William Wilde and the Sons of Deceit

by Davis Ashura

  “That it does,” Ms. Sioned muttered, staring into the distance. “I hope we can do something about it. He came to us with an interesting approach.”

  “To weave away his anger?” Serena asked. William had already told her about it. Another notion came to her then and she gave voice to it, wondering what Ms. Sioned would say. “You once told me you thought Shet was real. Do you still feel that way?”

  Ms. Sioned grimaced. “I had always thought he and the ancient asrasin war nothing more than a fable. I still wish they were.”

  “So you believe in him?”

  Ms. Sioned smiled. “The way you put it makes it sound like you’re asking if I worship him. I most certainly do not.” The smile left her face. “But I do believe he’s real. I’ve said so before, and I also believe we have to prepare for his coming.” She took Serena’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “More than that, I believe this, a phrase from my misspent youth. Collige, virgo, rosas.”

  Serena translated the Latin in her mind. Gather, girl, the roses. She frowned as she tried to parse the meaning.

  Ms. Sioned smiled. “Enjoy life. Do it now. Do it before it’s too late. Consider it much better advice from a sometimes foolish old woman.”

  Rukh frowned as he watched his warriors train. Nearly forty magi had decided to join the Ashokan Irregulars. They currently fought one another in groups of ten, drilling upon the training grounds north of the enrune fields. The late afternoon sun blazed within a blue sky, but rain would soon come. Dark clouds rolled toward them from the Triplets with the precipitation heralded by a gusting breeze. Until the promised downpour occurred, though, dust still swirled and billowed as magi fought with governed lorethasra and swords. Their stomping feet beat the grass flatter and more lifeless than it already was, and Rukh reckoned that even the fabled farmers of Caste Muran would have struggled to maintain the training field’s green grass.

  Rukh frowned when one of the warriors engaged in the drill tripped on his own feet.

  Jessira, who stood at his side, nudged him. “Your scowl is scaring them.”

  Rukh momentarily eyed her askance. “Better that they’re scared now than when the mahavans arrive.”

  “This isn’t Hellfire Week,” Jessira reminded him, “and those aren’t Kumma Trims who’ve trained their entire lives for battle.”

  “No, they aren’t,” Rukh agreed, “and I know this isn’t Hellfire Week. This is more serious. Hellfire Week ended with the Advent Trial. What these warriors will face is far deadlier.”

  Memory made him pause as he recalled his youth, the years spent training at the House of Fire and Mirrors in Ashoka. He’d been a prodigy then, a swordsman of unparalleled skill, and later on the one to defeat the Sorrow Bringer. Now he had to teach these children to fight, to battle the forces of another false god. When will I earn some rest?

  Jessira moved to stand directly in his line of vision. She cut off his view of the Irregulars and shifted when he tried peer around her. He was forced to meet her green-eyed gaze.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” she said, “but these people are young at this. They weren’t born with swords in their hands and songs of martial glory in their hearts. They need time to learn.”

  Rukh studied his wife’s sober expression and considered her words. She was right—at least partially—but she was also wrong. In an ideal world with bountiful time, Rukh would have allowed the Ashoka Irregulars to learn more slowly, afforded them greater understanding and patience. But this wasn’t an ideal world, and time wasn’t on their side. The Irregulars had a lot to learn, and they had to learn it quickly. The mahavans were coming, and after them, Shet.

  The link he and Jessira shared allowed her to sense the direction of his thoughts. He didn’t need to speak them aloud.

  She understood. Nevertheless, she shook her head in disappointment, and Rukh wondered about her. While the fierce, unflinching heart of her, the indomitable will and courage he’d immediately noticed when they first met, hadn’t changed, in some important ones, it had. Jessira had softened here, become more patient.

  He smiled at the thought. On Arisa, Jessira had been stern as a mountain, hot-tempered as a volcano, but as generous as a favorite grandmother.

  “What is it?” Jessira asked. She obviously sensed his amusement, but apparently, their link didn’t tell her why.

