The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  “Lorethasra?”

  A cramp directly below his ribs knotted William’s side, and he rubbed at the soreness. “Spirit, Fire, Water, Air, and Earth. Spirit is supposed to be the most important of the Elements.”

  “Not supposed to be. It is the most important,” Travail corrected. “Spirit is the foundation upon which an asrasin weaves a braid linking the Elements of his lorethasra to those of lorasra.”

  “Yes, sir,” William said. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the troll’s teachings, but right now he would have paid real money for a rest. His legs burned, and the cramp under his ribs throbbed. He stumbled and had to work to regain his balance.

  Unfortunately, Travail showed no signs of slowing. They broke from the trees, and their path finally leveled off. William gasped in relief. Thank all that was holy! He couldn’t have kept running uphill much farther.

  “With the absolute basics behind us, perhaps we can progress with your instruction,” Travail said. His pace slowed further when they reached a tumbled slope of rocks and boulders. “Choose one,” the troll ordered as he picked up a massive boulder.

  “You want me to pick up a rock?”

  Travail frowned in feigned confusion. “Did I not say that?”

  “Yes, sir,” William said, unsure what he’d have to do with the rock but certain he wouldn’t like it. His suspicion was confirmed an instant later when Travail started up the hill with his boulder.

  William mentally groaned. He found a basketball-size stone but could barely lift it. He dropped it and found a lighter one. Much better. William hefted the rock up to his shoulder and followed Travail. “Why are we doing all this running and lifting, sir?” he asked between pants.

  Travail waited for him at the top of the hill. “Because you are weak, and I sense you can be strong. You’ll need that strength if you wish to accomplish that which you long for.”

  William hesitated, wondering what the troll meant.

  Travail smiled. “You long for freedom,” he said, “as do I. Perhaps together we can achieve our shared dreams.”

  “You don’t want to be here?” William asked in surprise.

  “No,” Travail said, his voice curt. “I am a prisoner, no different than you.”

  “And you’re not worried about Walkers listening in on us?”

  “Upon this rocky knoll, the wind stirs and tears words into obscurity,” Travail replied. “No one can overhear our conversation.”

  William studied the troll, wondering if he was lying. Maybe this was another sick test from the Servitor, Fiona, or Serena.

  A moment later he realized it didn’t matter. What if it was another test? What more could be done to him? By now he’d grown used to punishment.

  “What do we do?” William asked.

  “I teach. You learn. We break free.”

  William scratched at his scruffy face. “That simple, eh?” he asked with a wry smile.

  “Simple, yes. Easy, no,” Travail said.

  Later in the morning Travail took pity on William and ended the day’s exercise. On their way back to the meadow the troll appeared lost in his thoughts, and William didn’t want to talk much either. He struggled with putting one foot in front of the other and not stumbling in a heap. At least the hike back to Travail’s field was mostly downhill. Nevertheless, by the time they got back, William wanted to simply flop down and fall asleep.

  Fate, however, wasn’t so kind.

  Serena waited for them at the meadow. “Where have you two been?” she demanded.

  “Where my fancy took me,” Travail answered as he brushed past her.

  Serena’s mouth tightened with anger. “The Servitor said you were to answer to me about their training,” she called to Travail’s retreating back.

  The troll paused. “And you believe his words compel my obedience?”

  “I believe his words compel your good judgment,” Serena answered. “If I were you, I would think very hard about whether you really want to make an enemy of me.”

  “Are you not already one?” Travail asked, his tone cutting despite its mildness.

  William momentarily forgot his fatigue. The tension between Travail and Serena seemed to spark the air.

  “I am not your enemy,” Serena claimed.

  William rolled his eyes.

  “Pardon me. I mistook you for a mahavan,” Travail responded.

  Serena’s jaw clenched, but she held silent.

  Travail eyed her in disdain.

  “Where have you been?” Serena asked again, this time her tone humble and undemanding.

