Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1)

by Jeffrey Collyer

  He ran and ran, stumbling several times on the uneven floor of the waterbed. Finally, his foot firmly struck one of the many invisible rocks that lay hidden beneath the water’s surface, sending him crashing headlong into the stream.

  As he fell, he managed to raise his arms in front of him, so that it was his hands that hit the sharp edges of the rocks rather than his face. But when he climbed to his feet he discovered his right hand was bleeding, a shallow gash sliced from the sharp protrusions he had struck. His big toe was also throbbing intensely. He suspected it was broken.

  But the jolt of the fall had broken the spell of irrational running, and he realised that if anything, the noise of his frantic splashing would have made a pursuit more likely, not less. He also decided that having travelled through the stream for a good distance from the lake, he would now be safe to leave the water, walking instead on the less treacherous earth. If pursuers had heard his splashing and were now following the stream, they would find him anyway, he reasoned; and if they hadn’t, then the greater ease of walking on dry ground would be beneficial.

  The choice to traverse dryer ground soon paid dividends as his journey became easier. It wasn’t long before he managed to settle into a steady limp that avoided injuring further his toe, and he no longer needed to concentrate on the steps he was taking. Blood was dripping from his hand, but he ignored it, his awareness not extending to the trail that the red drops would leave.

  But no longer having to concentrate on the uneven floor of the stream gave him the mental space to consider his predicament. Once he had left the lake, he had run only where he thought Jashmarael’s soldiers were least likely to follow, not thinking of where he would go or what he could do once safely away.

  But for the many moons he had now spent in Aylosia, he was still a stranger here. Most of that time had been spent within the walls of Aperocalsa, learning little of the surrounding areas. Aneh had begun to teach him some outdoor survival skills, but that had lasted only a few dawns and was moons past. On top of that, her lessons had been in a forest, as far away from here as a Karrabesh could ride in half a moon. He didn’t know what might be different about the vegetation and animals in this part of the land.

  However, even with those limitations, he recognised edible berries that Aneh had showed him, and he helped himself to them as he walked. He doubted berries would keep him alive forever, and he had no idea how to find shelter, but it was something.

  Furthermore, he realised that now he was outside the city walls he would be vulnerable to Chet’tu. Thinking of the terrible creatures, he stopped suddenly, remembering that they lived in the mountains. He was walking towards the peaks in the south, where they likely made their home. But he soon started moving again as he recalled that they had been willing to descend from the rocky heights to attack in fields and forest. No, they would find him whether in mountain or on plain, he knew, so he may as well continue with his current direction.

  The recollection of the Chet’tu made him again think of Aneh; the first time they had been attacked; their Shosa saviours; Aneh Weaving her healing magic on him. But the wonder and awe he had felt at the time now evaded him, as his mind wandered to the second occasion the evil creatures had found them.

  The words of Jashmarael came to him, It was you who led the Chet’tu to them… They died a grisly death because of you. He didn’t want to believe what the Guardian had said; he ached to believe that it had been a lie. But he remembered seeing the dead defender as their camp had begun to be over-run. When those demons had arrived too… One of the Chet’tu will have enjoyed feasting on her. Or more likely several of the beasts; tearing the limbs from her to claim a piece each, spreading her bones between the trees for Tils and insects to enjoy.

  The beasts had been hunting him, and yet Aneh had ended up dying in a cruel and painful way.

  His mother, too, had died because of him. It may have been a servant of Jashmarael who had released the arrow that pierced her heart, but ultimately he knew, it was Michael who had caused her death. For all his cruel words, Jashmarael had been right about him. He brought death and sorrow wherever he went.

  These thoughts now crowded Michael’s head: appearing, then disappearing, as if on a never-ending merry-go-round. And as they did, what little hope had been lingering in his heart fled, the despair that replaced it intensifying with each step he took.

  He had no concept of how long he walked. He didn’t notice the drops of rain that started to fall on him through the thinning trees; didn’t even feel the blisters that were starting to form as his feet rubbed against the waterlogged boots that were meant for city life.

  Sometime later in the afternoon, as the rain had increased its intensity and began to hurl itself against him, his strength finally gave out, and he collapsed under the partial protection of a large bush. There, he finally curled into a ball, closed his eyes, and wished to die.

  ***

  How long he was there he didn’t know. At times the heavy rain turned to downpour, and the small leaves of his bushy guardian became more like courses for miniature rivers to pour onto his face; filling his exposed ear, and rushing past his eyes. The air around him darkened, but whether it was night that hid the sun or angry clouds that sought to banish the light, he neither knew nor cared. The wind, too, strengthened, finding its way through the branches that surrounded him; causing his body to shiver.

  But he acknowledged none of that as he drifted in and out of consciousness; his dreams haunting his closed eyes as easily as his thoughts had terrorised them when he was awake. Even in his sleep, something within him hoped the end was near, and that tales of an afterlife were fabrications. Only extinction could quell the silent screams that haunted his soul.

