The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  Again the runes flared, and again Axel frowned while he studied them. Their secrets had been lost long ago, and he wondered . . .

  He opened his mind, sourcing his Spirit, suffusing himself within its silver-white purity before he mentally reached out for the Spear.

  Axel’s eyes involuntarily rolled as knowledge flowed into him, dread, terrible secrets forged into the Spear through its mystic runes. His muscles spasmed, and his heart raced. He tried to let go of the Spear, but it wouldn’t release. Lord Shet would soon return, with great fury and vengeance. An anchor line from Seminal to Sinskrill, one forged millennia ago and fastened to Shet’s Throne, would open in five years, the first time it could be tethered in over three thousand years.

  Axel’s mouth went dry. The Spear burned in his fisted hand.

  Shet the Indomitable, the Destroyer of Empires, the Murderer of Elementals, was coming.

  With a gasp, Axel managed to release the Spear. It clattered to the floor, and he stumbled away from it, bumping against his desk. His knees gave way, but he managed to fumble into his chair before he fell on his face. Axel panted as if he’d run from Village White Sun to the peak of Mount Toll. Fear like nothing he’d ever felt coursed through him. Distantly he wondered if this was how a drone felt when he spoke to one of them.

  Minutes passed, and the panic receded. His heart slowed, and his breathing came easier. His mind unlocked from its terror-induced paralysis, and thoughts flowed once more.

  As much as the people of Sinskrill honored Lord Shet, none of them truly wanted to live beneath his dread shadow. Deadly, unforgiving, and dangerous to friend and foe alike, Shet was more a demon than a god. But he also provided the lorasra that kept the island alive and supported the uncounted Servitors through the unspooling centuries.

  But when Shet’s presence had been nothing more than a vague voice and impressions in Axel’s mind, Sinskrill’s god could be honored without worry. A distant ruler whose grasp far exceeded his desired reach.

  But, now . . .

  The Lord standing upon Earth was another matter entirely. A terrifying one. Axel feared much more than the loss of his station—and he had no illusions about what would happen to him when the Lord strode Sinskrill’s rugged hills and mountains. After all, what need would Shet have for a Voice when he could speak for himself? Or the mahavans in general. Given the Lord’s power, would he need any of them?

  Disaster loomed, and Axel had no more than five years to find a way to save himself and Sinskrill.

  He smiled then in grim amusement. Servitors didn’t live as long as other mahavans, and in that moment, Axel wished he were older. Then he might have passed away before Shet entered their world, and the problem would be Adam’s.

  But life was never so simple.

  Axel mused long over the terrible problem at hand, and an idea sparked within him.

  Anchor lines were said to mostly be manifestations of Spirit. Only a powerful raha’asra could create one, and only a powerful raha’asra could destroy one. A powerful raha’asra like William Wilde.

  Yes. William Wilde.

  Axel sensed great potential in the boy. But how best to ensure his loyalty?

  Axel nodded.

  Mortal terror usually worked best.

  TORTURE AND DREAMS

  June 1987

  * * *

  William tried to suppress a shiver when the doors leading into Lord Shet’s Throne Hall clanged shut behind him. For some reason, the Servitor required his presence, and William had no idea why.

  The ruler of Sinskrill reclined in his Chair, the second step up on the dais, and his heavy features were twisted in a sardonic smile. The Servitor seemed to study him with a cold-eyed amusement, and William imagined a snake’s scales slithering in the hushed room. His mouth went dry as he realized he had truly entered the serpent’s lair.

  The Throne Hall, dark lit and brutish, suited Sinskrill’s ruler. Onyx flagstones formed the floor, and a line of thick columns supported a ceiling muralled with images of blood and battle. Little light from the afternoon sun penetrated the room, and that which did lit up the stained-glass windows bearing additional images of death and war. The entirety formed a tableau of barbarity and killing.

  At the far end of the Hall—placed atop the dais—sat an empty throne. It was a blue-hued monstrosity with rune-written, broken spears forming the arms and legs, and a back surmounted by an arch of human skulls. Behind the throne loomed a monstrous statue, a commanding figure with six arms and a pitiless smile.

