Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1)

by Jeffrey Collyer

  They were soon left alone, and they lay down, the room now dark without the lamp of the old man, and with no windows to allow moonlight.

  “We will speak in the morning,” the voice of his mother came quietly across the small room, “but we will be safe here Rami, so you may sleep in peace.”

  Her voice through the darkness was reassuring, although a part of him wished he was five summers old – young enough to cuddle into his mother and sleep in her arms. He stayed where he was, though, simply saying, “Thanks, mum.”

  With all that had happened, he wasn’t able to sleep, and it was a long while before he could hear the steady breathing from the other side of the room indicating his mother had finally fallen into slumber. For himself, too much had happened. He had so many questions about what had happened and why. But more than that, his emotions kept the adrenalin flowing through his veins for much longer than was healthy. He had been betrayed. His mother was in danger. He had been denied his home. The terror that had touched him when he had seen Pava’s extended arm returned to him again and again. And with the thoughts of what nearly happened – of what would have happened if not for his dream’s warning – he was overcome with guilt; Aneh’s face appearing again and again.

  He couldn’t understand why he felt such guilt. It was many moons since they had been together, and even then it had only been for a handful of dawns. They had been friends and nothing more, and even if he could ever return to the Elahish, she would surely now be Entwined. His desire for Pava couldn’t have been a betrayal – there was nothing to betray. Eventually, he managed to push the images of her out of his mind, finally slipping into new dreams as he did so.

  ***

  Opening his eyes the next morning, he gazed across the room and saw his mother sitting with her legs curled under her. Enough light was peeking through the gaps between the wooden slats of the door to their room that he could see that she had been watching him. Her gentle smile accompanied her wistful stare, and Michael wondered whether she was thinking of the present moment, or whether lost winters were crowding her mind. The thought came to him that across time and place mothers throughout history had enjoyed gazing at their sleeping children: a loving guardianship that passed unseen over small boys and girls. Such a gift had been cruelly stolen from both Eramica and Michael, but here in the small shack of a hidden shantytown, it had been restored.

  Their reciprocal gazes lasted a minute or more before Michael stirred his body, sitting up. He struggled to return Eramica’s smile, the thoughts from the previous night still heavy on him.

  Silently she reached over to him, passing a piece of the loaf she had taken from her kitchen the previous night, and they both quietly ate, contemplating events. Eventually, his mother broke the silence, “Tell me now, Rami. What is our danger?”

  As Michael swallowed his last piece of bread, he leaned back against the wall. Sighing, he began his tale: from when Pava had first said she loved him, through to his breathless arrival at Eramica’s door. His emotions nearly caught several times in his story. Pava’s betrayal had hurt him deeply, he feared greatly for both of them, and he felt anger for having been manipulated: a manipulation that he now realised went back many moons.

  He left nothing out, including the feelings that had come when the premonition from his dream had appeared extended towards him. There were only four people to whom he had related his full dream. He had related some elements of it to a small handful of others, such as the Guardian, but he had kept the full tale to a small group: Col, back in England before he came to Aylosia; his mother; Lohka; and Aneh. Again, he had to push thoughts of Aneh, and the guilt that accompanied them, from his mind as he spoke.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, as he finished his tale. “Why? I mean, I’m only a lost boy who has finally found his mum. Why would they do that to me? And what would it achieve anyway?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer as he continued, “They said Jashmarael wanted it to happen. But why?”

  “Jashmarael?” asked his mother.

  “The Guardian,” he answered, “that’s who he really is. I’m sure of it.”

  Michael had wondered why the Guardian, as he was known, had been so kind to him. Jashmarael had admitted that he wasn’t able to know the lives of all of the people of Aperocalsa in detail, but despite that he had taken Michael – a stranger – in. He had given him a place in the Palace, and had ensured he was looked after. He had searched for, and found, his mother. He had met with him personally every few dawns to see how he was doing. And then, quite suddenly it seemed, he had tried to force him with Pava. None of it made any sense.

  Pava, Samo, Leta, and others had all smiled at him when he had asked them about the Guardian’s kindness, saying only that he always tried to do what he could for those in need. And, although it still hadn’t felt quite right, Michael had accepted their explanations. After all, he had seen the Guardian’s kindness: often visiting schools to meet with small children, attending festivals and markets to mix directly with people to learn of their difficulties.

  When he and Samo had been attacked in the alleyway several moons before, their assailants had spoken of the Guardian as ruthless and brutal, but he had seen no evidence of that accusation.

  But that had all now changed. There were too many questions; too much evidence that things were not as they seemed.

  Pava was certainly beautiful, and she had been so alluring. She had looked and sounded sincere when she had said she loved him. But there was no doubt that she had been the focus of the warning in his dream. Even the memory of her extended hand chilled him. And when he had resisted, the invitation had become attempted force… because the Guardian willed it.

  The poverty that now surrounded him in makeshift homes was further evidence that the Guardian wasn’t as benign as he pretended to be. And, of course, he had hidden his identity as the ancient child of Ashael: if the ancient book was correct, apparently with a cunning plan to topple the Seer, someone Michael had assumed was nothing more than a myth.

