Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1)

by Jeffrey Collyer

  Feeling an urgent need to get out of the library and away from critique, he somehow managed to get Maggie to agree to him taking his lunch break a few minutes early. Unlike in his school days, there was no stream he could quickly escape to, but with his dream still heavily on his mind, he walked to the shopping precinct to examine again the ground clock.

  Perhaps if I see it again, some new idea will come to me.

  As he rounded the corner to the main shopping precinct, he looked towards the clock not far away. The crowds of lunchtime shoppers were just starting to build, and the queues at the cafes and sandwich bars just beginning to grow. Each time a stranger returned his gaze, he imagined them cursing him for the problems the world had placed upon them, and so he lowered his eyes to the ground in front of him to avoid their accusatory glances.

  It was when he arrived at the clock and looked up again that his world changed.

  He froze where he stood when he saw her. Whether his heart stopped or doubled its rhythm he wasn’t sure. He stood there, transfixed, his eyes locked with the woman’s who stood directly on the number twelve of the ground clock.

  The shoulder-length hair that caressed her face was darker than his – a soft black – and her matching dark and penetrating eyes seemed to draw him into her soul. Her dress was of the darkest blue; the shaped upper half comprising subtle silver brocade shapes. It flared slightly at the waist and ended just below her knees, where the tops of her black boots were hidden. If he had dwelt on these things, he would have thought it an old-fashioned dress, but he was captivated by her face. Her mouth was slightly upturned at the sides, a gentle smile tenderly radiating a warmth across the short distance that separated them.

  She was possibly in her early forties, and as he stared, mesmerised by her, the memory of the bee, frozen in the air between two beautiful blue flowers, came to mind. He was flooded with emotion, forgetting to breathe until his body forced him and he took a quick gulp of air.

  It was then that something caught the corner of his vision, and he involuntarily turned his head towards it. His sense of wonder was replaced in an instant with horror, as he saw the blonde-haired man – perhaps ten years his senior – raise his right arm towards the woman, his finger on the trigger of a pistol. There was a determination in his bright blue eyes, and Michael somehow knew that there would be no hesitation.

  It all happened at once: the man pressed his finger, Michael screamed “No!”, and behind him and out of sight the clock on the Guildhall tower struck twelve.

  The panic that enveloped him was beyond anything he had before felt, his legs unconsciously moving him as quickly as they could towards this woman who had somehow imprinted herself upon his soul.

  Everything moved in slow motion: he glanced at the armed stranger and saw the powder exit the barrel of the pistol, saw the bullet emerge from its chamber. He looked back at the woman, whose gaze had remained on him: her face frozen in that beatific smile. His legs were moving slowly, but were somehow outpacing the bullet that appeared to crawl through the air towards her. The gunman was half the distance from her than Michael had been, and it was nothing but absurd to think that he could race a bullet, but he didn’t think about such things as he willed his legs to speed their progress through the morass of air that lay between them; implored the same air to slow the deadly projectile.

  His desperation prevented him from wonder at the impossible as he closed the gap on the woman, the bullet slowing further. Sweat started to fall from his face as the nausea built within him, but he forced his way through the final steps.

  As he reached the woman – the bullet mere inches from her forehead – he caught her in his arms, spinning around as they fell, so that she he would cushion her fall.

  As the back of his head hit the pavement, a sharp pain shot through his skull, and the world around erupted. Next to him, men were shouting, and he could hear screams coming from all directions. The bile in his stomach forced its way up his throat, and releasing the woman he rolled onto his side and violently threw up, his head pounding as if being repeatedly struck with a hammer.

  The pain in his skull was still intense when he finished being sick, and he lay back down with his arms around his head to block out the light and sounds that aggravated it. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but as the pain started to ease, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He could just make out the sirens of the police cars and ambulance as he slowly opened his eyes. Kneeling before him was a man, perhaps in his early fifties.

  He wore a concerned look on his face that turned to relief when he saw an awareness return to Michael’s eyes. “How are you feeling, young man?” he asked in a deep voice.

  Michael groaned and replied, “My head is killing me.” The thought of the woman restored a degree of alertness, however, and he quickly added, “The woman who was here; the one that man tried to shoot. Is she okay?”

  The man who knelt next to him smiled, “I’m not surprised your head hurts after that. But the ambulance will be here shortly, and they will check to make sure you are okay. As for the woman: well, as she is evidently not safe here, we have taken her somewhere where we can protect her. But yes, she is well, thanks to you.” His face turned very serious, “You did a remarkable service today, young man. The lady – and I – thank you deeply for that.”

  “What happened?” Michael asked. “It all seemed so strange. It was impossible, but… I don’t know. I think I’m confused. It’s probably my head.” He remembered outrunning a bullet, but as that was impossible, he couldn’t understand what had happened. He certainly knew that he had hit his head though, and he guessed that the knock had affected his memories. Maybe he would remember later.

