by Davis Ashura
Serena instantly brought up her hands, defending and ready to go at it again, but something gave her pause.
Isha. He’d entered the basement on quiet feet and stood behind her.
Serena turned to face him.
His posture and demeanor contained equal parts excitement and wariness.
“What is it?” Serena asked, breathing heavily. She’d been shadowboxing for the better part of an hour, and she leaned over with hands on her knees.
“I’ve figured it out.”
“Figured what out, sir?” Serena straightened, hands on hips now.
“How to break the nomasra,” Isha answered.
Serena grabbed a towel and collected her thoughts as she wiped off the sweat glistening on her arms and face. She’d secretly hoped the remedy for breaking William’s nomasra would escape her teacher, but experience should have taught her how forlorn such a hope would be. When Isha searched for a solution, he almost always found it.
“It’s only a temporary solution, but it should work,” he said.
“What do I need to do?” Serena pushed aside her disappointment. Failure to bring William in might still be forgivable for her, but not for Isha, not anymore.
He handed her a compact meant to hold a woman’s face powder. Serena studied it, trying to figure out how to open the container. She’d never applied much makeup before.
“Handle what’s inside with utmost care,” Isha cautioned. “It’s an acid.”
“An acid?” Serena paused in the act of opening the compact.
“Only for items imbued with asra. Wipe some of the powder on William’s locket, and the magic of the nomasra will fail for a short period of time.”
“What would it do if it got on my skin?”
“A rash if the dose was strong enough,” Isha replied. “Otherwise, a little bit of itchiness. Nothing more.”
Serena studied the tan powder in the box. “Won’t William feel it on his skin?”
“Not with the amount you’ll need,” Isha answered. “But it took me a great deal of effort to create. I had to drain one of my nomasras to make what you hold in your hands.” He gave her a stern gaze. “Don’t waste it.”
“You’re certain it won’t leave a residue.”
“William won’t notice a thing,” Isha said in assurance. “The powder is undetectable. It’s has no smell or greasiness, and best of all, it’s temporary.”
“Odorless and tasteless,” Serena said with a sad smile. She thought of iocaine powder from The Princess Bride, a book William had loaned her last semester, back in the fall when things were so much easier. “And if I refuse to do this?” she asked.
“You think you can escape to Arylyn?” Isha asked.
“Of course not,” Serena said. “But we could let William escape there. No one would know. We could tell my father that he left for Arylyn before we could secure him.”
“And why would we do something so foolish? Because you have affection for the boy?” Isha shook his head before focusing his intense regard on Serena. “You know the love I have for you, but I won’t allow William to escape. I won’t risk my future—our futures—based on your childish pity for him. We will succeed in your pilgrimage.”
Serena felt a part of her die. “Yes, sir,” she said. William, her first true friend, and she had to betray him. He would hate her forever, and she would deserve it.
“You will do this?” Isha pressed.
She had wanted to keep William safe, but it had always been long odds at best. Her course had narrowed to a single choice, and Serena shoved down her sorrow and regrets. She lifted her head and met Isha’s gaze. “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” Isha said. “If all goes as planned, we’ll be home before spring.”
“And if I am unable to apply this acid you’ve created?” Serena asked.
“Must I spell it out?” Isha asked.
Serena watched him with what she hoped was expectant curiosity.
Isha’s features hardened. “Your sister will pay the price.”
Serena gasped, unable to contain her shock. Her heart pounded, and she silently cursed herself. If Isha knew of her feelings for Selene, then what about her father? Maybe he knew, too.
“The resemblance is obvious—many suspect you are true sisters rather than adopted siblings—but more importantly, you weren’t careful enough in hiding your affection for the girl. And if I know, then your father does as well. Why do you think he’s brought Selene so close to his side? You must know he won’t be kind to her if you fail him.”
“I understand.”
“Then you’ll do this?”
“I already said I would,” Serena answered.