  He voiced none of these details as they repeated themselves in his head, but Eramica could see the turmoil in her son, “I do not know, Rami. But we should speak to Joh. He knows many of the Guardian’s secret plans and perhaps can help us understand.”

  “Who’s Joh?” asked Michael.

  “We are in Joh’s home,” came the reply. “It is best if he tells you of his history, but he knows many things, and has helped me in the past.”

  Eramica’s immediate acceptance of the story Michael had told was a relief. He had worried that it would sound too fantastical; that the incongruity of his tale against the public persona of Jashmarael would be too great. But she had just spoken of the Guardian’s secret plans, so perhaps she had already known that not all was as it always seemed in this city. It made him briefly wonder anew at what she had learned through the summers she had searched for her son. For him.

  The answers to their questions were urgent, and so they rose immediately to find Joh. As they entered the main room of their host’s home, they found a small fireplace that was emitting warmth from the gentle flames. Michael hadn’t noticed the fireplace the previous night and was surprised that the building of one was possible – or safe – with the scraps of materials cobbled together to build the shelter.

  As his mother placed another log on the fire, he also wondered where the fuel came from. But he was pleased that at least the people in this forgotten part of the city had means to keep themselves warm in the cold weather. Although it was now spring, it had clouded over during the early marks of the morning, and he could see through a small window in the front wall of the building that a light rain was falling, adding a chill to the air that made the fire welcome.

  But there was no sight of Joh, so Michael explored the streets from the small window, while Eramica sat quietly in front of the fire. It was obvious that she had been here before, and he was sure she could tell him much about this place, but his head was still spinni
ng from everything that had happened and was grateful that no new information was being offered.

  They remained like that for only a few minutes before Joh returned. As he entered through the front door, Michael realised that he wasn’t as old as he had thought the previous night. Although his hair was mostly silver, his beard still had remnants of his younger light brown showing through, and his blue eyes were alert.

  “You are awake. That is good,” he said, his tenor voice strong.

  “I have brought you some clothes,” he continued, handing a plain dress to Eramica and an equally inconspicuous pair of trousers and shirt to Michael. “If you are to stay here for any length of time, you will be noticed in your present attire.”

  The new clothing Joh had brought them was similar to that worn by the people Michael had seen in the streets outside, and Michael was grateful for the man’s thoughtfulness.

  “Thank you, Joh,” said Eramica, “I hope we will not inconvenience you for long. As soon as we understand our puzzle, we hope to be able to move on.”

  “It is no inconvenience, Mica,” he replied. “But a puzzle?” He raised an eyebrow as he enquired, “You must tell me.”

  Eramica’s mention of a puzzle had piqued Joh’s interest, and Michael wondered whether she had known that was necessary to gain his help. But she turned more sober as she replied to him, “We would be pleased to tell you and also to hear your counsel. But I must warn you that I do not know whether your knowledge of our plight will bring danger to you. It appears that it may involve some scheming of the Guardian.”

  It was the first Michael had heard his mother speak of their danger, and he was both comforted to hear her confirm his fears, as well as frightened to hear her say that others too might be in danger just by knowing of it.

  How much does she know about the Guardian?

  But Joh didn’t seem worried. “Let me make some tea for us all, and then please tell me,” he said. “I am too old, and have already seen too much danger in my sixty three winters to fear such things.”

  At that, he leaned down in front of the fireplace, and using a thick wooden rod removed a stone pot, from which he ladled hot water into some cups for the tea. Once they were comfortable, Eramica indicated Michael should start his tale from the moment of his arrival in Aylosia. There were only two chairs, but Michael was restless as he spoke; pacing back and forth, while his older companions quietly listened. When relating of his fear at seeing Pava’s outstretched arm, he was careful to avoid mention of the dream he had before his journey to this land, saying only that something about it had startled him.

  The rain had stopped while he spoke, and the clouds were just beginning to part to allow the early afternoon sun to shine as he finished. There was silence for several minutes, Joh holding a look of intense concentration.

  It was Eramica who broke the silence, “What are your thoughts, my friend? How concerned do you believe we should be? I fear for my son.”

  As she mentioned her own fear, Michael looked at his mother and could see her wet eyes. She had lost her son once, and he knew that it would break her to lose him again. At the sight, he had to blink himself to prevent a tear escaping, before Joh answered.

  “You have found your son.” He looked at Michael as he said the words, and Michael was sure he heard a sense of disbelief; that he saw near incredulity as the old man studied his face. But the look didn’t last long before he spoke again, “And you, Michael, have escaped a Ravager. I would have said that was not possible, but here you are.”

  At the words, Michael could hear his mother take a sharp intake of breath. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  Joh slowly nodded, “I believe so. Clearly Michael – Rami – is very important to the Guardian, and it is what he would do. She sounds like one.”

  “We must flee then,” Eramica said quickly. “We cannot stay here. If they would send a Ravager, they will not wait outside the walls of the Ashput.”

