Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (29 page)

“Second, you have spoken to me of when you came into Aylosia, of how you had been drawn to the image of Aperocalsa in the strange crystal medallion you had been given, and that you felt that you were coming home and would find your mother in this world. I believe it is possible that you felt a pull to our city precisely because it is where you were born and where you would find your mother.”

He continued with his reasons, “And finally, though it is only circumstantial of course, your name could easily be derived from Ramical, and the colour of your hair and eyes matches that of the lost child.

“Is it proof?” he concluded. “No, but it is sufficient that I believe it is the most likely explanation.”

Michael couldn’t argue with what had been said, though many questions still remained. Too many questions.

“But how could someone send a baby from here into my world? And why would they? Really,” he said, “why on earth would someone steal a baby and then just send it to England to live as an orphan? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Ah, well,” said the Guardian, “You have me on both of those I fear. It is possible that some Weaver had managed to steal into the city, or perhaps even live here unknown to us, and that they have the ability to send a baby into other places or other worlds. But why they would do that…” he held his hands up and shook his head, “…I cannot possibly say. But certainly if you have been brought from your other world to our land of Aylosia, travel in the other direction must also be possible.”

They talked for a while longer before Leta arrived, and she led Michael back to his rooms, allowing the Guardian to get back to his work. Michael didn’t need a guide anymore, of course – not for this part of the Palace anyway – but he had grown used to her presence, and he often would use the short walk to learn more about their customs. He walked in silence today, though, still digesting the news that he had been given. While questions remained about why he had been sent away from Aylosia, why he had now returned, and why creatures in the forest seemed to want him dead, the question over his mother had now been answered, and the emotions continued to flood him for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
 

He was disappointed to learn that it would be several more dawns before he would meet his mother. The shock of her son being discovered was substantial and the Guardian felt that giving both of them some time to digest the news before meeting would be wise.

When he told Samo of his mother’s discovery, he whooped in delight, smacking Michael on the arm with joy for his friend. Pava wept for him and grabbed him in a tight hug, the smell of her scented hair and latest perfume temporarily making him forget his remarkable news.

He found it impossible to concentrate on anything over the next few dawns, fidgeting when in the library, and not noticing any of the sights shown to him by Pava and Samo or remembering the names of people to whom they introduced him.

But walking, even in the cold, was preferable to sitting and allowing unanswerable questions to go round and round his head, and it was while out walking with Pava one afternoon that he thought of something that could take his mind off the impending meeting with his mother.

The snow was falling gently as they walked, Pava holding her arm through his: officially to help her keep balance on the slippery stone path, but Michael hoped that perhaps there was more to it than that. Although thoughts of Aneh continued to involuntarily surface, he made a conscious effort to push them away as he knew he would never meet her again. That allowed his affection for Pava to grow, and he had come to enjoy her presence.

“Tell me about the Guardian,” he asked, as they ambled through the city’s narrow streets.

“I do not know what to tell,” she said, “You know already that the people consider him generous. You have yourself been beneficiary of his kindness.”

“Yes, but how did he come to be the Guardian? Did someone choose him? Was he born to it? And he must have a name; ‘Guardian’ is just a title, isn’t it? Does he have a family? Is he…” Michael paused trying to think of the word, “…well, is there a woman in his life? In my world, we would say married, but maybe it’s called something else here.” He was careful to avoid speaking of the Elahish custom of Entwining, knowing it was associated with Weaving.

Pava nodded, acknowledging his question, before beginning. “You have heard of Jashmarael?” she asked

“Yes, he was the one who sent the Weavers away a thousand summers ago.”

“That is correct,” she said, “We do not know really what happened. Jashmarael lived a long time – two hundred summers or more – but eventually began to age. One dawn he announced that he would be departing, but said that he would ensure that a Guardian cared for the city. All the people sorrowed when he left, but it was not long after that our first Guardian arrived. It is said his appearance shared many similarities with Jashmarael, and some claimed that he was his son.

“The Guardian lived and ruled for perhaps fifty summers before departing himself, though once again he promised that another would arrive. True to his word, again a new Guardian came to the city. And so it has continued, generation after generation.”

Pava looked at him as she continued her tale, “There are still those who claim that each Guardian is descended from Jashmarael, but in truth we do not know. He comes bearing no name that is revealed to us. He lives and helps us for fifty summers or more, and then he departs again into the mountains in the north.

“Beyond that,” she said, “I cannot say.

“As for a woman in his life, I do not know of one. When a woman and man have concluded their youthful fancies and desire to remain with just one other for the remainder of their lives, they will Join. But the Guardian has not Joined with any,” she finished, “and I have not known him to love another.”

She had finished her tale now, and they continued walking in comfortable silence. There was something in Pava’s tale that didn’t quite fit – an unidentified nagging feeling. But Michael couldn’t pin it down, and his thoughts soon left the Guardian and his strange history, again drifting to his mother. The nerves squirmed in his stomach as he thought of the meeting that was planned for the following morning.

***

“Calm yourself.” Michael didn’t know how many times Leta had said that this morning, or in how many different variations. But it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“You should eat,” she added.

“I’m not hungry.” He hadn’t slept the previous night, and had finally arisen early, washed, dressed, and then paced. Though he knew his body needed to eat, his stomach was screaming with nervous anticipation, and he hadn’t been able to take more than a nibble or two from the assorted food arrayed on his table.

“Is it time yet?” he asked.

“Almost.”

“Do I look okay?”

“Michael,” she tried not to sound exasperated, “I have told you already, you are well presented. Your mother will likely not even see your clothing, but even if she thought it more important than all, she would still be proud.”

