The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  Serena searched about, seeking out Travail. She’d only met the troll a few times, but never for an extended conversation. Curiosity and nervousness occupied her thoughts.

  Travail was a justice, a giver of judgment, which meant that once he made a decision, his verdicts were inviolate. Not even the Servitor could overturn them. Something to do with historical precedents and the magic of a troll. Thankfully, he rarely exerted his authority since Travail had little love for the Servitor or the people of Sinskrill. Mahavans and drones alike did their best to avoid the troll’s attention and evade his judging eye.

  Movement captured Serena’s attention.

  Travail.

  He leapt down the river’s course, launching from one water-slick boulder to another with the agility of a mountain goat. As he worked his way closer, it became apparent how big he truly was.

  “Gods,” Serena whispered. She’d forgotten Travail’s massiveness. He stood even larger than Kohl Obsidian, possibly ten feet tall, twelve when the horns curling off his head were included. With his massive thews and frame, Serena judged him to weigh a thousand pounds. How did something so massive move so swiftly and with such fluid grace?

  Travail took a long dive into the water, and his coal-black form disappeared in the current. Seconds later, he surfaced and swam strongly toward the shore. Toward Serena.

  She took a step back before drawing a steadying breath and stiffening her spine.

  This was it.

  This was the next ploy in her plan to save her sister, and maybe earn a measure of forgiveness from William. Serena took another deep inhalation and slowly exhaled. Her die would be cast if the troll agreed to train William and Jake.

  Travail stepped toward her. Water pooled at his feet, draining from the short, black fur covering his body. He wore a loincloth but no other clothing, except for a thin strip of leather to tie back his long, black braids. The troll’s stony face—his spade-like jaw covered by a braided goatee and heavy brows—matched the rocky crags all around them. “Serena Paradiso. You have come,” he rumbled, his voice as deep and mournful as the tolling of a church bell. “What do you require? Your father was evasive when he asked for this meeting.”

  Serena struggled to meet the troll’s unsettling gaze. His eyes were pure white and had no irises or pupils. “Thank you for meeting with me, sir,” she said.

  “Travail,” the troll corrected. “I am not your sir, master, or liege. I am who I am, a troll. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean Travail.” Serena fumbled about in unexpected clumsiness. The troll folded his thickly muscled arms and scowled, and she hurried on. “Two raha’asras have come to Sinskrill. They require instruction. The Servitor deemed it wise for you to guide their training.”

  “Because it worked so well the last time?” The troll snorted in derision. “Fiona Applefield has been a grave disappointment to me.”

  “I cannot answer for her,” Serena said. She had finally found her footing and spoke in a more controlled tone. “But Fiona is incapable of doing the work required of her. Therefore, in the matter of these new raha’asras, she is to answer to you regarding their training, serving in whatever capacity you deem necessary.”

  “I want nothing to do with Fiona,” Travail declared. “She already betrayed me once and once is more than enough.”

  Serena blinked in surprise at the troll’s bitter feelings toward the old raha’asra. In fact, she had no idea that Travail had feelings about anyone.

  Interesting. Later on, she’d have to discuss the matter with Isha.

  “Is that a judgment?” she asked.

  “A request.”

  “If you will not allow her to work with you, that is, of course, your prerogative,” Serena said.

  “And Fiona’s punishment if I deny the Servitor’s request?”

  “I don’t know,” Serena replied. “He recently spoke of stripping her.”

  “Axel won’t strip her,” Travail said, sounding sure of himself.

  Serena startled. She’d never heard her father referred to by his first name.

  “He would lose his only raha’asra,” Travail continued. “Fiona is too valuable.”

  “But now we have two to replace her,” Serena reminded him. “She is not as valuable as she once was.”

  Travail dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Though I despise what she has become, I would not wish my former pupil to be stripped. She can serve me.”

  “Thank you,” Serena said, not understanding why she felt such relief. Why did she care what happened to Fiona? Strip her. Punish her. Toss her off the highest peak on Sinskrill. Serena shouldn’t care, and yet she did, despite hardly knowing the old woman.

  “These two raha’asras . . . they come from the Far Abroad?” Travail guessed.

  “Yes,” Serena said. “They were discovered.”

  Travail tilted his head. “You discovered them? You brought them here, not of their own volition?”

  An odd tone had suffused the troll’s questions, and an unnamed worry slithered down Serena’s spine. “Yes.”

  “I see.” Travail stared her up and down, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Is there a problem?” Serena asked. She maintained a calm posture, trying not to shift in nervousness while she waited for the troll’s response. His assessing gaze persisted, and she swallowed in anxiety.

  “No,” he finally replied. “But it does raise the question as to why you’re here. Your purpose,” the troll mused. A second later, he smiled, and his square teeth flashed. “You truly think that I’ll answer to you?” He laughed when Serena couldn’t conceal her surprise at his insight. “I answer to no one.”

  “The Servitor requires that you do answer to me,” Serena countered.

  “His requirements are not my concern,” Travail said. He seemed to loom closer. “I will instruct these raha’asras but only under these conditions. They will live with me. Whatever tasks have been set for them end now. I will release them to the Servitor’s service when I deem them properly trained. This is my judgment.”