  Travail seemed to study her for a moment before he answered. “I began William’s education,” he said. “He had an incomplete knowledge of the relationship between lorasra and lorethasra, and none about anchor lines.”

  “I thought you already knew the basics,” Serena said to William.

  “Mr. Zeus might have taught me some things,” William said, “but it was a long time ago. Another lifetime, when I was free.” Pleasure washed over him when guilt flushed Serena’s face. “Fiona never bothered telling me either.”

  “What did you learn about anchor lines?” she asked.

  “They link saha’asras,” William said, choosing the simplest and most ignorant of explanations. Maybe it would irritate Serena further. Once again, he left off her honorific of ‘madam’. She hadn’t said or done anything about it before, and he wanted to see if she would now.

  She didn’t.

  Serena wore an annoyed frown. “You knew that much before coming here.”

  William mentally grinned at her irritation.

  “Tell me more,” Serena commanded, “and this time, don’t sound like a dolt. I know how smart you are. Impress me.”

  Or what? He wanted to ask, but that might be a step too far.

  “No one knows how anchor lines are made,” William began, “but they contain a thick foundation of Spirit, and on top of that exists a braid of Earth with Air and Water. To open one requires the right amount of flashing Fire, each anchor line’s key.”

  “Very good,” Serena said, in a tone sounding as if she were offering him a treat.

  “Thank you,” William said, letting a little sarcasm leak into his words.

  “How fares Jake?” Travail interrupted.

  “Better,” Serena said. “Fiona says his urine is getting lighter. He’s finally turning the corner.”

  William hid a frown. As if Serena really cared.

  She must have seen something in his posture. “Believe it or not, I do want what’s best for Jake.”

  “I think you and the Servitor are only interested in Jake because you think he’s the chicken and I’m the monkey,” William replied. “Kill the chicken to scare the monkey.” He quoted the old Sinskrill saying that Fiona had once told him, the one she said the Chinese claimed as their own.

  “That’s not true,” Serena said. “I do care what happens to Jake.”

  Her words almost unhinged William’s self-control. She cared? She actually dared to say she cared? After everything she’d done to them? All the lies, the kidnapping, standing by while Jake was tortured, and she dared claim to care about them?

  Anger boiled, and for a moment William saw red. He struggled to contain his rage. He wanted to hurt her every bit as badly as she’d hurt him and Jake. He wanted to . . .

  His teeth clenched as he bit back his words.

  Screaming at her would accomplish nothing, and the idea of a physical assault was laughable. He needed clarity of thought.

  William imagined his fury as an untamed beast that he had to shove into a basement and slam shut the door. It still raged, but at least he could think again. “If you really cared about us,” William said, “you would never have brought us to this hellhole. If you really cared about us, you’d find us a way off this island. Madam.” He added the last, her title, through clenched teeth.

  Serena might punish him for his honesty, but he honestly didn’t care. She had earned ev
ery ounce of his hatred. Besides which, he had much more he wanted to say to Serena Paradiso. He’d spoken the barest trickle of venom he felt toward her.

  Surprisingly, Serena didn’t punish him. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again,” she warned.

  “Or what?” William challenged, speaking the words he’d been too nervous to say before. “You’ve already punished me worse than any one ever could.”

  “I know you resent me,” Serena said.

  William laughed in derision. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Regardless, while I wish my choices could have been different, I had no choice in the matter. I had my reasons to do as I did.”

  For a moment, William almost believed her, but then he remembered the truth: Serena was the greatest liar and manipulator he had ever met. He scoffed at her.

  “Don’t push me,” she warned again. “I can ignore some of what you say in private, but let it become a habit and you’ll make a mistake in public. Then you won’t like my response.”

  “Do you suppose I’ll like it any more than when you lied to me all those months?”

  Serena rolled her eyes. “So what if I lied?” she said, her tone contemptuous. “You whiny child. Boo-hoo! I betrayed you. Who cares? Everyone betrays everyone. Grow up and stop being such an infant.” She spun on her heel and stalked down the path toward White Sun.