  He explained, and she scoffed. “We both know that ‘soft’ and ‘patient’ characterize me as accurately as ‘raven-headed’ and ‘fine-boned.’”

  Rukh chuckled. “I’ll try not to glare so much,” he said.

  “I’m sure you will,” Jessira said before drifting away.

  Rukh watched her a moment before returning his attention to the drilling Irregulars. His brow furrowed as he focused on a particular pair of squads, the Silvers and the Reds. Six warriors remained, three from each group.

  As he watched the sparring Rukh realized what would happen. The Silvers will lose.

  Though the two squads possessed equal numbers, they weren’t evenly matched. William should have been the deciding factor to give the Silvers victory but he never fought with discipline. He’d already drifted out of position, seeking to take on the other side more independently.

  Rukh tsked. How many times do I have to tell him to battle alongside his brother warriors and fight as a unit?

  Jason—one of the Silvers—took a braid of Air to the belly. He gasped and fell to a knee. Lien ‘ended’ him with a finishing blow of Earth. Meanwhile, Daniel fought to reconnect with William, but Ward Silver—ironically named since he was one of the Reds—cut him off. A lance of Fire that Daniel couldn’t quench figuratively torched him. An instant later, William landed a telling blow against Ward—a bar of ice to the chest—and put him out of the fight.

  The remaining two Reds, Jake and Lien, flanked William. Jake feinted. William spun to keep his ‘enemy’ in view. Lien darted forward, fearlessly, recklessly. William tried to trip her with a braid of Earth. He succeeded, but his distraction allowed Jake to land a killing blow: a blazing bar of Fire.

  The fight was over. No one had been seriously injured, but the Silvers muttered in aggravation while the Reds preened proudly.

  Rukh’s jaw clenched. He waited a moment for some of his frustration with William to pass. Only then did he confront the boy. “Why did you step out of line?” he asked. “Your unit lost the moment you did so.”

  William’s jaw thrust out, his shoulders squared, and his brows furrowed. He appeared ready for belligerence.

  Rukh mentally sighed. Not this again. He pushed closer. “You have something to say?”

  For once, William’s anger fell away as quickly as it arrived, and he stared at the ground. “I know it was wrong, sir,” he said. “I knew as soon as I did it.”

  An abashed air filled his features, and Rukh’s ire abated somewhat.

  William continued. “I can’t think straight when we drill. I don’t know why. My mind goes blank, and all I see is redness from the anger.”

  The last of Rukh’s irritation left him, and he eyed William in sympathy. There was no reason to castigate him. He plainly felt bad enough already. The anger dwelling inside him was more punishment than anyone deserved. “It isn’t easy, is it?”

  William shook his head. “It’s like fighting a storm cloud. When I try to let the anger wash through me, it’s like I’m drowning in a flood.”

  Rukh gestured for William to follow and led him apart from the others. A dozen feet away, with a little more privacy, he stopped and faced the young man. “Is there no way to help you?”

  “I don’t know.” William hesitated. “The raha’asras are looking to do something about the anger, maybe break my connection to Sapient Dormant.”

  “Did they give you any hint when this might occur?”

  William nodded but didn’t hold a hopeful mien. “Tonight, I think. At least, I hope so. There’s a weave they want to test out.”

  Rukh wordlessly scrutinized William. The boy app
eared simultaneously scared, angry, and humiliated. “Why do you want to fight?” Rukh eventually asked. “Would it not be easier to manage your anger if you chose a different avocation?”

  William blinked, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me, sir?”

  “You heard the question. Why do you want to fight?”

  “Because I’m good at it, and it needs doing,” William said. “The mahavans are coming. Shet, too. What else am I supposed to do?”

  Live free and laugh, Rukh wanted to tell him. Instead, he sighed at the ignorance of youth. “When you see me tomorrow, tell me if the weaving helped,” he said. “For now, go get something to drink, and take the rest of the afternoon off.”

  “Sir—”

  “It’s not a punishment,” Rukh said, placing a hand on William’s shoulder and giving him a supportive squeeze. “I think you’ll need the rest for whatever happens tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” William said.

