The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  Serena shook her head. “I assumed we lacked the raha’asras to support such a population.”

  “No. It was far more stupid. A foolish Servitor brought a pack of unformed to Sinskrill, thinking he could control them. Instead, they took him and made him one of their own.”

  “But he would have been the Servitor,” Serena said. “An asrasin. Unformed are woven. They shouldn’t have been able to effect such a transformation on one of us.”

  “They can if Lord Shet wills it,” Isha said. “An unformed Prime fears nothing in this world except a troll, a holder, or a necrosed. And while a Servitor is powerful, he’s still human, slow and easy prey to those who hunt. For his hubris, Shet allowed the Servitor to be taken as a slave to the Prime of this pack of unformed he so foolishly allowed on Sinskrill. They swept over the island like a tide.”

  “Surely the Servitor isn’t still a slave to the unformed,” Serena said. She struggled to make sense of this secret history Isha revealed. “We sometimes hunt them.”

  “Eventually the mahavans of the time understood what had happened,” Isha said, “and the Servitor who had loosed the unformed on Sinskrill was stripped of title and lorethasra. He became a drone, and his name forgotten for all time. A new Servitor arose, and Lord Shet sent her a solution: enslave the Primes. But by then there were many, many unformed and far fewer mahavans. It took decades to bend the various unformed tribes to the will of the Servitor’s Chair, and by then, they’d nearly destroyed us.” He pointed to Amethyst. “Many of the unformed live there now, as bears mostly. Or in Sinskrill’s northern reaches as wolves.”

  Serena’s mind reeled from all the information. “When did this happen? There are no accounts of such wars in our histories.”

  “Did you expect there would be?” Isha asked. “That we would allow such dangerous information to become publicly known? That our infallible Servitors are fallible? Remember, history is written by the victor.”

  “And in Sinskrill, the victors were the unformed?”

  “No,” Isha instantly replied. “The victor was Lord Shet.”

  A thought occurred to Serena. “The unformed who attacked William and Jake?” she asked. “How could they do so if they’re tied to the Servitor’s Chair?”

  “I said most, not all,” Isha reminded her wryly.

  “And the ones who aren’t?”

  “They seek freedom from the Servitor’s rule, to escape Sinskrill.” Isha’s eyes contained a speculative gleam. “I assume you’ve given up on such foolish ambitions.”

  “I never had them,” Serena lied, grateful she hadn’t told Isha about her plans, not when he was the Secondus. Her brows furrowed in thought.

  Secondus. That word. Amongst the unformed . . .

  She stepped back from her mentor, staring wide-eyed at him.

  Isha never moved, but his eyes glowed and his teeth elongated. “The Servitor’s bite made me what I am,” he said. “Be careful no one else learns about this.”

  “Why tell me?”

  “Because a Servitor doesn’t live forever. Their lives, glorious as the sun, are shortened by their communion with Lord Shet, and your father grows old. In time, I will need my own Secondus, and who better than my finest bishan?”

  SKILLS AND NIGHTMARES

  June 1987

  * * *

  As Sinskrill’s spring warmed into early summer, the sun shone bright for longer hours in a vivid, blue sky and brought life to the green fields and budding purple heather near Travail’s home. However, the weather remained cool.

  On one such day, Travail took William and Jake to the shores of Lake White Sun. Fiona accompanied them, and they sat upon boulders strewn along the northern shore. To the south, the lake emptied over a cliff and down a laddered waterfall into the indigo waters of the Norwegian Sea surrounding Sinskrill. Farther out, as if demarcated by a pencil, the color transitioned to leaden.

  “Source your Spirit,” Travail instructed.

  From where William sat, Lake White Sun appeared infinite, holding a depthless quality as it mirrored the puffy clouds floating across the sky.

  “William. Pay attention!” Travail snapped.

  William’s attention wrenched back to the here and now.

  “Focus,” Travail rebuked. “Today you learn to create lorasra, and you won’t succeed if you don’t listen.”

