Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (24 page)

As he stared at himself in the mirror, he realised why Amafar had told him to have a bath. Michael had thought the soldiers had looked filthy when he had seen them, but they were immaculate compared to the image that stood before him. Quite apart from the normal grime of riding through, and sleeping on, plains for half a moon, his face was stained with dried blood in places. He suddenly realised that when he had tripped in the forest fleeing the demons, and perhaps when he was again hit unconscious, his nose must have bled, and the skin on his head split. By the time he had regained consciousness, it had dried, of course, and much of the blood must have flaked off his face in the time since. But there were still many areas of his face where it looked to be glued to his skin. Added to that, his hair was at every possible angle, and had bits of grass sprinkled through it. He realised he probably stank too, and was suddenly embarrassed to have Leta see him. And so he was pleased when, having shown Michael a pull cord in each room that would summon her if need be, she left him alone.

Having now seen himself, he decided that his first order of business was to wash, and he was grateful to find a range of cloths and scrubbing brushes arranged to help him get clean. When he entered the water of the stone bath, he realised that he hadn’t felt hot water in a moon, and for a while just lay back enjoying the soothing feeling it had on his tired muscles. He jolted upright as he realised he was falling asleep, though, and then set to eradicating the grime that covered his body and littered his hair. The work stung his skin, but he continued until he could see all traces of the last half a moon were gone from his body. He couldn’t find a soap that wasn’t perfumed, and had eventually just picked one that he thought smelled slightly less feminine.

His facial hair still grew slowly, and he thought it made him look messy having not shaven in a moon either, but he couldn’t work out what he could use for shaving, so finished, satisfied that at least he was clean. Once dry, he found that some nightclothes had been laid out on the bed, finding them soft and comfortable when he dressed in them. After he had then filled his stomach with the food and wine that had been left for him, the exertions of the several dawns finally caught up to him and he collapsed into bed, where he quickly fell into a deep dreamless slumber.

***

When he awoke the following morning, the sun was streaming through the window of his room. Michael thought it appeared quite high in the sky, and realised he must have slept late, his bed the most comfortable thing he thought he had ever slept on.

Rising, he walked into the living area and found it again warm, a fire long-established and radiating heat, and the food on the table having been replenished. He had nearly filled his stomach when Leta entered, smiling when she saw him sitting at the table.
 

“I take it you slept well,” she said, more as a statement than a question, though Michael nodded in response.

She wore a white dress this morning, with the same deep red colour inside the pleats of the skirt, and with the image of a hawk and sword self-patterned over her right breast. Without her cloak, Michael saw that she was neither slim nor looked overweight. Though she was likely twice his age, he thought the added summers had been kind to her.

“Are your quarters comfortable? Is there anything you lack?” she asked.

Michael was confused at the attention he was receiving. He couldn’t understand why these people considered his comfort important, but rather than dwell on his questions, he thanked Leta. However, feeling his soft bristles scratch against his chin, he remembered he wanted to shave and asked her what he should use. He didn’t know whether a woman would be able to answer his question, but she was assured as she led him to the bathroom and showed him the various tools available. Reluctantly, he then accepted her offer to shave his face, only ever having used an electric razor before, and paid close attention so that he would be able to make the attempt himself next time.

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 surprising 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.