Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (31 page)

Furthermore, did Jashmarael’s plans really span a thousand summers? Would the steps he had carefully laid out all that time in the past still be edging forward even now? It seemed unlikely.

Carefully hiding the tome where he had found it, Michael left the library to walk through the Palace grounds. He hoped the fresh spring air and warm afternoon sun would give clarity to the questions that rolled around his head. Though the Guardian had showed him great kindness, he had also lied to him about many things, and he needed to consider whether those lies were for Michael’s benefit, or whether he was being used as a pawn in some greater game.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
 

Warning

Few walk knowingly on evil roads. For such paths are strewn with colour and laughter that call enticingly, deceiving even the cautious. It is only when despair’s pit has ultimately grasped a soul irreversibly within its hold that the man or woman finally understands that the allures that brought them there were mere illusions, carefully placed to hide the misery that awaited their journey’s end.

From the Wisdom of Ashael

***

Michael continued his pensive walk until the light had begun to fade from the sky and was about to return to his rooms when he heard Pava call him. Seeing her walk towards him lifted his mood, and he returned her smile. They walked together for a short while, before Michael decided to carefully sound out some of his thoughts with his friend.

“You remember we’ve talked about the Guardian and Jashmarael before,” he began.

Pava wrapped her arm through Michael’s as she nodded.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. And it seems really strange to me that someone could just turn up every fifty summers or so, and everyone would just accept him as their leader.” Michael looked at Pava to gauge her reaction, but she looked peaceful, gazing at the pink and white and green buds that were just showing on the branches of the trees and shrubs lining their walk.

“It is not strange to me,” she replied, almost absent-mindedly, “Perhaps they are sent by Jashmarael or his spirit. The Guardians of the city have always been kind.”

“Well, yes,” he replied. “
Maybe
they are sent by Jashmarael. But how would you know that? It just doesn’t make any sense that people would simply accept it without question.”

She glanced at him briefly. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well, what if the Guardian isn’t the Guardian at all? What if he is really Jashmarael and only the people closest to him know? They could make sure that order is kept when he leaves and comes back again, that the new ‘Guardian’ is quickly installed without fuss.”

Pava laughed now, “I love you, Rami, but sometimes you say things that are very strange.”

Michael was briefly caught by her words. She had occasionally started using the pet name his mother had for him, but it was the first time she had said she loved him, and he wasn’t sure how she had intended it. He quickly decided to pursue that after he had some time to think about it, continuing instead with his original line of thought.

“But there was a book, Pava,” he said. “In the library, I read about it.”

“Even people who write books sometimes are confused, or have lost their mind, or perhaps even are simply wrong. Why would Jashmarael hide his identity?” she replied. “And how could he have lived so long?

“Anyway,” she continued, not allowing him time for further discussion, “I have a request for you.”

Michael looked at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I know you do not enjoy the parties that Samo has invited you to, but there is one tomorrow night that I desire you to attend.” She stopped and turned to face him as she continued, “Will you come?”

“What’s so special about this one?” he asked.

A mischievous smile crept across her face as she replied, “You must come to find out.” Turning serious again she gently placed her hand on his cheek, investigating his eyes with her own, “Please, Rami. It is important to me. Will you be my guest?”

As the sun was setting behind the distant horizon in the west, Michael could see the purples, pinks and oranges that painted the sky. But the landscape with its heavenly accompaniment wasn’t as beautiful as the woman he was looking at. And she had said that she loved him. In this moment, even the image of Aneh only hinted at making an appearance in his mind. For perhaps the first time since he had met Pava, he felt able to be with her without any tinge of guilt.

Finally, he smiled as he replied, “Sure. I’d be delighted.”