  “You think you can teach them with words?” Fiona challenged with a lift of her brows. “As Jake would say, you can talk the talk, but of the two of us, only I can walk the walk.”

  Travail tilted his head in acknowledgement while William and Jake chuckled.

  Surprisingly, the old raha’asra’s presence no longer bothered William. In fact, he found himself looking forward to Fiona’s visits. Strange, he thought, given how cruel she’d been to them early on. Maybe talking to Serena about their family ties had changed her, releasing some pent-up frustration or something. Whatever the reason, William and Jake felt grateful.

  It didn’t mean they trusted her. They hadn’t yet told her their real plans for escaping Sinskrill and had no intention of doing so. Instead, they let her go on believing they were going to sail away on the dhow, not telling her that Jason’s grandfather and several magi from Arylyn were coming to rescue them.

  With any kind of luck, in a few days or a few weeks they’d be free of this piss-hole.

  William couldn’t wait. He still hadn’t figured out what to do with Selene, though. She deserved a better home than Sinskrill. All the children here did. One day, he intended—

  “Pay attention and observe,” Fiona admonished, apparently noticing William’s unfocused gaze. She sourced her lorethasra, and a rose scent briefly wafted. She drew out her silvery Spirit and from it separated the other Elements, each one a thick cord. Next, she wrapped the four threads in a thick, new layer of Spirit. “That was the forging,” she explained. “Now we heat.” She set the packet alight with a wave of crackling, yellow Fire made hotter by clear pulses of Air. A smell arose, a mix of boiled eggs and the glacial scent of Air. The packet wavered as if caught in a heat shimmer. It burned for several seconds before Fiona quenched it with rustling ivy-like tendrils of Earth and a wash of blue Water. A glowing golden ball remained in the air before Fiona. When she withdrew her Elements, it slowly dispersed into the ground.

  William whistled.

  “Only raha’asras have a touch delicate enough to manipulate Spirit in such a fashion,” Fiona said. “Some Spirit Masters might come close, but they don’t have the strength in the other Elements to do the heating and quenching.”

  “Why not have the Spirit Masters make those bundles of lorasra while you do the heating and quenching?” William asked. “Wouldn’t it be, I don’t know, more efficient?”

  “I heard there aren’t a lot of Spirit Masters around,” Jake said.

  “There are more Spirit Masters than any other kind of master,” Fiona corrected. “All people who are stripped of their lorethasra become weak Spirit Masters. They can source their Spirit, but not much else. However, the bundles of lorasra the stripped could create would be like a drop of water in Lake White Sun compared to what I can manage.”

  “All the drones?” Jake said. “Every one of them is a Spirit Master?”

  “Yes,” Fiona replied.

  “But we’re masters of all the Elements?” Jake asked.

  “Of course.” Fiona smiled in satisfaction. “Did you think we were nothing more than jacks-of-all-trades?”

  “That’s what Mr. Zeus said,” William replied.

  “Well, this Mr. Zeus, whoever he is, is wrong,” Fiona said. “The best of us are greater than any Walker, Tender, Rider, or Sere, but few people realize it. We spend our time creating lorasra, or all-purpose braids, and no one notices our true skill.” She winked. “It’s our little secret.”

  “What about—” William began

  Fiona cut him off. “Enough. The Servitor intends on testing your knowledge in a few days and I won’t have you embarrassing me, o
r worse, yourselves in front of him. In case you haven’t noticed, he is not a forgiving man. You can’t make mistakes with what you say to him.”

  Jake grimaced. “One day, I’ll say exactly what I want to him. He’ll hear it loud and clear.”

  “That day isn’t today,” Fiona reminded them. “Now. William. Tell me of lorasra.”

  “Lorasra is created by a raha’asra, and from there it enters the ley lines of a saha’asra.”

  “What are ley lines, Jake?”

  “They’re like arteries. They carry lorasra into every nook and cranny of a saha’asra.”

  “I prefer roots as a metaphor rather than arteries, since roots penetrate the ground,” Fiona said.