  “No, you cannot remain anywhere in Aperocalsa,” he replied, a sadness in his voice, “but it is not urgent. They will likely know that you are somewhere in the Ashput, but will plan carefully before entering, so you have two or three dawns at least. Plan today, Mica, and leave tomorrow.”

  Eramica nodded her approval.

  “Wait a minute,” said Michael. “Can someone tell me what is going on please? Why does Jashmarael want me? What is he going to do with me? Where are we going? And what is a Ravager?” There was no pause between his questions, and he was now breathing heavily.

  “Let me make you another cup of tea,” said Joh in response to the barrage of questions, “While Mica changes and goes into the Ashput to get supplies, I will then tell you of my own story and do my best to answer your questions.”

  Eramica took her plain dress into the other room and changed. Michael and Joh were seated with fresh tea when she left, Joh warning her to remain as inconspicuous as possible. “Even here,” said Joh solemnly, “You should trust no-one. The Guardian has his spies everywhere. We can hope you came undetected to my home last night. That will add a dawn or two to their search. But if anyone recognises you they may move more quickly, especially if they realise you are with me.”

  After she had gone into the area known as the Ashput to obtain supplies, Joh leaned back in his chair, breathing deeply. He seemed lost in thought, a sorrow covering his countenance. Michael was about to say something to break silence when he finally spoke.

  ***

  “I should tell you something of my life,” he looked into Michael’s eyes as he spoke. “It will help you to understand the Guardian: Jashmarael as you rightly call him.”

  After another brief pause, he started, “I have not always lived in the Ashput. My parents lived in the upper city, and were people of influence. For myself, I learned quickly in my education. I was not a large child, and being of smaller stature I often had to contend with boys who possessed a much greater physical strength than I. But I was the more intelligent, and learned how to manipulate them. I would use words to confuse and confound, to contradict, and to misdirect. Thus those who at first sought me harm ended up being my servants, though they were not aware of it. And that is how I became something of a leader in my school from a young age.”

  Michael couldn’t tell whether there was a hint of pride in Joh’s voice as he talked of his gifts of manipulation – a sense of superiority that often afflicts those who believe themselves more intelligent than others – or whether there was a tinge of regret that he had been born with such talents. Perhaps both, he thought.

  Joh then asked, “You have seen that the Guardian visits schools?”

  Michael nodded.

  “The people of the city believe he does so because he loves their children and enjoys their company. ‘Grandfather of all’, is how some describe him. But you must know, Michael: the Guardian does nothing out of love. Every act is calculated to achieve his ends. And even visiting schools is no different.”

  There was now a bitterness in Joh’s words. It was obvious that this man disliked Jashmarael intensely, and Michael wondered why, hoping that the story he was hearing would help him understand.

  “I remember when the Guardian visited my school. I had lived only eight or nine summers. He smiled at us all, but I think that only I saw the calculation in his eyes. He was amongst us not to see us play, but to judge us. And only I, even at such a young age, recognised that.”

  “Judge you? At eight summers?” Michael asked, “I don’t understand.”

  Joh took a deep breath as he continued, “Judge is perhaps not the best word. When the Guardian spends time with children, there are two things for which he is searching. First, he seeks those who have particular talents: natural abilities that will support his rule.”

  “Do you mean things like people who would make good administrators and planners; people who are good at organising things?” Michael asked.

  “Well, yes,” Joh replied. “Sometimes those skills are desired, but the Guardia
n is not needed to identify such talents. What he desires even more, and which only he can discern, are those who can perceive threats to his command. He seeks those who intuitively understand human nature and can secretly mould those around them to do their will. He seeks those who are like the hawk: floating above the dangers of the world, spying the smallest details below them, and swooping instantly and remorselessly – indeed with joy – to take their prey. He searches amongst the children for those who possess these qualities, and when he finds such a child, he welcomes them to the Palace where they begin their education in deceit and manipulation.

  “Those who surround the Guardian are such people,” he said, now staring intently into Michael’s eyes, as if trying to bore the truth of what he was saying into him. “They have had a lifetime of such training. By their nature, they enjoy the game of it. And should any command be distasteful to them, there are… well the Guardian ensures that there is always a motivation to match their expertise.”

  Joh now dropped his gaze as if in shame, and Michael wondered whether he would learn why: whether he had been ‘motivated’ to do things that he considered distasteful. But he said nothing, allowing the old man to continue his tale.

  “I was proud when the Guardian took me with him from his visit to my school. My parents were overjoyed at the news that their son would be groomed to be one of the Guardian’s highest officials, and from such a young age. Living in the Palace with only a select few others of my age was thrilling for me. The study was intense, but the games were magnificent. Not physical games, of course. None of us were interested in those. Our sports were mental and emotional. Put one in an impossible situation and see whether he or she could turn the tables on their attackers. Can you convince another that black is white? Can you make your opponent do the opposite of what they had intended, or if not, to feel worthless?”

  Again Joh dropped his gaze, as he spoke, “We had one young man – quite brilliant really – who had been so effectively tormented in one such game that afterwards he ended his own life.”