The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  The road they traveled forked. Westward it led to the enrune fields and Janaki Valley, the farmlands of the island. But to the east, the direction William took them, it ascended a gentle slope where it dissolved into a mottled path of gravel and grass. They passed Linchpin Knoll, so-named because all the anchor lines attached to Arylyn atop it. Jake stared at it wistfully.

  The trail curled north, and Mount Madhava dominated the view. The lower and middle reaches held an evergreen forest, while higher up a gray-black granite spine knuckled skyward toward a snow-capped peak. Foothills clustered near Mount Madhava’s flanks, huddling like frightened children, but none reached the mountain’s rocky shoulders.

  Their path switch-backed south before turning sharply east. It widened there, tracing a steep drop-off that plunged hundreds of feet into a narrow gorge containing the remnants of River Namaste as it raced on to the Pacific Ocean. Even from up here, Jake could hear the water battering its way downhill.

  Their path shifted north once more, onto a mild descent, and William ran faster. Even Jake struggled to keep the pace. Daniel and Jason’s breathing grew ragged, but William didn’t slow down.

  Jake understood why William pushed so hard. He wanted them strong and ready for when they returned to Sinskrill. It might be years of training away, but for William it didn’t matter. He wanted them ready, especially since Travail had always taught that a fit asrasin could braid more powerfully.

  The pace never slowed, and Jake focused on his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Fill his lungs.

  They cut through a narrow ravine before reaching their destination, a grassy hill with stairs cut into it. Each step was braced by a stout piece of lumber, and at the base of the rise lay a number of smaller logs, all of them notched with handles.

  William hoisted one onto the back of his shoulders and proceeded up the hill. Jake followed suit.

  Jason groaned. “You guys are killing us.”

  “Shut up and pick up a log,” Daniel said. He grunted as he got under one.

  Jake started up the hill. “Five trips up and down, and then we jog back to town,” he announced.

  Jason groaned again. “You guys really did this every day on Sinskrill?”

  “Twice a day,” William said as he passed them on his way up again. “Travail wanted us ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Daniel gasped. His caramel-colored skin shone with sweat, and his fine curly hair plastered against his skull.

  “Whatever we had to do to get off Sinskrill,” Jake answered.

  “Then why were you so skinny when we picked you up?” Jason asked. “You should have been as ripped as Arnie.”

  “Not enough food,” Jake answered.

  “So why are you doing it now?” Daniel asked.

  Jake answered. “So we’re ready for when we go back to Sinskrill.” Daniel opened his mouth, and Jake cut him off. “Save your breath. You’ll need it.”

  All of them focused on making it up and down the cursed hill with their cursed logs. The only sounds to be heard were their grunts and groans.

  By the fourth trip, Jake’s legs burned, from his calves to his thighs, an ache seemingly deep as his bones. His heart pounded, and his breathing came fast. Sweat poured off him, down his face and stinging his eyes. He wouldn’t stop, though. Not now. Not ever. While Jake didn’t want to return to Sinskrill—he hated and feared the place in equal measure—he would do so. He owed Travail and Fiona, loved them like family, and he wouldn’t allow his family to suffer. Just as importantly, Jake also believed Sinskrill’s dark god, Shet, was coming, and if he did, no place would be safe. They had to find a way to stop him, and maybe Travail and Fiona could help them figure out how.

  William finished his final trip and dropped his log. “See y’all later,” he said before setting off, presumably back to Lilith.

  Jake shook his head in disbelief, a sentiment apparently shared by Daniel.

  “How the hell does he run so fast?” Daniel asked.

  “Kohl Obsidian,” Jake replied. “The necrosed’s blood got inside him and made him stronger and faster. Now shut up. I want to finish up, go home, and take a shower.”

  “What’s stopping you?” Jason asked.

  “Nothing,” Jake answered. “Except I like going back as a group. Call it the football player in me. I like being part of a team.”

