by Davis Ashura
“I’d like that,” Selene said softly.
Fiona smiled. “Whenever you’re ready.”
William sighed. “We should get you home,” he said to Selene and led them down the hill.
Fiona paced beside them. She whispered in astonishment as they drew nearer to Clifftop. William caught many references to beauty, glory, and heavenly. He smiled when he imagined her response to the terraces and cataracts.
However, they stopped first at the hospice clinic to check on Jake.
As they tried to enter, Jessira promptly pushed them out. “Let him rest,” she said. “We’ll send word if there’s any change.”
“But I only want—” William began.
“Out,” Jessira said, in a tone that brooked no argument.
William retreated.
On their way to the Village Green, they ran across Travail. Councilor Duba stood beside him, and a large audience had gathered about the two of them. The people of Arylyn—young and old alike—gawked at Travail in curiosity and wonder, and he shifted about, clearly uncomfortable by the attention.
“William,” Travail called, sounding relieved. “I thank you for all you did, for what Jake did, but had I suspected the cost of my freedom might be his life, I would have gladly spent the rest of my years on Sinskrill.”
William infused certainty into his voice. “I know you would,” he said, “but we couldn’t leave you in bondage. Saving you was worth the risk. Jake will tell you the same when he wakes up.”
Jake would wake up. He wouldn’t die.
Travail’s mouth tightened. “I love him as deeply as I have ever loved anyone—like a son perhaps,” he said, “but for now, I have to go.”
William frowned in confusion. “Why? Where do you have to go?”
Councilor Duba appeared confused as well. “Yes. Where do you have to go?”
“Trolls weren’t woven for cities and villages,” Travail said. “I need to find a place in the mountains. I need to heal.”
“You can’t stay a few days and wait for Jake …” William began, but Travail started shaking his head in the middle of his words.
“I will know if Jake dies, and if he recovers I will return,” Travail said. “For now, I need solace and solitude. I need to grieve in my own fashion, if that is what is required. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” William said, hugging the troll and barely able to get his arms around Travail’s waist. He rested his head against the troll’s muscular torso, the fine fur there tickling his nose. “Come back when Jake wakes up.”
“Are you certain?” Councilor Duba asked. “We could find you a place closer to Lilith.”
Travail shook his head. “I will see you all soon enough. Goodbye for now.” He loped off in the direction of Janaki Valley, his huge form scattering people out of his way.
William soon lost sight of him, and when he did, he sighed. They’d won an impossible victory, so why did it feel like a defeat?
“Come on,” Serena urged. She tugged on his hand.
They descended the Main Stairs and soon arrived at Mr. Zeus’ home. He was waiting for them on the porch. William pushed open the gate and paused under the arbor.
“We’ll see you later?” Serena asked him.
“I’ll stop by in a little while,” William responded.
Mr. Zeus approached, slow and obviously tired. He somehow managed a welcoming smile. “Why don’t you stay with us?” he offered Serena. “Fiona also. We have plenty of space, and I don’t want you isolated and alone at your cottage. You should be with friends.”
Serena smiled in gratitude. “We’ll gather some clothes and come back in a bit.”
Several weeks after the battle in Sinskrill, Serena climbed the Main Stairs of Cliff Spirit. When she reached Mr. Zeus’ terrace, she took the cobblestone path leading to his home. She pushed open the gate and entered his yard.
William and Jake sat on the front porch, along with Rukh and Jessira. They laughed at something, and their smiles lingered as she approached.
“Come to visit me?” Jake asked.
Serena ascended the stairs. “Only checking to see if William needs a break from babying you.”
William grinned. “Then how about a foot-rub? Jake has me running up and down the stairs and all over the place.” His voice took on a toddler’s tone. “I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. Waah! I’m sleepy.”
Serena chuckled, and her heart lifted. The easy laughter of friendship between the three of them had been hard-earned. She might not deserve it, but fate or grace had given it to her anyway.
“We’ll see how you do if you ever get stabbed in the chest,” Jake said to William. “It hurts real bad.” He coughed, and a rictus of pain flashed across his face.
“Yes. You’re very brave,” Jessira said. She moved to stand closer to him.
“I’m fine,” Jake said. “Only a little twinge when I breathe.”
