William Wilde and the Necrosed (The Chronicles of William Wilde)

by Davis Ashura

  Jason gave his shoulder an understanding squeeze. “I know. And maybe someday we’ll find a way to do that. But right now our best bet is to get to Arylyn.”

  “Run, you mean,” William said bitterly.

  “Run,” Jason agreed. “Kohl’s still chasing us, and we can’t stop him.”

  “He’s still back in Cincinnati.”

  “A small blessing,” Jason said, “but at this point, I’ll take any blessings we can get.”

  “I still don’t like sitting in one place like this.”

  “We ship out after tomorrow night’s performance,” Jason reminded him.

  “Can’t come soon enough,” William said. “I’ll be relieved when we get to Arizona. I’ll be relieved if we get to Arizona.”

  “We’ll get there,” Jason assured him. “Then you’ll see Arylyn, and all of this will be worth it.”

  William shrugged. “I hope so, but maybe I’m more of a pessimist than you.”

  “More like a pest-imist.”

  Serena took in William’s pallor and reached for one of his hands and gave it a supportive squeeze. Tonight was their first performance, and his nervousness was obvious in everything from his posture, the woeful expression on his face, and the way his eyes flitted about like he was having a seizure.

  “It’ll be fine,” Serena assured him, no longer surprised by the compassion she felt for William. No matter how many times she sought to expunge her emotional frailties, they continued to rear up, refusing to be cast aside. Witness the supportive squeeze she’d just given William. Serena hated her weaknesses. Detested them for how they’d invaded and hollowed out her hard core, and she couldn’t seem to do anything to rid herself of them. Worse, she wasn’t always sure she wanted to.

  “You’re not nervous?” William asked.

  “Maybe a little,” Serena said. A moment later. “Maybe a lot, but we’ll be all right.”

  “I hope so.” William sounded as if he was offering up a prayer, and afterward, the small trailer in which they waited fell quiet.

  Serena ran her hands down her outfit, smoothing it out. A large keyhole opened in the front, exposing an ample amount of her breasts, and the back plunged low. Panels of purple silk extended from her waist to her ankles, and while they mostly covered her legs, with every step she took the fabric swirled about, exposing flashes of her calves and thighs. The outfit left very little to the imagination. In fact, when Serena had first seen it she had pretended to pitch a fit, figuring a tantrum was in order for what she was being asked to wear. Of course, she had eventually agreed to don the outfit, but only after letting everyone know exactly how unhappy she was.

  It was all so silly, though: the provisional morality of those in the Far Abroad. The minimal clothing didn’t embarrass Serena—she’d worn less in the past and would do so again if circumstances required it.

  She caught William staring at her. “What?”

  “I wish Jane hadn’t given you such a skimpy outfit,” William said with a frown.

  “So do I,” Serena said, although truthfully, she didn’t care. “But you look nice. Real nice.”

  And William did look nice in his bright-blue, velvet pants with beads and gold piping running up the sides, and the vest that left most of his chest bare. He filled it out nicely.

  William blushed, and Serena smiled at him in genuine fondness. He was sweet and innocent, and she liked that about him. She liked a lot of things about William and his friends. She liked smiling without faking it, who she was—

  She cut off that line of thought with a mental scowl.

  There again with the weakness, sneaking up on her when she least expected it. Even her attempts at continual diligence couldn’t keep it away.

  Serena closed her eyes and tried to recall Isha’s teachings.

  We have no friends in this world. We simply have temporary allies whose needs occasionally align with our own.

  And based on those teachings, William was nothing more than her target, someone to be bent to the needs of her people, or failing that, someone she’d have to kill.

  She frowned when she considered killing William. Could she actually do that? When she didn’t even like hurting him? Three months ago, the answer might have been an easy and obvious ‘yes’. But now?

  “What’s wrong?” William asked. His face filled with concern.

  “I’m fine.”