  TRUTHS AND FEARS

  July 1987

  * * *

  William stood on Mr. Zeus’ front porch and stared at the lovely morning weather with wistful longing. The sky held a blazing, early morning sun, cotton-candy clouds, and was a rich, Carolina blue. Gardenias and tall verbenas with neon-purple flowers lined the front porch and drew butterflies that danced on imperceptible breezes. In the distance, two miles away and a quarter-mile down, the aqua water of Lilith Bay gleamed and glistened. Arylyn didn’t have any mosquitoes or other annoying insects buzzing around, and the only sounds were of softly rustling palm fronds and wind chimes hanging from the porch.

  All in all, a picture-perfect day, but William couldn’t enjoy it. At least not yet. He had school, and worse, Jason was to be his instructor.

  Again.

  William mentally scowled. College he could accept, even regular classes like in high school, but school in Arylyn with Jason as the teacher was one notch short of hell.

  At least Jake and Serena had to share his misery. She hadn’t yet arrived, and William, Jake, and Jason sat upon chairs on the porch and waited for her.

  “What’s on the docket for today anyway?” Jake grumbled, his tone reflecting William’s own lack of enthusiasm.

  “History,” Jason answered.

  “Again?” Jake scowled. “This is like, I don’t know, the tenth time we’ve had to take some kind of history class with you. I mean, how much history is there?”

  “Plenty,” Jason said, “especially when you consider how old Arylyn is.”

  “But it’s not like anything ever happened here,” Jake said. “People are born on Arylyn, or they come over like me and William. Everyone gets along because this place is paradise. That’s it. Rinse and repeat.”

  “That’s not it,” Jason protested.

  “Yes, it is.” William agreed with Jake.

  Jason glared at William. “I’m surprised at you. Aren’t you the one who loves history because it tells you where you came from?”

  “Yeah, but that’s only if there’s something interesting to come from,” William said. “Arylyn’s history is boring.”

  “Besides which, why do we have to go to school anyway?” Jake asked.

  “You didn’t think you’d have classes at Notre Dame?” Jason asked.

  “Yeah,” Jake said, “but that’s different.”

  “How’s it different?” Jason asked.

  “Because you’re the one doing the teaching,” William answered. “It’s weird having a friend teach you something.”

  “Didn’t Travail teach you?” Jason asked. “Or Fiona?”

  “He’s a troll, and she’s a scary old woman,” Jake said. “You’re my age. It’s not the same.”

  “Well, boo hoo,” Jason said. “It’s not like this is fun for me, either. I could be out doing something a lot more fun than wasting my time with you two.”

  “What’s stopping you?” Jake asked.

  “Mr. Zeus,” Jason answered.

  “Sucks to be you,” Jake chortled.

  “More like sucks to be you,” Jason replied.

  William couldn’t help but smile as Jake and Jason continued to bicker. They reminded him of an old married couple.

  “And maybe you should stop being such a little girl about it,” Jason said. “As soon as Serena decides to show up, we can get started.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Jake said. He pointed with his chin as Serena stepped through the front gate and marched toward them.

  She wore a sleeveless, blue dress that ended at her knees. It swirled around her long legs with every step she took. Her naturally brown skin had darkene
d to a deeper shade under Arylyn’s sun.

  William dipped his head in acknowledgement when she mounted the front steps. “You finally tired of being a hermit and a drone?” he asked.

  Serena settled into a cushioned wicker chair. “I was never either.”

  “Yeah, you were,” Jake said. “You were a drone until you became a shill.”

  Serena’s eyes briefly narrowed, but otherwise her features remained flat and unreadable. William couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  “I stand corrected,” she said to Jake. “I was once a drone like you. Remember when you had to clean the stables?”

  “I don’t want to have to referee another argument between you two,” Jason said to Jake. “Shut up and let’s get started.” He proceeded to recite a series of facts and boring stories from the years prior to the founding of Arylyn.

  “So to summarize,” Jake interrupted, “we’re learning about what happened in the world before Arylyn, not anything about Arylyn itself?”

  “Yeah,” Jason agreed, sounding hesitant.

