Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1)

by Jeffrey Collyer

  And Michael also smiled, closing his eyes as he whistled through the air, and as the words thundered in joyous exultation in his mind, I’m coming home.

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  New Beginnings

  As a man takes his first steps on a path never before walked he may be filled with excitement to learn of the trail’s destination, or with fear of what lies hidden along his journey’s route. These feelings may dictate whether he runs or crawls on his way, fear or excitement bidding his pace. Either choice, however, will leave the man missing the most valuable lesson his travels have to offer – that of the wonder of new understanding; for each new journey will offer such in abundance if only the time is taken to contemplate the path’s experience.

  In truth, all new trails will be strewn with both horrors and joys in different degrees. The content of each journey is less important than the manner in which we make our way. For paths newly travelled, when sufficiently pondered, will lead ultimately to a greater peace, as the heightened understanding of our place in the universe gives anchor to the soul.

  From the Wisdom of Ashael

  ***

  He awoke slowly, his surroundings gradually making themselves aware to his senses. The memory of when or how he had arrived in this place was absent from his mind. He remembered only falling through the air towards the new earth lying hundreds or thousands of feet below him and the joyous feeling that accompanied it.

  Even before his eyes parted, he could feel the long blades of grass along his left cheek and surrounding his arms and legs. The sun’s rays were caressing his back with a benign warmth that maintained his mood, feeling as if he could lie here forever in wondrous bliss.

  As he wiggled his toes, he felt the velvety blades tickle slightly, and only then realised that he was naked; but he didn’t mind, nature’s environment clothing him with its own comforting blanket.

  Keeping his eyes closed, he could hear the slight rustle of some leaves not far away, the gentle breeze softly moving through the branches of nearby trees. The long grasses swayed in the light wind, tickling the skin across his body. And slightly further afield was a river or stream, the gurgling of water just reaching his ears.

  Without moving, he eventually opened his eyes, peering through the grasses that lay with him. Thick green blades were accompanied with tall stalks. An untended pasture, Michael thought, or maybe a meadow. A tiny movement caught his eye, and he could just discern through the tall grasses a pair of large dark eyes staring back at him. As he lifted his head slightly to take a closer look, the small creature was startled and scampered off, hiding itself in the grass as it went, and making it impossible for Michael to determine what type of animal it was.

  Still looking to where the critter had run, he was about to stand up, when a sudden voice stopped him.

  “Oh!” a surprised squeal came from in front of him.

  Remembering he was naked, and hearing the woman’s voice, Michael quickly reversed the slow rise he had begun until he was confident that he was as modest as circumstances would allow and looked up.

  Standing maybe fifteen paces in front of him was a young woman of Michael’s age. Her loose mousy brown hair flowed freely behind her shoulders, and her hazel eyes were now directed at his. She had evidently just rounded the corner of some tall bushes when she had seen him and made her involuntary exclamation. As they now stared at each other’s faces, neither noticed the other’s cheeks turn a bright red, conscious only of their own discomfort. What had felt only moments before like a blissful sun on Michael’s back now felt like a blistering heat. He desperately wanted somehow to break the embarrassment he was feeling but remained motionless and unable to speak.

  It was the woman who finally broke their gaze, quickly turning her head to the right to examine the tall trees. “Hello,” she said, “I am very sorry for interrupting… whatever you were doing.”

  She began to turn around to leave, but Michael stopped her, “Please wait,” he called, “Um… This is really awkward. I’m really sorry. Um…”

  The woman had paused but kept her back to him, her head turned slightly to the side so that her left ear faced him.

  But having successfully stopped her from leaving, Michael now didn’t know what to say. How could he explain what had happened even to himself, let alone to someone else? At the same time, however, he had no idea where he was, he was naked, and he needed help from someone. Perhaps this woman could help him… somehow.

  “I really don’t know how to explain anything,” he began, “It’s going to sound really crazy I know. But, I don’t know how I got here.” Michael paused for a second before continuing more tentatively, “Um… I don’t suppose, um, you might be able to find some clothes or something for me?”

  The woman stood still for a minute, seeming to consider what he had asked. Clearing her throat, she finally replied, “I will go and see what I can find. I will not be long.”

  As she started to leave, she seemed to gain confidence as she called back, “Please know that I am within easy shouting distance of Bow Weavers.”

  She disappeared around the bushes, leaving Michael pondering why he should be concerned about weavers. The nearby presence of these artisans appeared to give the woman assurance in her safety, which confused him, and he decided that he must have misheard.

  Quickly forgetting her warning words, and knowing that his solitude would be temporary, his eyes searched his surroundings for taller grass or shrubs that he might be able to hide part of his body in. He soon identified a small collection of green shrubs about chest high which were loaded with bright blue berries a few dozen paces behind him, and ignoring whether other eyes were on him, he ran back to them where he immediately felt more comfortable in their modest safety.

