Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1)

by Jeffrey Collyer

  Although the explanation didn’t quite fill in all of the gaps – there was no good reason as to why the Rist was in the forest in the first place, for example – it was far better than any other he had considered. Without exception, all of the people he had met since arriving in Aperocalsa had been good to him. The soldiers had been less so, but then they were soldiers and had been ordered not to say anything to any strangers they came upon, lest they give away some important piece of knowledge.

  Michael wished he could return to the Waylet and tell Aneh of how mistaken she was, but he knew that couldn’t happen. It was clear the Chet’tu were still seeking him, and with the Nixu demons also prowling the forests he would never arrive. But additionally, even if he did manage to safely navigate his way back to the Stay, if the Elahish soldiers really were the aggressors against the city’s Rist, the Lora wouldn’t allow that information to be made known. And given he could now legitimately be called a traitor, he wouldn’t survive long enough to speak to Aneh. No, his newfound knowledge would have to remain in the city, for now at least.

  Unfortunately, the Guardian had no explanation as to why Michael was in Aylosia, or how he had come here. Nor did he have any explanation for the attacks by the Chet’tu or Nixu. But the Guardian had told him about the Palace library and suggested he could search old tomes there for information.

  The mention of books and the invitation to immerse himself in them gave Michael a feeling of being at home. He had missed reading over the last moon, and he now felt a growing excitement at being able to return to his favourite past-time.

  But not today. For the rest of today, he was content to ponder all of the things he had experienced since his arrival in Aylosia. The revelations from the Guardian had contradicted the things he had learned from Aneh, and there was still… something… pulling at him. It was as if head and heart were disagreeing with each other, and he soon was again wondering which version of Aylosia’s history was the correct. The Guardian had sounded so reasonable, and as he had spoken he had almost known in his heart that what he was hearing was true. Now, however, as he recalled their conversation he couldn’t determine which part of him remained uncomfortable with the Guardian’s explanations. Eventually he decided it was no use debating with himself. He didn’t understand which part of him was taking which side, and decided to see whether anything became clearer over the next few dawns. Especially as there was little he could actually do.

  ***

  Awakening the next morning he was no clearer, confusion reigning as to whether he should believe the Guardian or the Elahish version of their history. Each time he decided that one had to be right, the other would silently whisper, Yes, but…

  He had finished breakfast and chosen some new clothes to wear when there was a knock on the door to his quarters. The sound surprised him as Leta had never knocked before simply walking in, and when he opened it he saw a young man of Michael’s age standing in front of him. He was slightly shorter than Michael’s six feet, but was stocky, his long red hair hanging just below the tops of his broad shoulders. The deep blue suit he wore had an unusual cut that Michael assumed could only possibly be for fashion reasons, and Michael didn’t think the goatee he sported suited him. But his smile was huge, as if greeting a long lost friend.

  “Samo!” his visitor cried.

  “Sorry? What?”

  “It is what I am called – Samo. You are called Michael.”

  “Um, yes,” said Michael, “Hi… Samo.”

  Samo’s smile remained fixed and he quickly pushed past Michael into his main living room, his hands on his hips. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Michael was finding the discussion a bit surreal, responding, “Sorry. Ready for what?”

  The short laugh was high-pitched, and Michael couldn’t reconcile the sound with someone who had grown a goatee, but Samo then looked serious and shook his head in mock irritation, “No-one has sent word. It is a scandal.” Smiling again he continued, “I am your guide to Aperocalsa. My father, Samor, is an advisor to the Guardian, and when they spoke of your arrival, my father realised that his son was of a similar age. Together, they thought it might ease your life with us if someone who had lived nearly the same number of summers showed you our city.”

  Part of Michael was pleased that he would be able to explore the city with someone to help him find his way around, although it wasn’t what he had been planning. “Oh, thanks,” he said, “That sounds great. It’s just… I was hoping to go to the library.”

  The look on Samo’s face was one of genuine surprise, “You come to the great city of Aperocalsa, and before even two dawns have passed, you wish to hide in a library?”

  Shaking his head and grabbing Michael by the arm, he didn’t wait for Michael to reply. “No, that will not do. There will be time aplenty for books, but today I will show you our great city.” He pulled him now, and Michael found that Samo’s strength was greater than he was able to resist, only just being able to reach back to pull the door closed behind him as they headed off down the corridor.

  As Michael hurried to keep up, a question came to him, “Samo, you said your father’s name is Samor?”

  “He is called Samor, yes.”

  “Are you named after him? You know, Samo, from Samor.”

  His guide didn’t look back or slow as he answered, “Yes, of course. All children are named for their fathers. How would it be any other way?”

  Michael didn’t say any more, registering one more difference between the people of Aperocalsa and the Elahish.

  Once they were outside the building, Michael forced them to stop as he surveyed the buildings around him. Although on the night of his arrival the towers had been lit, it was only with the sunlight of day that he could really see the Palace. Even the evening before, when he had surveyed the city from his bedroom balcony, he had been facing away from the Palace; and in any case had been too lost in thought to really take anything in.

