Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (32 page)

And his world came crashing down around him.

***

Pava stood in front of him, her smile warm across her mouth, her eyes looking hungrily at him. But all he could now see was her hand: her right hand, palm turned slightly upwards, her invitation clear. Her skin was soft and gentle, her fingernails painted deep red. It was the hand from his dream: not a hand that was
like
the one in his dream. It was
the
hand. He knew it, and within a heartbeat, he was filled with terror.

In his dream, he had accepted the invitation, placing his own hand in that of his false saviour and had instantly regretted it. It was no hand of love, but was rather a trap sent to deceive. The loving voice that had warned him then now screamed in his mind,
Release yourself
, and Michael stood.

Initially Pava thought he was coming to her, but his step backwards caused her to speak, “What is wrong, my love?”

Her face looked concerned, and she took a step towards him. But now Michael could see more clearly, and he saw that her step wasn’t natural. She had placed her right foot directly in front of her body in order to accentuate the swing of her hips, and then the left foot. She was walking towards him as seductively as possible, knowing exactly what her body was doing.

“No,” he said, quickly taking several steps backwards. “I’m sorry Pava – I really am – but I can’t do this. I need to go.”

“Oh, Rami, please,” she cried, her voice beginning to quake. “What have I done? I have ruined my special night.”

She had stopped moving and Michael looked at her face, saw a tear fall to her cheek. He felt a sudden pang of guilt for making her cry, and almost went to her, but something in the rugs caught his eye. He looked more carefully, and noticed that one of the rugs had come from an animal with long silver fur, unusual black shapes patterning its coat.

Realisation slowly dawned on him as the image of a magnificent creature that had claimed him came to his mind. “That’s from a Shosa,” he said. He suddenly grew angry, the shock of this new discovery showing in his voice, “You kill Shosa; for their fur?” He thought of Peran, horrified at the thought that such a majestic creature would be slaughtered for her luxurious coat.

The image of his Shosa brought to his mind memories of riding her, Aneh sitting on Ippi at his side.
Aneh
, he thought,
what have I done?
Suddenly he was appalled, felt his stomach squirm violently for what had nearly happened: for what he had
wanted
to happen.

He turned to leave, but halted again when he saw Samo blocking his exit. He was about to say something to his friend, but realised by the look on his face that he had been a part of the plan.

“I am sorry,” the red-haired man said, though no sorrow touched his features, “but if Pava’s charms have not convinced you, then I am afraid I will have to do so.

“It is a pity,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone, “because lying with her willingly would be far more pleasurable, I am sure you would agree.”

Michael looked back at Pava. Gone were the false tears. Gone was the smile. She now wore a look of an angry determination.

“No!” he shouted. “I won’t!”

“The noise of your struggles, or even screams, will be hidden by the music below. You are a pathetic fighter, so it will not be difficult to restrain you,” replied Samo calmly. “But I honestly do not wish to harm you, so perhaps things will go more easily if we speak briefly of your mother?”

Fear again filled his chest, the conversation shifting in such an unexpected way, but Samo continued, “It would be such a pity if something were to happen to her, wouldn’t it?” He paused briefly for dramatic effect, shaking his head in mock sorrow, “And so soon after you have been reunited.”

No!
he thought.
They can’t do this!
But they were doing it. He was trapped between the two people he had thought were his friends. His mother was being threatened, and there was nothing he could do about it. But, why? How could seducing him be remotely important to anyone? Apparently it was important enough to force him, but it didn’t make any sense.

“Why?” he cried. “Why are you doing this? You’re my friends.”

Pava spoke now, and he turned to look at her. She had remained in her underwear, showing no signs of embarrassment to be revealing so much of her body to both men. “No, Michael. I am sorry – and unlike Samo, part of me really is sorry – but we are not your friends. And we do this because the Guardian wills it.”

“What?” Michael’s confusion grew, but the pace of his speech was picking up, his breathing quickening and fists clenching as his anger also began to surface. “Why would the Guardian – or Jashmarael, that’s who he really is, isn’t it – why would he want this to happen?!”

