Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

Col took it from him and examined it closely. After a few seconds, he turned away slightly. “Let me get some more light on it,” he said, holding it so that it caught the early evening sun.

After what seemed like an age – but was probably only about thirty seconds – Michael repeated his question, “Have you ever seen it before?”

“Where did you come across it?” asked his friend, still turned away from him, examining the image.

“That doesn’t really matter,” replied Michael, “Can you tell me if you’ve seen it? Please,” he implored.

Col lowered the drawing and turned back to face Michael again. With slightly raised eyebrows, he said, “You haven’t answered my question. Where did you come across the image?” There was certainly no anger in his voice, but his question was firm – something Michael wasn’t accustomed to from him.

“I asked you first, and you haven’t answered my question either,” he retorted, feeling a little irritable at his friend’s accusation.

That provoked a smile and short laugh. “Yes. Of course you’re right. And I’m sorry, Michael”. Returning to his normal demeanour, he continued, “I tell you what. I’ll answer your question first, if you promise to then answer mine. Deal?” he asked.

Knowing that it would mean revealing his dream, Michael was a little apprehensive, but his friend’s smile was genuine. He couldn’t imagine him throwing ridicule his way, so he agreed. “Deal
”.

“Very well,” started Col. “The short answer is yes, I have seen the image before. It is quite definitely familiar to me.” Michael’s pulse raced, as his expectation of some kind of answer to this part of his dream grew within him. He was quickly disappointed, however. “Unfortunately, it must have been a very long time ago though, and I couldn’t possibly tell you where I saw it, or what it means.”

At that, Michael’s heart half sank. He had thought he would get an answer, but that hope vanished. At least he knew that the image must have come from somewhere, though, and that knowledge made him more determined to find its secret.

“Can I ask you a favour?” he asked. “Could you try and remember for me please? And if you do remember, will you promise to tell me?”

Col placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as he responded, “Well, you’ve gone from one question to three quite quickly, but yes. I promise that if there is anything I can think of that I can tell you about it, I will do so.” He smiled again, and then continued, “And now you promised to answer my question. Where did you see this image? And if I can be a little rude and make an observation: it seems to be important to you, this symbol. May I also ask why, when you don’t even know what it is?”

Shuffling a little, Michael tentatively asked, “Can we sit down?” He didn’t think it would be easy telling his friend of his dream, and thought it would be better if they were sat comfortably somewhere. In addition, Michael knew the few additional seconds it took them to find a place to sit would give him more time to think about what to say.

“Of course,” came the swift reply, and with a mock bow and wave of his arm he proclaimed, “Please follow me to my humble abode.”

His smile almost got the better of his nerves and Michael followed his friend a short way down the alley where, behind some large rubbish bins, was nestled a small shelter built of a mixture of cardboard, discarded newspapers, and old blankets.

As they crawled inside, Michael found it much more comfortable than he had imagined. The blankets were old and torn. But they were thick. And the cardboard walls and roof had been expertly fitted together, stilling the air and giving them privacy.

They sat side by side in silence for a couple of minutes, Col allowing his friend the time to speak when he was ready.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Michael started cautiously.

But Col smiled, and replied, “Don’t you worry about that. I’m the expert on crazy here, remember? And anyway, there’s this phrase I heard a few years ago and I think it’s true:
‘Everybody is someone else’s weirdo’
. I like to remember that – it stops me thinking other people are strange when they say or do things that I wouldn’t do.” He paused for a moment in thought, then added, “You know what I think Michael? I think crazy is in the eye of the beholder. And I promise you that I won’t think you are crazy.”

He was grateful for this man who was so kind to him, grateful that for the last six months of his life he had known someone who he could talk to. It wasn’t easy, after all his years of keeping his thoughts to himself, but he was comfortable with this gentle soul, and so he pressed ahead.

“It was in a dream… last night,” he said, peering cautiously up at his friend to check his face for a reaction. When he could see none, he looked back down at his hands and continued, “It was a really strange dream, but it felt so real. It still seems like something that really happened.”

His friend was looking at him carefully, and when Michael was silent for a couple of moments, prodded him, “Tell me about the dream Michael. I’d like to know, and it might help.”

Michael looked again at his friend’s face, noticing the first signs of grey in his dishevelled beard and hair. Turning to study one of the sheets of newspaper that lined the inside of their shelter, he again spoke, “Well, the whole thing was quite long, but the bits I really remember and feel important are that symbol I showed you, and a sword. The symbol was on the front of some gates into a park behind the shopping area – except the park doesn’t really exist,” he added, “that’s what I was checking this morning before work.

“And when I was in the park there was this sword stuck in the ground. It had some faces on the top of the handle, which was all made of gold. And right underneath the handle on the top of the blade was that symbol again.”

Michael wasn’t pausing now, and spoke quickly, as if he was in a hurry to get the words out. Somehow it seemed that speaking of it would ease the urgency he felt. “And then the clouds in the sky moved around and made the same symbol. I hadn’t been able to see the clouds up until then because there was really thick fog everywhere, but I looked up and saw it in the sky, just before the lightning.”

Part of him knew that this probably wasn’t making any sense, but Col had promised not to think he was crazy and he trusted him for that. “The lightning had hit the clock first – just before I went into the park. And then it hit the sword. And then, when I was looking up at the clouds,” Michael looked again at his friend, “well, then it hit me.

“That’s when I woke up,” said Michael as he concluded his short tale, “when the lightning hit me. I don’t know why it all seems really important, but it does. And you said that you had seen that symbol before, so it must be real, and mean something right? I got a load of books out of the library, and I’m going to look through them tonight to see if I can find it.”

Michael had finished relating his dream so just sat in silence now, Col doing likewise for a few minutes.