  But now he stood in awe at his surroundings. The tall towers ranged in height from the shortest being only thirty feet high, to the tallest in the centre of the estate being probably a couple of hundred feet tall. They were all round and looked old. Michael had seen castles of course – England was renowned for ancient keeps that still stood in various states of repair – but he hadn’t ever seen anything with the sheer number of turrets and towers that graced this place, and he wondered how each had come into existence and what purposes they all served.

  He wanted to stay and examine the Palace in greater detail, but already Samo was pulling at his arm again. “You do not need a guide to look at stone walls,” he said. “Let us go into the city.”

  Eventually, he had to relent and he was soon outside the Palace walls, back on the main street of the city. “Okay,” he said to his new friend, “but don’t rush me. I want to look at the places we go past.”

  Samo looked frustrated, but agreed to a compromise: he wouldn’t rush Michael as long as Michael promised to keep moving. That seemed to be acceptable to both, and so they settled into a stroll: just fast enough so that Samo didn’t start pulling at Michael’s arm again; just slow enough so that Michael could look at the nearby buildings.

  He realised as they traversed the main street that the stone buildings on either side of the road had originally been built as fortified structures. Even now, though they had been converted to homes, the front windows were little more than slits through which arrows could be fired. Every so often a side street would appear, but they were narrow and were covered by thick rows of tall stone above them. As Michael studied one, he saw the tips of a portcullis appearing from the bottom of the overhead stone, and he realised that by lowering the portcullis each of the side streets could be cut off to prevent attackers easily leaving the main avenue. It made the entire road from the city entrance one long path along which attackers would be constantly barraged by arrows coming from either side on their march to the Palace gates. He remembered the tall walls that fronted the ci
ty from the plains and realised that with the mountains and a cliff face protecting the other three sides of the city, it was in fact heavily fortified. He wondered who the fortifications had been built to defend against, and decided he would add it to the list of things he wanted to research when he finally got to the library.

  The day ended up being long and tiring. Samo was an enthusiastic guide, showing Michael the market areas that were bustling, the food district where they stopped for lunch, and then in the afternoon the wide expanse of commons that overlooked the lake. The commons stretched almost the entire length of the cliff, a crenelated stone wall preventing anyone from accidentally toppling over the side. There were fountains, sculptures, and children’s play areas that were dotted here and there, and Michael was amazed at the crowds: families enjoying the late autumn sunshine; couples having a romantic walk; groups of friends playing games with wide sticks and coloured balls on the broad fields of grass; and individuals of all ages walking or sitting, contemplating whatever was pressing their hearts or minds.

  Indeed, wherever he journeyed with Samo, Michael saw a happy and prosperous people. When he had asked Samo where the poor lived, he received a confused look in response. “There are no poor,” Samo said. In many ways, the city seemed too good to be true, and a part of Michael was instinctively sceptical. But the entire city couldn’t put on a false show for his benefit, and even if they could why would they bother? The natural good mood and wellbeing of the city seemed genuine.

  Over the course of the next several dawns, Samo continued to give Michael tours, each dawn to a new part of the city. Outside of the main street where interesting structures also formed part of the city’s defence, the buildings were largely made of wood, but the craftsmanship was unlike anything he had seen. Incredible detail had gone into building facades, window frames, and roofs. Even gates and pathways had intricate patterns that made the shortest walk a journey of discovery, and Michael decided he could probably enjoy walking the streets of Aperocalsa for summers on end.

  The sculptures, too, were scattered throughout the city. Every few blocks there would be another impressive display of some design or other, and Michael was surprised that many he saw here would have been described in twenty-first century England as ‘contemporary’, the shapes and patterns causing the observer to stop and ponder their meanings. Indeed, much to Samo’s frustration, Michael often would gaze at a sculpture or new architectural decoration and wonder at how they had been created.

  It was maybe half a dozen dawns after Samo had commenced giving his daily tours to Michael that they stood in the crisp early morning air, the frost on the grass thick enough to cause their boots to crunch as they had walked through the fields overlooking the cliff and the lake. Michael had stopped to examine one sculpture in particular that had caught his attention. It looked to have been carved from a single huge stone almost twice the size of a fully grown man, and was made of five concentric circles, one inside the other. Peering through the outer rings, Michael managed to count twelve pentagons that had been carved in the innermost circle. The pentagons in the next ring were smaller, though perfectly aligned to the centre, with five shapes for each one on the previous circle. Michael didn’t count them all, but quickly multiplied the number in his head and knew there would be sixty shapes on that ring.

  And so it went: the third ring’s pentagons were smaller still, with five aligned to each one in the second ring, making three hundred shapes; and so on, one thousand five hundred shapes in the fourth ring; seven thousand five hundred tiny pentagons in the outermost. He kneeled to read the words carved into a stone plinth at the bottom of the sculpture, Hidden Desires, by Fultahisa. Michael imagined that the level of skill that had gone into the design must have been substantial.