  He quirked a half-smile. “Is it because of having to prance around in that outfit with all those people watching?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it until you mentioned it just now,” Serena said. “Thank you for that.”

  “I’m sure no one will notice the clothes,” William said, grinning now. “They’ll be too busy staring at other things.”

  Serena smiled, and unconsciously reached for an unruly lock of his hair, intending to tuck it back into place. He was so . . .

  Serena hid a scowl. Idiot. She attempted what she hoped was a challenging smile. “And I’m sure no one will be staring at your manly chest.”

  William glanced down and blushed. “Oh, no.” He went back to fidgeting, and the trailer fell silent again.

  After a moment, Serena eyed him askance. “Can I ask you a question?” She waited until he looked her way. “How did you and Jason get so good with your sword routine so fast?”

  William frowned, appearing troubled. “I don’t know. It just happened.”

  “Is it because of your magic?”

  “Lorethasra?”

  “Yes. That. Was it your lorethasra?” Serena made sure to stumble over the word that was supposed to be unfamiliar.

  “I don’t know. I’m just stronger and faster than I used to be. Maybe it’s all the training I’ve been doing.”

  “Then you should count your blessings,” Serena said. She kept her face composed, although alarms went off in her head. William’s newfound physicality might be due to the blood of the necrosed. The disease might be growing in him. She smoothed her outfit again and reached for something to distract her from her worried thoughts. “What do you think Mr. Zeus would think of The Highlander?”

  Serena wanted to smack her head. What an inane question!

  William pondered it, though, as if it deserved serious consideration and stroked his chin in thought. “He wouldn’t like it,” he finally said.

  “Why?”

  “It would remind him too much of his own life.”

  “What do you mean?” Serena asked, genuinely curious.

  William slapped his forehead. “That’s right. We never told you about Mr. Zeus. He was born before the Civil War. He lived to see his brothers and sisters, his nieces and nephews, his own daughter and granddaughter all get old and pass away. He wouldn’t like watching a movie portray something he’s actually lived through.”

  Serena stilled. The Civil War? Impossible. William had to be mistaken. He couldn’t mean that Jason’s grandfather was over one hundred and twenty years old and yet looked to be in his sixties. “Mr. Zeus was born before the Civil War?” she asked quietly.

  William laughed. “It’s hard to believe, right? I didn’t believe it either, but Jason swears it’s true.”

  Serena grew numb. “Is Mr. Zeus’ longevity exceptional?”

  “Jason says most of our kind live to be over two hundred, some to over two hundred and fifty.”

  “Two hundred fifty?” Serena whispered in shock. She had no idea the asrasins of Arylyn lived so long. No one did. They lived half again as long as what her own people thought possible.

  The door to their trailer opened, interrupting whatever Serena might have said.

  “You’re up in five,” a runner told them before dashing away.

  William watched as Fire Lord Ignis reached the finale of his performance. The stocky artist, graceful despite his bulk, swallowed a flaming sword and blew fire out of his mouth as he spun about in a circle, lighting up a ring of torches. The crowd cheered enthusiastically.

  Despite the busy season of Christm
as shopping, the folk of Newton, Kansas had still come out en masse and on multiple occasions for the circus. Mr. Bill had been thrilled.

  “We’re up next,” Serena whispered. She gave William an encouraging smile. “Don’t be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous,” he said. Earlier, in the trailer, his stomach had been aflutter with butterflies, but now he felt steady enough to play Operation while driving. “We’ll kick ass.”

  A surprised expression passed across Serena’s face.

  Before she could respond, the ringmaster had introduced them to the audience. "Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, for the first time ever, I give you The Lovers!"

  William paused when he stepped out of the shadows into the bright lights of the center ring. The smell of popcorn and gray smoke from when Master Aero had been shot from his canon permeated the air, and he could barely make out the crowd. They appeared distant, faraway and silent, as they watched Serena glide across the center ring. Given how she looked in her outfit, he thought it understandable. She reached her scarves and struck a pose.