Finally Col spoke, “Well, that is a very curious dream isn’t it. I can understand why you want to learn more about it.” The affirmation gave Michael some comfort in his need to get some answers from the pictures in his head.

Col seemed to be struggling with his words now; strangely cautious, “Michael, most young people don’t like it when people more than twice their age try to give them advice – especially when it’s not been asked for. I’ve always tried to avoid giving you suggestions unless you’ve requested them. And you haven’t asked for my advice now, so I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to,” he said, watching Michael with eyes that suggested urgency, “but with your permission, there is something I would like to say.”

Col was right: Michael hated it when other people tried to tell him what to do or what to think. But he didn’t feel like that towards this friend, and he nodded his approval.

He seemed to be looking inside himself briefly, considering his words before he spoke again. “I think you are right to have a look through those books,” he said, “but don’t be too disappointed if you don’t find anything. I have a feeling that symbol is quite unique. And even though I can’t tell you anything about it, I have a feeling that you will learn what it means when you need to.” Before Michael could interject, he continued, “I know that sounds a bit cryptic. I’m not trying to be. It’s just…” he was trying to carefully choose his words. “Well, in my experience a dream that leaves such a strong impression probably isn’t meant to be fully understood straight away. You’ll probably slowly come to understand it – bit by bit.”

Michael didn’t like the thought of having to wait before he got answers to his questions, but something in what Col had said felt right to him, and slowly he nodded.

“There is one more thing; one more piece of advice if I may,” his confidant then said. “This dream has obviously made a very strong impression on you. I have… heard of people where a dream like that has come just before something important has happened.” His words startled Michael and as he looked intently into the deep blue eyes of his friend, he thought he could just detect a slight moistening in their corners.

He smiled, trying to reassure him. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything is about to happen to you, of course, but I would ask you, Michael, to try to be very aware over the next few days. You do a lot of thinking, and that is very good – if only more people spent time thinking as you do I think we’d have a much better world – but please try to be more aware of what is happening around you. Just for the next couple of days. Just in case.”

Michael could tell that there was something else Col wanted to say, and waited quietly for him.

After a pause of a few seconds, he spoke again, “And if something does happen, Michael – and I’m not saying it will, but if it does – do something. Do what your heart tells you to do.”

They looked at each other for a moment, the warm smile returning to his older friend’s face, and then the two of them sat in silence for what seemed like a long time: each pondering the words they had shared with each other.
 

It was strange advice, Michael thought:
don’t worry if I don’t find answers straight away, and if something happens then do something.
Col had offered his counsel with a gravity that made it seem important, though, and so he would certainly think more about it – if only for his friend in whom he had confided.

Finally, Michael started to move, “Well, I want to start looking at those books, so I’ll head off now if that’s okay. Thanks Col,” he said, “it was really good to talk to you about it.” As he got to the exit of the shelter, he turned briefly, “I’ll see you in the morning?” he asked.

“You certainly will. Enjoy your reading Michael,” Col replied.

Michael paused briefly, then turned to face his friend again. “I really mean it,” he said, “Thanks. I can always talk to you. I’ve never had a father, but… well, thanks.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and hurried back to his flat.

Col followed him out of his shelter. As Michael disappeared around the corner of the building, he finally allowed the tears to fall from his eyes. He had known this day would come, but hadn’t expected it to be quite like this, and he softly whispered to himself, “Never had a father…” He then turned back to his shelter and crawled inside to ponder more the discussion that had just taken place, and what would now be required of him.

CHAPTER THREE:
 

Rebirth

Birth may be feared for the treacherous path it treads. It may be railed against for the pain it causes. Or it may be praised for what it brings forth. Often it will be feared, and railed against, and praised, all at once, as the miracle of new life reaches for its fresh destiny. The wise will seek to calm their fears and still their railings, though treacherous paths and pain are certain. Thus may they commence each of life’s many rebirths with praise rather than despair. For me, that has made all the difference.

From the Wisdom of Ashael

***

Sitting in his solitary old armchair, the table lamp providing light over his left shoulder, Michael hunted through the books he had borrowed. When the images were of no help, he scoured each page’s writings for hints that would lead him to an understanding of the Woodland Star. So engrossed was he in his research, he didn’t notice as the evening light passing the faded red curtains behind him was replaced by the soft orange glow of the street lights, or the noise of evening traffic and passers-by quieten to the stillness of morning’s early hours.

Col had been right in thinking that he wouldn’t find the clues he sought, though. He found images of the hexagram in many forms, of course: from the plain styling that appeared on Israel’s flag, through to versions overlaid with intricate patterns suggesting hidden meanings in ancient religions. But none were helpful to him in his quest for understanding.

Similarly in his study of swords: he found images of swords with pommels in the shape of lion and dragon heads – and more – but none like the weapon in his dream with multiple faces, young and old, shaping it.

It was well past midnight when he realised he had read the same paragraph three times and still couldn’t remember whether it told him anything helpful that he finally retired to bed. But sleep was difficult, and many times during the few remaining hours of early morning he lay awake with urgent questions that had no answers.

The following morning at work, Maggie caught him again searching through an old book when he should have been working, and sent him to the front desk for the rest of the day, where she could keep a closer eye on him. Neither protestation nor solemn promise were effective in changing his fate for the day, and so he spent the rest of his shift feeling irritable for what he considered the irrational orders of an old dictator.

The urgency to find answers to the mystery of his dream grew as the day progressed, and as his frustration rose, so did his irritability. Unusually for him, he was out of the door and headed home at five o’clock exactly, now desperate to resume his study of the books in his flat. Even Beth, who was usually the first to leave at the end of their shift had to run to catch up to him. “Michael!” she called. “Wait, I want to talk to you!”