Jessira didn’t respond. She seemed to be inspecting Jake. Rukh peered at him as well, his face filled with intense focus.
“He doesn’t need any more healing,” Jessira said after a moment of silence.
Rukh settled on his heels. “He’s come far, but he has a much farther distance to travel.”
“I’m alive,” Jake said with a grin. “I’d say that’s pretty far already.”
Serena silently agreed. The wound in Jake’s chest should have killed him. Only by the barest of margins had his heart not been punctured. But here he sat, several weeks after nearly dying. While he might be wan, wasted, and weak, at least he still lived. It was the only thing that mattered as far as Serena was concerned.
“When you poured that lightning into me,” Jake began.
“Healing,” Jessira said.
“Right,” Jake agreed. “When you Healed me, I could sense part of you. Both of you. If I could stand up, I’d—”
Jessira cut him off with a raised hand. “We Healed you. It’s what’s expected amongst friends.”
“And amongst brothers, nothing more need be said,” Rukh added.
Jake eyed them with a frown. “I saw something. A scene with people kneeling in prayer in front of you.”
Jessira tsked. “We have never required or desired worshippers.”
Rukh quirked an eyebrow at her.
“I’ll explain later,” Jessira said.
Serena frowned. “Why do you have to explain it to Rukh? Why doesn’t he know what you know?”
“Our memories are mostly intact, but that’s not the same as entirely,” Rukh explained. “There are things I remember that Jessira doesn’t, and vice versa. But every week the gaps fill.”
“You never did tell us about your world,” William said.
Serena had almost forgotten. Rukh and Jessira had claimed to be warriors from another world. “I remember you once said you were from a city called Ashoka.”
“Are you sure you wish to hear it?” Rukh asked. “Our story is a long one.”
“It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to be,” Jake said with a dry chuckle.
“It’s not like you’ll be able to stay awake, either,” William countered.
“Maybe if you tell the story,” Jake replied.
“Boys.” Serena drew their attention. “I’d like to hear what Rukh and Jessira have to tell us.”
Rukh smiled. “As I said, it’s a long story. We were born beneath a different star and upon a different world, Arisa. Ours was a world of the Castes and the OutCastes.”
Sinskrill
The wind whipped off the Norwegian Sea, but Adam gave it no notice. Nor did he deign to acknowledge the steady rain that had started in the morning and continued through the late afternoon funeral for the last of the mahavans who had fallen during Arylyn’s brazen attack. The cold, gloomy weather and wetness were a part of life on Sinskrill. None of it was worthy of comment. This place—its climate and its culture—hardened the mahavans and stripped away any weakness.
Yet weakness lurked within Adam’s h
eart. Before those two powerful magi had arrived on the battlefield in Australia—the man and the woman who fought like demons—he’d had a chance to kill his one-time bishan. Serena had stood unprotected and unaware of his regard. He could have struck her down, but he’d held off the killing blow. He couldn’t harm the young woman he thought of as a daughter. He loved her too much.
Serena was his weakness.
Then again, was it really a weakness? Were the magi lesser warriors than the mahavans? Several weeks ago, before the attack on Sinskrill, Adam would have scoffed. Now he was far less certain.
Despite having what should have been overwhelming odds—thirty mahavans and nine unformed against ten magi—it had been Sinskrill’s warriors who had come away bloodied and beaten. Even the Servitor’s might had not been enough to carry the day.
All told, nine mahavans had died and a much larger number injured. He shuddered to think what the death toll might have been if those two strange magi, the ones who moved like a razoring wind, had truly unleashed themselves. Adam sensed that they’d held back. Though they could have killed everyone they faced, they’d chosen to deliver debilitating blows instead.
They’d even defeated the Servitor.
Adam frowned at the notion and eyed his brother askance. How could someone with such a potent lorethasra, and wielding the Spear itself, have been defeated? Adam continued to wonder, but the Servitor wouldn’t speak of it.
Shadows had crawled across the waters by the time the ceremony reached its conclusion and the body was set out to sea. Seconds later, the family of the fallen mahavan set the funeral pyre alight. The wood burned yellow and red as black smoke rose, a vibrant contrast to the darkening indigo waters of the Norwegian Sea. Afterward, everyone spoke a few words of feigned grief to the Servitor before quickly dispersing.
