She had finished her tale now, and they continued walking in comfortable silence. There was something in Pava’s tale that didn’t quite fit – an unidentified nagging feeling. But Michael couldn’t pin it down, and his thoughts soon left the Guardian and his strange history, again drifting to his mother. The nerves squirmed in his stomach as he thought of the meeting that was planned for the following morning.
***
“Calm yourself.” Michael didn’t know how many times Leta had said that this morning, or in how many different variations. But it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“You should eat,” she added.
“I’m not hungry.” He hadn’t slept the previous night, and had finally arisen early, washed, dressed, and then paced. Though he knew his body needed to eat, his stomach was screaming with nervous anticipation, and he hadn’t been able to take more than a nibble or two from the assorted food arrayed on his table.
“Is it time yet?” he asked.
“Almost.”
“Do I look okay?”
“Michael,” she tried not to sound exasperated, “I have told you already, you are well presented. Your mother will likely not even see your clothing, but even if she thought it more important than all, she would still be proud.”
He had managed to find some new clothes in the various shades of dark brown that he knew best suited his looks. His velvet jacket was the colour of newly tilled soil, and had an intricate silver trim. Most of the front buttons of his jacket were done up, so that his lighter brown shirt showed underneath his chin.
Will she really be proud? he asked himself. He remembered the crystal medallion, and how his eyes had initially been drawn to Aperocalsa. But his gaze hadn’t lingered there. Maybe if I had kept my focus on the city… Had he then made a choice that took him away from his mother? Would she somehow know? Will she be angry with me? More important than all these questions, however, was the one which he dared not give words to, even silently. Would she accept him? Or, would she decide that her life had been better without her son? Would she refuse to acknowledge him, leaving him abandoned again?
Finally, Leta signalled that it was time for them to leave, and Michael awkwardly fell in step behind her as they left his quarters. It had been agreed that they would meet in the Palace grounds. His mother, Eramica, had neglected her own wellbeing during her eighteen summer search for her child, and apparently she couldn’t bear the thought of her precious child seeing the state of her home. A comfortable room in a smaller building in the grounds of the Palace had therefore been chosen as the place for their reunion. A handful of the Palace’s more senior officials had their quarters here – it was less grand than the main Palace itself – and everyone hoped that it would thus be less overwhelming for her.
Michael’s thoughts continued to race as he walked, and he found himself looking at his feet, ensuring only that they followed behind Leta’s: through the corridors, down the stairs, through another corridor, and into the snow. His head bowed, Michael didn’t feel the snow fall gently on his hair as they crossed the short distance to their destination. Then they walked through a new corridor, round a corner, and another twenty paces. Finally, they stopped.
“Michael,” said Leta gently.
As he looked at her, she motioned with her head to the door they were now standing before. Michael hadn’t really studied the doors in the Palace, but now noticed that it was of a solid piece of wood. The stone frame was curved at the top, and there were decorative patterns carved into it, reflected in the wood of the door beneath it. As he glanced down at the handle, he noticed the round face had the image of the hawk and sword designed into its black iron.
Again, Leta prompted him, “Enter when you are ready.”
After a lifetime of searching, hoping and dreaming, he thought it ironic that he now didn’t think he would ever be ready. But after half a dozen hesitations, he took a deep breath and turned the handle. Carefully opening the door, he slowly entered.
He closed the door behind him again before turning to examine the room, fearful of allowing his eyes to see a mother who may or may not accept her returned lost son. As expected, the fireplace was full of warm flame, adding to the light of the various lanterns in the room. The walls were adorned with tapestries, and the floor was covered with a thick red rug.
But he didn’t notice his surroundings. As soon as he had turned to face the room, he had seen her. With her flowing dark hair and brown eyes, Michael thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Their eyes locked with each other’s, the dark brown depths of their gaze a mirror to each other. Her dress was a mixture of lilacs and various shades of blue. Her face reflected the many winters of pain and sorrow she had endured; her self-torture for the loss of her son. But the tears that now stained her cheeks had been called forth by joy rather than sadness.
Michael finally had to blink himself, to chase the water from his eyes. As he did so, the spell was broken, and Eramica ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Through the sobs that now shook her body, Michael could hear her, “I knew you yet lived. I am so sorry, my son. Please, will you forgive me?”
Openly weeping now himself, he stroked her dark hair, whispering just one word, “Mother”.
***
They spent all day together. At first, their conversation was stilted as their raw emotions combined with the lack of familiarity with each other. But gradually they opened up. Eramica told Michael how well his clothes suited him, and he spoke of how he had always chosen those colours when he could, which then led to other topics.