  “Either will do,” Travail said in a soft rumble. “This questioning is unnecessary. They know the theories behind the work of a raha’asra as well as you do.”

  “We need to make sure. We can’t—” Fiona stopped, shook her head, and corrected herself. “They can’t afford the slightest chance for the Servitor to find them unworthy. I won’t have it. Finish your explanation about ley lines, Jake. Surely you’ve learned more. What is a raha’asra’s relationship with them?”

  Jake frowned in concentration. “Ley lines corrode over time, and while other Element Masters can fix them, only a raha’asra can make new ones.”

  “What about Primal Nodes?” Fiona asked William.

  William concentrated. “They’re a kind of nomasra,” he began, wracking his brain, “but they’re only found in the bigger saha’asras. The ley lines start at them.”

  “Good. You’ve progressed far and become much more than the dullards I knew when we first met.” Her smile took the sting out of her words. “Have either of you heard of therasra?”

  “Polluted lorasra?” Jake answered.

  “Are you asking me?” Fiona asked with a glint in her eyes.

  “No, madam.”

  Fiona turned to William. “What do you know about therasra?”

  This William could confidently answer. Travail had discussed it with him during Jake’s long convalescence. “Once lorasra is used, it becomes polluted. It becomes therasra. Trees and bushes become twisted by it. Same with some animals. Therasra also flows along a ley line, but it’s collected in special vessels, theranoms, which are then cleansed by either a raha’asra or by a Water Master.”

  Fiona clapped her hands. “Excellent. You’ll do,” she said with a pleased smile.

  William sat up taller under her praise.

  The Faroe Islands

  * * *

  Jason bent over and heaved. Three transitions in less than twenty-four hours did that to a person. Mr. Zeus, Daniel, and Julius were similarly hunched over in misery, and a part of Jason was glad.

  Schadenfreude. A word he had only recently learned, and one William would have liked. German. Taking pleasure in the misfortune of others. It was how he felt, taking joy for some reason in his grandfather’s green-tinged face.

  As Jason straightened, he glumly noted that Rukh and Jessira hadn’t been nearly as affected as the others. While their faces had paled, neither had vomited. Already their color was restored.

  How?

  Jason shook his head in disgust before uncorking his canteen and taking a swig of water, warm now. He swished it around his mouth and spat it out before taking another drink. This one he swallowed.

  “Let’s get out of this alley,” Mr. Zeus said. “I’ve made reservations at a nearby hotel.”

  He led them out of the narrow cobblestoned alley, and they entered one of the main streets of Tórshavn—Thor’s harbor—the capital of the Faroe Islands. Jason peered about, getting his bearings.

  Tórshavn was more of a small city or a large town than a metropolis. Probably fewer than twenty thousand people lived here, but they obviously took pride in their homes. The buildings—some wood and others brick or stone—were generally narrow, three or four stories tall, and painted vibrant reds, blues, or yellows. Despite the harsh ocean air, they were handsome and obviously well maintained. The same care extended to the harbor, where rugged boats bobbed in their moors.

  A stiff wind blew, and Jason shivered. He wrapped his coat more tightly about himself, heartened when Rukh did the same. At least something made him uncomfortable. In their travels thus far, the boy, a supposed freshman, had carried himself with confidence and an eerie calm, even when the heavily armed border guards had challenged their right to cross into East Germany. The rest of the group had shifted about in worry, but Rukh had remained serene, almost bored.

  “What lovely weather,” Jessira noted with a smile.

  Rukh grimaced at her. “Why am I not surprised?”

  She laughed, and Rukh shook his head.

  Jason frowned. There they went again with their weird, private conversation.

  “You all have your nomasras?” Mr. Zeus asked, stopping at the entrance to their hotel. “Before we left Arylyn, Cornelius assured me they’ll let us speak Faroese without any difficulty. We should sound like one of the natives, even if we don’t look like them.”

  Of their group, only Mr. Zeus and Jessira had complexions similar to the people of the Faroes, although neither of them could be mistaken for natives. Both sported deep tans from their time in tropical Arylyn, with Jessira’s having a ruddy undertone. The rest of them had skin with different shades of brown.

