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

closed his eyes and turned away in time, he would have been blinded, too.  
    When he was able to sit up, he looked back at the sword. It had gleamed before, somehow gathering and reflecting what little light there was through the fog, but now it glowed. Since heaven’s touch its light came from within – a soft white light warming the air around it.
    Michael crawled closer and waited in its warmth until his breath had fully returned, but he couldn’t stay here. Whatever power had drawn him here, now released him; the purpose of his coming to the sword complete. But while up until now he had known exactly where to go, he had no such pull this time. As he looked around, he saw two pathways leading in opposite directions – both at right angles from the one on which he had come here. With no obvious way of choosing between them, but sensing that he needed to choose quickly, he picked the left path, and again began walking.
    The warmth of the sword had removed much of the chill from his bones, but his heels were truly hurting with the growing blisters. After walking with the pain for a few minutes he decided he would stop and remove his shoes. My feet can’t get any colder , he thought. As he bent to untie his laces he realised that he was standing on soft grass, all signs of the path having vanished. The realisation hit him that the loss of his hearing had removed the sound of the crunching pebbles beneath his feet, silencing the one thing that had kept him from becoming lost in this vast expanse of white vapour. He tried to retrace his steps, but the fog was now so thick that he could barely see beyond his outstretched arm. After about twenty paces he gave up. In this mist, he would never find his way back to the path.
    Not knowing what else to do, he decided to remove his shoes as planned, and then stood for a moment. Which way? he thought, glancing in each direction; searching for any clue that might help his decision.  
    As his eyes scoured the surrounding expanse of white, he caught the faintest hint of movement out of the corner of his right eye. He immediately turned to face it, but saw nothing but fog.  
    What was that?
    This time the movement flashed by on his left. Something dark he was sure, but when he turned to face it, there was nothing there. His stomach started to churn, fear beginning to ferment within him.
    Again!
    Once more on his right. He started to turn around in circles – chasing his imagination – but he could discern nothing but fog. He called out. Did he? His ears were still muting all sound, and couldn’t tell whether his voice penetrated the heavy mist. Around and around he turned, eyes darting to and fro, dizziness threatening to overcome him.
      He stopped and closed his eyes, silently praying for the mists to leave. But when he opened his eyes again, his fear turned to panic as a hand slowly extended through the fog towards him. Reeling in terror he scrambled backwards, almost toppling over; the hand again disappearing into the fog as he retreated.  
    He stopped after a few paces, daring to catch his breath. After a few seconds his panic eased and he wondered whether the hand had been offering salvation from the mists. Forcing his feet into movement, he dared to step forward again. As he regained his ground, he saw that the hand was still there: a right hand, palm turned slightly upwards, an invitation to take it. Though its owner couldn’t be seen through the heavy mist, it was clearly a woman’s hand. With soft, gentle skin, and fingernails painted deep red, Michael thought that the woman must be young.
    He could feel the call – an invitation of safety and companionship – and he reached out, placing his fingers over those of the unknown woman’s.  
    A part of him instantly wished he hadn’t. There was a coldness to the touch that went beyond temperature, a clamminess that intuitively suggested deceit. But her hold was quickly strong, and Michael felt himself pulled after