Pava sighed as she replied, “You do not know what is happening here, but no matter.” She again smiled, and started to walk seductively towards him. “We can still make it enjoyable. I do not lie when I say that I desire to be with you.”

Starting to panic Michael moved away from them both, though he knew he would now be trapped in the room’s corner. He wanted to strike, but he knew Samo was right: his false friend would defeat him easily. There had to be a way to escape,
something
he could do.

“Or,” said Samo with steel in his voice, seeing Michael continue to back away, “I can send the guards to bid
farewell
to your mother.” Adding a smirk, he shouted, “Guards!”
 

Thoughts of the danger to his mother brought sheer panic to Michael now and he screamed, “No!”

Thinking no longer for himself he ran for the door, pushing over one of the pedestals in the room to impede his chasing attackers. Even so, he surprised himself that he reached the door before Samo had managed to grapple him and continued into the corridor without pausing to look behind him. Though the building was large, its corridors weren’t complicated and Michael was easily able to race down the stairs, taking them three at a time. He didn’t see the crowds of people as he ran past them; didn’t notice when he knocked people from their feet as he sped his way from the building. Neither did he hear the music, the sound of his own pulse throbbing through his head.

Even after he had left the building, he continued to run, hoping that the Guards who always trailed him for his ‘protection’ hadn’t seen his escape. He knew the city well enough now to find his way through a maze of nearby streets, eventually collapsing in a heap, out of breath and feeling nauseous; so nauseous that he fell onto his arms and threw up. Turning back to sit down, he stayed there only long enough to catch his breath. Guards would now be on their way, and he needed to arrive first. He needed to save his mother.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
 

Trusted

Men who seek power will employ those whose craft lies in careful planning and manipulation, the webs they weave often too complex for the pure in heart to defy. At such times, those whose souls are innocent may wonder whether they must adopt their own form of deceit to defend themselves and those they love. Be wary of such a temptation, however, for in so doing virtue may be lost entirely from the world.

From the Wisdom of Ashael

***

As he moved through the streets towards the lower city where his mother lived, Michael saw few people out. But he carefully scanned each he passed for evidence of disguised soldiers. Despite the bright night sky – the stars were shining, and the glow of the half-moon reflected off stone roofs and passing sculptures – it was obvious that the hour had grown late. Most of the city’s inhabitants were now in their beds, peacefully unaware of the drama that afflicted Michael’s soul.

He didn’t know how long it would take for the soldiers to arrive at his mother’s house. Although Samo had called for guards, Michael didn’t remember seeing any as he made his escape, and he wondered whether they had been hidden in a secret chamber as part of the plan to deceive him, or whether his false friend’s cry had been a ruse: an attempt to force Michael into submitting; another deception. Certainly there was no sign of those soldiers who had been assigned to accompany him wherever he went.

But he had no time to consider this or the other multitude of questions pressing him as he hurried along the streets. He moved at a quick walk when individuals or small groups were in sight, not wanting to attract attention to himself, but otherwise ran. Although he hadn’t heard any sounds of a chase, he wanted to ensure that he arrived first, in time to warn her.

His feelings were mixed when he rounded the last corner and saw a light coming from the front room of his mother’s house. In other circumstances he would have smiled, knowing that she was probably making some final efforts to make her home perfect before the arrival of her son to live with her in only a couple of dawns. But tonight as he saw the light, he wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that he wouldn’t have to wake her, allowing them to make a quicker escape; or to fear that the soldiers had beaten him here.

He crept quietly to the door, and when he couldn’t hear any sounds coming from inside, decided she was probably alone so knocked. His mother had told him to always just enter, but at this late hour he thought it might startle her to unexpectedly see someone else appear in her home.
 

Relief flooded him when he saw her cautiously open the door, her own face one of confusion to have a visitor at such a late hour. Her expression turned to worry when she recognised her son. “Rami, come in. What is the matter? It is late, and I see that you are alarmed.”

