Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (43 page)

But despite it all, the white air around him still provided comfort, and it was only now that he comprehended the ache that had filled his chest and the wrenching of his stomach had been with him throughout his life. He hadn’t realised, of course. He had only been consciously aware of the emotional agony that coursed through his body when something traumatic happened, when the failures of his life became apparent to him. Then, the ever-present poisons had grown in strength, as if emboldened by the new horrors.

But now his veins were free of those toxins, and it was only with their absence that he understood they had always been his menacing companions. And with their departure came a freedom he never knew he missed. The pains in his body remained, but there were no more than that: pains of his body. They would heal eventually. The feelings of his spirit in this place were independent of such hurts, and he felt a peace that he never knew was possible.

The sudden feeling of liberation from his emotional chains was overwhelming and Michael felt none of his usual compulsion to explore his surroundings, to learn what beings or things were hidden in the mist.
 
Instead, he preferred to just sit where he was, exulting in his newfound freedom; praying to the god of fog that his feelings would last.

He laughed to himself at that thought:
the god of fog
, trying to search his memories for any mythologies that would contain such a being. He could think of gods of weather; gods of wind; gods of cold. But no god of fog came to his mind and again he smiled to himself, humoured by his petition to the unknown deity.

As the giggle echoed through his mind, he realised that this was something he hadn’t done in his life: laugh to himself at his own humorous thoughts. He had laughed, of course: he wasn’t always serious. But there had always been an undercurrent of despair; the knowledge of his childhood abandonment always watching over him like a malevolent guardian. And so his laughter had been sparing, and only ever with others. When alone, his thoughts had only ever been solemn… until now.

With that realisation came a new gratitude for the release that the still mists gave him, and he breathed a deep sigh, closing his eyes to repeat his prayer of thanks.

And to his surprise, he received a reply.

It is my pleasure
, said the voice.

Oddly, he couldn’t tell whether the words had directly entered his head, or whether they had been audible, but though they were unexpected they didn’t diminish the feelings of comfort he was enjoying: a smile now crossing his face.

That is a sight to warm my heart
, said the voice.

“What is?” Michael replied.

Your smile. It has been too far from your face through all these winters.

He could tell now that a woman owned the voice. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that it was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“I guess before I never thought I’d had a lot to smile about,” he said.

Before?
queried the voice.
In this place do you look upon your life and see otherwise?

He hadn’t considered the words he had used, but as he pondered on the woman’s question he realised that he could now see beauty woven through his life. Rob may not have given him the love that he sought, but he had tended diligently to his physical needs, despite the emptiness he had felt in his own soul after his wife’s death. He now realised how great a sacrifice that had been for the reluctant adoptive father. And, for his emotional needs there had been the old homeless man always present; then when he had left Rob’s home for his own flat, Col had more than filled the void. From his time here in Aylosia, the time he spent with Aneh now felt precious to him; the thought of Peran, his Shosa still brought him joy; and his short time knowing his mother was a gift greater than he had ever imagined.
 

The image of her lifeless face came to his mind, lying on the floor of Joh’s small house. Tears came easily as he remembered that he would see neither his mother nor Aneh again. But his sorrow was… different, and it took him a moment to realise that his feelings of guilt were almost gone.
How?

Remembering the part he played in their deaths was no longer the agony it had been. He still felt regret for his actions; pain at their loss. He still felt he bore responsibility for their deaths. But such pains were not all consuming here. Somehow, they weren’t able to eat away at his soul, devouring the hints of joy that had been given to him through the winters of his life.

He now realised that those hints had done more than tease him about what might have been. Rather, they were themselves precious gifts from a merciful universe. The moment from the concrete-lined stream came to his memory: time frozen as he had felt an overwhelming sense of love from his lost mother. He had always considered that moment precious, but he suddenly understood its full importance; how it alone had given him strength at times in his life when it otherwise would have failed.

Even the realisation that he hadn’t noticed the beauty that had dotted his life didn’t give rise to any self-recrimination. The regrets and sorrows that he felt didn’t vanish; they were still present. But in this place they could somehow sit alongside the peace he felt, rather than compete with it.

It was with these thoughts, that he finally responded, his smile again appearing, “Yes. I can see my life a little differently here.

“Am I dead?” he asked. It wasn’t like any near-death experiences he had heard about. There was no tunnel or bright lights. But the peace was so totally overwhelming that he couldn’t think of any other explanation.

Do you wish your life to be ended?
came the reply. There was definitely something about the voice.
 
Why could he not remember?

“No,” he said. He had said it without thinking. It had only been marks, or maybe even minutes, before that he had lain under the bush wishing for death to overtake him. But now, the desire to live was strong within him.

Why?

“I…” he began, then paused to consider the question, “I promised my mum that I would live.”

Is that the sole reason?

“Do you only ever ask questions?” Such a comment would usually have been a sign of irritation from Michael, but not here. In this place, it came out as a playful response, and he heard the small laugh acknowledging it.

How do we learn if not through questions?
she asked.

“Are you teaching me something then? Is that why I’m here? You could just tell me what I need to know,” he suggested.

There are things that must be learned, but which cannot be taught.

He laughed at her reply. She had responded to the only thing he had said that wasn’t in the form of a question. But the additional words she had spoken were finally enough to trigger the memory of her voice.

“You were in my dream,” he said. “You warned me about Pava.”

You heeded the warning.

“I thought you were my mother.” He still remembered the powerful emotions he had felt, and the pain that had again overcome him when her voice had disappeared. But those feelings were replaced by curiosity now.
 