Isha gave a satisfied nod. “Then let’s have no more foolish talk of failure,” he said, sounding genial and pleased. He gestured to the heavy bag. “I’ll leave you to your training.”
Serena waited for him to depart before resuming her work on the heavy bag. She threw combinations of punches and kicks, gritting her teeth as she sought to replace grief over what she had to do with anger. Weakness could not be allowed. Not now. Not ever.
But despite her best efforts, two tears worked their way down her face. They ruined her composure, and Serena pressed her face into the heavy bag and silently cried.
She allowed the tears to flow for a count of ten before she pushed off the bag and dried her face. Enough. She firmed her features, shoving aside the sorrow. No more weakness. She would soon have to return to Sinskrill, and there she would have to be hard and strong in order to survive.
Jason approached his grandfather’s workshop with trepidation. He grimaced, hesitating a moment before raising his hand and rapping on the door.
“Come in,” Mr. Zeus said.
Jason opened the door and discovered his grandfather grinding a newly forged blade and setting the edge. The comforting smell of metal and hot oil filled the air, and a mishmash of tools lay scattered about the workshop: hammers, tongs, and various clamps. The forge lay quiescent, but heat still billowed off it; and the overhead fan flapped gusts of wind. Filings littered the ground and hot oil had spilled onto the floor from when Mr. Zeus had quenched the blade he currently shaped.
Jason grimaced at the mess, knowing he’d have to straighten it up. He mentally sighed. Might as well get to it now.
“Decide not to go to the arcade?” Mr. Zeus asked. He kept his attention on his work, moving from the grinder to whetstone, and rasped the newly forged knife against it in practiced, efficient movements.
“Had some homework to do first,” Jason answered.
“And?”
Jason shook his head. He should have realized Mr. Zeus would guess something was bothering him. “And I wanted to talk to you about William.”
“What about him?” Mr. Zeus tested the edge of the blade on a piece of paper. It sliced through with a hiss. He drew out a leather strop.
“I know he’s a raha’asra, but I don’t get what we’re still doing here. We should be back home by now.”
Mr. Zeus looked up from his work. “It has to be his choice, remember? It’s how Arylyn does things.”
“Sinskrill wouldn’t care.”
“We’re not Sinskrill,” Mr. Zeus said. “We’re better than them.”
Jason had no response. He began gathering tools and putting them away while he sorted out his thoughts.
“What’s this really about?” Mr. Zeus asked. “Why do you suddenly think we should abduct William to Arylyn?”
Jason shrugged. “I don’t think we should abduct him, but I don’t know if it’s safe for us to stay, either. I’ve got this feeling . . . things are changing.”
“We’ll leave when he’s ready,” Mr. Zeus said. “It’s our way. We only take potentials who are willing to come. We don’t ever force them.”
“I’m not talking about forcing him. Just strongly encouraging.”
“Why? We have six magi here. What could possibly endanger William that has you so worried?”
“None of us could help him much when a necrosed showed up,” Jason reminded Mr. Zeus.
“You really think another necrosed is heading our way?” his grandfather asked.
Jason wavered. “It’s not a necrosed,” he finally said. “It might be worse.” He had Mr. Zeus’ entire attention now.
“It’s William himself. His abilities,” Jason said.
Mr. Zeus quirked an eyebrow. “What abilities are you referring to?”
“You know how clumsy and weak he was when we first met? Even the simplest sword forms gave him trouble. The weapon was too heavy for him. But after his parents died he immediately started getting better.”
“If I recall, Landon had the same growth, did he not? Weak until he wasn’t? Sounds like a family trait, if you ask me.”
“Which I’d be fine with, except William’s gotten even better since our battle against Kohl Obsidian,” Jason replied. “He’s more athletic than I am now. Before Christmas he wasn’t. That kind of improvement . . .” Jason shook his head. “It’s not natural.”
Mr. Zeus frowned. “What do you suspect?”
