Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (50 page)

***

Few people slept that night. Many worked throughout the dark marks on defences within the woods. It would not stop Jashmarael’s forces for long, but even now the Waylet refused to give up, considering every additional breath worth whatever effort was required.

As the sun in the east hinted of its rising behind the peaks of the distant mountains, the sky above them brushed itself with deep pinks and purples. It was as if the earth itself wished to provide one last painting as a gift to the hearts of the Waylet, and even Michael was able to come out of his melancholy to smile at the sight.

For some reason, Michael was surprised when Jixi again appeared. He had assumed that the Nixu, being a creature of underground rocks and caverns, would somehow be able to escape into the gorge without harm. But either that wasn’t the case, or else he believed his purpose was to die with the rest of them.

His face showed no sign of impending doom, however. If anything, his smile was even broader this morning than he had ever seen it, and his friend dragged him again to the ancient guardians of the long lost bridge.

“The crossing was here.”
 

Michael sighed, “Is that all you can say in this place? Look, Jixi, I know the crossing was here. You told me last night. But that really doesn’t help anything does it.”

But the Nixu was undeterred, now looking intensely into Michael’s eyes, “You are the Time Weaver.
 
You are necessary.”

Confusion raced around his mind now. He still didn’t really believe he was a Time Weaver, but even if he was, so what?
You are necessary.
What on earth did that mean?

But the look in Jixi’s bright red eyes was now one of excitement. Michael had never before seen any expression in his friend’s face apart from his gruesome/cute smile, and the realisation softened his reply.

“If you think I’m supposed to do something, please tell me because I haven’t got a clue,” he said.

“The crossing was here. You are the Time Weaver. You can… restore the crossing.”

There was a delay between Jixi saying the words and Michael processing them, but once he had, his eyes widened, much to Jixi’s apparent amusement. “You
are
joking aren’t you! How on earth…?”

His Nixu friend’s expression had now added a hint of expectation, however, and Michael knew he wasn’t joking.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s assume for a second that I am a Time Weaver, and it really was me who managed to slow down time two dawns past. Even if I knew how I’d done it – and I don’t – slowing down time is hardly going to restore a fallen bridge is it?”

“You are not the Time
Slower
,” laughed Jixi, apparently enjoying his joke, “You are the Time
Weaver
.”
 
His expression suddenly lost its mirth, and he was now looking very seriously at Michael.

If this was the reason Jixi had stayed with them, because he believed Michael would somehow restore a bridge that had been destroyed a thousand summers before, then he was woefully misguided, and Michael suddenly felt huge sympathy for his friend.

A tear came to his eye as he sighed, “Oh Jixi. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’m sorry.”

But his apology made no difference to his friend who again smiled. “You are necessary for that,” he said, pointing to the chasm that separated the huge stone guardians. “I am necessary for this,” he added, now pressing his clawed finger against Michael’s chest. “We will try?”

These Nixu were strange beings, Michael suddenly thought. The most frightening looking creatures he had ever seen, but with such self-sacrificing natures. Many moons ago, one had given its life to save him from a Chet’tu. They had saved him again in the depths of a mountain, restoring his health. Jixi then brought him to the Waylet, miraculously arriving before all was lost. And even now, his small friend carried his expectant smile, willing to give everything of himself when he could so easily have returned to the safe tunnels where his friends lived, and maybe even a family. Suddenly, Michael regretted never asking about Jixi’s family, another pang of guilt sweeping over him. Wherever they were under the mountains, they would not see their Jixi again.

He knew he couldn’t refuse the request of such a pure being, and so eventually nodded, “Yes, we will try,” quietly adding, “But please don’t feel too disappointed in me when you find I can’t do anything.”

And so the two of them sat in between the massive stone pillars. Jixi extended his hands towards Michael, and he took them. Both of them, apparently, necessary.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
 

Necessary

The man who believes he is more important than others is usually blind to the real needs of those who surround him, and thus steers others in false directions. While the woman who believes herself less important risks offering less than she is capable, thus depriving others of safety. Whether you are too proud or too humble, the answer is the same: trust in one who is a true friend. For such a friend will lower a proud man or raise a humble woman, so that they both may give wisely.

