Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (42 page)

Opening his eyes, he could see sky, then a distant mountain, then the lake; the flat dark expanse rapidly making its way towards him. He realised his arms were now flailing and instinctively pulled himself into a ball again, once more holding his breath. His back struck the water first, the sting of the strike feeling like a huge whip. But he allowed his body to slow itself through the water before opening his eyes again. Baro had said the water was deep against the cliff face, and he was right – the floor of the river was still somewhere beneath him.

He gasped for air as he broke through the water’s surface. The waterfall that had brought him here was pounding the lake’s surface just a few feet away, its spray easily reaching him.

Breathing heavily, he turned around in the water and saw the water’s edge perhaps only a hundred yards away. The lake itself was huge, almost a mile wide. But he had fallen from the waterfall nearest the city entrance, where the main river flowed, and he was almost in the river’s mouth, making the shore within reach.

He wasn’t a strong swimmer, and his body was bruised, but he was able to make the bank in a few minutes. Dragging himself out of the water, he crawled under a nearby boulder, hidden from the high walls of the city.

He rested there only briefly. Jashmarael had chased him twice now into the tunnels, and he guessed that the simple fact of Michael disappearing into the underground river wouldn’t stop him from searching for his body: dead or alive. He could hope that the Guardian was dead, of course. But somehow Michael knew that was unlikely. After whatever chaos ensued following his abrupt departure, it would take some time to send a search party out to the lake, but he was sure it would come. At least, he thought, Jashmarael’s obsession with him might result in diverting his focus from the tunnel-folk.

Soon he had caught his breath and knew he needed to move. Sitting up and glancing to the south, he noticed a stream emptying into the lake, probably a five minute walk away. He suspected any search party, once they didn’t find him in the lake or on its shores, would consider the main river his most likely route. Silha had said that it was likely the river along which the Elahish made their autumn Stay many miles to the south, and the Guardian would assume he would return there.

But he knew that he couldn’t return there. Whatever anyone in the tunnels told him, the suspicion that had greeted him following his first stay with them would now be amplified. They would not allow him to live. So following another route to… well, to anywhere, would be the better option.

Somehow his mind was clear enough to realise that he needed to try and avoid leaving a trail, and so he carefully made his way towards the stream, attempting to walk across the rocks that littered the route rather than leave footprints. It was more exposed than he would have liked, and he hoped that no-one was searching the lake shores from the cliffs high above, but there was little else he could do, so he hurried as best as he could, eventually reaching the stream. Walking within the water’s edge to hide his footprints, the watercourse soon rounded a bend, and he was finally fully hidden from any spying eyes, as the trees that loitered next to the stream were now full of spring’s green leaves.

He was able to relax then, knowing that he was hidden from view. It wasn’t long, however, before a flash of panic came to him as he imagined he had been sighted from the high cliff, and that soldiers would shortly be upon him. The sudden urgency that filled him pushed his legs into a run, the water from the stream splashing wildly as he did so.

He ran and ran, stumbling several times on the uneven floor of the waterbed. Finally, his foot firmly struck one of the many invisible rocks that lay hidden beneath the water’s surface, sending him crashing headlong into the stream.

As he fell, he managed to raise his arms in front of him, so that it was his hands that hit the sharp edges of the rocks rather than his face. But when he climbed to his feet he discovered his right hand was bleeding, a shallow gash sliced from the sharp protrusions he had struck. His big toe was also throbbing intensely. He suspected it was broken.

But the jolt of the fall had broken the spell of irrational running, and he realised that if anything, the noise of his frantic splashing would have made a pursuit more likely, not less. He also decided that having travelled through the stream for a good distance from the lake, he would now be safe to leave the water, walking instead on the less treacherous earth. If pursuers had heard his splashing and were now following the stream, they would find him anyway, he reasoned; and if they hadn’t, then the greater ease of walking on dry ground would be beneficial.