  Shet.

  William took a deep breath. Here went nothing. He marched across the hall, came to a halt before the Servitor, and fell to a knee. There could be none of the flippant disrespect he slipped into his conversations with Serena or Fiona. Without being told, William knew the Servitor would kill him for the slightest offense and feel absolutely no regret afterward.

  “How may I serve you, my liege?” William asked.

  “You believe you can serve me?” Amusement twisted the Servitor’s features.

  William’s palms grew sweaty. He had no idea how to respond and decided on the truth. He prayed it wouldn’t offend the Servitor. “I don’t know the answer to your question, my liege.”

  “The query is simple. Do you think you can serve me?”

  William chose his words carefully. “It is not for me to say.”

  The Servitor slowly formed a fist, and his knuckles cracked. He leaned forward, menace radiating off of him. “Do you presume to tell me what I must say?”

  Fiery pain broke over William, a mountain of agony compared to Fiona’s molehills. He collapsed. Muscles seized, and his mouth gaped. He couldn’t even scream. The pain seemed to last for days, but likely only seconds before easing off.

  William gasped in relief when it ended. Sweat drenched him. Please let me survive this, he prayed.

  “I ask you again: do you presume to tell me what I must say?” the Servitor demanded.

  “No, my liege,” William quickly replied. “I am unworthy to tell you anything except the truth.”

  The Servitor leaned back in his chair, a half-smile on his face. “A good answer,” he said. “For a coward. Serena has taught you too well in the ways of obedience.”

  William didn’t show any response to the Servitor’s observation, and honestly, he had no notion what reaction would be allowed. He didn’t want a repeat of the earlier agony.

  “Now answer my question. Do you think you can serve me?”

  “I can attempt to serve you, my liege.”

  “Fly.”

  “My liege?”

  “Step off the balcony there and fly,” the Servitor ordered. He pointed to a terrace directly off the Hall with a face lacking any semblance of amusement. “Do it now, or I’ll flay the skin off Jake Ridley’s breathing body.”

  William’s thoughts raced in muddy disorder. What was happening? Did the Servitor really mean for William to kill himself? What should he do? How could he live through this? Perspiration dripped down his face, and he looked to the Servitor, hoping to see some clue that the man might be joking.

  He wasn’t. The Servitor wore a visage as pitiless as the statue of Lord Shet.

  William slowly climbed to his feet. He dragged his way toward the balcony, opened the doors, and stepped outside. A happy sun greeted him, but a hard wind kept the day cold. William struggled to keep his balance, leaning into the breeze. Sinskrill spread out before him. Green hills loomed directly ahead, while beyond them rose rugged mountains farther north. Village White Sun huddled to the left with thin columns of smoke rising from cook fires. A sliver of the Norwegian Sea sparkled to William’s right.

  He wondered if this would be the last thing he saw.

  The Servitor had arisen from his Chair and stalked behind him. “Climb the balustrade,” the old tyrant ordered.

  William hesitated. “Why do you want me to kill myself? Is there no other way I can serve?”

  “I want you to leap off the balcony for my amus
ement,” the Servitor answered. “There is no other service I require of you.” He gave William a shove. “No more dawdling. Climb. Do it now. This is your final warning. I will flay the skin from Jake. He’ll live through it, too. This I promise.”

  William wanted to rage. He wanted to ask why, to demand answers. But he held silent, not voicing the furious questions. What would be the point?

  Instead, he climbed until he stood atop the railing.

  Regret filled his thoughts. So many things he wished he’d done differently. Spend more time with family and friends, laugh harder with them, love them more deeply. He sourced his Spirit, seeking its silvery, calming influence. A faint, distant song rang in the vaults of his mind, and peace settled over him.

  William locked his knees. He would go no farther. If the Servitor intended his death, the old bastard would have to do the deed himself. A snarl of defiance formed on his face. The Servitor could go to hell with his threats. William would—

  The Servitor flung him into empty space.