Adam waited alongside his brother until everyone left, and together, they ascended the zigzagging stairs leading to the Servitor’s Palace. A block of Air masked their conversation.
“What a disaster,” Adam said with a shake of his head.
“So it was,” the Servitor said. “But I sense you have more you wish to say.”
Adam blew out his cheeks. “We were defeated, and I didn’t think we could be.”
“Speak truly. You wonder how I could have been defeated?” The Servitor offered him a faint smirk. “I am not Shet. Though I wielded the Spear, and my lorethasra holds greater potency than that of any asrasin alive, those two … You know the ones of whom I speak?”
Adam nodded. “The man and the woman.”
“They are not asrasins,” the Servitor said. “They’re something else.”
Adam hadn’t considered that possibility. “Woven, then? Like the necrosed and the unformed?”
“Perhaps,” the Servitor said, drawing the word out. “But they struck me as human. Only they possess a knowledge of asra vastly different from our own. I spoke to Lord Shet of my observations.”
Adam waited for further explanation, but none came. He wanted to grimace in annoyance but knew he dared not. This was the Servitor to whom he spoke. “What did Lord Shet say?” Adam asked at last, his voice patient rather than irritated.
“The Lord seemed worried when I told him,” the Servitor answered.
Adam’s eyes widened in shock. “Lord Shet sounded worried?”
“Even fearful. He named those two World Killers. That was the name he gave them. He says their kind have been seen before, and where they go, worlds die.”
Adam frowned. “Beyond sounding ominous, that explains nothing.”
The Servitor shrugged. “It’s what the Lord said, and given his reaction, I knew not to press for further details.”
Adam grunted understanding.
“He did offer one piece of information that brought me some solace,” the Servitor said. He smiled then, his first expression of genuine humor since the disastrous raid by Arylyn.
“What could possibly bring you comfort after all of this?” Adam asked, gesturing to the still-burning funeral pyre in the harbor.
“He told me Arylyn’s location.” The Servitor’s smile faded, replaced by a brief jaw-clench of determination. “We will pay the magi back for what they did to us, and this time it will be we who invade their home. It will be we who steal something they consider precious.”
“Why bother?” Adam asked. “Lord Shet arrives in a few years. Let him deal with the magi. They can’t survive him.”
“We may not survive him,” the Servitor reminded him. “But if we do exactly as we’re told, if we find favor in his eyes, perhaps he will not lay waste to us after he destroys Arylyn.” He sighed. “Doing whatever is required to serve Lord Shet is the only way we can save our people.”
Adam had his doubts about such a plan, but he was also wise enough to keep his concerns private. “We’re going to bring Fiona back?”
“Not only Fiona. All of them. Serena, William, Jake, my other daughter, and the troll.” The Servitor’s face tightened with grim purpose. “Or we’ll see them dead.”
The End
Thank you for purchasing William Wilde and the Unusual Suspects. It was a joy to write, and I truly hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. In addition, please consider signing up for my newsletter. I’ll send you the first part of A Warrior’s Path, book 1 of my first trilogy, The Castes and the OutCastes. It’s a sprawling epic fantasy, and in it, you’ll discover who Aia once was as well … well, I don’t want to spoil who else might show up.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
D
avis Ashura resides in North Carolina and shares a house with his wonderful wife who somehow overlooked Davis’ eccentricities and married him anyway. As proper recompense for her sacrifice, Davis unwittingly turned his wonderful wife into a nerd-girl. To her sad and utter humiliation, she knows exactly what is meant by ‘Kronos’. Living with them are their two rambunctious boys, both of whom have at various times helped turn Davis’ once lustrous, raven-black hair prematurely white. And of course, there are the obligatory strange, strays cats (all authors have cats—it’s required by the union). They are fluffy and black with terribly bad breath. When not working—nay laboring—in the creation of his grand works of fiction, Davis practices medicine, but only when the insurance companies tell him he can.
He is the author of the semi-award winning epic fantasy trilogy, The Castes and the OutCastes, as well as the YA fantasy, The Chronicles of William Wilde.
Visit him at www.DavisAshura.com
and be appalled by the banality of a writer’s life.
