She tapped her fingers on the table as her expression once again became one of concentration, finally saying, “I know. We should start with the books in the far corner. They had many images of plants that they used as symbols in that period.”
Pava proved to be a mine of information on the history of Aperocalsa. It seemed that she had read every book and knew every story. And so, they began to spend a lot of time together in the library searching for hints of the Woodland Star. Despite her extensive knowledge, however, they found nothing that reduced its mystery.
Although they didn’t find anything, their friendship quickly grew, and they started to also spend time with each other outside of the library. They would wrap up in warm clothes and Pava would show Michael around the grounds of the Palace, pointing out the unusual designs in different buildings, or relating the stories that turned cold buildings into places where individuals had lived and loved. He grew to look forward to the times when she would say with her rich deep voice, her eyes wide in wonder, “If this stone could speak it would tell a story to warm your heart.” Inevitably a tale would follow; even the most mundane becoming spellbinding journeys. As a result, through the course of the winter, parts of the Palace came alive to him.
When his friendly affection for Pava had commenced, he had felt a pang of guilt, remembering his short, though precious, time with Aneh. But he reminded himself that he and Aneh had only been friends, and Michael had now been gone for moons. By now, if Aneh hadn’t been Promised to a young man from her own Waylet or one of the others, surely Devu would have achieved his aims, his mother – Aneh’s Hafashal – having exerted her influence to achieve their Entwining. And anyway, he was only a friend with Pava, too. So he tried to forcibly push the memory of his Healer Weaving friend from his mind. He was frustrated that he was never able to fully do so, but it was enough to allow him to grow closer to the gorgeous Pava.
The second thing of importance that happened to him during the winter was several weeks after the snow had begun. The Guardian had maintained an interest in Michael since his arrival, meeting him every few dawns. He still didn’t understand the Guardian’s interest in him, but he had grown to enjoy their discussions and so looked forward to their time together.
Gradually, Michael had opened up to this kind older man, telling him of his past, and eventually revealing his deep desire to find his mother; of how he had felt when he had come to this land, expecting to find her here. The Guardian had listened and asked many questions about Michael’s life story, promising to do some research himself to see whether he could discover anything.
Though he didn’t expect anything to come of it, he was grateful that the Guardian had taken an interest: the first person he had ever known who had promised to make any effort to really help him. More and more he could see why the people of the city so often described him as kind and generous, and more and more he wished the Elahish could overcome their millennia-long grudge and come to meet this man. Perhaps everything would change for them if they did.
It was another moon after the Guardian’s promise when he was summoned for his regular discussion with the city’s leader that Leta had an excited expression in her eyes. Michael was bemused, but she refused to make any comment, leaving him in the antechamber where he had first met the Guardian, and where they usually would meet due to its greater comfort.
The Guardian sat in his usual chair by the fireplace and indicated for Michael to sit next to him, beginning as soon as Michael was comfortable.
His voice was calm as it always was, though Michael thought he could just detect something in his eyes. “With your permission, I would like to tell you a story, Michael.”
He waited for Michael’s nod before continuing, “This is a large city, and though I try my best, there are too many people for me to know them all. Even when tragedy strikes, I usually do not hear. I have officials who deal with anything but the most serious issues that might affect us all. And so it is that families have their joys and their sorrows, and I am none the wiser.”
He sounded almost apologetic, as if he should be able to overcome his human limitations to care personally for each and every one of the countless thousands who lived here, but Michael just listened attentively. “Thus many summers past – or for this tale perhaps I should say winters past – a young woman gave birth to a baby boy. He was her first child, and though he was already precious to her, she soon loved him ever the more, as the man who was the baby’s father – and the great love of her life – took ill and died. The baby boy bore his mother’s dark hair and brown eyes, but even from his early dawns had his father’s contemplative mood.”
Michael was already hooked on the story. The Guardian hadn’t ever told him any tales before, and his doing so now made him wonder whether it related to himself, though he dared not hope.
“She went everywhere with her beloved baby, never letting him leave her sight and coddling him like no mother had ever done for her son. He became the joy of her life; her very reason to continue to live; to make the most each and every dawn. Thus what happened next became ever the more tragic.”
As Michael studied his face, he saw that the Guardian already had a tear in his eye as he continued his story, though his voice didn’t falter. “She was one day attending the market with her baby on a warm spring morning. It was a glorious morn, and she felt as happy as she had since her life’s lover had died. But her joy would not last, for there was a freak accident. A building nearby suddenly burst into flames, causing a commotion: people running to and fro, jostling one another. An explosion rang through the air. All through the panic, the mother had held tight to the basket that held her precious child, and as the sound of the blast carried through the air, she thought of her poor baby’s ears. Turning to him to provide the comfort she knew he must need, the worry she felt for her child turned to horror… Though the basket had remained firmly in her grasp, it was now empty: the baby – her very reason for living – was gone; vanished.”