  He looked around and saw another man lying on the ground nearby, blood oozing from his shoulder. Fear filled Michael’s stomach, “Did that man get shot? Is he hurt badly?”

  The man at his side looked over at his wounded companion. “Yes, he was hit by the bullet, but it is not life-threatening. He will be taken to the hospital where he will be taken care of.” He looked back at the young man lying before him. “What is your name?”

  “Michael,” he replied

  He nodded at that, seemingly pleased, “Well Michael, the ambulance and police will be here any minute,” Michael could hear the sirens drawing close now, “but before they arrive, the lady asked me to give you a gift: a token of her thanks. Are you able to sit up so that you can take it?”

  His head still drummed with a steady pain, but he found he was able to sit up, and he looked at the man who still knelt beside him. Reaching into his jacket, he carefully withdrew a crystal medallion about the size of Michael’s palm. There was a silver chain attached to it.

  “This is really quite delicate,” the man explained, “and I assure you is priceless beyond measure.” He looked into Michael’s eyes, “For the moment, it is probably best if you put the chain around your neck to keep it protected, but before you do I’d like to show you something.”

  The first police car had now stopped nearby and the police were exiting their vehicle. They would be here soon, but he looked at the medallion as the man pointed to it, continuing, “You won’t see them clearly just now – and nor should you. But when you are quiet at home tonight, please take the time to study the etchings engraved on this. If you pay careful attention to it, you will see quite stunning detail. Indeed, I can promise you that if you look very closely, you will see things you never thought possible.”

  Michael looked back at the man. His face was serious, but he seemed to have said all he needed to. Ignoring Michael’s questioning look, he lifted the chain, motioning Michael to lower his head. As he did so, the chain was hung around his neck, and the man carefully lifted the medallion so that it was hidden beneath Michael’s shirt.

  There were more police officers here now, and the ambulance had pulled up; the paramedics rushing towards the man lying nearby with the gunshot wound. Michael looked over to see them kneel down at his side. He wa
tched them for what must have been a couple of minutes, when he seemed to hear in his mind the words, “Trust yourself.”

  The words caused a shot of adrenaline as his dream was instantly brought back to his memory. He remembered his arms outstretched: he had been looking at the clouds when he had heard those words, about to be struck by lightning. With a start he turned back to the man who had given him the medallion, but he was gone.

  He touched his chest, and could feel the medallion beneath his shirt. It was the thing that now connected him to the woman, and he determined he would honour her by keeping it close, and studying it as she apparently had wanted him to.

  The rest of the day, Michael found, was really quite boring. When Michael told the police he needed to get back to work, they sent an officer to the library, and Maggie and Beth both soon appeared. Michael had never seen Maggie look worried before, and he almost thought that perhaps underneath her gruff exterior she cared for him. And Beth’s accent was so strong that, despite the day’s trauma, he still could barely avoid breaking into a smile, the musicality of her voice reaching new heights. His humour at her voice added an annoyance that, combined with her anxiety over his welfare, just made her accent stronger still.

  He was taken to the hospital for scans because he had hit his head, where it seemed he spent most of the rest of the day waiting for staff and equipment to be made available. He decided, though, that it must be good news if they didn’t consider him urgent. And then he waited for the police so that he could give them a statement of events for the investigation and manhunt that was now underway. It was well after dark by the time he finally got back to his flat.

  Exhausted, he entered his small living room. He had started the day with little sleep, and the events that had transpired had sapped what little energy that remained. But he knew he wouldn’t sleep, images of the woman, and the slow motion of his bullet racing, going round his mind again and again, causing his head to become dizzy with confusion.

  He wasn’t hungry, having been given a light meal at the hospital, so he sat in his armchair to ponder on his remarkable week: from the dream that wouldn’t leave his mind, to the shopping precinct today. It was a lot to comprehend and he needed to carefully consider it all.

  As his thoughts wandered, his hand reached to his chest and felt the shape of the crystal medallion through his shirt, his fingers rolling around the edge. He thought of the man who had given it to him – a gift from the lady he had said. He had also said, “When you are quiet at home tonight, please take the time to study the etchings engraved on this.”

  He pulled on the chain, removing the medallion from its hiding place. Taking the chain from around his neck he held the medallion in his hand, directly under the light of the table lamp so he could get a good look at it. The etchings were intricate and tiny, and he pulled it close to his face so that he could begin to decipher the images on it.

  Starting at the left of the medallion, he could just begin to make out what looked like mountains, somehow being able to discern the snow on their jagged peaks. The mountains continued all the way down the left hand side. A gap appeared for a short distance along the top before the mountains returned, continuing along the top and then down the right hand side, although here Michael could see no snow.

  In the top right corner bordering the mountains, it looked like there was a city. As he studied it carefully, he could begin to make out individual buildings. Along the lower edge of the city there were a series of waterfalls, cascading into a small lake, itself feeding a river and a couple of smaller streams. Michael was astonished as the water appeared to flow within the image, and he blinked quickly a few times, tilting the medallion back and forth to try and determine how the effect was created.