They walked some more, talking until darkness had fallen. As they said goodnight, Pava leaned close to him, and after a pause, gently kissed him. It was short kiss, and she had quickly turned and left afterwards, but Michael stood watching her leave. Part of him was thrilled with the adrenaline that was racing through his veins and speeding his heart. He knew that the memory of the kiss would keep him awake for much of the night. But once she had disappeared from view, that tiniest glimpse of guilt again touched his chest. He couldn’t understand why some part of him would seek to rebuke him for having enjoyed the short caress of Pava’s lips, or why that guilt was accompanied by the image of another woman: one who would certainly by now be Entwined with the Elahish Sword Weaver. And thus as he returned to his quarters, he again had the faces of two women before his mind’s eyes, Pava and Aneh, and neither heart nor head could understand why.

***

The following dawn he spent largely with his mother. Michael insisted on helping her with her efforts to make her house ready for him. In truth, her dwelling was far superior to the flat he had rented in England, and he told her several times that he thought it was perfect. Eventually she relented, and they agreed he would move in after just another two dawns.

He returned to his quarters in the Palace to bathe and dress, ready for Pava’s party. He had decided to wear a dark blue silk shirt that was lined with gold. It didn’t match his colouring as well as the dark browns he usually chose for special occasions, but still thought he looked okay. Most people there would be in bright colours, he knew, and he was going as Pava’s guest so he decided to dress to blend in.

It was Samo who collected him. The bright green shirt his friend wore clashed with his red hair and goatee, and Michael couldn’t help but briefly smile as he thought it looked as though he was presenting himself in the garish colours of Christmas. Though it was now spring, Michael knew that by the time Pava’s party ended, the night would have chill, so he also grabbed his jacket as he followed his friend into the night.

It was a short walk to a large building in the upper city, converted from its original purpose as part of the city’s defences into a busy restaurant and social venue. A series of imposing statues lined the walkway to the front entrance, and Michael noticed the city’s emblem carved in the stonework over the lintel: the hawk holding a sword. Michael knew that such buildings were used for official gatherings, and he briefly wondered whether there was more to the evening than a simple party.

As Samo opened the door, the sound burst through like a wave, causing Michael to stop briefly. A part of him already wished he had stayed in his quarters tonight, but he had promised Pava, so continued into the venue. The entrance room was huge, and held a hundred people or more, most dancing to the music that played from the far wall. A small stage had been erected, upon which stood a woman in her mid-twenties. She had a deep, rich singing voice, though Michael knew that its primary purpose was to accompany the music rather than the other way around. The syncopation of the series of drum-like instruments gave a pace to the sound, and the heavy beat caused his heart to speed up. The combined melody of singer and instruments, both wind and string, were unusual to Michael, and gave an oriental feel to the sounds.

As much as the rhythmic music that seemed to compel adrenaline in his body, the woman herself made Michael feel uncomfortable. Her attire could only be described as revealing. Imagination was still required, but not much. It looked more like a negligee than a dress, and it floated as she danced, its wispy flight showing her bare skin underneath. Her routine was designed to excite the crowd as she would roll her body along that of one of the men who accompanied her, and Michael quickly pulled his eyes away.

Samo obviously felt differently, bearing a huge smile and now carrying a hunger in his eyes. But he was walking from the room, and Michael quickly followed. They passed rooms large and small: the larger rooms usually had more music, their performers also attempting to evoke feelings of carefree passion in the crowds. The smaller rooms held men and women who sought a more intimate environment for their entertainment, and Michael stopped gazing in them as he passed, feeling embarrassed on their behalf.

Michael was nearly about to turn and flee the building when Samo finally led him to a large room on the third floor where Pava was talking to some friends. As soon as she saw Samo and Michael, she smiled and walked over to them, and Michael briefly forgot how uncomfortable he had been. Her golden hair had been beautifully arranged: pulled into a swirl on the top of her head, with curling strands hanging down the sides of her face. Her makeup accentuated her pink cheeks, her lips were a deep red, and the shadow around her eyes made their dark colour even more alluring.

He even forgot his discomfort with the clothing worn by many here, as he saw the dress she was wearing: black lace that rose to her neck, but with a short slit at chest height just revealing enough to make the average man stare. The dress was tight fitting, and for the first time since they had met, Michael could see Pava’s perfect body shape, his heart responding to the sight.