There was silence as the Guardian considered his next words, but Michael couldn’t wait. “What happened? Where had the baby gone? Did she find him?”
It was another minute before the Guardian spoke again, “The baby was never found. The mother, of course, was distraught. She blamed herself for her son’s disappearance, but what more could she have done, Michael?”
He now looked closely into Michael’s eyes, as if daring him to blame the mother, silencing his accusations before they were voiced. “The basket that carried the sleeping child had never left her hands. It is simply not possible for any human to keep their eyes on one being, even their only child, for every moment of every dawn. Even through the crowd of people who were pushing to find their own escape from the dangerous scene, she had held firm, doing all she could to protect him. No, she was not to blame, and only the most cruel would suggest otherwise. But still she blamed herself. She searched far and wide and sought many to join her cause to find her only son.
“Many did so at first, for she had many friends. And even those who were strangers were touched by her tragic story and sought to give aid. But as the dawns turned to moons, and the moons turned to summers… well, people had their lives to lead, and her son was not to be found. So she was finally left alone in her hunt for answers to her child’s strange disappearance. To this dawn, she bears the pain of her son’s loss, believing still that she alone carries responsibility for the tragedy. And even now she continues her search.”
After pausing again for a moment, he continued, “There are things about this story, Michael, that you must know.”
Michael’s attention was now rapt. His heartbeat had sped up, and he fought to keep his mind from racing ahead of his ears, so that he would hear clearly what the Guardian had to tell him.
“First, the parents broke with the tradition of our people in the naming of their child. As you know, among our people a son is named for his father. But this baby had so much of the features of his mother that the fathe
r insisted they name him for her. You have spent time amongst the Forest People, so you will know this custom.”
Michael nodded but said nothing.
“The mother’s name was Eramica. Her son was named Ramical.”
He looked at Michael now as he carefully asked, “If one with such a name was taken to your world, I believe the bearer of the child would seek to adapt the name so that it sounded natural amongst your people, to find a name that would not be noticed. From what you have told me, I believe that Ramical would be considered unusual, and therefore if Eramica’s child had indeed been taken to your world somehow, his name may have been amended.
“Tell me,” he looked deeply into Michael’s eyes now, “if you were to choose a name from your world, similar to the name of Ramical, what could it be?”
Michael tried to keep calm; tried to think methodically. He started with the first part of the name, Ram, but could think of nothing. Of course, there were all sorts of unusual names given to babies nowadays, but if someone wanted the baby’s name to be un-noticed they would probably pick something fairly traditional. Not something like Ram. In moving on to the second part of the name, mical, his breath caught as he could think of only one name in England that was similar, and after a moment lifted his gaze back to his older friend.
The Guardian answered Michael’s silent stare quietly, “I know the name is not exact, but it is so similar, and would be easily changed for the one you carry now. The baby went missing eighteen winters past, so would be your age. The mother still lives, and she shares your complexion. I have seen her, Michael.”
Michael was no longer able to contain his tears. He had known when he had come to this land that his mother was here, and that he would find her. He didn’t need to hear the next words of the Guardian, whispered as the kind man placed his arm around Michael’s shoulder.
“Michael, I believe I have found your mother.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Child
A man may pity a child who begs on the street for his lack of shoes or for her belly that cannot hide the absence of food that nourishes. And these causes of sorrow should truly lead such a man to give of his own wealth, thus providing relief to the suffering he witnesses. In doing so, his bounty may restore to some degree what life has cruelly taken. But there is a loss so great that all the gold and precious gems of the earth will never be sufficient to repair. For if a child has never known one to love them, that part of their heart which is reserved for such tender caring will retain an emptiness that cannot be filled by any other means.
From the Wisdom of Ashael
***
Michael sat, stunned, staring into the Guardian’s eyes. The older man kept his arm around Michael for several minutes until his initial emotional response to the revelation had eased. And then, the two of them simply sat in silence. The Guardian must have had many important duties to attend to, Michael knew, but still he sat there as a comforting companion to him. The flames in the fireplace had long since died away, leaving the hot coals to emit only a faint light, and while Michael pondered what had been revealed, the Guardian poked around the fire a little, placing two more logs of wood on it.
Finally, Michael had regained some degree of control over his thoughts, and began to ask some questions. “Are you sure?’ he enquired. “How can you know that she’s my mother?”
“Oh, I am sorry,” came the gentle reply. “I cannot be certain. But there are several things that make me believe it so.”
“First,” he said, “to have a small child simply disappear like that… well, it is unheard of, and I am surprised – and a little disappointed – that I did not hear of it. I have made enquiries, and I am assured that in the last generation it is in fact the only recorded instance of its type. I am certain that if the child had simply been kidnapped, he could not have remained hidden all these summers, and equally certain that a stolen baby could not be smuggled out of the city. No, the boy must have somehow literally vanished from our city, and vanishing to your world is as good as vanishing to anywhere else.