“Kohl Obsidian bled when he attacked us at the saha’asra in West Virginia,” Jason said. “I saw it. It happened when he tore off William’s nomasra, the one that suppresses asra, including the asra binding a dead creature to life. The nomasra hurt the necrosed, and he bled. But what if Kohl’s blood got on William, or in him somehow?”
For once Mr. Zeus was rendered speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and settled for leaning back on his stool while he stroked his beard in thought. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I’ve read that the blood of a necrosed is the infection that transforms an asrasin into one of those creatures. You think it’s happening to William?”
“No. I already looked into that, right after we got back,” Jason answered. “The transformation, if it was going to happen, would have already occurred or the asrasin would have died. Or . . .” Again, Jason hesitated. “Sometimes the blood of the necrosed can be purified by the asrasin’s lorethasra, and it becomes a blessing instead of a curse.”
Mr. Zeus leaned forward in his chair, his gaze intense. “What happens to those with this so-called blessing?”
“I don’t know.” Jason shrugged. “The books you brought back don’t say anything about it.”
Mr. Zeus’ gaze turned faraway. “I’ll have someone research it at Arylyn’s library,” he said. “For now, make no mention of your concerns to William. Keep it between the two of us. No one else.”
“If William has the blood of a necrosed, we may not be able to take him to Arylyn.”
“Weren’t you the one arguing about how we should snatch him up and take him there immediately?”
“I know,” Jason said in frustration. “I’m contradicting myself.”
“Then what is it?”
“William has a chance to be a very powerful asrasin. We all know that. And if he’s truly as powerful as we suspect, he might be able to do on his own what it takes both of our raha’asras to accomplish.”
“None of this argues against us taking him to Arylyn,” Mr. Zeus noted.
“The book mentioning this blessing says the blessing of a necrosed extends in strange ways. It might make William even stronger, as in the very way he’s changed.”
“Again, you’re not offering an argument against taking him to Arylyn.”
Now came the heart of Jason’s worries. “What if William hasn’t been blessed?” he suggested. “What if he’s still in the midst of transforming into a necrosed, but the transformation has been halted because of the nomasra he’s wearing?”
Mr. Zeus lips pursed in thought. “I don’t think it’s likely. It’s not how that particular nomasra works.”
A wave of relief passed over Jason.
“But as I mentioned before,” Mr. Zeus continued, “I’ll have someone research it. If none of the texts tell us what to do, we’ll ask William to remove the nomasra and observe what happens to him.”
“And if he’s in the midst of transforming?”
Mr. Zeus’ visage filled with sorrow. “You know what we’ll have to do.”
Jason nodded, his heart heavy at what he’d suspected all along would be Mr. Zeus’ answer. “I guess this isn’t the best time to bring up my concerns about Serena, then,” he said.
“It’s beautiful,” Serena said to William, pretending to study his locket. All she had needed to do was ask to look at it, and he’d passed it over to her without removing it.
“I can ask Mr. Zeus to make you one,” William offered.
Serena smiled, feigning pleasure. “Thank you. I’ve got the exact picture to put in it, too. One of my mother.” She pretended to frown in concern. “Looks like I smudged the locket. Let me clean it.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue, the corner of which held the acid Isha had made. She carefully applied it to the back of William’s locket while she supposedly removed her smudged fingerprints. “There.” She shoved the tissue into her purse, all the while taking care not to allow any of the acid to touch her skin.
Fifteen minutes later, Serena struggled to maintain her patience and composure while she waited for Isha’s acid to eat away at the nomasra. She and William shared study hall in the library, and at any moment, the bindings keeping William’s lorethasra contained would temporarily fade away, but then what would happen? Would he notice? And what would he say if he did? Her thoughts whirled around and over themselves, looping into a knot of uncertainty. Centered within it, though, lay the question of what she should do once she confirmed William’s status as a raha’asra.