  “Then I rest my case,” Jake said, sounding triumphant. All that history is about some other place and time because nothing happens on Arylyn.”

  Serena smirked. “You sound like you wish you could live in interesting times,” she said to Jake.

  “I’ve had enough of interesting times,” Jake replied. “You’re the biggest reason why I experienced them in the first place.”

  Again, Serena’s eyes tightened.

  “The Lord of the Sword,” William said, interrupting her before she could respond, and reminding the others of the main topic of Jason’s talk. “Pretty cool name, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Jake said. “I think it’s trying too hard to sound badass.”

  “No one knows who he was?” William asked.

  “All we know is his name,” Jake said. “Shokan and his wife, Sira, the Lady of Fire. They rallied the ancient asrasins and slew Shet.”

  “That’s not how we learned it on Sinskrill,” Serena said.

  “I don’t care how they learned it on Sinskrill,” Jake said.

  “Except we need to know as much as we can about how the mahavans think,” William reminded him. “Our business with them isn’t done.”

  “What do they say?” Jason asked Serena.

  “On Sinskrill,” Serena said, “we’re taught that Lord Shet came to Earth from Seminal. He taught the ancient asrasins his art, thereby lifting them up from the mud. He intended for them to join him in his heavenly home, but then came the Befouler and his Bride—the Lord of the Sword and the Lady of Fire. Initially, they were the wisest and most powerful of all asrasins, but they grew overly proud—”

  “And after pride comes the fall?” William guessed.

  Serena inclined her head in agreement. “They began speaking out against Lord Shet. They questioned why they couldn’t cross over to Seminal at a time of their own choosing. They demanded Seminal’s grace, and rallied followers. It was then that the mahavans and magi were born. The mahavans remained loyal to Lord Shet, while the magi became apostate followers of the Befouler and his Bride.”

  Despite his feelings toward Serena, William found himself growing interested in her tale. Based on their expressions, so did Jason and Jake. They all leaned toward Serena as she spoke.

  “War broke out,” she continued. “It raged for years, maybe longer, with both sides taking horrific losses. The world itself was broken, with mountains leveled, seas drained, rivers boiled off, and canyons carved where none before had existed.”

  William frowned, trying to fathom creatures who could transform the very geography of the world like that. Modern asrasins didn’t have such power.

  “Eventually, the Befouler and his Bride gained control of the saha’asra housing the anchor line to Seminal,” Serena continued, “and they attempted to cross over. Their actions forced Lord Shet to bring forth his full might. He cast the Befouler and his Bride down, but the battle proved costly.

  “In his final act, the Befouler shut off the anchor line to Seminal, reckoning if he couldn’t go to the heavenly abode of Lord Shet, no one could. Thus was a stalemate born between mahavans and magi that exists even to this day.”

  Silence filled the front porch after Serena’s story.

  “Now that’s how to teach history,” Jake said to Jason.

  Serena frowned as she ascended the Main Stairs that bisected Cliff Spirit.

  Lilith’s glory spread around her, and most moments, it still made her eyes widen in awe. Right now, however, her thoughts were elsewhere, on the history lesson Jason had given them. She couldn’t help but compare and contrast what he had told her with what she’d been taught on Sinskrill, and she found herself speculating on where the truth lay.

  Some details were the same. Ancient asrasins had formed opposing camps, becoming the mahavans and the magi. A great, continent-spanning war had broken out, one that had shattered the world, but key details differed.

  Serena wondered which history, which competing myth, more fully explained what had happened to cause such a horrific war. Probably Arylyn’s given Shet’s terrifying nature. Peaceful and patient he was not, at least not during her one accidental meeting on Seminal with Sinskrill’s god.

  Her inward thoughts broke when an opportunity to take William’s advice from several weeks ago presented itself. He had suggested that she make herself more accessible to the people of Lilith. It hadn’t been difficult to do, smiling and pretending interest in the lives of others. Of course, most of her curiosity had been feigned, playacting, something in which she had a great deal of experience and expertise.