  “It is not his most remarkable work,” said Samo, standing behind him. “Hisa is the most renowned sculptor of our age, and each summer a new work of his is unveiled, each more impressive than the one before. Or so people say.”

  Despite doing his best to explain, Samo looked and sounded bored. “You’re not interested in his work?” Michael asked.

  “I do not have time to sit and ponder the meaning of such things,” Samo replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I prefer to use my body and be active. But I can still see that Hisa’s work is clever, and it has served to give him fame and wealth – and of course women.”

  Though Samo had smiled widely at his last statement, something within Michael recoiled at the words of his friendly guide. He had been drawn into the design, wondering what it meant. Did the pentagon represent the five senses, or perhaps that meaning was found within each of the five circles? Was the innermost ring the one that was most hidden from our consciousness, or was it nearest to our thoughts? But as Samo spoke of Hisa in terms of his celebrity status, the sculpture before him lost some of its appeal.

  “I’m sure that’s not why he makes his art,” Michael replied.

  “Of course it is,” Samo laughed. “He is known to my family, Michael. Sometimes I attend events to honour his gifts, and share the delights his glory brings.”

  So it was seen merely as a means to an end, then, the inspirations that could be drawn from the artwork’s design purely coincidental to its primary purpose?

  As the news rolled over his mind, the thought of the sculpture he had seen on the day of the Entwining with the Elahish came to mind: the three sides of the wooden sculpture showing bird, man, and mountain. Although that had been intricate, its main power hadn’t been in the technical ability or visual images on display, but rather in the feelings that it emitted when a person was studying it. Unlike the huge stonework that currently stood before him, the wooden piece had exuded no vanity. That was the power and purpose of the Weaver, Michael thought.

  The reflection prompted Michael to ask something that had been on his mind since his arrival in the city, “Are there no Weavers here? The Elahish say that everyone born to them has a Weaving, so it seems strange if no-one here has one.”

  As Michael looked back at his companion, he saw a serious look cross Samo’s face. “I do not know that I should speak of it,” he said.

  But Michael maintained his silence; keeping his stare at his guide until Samo felt forced to break the quiet. “There are few,” he finally said, “but it happens rarely. And it is always a sorry tale.”

  Samo looked away, and began slowly walking towards the wall that topped the cliff face. After a moment’s pause, Michael stood and followed him.

  “Why is it sorry?” Michael asked when he arrived at Samo’s side, the two of them now staring across the lake and far valley to the tall peaks in the south. It was still relatively early in the morning. The snow-topped mountains glowed orange from the early morning sun, and the sound of water hurling itself from the cliff face in the line of waterfalls that lay below them was clear in the morning air, though Samo’s tone had grown too sombre to appreciate the beauty of the scene.

  “I do not know the history of the Weavers amongst our people,” he said. “History provides no interest for me. But Weavers instil within the hearts of our people a great fear. Our only contact with Weavers now is when our soldiers die at their hands. The people see only their fathers, sons, brothers, and friends leave the gates of the city. When they do not return,” he added bitterly, “it is because of the Weavers.

  “You must take care,” he said, now looking at Michael. “I believe that in your time with the Forest People, you made some friends with Weavers, and you must keep such friendship secret. Though you are under the protection of the Guardian, even he could not guarantee your safety should you speak well of Weavers.”

  Samo again turned his attention to the distant horizon, going silent once more; allowing Michael to consider what he had been told.

  “But you said that a few here are born with a Weaving. Doesn’t that change things?” he asked.

  Samo shook his head, “The danger is too great. It is said that with the Weaving comes a desire to rule; t
o impose your will upon others. Indeed, the Weaving itself may give the ability to do so. Thus, none who show a Weaving are permitted to remain with us.”

  Michael was stunned at the revelation. He remembered Aneh saying that a boy or girl may begin to show their Weaving from the age of eight. What was Samo saying about these children?

  Though he didn’t really want to know the answer, Michael felt compelled to ask, “What happens to them; to the ones who show a Weaving?”

  He watched Samo swallow hard before he answered, “There are some who say that we should end their lives; that it is the only way to remove the threat of the Weavers from our future.”

  Shocked at the admission, Michael’s eyes widened and Samo quickly continued as if to reassure, “In truth, there are few who advocate such a course, and in any case such is not the Guardian’s way. He says that it is no fault of the young ones, and that we should show compassion no matter what Weavers have done to us in summers past.

  “He therefore commands that such children are led from the city to a place near the Forest People. For our own safety, we cannot deliver them directly to their camps, but we leave them as close as possible, and point the way they must then travel.”

  Michael couldn’t hide his abhorrence at what had been revealed, “You take innocent children and abandon them in the forest?” Thoughts of his own abandonment surfaced – the feelings that had stabbed at his soul every day of his life – and he grew angry.

  “How can you do that?!” he now shouted. “They’re children! What have they done to you that they deserve to be abandoned?!”

  Samo now avoided his gaze, fidgeting as he awkwardly tried to find an answer to Michael’s wrath. “You do not understand,” he finally said. “The fear amongst our people is great.”