William Wilde and the Unusual Suspects

by Davis Ashura

  This one was the hardest.

  William began to sweat as he struggled to make the third connection. The weave of Fire crackled and carried the stink of sulfur. It threatened to dissipate, to fade away. So did the other braids, but eventually William had all three woven and steady.

  A sense of pride surged through him when he beheld all three burnished braids curling around his arms and torso. It didn’t matter that sweat drenched his forehead and trickled down his neck, or that he felt like he’d run miles to create this simple series of braids.

  Ward was frowning. “I see your problem,” he said. “Let go of your braids. Carefully.”

  William did so, recalling the disaster at Ms. Sioned’s.

  “Watch,” Ward instructed. A sun-bright yellow thread of Fire coursed over his chest, purer than any William had ever seen. “Here’s Earth,” Ward said. A thread of green ivy crackled over his hands.

  “Now, here’s the trick,” Ward continued. “Watch closely.”

  William’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to follow Ward’s work. The magus had started with the strand of Fire, and William leaned in when he saw a sliver of Air helping to form the link for the braid. Ward wove Earth, and this one had a support made of Water.

  “It’s a part of the theories of asra,” Ward explained. “We forget about them because most people are naturals with only one or two Elements. Those of us who can become adepts at three or more—the more powerful magi—we have to pay closer attention to those other lessons. Remember, Air bridges braids of Fire, and Fire does the same for Air. Same with Earth and Water.”

  William sat back, stunned.

  Had that been the answer to his problems all along?

  “Ready to try it?” Ward asked.

  William replied by sourcing his lorethasra. A spark of excitement filled him, but he tamped it down. He had to concentrate. He separated the Elements and drew Earth first, making sure to use a thin line of Water to support it. He linked the slithering thread to lorasra with hardly any effort, but when he withdrew the support of Water, he noticed a bluish hue to his braid of Earth.

  “You’ll figure out how to purify it,” Ward said. “Call up Air now.”

  William did so. The thread hissed and pulsed around his torso, and he supported it with an even thinner strand of Fire. He reached for lorasra, and once again, easily created the braid.

  William wanted to cheer.

  “Up for doing one with Fire?” Ward asked.

  William nodded, his confidence growing. He forged the third braid, and this time it didn’t leave him panting like he’d run a mile through mud.

  Duran the dwarf stared up at Rukh with hopeful eyes. “How long will you be staying?” he asked.

  Rukh bent low and stared the gentle Memory eye-to-eye. The two of them stood within the entrance to Meldencreche. The tunnel leading into the deeps of Mount Madhava stretched before them, rounded and tall enough for even a Bael to walk unstooped. Golden light lit the passageway, spilling from silver lamps that hung from walls as smooth as glass and cool to the touch. The air, cool and carrying the faint scent of water, remained hushed in a meditative silence. The quiet was an integral part of Meldencreche, and it felt sinful to speak loudly here.

  “I’m afraid I cannot stay as long as we both would wish,” Rukh said softly, not wanting to ruin the peace of the place.

  Peace.

  Long ago, Rukh had thought he had earned such a reward. Years of fighting, of fear and loss, and a long ago battle against a creature of madness. But Rukh couldn’t remember the specific details, only the shape of events, but what he recognized was this: warriors strove for peace, but no matter their victories, peace was forever fleeting. A new battle always reared its malignant head, carving lines of sorrow into the hearts of the young.

  Such a time as now.

  The people of Arylyn didn’t recognize it, but war was coming. Rukh could feel it in his bones and muscles, within senses trained acutely to discern impending violence. His heart heard the mournful call of imminent battle.

  And before the next sword stroke fell, he needed to remember who he was.

  In this world, this new life, Jessira had been the first person Rukh had recalled. His wife. Next, he remembered Aia, the calico Kesarin to whom he’d bonded. However, tattered memories indicated she was now a kitten. How?