From the Wisdom of Ashael

***

As soon as their hands touched, the world around him vanished. He was sitting on grass, transported from his place between the huge pillars. Thick fog surrounded him, and although he could see nothing in it, he intuitively knew that the place was from his dream.

His hands still held those of Jixi, but as he looked in front of him, he couldn’t see his friend. Only his charcoal black hands were visible through the heavy mist. Michael remembered one of the final images of his dream: hands extended, their palms facing upwards, surrounding him. They had been a collection of hands: human, plus smaller strange dark hands as well as brilliant white. His own hands were now placed atop Jixi’s, his friend’s palms turned upwards. There was no doubt that Jixi’s hands had been amongst those small dark palms within his dream.

But though he knew that his
location
, if that was the right word, was that of his dream, his feelings here were entirely different this time. Before he had been drawn to walk through the fog to different destinations. He had been first curious, then frightened. Now he felt only that this place was… right. It was where he was supposed to be.

Jixi’s hands were warm to his touch, and he could feel power in them. Not a physical power that would lift a boulder or bruise a body. Rather, this was a power that came from within, only the tiniest portion of which passed into Michael’s own veins via their touch.

It was a lifeblood, making him feel more alive in this imaginary place than he had ever felt. The force infiltrated every cell of his body, causing each to yearn for Michael’s consciousness to explore them.
 
Giving in to their call, he closed his eyes and allowed his awareness to float free from the constraining matter of his brain. He watched and comprehended even as sparks too tiny to see built new connections within his grey matter; the very experience he was now enjoying creating new neurones, expanding his brain’s capacity. He watched blood vessels feel his mind; could feel the power that was contained within them; marvelled that a creature that could walk and talk and invent and love; a being that could change the world, was fuelled by tiny crimson streams that coursed of their own volition. It was these unseen capillaries, he realised, that decided the fates of worlds; permitting or not souls both good and evil to walk the earth.

Allowing himself to float into their stream, he flowed freely through his own body, marvelling as the colour that carried him gradually changed as the oxygen that it carried to his body’s cells was replaced by substances toxic to his soul’s clothing. He wondered if such were a metaphor for a life devoted to giving; that in offering of his goodness such a being would have evil returned its place, ultimately impoverishing his own soul. But as if answering his question, the liquid suddenly brightened again, exulting in its ability to endlessly purify itself.

And so he travelled, not just seeing each corner of his physical shell; not solely understanding the intricate connections that made life possible. Rather, the knowledge he gained on his journey was deeper: more profound. He came to know not just how his body lived, but
why
. He could see the Weaving in his veins; follow it to each cell of his body. It was not a physical substance: no surgeon or advanced medical equipment in England or anywhere on the earth would be able to detect it. But it was
real
; perhaps even more real than the matter modern doctors had learned to manipulate. His Weaving transcended mere mortal bodies.

Several marks had passed since Jixi and Michael had placed themselves in front of the ancient bridge that was no more. Jashmarael’s armies had arrived, though instead of sending forward their soldiers with swords, they rained arrows. But these were not arrows intended to directly maim or kill the Elahish.
 
They didn’t even seek the clear strip of land where most of the Waylet were waiting. These were coated in flame, and targeted the trees that bordered their makeshift camp. The forest was still fresh with bright green leaves and fought against the fires, but their resistance could not last and eventually the flames began to flicker, then grow, and finally blaze. The Elahish’s own archers scrambled free of the fiery cauldron, their planned defences slowly beginning to crumble into ash. Children began to cry, their parents to shed tears, terror finally beginning to dawn.

There was no chaos amongst them, however. Still they maintained their composure though the end of all they loved was near.