  That was when Eramica’s voice came to him, in his dreams. Live. She said. That had been her final wish. It was the promise she had sought from him as her last breath left her.

  Find your mother, Joh had cryptically said. It was a strange thing to say. What had he meant? That even though she had died, there was a part of her within him that he needed to discover? That he could reach out to her beyond the grave? That in death they would be reunited?

  Then the words from his dream of many moons ago came to him, Follow your heart, and you will find me when you need to. He had known then that it was his mother speaking.

  As her life had slipped away, he had made the promise she had sought. He had promised to live, and the memory of his oath brought him out of sleep, restoring a semblance of awareness back to him.

  Every part of his body screamed as he climbed out from his green shelter, and he could only stand once he had crawled to a nearby rock that he was able to use as support. Even the sky seemed to object to his decision to delay his mortal demise, a rumble of thunder overhead murmuring its disapproval.

  But he ignored heaven’s complaints and slowly resumed his journey. After only a dozen or so painful paces, the ground ahead of him burst into light; a flash of lightning overhead illuminating a terrain that had somehow transformed into a series of boulders large and small strewn hazardously across his path.

  Doing his best to ignore the difficulties they would pose, he agonised his way forward, involuntarily crying out in pain when the broken bones in his foot were again jarred against unseen stone. He could barely see where he was going as the darkness intensified and the storm sought his blindness from the rain that was now falling in sheets.

  His walk was mindless; like a determined zombie, moving despite his journey’s purpose or destination being unknown. Michael nearly lost his balance as he rounded one large boulder and stopped, placing a hand on the rock to steady himself.

  It was only then that he could feel the electricity build in air around him; the hairs on his arms begin to stand on end. Then a tingling sensation came, causing an unknown question and memory to crease his brow.

  CRACK!

  It happened so suddenly that Michael didn’t even realise that the lightning had struck the boulder against w
hich he had been resting; had split the huge rock in two. He knew only that a flash of white brighter than anything he had ever seen had blinded him, and that a deafening noise had silenced the world.

  His hip now also throbbed with pain, having landed on it several feet from where he had been standing. Slowly moving to sit up, he adjusted his position, placing his left hand behind himself and pushed… into air. The weight of his body was already expecting to be supported by the arm that was now falling freely. Helplessly, he went tumbling after it.

  His shoulder first struck a rock on his unexpected descent. Then a flailing arm tore against the jagged wall. Finally, his head hit against something hard, and his body stopped.

  Lying motionless on his side, he slowly opened his eyes. His vision was still blurry, but he thought he could just make out some faint lights – blue and green – from random positions. He tried to lift his head, but it was too heavy. Is that water I can see? he thought as he noticed the floor gently shimmering no more than a foot from his face.

  He was suddenly thirsty, but his body was broken, and he was unable to move. As he closed his eyes, his final thought before unconsciousness overtook him was, I’m sorry, mum. I tried.

  ***

  Somewhere deep inside his mind, he opened his eyes. He was lying on his side, curled into the foetal position. The grass beneath him was soft: cool but dry, despite the mist that encased him.

  Peering into the white obscurity, he might have felt fear. He might have remembered his dream; the dark shapes that had appeared always at the edge of his vision; the hand that had extended to imprison him. But he didn’t.

  The mist here wasn’t cold and wet like that in his dream; it gave him no shivers, either physical or mental. Rather, it was more like a warm blanket, comforting his imagined body and soothing his troubled thoughts.

  And this didn’t… feel like a dream. Michael was aware that his body still lay on a cold stone floor somewhere between Aperocalsa and the tall mountains he had been walking towards, but even so, this felt… real.

  Slowly sitting up, he suddenly realised that the physical wounds he had received in his body were also present here; and he groaned at the pain that came from… well, from nearly everywhere. His toe still felt broken; his hip and shoulder bruised where he had fallen. Looking at his hand, the fresh scar remained bright red, new blood oozing from its middle. And his head throbbed. Reaching up with his left hand to touch it, he felt a lump where he had struck it against the hard floor, and a sticky substance he saw was blood when he lowered his fingers again.

  But despite it all, the white air around him still provided comfort, and it was only now that he comprehended the ache that had filled his chest and the wrenching of his stomach had been with him throughout his life. He hadn’t realised, of course. He had only been consciously aware of the emotional agony that coursed through his body when something traumatic happened, when the failures of his life became apparent to him. Then, the ever-present poisons had grown in strength, as if emboldened by the new horrors.

  But now his veins were free of those toxins, and it was only with their absence that he understood they had always been his menacing companions. And with their departure came a freedom he never knew he missed. The pains in his body remained, but there were no more than that: pains of his body. They would heal eventually. The feelings of his spirit in this place were independent of such hurts, and he felt a peace that he never knew was possible.

  The sudden feeling of liberation from his emotional chains was overwhelming and Michael felt none of his usual compulsion to explore his surroundings, to learn what beings or things were hidden in the mist. Instead, he preferred to just sit where he was, exulting in his newfound freedom; praying to the god of fog that his feelings would last.