  From here, he was able to study his surroundings more closely. The trees to his left appeared to form the edge of a forest, the density of the underbrush thickening the further back he could see. They were filled with a variety of different types of trees, none of which Michael recognised, but all deciduous – their orange and red leaves informing Michael that at least the season in this place was the same as from where he had come.

  As he peered to his right, he could see in the distance the river that he had previously heard. The meadow – not pasture he now knew – he had been lying in was probably a couple of hundred feet wide from the forest to the water’s edge. The river itself was wider than he imagined – although he couldn’t be sure from this distance, perhaps thirty or forty feet Michael thought – but it was running slowly. Beyond the river, the ground began to rise and within a mile the foothills had become the first rows of dark mountains, their distant peaks hidden in white cloud.

  He was still examining the strange world he had entered, when he heard the woman call.

  “Oh, there you are,” she said, “I thought for a moment you had left.”

  Although he still felt a little uncomfortable, Michael was much happier now he was mostly hidden behind some protective greenery and was able to force a smile as he replied, “I thought that moving here might be… well… a bit easier, you know.”

  She was walking towards him through the meadow, carrying some clothes with her as she talked. “I have found you some clothes as I promised. I fear they may be a little too large, but too large is more easily fixed than too small, and I have also brought a belt.”

  Now that he was marginally less self-conscious Michael was able to look at this woman more closely. She was slim and wearing dark tan trousers, with a cream top that hung below her waist. Around her middle was a thick leather belt, with a knife sheathed against her left hip. Her long dark boots reached almost to her knees. For a few seconds, Michael was unsure why she looked so different from other girls he had known, but then he realised that she wasn’t wearing any makeup – and that she didn’t seem to be self-conscious about it – and that instantly made him like her.

  She was close enough now to toss the clothes she had brought over the top of the s
hrubs, which she did and then waited for Michael to dress.

  The trousers she had brought were a lighter tan colour than the ones she wore, but the shirt was a similar cream. There were no boots, but he had enjoyed the feel of the grass on his feet, and was grateful for what she had done. Just as she had said, the clothes were a little too large for him, but Michael was able to tie the belt so that it held all of the clothes sufficiently in place. When he was done he stepped out from behind the shrubs.

  “Thank you so much,” he said, feeling relieved to have his modesty now in place.

  The woman gave a small nod at that, and at this closer distance Michael noticed that she had a handful of light freckles scattered across her round face.

  She seemed to study his face carefully for a moment before speaking. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked.

  Michael was taken aback by her directness, although had to silently admit that it was fair enough in the circumstances. He took a deep breath before responding, “Like I said before, I don’t know how I got here – or even where here is. So I can’t really say what I’m doing here because I don’t know.” He knew that probably didn’t sound very convincing but didn’t know what else to say, and continued, “But as for who I am, I’m Michael”.

  He paused, expecting a reply of some description, but as he looked at the woman, he could see uncertainty in her face; as if what he had just said confused her.

  “I’m sorry I really can’t explain any more than that because I just don’t know,” Michael added. “Could you tell me where I am?” he asked.

  As she looked at him, she cocked her head to one side as if considering his words. After a pause, she spoke, “We are in the Southern Waylet, at our Autumn Stay. But surely you must know that?”

  She studied his reaction, trying to determine whether his bewilderment was genuine, but Michael didn’t know what to say. Almost nothing she had said made any sense to him; first, she spoke of weavers as if he should be wary of them, and now she talked about Waylets and Stays as if they were things Michael should know. And so he just stood there in confused silence, eventually just shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, “Sorry, I don’t know what a Waylet or a Stay is.”

  Carefully she again examined his face before responding. “I am called Aneh,” she said, “and I think you should come with me.”

  Michael was relieved, fearing to be abandoned in this strange place, as she continued, “I do not know what to make of what you have related, and it would seem that you do not understand what I have told you. I must take you to my mother.”

  Michael nodded before simply saying, “Okay.”

  Aneh motioned him to come with her as she said, “Please walk at my side”.

  He suspected that his being at her side was for safety reasons, so that he couldn’t surprise her from behind, but he felt more comfortable speaking if they were side by side anyway, so gladly hurried to walk at her right, trying to make casual conversation as he did so. “When I woke up on the grass, there was a small creature with big eyes looking at me. Do you know what it was?”

  “I did not see it,” she replied, “but it was probably a Tils.” After a pause she asked, “Do you know what a Tils is?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “They are oversized rodents, but with long ears and, as you say, large eyes. It was probably trying to determine whether you lived. They feast on dead animals.”

  Her response had been very matter-of-fact, but a chill ran down Michael’s spine as he realised that while he had been enjoying the luxury of the sun’s warmth on his back, the small creature had been sizing him up for a meal.

  Crossing the meadow, they turned past the bushes from which Aneh had appeared, and shortly after she spoke again, “You said you are Michael, but I am not sure what that means.”

  Her statement left Michael bewildered, and he wondered whether his confusion would continue to increase every time she spoke, but she continued, “Is Michael the name of the people you are from? Or is it your name? Or is it what you are called? I have not heard the word before.”