  William screamed. The ground rushed toward him.

  He slammed to a halt after falling no more than twenty feet. He twisted about and looked up. Above him, the Servitor waved and offered him a friendly smile.

  Panic and confusion filled William as he floated upward. His arms crested the balcony’s floor, and he made a desperate grab for a baluster.

  The Servitor crouched over him and slowly unpeeled William’s grasping fingers. Shit! His grip loosened, and he slipped. He scrabbled for the floor of the balcony. The Servitor stood and moved his feet, placing them on William’s hands, but not applying much pressure.

  “Understand this.” The Servitor’s weight slowly bore down. “I can kill you whenever I want.” More pressure. “Your life is mine. Your friend’s life is mine. Everything on this island is mine.”

  Grinding pain bore into William’s hands, and he keened with the agony of it.

  “You will obey me in all things, or the fear, pain, and shame you feel now will seem a balmy dream. I can make your life a misery unlike anything you can imagine. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, my liege,” William panted, panic stealing any semblance of pride.

  “Good. Then we are understood.” The pressure let up, and William heard the Servitor’s bootheels ring as he strode away. “Perhaps you can serve me,” he said from somewhere within the Hall. “You brought me amusement this afternoon.”

  His footsteps receded farther, and quiet followed. It told William he was alone. No one else was in the Throne Hall. He could climb back to safety. William levered himself over the balustrade and scraped his ankle heavily before flopping onto the balcony. Once there, he lay on his back and sobbed with relief and humiliation.

  As the fear receded, a red haze took its place. Fury stole all thought. The Servitor would die. He would pay for what he’d done. No matter the cost, William would see the man dead.

  William limped back to Travail’s field with his head down. He’d banged his ankle hard and scraped off a good chunk of skin during the Servitor’s assault. His entire foot throbbed and could barely hold his weight. His hands ached from where they’d been stepped on, but the pain was the least of his concerns. He had much to consider. Foremost was that he and Jake had to escape Sinskrill as soon as possible. Tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough.

  He passed Village White Sun’s fields with the sun still shining, and distractedly acknowledged the greetings from the drones working the crops. They called out his name, and he waved to them before trudging on. Despite their training with Travail, he and Jake still took some of their meals with the drones. But because everyone now knew their status, it made things easier. Eventually he and Jake had gotten to know a few of the drones and formed what passed for friendship here.

  Jake grinned when he eventually arrived at Travail’s field. “About time you got back,” he said. “I had to help Serena with her boat all by . . .” His voice trailed off when he took in William’s ragged appearance. In addition to skinning his ankle, he’d ripped his pants getting back on the Servitor’s balcony. “What happened to you?”

  “The Servitor,” William replied. He grimaced upon noticing Serena sitting there. Great. Fiona was there, too.

  “What did he do?” Serena asked.

  “Say no more,” Fiona hastily gestured. The floral scent of rose wafted, and their world became silent as she formed a block.

  “He threw me off the balcony next to the Throne Hall.” William explained what had happened.

  “He threw you off the balcony? Mother . . .” Jake raged, almost incoherent with anger. “That son of a bitch!”

  “Control yourself,” Travail said. “We need to examine today’s events with a cold eye.”

  “You examine it with a cold eye!” Jake shouted.

  “He’s right,” William said. He caught Jake’s eye and shook his head slightly.

  “Tell me exactly what the Servitor said, every motion, every expression, all of it,” Serena demanded.

  “Why do you care?” Jake asked, not bothering to mask his dislike or distrust.

  William hobbled to a nearby boulder and carefully sat down with a grateful sigh.

  Take off your boots,” Fiona said. “I’ll heal you while you talk.”

  William unlaced his boots and hissed when he tried to remove the one from his injured foot. Fiona took his ankle in both her hands and sourced her lorethasra. The sound of rustling ivy and surging waves briefly flared along with scent of rose and ice as she wove a complex braid of Spirit, Earth, Water, and Air, the basis of healing.