  William’s fists clenched and unclenched as he watched Serena leave. He ground his teeth from suppressed fury and frustration. After everything she’d done, how had she managed to sound like the reasonable one?

  “That was certainly interesting,” Travail said as he came to stand next to William.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not so much for your anger, but for the fact that she didn’t swat you like a fly. I find myself wondering why.”

  May 1987

  * * *

  Jake ran through the eerily silent forest. The only sounds were his footfalls and panting. He kept his focus on the path before him. This early in the morning, the sun had yet to burn off the fog filling the surrounding hollows. A gust of wind whipped water off pine needles, and Jake took the drenching in the face, but he never slowed.

  He had to run.

  William paced beside him, and Jake sensed his silent scrutiny as they ran through the tall, evergreen forest. He understood the reason for it.

  “I’m fine,” Jake answered in reply to William’s ongoing regard.

  “You don’t have to go so hard all the time,” William said, his breathing even and relaxed. “The hill will still be there whenever you happen to reach it.” He referred to Rock Hill, the talused slope Travail had them carrying stones up and down.

  “It’s not how I do things,” Jake said. “Either give it everything you got or don’t bother trying. That’s how I take life.”

  “I’m just saying you can slow down a bit. I’ve been with Travail for five weeks and training with him for the past four. You’ve only been here one. You can’t expect to catch up to us so quickly.”

  Jake shrugged. “Maybe not, but it doesn’t change the way I see things. I need to get stronger and faster. Like you and Travail.”

  William snorted. “Have it your way,” he said. “But no one’s as strong or fast as Travail. If he went flat out, I don’t think a motorcycle could keep up with him.”

  “Then like you,” Jake said. His breaths came heavier, but he pushed past the sharp crimp in his side. “I have to get stronger as quickly as possible. I’m not going to be the weak link that fails.”

  “You aren’t—”

  “I’m the one who was lashed,” Jake snapped. “Now shut up. I can’t talk and run at the same time. Not yet.” When William kept pace with him, Jake snarled at him. “Stop babying me. You have to get stronger and faster, too. Go. Don’t wait on me.”

  William accelerated away, and Jake watched him go. Neither of them had spoken much about Travail’s dream of freedom. Why would they? It was a vision they all shared, a precious flower in the midden heap of Sinskrill. Jake would rather die than see his hope for a life away from this hideous island falter and fail. The one time he’d tried to bring up the conversation with Travail, though, the troll had flashed him a warning sign. “Air hears everything,” he’d said. “Only at Rock Hill might we discuss the matter.”

  The Walkers. The Air Master spies who used their abilities to bend the wind and bring distant sounds to their eavesdropping ears.

  Jake mentally snarled. He hated them. He hated all the mahavans. He hated everything on this cursed island. The spiny hills and craggy ravines, the icy water of the White Sun River, and the crappy food and weather. He especially hated the weather.

  Would there ever be a day without clouds?

  Shitty island.

  A second later Jake shook off his complaints. He could whine about it later. Right now he had to focus on his running. The lashing had burned him from the inside out, and a hollowness still existed within him, as if something precious had been ripped apart.

  He had yet to figure out what he’d lost, but with every passing day since he’d come to stay with Travail that aching emptiness had slowly filled. He slowly recovered, but even past the unknown loss there had also been the searing pain of the lashing itself, deep and tearing. Jake’s bones still ached, and his muscles often throbbed at the end of the day, weak as jelly.

  Eventually they’d strengthen. Nothing to it but push past the pain and endure until they did.

  Jake ran on and imagined himself in Vision Quest, with “Lunatic Fringe” playing in his mind. Nosebleeds, dehydration, going until he had nothing left to give. That’s how he’d get through this, by being a hard-nosed son of a bitch.

  Later in the morning, they finished their exercises and Jake and William sat before Travail as the troll began the day’s instructions.

  “William can source his Spirit,” Travail said to Jake. “It took him two weeks to learn. For most, it takes several months. Do you think you can beat his time?”