  They were amongst the trees of the forest now, but Michael found that they were easily able to maintain their positions side by side as they wove their way through the woods, and the ground was still largely covered in grass and a few soft autumnal leaves making the walk mostly comfortable on his bare feet. He noticed a variety of shrubs dotted throughout the wooded area, some with the same bright blue berries he had seen on the plants adjacent to the meadow, and others with small red fruits.

  “Michael is my name,” he explained, “and it’s what people call me.” He looked over at Aneh as they walked, “Where I come from, it’s sometimes the same thing, but not always. So, some people who are named Michael – like me – like to be called Mike, or Micky, or something like that. But I prefer my full name, Michael.”

  He saw no reaction in Aneh’s face to what he was saying, but she said, “That seems a strange custom to me. I do not understand. But I think there are many things that I have said that you also do not understand.”

  Michael nodded. “Yeah, loads.” Then laughing, he added, “Practically everything actually.”

  He could just start to see some colour through the trees ahead and thought they must soon reach their destination, as Aneh continued, “Who are your people?”

  “I’m British,” he said, “or English.” Then, remembering her confusion when he had before simply said he was Michael, he tried to clarify, “My people are the British, or English. The English are one part of the British. There are others who are British too.” He didn’t think he was probably explaining it very well, “I don’t know if that makes any sense?”

  “No,” she replied, “I have never heard of your people, and your naming customs are confusing. My people are the Elahish.”

  They now stepped out of the forest and into the camp where Aneh had led them. Michael was reminded of the coloured tents he had seen in the crystal medallion, and intuitively knew that it must have been this place he had seen. There were scores of tents, of varying sizes, all in mixed colours of pale blues, greens, reds, oranges and yellows. They were all round, and domed, and the walls curved into the roof, meaning that there were no edges that could be seen.

  There were also no ropes holding the walls in place, and Michael thought that there must be posts inside the tents that held them up.

  He involuntarily slowed his walk as he stared in wonder at the first tent they came near. The bottom of the tent was covered in light greens as if imitating the adjacent grasses, and as the soft walls rose the colours gradually changed to blues, with rough shapes of a handful of animals and birds in other colours dotted around it. But he could see no stitching; the entire tent appeared to him to be made of a single piece of cloth.

  As he looked around at other tents, he saw some that started with the blue of water at ground level, filled with shapes of fish, then colours changing as the walls rose to form forests of spring, summer or autumn. Others showed mountains and rivers. None seemed to have any seams where the different shapes and colours joined together, and Michael wondered how the effects had been created. If the colours had been bright, they would have looked gaudy. But they weren’t bright, and the softness of the hues made the entire camp feel as though it belonged here; that it was at home with nature.

  “How are these made?” he called to Aneh over his shoulder. “They’re amazing.”

  He thought he could detect a slight smile in her voice as she replied. “They are made by Plant and Cloth Weavers, of course,” she said, as if that should be sufficient explanation. “Some are very old,” she continued, “but some have seen only a few summers.”

  As they continued through the camp, Michael noticed that while the tents were full of colour, the people he saw were all dressed plainly, much as Aneh. Although some of the women and girls wore dresses, most were in trousers, and all clothing colours were variations on browns, creams, and greys.

 
They paused at a tent Michael assumed was where Aneh’s mother should have been, but no-one was there and so Aneh led him on to another, outside which stood a man in his late twenties or early thirties. He was dressed no differently to anyone else he had seen, in grey trousers and a dull white shirt, but seemed to be acting as a form of sentry, his expression stern.

  As they stopped in front of him, Aneh spoke, “I must speak with my mother.”

  The man said nothing but disappeared into the tent, at which Aneh turned to Michael, “They will likely only admit me at first, but wait here and I will return for you.”

  “Who are they?” Michael asked.

  “The Lora of our Waylet,” she replied, and then added in an attempt to clarify, “They seek wisdom and guidance for our people.”

  Michael didn’t understand her answer, but assumed they were something like a town council, and so simply accepted Aneh’s answer.

  The sentry shortly returned and, as Aneh had guessed, admitted only her. Soon after, Michael could hear some murmurs of voices coming from within the tent, but could make out nothing distinct, and it was probably ten minutes before the tent flap opened again. A woman with long brilliant red hair and bright blue eyes, in her forties, held the flap. “Enter,” she ordered him.

  Although her tone was not harsh, it carried an expectation of obedience, and caused Michael a degree of trepidation as he stepped into the tent.

  The structure was large, comfortably accommodating the ten or so men and women who were sitting amongst the thick rugs that were scattered throughout. Aneh was still standing to his right, and he found some comfort in her familiar face when she returned his gaze, although he could read no emotion in it.

  Although apparently some kind of ruling group, the people here were dressed as those he had seen elsewhere in the camp: plainly so as not to draw attention to themselves. Their understated appearance appealed to Michael, but the gaze of many there was bordering on fierce, and his forehead began to sweat with his nerves.