The choice to traverse dryer ground soon paid dividends as his journey became easier. It wasn’t long before he managed to settle into a steady limp that avoided injuring further his toe, and he no longer needed to concentrate on the steps he was taking. Blood was dripping from his hand, but he ignored it, his awareness not extending to the trail that the red drops would leave.

But no longer having to concentrate on the uneven floor of the stream gave him the mental space to consider his predicament. Once he had left the lake, he had run only where he thought Jashmarael’s soldiers were least likely to follow, not thinking of where he would go or what he could do once safely away.

But for the many moons he had now spent in Aylosia, he was still a stranger here. Most of that time had been spent within the walls of Aperocalsa, learning little of the surrounding areas. Aneh had begun to teach him some outdoor survival skills, but that had lasted only a few dawns and was moons past. On top of that, her lessons had been in a forest, as far away from here as a Karrabesh could ride in half a moon. He didn’t know what might be different about the vegetation and animals in this part of the land.

However, even with those limitations, he recognised edible berries that Aneh had showed him, and he helped himself to them as he walked. He doubted berries would keep him alive forever, and he had no idea how to find shelter, but it was something.

Furthermore, he realised that now he was outside the city walls he would be vulnerable to Chet’tu.
 
Thinking of the terrible creatures, he stopped suddenly, remembering that they lived in the mountains.
 
He was walking towards the peaks in the south, where they likely made their home. But he soon started moving again as he recalled that they had been willing to descend from the rocky heights to attack in fields and forest. No, they would find him whether in mountain or on plain, he knew, so he may as well continue with his current direction.

The recollection of the Chet’tu made him again think of Aneh; the first time they had been attacked; their Shosa saviours; Aneh Weaving her healing magic on him. But the wonder and awe he had felt at the time now evaded him, as his mind wandered to the second occasion the evil creatures had found them.

The words of Jashmarael came to him,
It was you who led the Chet’tu to them… They died a grisly death because of you.
He didn’t want to believe what the Guardian had said; he ached to believe that it had been a lie. But he remembered seeing the dead defender as their camp had begun to be over-run.
 
When those demons had arrived too…
One of the Chet’tu will have enjoyed feasting on her. Or more likely several of the beasts; tearing the limbs from her to claim a piece each, spreading her bones between the trees for Tils and insects to enjoy.

The beasts had been hunting
him
, and yet Aneh had ended up dying in a cruel and painful way.

His mother, too, had died because of him. It may have been a servant of Jashmarael who had released the arrow that pierced her heart, but ultimately he knew, it was Michael who had caused her death. For all his cruel words, Jashmarael had been right about him. He brought death and sorrow wherever he went.

These thoughts now crowded Michael’s head: appearing, then disappearing, as if on a never-ending merry-go-round. And as they did, what little hope had been lingering in his heart fled, the despair that replaced it intensifying with each step he took.

He had no concept of how long he walked. He didn’t notice the drops of rain that started to fall on him through the thinning trees; didn’t even feel the blisters that were starting to form as his feet rubbed against the waterlogged boots that were meant for city life.

Sometime later in the afternoon, as the rain had increased its intensity and began to hurl itself against him, his strength finally gave out, and he collapsed under the partial protection of a large bush. There, he finally curled into a ball, closed his eyes, and wished to die.

***

How long he was there he didn’t know. At times the heavy rain turned to downpour, and the small leaves of his bushy guardian became more like courses for miniature rivers to pour onto his face; filling his exposed ear, and rushing past his eyes. The air around him darkened, but whether it was night that hid the sun or angry clouds that sought to banish the light, he neither knew nor cared. The wind, too, strengthened, finding its way through the branches that surrounded him; causing his body to shiver.

But he acknowledged none of that as he drifted in and out of consciousness; his dreams haunting his closed eyes as easily as his thoughts had terrorised them when he was awake. Even in his sleep, something within him hoped the end was near, and that tales of an afterlife were fabrications. Only extinction could quell the silent screams that haunted his soul.

That was when Eramica’s voice came to him, in his dreams.
Live.
She said. That had been her final wish. It was the promise she had sought from him as her last breath left her.