  Somewhere along the way, though, she’d found herself bored by her deceptions. Lying without purpose held no appeal. Strangely enough, shortly after that recognition she’d actually come to enjoy her conversations with the magi of Arylyn.

  Another such interaction could be had now as Reed Stephens, the old-world tailor and owner of Saville Sew, a clothing store, descended the Main Stairs toward her. He dressed formally, or what counted for formal on the island, with a button-up shirt and tan trousers. Upon his gray-haired head perched a top hat, and he puffed on a pipe.

  “Good morning, Magus Stephens,” Serena said, greeting him with the formality and decorum she suspected he favored based on his prim and proper bearing.

  He appeared surprised by her acknowledgment, but he quickly recovered and smiled. “Good morning to you, Ms. Paradiso,” he said with a brisk nod of his head. “While I appreciate your formality, ours is an informal island. Please call me Reed, or Mr. Stephens if you can’t bring yourself to address an older man by his first name.”

  “Mr. Stephens it is,” Serena said with an answering smile.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Are you settling in well, Ms. Paradiso?”

  “Call me Serena. I’m settling in as well as can be expected, sir,” she said. “There is much to learn, and in more important ways, unlearn.”

  “Indeed,” he replied, his tone solemn. “Sinskrill likely taught you many things we would count as rubbish. Our islands have very different philosophies.” He doffed his hat. “I really wish I could spend more time speaking to you, but I have work to attend.”

  Serena smiled. “Then I won’t keep you. Have a good day.”

  “You as well, Ms. Serena.”

  He passed by, and she glanced at his receding back in consideration. Mr. Stephens reputedly made women’s attire as well men’s, and she and Selene both needed some new clothes.

  Serena made a mental note to stop in his store later on.

  For now, she continued up the Main Stairs, and on Lilith’s topmost terrace she found more people out and about. She made a point of smiling at those who met her eye, calling them by name if she knew it, and learning them if she didn’t.

  Serena had another hour before she had to pick up Selene, and her wanderings took her to the enrune fields. Grassy swatches stretched before her as magi raced about, chasing a re
d ball the size of a grapefruit and the weight of a pineapple.

  Serena shook her head in bemusement. These people . . . Why would they waste their time playing a game—enrune—and racing around a field like headless chickens? And how did they have so much leisure time? No one on Sinskrill did. The mahavans and the drones struggled to survive their island’s less hospitable climate.

  Serena walked the sidelines and observed a few matches, but she came no closer to understanding the reason for this silly game or its rules. All she could tell was that shorts and t-shirts seemed to be a requirement, and no one wore shoes.

  On the far side of the enrune fields, near the shores of River Namaste before it tumbled over the cataracts, she found Lien sitting alone on a bench and watching a match.

  “Mind if I sit down?” Serena asked.

  Lien glanced her up and down before shrugging and scooting over.

  Serena sat down and watched the game unfold. She had no idea what was going on. “What are the rules?” she asked Lien.

  “It’s enrune,” Lien said. “There are fourteen players per side, and each team has to defend two goals apiece.” She pointed. “The smaller ones across from each other on the short side of the field are the halves, and the ones at opposite the long ends are the fulls. The object is to get the woda, the wooden ball wrapped in red leather, into a goal. If you score a full, it’s worth five points. Score a half, it’s worth two.”

  Serena grew interested despite her earlier antipathy. “They wear a glove on one hand to catch the woda,” she noted, “and they mainly move the ball about with the Elements.”

  “Yeah. You can run five steps with the woda in hand, but then you have to bounce it. If you hold it up with Air, you can go as far as you want, or until someone stops you.”

  Serena concentrated on the braids used by the players. Cords of Air hissed like a hundred serpents while flickers of red Fire rippled across the ground and threads of ivy-like Earth twined from just above the ankles to well above head-height. “They’re mostly using Earth and Air,” Serena noted. Her eyes widened. “That boy used Fire on the woda to make it too hot to handle.”