He had managed to find some new clothes in the various shades of dark brown that he knew best suited his looks. His velvet jacket was the colour of newly tilled soil, and had an intricate silver trim. Most of the front buttons of his jacket were done up, so that his lighter brown shirt showed underneath his chin.

Will she really be proud?
he asked himself. He remembered the crystal medallion, and how his eyes had initially been drawn to Aperocalsa. But his gaze hadn’t lingered there.
Maybe if I had kept my focus on the city…
Had he then made a choice that took him away from his mother? Would she somehow know?
Will she be angry with me?
More important than all these questions, however, was the one which he dared not give words to, even silently. Would she accept him? Or, would she decide that her life had been better without her son? Would she refuse to acknowledge him, leaving him abandoned again?

Finally, Leta signalled that it was time for them to leave, and Michael awkwardly fell in step behind her as they left his quarters. It had been agreed that they would meet in the Palace grounds. His mother, Eramica, had neglected her own wellbeing during her eighteen summer search for her child, and apparently she couldn’t bear the thought of her precious child seeing the state of her home. A comfortable room in a smaller building in the grounds of the Palace had therefore been chosen as the place for their reunion. A handful of the Palace’s more senior officials had their quarters here – it was less grand than the main Palace itself – and everyone hoped that it would thus be less overwhelming for her.

Michael’s thoughts continued to race as he walked, and he found himself looking at his feet, ensuring only that they followed behind Leta’s: through the corridors, down the stairs, through another corridor, and into the snow. His head bowed, Michael didn’t feel the snow fall gently on his hair as they crossed the short distance to their destination. Then they walked through a new corridor, round a corner, and another twenty paces. Finally, they stopped.

“Michael,” said Leta gently.

As he looked at her, she motioned with her head to the door they were now standing before. Michael hadn’t really studied the doors in the Palace, but now noticed that it was of a solid piece of wood. The stone frame was curved at the top, and there were decorative patterns carved into it, reflected in the wood of the door beneath it. As he glanced down at the handle, he noticed the round face had the image of the hawk and sword designed into its black iron.

Again, Leta prompted him, “Enter when you are ready.”

After a lifetime of searching, hoping and dreaming, he thought it ironic that he now didn’t think he would ever be ready. But after half a dozen hesitations, he took a deep breath and turned the handle. Carefully opening the door, he slowly entered.

He closed the door behind him again before turning to examine the room, fearful of allowing his eyes to see a mother who may or may not accept her returned lost son. As expected, the fireplace was full of warm flame, adding to the light of the various lanterns in the room. The walls were adorned with tapestries, and the floor was covered with a thick red rug.
 

But he didn’t notice his surroundings. As soon as he had turned to face the room, he had seen her. With her flowing dark hair and brown eyes, Michael thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Their eyes locked with each other’s, the dark brown depths of their gaze a mirror to each other. Her dress was a mixture of lilacs and various shades of blue. Her face reflected the many winters of pain and sorrow she had endured; her self-torture for the loss of her son. But the tears that now stained her cheeks had been called forth by joy rather than sadness.

Michael finally had to blink himself, to chase the water from his eyes. As he did so, the spell was broken, and Eramica ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Through the sobs that now shook her body, Michael could hear her, “I knew you yet lived. I am so sorry, my son. Please, will you forgive me?”

Openly weeping now himself, he stroked her dark hair, whispering just one word, “Mother”.

***

They spent all day together. At first, their conversation was stilted as their raw emotions combined with the lack of familiarity with each other. But gradually they opened up. Eramica told Michael how well his clothes suited him, and he spoke of how he had always chosen those colours when he could, which then led to other topics.

Michael listened with awe as his mother spoke of her long search for him, amazed at the extraordinary lengths she had gone to. She had exhausted her search of the city. After hunting in all of the known places, she had discovered secret passages that led to the tunnels and hidden places where the outcast from their society lived. She had explored the surrounding mountains, and then gone on to the ruined towns and villages of Italcasla, Mirucalsa, Evacalsa, and others. After that her attention had been turned to the forests and the Elahish, and when all of these had failed, she had searched in the Cedrill Hills: a place she called a mystery, where legend said there once lived a powerful people. It had all been to no avail, though she had never given up. Before hearing from the Guardian that her son had been found, she had been planning a dangerous journey to the western mountains, from where the White Messenger had arrived foretelling Jashmarael’s arrival a thousand summers past, hoping that somehow the prophetic creature still lived and could aid her.

Through her long tale, she apologised again and again, tears repeatedly falling from her eyes. Michael would hold her, stroke her hair, and give comfort; telling her how happy he was that they had been reunited; how he had always dreamed and longed for this day.

Then it was Michael’s turn to relate the story of his life. He avoided saying how Rob had largely ignored him, or how lonely and angry he had felt. Such descriptions, he thought, would add to the feelings of guilt his mother harboured. And so he told of his life in England, keeping the details factual, though talking often of how he had always longed to find his mother.

The time raced by, with food being brought at regular intervals. Somehow, late night arrived without their awareness, and they were forced to admit that sleep was necessary. Eramica had been given a room in the Palace grounds for the night so that they could continue their reunion the next dawn, though, and Michael gave his mother a last hug as they said goodnight.

The following dawn Michael arose early and quickly made his way across the Palace grounds. When he arrived in their room of reunion, Eramica was already there, and they again embraced before resuming the tales of their lives. They talked of things they hadn’t previously discussed, but also revisited tales: expounding detail they had missed in their haste to have their newly found family share the story of their life. When she had asked Michael whether there were any young women in his life, he was surprised to find it difficult to respond. Although he had spent much more time with Pava, and had grown to feel a deep affection for her, the first image that flashed in front of his mind when his mother had asked him was that of Aneh.