Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) Read Free

however, as he came closer, noticing that the gates were ajar. The wrought iron columns were typical of gates into public gardens, but Michael noticed that these gates had a large decorative triangular shape along their inner edges, half of the design on either side of the gate’s edges so that when closed the shapes from both gates would overlap with each other. The lines on each side of the triangles were perhaps eighteen inches in length and were not straight, but rather curved back and forth. And instead of making a point at each place where one side of the triangle became the next, the line looped around on itself forming a kind of simple Celtic knot, before heading along the next side of the triangle.
    Michael had passed through the gates and taken a few steps into the gardens when he heard the clang of the gates as they closed behind him. The sound startled him, and with a flash of fear he turned quickly, knowing instinctively that he was trapped in the garden. But his fear inexplicably departed, the patterns on the gates piquing his interest instead. He saw how the triangles had overlaid each other and now formed what he could only describe as a type of Woodland Star, with intertwining branches or vines where the lines of each triangle crossed each other. The Celtic knots in place of points now looked more like six evenly spaced flowers, each with three petals.  
    There was something in the shape that held Michael transfixed – apart they had simply been two unusual triangles, but joined together they had become something quite beautiful. The iron-wrought Woodland Star now seemed more real than the rest of the gates – more permanent and substantial, living even. Surely this is how it had been intended to be. Its prior parting now seemed a violence against nature itself. He couldn’t imagine it ever coming apart again, and for a reason he couldn’t understand he found a great comfort in that. Something this beautiful shouldn’t ever be divided , he thought. He was pleased that the gates had closed so that he could witness this.
    As he turned to again face the gardens – the pull of… something… once more calling him – he noticed that a mist was descending. It reminded him that it was getting colder, the water that was soaked through his clothes now starting to chill him. The pebbled path beneath him was wide enough for perhaps three people walking side-by-side, and as he again began to walk the sound of the small stones under his feet seemed loud against the stillness of the air around him, almost echoing off the thickening mist. The trees that lined the path were just beginning to be obscured by the haze of the descending fog; the rich colours of the autumnal leaves that filled their branches dulled by filmy wisps in the air. The beds of flowers and shrubs that Michael had briefly noticed when he first entered the gardens were now completely hidden.
    As he walked, Michael could feel the rub of his trainers against his wet socks start to blister his heels, but he continued without slowing. He needed to get there. This was important .
    The path was perfectly straight and the fog continued to grow, and after a few minutes, he could only see perhaps twenty feet ahead. As he looked to his sides, he noticed that the trees along this part of the path had lost more than half of their leaves, as if his journey had been through time itself, each step bringing nature’s slumber closer. The air had grown colder still, and Michael was now lightly shivering as he walked.
    He knew it wasn’t far now. Although he had never before seen these gardens or been on this path, an urgency was filling his chest, a tense expectation extending through his body. He was nearly there, he knew. As he looked to the sides of the path again, he saw the trees were nearly lost in the fog – only the ends of their now desolate branches visible, pointing like skeletal fingers directly towards him. It was as if they were accusing him of