by Drew Bell
Chapter 28
Miles was in an enormous dark space; as far as he could tell everything was black. He resisted his impulse to run and test the boundaries of this landscape; by this point he had figured it did no good to run around dream worlds. It felt as though the floor began to slip beneath him, the blackness gave way to a stone chamber decorated with ornate tapestries. The tiles were alternating emerald green and gold, before him was an altar.
“You are in my memories.” A voice whispered.
“Braes?” Miles called out.
“Yes. The room represents the totality of my knowledge, face the walls.” She directed.
Miles turned to face the walls; the walls were covered in dozens of tapestries, each one showing a spectacular scene.
“These are scenes you have seen.” He said.
“Yes. Each one has made an impression on who I am today.” Braes responded.
One tapestry showed a sunset over Ailios, hundreds of Aurrus and Callos were dancing in the streets, another showed a muscular Aurrus reaching and hand down to help Braes up a ledge.
“This must be your first Convoy visit, and this must be one of your friends.” Miles chuckled.
“Don’t laugh. I am over three-hundred-years-old, and I have remained in celibacy.” She chided.
“Oh, sorry.” Miles apologized quickly, he bit his lip.
Mile approached the tapestry picturing the party in Ailios; it looked like the individual stitches were moving almost. The tapestry appeared to moved and flow slightly, as though it were liquid. He reached out to touch it, expecting it to be wet.
When his fingers touched the tapestry the room he was in transformed to the scene; he was on a rooftop watching over Ailios as Callos and Aurrus danced. Fireworks screamed in the distance, their explosions crackled in the dark night’s sky. An Aurrus called to him:
“Braes, come down from there. You will miss Ralto’s dance!” He called to Miles.
Miles reacted, waving his arms:
“Who me?” He asked,
But the Aurrus didn’t respond, instead, Mile’s world moved around him, bobbing up and down slightly as he moved closer to the source of the joyous noise. There was a bonfire with several young Aurrus dancing around it, the bright light glared in Miles’ eyes. Miles felt elated himself, the festival was exciting and everyone was enjoying themselves, Miles felt as though he belonged. But then a figure moved across the scene, phasing through the other figures. Miles recognized her; it was his mother.
“Mom!” Miles screamed for her.
A short brown-haired woman in a yellow summer dress continued to walk through the Aurrus festival, oblivious to anything around her; including her son.
“Mom! It’s me, Miles!” Miles screamed for her.
“It is no use.” Braes explained, “She is from your memories, you cannot interact with her either.”
Several more human figures began to enter the scene; Mile’s friend Seymour entered the scene, picking at his shoulder.
Miles began to sob as he recognized the dozen figures walk past him oblivious that they are apart of his memory.
“I’m done.” Miles sobbed.
The scene ended.
Miles was back in the room with the alternating tiles, he released his grip on the tapestry. Braes called out to him:
“That night was one of the most fun I had ever spent.” She said sadly, and fondly.
“He meant a lot to you. Didn’t he?” Miles began to cry...
“Yes. Bralvo loved me, and I never retuned the favor. At least, I never showed how I felt.” Braes’ voice admitted.
“Will your other memories show people from mine?” Miles asked, sniffling.
“Yes. Most likely.” Braes admitted sadly.
“I don’t know if I can do this then.” Miles began to doubt.
“Please Miles, you must continue. I am certain something I have to offer you will make all of the difference.” Braes pleaded.
“Difference how?” Miles asked.
“I believe it is possible for you to save your loved ones.” Braes explained.
“Really?” Miles stopped his sniffling; his voice was hopeful and determined.
“The memories will be challenging.” Braes warned.
“We need to continue.” Miles stepped towards the next tapestry.
Miles looked around the room, searching for a tapestry which looked like it would hold more relevant information. Though none of them had Callos or the Convoy pictured.
“Do you have any memories pertaining to me? Or the Convoy? Something that could help me?” Miles asked the ceiling, hoping Braes could answer.
“I cannot say. I do not know how my memories are organized, there should be something.” Braes responded honestly.
“No organization though?” Miles asked disappointedly.
“Obviously I am doing my best to help you. Look for something that stands out.” Miles took a step back and guided his eyes along each of the tapestries; one showed a half-moon, another showed an Aurrus grave, one showed a toy vendor in the street, another showed a filled temple.
“Which do you suggest?” Miles shouted, he closed his eyes and waved his finger across each one, and back again. Where his finger settled, he opened his eyes. He was pointing towards a tapestry with a silhouette standing in a door way.
“I guess fate has chosen ‘tapestry number six’!” Miles announced as he stepped towards it and reached out.
Again he was shifted into the scene, the room was dark and he was facing a wall. Actually, it was the ceiling, he learned as his perspective shifted forward. Braes’ view adjusted towards a doorway where a figure stood.
“Braes, dear. You have been chosen. Come now, get dressed and ready to go. Your mother is ready, it is cold out tonight.” Her father’s voice calmly said.
Her father’s face alternated with the mustachioed face of his own father. Miles wanted deeply to cling to his face, but for the sake of perseverance closed his eyes and tried to physically shake off the image.
The view adjusted and Brae’s got out of bed, she approached a dresser and slipped on some shoes and a fur coat. Miles noted that Braes’ small chubby arms did not yet have tattoos on them. Braes’ parents quietly led her from her house across the nearby Ailios Plaza towards the temple. The sun was close to rising, Miles could see, red was breaking through the night. In front of the large wooden doors stood several robed figures, by lamplight Miles could make out some gold paint on one of the figure’s faces. Miles ignored the blonde Austrian girl from his Spanish class, as well as his old cat as they walked along the street next to him.
“This is the child?” A tall female Aurrus asked.
“Yes. This is our daughter, Braes.” Her father answered.
“Come in, it is cold outside.” Another robed female ushered them in.
The doors sealed behind them. Each of the robed figures removed their hoods, they varied in age, but were each adorned with tattoos. The eldest of the group approached Braes and got on her knees, now level and close to Mile’s face she comforted Braes:
“You are fortunate to be chosen, you…” She was interrupted.
A faint child’s voice whispered with fear: “Can I go home?”
The priestess answered slowly:
“You were be anointed a priestess for the goddesses this sunrise, your duty will end at sunset. Then you may go home.”
The priestess then pulled a paintbrush with gold paint on its tip and dabbed Mile’s forehead. Miles reached to wipe off the paint, but then remembered he is experiencing Braes’ memory.
“Good morning Braes.” The priestess whispered.
Miles was transported back to the room.
Miles sat back on the tile and ran his fingers through his hair; going through each of Braes’ memories was tedious and emotionally exhausting. He could feel the depths of sadness in each scene.
“Have you found it yet?” Braes’ voice asked.
“No, not yet.” Miles an
swered. He got back on his feet and faced the wall of tapestries; he didn’t look forward to it. But he needed to try it; he reached out for the tapestry with a grave marker, he squeezed hard on the cool fabric.