  The world hushed for a moment, shivering more briefly than a single flit of a hummingbird’s wings. Something felt like it passed out of the troll and into the great beyond.

  The sensation left Serena confused. “What was that?”

  Travail stared at her with his disconcerting, white, iris-less eyes. “Are you certain you want to know?”

  Serena decided she didn’t.

  The troll gave her a nod of satisfaction. “I’ll send for the boys in several days.”

  “I didn’t tell you they were boys.”

  “Yet I already knew it. Consider how I learned that information while you plan the words you’ll speak to your father. Also consider this. While I train these boys whose lives you’ve helped steal, I will do my best to set them free.”

  His final words spoken, Travail strode away from her.

  “I’m counting on it,” Serena whispered to the troll’s retreating back, knowing the river’s tumult would hide her voice from any listening Walkers.

  A TORTUROUS FIGHT

  March 1987

  * * *

  Following the encounter with the wolves William and Jake became minor celebrities. It seemed the animals they had fought were actually unformed, a type of woven, deadly and powerful. Even mahavans were cautious around them. Many drones wanted to hear the story of how two untrained raha’asras, drones for all intents and purposes, stood their ground against such fearsome creatures.

  With the passage of a single day, though, their celebrity faded. Life returned to its normal dull pace, and after another backbreaking day of labor, William and Jake joined the line of drones entering the barracks for the single men of Village White Sun. It was time for supper. While he waited in line, William scratched at his itchy facial scruff. Since drones didn’t shave, he and Jake had ugly, half-filled beards and long, lanky hair that left them looking like hippies.

  He didn’t care. Right now, all he c
ared about was food and sleep.

  They ambled along with the other weary drones into the brick building.

  The barracks consisted of two spaces. The back contained the sleeping quarters while the front—the commons—held a number of tables and benches set in rows for the men to have their meals and relax during the few hours when they weren’t working. Tall, narrow windows brought in light.

  The line shuffled forward, and William and Jake passed inside. As always, the drones’ demeanor changed the moment they entered the barracks. Life registered in their eyes and conversations broke out. Laughter. Teasing. Arguments. Hope. Sorrow. Anger. They came alive, although wariness remained in their eyes since Walkers heard all.

  Still, at least they had a few hours to let down their guard, William thought.

  Inside the commons other drones—those too elderly or infirm to work the fields—prepared the meal, and doled it out along a buffet line. As the young men received their food, they often exchanged greetings with their older brethren, and smiles flashed amongst them.

  During his two months on Sinskrill, William had never been able to coax such a response from a drone, young or old, not even after fighting off the unformed wolves. Neither had Jake. They had received only cursory words and explanations during their time here. No slowly warming smiles, sentiment, or acceptance.

  Only the cold shoulder.

  Maybe it was because they were outsiders. William wasn’t sure. Plus, while they shared the same labor as the drones, everyone knew he and Jake were raha’asras in training with their own separate dwelling to punctuate the differences.

  William regretted many things about being abducted to Sinskrill, but the loss of friendship and fellowship topped the list.

  “Why are you here?” a gruff voice demanded. “You don’t belong with us.”

  William searched for the source of the voice. A drone, thin like all of them, with black hair, a thick, dark beard and a short whip coiled at his waist, glared at him and Jake. William mentally groaned. Justin Cardinal, the foreman. Rumor had it he would soon be given the chance to marry.

  His intended bride, Mary Clemmons, was a pleasant young woman who deserved better. A few weeks ago, Justin had witnessed her laughing at something William said to Jake. The next morning, Mary had arrived at the fields sporting a bruise on her jaw. She never spoke to them again.

  Later, Justin’s glare seemed to follow William and Jake wherever they went. He shadowed their every movement, staring at them with ill will, and doling out infractions and punishments for the thinnest of reasons. William had even heard him complain to Fiona about them, trying to get them in trouble with her. Luckily, she hadn’t believed the foreman and told him to mind his own business.

  “Why are you here?” Justin challenged again. He uncoiled his whip. “You don’t belong with us. Leave.”

  “This is where Fiona told us to go for our meals,” Jake said. “You have a problem with it, take it up with her.”

  “Tender Thomas says otherwise,” Justin said.

  “Since when?” Jake asked.

  Justin cracked his whip. “Since now. Since I spoke to Tender Thomas today. Now step back.”

  William tugged on Jake’s arm. He’d once seen Justin snap a fly out of midair with his whip.

  Jake shrugged off William’s hand. “I’m not leaving until I’ve eaten.”

  “Then you’re leaving hungry and bloody.” Justin snapped his whip, catching Jake on the top of his head.

  Something broke inside William. Red rage covered his vision, an anger he hadn’t felt since the final battle with Kohl Obsidian. Distantly, he heard Jake’s cry and saw his friend crumple to the ground, arms covering his head to protect against further blows.

  William caught the whip as it descended toward Jake. Through the haze of fury, he barely registered the leather cutting into the palm of his hand. He jerked, and Justin stumbled forward. William thudded a front kick into the foreman’s chest, sending him crashing backward into a table.

  The room grew quiet.