  Rukh gave William’s shoulder a companionable slap. “Good luck and remember to come see me tomorrow.

  William still wore a disappointed cast, but he snapped out a sharp salute and departed.

  Rukh watched him leave and glanced aside when Jessira arrived again to stand next to him. He saw her smiling at William’s departing back.

  “He could be a fine leader if his anger didn’t destroy his ability to think clearly,” she said.

  Rukh nodded, and for some reason, in that moment, he remembered his brother, Jaresh, born of Caste Sentya. He had been a great leader, but the pride of intellect had nearly ruined him. He hoped William’s anger didn’t similarly ruin him.

  FIRE TO HEAL

  April 1990

  * * *

  “Hurry up,” Jake shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Stop pestering him,” Jason said, sounding like he was standing right next to Jake.

  William tuned out their bickering and slipped on clean clothes. After Rukh had dismissed him, he’d gone home and taken a nap, only awakening when Jake and Jason had rambled inside.

  The other two men had been hot, dirty, and sweaty, and since the raha’asras who were coming tonight would be less than thrilled about sharing a living room with three very smelly twenty-something-year-olds, Jake and Jason had showered as soon as they got home. William waited for them to finish before cleaning off, too. He presently toweled his shoulder-length hair one final time and combed it into a semblance of order. He could have used a braid of Air and Earth to do it but that would have been wasteful.

  Once done, he trotted downstairs and discovered that Mr. Zeus and the raha’asras hadn’t arrived yet. Only Jason and Jake were present. They waited in the living room, sitting on the couch and speaking in hushed tones. They glanced up when William entered the room and fell silent, shifting apart.

  “What are you talking about?” William asked, although he already had an idea. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was the subject of their conversation.

  William took a seat on one of the two Queen Anne chairs facing the large picture-window that opened onto a view of the Pacific Ocean. The western sun hung a few hours above sunset, and the waves glistened like a cracked sapphire as they washed against the shores of Lilith Bay.

  Serena was probably down there with Jean-Paul. The Frenchman had taken her under his wing and taught her to surf. She had asked to be here tonight but Mr. Zeus wouldn’t allow it. He thought she’d be too much of a distraction.

  Jake leaned forward and the soft, cream-colored leather of the couch squeaked. “You sure this is what you want?” he asked. “What if it goes wrong? They say they might burn out more than your anger. They might burn out your ambition.”

  “Then they burn it out,” William replied. “Nothing can be as bad as what I’m going through right now. I can’t think straight. I want to hurt people. It’s like I’m being poisoned with rage.” He viewed the scenery outside the window, viewing Lilith’s beauty, and in that instant, he felt strangely apart from it all, separated by his rage from everything he loved here. He wondered if after tonight, when he next viewed the village would he see it through eyes still glistening with fury or view it with the lifelessness of a drone? He hoped it would be neither, that he’d see the village with the same awe as when Jason had first shown it to him.

  Jason wore doubt on his face. “I know it must be hard to—”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” William snapped as he faced him. He lunged to his feet, his fury making it impossible for him to sit still, and paced. The only sounds in the room were his footfalls and the grandfather clock in the corner marking time. The angry beast raged, wanting to take over, to exit its dark cave and overwhelm, dominate, hurt, kill . . .

  No. William stopped his pacing and closed his eyes. He counted to ten, thinking again about the first time he’d seen Arylyn, the glory of the place, and the fury slowly ebbed. He thought about Serena, and the anger drained further. Only then did he open his eyes. “I need this.” He filled his voice with all his longing.

  Jason stood, and his face contained wariness as he approached William. “I didn’t mean to question you. I only want you to know we care about you.”

  The quiet moment between the two longtime friends was ruined by Jake. “Get a room.”

  William shook his head. Jerk, he thought fondly, and the last of his anger broke. He flung a throw pillow at Jake.

  Jason wore a tight smile. “I think I should get going,” he said. “This is something only for raha’asras and someone with mastery of Spirit like Mr. Zeus. I don’t want to be a distraction to them or to you.”