Michael listened with awe as his mother spoke of her long search for him, amazed at the extraordinary lengths she had gone to. She had exhausted her search of the city. After hunting in all of the known places, she had discovered secret passages that led to the tunnels and hidden places where the outcast from their society lived. She had explored the surrounding mountains, and then gone on to the ruined towns and villages of Italcasla, Mirucalsa, Evacalsa, and others. After that her attention had been turned to the forests and the Elahish, and when all of these had failed, she had searched in the Cedrill Hills: a place she called a mystery, where legend said there once lived a powerful people. It had all been to no avail, though she had never given up. Before hearing from the Guardian that her son had been found, she had been planning a dangerous journey to the western mountains, from where the White Messenger had arrived foretelling Jashmarael’s arrival a thousand summers past, hoping that somehow the prophetic creature still lived and could aid her.
Through her long tale, she apologised again and again, tears repeatedly falling from her eyes. Michael would hold her, stroke her hair, and give comfort; telling her how happy he was that they had been reunited; how he had always dreamed and longed for this day.
Then it was Michael’s turn to relate the story of his life. He avoided saying how Rob had largely ignored him, or how lonely and angry he had felt. Such descriptions, he thought, would add to the feelings of guilt his mother harboured. And so he told of his life in England, keeping the details factual, though talking often of how he had always longed to find his mother.
The time raced by, with food being brought at regular intervals. Somehow, late night arrived without their awareness, and they were forced to admit that sleep was necessary. Eramica had been given a room in the Palace grounds for the night so that they could continue their reunion the next dawn, though, and Michael gave his mother a last hug as they said goodnight.
The following dawn Michael arose early and quickly made his way across the Palace grounds. When he arrived in their room of reunion, Eramica was already there, and they again embraced before resuming the tales of their lives. They talked of things they hadn’t previously discussed, but also revisited tales: expounding detail they had missed in their haste to have their newly found family share the story of their life. When she had asked Michael whether there were any young women in his life, he was surprised to find
it difficult to respond. Although he had spent much more time with Pava, and had grown to feel a deep affection for her, the first image that flashed in front of his mind when his mother had asked him was that of Aneh.
She had misread his hesitancy, though, saying, “You should not be shy, my son. Goodness, you have grown into a handsome young man, and there will be many fine women who would Join with you.”
They talked, and laughed, and wept. In many ways, it was everything and more that Michael had dreamed of. He had found his mother, and it seemed she loved him dearly.
“Please,” she said, “you must come and live with me.”
Michael could see in her eyes not just a loving invitation, but a pleading, as if his acceptance of her offer would somehow represent his forgiveness for her imagined transgression all those summers before. His grin was huge as he replied, “I would love to. Yes, please.”
Her quick smile was immediately replaced with worry, however, “Not straight away, though. My home is not ready, and there is so much to do. But I will work hard to prepare it. Maybe half a moon.” The lines on her face creased as more guilt appeared on her forehead. “I should have kept your room ready. I am so sorry, can you forgive me?”
“It’s okay, mum,” he said. “We’ve got summers and summers, so it doesn’t matter if it takes a little while.”
She relaxed at his words, and smiled again. She had found his use of “mum” strange at first, but had grown accustomed to it already. It made him wonder whether she had a pet name for him when he was little. “Mum, my name is Ramical, right?”
Again, she smiled, “Yes. People thought we were strange to give you such a name rather than use a part of your father’s, but somehow we knew it was right.”
“It will take me a long time to get used to it,” Michael said. “I’m sorry, but Michael has been my name ever since I can remember, so it might be hard.”
“It does not matter,” she replied, taking his hand in hers to reassure him. “All that matters is that you are safe, and you are here.”
“But there is something else I was wondering,” he continued. “Although my name was… is… Ramical, what did you call me? You know, when you would speak to me as mothers do, what did you say?”
She smiled again as she closed her eyes for a moment, remembering her time as a young mother, with her baby next to her. “I called you Rami,” she said softly.
It took only a second for the words to sink in: for the full import to be felt. In his dream, he had heard a woman calling. He had thought she had been calling to him, but she hadn’t used his name. She hadn’t said Michael. Trust yourself, Ami she had said. He smiled now as he realised that even in a dream he could mishear, as he understood that the words really must have been Trust yourself, Rami. He would ask about it another time, but for now it was another boon to his soul to know that even in the other world – the one he now knew was the one foreign to him – even there his mother had somehow reached out to him.
***
They made plans to see each other every couple of dawns until her home was ready for Michael to move in, and then said their goodbyes. Michael was emotionally exhausted from the two dawns and slept soundly, awaking late the following morning. But he felt as happy as he ever had done, and joyfully told Samo and Pava of his reunion when they met just before lunchtime.
It took longer than Eramica had thought for her to feel that her home was ready for Michael, and half a moon later she was still apologising for another delay when they met, but he didn’t mind. He had waited eighteen winters to find his mother, so waiting an extra moon, or two, or five, to move back into his home didn’t matter to him.
