When his face felt smooth again, Leta advised him to dress so that he could meet the Guardian.
The statement restored anxiety to his gut. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why on earth is the Guardian interested in me? Why am I being treated like this?”
Shrugging, she replied, “The Guardian is kind and generous, but more than that you will have to ask him yourself.”
Kind and generous certainly wasn’t how the Elahish viewed the Guardian, and he puzzled over his numerous questions as he searched the wardrobe in the bedroom. Finding no clothes of the dark chocolate brown he preferred, he tried on a couple of different things before settling on a pale blue shirt with black trousers and boots. Though not fitting perfectly, they were certainly adequate, and he felt as comfortable as was possible as he followed Leta from his rooms.
If he had become lost on the way to his chambers the previous night, his sense of direction was well and truly scrambled this morning, as they twisted and turned at regular intervals for at least fifteen minutes through large rooms and corridors. Whenever they passed anyone else, the new faces would smile in return and greet him. Michael couldn’t help but notice an expectant look in the eyes of some people they passed, which caused his sense of anticipation to increase.
Why do they think I’m important? He kept asking himself.
When Leta finally ushered him into a waiting room, he felt he was ready to snap with unanswered questions. She tried to ease his worries as she left, “Do not worry, Michael. As I said, the Guardian is kind, and I am sure he will answer your questions.”
At that, she closed the door, leaving him in an antechamber, large double-doors inset in the far wall. He paced for a moment, before deciding to sit in one of the soft chairs in the room, only then noticing that he wasn’t alone. The man was sitting in a chair whose back was facing the door through which Michael had entered, warming his hands by the fire. As Michael sat down in the nearby sofa, the man looked at him, his dark brown eyes looking younger than his face, which carried a trimmed beard; its dark hair sprinkled with white. He looked a distinguished man, Michael thought, and he wondered whether he too was waiting to see the Guardian or whether he was here for some other purpose.
“And what are you here to see the Guardian for?” he asked, his eyes returning to the fire in front of him. “Have some questions for him, I gather?”
Michael didn’t really want to talk, his nerves trying to hold his tongue. But his manners got the better of him as he eventually replied, “To be honest, I don’t know why I’m here. He called me, not the other way around. But yes, I do have some questions, I guess.”
After a minute’s more silence, Michael determined to see if this man knew something that could help him. “What’s the Guardian like?” he asked. “I mean, Leta said that he’s kind, but I guess not everyone I’ve met thinks that. Have you met him?”
The man looked at Michael again, raising his eyebrows at the question. “Each to his own, I suppose. I have not heard of those who fear the Guardian, but perhaps you have met those I have not. I am sure the Guardian would wish to correct any misunderstandings. Perhaps you would tell me who fears him, and I will see what I may do.”
At his offer, it was Michael’s turn to look away. He wasn’t sure what to say about what he had learned from Aneh – whether if he revealed what she had said would provoke anger. And so he stayed silent.
“Ah,” said the man after studying Michael for a few minutes, “You are the boy from the forest aren’t you?”
Word about him had obviously got round. Why? he thought, the frustration again building. He returned to his feet, crossing to examine some figurines that sat atop small tables scattered through the room, hoping to end the discussion with the older man.
But the man was now interested in him and had decided to question further. “You must have heard their stories. Is that right? That long ago they were cast from the city, and ever since then, one Guardian after another has sought their destruction. Am I correct?”
Michael’s desire to fidget grew worse, and he had to stop toying with the figures to avoid spilling them. He couldn’t look at the man, not when the things that Aneh had told him were being challenged. “Are you saying that’s not true, then?” he asked.
“It sounds convincing does it not,” the man replied. “After all, why else would they wander the forests century after century?”
Michael finally dared to look at the man. His own frustration softened when he did; a sadness had crept into the man’s eyes as he seemed to be considering his own question. “Tell me – Michael is it? Tell me, Michael,” the man continued, “if you had no fear to speak, what would you ask the Guardian? In truth, I know him well, and perhaps while we wait you can test your questions on me. And who knows, I may perchance be able to answer one or two.”
For the first time, the older man smiled now, and Michael relaxed a little.
“What would I ask him?” Michael queried. “More like what wouldn’t I ask him. I have a list as long as my arm.”
When the older man didn’t respond, Michael started, “Well, for starters, everyone around here seems to know who I am. Why? Why does anyone care that some guy has been brought here from the forest?”
He began to pace as he spoke, “And why am I here anyway? Don’t get me wrong: I’m pleased that the soldiers saved me from the little black creatures, but why? Why should they care? The soldiers wouldn’t answer my questions. They wouldn’t even speak to me. Why? From the start they said they were bringing me to see the Guardian. Why? What’s all that about? I mean, they decide to rescue me from those demons – not my friends mind you, just me – and then just decide they’re going to bring me back to the Guardian. Why? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Michael’s speech was quickening, and rising in both pitch and volume. Now that he had started, all of his questions were coming out one after another, “In fact, what am I even doing in this place? Do you call it Aylosia too, or is that just the name the Elahish give it? Whatever it’s called, why am I here? And if you don’t hate them – the Elahish that is – why do they think you do? I know there has been some fighting between the soldiers from here and them. If you don’t want to destroy them, why? If you’re not their enemies, why don’t you try and do something about it? They say you don’t have any Weaving here. Is that true, or is that another one of the things you’ll say they’re wrong about?”