  His attention was then caught by a domed building in the centre of the city. He could see no ornamentation on the structure, but felt strangely drawn to it, his heartbeat quickening as there appeared a glimmer from its walls. A larger structure then caught his eye on the very top edge of the city, almost merging with the mountains themselves. This appeared an imposing structure, as elaborate as the domed structure was plain, with numerous spires and turrets adorning it. I’d like to see that building in person, he thought.

  As his examination moved from the city, he could see some smaller hills towards the centre of the medallion, plains to its right and above them. To their right flowed the river that had commenced at the lake, and then below and to the left of the hills was a large forest. His eyes followed the river down through the trees, and bending around to the left as it got near the bottom of the crystal.

  He was again astonished at the level of detail that had been etched into this small crystal, his attention rapt as he thought he could detect a small clearing amongst the trees at its bottom just at the bend in the river. So engrossed was he that he didn’t hear the soft rattle on the handle of his front door; the sound of the picks entering the lock on the other side.

  His focus intensified on the small clearing he could see, now even starting to make out tents. First, he saw only some shapes, but then some colours: soft blues and greens, and autumnal shades of orange, red, and yellow.

  A soft click sounded at his front door, and the handle carefully turned, the door slowly edging open.

  The river running alongside the camp now started to shimmer, visions of broken rainbows as if reflecting the sun’s light through the spray from rocks. That’s amazing, Michael thought. Then he could see a bird as if hovering just above the trees. Moving the crystal just a little made it look as if the bird’s wings were lifting and falling; as if he could actually see it flying. His wonder continued to grow.

  Carefully to avoid the creak of the floorboards, a man slowly stepped through the front door of his flat. If Michael had looked up, he would have recognised the man who wore blonde hair and had bright blue eyes from the shopping precinct earlier that day – and he would have been terrified as the man once again raised his right arm, his forefinger on the trigger of a pistol.

  But Michael didn’t see. He was captivated by the images that were before his eyes. On the bird, he could now discern individual feathers; their light brown fluttering gently as the bird sailed gracefully over the river and forest.

  Behind him, the blonde-haired man took aim at Michael’s head.

  Just as he was about to fire he was struck from behind and went crashing to the ground, the gun flying from his hand, and bouncing across the floor.

  Michael could see animals scurrying amongst the floor of the forest. He could even see shapes along the edges of the tents. Are those people? he wondered.

  The blonde-haired man rolled over just as he was struck in the face by Col’s fist, but he was able to move his head the second time – Col’s second strike smacking hard into the floor and causing him to cry out in pain. The attacker threw Col from him, rolled over and stood in one swift movement, drawing a six-inch blade as he did so. Col scrambled to his feet and hurried to get in between the assassin and Michael.

  Michael heard none of what was going on around him, thoroughly lost in the beauty of the world of the crystal medallion. He could see the river freely flowing, fish occasionally leaping from its surface, birds flying above the trees, and animals playing amongst the forest. He felt such joy, and longed to join the scene; willing himself there.

  The attacker lunged at Col with his weapon, Col dodging it and striking the arm as it went past. The assassin’s grip was loosened momentarily, but he quickly regained it and turned again towards him. He lunged again, and Col once again swung his arm to parry, but he instantly knew he had made a mistake. The blonde assassin’s lunge this time had been a feint, and when Col had committed himself, he struck again, sinking his blade deep into Col’s chest.

  Michael was ecstatic as he could feel the wind on his face and tugging against his clothes. He was flying. No, he was falling. The canopy of the forest below him was growing larger even as the light around him sparkled. He felt a light tingle grow into a
pain across his entire body. But he exulted in it. He was falling, but he wasn’t afraid. A love beyond anything he had felt before filled him. No, that wasn’t right. He had felt that love before: by the stream with the bumblebee, and again in his dream. He was falling, but he was at peace.

  Col lay on the floor of Michael’s flat, blood pouring from his chest and trickling from his mouth, unable to move. He was dizzy with the loss of blood, and his eyesight was already diminishing. But he retained enough to see the blonde man staring in disbelief at the empty armchair where Michael had only seconds before been sitting.

  The assassin screamed – a scream of rage, a scream of despair. Col knew that this man’s life would now be forfeit, the solitary purpose of his life failed. He would be severely and painfully punished; ultimately executed. He felt pity on the man, his scream continuing as he turned and ran towards the window, jumping headfirst through it. The glass shattered, tearing into the man’s face, as he fell headfirst down the three floors onto the pavement by the front street, preferring death to the wrath of his master.

  Col was not despairing though. He knew his life was inexorably ebbing away, but he had served his purpose. He had protected and nurtured the boy for six months, and even now when the enemy had found him, he had succeeded in his efforts. Six precious months. And now as the last flickers of life left his body, Col smiled, knowing that his sacrifice had given their land of Aylosia a chance. The boy had returned, and with it, hope.