“Second, you have spoken to me of when you came into Aylosia, of how you had been drawn to the image of Aperocalsa in the strange crystal medallion you had been given, and that you felt that you were coming home and would find your mother in this world. I believe it is possible that you felt a pull to our city precisely because it is where you were born and where you would find your mother.”
He continued with his reasons, “And finally, though it is only circumstantial of course, your name could easily be derived from Ramical, and the colour of your hair and eyes matches that of the lost child.
“Is it proof?” he concluded. “No, but it is sufficient that I believe it is the most likely explanation.”
Michael couldn’t argue with what had been said, though many questions still remained. Too many questions.
“But how could someone send a baby from here into my world? And why would they? Really,” he said, “why on earth would someone steal a baby and then just send it to England to live as an orphan? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Ah, well,” said the Guardian, “You have me on both of those I fear. It is possible that some Weaver had managed to steal into the city, or perhaps even live here unknown to us, and that they have the ability to send a baby into other places or other worlds. But why they would do that…” he held his hands up and shook his head, “…I cannot possibly say. But certainly if you have been brought from your other world to our land of Aylosia, travel in the other direction must also be possible.”
They talked for a while longer before Leta arrived, and she led Michael back to his rooms, allowing the Guardian to get back to his work. Michael didn’t need a guide anymore, of course – not for this part of the Palace anyway – but he had grown used to her presence, and he often would use the short walk to learn more about their customs. He walked in silence today, though, still digesting the news that he had been given. While questions remained about why he had been sent away from Aylosia, why he had now returned, and why creatures in the forest seemed to want him dead, the question over his mother had now been answered, and the emotions continued to flood him for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
He was disappointed to learn that it would be several more dawns before he would meet his mother. The shock of her son being discovered was substantial and the Guardian felt that giving both of them some time to digest the news before meeting would be wise.
When he told Samo of his mother’s discovery, he whooped in delight, smacking Michael on the arm with joy for his friend. Pava wept for him and grabbed him in a tight hug, the smell of her scented hair and latest perfume temporarily making him forget his remarkable news.
He found it impossible to concentrate on anything over the next few dawns, fidgeting when in the library, and not noticing any of the sights shown to him by Pava and Samo or remembering the names of people to whom they introduced him.
But walking, even in the cold, was preferable to sitting and allowing unanswerable questions to go round and round his head, and it was while out walking with Pava one afternoon that he thought of something that could take his mind off the impending meeting with his mother.
The snow was falling gently as they walked, Pava holding her arm through his: officially to help her keep balance on the slippery stone path, but Michael hoped that perhaps there was more to it than that. Although thoughts of Aneh continued to involuntarily surface, he made a conscious effort to push them away as he knew he would never meet her again. That allowed his affection for Pava to grow, and he had come to enjoy her presence.
“Tell me about the Guardian,” he asked, as they ambled through the city’s narrow streets.
“I do not know what to tell,” she said, “You know already that the people consider him generous. You have yourself been beneficiary of his kindness.”
“Yes, but how did he come to be the Guardian? Did someone choose him? Was he born to it? And he must have a name; ‘
Guardian’ is just a title, isn’t it? Does he have a family? Is he…” Michael paused trying to think of the word, “…well, is there a woman in his life? In my world, we would say married, but maybe it’s called something else here.” He was careful to avoid speaking of the Elahish custom of Entwining, knowing it was associated with Weaving.
Pava nodded, acknowledging his question, before beginning. “You have heard of Jashmarael?” she asked
“Yes, he was the one who sent the Weavers away a thousand summers ago.”
“That is correct,” she said, “We do not know really what happened. Jashmarael lived a long time – two hundred summers or more – but eventually began to age. One dawn he announced that he would be departing, but said that he would ensure that a Guardian cared for the city. All the people sorrowed when he left, but it was not long after that our first Guardian arrived. It is said his appearance shared many similarities with Jashmarael, and some claimed that he was his son.
“The Guardian lived and ruled for perhaps fifty summers before departing himself, though once again he promised that another would arrive. True to his word, again a new Guardian came to the city. And so it has continued, generation after generation.”
Pava looked at him as she continued her tale, “There are still those who claim that each Guardian is descended from Jashmarael, but in truth we do not know. He comes bearing no name that is revealed to us. He lives and helps us for fifty summers or more, and then he departs again into the mountains in the north.
“Beyond that,” she said, “I cannot say.
“As for a woman in his life, I do not know of one. When a woman and man have concluded their youthful fancies and desire to remain with just one other for the remainder of their lives, they will Join. But the Guardian has not Joined with any,” she finished, “and I have not known him to love another.”
Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) Page 22