Tornado of Nightmares (Book 2)

prologue

♤ Honour ♤

I HATE MORNINGS. Absolutely hate them, if I could I'd eliminate the morning sun, along with the morning birds who chirp and sing to wake everyone up. I can hear Alastair down the hall, humming something. He loves mornings for some odd reason, I'm not quite sure if he's my true brother. Perhaps they were swapped at birth and a troll took his place. That would certainly make life much more interesting if he were a troll. Unfortunately, I doubt he is. He's just like our mother. Very bright and cheerful, singing happy tunes, and smiling. Always smiling. After all these years, it still amazes me that he smiles, still enjoys himself. He never lost his spirit, never lost the one thing that makes him Alastair. I'm glad my lifestyle hasn't dimmed the star burning bright throughout his body. The star that shines the minute he enters a room. For someone who loves the morning's he seems more well fit at night. But maybe that's why he is a star in human form, he shines through the day and night. He shines for those who can't shine for themselves. I hope he never loses it. I hope the world does not take that light from him, and if they did, I would rip apart the world and restore it to him. I'd do it every single time if it meant seeing the smile on his face. The smile that reminds me so much of my mother's. Although she is gone, it feels that she is still with us. With us through smiles. Through Alastair's smiles—of course, I don't do much of that anymore. My soul was the one that had dimmed. Dimmed so thoroughly it's hard to drag myself out of bed most days. It's easier to stay here—here in the comfort of my own home.

Comfort is not a word fit for this house. It's more of a shell, the memories suffocate me on rough days. Memories of my mother bent over the kitchen sink, singing songs of rivers and mountains so great and vast that it took her breath away. Mountains with rolling hills filled with flowers of every colour. She'd sing about laying down in the green grass, her toes curled into the dirt, and singing to the clouds. Asking them how they learn to move and change shapes. My mother loved to sing, more than anything. Alastair and I used to sing with her before she died. She'd bring us to temple to learn the music. Sing with our people. I didn't rather enjoy temple, but I loved my mother and her voice, I went for her and Alastair. I still go because of them. My brother likes to feel close to her, and that's as close as we can come to her. That's all we have.

Alastair bangs on my door. I groan and bury my face into my pillow.

"Honour come on," he calls from outside my room, "we need to get going!" Alastair exclaims. I grumble into my pillow and wiggle out of bed. I stomp up to my door and throw it open, my little brother smiles up at me. Light grey eyes swirling with excitement. The light from my room accentuates his features. His normally tan skin looks browner. His short light chestnut hair seems lighter. I squint at him. "Why are you so excited?" I yawn, covering my mouth with the back of my hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest but continues to smile. "Because you're taking me to Lodashine! You've never brought me before. Am I not allowed to be excited?" says Alastair with a raise of a brow. If his hands were on his hips, he'd be the spitting image of a brat. But since they are not, I can't pinch him. Instead, I mess up his hair and stride past him, making my way into the kitchen. My bare feet pad against the carpeted halls before breaking out onto the tiled floor.

I nearly shriek at how cold they are on my toes.

The stove is turned on and Alastair has four pieces of bacon cooking on a frying pan. My stomach growls in response to the amazing smells.

I walk over to the stove, pulling out a fork from the by the sink and scooping the turkey bacon out onto a towel. I open up our fridge and wrinkle my nose, I was supposed to go shopping last night, but because we are going to be gone for a while it wouldn't be smart buying a crap ton of food just for it to spoil. We have got about three eggs left and half a carton of juice. It'll have to do. Alastair is already grabbing two cups out from the cupboard in the corner, as well as two plates for the both of us. I pull out the eggs and the left-over juice. Alastair pours the juice and sits down at the table in the middle of our small kitchen.