And where is my mother? Why did I think she would be here? Michael thought, though he didn’t ask those questions out loud. Instead, with a heavy sigh he sat back down.
The older man looked at Michael carefully for a few minutes, before finally responding, “Well, you were right: you do have many questions.”
As Michael looked at him, the man continued, “Many of them I think only the Guardian will be able to answer, but perhaps I may help with your understanding of the Elahish, as they call themselves. Our history with them is… complicated. But I will do my best.”
He had Michael’s attention now, as he started, “Before I begin my explanation, perhaps I can ask a question or two. Your forest friends, the Elahish, did they treat you warmly? From wherever it is that you have come, did they welcome you?”
Michael thought back to his time with them. Aneh and her family had been kind to him certainly. Others had been generous. But some had not been so kind. Berah, and Devu – even Arevu – had treated him with suspicion at best, hostility at worst. He wouldn’t betray his friendship, though, replying, “Some were very kind to me.”
“Ah,” said the man, “spoken like one who seeks to mislead by the things he does not say.” A smile broke across his face. “If only some were kind, then there were others who were not. Correct? And who were these who were not so welcoming? Were they their rulers and soldiers?”
Michael started at the comment. How could he know that it was the Lora who ultimately remained suspicious of him. But still he didn’t want to betray his friends. “Well, it’s not surpri
sing is it? Someone strange suddenly appears nearby. They need to be sure, don’t they?”
“Yes, that is true,” he nodded seriously. “But do they not have a Sooth Weaver?”
This man certainly knew a lot about Aneh’s people, and Michael didn’t know how to respond to the latest question. Their Sooth Weaver had declared him genuine, but still they hadn’t believed him. Berah tried to kill him, and Devu threatened it. He just stared into the fire, as the older man spoke again.
“They did not believe the Sooth Weaver, did they?” The man sighed before continuing. “Let me tell you how we remember the parting of our peoples.”
Briefly gathering his thoughts, he began his tale, “It was nigh a thousand summers past when our peoples lived in peace together. I say peace, but it was not an equal peace. Some had a Weaving and others did not, and while for many generations this caused no argument, those with their Weaving became proud. Because of their abilities they came to rule the cities that dotted our land. One with a Weaving for governing others soon mistrusts those who challenge, and so they would use their Sooth Weavers to hunt out those who disagreed with them. They would with-hold the services of Stone Weavers, and Cloth Weavers from those who gave not their whole-hearted support. They would prevent those who did not profess their adoration from being blessed by those with Music Weavings. And so it went on. Those with a Weaving became no longer a source of blessing for the people, but rather tyrants, wielding their gifts to oppress.”
This version of their history couldn’t have been more different, and though sceptical, he could imagine Arevu and Berah demanding obedience – they were certainly rulers, not servants, of their people.
“One day, a mysterious white messenger appeared from the west,” he continued, Michael remembering a white messenger had also been in Aneh’s history. “He told of the birth of a child; of one who would restore peace to our land.”
“That was the son of Ashael?” Michael interrupted.
“Ashael?” He sounded surprised, “She is a myth. Perhaps she once existed, who knows. But our stories speak only of the birth of a child. The Weaving rulers were outraged, chasing the messenger from the city, and then hunting for the boy who would endanger their place. Babies were stripped from their mothers, Soul Weavers searching their tiny hearts for any evidence of corruption.”
The man paused for a moment, shaking his head in sorrow, “Great evils were done, and many mourned.”
They sat in silence for a minute before he once again continued his story, “And the day came that a baby was born. The Weavers could not find him, for his own gift was that he could not be touched by the Weaving. The Soul Weavers found no corruption in his soul, the Sooth Weavers found no deception in his words. And thus he was able to grow, hidden from the city’s rulers. Many followed him, and he gained in strength.
“I hope you will believe me,” the man said to Michael, “he sought first only for the rulers to amend their ways, that all might once again live in peace. But it was not possible. Even when eventually it was clear to the Weavers that they would no longer be able to rule as they had, they continued, refusing to submit to the people’s wishes. Thus it was that the decision was made that the Weavers would be forced to leave the cities, never to return. Jashmarael, for that was the name of the baby who had grown into the man who had opposed them, could have had them executed. Many of the people wished it. But he had no desire for blood, instead allowing them to leave in peace to travel where they would.”
“But I saw one of the cities that was destroyed,” Michael said.
“Yes,” replied the man, “In anger, the Weavers used their gifts not to build but to destroy, and those who lived away from Aperocalsa had to flee here for their safety. The ruins stand as witness to this day.”