But she didn’t reply to his implied question, so he continued. “Why?” he asked. “Why did you warn me?”

Because I knew you would need it.

“Well, yes,” he replied. “I needed it, and don’t get me wrong I’m grateful. But plenty of others haven’t had those warnings against Ravagers. Why me?”

The question embodied many more: Why had he been sent away from Aylosia? Why had he been returned here? Why Was Jashmarael so interested in him? Why was he now in this place, apparently
 
neither dead nor alive, learning something important?

But again, the woman didn’t answer his question, asking instead another of her own,
What will you do if you live?
 

The response gave him a hint of frustration, but he decided that following her lead might eventually get him the answers he sought, so he countered, “Do I have a choice then?”
 

There is always a choice.

He pondered her words. What would he do if he lived? In truth, he had no idea. He knew he wanted to live, and the only reason he could articulate was that he had promised his mother he would do so. But there was something more than that, some reason he couldn’t name. Was that unknown reason the purpose of his being in Aylosia? Would answering that question answer all of the others? But despite desperately searching his soul, he could think of nothing. Eventually he just shook his head, hoping that the hidden woman would see his response.

Look
, she commanded.

He turned his head and saw an image form in the mist, swirling at first but then becoming clearer. He saw Jashmarael. He was in the Palace and was speaking to a number of soldiers, all apparently of rank.
 
There were nearly a hundred men with the three stripes of gold trailing down their sleeves and trousers – the sign of a Warmaster – plus a handful with four stripes and one with five. The latter was apparently the overall commander of the army as he was standing in front of them, bellowing orders.

Michael understood little of what was being said, but there was enough he grasped to know that they were tactical commands: the army was preparing for battle.

“Who’s attacking them?” he asked.

None attacks the city.

If no-one was attacking them, then they must be going on the offensive. His heart suddenly sank at the thought of them all descending into the tunnels. Even if Baro had survived, he along with fewer than ten Sword and Bow Weavers would stand no chance against an army this size.

But maybe it wasn’t them, he hoped. Perhaps there was another explanation. “Where are they going?”

Look
, she repeated.

To his right he saw another image forming, and turned his head to face it. As the swirling mists again cleared this time, he saw tents: scores of them, round and coloured in blues and greens and soft shades of autumn. They had coloured windows in the shapes of animals, and beautiful designs woven into them. He recognised them instantly as those of the Elahish.

He saw Kasha, and he smiled as he heard her talking to her father, barely taking a breath between sentences. There were children running and playing, and one he saw showing his parents a leaf he had found. No, that wasn’t right. The leaf was in the shape of a small animal. The boy had Woven it, and was proudly showing his parents of his newly discovered gifts. And they were responding as proud parents would; smiling; his mother giving him a large hug.

He didn’t see Aneh. Or Lohka. Or any of those who had accompanied him on his ill-fated journey, but otherwise it was a scene filled with the peace and happiness that comes from living a life full of those things that are most important.

And then the scene faded again, the image of Jashmarael now standing in front of his army’s leaders.
 
His face was red with rage; his fists clenched; as he shouted, “Kill them all! Any man who keeps woman or babe alive will have his own destroyed in ways that will torture their memories to their grave and beyond. These
Wanderers
have plagued our lands for too long, and I will finally be rid of them.

“You have heard your orders,” he continued. “We leave in five dawns.”

“Guardian,” the commander was now speaking, “the distance to theses camps is long. The logistics to ensure we are able to make haste; to be properly equipped…” He was trying to hide his apprehension, but continued regardless, “Five dawns may be… difficult.”

Jashmarael had composed himself, and spoke just loud enough so that all the Warmasters would hear, the image and his words now in such contrast as to chill the spine, “For each dawn beyond five, I will have one head placed upon a spike at the city gates. And yours, Warlord, will be the first.” After a short pause, he repeated, “Five dawns.”

As the vision closed, Michael found his breathing had accelerated. He didn’t know exactly how long it had been since he had escaped the city, but it couldn’t have been more than a few dawns. There had been no sign of preparations for war before he had left. Jashmarael had seemed more intent on capturing Michael than marching against the Elahish.

Finally he spoke, his whispered voice only audible due to the stillness of the air around him, “When does this happen? When will they leave?”

Their preparations begin as we speak,
came the reply he feared.

He had no words to say to what had been revealed. Though Aneh was gone, her father and sister remained; the happy children and their parents oblivious to what was now coming towards them.

The voice again filtered through the mist,
What will you do if you choose to live?

He knew now what he needed to do. He didn’t know whether they would believe him. Perhaps they would think that he had led the army to them. But it didn’t matter. He felt no pain at the prospect of again being misunderstood. If they decided he was a risk to them and imprisoned him or worse, then so be it. They were innocent of the fate that awaited them.

This, he instinctively knew, was the answer to his many questions: of why he had been brought to Aylosia. Perhaps it was also the reason Jashmarael had sought him. Maybe this was one of those ironic stories where the villain’s very efforts to prevent a prophecy from being realised created the conditions for it to be fulfilled. Thus the Guardian somehow knew that Michael would be the one to prevent his destructive force, and captured him, bringing him to the city in the hopes of preventing it. But in true storybook fashion, it was only from the events that followed that Michael now knew enough to be able to do what needed to be done. He only hoped that this was such a typical story, and that he would succeed in thwarting the evil plan.

“I’ll warn them,” he finally said. If Jashmarael’s army wasn’t leaving for five dawns, then Michael had a head start, and an army of five thousand men wouldn’t move quickly, he knew. He could get there with time to spare so that they could leave before the force came near.