  Justin groaned as he slowly levered his way upright. He swayed for a moment and gestured to some of the drones. “Take him. Take them both. Beat them like they’ve been stripped.”

  Four men stepped forward, faces grim with a promise of violence. William recognized them as Justin’s closest allies.

  The drones fanned out, preparing to take him en masse. William didn’t wait for their attack. He took the fight to them, launching forward.

  He clipped one, a flush shot to the temple. The drone went down. William angled away from a punch and shoved one man into another, where they tangled in a knot and fell to the floor. Pain bloomed in the back of William’s head, and he stumbled. One of the drones had gotten behind him.

  William ducked another blow he sensed coming. His attacker fell forward, thrown off balance by the lack of resistance and his own momentum. William spun about and delivered a hook to the liver. The man stepped back, hands up and ready, but an instant later the pain hit, and he crumpled.

  The drone he’d shoved away clambered to his feet, a shiv in hand. Fear wormed through William’s anger. He faced Justin with his whip, this drone with his shiv, and a third unarmed man. And they didn’t look like they’d stop with just a few punches.

  William pulled back, desperate for an opening as the drone with the shiv swung and thrust wildly.

  There.

  William got inside the shiv-wielder’s guard and caught a thrust. A wrench of the shoulder had the drone braying in pain. A knee to the temple crushed the man into unconsciousness.

  A line of fire ripped across William’s back, and he cried out. Another line, and he collapsed to the ground. He turtled, covering up as best he could as strikes landed against his head and shoulders. Kicks and punches. A yip of surprise, and the blows came fewer and slower.

  William rolled over and saw Jake busily pounding on the unarmed drone. The others remained down, and only Justin still stood. The foreman loomed over William, wide-eyed and fearful although he still held his whip.

  Hatred blossomed within William.

  He scissored his legs between Justin’s and tripped him. He quickly scrambled on top and landed elbow after elbow to the foreman’s face, opening cuts and breaking the drone’s nose. A moment before Justin had been smiling in triumph, but now his eyes rolled up. His face became a mask of blood. One last blow, and the foreman stiffened, unconscious.

  William staggered to his feet.

  “What is going on here!” a voice roared.

  William’s gaze snapped to the speaker. A mahavan, Tender Thomas, stood in the doorway, his face red with anger.

  His eyes widened when he saw William and Jake standing amidst five downed drones. “You!” A single gesture, and William collapsed. It was like Fiona’s punishments but a hundred times worse. He couldn’t even scream. Pain surged along every nerve fiber. He spasmed, jerking as muscles threatened to tear free of their bones. His blood boiled. The pain intensified, and William lost consciousness.

  Jake sat upon the floor of his prison cell, resting his head against the stony wall. He closed his eyes and pretended to be back home. He could pretend he and his little brother, Pete, were playing Pole Position. Jake never won, but that hadn’t been the point. The point had been to hang out with his brother.

  He missed him. He missed his family. His friends. He even missed St. Francis, which he’d always assumed he’d look back upon as a useless part of his life. But he’d actually liked high school. Loved it, in fact.

  Then, during the Christmas holidays, a strange longing had stirred his heart. Jake smiled ruefully as he realized what that stirring had meant. William’s blood had smeared into a cut on Jake’s hand and he’d gained lorethasra. With it had come a vague sense of incompleteness, of an unknown need and wanderlust.

  Lorethasra. A curse, as far as Jake reckoned matters. The first of many miseries, starting with Serena Paradiso and continuing with Fiona, the Servitor, and this prison, a perfect rep
resentation of Sinskrill as a whole. Sure it was clean, with only a light layer of dust and dirt covering the floor. No rats scrambled about on a carpet of feces and urine, but beneath it all existed the same hopeless pits of hell seen in the prisons of Ben-Hur.

  Jake sighed. He missed movies and TV, too.

  He shifted, and cursed when the movement set off new throbbing in his head. Tender Thomas had worked him over pretty good, but nothing like what he’d done to William. His friend lay in the next cell wearing a blanket of bruises.

  “How are you doing?” Jake asked.

  “It helps when I don’t move,” William said.

  “It would have helped even more if Tender Thomas hadn’t pounded us so much.”

  “Yeah, it would.”

  Jake recalled something just then, and he chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” William asked.

  “I was thinking about the time I challenged you to a fight,” Jake explained. “Last fall, remember? The priests’ garden, only I sent Mr. Meron instead.” He chuckled again. “Sure glad I didn’t show up. You would have kicked my ass, and probably anyone I’d brought with me.”

  William barked laughter before breaking off with a sharp intake of breath. “Guess I shouldn’t laugh.”

  “You going to be okay?” Jake asked.

  “I’ll live if that’s what you mean,” William said, “but I doubt I’ll want to for awhile.” He hissed in pain.

  Jake waited for William’s breathing to return to normal before speaking again. “How’d you learn to fight like that, anyway?”

  “Mr. Zeus taught me. Jason and I used to spar a couple hours every night.”

  “You were like Bruce Lee or something,” Jake said.

  William didn’t respond, and they fell silent.

  “You remember Tyrone Stable?” Jake asked, ending the quiet.

  “Our running back? Sure.”