She didn’t want to see him hurt, but she saw no way to protect him. She could lie to Isha, but he would see through any deception of hers. Then he’d tell her father what she’d done even as he stole William away to Sinskrill, and Selene would be the one to pay the price for Serena’s failure.
Or she could confess her secrets to William and Mr. Zeus, something that carried its own set of risks. After all, she and Isha were mahavans, enemies to the magi. They likely wouldn’t overlook that fact, or all the falsehoods Serena had told them over the past few months.
As mahavans reckoned matters, enemies destroyed their weakened foes, and Serena had no reason to think the magi were any different. Mr. Zeus and the other magi of Arylyn would likely attack her and Isha. Strip them even. And why not? Who could stop them? After all, they outnumbered her and Isha six-to-two.
A picture arose in Serena’s mind of her sister, innocent and helpless in the clutches of their unforgiving father. Selene’s features torn with fear, forced to pursue the life of a bishan. Or worse, Selene with the obdurate gaze of a mahavan. None were images Serena could bear. While the notion of betraying William left her cold and full of sorrow, Selene might not survive Sinskrill without Serena’s guidance and protection.
“You okay?” William asked, his eyes crinkled in concern.
Serena frowned in confusion. It took her a moment to focus on the here and now. She flashed a smile. “I’m fine,” she replied. “Just thinking about my homework.” She demonstrated by lifting her American History text so William could see the cover. This week, they’d started in on Woodrow Wilson, a president Serena had quickly learned to detest. The man had been an authoritarian racist, almost a fascist really. In many ways, he reminded Serena of her own father, all the way down to his belief in eugenics.
William grunted acknowledgement before resuming whatever he was studying.
Serena returned her gaze to her own text, but as before, she couldn’t focus on anything but her own worries. The words of the history book swam before her eyes.
It didn’t help that William’s nomasra started flashing its weakness, distracting her further. The black wall blocking her view of William’s lorethasra briefly flickered a translucent gray. Whenever it did, Serena caught a glimpse of who William might become as an asrasin. Thus far, it hadn’t been enough to make a definitive
determination, but soon she’d have her answers.
Too bad Mr. Zeus had never taught William how to hide his lorethasra. If he had acquired such a skill, then Serena might never learn what he could become.
While she waited for William’s nomasra to fail, she felt someone’s gaze upon her, and she searched for the source. Sitting on the far side of the library, she discovered who it was. Jake Ridley. Again. Serena frowned. He didn’t spend as much time as he used to with his sycophants, not even Sonya Bowyer, and Serena caught him staring at her a lot. She wondered why. His eyes never held the peculiar assessment of a boy interested in a girl, but rather of someone searching for an answer.
Serena frowned further when she caught sight of something odd about Jake. She hadn’t noticed it until this very moment, and her eyes widened in astonishment. Pale, white coruscations suffused Jake’s being. They pulsed like an arterial tree, moving in time to his heartbeat.
Serena bit back a gasp.
Jake held the unprimed potential to become an asrasin.
Serena quickly shifted her eyes back to her history book. Her thoughts cascaded. Locating a single potential in a decade was rare. Finding two in the same city, at the same time, who happened to know one another was unheard of, almost miraculous.
But Sinskrill would only care about Jake if he had a truly sublime potential, and as far as Serena could tell, he didn’t. Which meant he had no value to her.
Serena tried to focus on her textbook, but once again William’s flickering nomasra distracted her.
“You sure you’re all right?” William asked again.
“I’m fine,” Serena reassured him.
“Is that why you’ve been reading the same page for the past ten minutes?” he asked, flicking his gaze to her book.
Serena looked at the page and realized William was right. “I don’t like Woodrow Wilson,” she admitted with a sheepish smile.
“You sure it’s not something else?” he asked.
“Like what?” Serena asked, finding herself annoyed by his persistence.
“By everything that’s happened. Kohl, Aia, Landon . . . all of it. And now we have to act like everything’s normal when nothing could be farther from the truth.”