He quickly passed her as he entered the house, talking as he moved, though still breathing heavily from his hurried journey, “You have to go, mum. They’ll be here soon.”

His eyes must have looked desperate, as Eramica’s expression grew concerned, “What do you mean, Rami? Who is coming? Please tell me, what is the matter?”

The door was still open, and Michael kept one eye on the street as he spoke, “I’ll have to explain later. My friends – well no, not my friends – Pava and Samo, they tricked me. You’re in danger.
Please
, mum, we need to go now.”

He was worried that his mother would want to know more; would have more questions, thus delaying their departure. And so he was pleased when he saw her recognise the urgency in his eyes and voice, and trusted his short message. He watched his mother’s eyes grow a determination in them, as she straightened her back. “They will
not
harm my son a second time. Quickly,” she said as she now closed the door. “We will use the rear exit.”

They stopped only briefly in the kitchen where Eramica grabbed a loaf of bread, placing it into a leather sack that she quickly threw over her shoulder. And then they left. Something in Michael’s heart tore as they moved through the back door of his mother’s home. This should have been his home. After eighteen winters of absence, he deserved to have been able to spend some time living with his mother.
Two more dawns!
Only two more dawns, and he would have moved in; would have finally had a home: not a house, a
home
where he was wanted and loved. Those who had pretended to be his friends had torn that small mercy from him.

They ran through dark alleys that lined the rear of the houses, turning down one side alley and then another. As Michael looked at the sky, he saw the moon again: its half-face mocking him; its stillness a cruel counterpoint to his own turmoil.

His gaze returned to his mother as she held her hand up, motioning him to stop. They had arrived at the exit of an alley at a wide road, and Eramica was looking both ways to check for people who might observe them. She turned back to him, her dark eyes looking bright with their sharpness. “Do you see the door over there? The green one with the golden tree painted on it?”

Michael looked diagonally across the street where she was pointing and saw the door. He had remembered seeing a handful of doors like this around the city, but had never enquired about them.

She was looking at him, so could see his nod, before she continued, “We will be safe when we get through that door.” Sensing Michael’s fear, she smiled reassuringly as only a mother can and reached to take his hand. “It will be well. I know it.”

Still holding his hand and taking another glance to ensure the street was empty, she quickly led him across the street to the door she had indicated. The handle turned easily and the door swung inwards, allowing them to enter a dark passageway. Michael was surprised when the ground beneath them still felt hard, as if they continued on a paved road rather than stepping into a building but could see no light as they slowly moved along. Looking above him, he could still see stars in the sky, and realised then that they were in another alleyway rather than a home – a hidden passage – and he wondered whether the other few green doors with golden trees also hid similar secrets.

After a few moments his eyes adjusted, and he could just make out a wall approach them where the alley ended: another door in their path. Again Eramica easily opened it, and they quietly slipped through.

The scene now in front of them was in stark contrast to everything else Michael had seen in Aperocalsa. He had wandered the city, both accompanied and alone, and had only ever witnessed smart buildings, intricate artworks, people dressed in fine brightly coloured clothing. There were no poor here, he had been told. But like so many things, he now knew, that too had been a lie.

What lay before his eyes could only be described as a shantytown. Even under the light of the moon and stars he could make out the mismatched stones – presumably retrieved from the ruins of collapsed buildings – odd lengths of wood; dried mud. These made the walls and roofs of the dwellings that lay across his vision.

The houses were packed together, no inch of space wasted, and with second floors impossibly stacked on top of uneven floors. Though the hidden city was no larger than the size of a football field, Michael imagined that thousands of people lived here, secreted away from the happy and prosperous city-folk. The hidden town was in a bowl, the ground level just lower than the rest of the city, and was surrounded by a tall wall. The result was that none in the prosperous part of the city from the fine windows of their comfortable third or fourth story homes, would have to take notice of those who lived here. No consciences would be pricked. Even from the balcony of his room in the Palace in the upper city he hadn’t seen any evidence of this place. It had been expertly hidden by the city’s planners.