  Rukh shook his head. He didn’t know, and worrying about it wouldn’t bring the answer. He’d see Aia again. She’d be restored and find her way back to him. All he need do was wait. Instinct told him so.

  But his skills, his training at the House of Fire and Mirrors in Ashoka … those required a more forceful approach. He remembered his abilities, but not all of them. Many remained hidden, unknown, and he needed them.

  The battle against the Servitor, the man’s power … Rukh grimaced. He had to remember what he could once do. He would meet the Servitor again. Of this, he was certain, and next time, he might not have the opportunity to retreat, nor the option of doing so. Next time, he would have to fight.

  Which is why he was here, in Meldencreche. His last time here, memories had stirred, bringing forth unknown truths, but not all of them. In addition, several frescoes had called to Rukh, and he sensed their importance.

  “How long can you stay?” Duran asked, his voice and face crestfallen.

  “Only a night,” Rukh answered. It occurred to him again how strange it was that these dwarves could so easily burrow their way into a person’s heart. Perhaps it was their serenity. Rukh ached for peace, and the dwarves provided it. In another life, he could have easily lived out his life amongst the dwarves.

  “So short a time?” Duran asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Rukh replied. “But I’ll come back to visit again as soon as I am able. For now, I need to look at a fresco.”

  Duran perked upon hearing Rukh’s promise to return. “Which one?”

  “The one showing the Lord of the Sword and the Lady of Fire battling Shet.”

  Duran smiled. “I know the ones of which you speak. Come. I’ll show them to you.”

  The doorway leading outside shut behind them, and they walked down the quiet tunnel, deeper into Mount Madhava. A memory, scattered and without mooring, flitted through Rukh’s mind. He remembered entering Jessira’s home of Stronghold through a tunnel similar to this one, into the heart of a mountain. On that occasion, he had been a captive with flanking warriors ready to kill him if necessary. Jessira had walked nearby, unhindered and alongside her cousin, Sign.

  Rukh pondered over the memory, but without knowing the details of what had happened before or after, the vision was nothing more than what the people here called a snapshot, a picture that could mean anything or nothing.

  He and Duran continued on down the tunnel and passed a number of mosaics and murals. Rukh occasionally paused to study the artwork. The images had been beautifully rendered. The dwarves were a people of great skill. The artisans of Caste Duriah would have appreciated the handiwork. Rukh briefly wondered what that might mean.

  “Here,” Duran said, coming to a halt.

  Before them rose a floor-to-ceiling fresco of a man encased in blue armor and a helmet decorated with cotton-white wisps. He wielded a sword made of silver light, and strangely, a mandolin hung from his hip. The Lord of the Sword.

  The woman fighting beside him had honey-blonde hair and wore green armor. The Lady of Fire. Blue fire billowed from her sword.

  Neither had visages that could be discerned, but not so the being they battled. Shet. He towered over the Lord and the Lady, six-armed with each hand holding a weapon, and a cruel sneer of malice on his face.

  Rukh stood unmoving before the fresco. He remembered battling another titanic being. Suwraith. The Sorrow Bringer. Jessira had been with him that time as well. Saved him. They’d saved one another as well as their world. Arisa.

  More memories stirred. Skills and knowledge. The remembrances flowed into Rukh like a slow-flowing stream. They didn’t in
undate him, and he recalled conversations with his father, his mother. Breakfasts with his sister, Bree, and his brother, Jaresh. The first time he met Jessira.

  The memories continued for a time, but eventually they trickled away, and stopped.

  Rukh sighed when the last image, an army of horned monsters—the Baels—bowed before him.

  “Rukh?” Duran asked, his voice hesitant and sounding worried.

  “I’m here,” Rukh answered.

  “You were quiet for an awfully long time,” Duran said, still sounding worried.

  Rukh frowned. “How long?”

  “Hours,” Duran answered. “You stood like a statue. You missed lunch and supper. Are you sure you’re fine?”