  The lights had followed her as she made her way across the center ring, and William stood in darkness again, just outside the lights.

  Music began, melodic and slow. “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini” by Rachmaninoff. All the music had been chosen by Mrs. Nancy.

  Serena high-stepped around her scarves, each movement controlled and graceful as she swayed in time to the rhythm of the music. She twirled about the scarves, into them, hiding away from the crowd before poking her head out a moment later.

  Beautiful.

  Serena pirouetted around the ring, oblivious to anything but the dance, until she saw William standing in the darkness. She feigned startlement, and her hands went to her mouth in an exaggerated expression of surprise. The big-top’s spotlight angled on him so the audience could see him as well. Serena crooked a finger and urged him out.

  William took a deep breath and stepped forward. Before leaving the trailer, he’d donned a shepherd’s robe over his fancier clothes, and held a shepherd’s crook. He pointed it at Serena, and she mimed a laugh before darting away from him. Now began the chase. William followed Serena, dancing after her, chasing her lode star around the center ring. They picked up speed, and the music changed to “Rite of Spring” by Stravinsky.

  The movement paused when Serena, enshrouded amongst her scarves, allowed herself to be caught. William held her in his arms, and bent low as if to kiss her.

  The music changed, becoming dark and sullen. “Totentanz” by Liszt. Jason entered the ring, dressed in black with silver piping. William placed himself protectively in front of Serena, and Jason sneered at him. William held his shepherd’s crook at the ready, and Jason drew his sword. Serena climbed her scarves to safety.

  William made wild swings with his crook, which Jason easily batted aside. William grew more desperate, and Jason laughed at his feeble attempts. The crowd groaned when their short battle ended with William driven off the stage.

  He left the spotlight of the center ring, standing again in darkness as he watched Serena’s performance.

  The music changed again. Dark choir music now, with occasional light tones hinting at hope.

  Serena had the scarves wrapped about her arms. She held the crucifix pose, and the audience gasped when she let go of the scarves. She looped them about her ankles and did the splits. She held the pose before suddenly plunging downward, snapping to halt when she hung upside-down. The crowd gasped again before breaking into enthusiastic applause.

  No matter how many times William had seen Serena’s routine, it always left him mesmerized, if not terrified.

  “Get your robe off,” Mr. Bill hissed.

  William started, and hurriedly undid the shepherd’s robe. Beneath it gleamed the blue costume that matched Jason’s black outfit. “Where’s my sword?”

  “Here.” Mr. Bill handed him the sheathed weapon.

  William belted it on before returning to watch Serena. She had the crowd spellbound. They held silent, raptly following her every movement. But she was nearing the end of her performance. William would have to go back out in a few seconds.

  Serena came to a halt high above the center ring, and the music changed again, this time to the theme from Conan the Barbarian. William had no idea why Mrs. Nancy had chosen that music for the final battle between himself and Jason, but by Crom, he would make this a performance to remember.

  William stepped back into the light and faced Jason. Once more, he beheld his friend’s sneer of derision. William’s adrenaline began pumping, and for some reason his anger flickered to life. He quickly squashed it.

  William struck a heroic pose, one mirrored by Jason. As one, they drew their swords and attacked. The clang of steel striking steel reverberated throughout the big-top. The sound served as an accompaniment to the music while William and Jason ranged across the center ring with handsprings and somersaults. The crowd whistled approval, while Serena, wound in her scarves, watched from above.

  With one final pass, William drove Jason off the stage. The audience cheered wildly.

  Once again the music changed, this time upbeat, happy, and modern, “I Melt With You” by Modern English. Serena tumbled down her scarves, unwinding all the way to the ground and alighting in William’s arms. The lights faded to a single spotlight that focused upon them. The crowd grew silent. William held Serena in that famous pose between Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara. The spotlight slowly faded.

  But Serena changed the final scene. Her eyes were filled with something William couldn’t describe. Longing, or sadness maybe. She cupped a hand to the back of his neck and pulled him close, kissing him. Surprise held him frozen while the spotlight faded to black.