Find your mother
, Joh had cryptically said. It was a strange thing to say. What had he meant? That even though she had died, there was a part of her within him that he needed to discover? That he could reach out to her beyond the grave? That in death they would be reunited?

Then the words from his dream of many moons ago came to him,
Follow your heart, and you will find me when you need to.
He had known then that it was his mother speaking.

As her life had slipped away, he had made the promise she had sought. He had promised to live, and the memory of his oath brought him out of sleep, restoring a semblance of awareness back to him.

Every part of his body screamed as he climbed out from his green shelter, and he could only stand once he had crawled to a nearby rock that he was able to use as support. Even the sky seemed to object to his decision to delay his mortal demise, a rumble of thunder overhead murmuring its disapproval.

But he ignored heaven’s complaints and slowly resumed his journey. After only a dozen or so painful paces, the ground ahead of him burst into light; a flash of lightning overhead illuminating a terrain that had somehow transformed into a series of boulders large and small strewn hazardously across his path.

Doing his best to ignore the difficulties they would pose, he agonised his way forward, involuntarily crying out in pain when the broken bones in his foot were again jarred against unseen stone. He could barely see where he was going as the darkness intensified and the storm sought his blindness from the rain that was now falling in sheets.

His walk was mindless; like a determined zombie, moving despite his journey’s purpose or destination being unknown. Michael nearly lost his balance as he rounded one large boulder and stopped, placing a hand on the rock to steady himself.

It was only then that he could feel the electricity build in air around him; the hairs on his arms begin to stand on end. Then a tingling sensation came, causing an unknown question and memory to crease his brow.

CRACK!

It happened so suddenly that Michael didn’t even realise that the lightning had struck the boulder against which he had been resting; had split the huge rock in two. He knew only that a flash of white brighter than anything he had ever seen had blinded him, and that a deafening noise had silenced the world.

His hip now also throbbed with pain, having landed on it several feet from where he had been standing. Slowly moving to sit up, he adjusted his position, placing his left hand behind himself and pushed… into air. The weight of his body was already expecting to be supported by the arm that was now falling freely. Helplessly, he went tumbling after it.

His shoulder first struck a rock on his unexpected descent. Then a flailing arm tore against the jagged wall. Finally, his head hit against something hard, and his body stopped.

Lying motionless on his side, he slowly opened his eyes. His vision was still blurry, but he thought he could just make out some faint lights – blue and green – from random positions. He tried to lift his head, but it was too heavy.
Is that water I can see
? he thought as he noticed the floor gently shimmering no more than a foot from his face.

He was suddenly thirsty, but his body was broken, and he was unable to move. As he closed his eyes, his final thought before unconsciousness overtook him was,
I’m sorry, mum. I tried
.

***

Somewhere deep inside his mind, he opened his eyes. He was lying on his side, curled into the foetal position. The grass beneath him was soft: cool but dry, despite the mist that encased him.

Peering into the white obscurity, he might have felt fear. He might have remembered his dream; the dark shapes that had appeared always at the edge of his vision; the hand that had extended to imprison him. But he didn’t.

The mist here wasn’t cold and wet like that in his dream; it gave him no shivers, either physical or mental. Rather, it was more like a warm blanket, comforting his imagined body and soothing his troubled thoughts.

And this didn’t…
feel
like a dream. Michael was aware that his body still lay on a cold stone floor somewhere between Aperocalsa and the tall mountains he had been walking towards, but even so, this felt… real.

Slowly sitting up, he suddenly realised that the physical wounds he had received in his body were also present here; and he groaned at the pain that came from… well, from nearly everywhere. His toe still felt broken; his hip and shoulder bruised where he had fallen. Looking at his hand, the fresh scar remained bright red, new blood oozing from its middle. And his head throbbed. Reaching up with his left hand to touch it, he felt a lump where he had struck it against the hard floor, and a sticky substance he saw was blood when he lowered his fingers again.