But alongside the joy at seeing his mother, there arose within him an increasing discomfort with… something. The weather had started to warm again. The snow was gone from the ground and had begun its retreat up the faces of the nearby mountains, and when the clouds released their moisture it was rain. As the people of the city once again made their way outdoors to enjoy the improving weather, he noticed anew their happy sociality and their bright clothing. Now, however, there was something that didn’t seem quite right as he observed them.
He asked Samo and Pava if there was anything different, but they had given him funny looks and told him that he was imagining things, putting it down to the excitement of meeting his mother.
But Michael knew that wasn’t it. Although as he thought about it, he realised that the discussion he had with his mother may have contributed to his feelings. When he had first arrived in Aperocalsa, he was surprised at how perfect everything had seemed to be. Thinking it looked too good to be true, he had asked Samo where the poor lived, and Samo had replied saying that there weren’t any. Although he hadn’t seen anything in his moons amongst the people to contradict Samo’s claim, his mother had told him that her search of the city when he had first been lost had lead to finding hidden places where the outcast lived.
When he had told Pava of what his mother had said, Pava had insisted that there were no poor, and that his mother must have become confused in her despair. But that didn’t feel right to Michael. There had to be poor. Every society had the poor. It’s just that some were better at hiding them; at pretending they didn’t exist.
Then there was also the Guardian. It was certainly true that he had been benevolent: he had even found Michael’s mother and reunited them. But the story that Pava had told about Jashmarael and the subsequent Guardians perplexed him. Even if Jashmarael had saved their entire city as their story was told, was it credible for him to simply leave after two hundred summers, and then for the entire city to accept without question a stranger turning up and declaring that he was now their Guardian? And he still didn’t know why the Guardian had taken him under his protective care in the first place.
Indeed, the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. The Elahish Bow and Sword Weavers genuinely appeared to attack the city’s soldiers. Even in his time in the city, he had seen Rists return, depleted from bloody encounters. He had been threatened himself by a Sword Weaver, and that was with evidence of a Sooth Weaver that he wasn’t a threat to them. He was certain they would kill him if he returned to them now. Their Lora also seemed to think quite highly of themselves and he could imagine them imposing their will on the people of the city just as the Guardian claimed had happened a thousand summers past. So on the one hand it seemed legitimate for the people of Aperocalsa to fear the Weavers.
On the other hand, the Elahish lived a simple life. They didn’t pursue fashion or vanity. Their artwork by Weavers inspired others, granting new perspectives in ways that transcended mere talent. And most of the Weavers had nothing to do with power or influence – there was no reason to fear them. On the whole, their people seemed to be more… innocent? Pure?
Everything about both the Elahish and Aperocalsa felt incongruent and ultimately, that is what Michael decided was making him feel uneasy.
And so, as the weather cheered up, Michael retreated more into the library. Though he ensured that he saw his mother as often as he could, he met with his friends less frequently, a hunger for understanding building within him.
He decided that he needed to learn more about Jashmarael and the Guardians of the city, so started his research there. Over the course of several dawns, he found a number of tomes that related to the time of the city a thousand or so summers past, but most were of no use, some speaking of Jashmarael, but only in passing, or proclaiming his greatness.
It was on the fourth dawn of searching that he finally found something useful. He had been just about to finish in the late afternoon, his eyes stinging from having been staring at tiny words for marks on end. But as he turned to the page that he decided would be his last, he read the words, “White Messenger”, and his eyes’ ache suddenly departed.
The text was difficult to read, with some words erased, and pages torn, but he pulled the book closer to his eyes to aid his study of the faint writing.
The wint
er had been heavy, and the snow remained piled against walls and buildings, holding their occupants in their warm abodes to await the first glimpse of spring. It was for this reason that the White Messenger was not quickly seen; his snow-white body invisible against winter’s plains.
The guards affrighted, though they held their ground, keeping the terrifying creature at bay until word reached………
The page had been torn here, and he turned the book’s broken leaf to pick up the tale.
….within the walls of the Talleth. Here, he grew in stature, and finally spoke. Standing under the Erallis Flower, his voice was magnified, its deep rumbles sounding like the dark caverns of the earth itself calling forth Aylosia’s salvation or doom. All present trembled; even… looked uncertain, though she alone did not fear the white prophet.
A crossroad approaches
The path divides
The child born
Will choose the side
Heed his call
Spare the pain
Aylosia’s glory
To see again
Seed of love
Saviour born
Healing rifts
‘Til time’s last morn
After concluding his curious message, the strange being departed, disappearing again into the snowy plains… declared it a prophecy… face lit with… anticipation.
Michael studied the words on the following pages. Large passages continued to have been removed, and Michael wondered whether it had been acts of carelessness, or whether a deliberate violence had been enacted upon the book: offending words torn in purposeful rage. Considering how precious books were and that he had seen no similar excisions in the other volumes he had studied, he considered the latter more likely, and he couldn’t help but wonder what messages were now forever hidden from view.
Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) Page 23