“But they say the Guardian still seeks to destroy them – even today, a thousand summers later! And there has been fighting even in the last moon!” Michael didn’t want to believe what he had heard – not about Aneh.
But it made sense. The pieces all fit together perfectly. Something inside him was telling him that the man’s story was true. Aneh must have grown up on lies, and he was angry.
“No, Michael,” he said. “We do not seek their destruction. Rather they seek ours. I am certain that your friend is kind and generous, but are their warriors also kind?”
Michael thought of Devu, and the threats he had made against him. He could only shake his head.
“We sent a full Rist to the forest borders where you were found, as we do from time to time so that we may be prepared for dangers that may lie there. That is fifty men,” he said seriously, “and almost half were lost.”
“Killed by the Chet’tu,” stated Michael, “and by those demons.”
“No,” the man shook his head, “We lost a handful to the Nixu – the demons as many call them – but none to the Chet’tu. No, our men were killed by a single Bow Weaver.”
Michael had seen Erena, the Bow Weaver, and could believe that she would be more than capable of firing twenty or thirty arrows before a group of soldiers could get near enough to respond. As Michael struggled to come to terms with what he had been told, the man finished his tale, “We still hope for the day when we may live again in peace with the forest people, but the timing of that day lies with them.”
In his heart, Michael knew that the man was right, and he could only sit in silence. The seated man had also gone quiet, and as Michael looked at him now he could see that unlike the others he had seen in the Palace, he wasn’t wearing the deep red and gold of a uniform. Instead, he was wearing a woven green shirt, the colour of summer grass, with gold trim, and trousers a deeper shade of green. Michael wondered what his role was; why he was here; and was about to ask when the double set of doors opened, and a tall man walked in.
Looking at the seated man, the new arrival announced, “The audience chamber is now prepared, Guardian.”
Michael’s head spun for a moment, digesting what had just been said, and looked at the seated man. The Guardian looked back at Michael and smiled.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Mother
Though time has passed beyond counting and distance may be greater than mind can measure, still a mother’s love will be firm. Even the foulest deeds will not diminish a mother’s bond, for she has seen into the soul of her child like no other: as a newborn babe. She therefore knows the purity that persists even though great evils may be performed; that redemption is never beyond her child while breath remains. And thus a mother will forever seek the return of her child.
From the Wisdom of Ashael
***
When Michael had returned to his chambers following his audience with the Guardian, he spent time standing on the balcony outside his bedroom, staring over the city and the land beyond, and considering all that had been revealed to him.
The Guardian apologised to him for hiding his identity, but explained that he found it a useful tactic that gave people the opportunity to speak honestly of their worries and concerns. Too often, he said, when people knew they were standing in front of the city’s ruler, they would say only those things they thought he wanted to hear, not what was really troubling them. Addressing instead an elderly man who may be able to give them advice on how they could approach a subject with the Guardian, on the other hand, gave people license to open up.
Thinking of his outbursts while with the man when he had been anonymous, Michael knew that it was true. He wouldn’t have been as blunt had he known it was the Guardian he was speaking to. And the tactic had then allowed them to have a more open discussion, even once his real identity had been revealed. Ultimately, they had spoken for hours.
The Rist were charged, he was told, not to engage with the Elahish unless defending themselves, although they were to rescue people in trouble if they came across them. The soldiers had thought Michael was alone when they came across him running from the Nixu – the name of the creatures he had known only as demons – and so had ‘resc
ued’ him.
Given the weakened state of the Rist already, they didn’t feel they could risk trying to contact the Elahish – or ‘Forest People’ as the Guardian called them – to return him safely, and so they brought him with them for his own protection.
Although the story conflicted with what he had heard from Aneh about the soldiers from the city, as the Guardian had spoken the words, something within Michael told him it was true. While Aneh, too, must have believed what she had heard about the Guardian, Michael knew from his experience with Devu that the Elahish soldiers weren’t gentle, and he believed they would go on the offensive.
Even as he thought again of Aneh, remembering their short time together, he knew she had believed what she had told him. But the Guardian wasn’t anything like the man she had described. She had been wrong about him, and so she could have been wrong about other things too.
The Guardian had apologised for his soldiers knocking Michael unconscious, explaining that the Forest People had in the past been known – even when being rescued – to become hysterical, putting themselves and their rescuers in danger. Indeed they had kept him unconscious for several dawns with powerfully scented herbs, until they were far enough away from the forest to ensure his and their safety should he have decided to attempt to run. They were apparently going to allow him to awake sooner, but Chet’tu had attacked them after three dawns, and they wanted to be sure that they were far from danger from those evil canines before risking it.
While Michael had been unconscious, the Warmaster had sent two men ahead to give word that they were bringing someone back with them. Following the news’ arrival at the Palace, word had spread that someone from the forest had been saved from harm and was coming. It had been a long time since such a thing had happened, and so people were curious.
Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) Page 19