  He laughed to himself at that thought: the god of fog, trying to search his memories for any mythologies that would contain such a being. He could think of gods of weather; gods of wind; gods of cold. But no god of fog came to his mind and again he smiled to himself, humoured by his petition to the unknown deity.

  As the giggle echoed through his mind, he realised that this was something he hadn’t done in his life: laugh to himself at his own humorous thoughts. He had laughed, of course: he wasn’t always serious. But there had always been an undercurrent of despair; the knowledge of his childhood abandonment always watching over him like a malevolent guardian. And so his laughter had been sparing, and only ever with others. When alone, his thoughts had only ever been solemn… until now.

  With that realisation came a new gratitude for the release that the still mists gave him, and he breathed a deep sigh, closing his eyes to repeat his prayer of thanks.

  And to his surprise, he received a reply.

  It is my pleasure, said the voice.

  Oddly, he couldn’t tell whether the words had directly entered his head, or whether they had been audible, but though they were unexpected they didn’t diminish the feelings of comfort he was enjoying: a smile now crossing his face.

  That is a sight to warm my heart, said the voice.

  “What is?” Michael replied.

  Your smile. It has been too far from your face through all these winters.

  He could tell now that a woman owned the voice. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that it was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  “I guess before I never thought I’d had a lot to smile about,” he said.

  Before? queried the voice. In this place do you look upon your life and see otherwise?

  He hadn’t considered the words he had used, but as he pondered on the woman’s question he realised that he could now see beauty woven through his life. Rob may not have given him the love that he sought, but he had tended diligently to his physical needs, despite the emptiness he had felt in his own soul after his wife’s death. He now realised how great a sacrifice that had been for the reluctant adoptive father. And, for his emotional needs there had been the old homeless man always present; then when he had left Rob’s home for his own flat, Col had more than filled the void. From his time here in Aylosia, the time he spent with Aneh now felt precious to him; the thought of Peran, his Shosa still brought him joy; and his short time knowing his mother was a gift greater than he had ever imagined.

  The image of her lifeless face came to his mind, lying on the floor of Joh’s small house. Tears came easily as he remembered that he would see neither his mother nor Aneh again. But his sorrow was… different, and it took him a moment to realise that his feelings of guilt were almost gone. How?

  Remembering the part he played in their deaths was no longer the agony it had been. He still felt regret for his actions; pain at their loss. He still felt he bore responsibility for their deaths. But such pains were not all consuming here. Somehow, they weren’t able to eat away at his soul, devouring the hints of joy that had been given to him through the winters of his life.

  He now realised that those hints had done more than tease him about what might have been. Rather, they were themselves precious gifts from a merciful universe. The moment from the concrete-lined stream came to his memory: time frozen as he had felt an overwhelming sense of love from his lost mother. He had always considered that moment precious, but he suddenly understood its full importance; how it alone had given him strength at times in his life when it otherwise would have failed.

  Even the realisation that he hadn’t noticed the beauty that had dotted his life didn’t give rise to any self-recrimination. The regrets and sorrows that he felt didn’t vanish; they were still present. But in this place they could somehow sit alongside the peace he felt, rather than compete with it.

  It was with these thoughts, that he finally responded, his smile again appearing, “Yes. I can see my life a little differently here.

  “Am I dead?” he asked. It wasn’t like any near-death experiences he had heard about. There was no tunnel or bright lights. But the peace was so totally overwhelming that he couldn’t think of any other exp
lanation.

  Do you wish your life to be ended? came the reply. There was definitely something about the voice. Why could he not remember?

  “No,” he said. He had said it without thinking. It had only been marks, or maybe even minutes, before that he had lain under the bush wishing for death to overtake him. But now, the desire to live was strong within him.

  Why?

  “I…” he began, then paused to consider the question, “I promised my mum that I would live.”

  Is that the sole reason?

  “Do you only ever ask questions?” Such a comment would usually have been a sign of irritation from Michael, but not here. In this place, it came out as a playful response, and he heard the small laugh acknowledging it.

  How do we learn if not through questions? she asked.

  “Are you teaching me something then? Is that why I’m here? You could just tell me what I need to know,” he suggested.

  There are things that must be learned, but which cannot be taught.

  He laughed at her reply. She had responded to the only thing he had said that wasn’t in the form of a question. But the additional words she had spoken were finally enough to trigger the memory of her voice.

  “You were in my dream,” he said. “You warned me about Pava.”

  You heeded the warning.

  “I thought you were my mother.” He still remembered the powerful emotions he had felt, and the pain that had again overcome him when her voice had disappeared. But those feelings were replaced by curiosity now.

  But she didn’t reply to his implied question, so he continued. “Why?” he asked. “Why did you warn me?”

  Because I knew you would need it.

  “Well, yes,” he replied. “I needed it, and don’t get me wrong I’m grateful. But plenty of others haven’t had those warnings against Ravagers. Why me?”