  “Never better,” Rukh said, doing his best to reassure the worried dwarf. He hated seeing Duran in any kind of distress. Rukh’s stomach growled just then, and he smiled at Duran. “Let’s eat.”

  Serena fell into a rhythm as she waxed her surfboard. The motion reminded her of the soothing wash of waves in the quiet lagoon in front of her home. A gentle breeze carried a familiar, briny aroma and played amongst the palm trees, shaking the fronds and her still-damp hair.

  Serena loved her cottage, especially the front porch where she worked. From here, she could watch the sunset, or during times like now, work while protected from the blazing afternoon heat.

  She hummed “Gloria” as she waxed the board and replayed the morning’s surfing in her mind. She remembered the waves she’d ridden and how far she’d progressed. A smile flitted across her face. For her, surfing was a prayer, and the ocean her church, and Serena might have worshipped for hours longer except for Selene.

  She had to pick her sister up from school. That had been a few hours ago, and after finishing her classes, Selene had decided to spend the rest of the day with her friends.

  Serena continued to work on her board and smiled again, this time at the freedom her sister had. On Sinskrill, Selene had worked from sunrise to sunset, and often even later. Here, she got to play and live the blessed life Serena wished all children could experience.

  She straightened when she heard someone coming up the path toward her home.

  William pushed through the last of the foliage. “You busy?” he asked.

  Serena hid her surprise at his presence. Since their visit with Rukh and Jessira and his adventures in Australia, he didn’t act like an ass nearly as often, but he still disliked her. Of that she felt certain, but at least he did a better job hiding it.

  “I’m not busy,” Serena answered. “What do you need?”

  “Your help,” William said, stepping onto the porch.

  Serena bent back to the board and resumed waxing it. She caught William’s eyes widening momentarily before he lifted his gaze to the lagoon. She could tell he was pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

  It took her a second to understand the cause of his discomfort. Her one-piece swimsuit covered her breasts, but when she bent over her surfboard they became exposed. She rolled her eyes.

  Men.

  She lifted the towel wrapped around her waist, and brought it up higher to cover her chest. “I’m decent now,” she said. “You can turn around.”

  “I wasn’t staring,” William said.

  You wanted to, Serena wanted to tell him. Instead, she said, “It’s fine.”

  He quirked a wry smile. “Are you saying I’m allowed to stare next time?”

  “No,” Serena replied in a frosty tone, and right then a large part of her wanted to slap him. “What kind of help do you need?”

  “How do you use Fire?”

  “I thought Ward Silver was teaching you.”

  “He is, but I need to know more,” William said. “I want to know how Sinskrill does it.”

  “Mahavans are expected to Master their talents,” Serena said, unsure why this was so important to William.

  “How is that different from what an adept magus does?”

  “Because adepts embrace their abilities. Mahavans control them.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything.”

  “Then watch.” Serena sourced her Spirit, but instead of slowly immersing herself within the glory of her lorethasra, she pulled it directly into her being.

  William frowned. “Your way is faster, but your braids won’t be as strong.”

  “But when you’re fighting, the first one with a braid can get off the first attack, which might be the last one,” Serena said.

  William appeared to struggle with his thoughts, and he grimaced before moving away to stare out over the lagoon.

  Now what?

  Serena waited on him, wondering what had him so bothered.

  “Can you teach me?” William asked, glancing at her.

  Serena blinked in surprise. She wondered how much it had cost him to ask. Probably a lot. Then again, did she really want to spend a lot of time in his presence? Did he want to spend time in hers?

  “We’ll have to be around each other a lot more,” Serena said. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

  “I need all the help and skills I can get if I want to free Travail and Fiona. I need to learn everything.”

  Serena shrugged. “Then I’ll teach you,” she said. “When do you want to get started?”

  “No time like the present,” he said.

  “Let me put away the board and put on some clothes,” she said. She quickly did both and came outside wearing a pair of shorts and a gray T-shirt. “Let’s start with Fire, since that was your first question.”