As the flames amongst the trees began to wane, their blackened fingers hidden only by wisps of smoke that continued to rise, Jixi and Michael sat, unmoved.

His consciousness went round and round his body, too many times to count. On each journey, he would pause at a different part of himself, explore the fabric of his being. And each discovery would bring a deeper understanding.

He had first only seen that there was
a
Weaving intangibly connecting every particle of his body, but he could now see its essence. They had been right; all of them. Arevu, Jixi, Aneh. He was a Time Weaver. The substance that coursed through him could touch the fabric of time itself and mould it to his desires.

He could see that his gift had not been untouched. Even now its recent use when he had saved Aneh was visible. He laughed to himself. It had been so crude. He had subconsciously called on his Weaving and it had obeyed, but his lack of skill showed. It was as if he had attempted to cut a piece of food with a chainsaw. Oh, it would do the job, but not delicately!

The reason for his nausea when he had accessed his powers was also now apparent. He had used only his will to pull the substance into action, without focus or knowledge, and the clumsy extraction had upset his body. If used with more… refinement, then there would be no aftereffects.

He was at peace with himself, and enjoying the exploration of his gifts when something tugged at his mind. He hung between two thoughts for a moment, before remembering that Jixi had brought him to this place. There was something about a bridge from long ago. People needed rescuing. An image of a woman appeared before him. He knew her. No, he loved her. She was crying. Why was she crying? Behind her he could see blackened trees, and in them, movement. Something was coming through. Again there was a tug. And Michael’s consciousness was again kneeling, holding Jixi’s hands.

The cries had subsided as the flames died away, the clearing next to the gorge becoming eerily silent.
 
Archers had again lined up in front of the swordsmen, who themselves stood before those who could offer no defence.

The soldiers slowly began to appear, the red of their uniforms bright against the burnt stumps through which they marched. They walked slowly until the Elahish archers had their range. And then the final battle commenced. Arrows flying in both directions, Jashmarael’s soldiers running forwards, screaming their battle cries. Souls of men and women and children began to leave their bodies as the cruelty of the dawn commenced to take its inevitable toll.

Aneh ran to Michael, and with tears she pleaded for him to awake from his trance. His skin was pale.
 
Wherever the Nixu had taken his soul, his body was weakening. He would not survive even for Jashmarael’s forces to execute him. Perhaps it was a blessing, but she could not bear it. And so she closed her eyes, and reaching into herself she extended her Healing to his body, giving what vitality she could to the man she loved.

The fog had now cleared, and he could see Jixi clearly. They were sitting atop a hill, and the rolls of green, punctuated with trees and bright heathers, swept as far as he could see. A part of him wanted to spend an eternity here, but he remembered now why he had allowed Jixi to bring him here; what he needed to do.

He closed his eyes, but instead of looking into his body, this time he explored the world where his body resided. He looked at the pillars between which he sat, and at those on the opposite side of the gorge.
 
Knowing exactly what he needed to do, he focussed on each of them, and gently pulling a single strand of his Weaving he ran along their surface: not their physical surface, but rather the surface that tracked their lives. To delve a thousand summers into the past should be difficult, but Jixi’s power was flooding him now, and his vision raced through a hundred, then five hundred, and quickly through a full millennium.

The bridge now stood majestically between the pillars on either side of the gorge, huge stone buildings rising gloriously behind them. The passage was of stone, and was lined with statues along the rails. He expected they were intricate and held beauty that he would have liked to explore, but he had no time for that. Ironic, he thought, that the Time Weaver should have no time.

Arriving here had been relatively simple, but he now needed a greater power. Pulling several strands of his Weaving from his body, he shaped each one behind a dozen paces of the ancient bridge, continuing until he could see the entire structure wrapped in his glowing power. Although he knew the structure would hold, he moved carefully at first, pulling the object slowly forward through time: one summer, then five. When he was confident that it had moved intact, he raced forward, somehow conscious of screaming; an urgency now filling him like nothing he had before felt.