voices filled his mind making him giddy. He was here, at the place were the worlds merged, where the winds are born and to where they return, at the Castle of the Winds.

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