  William appeared to watch closely when she sourced her lorethasra. He seemed either puzzled or irritated. She couldn’t tell with him anymore. Not as she once could.

  “Can you do it again? Only your lorethasra this time. No other Elements?” William asked.

  She nodded, and did so.

  William leaned in with a frown. “I’m still not getting it.”

  Serena showed him a third time, and William surprised her by reaching for her Spirit with a thread of his own.

  “Don’t …” she tried to warn.

  Their Spirits touched, crackling like an electric shock, and for an instant the connection felt like an anchor line splitting the distance between their thoughts.

  Emotions leaked between them. She sensed his regret and anger about their ruined relationship, and she knew he must have sensed her own remorse, her guilt and sorrow at what she had done to him.

  His eyes lit with wonder and understanding, and for a moment he looked at her like she didn’t disgust him. “Does touching Spirit-to-Spirit always share emotions?” he asked.

  “Only for those who share a history, and even then rarely,” Serena said, trying to gain control of her roiling thoughts and feelings.

  “I’m sorry,” William said. “I never thought you cared so much.”

  “Forget it,” Serena said. Her eyes filled with tears, and shame filled her heart. Why was she crying all the time? She dashed away the tears. “Come back tomorrow. Today’s lesson is done.”

  She went inside, not bothering to wait for William to leave.

  Serena stood upon a hill overlooking Janaki Valley and stared at the fields spread below her. Green shoots of wheat blustered like a ship’s sail in the breeze while tassels from plantings of corn shivered like rattles. Farther out, on the distant rolling hills, orchards grew and vineyards marched off in neat rows.

  “What do you think?” asked Sile Troy, a tall, lean farmer who Jean-Paul thought might be willing to take her on as an apprentice. Serena privately held little hope Sile would consider her request in a more favorable light than Deidre Mason had.

  “I love it,” Serena answered in complete honesty to Sile’s question. She’d always loved Janaki Valley. Her mother would have loved it, too. It contained a beauty, mystery, and mysticism she’d always longed for. If not for the cross, distrustful looks she had to endure from the farmers—expressions she too often saw no matter the person or profession—the valley would have been paradise.


  Sile nodded acceptance in the languid fashion of someone who had all the time in the world. He wore overalls, a wide-brimmed hat, and squinted as he stared at the green fields. His seamed face appeared as hard and leathery as the thick boots he wore, a mark of decades spent in the sun. All he lacked was a drawl and a stem of hay in his mouth to complete the countenance of a hayseed.

  “You’re from Sinskrill,” Sile noted in a voice as slow as his nod. “I always figured your skills would be geared toward battle.”

  “They are, but not many people need a warrior on Arylyn,” Serena said in a wry tone. “Jean-Paul thought I might enjoy farming since I like to garden.”

  “What are your best Elements?”

  “Fire and Earth,” Serena answered. “I’m okay with Water.”

  “Good skills for a farmer,” Sile agreed before slapping his thigh. “So be it. You can learn what you can from me.”

  Serena blinked in surprise. Had she heard right? She replayed the farmer’s words in her mind, and a burgeoning sense of joy filled her.

  Sile continued on, apparently not noticing her delight. “And if you find yourself bored of the work, I won’t hold it against you if you move on. I only ask you tell me face-to-face. Don’t be a coward about it.”

  Serena couldn’t stop grinning. “Yes, sir.”

  Sile grunted. “Let’s check the gardens,” he suggested before leading her up a gravel path ending at a half-acre plot of rhubarb, tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, and okra. “Come on over here.” He directed her to the rows of rhubarb. “What do you think?”

  “They’re healthy,” Serena said after inspecting the plants. “I don’t see any red edges or brown on the leaves.”

  Sile finally cracked a smile. “Maybe you’ll do,” he said. “And if you want, my wife makes a fine rhubarb pie.”

  Serena crinkled her nose. “I’ll pass,” she said. “Too sour for my taste.”

  “You’re missing out,” Sile said.

  “Do your children think so, too?” Serena teased.