  “I know I’m needlessly reminding you of what you already know,” Mr. Zeus said, “but pardon an old man’s worry. I don’t want to take anything for granted.”

  They marched into the hotel and put away their belongings before meeting in Mr. Zeus’ room. It held a narrow bed covered with a plush, down comforter, a pair of plastic chairs, and a dresser that took up an entire wall. Jason opened a drawer and caught the odor of mothballs.

  “Is it always this cloudy?” Daniel asked, staring outside.

  “I think so,” Jason replied. “At least, that’s what it said in an encyclopedia I read.”

  “What do we do now?” Julius asked.

  “Now we figure out exactly where Sinskrill is,” Mr. Zeus said. “I know it’s north of here, but the Norwegian Sea is a big place. Settle in for a wait,” he advised.

  “Not too long, I hope,” Julius said.

  “It’ll take as long as it takes,” Mr. Zeus answered.

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” Rukh asked.

  “Find us a boat. Something with a motor and sails,” Mr. Zeus answered. “We’ll use the engine to get us most of the way there, but the sails when we get close to Sinskrill so no one hears us coming.”

  “Anything else?” Jessira asked.

  “Start gathering supplies,” Mr. Zeus said. “It’s likely to be many hundreds of miles to Sinskrill, and we’ll need food and water.”

  “We can’t make do with fish?” Jason asked.

  “You want to eat fish the whole way?” Daniel asked. “Nothing else?”

  Jason grinned sheepishly. “Maybe we should take some vegetables with us.”

  Sinskrill

  * * *

  Axel Carpenter, the Servitor of Sinskrill, tested Shet’s Spear for what could have been the one-hundredth time this morning. He stared at the haft and a deep frown creased his face. His attention wasn’t on the strange, white wood with its whorling patterns like Damascus steel, but rather on the dark runes carved into the haft. They flickered, burning with an intermittent red fire. Strange. They’d never done that before. In fact, as far as Axel knew, they’d never been reported to have ever done so.

  What had changed?

  Axel pondered.

  The Spear was one of Sinskrill’s great treasures, its secrets known only to the long line of Servitors who had ruled the island and handled by no one else. Even as Secondus, Axel had never guessed the weapon’s importance, and prior to his ascension, he had believed the Spear to be but an emblem of the Servitor’s authority, something akin to a scepter or a crown.

  As a result, he’d thought the Servitor’s Chair was th
e more important artifact. After all, the Chair was how a new Servitor was determined, and how Lord Shet communicated with His Voices, giving advice in the form of images, impressions, and feelings.

  But once Axel ascended to the Servitor’s post and actually held the Spear, he’d immediately realized how much more significant it was than the Chair. He also understood it was a secret no one else could know.

  The Spear was a Primal Node unlike any other, the true source of Sinskrill’s power, of the island’s abundant lorasra. No one had ever guessed at its pivotal nature. Or did they all truly think that Sinskrill’s might could be managed and maintained through the work of a single raha’asra?

  Fools.

  It was the Spear, a Primal Node that linked Sinskrill to Seminal, the world of gods and legends. Seminal. Not a final, heavenly home for the dead, but a living world of blood and battle, where Lord Shet waged endless war against the unworthy followers of Shokan the Befouler. From Seminal, lorasra poured forth into Sinskrill like Lake White Sun’s waterfall cascading down into the Norwegian Sea. That same lorasra eventually dispersed past Sinskrill’s shore into many of the world’s saha’asras, possibly including that of fabled Arylyn.

  Axel set the Spear’s steel-capped butt on the ground, and the leaf-shaped blade rose two feet above his head. This was a Spear meant to hunt bears, and the irony was not lost on him.

  His totem was the bear, a choice made the day he’d ascended to the Chair and received the Lord’s blessing. It had always been thus. Or at least, it had been since the unformed first came to Sinskrill. Upon their elevation, the newly forged Servitor chose an animal emblem, and for Axel it had been the bear.