  Coolness seeped from Fiona’s hands into William’s foot and brought immediate relief. Next, she worked on his bruised hands.

  “I care because I need your help to get Selene off the island,” Serena answered in response to Jake’s earlier question.

  “At least you’re being honest for once,” William muttered, while Fiona continued to pour healing into his hands. Again came the clean aroma of rose and ice.

  “How can we help you get Selene off the island?” Jake demanded. “Why do you need our help? As soon as the dhow’s fixed, you’ll sail off without us.”

  “And go where?” Serena asked. “Selene and I can’t live in the Far Abroad forever. The only safe place for her—for either of us—is Arylyn. Only William can dream to Mr. Zeus or Jason and ask for help so we can go there.”

  Her words jerked William upright and he shot Jake a look of alarm.

  “So you don’t really need us. You only need William,” Jake replied.

  “I’m not going anywhere without Jake,” William said.

  “You won’t have to,” Serena said in exasperation. “I promised we’d all leave together.”

  “We can worry about it later,” Fiona said. “First, tell us what happened with the Servitor.”

  William told his story. Fiona and Serena interrupted often, pressing for more details. So did Jake, and by the time he finished, his foot and hands no longer throbbed and the swelling had receded. “Thank you,” William said to Fiona.

  “He wants something,” Serena said.

  “He fears something,” Fiona corrected.

  “Or both,” Travail added. “That is the more likely scenario. Like all Servitors, he uses fear to demand obedience.”

  “Does he fear William?” Jake asked with a frown, obviously perplexed.

  “No, he doesn’t fear me. Or you, for that matter,” William answered. “He thinks we’re his slaves, scum.”

  “That isn’t entirely correct,” Fiona said. “He believes everyone is his slave and his natural inferior, but he does not hold you in contempt. Not when he needs you.”

  Serena nodded. “It’s why he did what he did. The promise to torture Jake and the threat to your life. All of it had a purpose.” She paced, head bent in thought. “He wants your unwavering fear and obedience, and more importantly, he wants you to master your skills as quickly as possible.”

  “But why worry about it now?” Fiona mused
, tapping her chin.

  “Is it because of your boat?” William asked. “Does he think you’re trying to leave and take us with you?”

  Serena shook her head. “Not if he’s about to make me the Prime of Village Paradiso.”

  “Maybe he intends to fill that position with someone else,” Fiona said, “and when you try to leave Sinskrill, he’ll have proof of your treachery. All the excuse he needs to tear you down.”

  “Why bother?” Jake asked. “Why not just kill her? I mean, who’d actually care if he did? Would anyone actually miss her?”

  Serena gaped at Jake in what might have been hurt, but William knew her too well. She cared about no one’s good opinion, except maybe her sister’s.

  “Selene would,” William said reluctantly, hating having to defend Serena.

  “I wouldn’t,” Jake muttered. “She could fall into a volcano for all I care.”

  Serena’s eyes flashed.

  “What? You’re going to lash me?” Jake asked. “Or toss me off the top of the Palace like your father did to William?”

  “There are easier ways to hurt you,” Serena said. “Say something like that to me again and you’ll find out.”

  “Enough!” Fiona shouted.

  “Whatever the Servitor’s motivations, I don’t see how any of this changes our plans,” Travail said. “We all wish to be off this island.”

  “Selene comes with us,” Serena said. “That’s non-negotiable.”

  William privately wanted to free the child of Sinskrill’s evil as well. In fact, he wanted to free all the drones and all the children, but that was a battle for another day.

  “Then nothing’s really changed,” William said. “The Servitor’s still an evil bastard, and he needs us for something we’ll never do. Screw him. Meanwhile, Jake and I have to redouble our efforts and Serena needs to get her boat fixed. And when no one’s looking, we steal Selene and get the hell off this rock.”

  “Amen, brother,” Jake replied.

  “There is one other thing,” Serena said. “The Servitor is not entirely human. He’s an unformed.”