  Serena was nowhere to be found after their performance, or even later that evening when William and Jason helped break the circus down. They loaded everything onto the train to be shipped out to their final destination, Las Vegas, New Mexico.

  The long night’s work ended up bleeding into the next morning, and it wasn’t until shortly after sunrise that the train pulled out of Newton. Afterward, while everyone tucked in for some sleep, William and Jason stayed awake, too keyed up to rest. They sat before a small opening in the combine’s car, wrapped in thick blankets and watching the unchanging prairie pass by. America’s heartland with its stubbled harvested fields appeared as a vast, unending wasteland this time of year, and the thin winter sun, often hidden behind a scudding blanket of gray clouds, did nothing to resolve the bleakness. Someone had the radio on and “Mama” by Genesis was playing, the perfect song for the setting.

  “I hate winter,” Jason said with fervor.

  William merely grunted agreement.

  “What I’d give to be home right now.”

  “Cincinnati or Arylyn?” William asked.

  “Either, but if I had to choose, it’d be Arylyn.”

  “What’s it like?” William asked. “You never told me.”

  “We wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “What if . . .” William trailed off.

  “What if you never have a chance to see it?”

  William nodded. He hadn’t wanted to give voice to his worries. It felt as if doing so might make the fears come true. At least that’s what his Mom always used to say. Some of her superstitions must have rubbed off on him.

  “I can’t describe Arylyn. You have to see it for yourself.” Jason surprised William by reaching out to cup his temples. “This is what I saw the first time I set foot on the island.”

  The world blurred, and William no longer saw the barren, winter prairie outside. Instead, he stood on Arylyn.

  William breathed deep and clean, citrus-tinged floral scents filled his lungs. Then he saw Arylyn and his jaw dropped.

  Cupped within the protective embrace of a series of bluffs lay a turquoise bay. A pencil-thin golden beach framed the border between violet-veined, ruddy cliffs and water. The cliffs, five of them, soared four hundred feet or more into
the air and were sculpted into staggered terraces. It reminded William of pictures he’d seen in National Geographic of Bali’s rice fields, except Arylyn’s were more majestic and far more beautiful.

  Upon the terraces were perched an eclectic blend of homes in styles from around the world. They varied from English cottages to some that appeared vaguely Asian. Flowering bushes, palm trees, and fruit trees—mango, orange, apple, and pear—decorated front yards, while tall, wooden fences draped with red jasmine and honeysuckle, divided the lots.

  Innumerable staircases and slender, white bridges, each with intricate carvings of dragons and unicorns and other fantastic animals, linked the various terraces and cliffs. The spans shimmered fragile as glass, and some were even translucent. A river split the cliffs and cascaded down as a misty waterfall as permanent rainbows stretched from sea to sky, dappling rooftops with colored shadows as rich as those of stained glass.

  The image slowly faded from William’s mind.

  “Arylyn,” Jason said, with a deep-seated note of loss.

  “Arylyn,” William managed to whisper past a throat dry with awe.

  Arylyn, an island more beautiful than anything he could have ever imagined, as perfect as a place could be. Waking up every morning to see a village and island like that would be a miracle.

  A sudden restless need filled William. He didn’t want to be on this train anymore. He didn’t want the life he was leading. It felt so bland and washed-out after the vibrancy of Jason’s true home. It felt like the rest of the world existed beneath a pale, frigid light, and only Arylyn held a golden, summer sun.

  “You want to go there, don’t you?” Jason asked.

  “Yeah” William said, his single word answer unable to encompass the depth of his desire. “Why did you ever leave?”

  Jason gave him a wry grin. “Arylyn is gorgeous, but so is the rest of the world. There’s always more of it to see and experience.”

  “I guess,” William said, in a voice full of doubt. “Do you think I’ll ever get to see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How? Have you figured out where the saha’asra in Arizona is?”