Samo disappeared as soon as he had delivered his friend, and as Pava came to him she quickly leaned forward and gave Michael another kiss. Moving her head back, she smiled. Though Michael did his best to return the smile, the whole experience was now feeling overwhelming, his body beginning to break out in a sweat from anxiety rather than heat. The brief magic of Pava that had held him spellbound was breaking, and he was once again beginning to wish he wasn’t here.

Noticing his discomfort, Pava leaned forward to speak in his ear, the noise too loud for casual conversation. “I can see that you do not like this, Rami. Shall we go somewhere quieter?”

Michael quickly nodded, and she took him by the hand, leading him from the room. They rounded a couple of corridors, and Michael began to calm down as the sounds of music and hundreds of people laughing started to die away. They climbed another flight of stairs and eventually came to a small room, Pava leading him inside.

Michael had no sooner entered the room than he stopped, the visual display before his eyes stunning his feet into a pause. A fire blazed in the marble fireplace on the far side of the room. The walls were covered in wispy films of fabric stretching from ceiling to floor, in reds and oranges. Luxurious rugs were piled in the far corner. Dotted around the room, standing on beautifully designed pedestals were half a dozen lanterns. And in the centre of the room there was a table with two comfortable chairs facing each other. The table bore delicate silver candlesticks, topped with small flames, and was laden with a sumptuous looking meal.

At his questioning look, Pava spoke, “It is my nineteenth spring. My parents wished me to celebrate with my friends,” she indicated towards the door, beyond which the music and partying sounds continued, “but for myself I desire to share it with you, Rami.”

Again taking him by the hand, she led him to the table. As they walked, Michael could now smell the perfume she was wearing. Pava often wore a scent of one kind or another, but this was his favourite. It had a sweet spicy element that he found intoxicating, and something in him was pleased that she had chosen to wear it on a night that was special to her.

“I don’t know what to say,” Michael finally responded after they sat down. “This is amazing. Happy… spring,” he said, realising that it was the equivalent of her birthday.

Pava looked quizzically at him for the expression, but didn’t speak. She had grown accustomed to him occasionally using phrases that came from his former world, and usually now just let them pass without explanation.

They had spoken briefly about Pava’s family in the past, but not extensively, and Michael only now realised that they must be either very wealthy, or very powerful – or both. Still dazed, he allowed Pava to pour their drinks, and a new smile crossed his lips as he tasted it.

“Hettlesip,” he said. There was just a hint of it mixed in the liquid, but its flavour was unmistakeable.

“You have tasted it before?” she asked. “It is wonderful, is it not? But be careful,” she laughed as he downed his full cup. “This is strong, and if you take too much, you will be asleep before two marks have passed.”

They ate and drank, celebrating Pava’s birth season for two marks or more, and Michael thought that the moment was perfect. The fire to their left radiated its warmth, its flames flickering in the shining silver candlesticks. The gentle heat brought a thickness to the air that seemed to pleasantly close the distance between them. The beat of the drums in the room directly below them was enough just to make the floor pulse to its rhythm; just fast enough to keep in time with Michael’s racing heart. Pava’s scent still reached him from across the table, its essence continuing to weave its magic in his veins. The taste of the hettlesip in the wine sang to his heart, easing the questions that had worried him. And sitting directly opposite him was the most beautiful woman in the world.

As his body filled with the magic that surrounded him, Pava slowly rose to her feet. Carefully she leaned across the table, and Michael fought to keep his eyes on hers, to avoid staring at the slit in the front of her dress which would reveal even more of her beauty. As her face drew near, Michael too leaned forward and again they kissed, gently at first but then pressing more firmly, their passion for each other growing. They were both now breathing heavily, and Pava stood again, her back to the rugs in the far corner. Taking a step back from the table, she reached behind, undoing a button at the top of her dress and allowing her black adornment to fall around her. Her undergarments were not exactly transparent, but they were tight, and Michael’s blood now beat faster than he had ever remembered. Slowly, she extended her hand to him, inviting him to join her in the soft rugs.