  Jake nodded. “Consider it done,” he said in confident tone.

  “You’re certain you can succeed?”

  “I’ll do whatever I have to,” Jake answered.

  “No doubts infest your mind?” Travail persisted. “Even though you know William has it in him to be one of the most powerful asrasins in hundreds of years?”

  “No doubts,” Jake said. “Precision beats power, and skill beats strength.”

  Travail tilted his head in consideration. “Either you have a fiery sense of confidence or an immaculate ability to lie to yourself.”

  Jake chuckled. “Maybe a bit of both.”

  Travail barked laughter and slapped his knee. “Very true,” he said, “but in this case, you are mistaken. You cannot succeed more swiftly than William. Your lorethasra is only now starting to knit together. I fear it will be weeks yet before you can source your Spirit.”

  Jake scowled. “Then why’d you tell me you wanted me to go faster than William if you knew I couldn’t?”

  “I wanted a measure of your desire. For what you wish to achieve, only steely focus and hardened resolve will do.”

  Jake wondered if Travail obliquely referred to their shared dream of escaping Sinskrill or Jake’s more personal desire for revenge against Sherlock Carpenter. ‘No Shit Sherlock,’ as he’d taken to regard the Servitor’s son.

  “Apparently your resolve is not in question,” Travail continued. “Which is good because you have something special to encourage your efforts, something shills and bishans lack. You have desire, need, and purpose.” He stared Jake in the eyes. “Let them impel you to greatness.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jake answered.

  “Good. While physical exercise will aid the healing of your body, now we must work on healing your lorethasra. Close your eyes,” he instructed both Jake and William. “Take in the wind rustling through the trees. Touch the dampness on the air.”

  Jake did as instructed.

  “Smell Village White S
un’s cook fires, the black smoke billowing,” Travail intoned, his voice growing hypnotic. “Imagine the gray clouds scudding across the mournful sky. Feel the world, and find yourself.”

  Travail’s voice trailed off, and Jake opened his senses.

  His long hair stirred about his face as the air moved in fitful, moaning gusts. Dampness filled the meadow. Birds called from the forest. Branches rattled.

  He lost himself to a vision he’d discovered several days earlier. He entered something not quite a dream, something other than consciousness. He imagined floating above the Earth, his being dispersed, spreading wide enough to encompass cloud, sky, rain, and mountain.

  The aching in his bones eased. The throbbing of his muscles lessened, and the hatred clenching his heart loosened. Distantly, he recognized that his current peace was only temporary, that when he opened his eyes, all his hurts would resume. But for now, whatever he’d discovered was enough.

  A bell tolled.

  “Come home,” Travail commanded.

  The bell tolled once more.

  “Come home,” Travail said again.

  Jake opened his eyes. As he’d expected, all the pains came back with his return to consciousness. His earlier peace fled, and he groaned in pain. Even his tongue hurt. Anger built within him. “When I’ve mastered whatever it means to be a raha’asra, I’m going to kill Sherlock Carpenter,” he vowed.

  “Then you’ll have to hurry,” Serena said. She stood nearby and must have arrived while Jake and William were lost in their visions.

  Jake flushed and eyed her with a glower. How he would like to punch her teeth down her throat.

  “Sherlock’s dying,” Serena said.

  “What?” Jake and William both exclaimed.

  Travail took a more tactful approach. He rubbed his chin and settled back for Serena to explain herself.

  “Sherlock is dying. I learned about it earlier today. He has some kind of wasting illness. The healers don’t think there’s anything they can do for him.”

  “So it’s true,” Travail mused.

  “What’s true?” William asked.

  “A story I came across in my investigations of lashing,” the troll said. “I found it while perusing the Servitor’s library. Therein I discovered an old account, five hundred years old, I believe, of a rebellious raha’asra who was lashed. The author claimed that the administrator of the punishment, the Servitor of the time, died of a wasting illness within weeks. Nothing could be done to save him, and he eventually withered away through his urine.”