  William nodded agreement and watched as Jason departed the house. He resumed his seat, propped his feet on the coffee table, and stared at the Pacific Ocean and its many blue hues. All the while he tried to ignore his nervousness. Jake must have sensed his need for quiet because he didn’t say anything more. The two of them waited in silence for the raha’asras to arrive.

  Jason jogged up the Main Stairs, not really paying attention to where he was going. However, his feet carried him automatically toward his destination—the Karllsons’ home—while his mind remained on William, hoping today’s healing would fix him, get rid of his anger. He sent a prayer to the Lord on his friend’s behalf.

  Minutes later, he reached the Karllson’s home, a peaked-two story house of German design. He gave the front door a single rap and let himself in. He didn’t need the formality of an invitation, not anymore. Not for years now. The Karllsons had long ago basically adopted him, and he could come on and go as he wished.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  “In the kitchen,” came the clear voice of Mrs. Karllson.

  Jason passed through a wood-paneled study, the quickest way to the kitchen, and waiting for him there were Daniel, Lien, and Mr. and Mrs. Karllson. Jason’s attention, though, went straight to the strawberry cheesecake standing front and center on the butcher-block island.

  His stomach grumbled, and Mrs. Karllson noticed. She quirked a grin, and her white teeth flashed against her Ethiopian dark skin. She moved in her easy, graceful way to a cabinet and withdrew a small plate. On it, she placed a large slice of cheesecake. “I should have known you’d want one,” she teased in her east African accent.

  “Thanks,” Jason said, with a fond smile. Pretty much from the moment he’d arrived on Arylyn, the Karllson’s had treated him like their own son. It didn’t make up for what his own parents had done to him, but it helped.

  “What is happening to William?” asked Mr. Karllson in his deep baritone.

  “The other raha’asras hadn’t arrived when I left,” Jason said. “I didn’t think they’d want me in the way for something this serious.” Bubbling worry for William rumbled to life again. To be fair, it had never much faded.

  Mrs. Karllson shook her head. “This should have never happened,” she said. “The boy deserves some peace.”

  “If Afa’s plan works, he’ll have some,” Mr. Karllson said.


  “I know,” Mrs. Karllson said, “but William’s suffered more than all of us here, and he’s so young.” She sounded upset, which wasn’t surprising. In the Far Beyond, the Karllsons had also taken in William, loving him as a close part of their family.

  “And that doesn’t even include what happens when the mahavans show up,” Daniel said. “They’re coming.”

  Jason shot his friend a disbelieving look. Reminders of the mahavans weren’t what any of them needed right now.

  Mrs. Karllson’s features hardened, growing angry, and she reminded Jason of a roused mama bear. “If the mahavans come, we’ll drown them in the sea.”

  Mr. Karllson moved from where he’d been sitting at the kitchen table to stand behind his wife. Despite her willowy height, he towered over her, massive as an oak, as he silently rubbed her shoulders and supported her.

  Their quiet love for one another stood in stark contrast to what Jason recalled of his own parents volatile relationship. They’d argued all the time. Sometimes violently. Pots, pans, cutlery, even hammers would fly when they went at it. Their fights had always terrified Jason, and whenever an argument threatened, he’d run outside to hide under the porch until the dust settled.

  At the time, he thought that’s how life was lived. He never saw any different, including from his cousins, aunties, and uncles. As far as he knew, fighting was what all parents did.

  Finding out otherwise might have been the biggest shock of Jason’s life. He’d learned it when he’d come to Arylyn and gotten to know the Karllsons. He’d learned that their relationship was built on respect and friendship, which were better foundations as Jason reckoned matters than love. After all, his parents always said they loved each other, but that never stopped them from fighting all the time.

  Until that understanding, for months after meeting them, he’d always thought Mrs. Karllson was so soft spoken because she was afraid of her husband. After all, Mr. Karllson was a giant, and a younger Jason had been sure the massive man would break his wife in half if she ever spoke cross to him. It took awhile to realize that Mrs. Karllson’s soft-spoken manner of talking was just her way, and Mr. Karllson was as gentle as they came.