by Davis Ashura
William reached for lorasra. Its power pulsed into him, but before he could unbraid the Elements from it, his threads trembled. He chased the flaw, steadying it, but the moment William reached again for lorasra, the Elements of his lorethasra fused together in a glitter of light and ringing bells.
He slammed a fist into the ground. Damn it! He’d been so close that time.
After the attack against the unformed bear, William had thought it would be easy to combine the Elements of his lorethasra with those of lorasra. After all, he’d done it during the battle. However, his actions during that encounter had been instinctual and fear-fueled and he had yet to replicate his prior success.
As a result, without the ability to braid the Elements of his lorethasra with lorasra, his abilities remained limited to no more than temporarily draining lorasra out of small area. A useless skill he’d accidentally discovered. Fiona had never heard of it, which was a small consolation since William couldn’t do anything else. He silently snarled at his ongoing failure.
“Fiona and Serena are coming,” Travail murmured.
“I held it for a minute that time,” Jake said, grinning as he opened his eyes.
William tried not to scowl and failed miserably. Jake wasn’t having nearly as much trouble in linking the Elements of his lorethasra to their respective threads in lorasra.
“Serena appears upset,” Travail noted.
William studied the approaching women. They hiked the trail from Village White Sun and walked side-by-side. He frowned. “No. Fiona’s upset. Serena looks . . .” His eyes widened in surprise. “She looks scared.” He found it difficult to imagine what could frighten her. Other than when she’d faced off against a necrosed and the unformed bear, she’d always remained calm and cool.
“What could scare her?” Jake echoed his thoughts. “Other than the Servitor, she’s the scariest person I know.”
William shrugged, but the notion of a fearful Serena stirred his own anxiety.
Fiona gestured as soon as they arrived, and a block of Air formed around them. “We have many things to discuss.”
“We’re in trouble,” Serena announced.
William chuckled nervously. “And here I was hoping you were about to tell us that the Servitor’s dying.”
“We aren’t so lucky,” Serena said. “The old crocodile has decades more life ahead of him.”
“I thought mahavans lived for a really long time,” Jake said.
“They do, but not the Servitors,” Serena explained. “Fifty or fifty-five years into their reign they suddenly start aging. In a matter of years they go from middle-aged to infirm. But none of that’s important.”
“Then what is?” Fiona asked. “You were awfully mysterious down at the village.”
“Lord Shet,” Serena said. “He’s coming. I touched Shet’s Spear, and—”
“But only the Servitor can handle the Spear,” Fiona protested. “It’s locked in its case.”
“I know,” Serena said. “My father left the case open when he went to fix Village White Sun’s well this morning. I touched it, and while I did so, I sourced my Spirit.” Serena swallowed heavily, as if in fear of what she had to say next. “I traveled along an anchor line, a different kind of one. Only my mind made the journey, but I still went somewhere.”
Serena described a world of humans, elves, dwarves, and monsters, of dragons, vampires, and dead gods in chains.
All but one. One god lived. Lord Shet.
“He’s chained with black bands of Spirit that extend into the heart of a mountain,” Serena continued, “but he says the chains will soon wither away, and when they do he intends on coming here.”
“Impossible,” Fiona declared. “Shet is a myth. What you saw must have been an illusion or your own imagination.”
“Lorasra poured off him,” Serena insisted. “It joined the anchor line connected to the Spear
William tended to believe the old raha’asra. Serena had seen something that had clearly rattled her, but it didn’t make it real.
“I saw him,” Serena said in a quiet voice. “I was there. Seminal is real. Lord Shet is real.”
“You say lorasra poured off him and joined the anchor line you traveled?” Travail pressed.
Serena nodded. “I think it’s linked to the island through the Spear.” She hesitated. “It might disperse to the island from there.”
Travail rubbed his chin in thought. “That explains much.”
“Explains what?” William asked.
“The unnaturalness of this island and its people,” Travail said. “Parents with little devotion to their children. Absent familial ties. Love, decency, friendship. . . . Tender emotions and relationships are so rare on Sinskrill that when they do occur they are deemed a weakness and hidden away.” He turned to Fiona and Serena. “The two of you are rare in that you can still love. Think of the world beyond Sinskrill’s shores, though. How common love and friendship are out there. Why is Sinskrill so different?”
“How does her vision explain this?” Fiona asked. “The people here are hard and cruel, but so are people throughout the world.”
“Not like this,” Travail declared. “Even in the worst places, the basic instincts of people to love one another shines through, to care for their weakest, to protect those they love, to actually love and devote themselves to their children. But not in Sinskrill. I’ve often wondered why.”
“You actually believe this?” Fiona asked.
“The answer to the ultimate mystery of Sinskrill is one that has eluded me for decades,” Travail said. “For instance, how is the lorasra of this island so potent? It shouldn’t be. Not with a single raha’asra to fund it. Have you never wondered why therasra collects so readily here? Your production of lorasra isn’t prodigious enough to account for it.”
Fiona shrugged. “I can’t gauge lorasra’s strength the way you can.”
“Then trust me when I tell you that no single raha’asra can supply the depth of lorasra Sinskrill possesses.”
“But a god can,” William said.
Travail nodded.
“You’ve never made mention of this before,” Fiona accused.
“It had no relevance before,” Travail replied. “Now it does. If Serena’s vision is correct, then the source of Sinskrill’s lorasra lies with Lord Shet. As such, it is likely as poisonous as the god himself. His book of supposed morality, Shet’s Counsel, and his many murals of death and torment, should be proof of his underlying wickedness. I would guess his lorasra twists a person’s mind, changes those who live here until love, sacrifice, compassion, empathy, the graces given to you by God, wither away.”
William reflected upon Travail’s words, and he studied Serena, wondering about her. She had loved her mother, and she loved Selene even more. That love had driven everything she’d done. No matter all her other lies, on this he was certain.
It left him debating whether he should still hate her.
“If Lord Shet is real,” Jake mused, “and he comes here, can we stop him?”
“If we’re on Arylyn, do we care?” William asked, hating to be callous.
“We must care, because Lord Shet is the god of raha’asras,” Travail said. “That is one of his ancient titles, and if his power can fuel this island from a distant world, imagine his puissance when he stands upon Sinskrill’s soil. No place will be safe from him.”
“Then we have to close the anchor line,” Jake declared.
“No one knows how,” Travail said. “Knowledge of the creation and destruction of them is long lost.”
“A worry for another time,” Serena said. “We have to get out of here first, and sooner than we planned. I think we should leave tomorrow.”
“Why?” William asked. “You learned something terrifying, but why not wait until we’re ready?”
“Because we’re ready now,” Serena said. “The longer we dawdle, the greater the chance for someone to figure out what we’re planning.”
“I
can’t come with you,” Travail said, his tone nonchalant.
William bit back an oath. He knew why. Travail had explained it to them earlier, but it didn’t mean he had come to terms with it.
“I’m afraid of open water,” Travail explained. “The last thing you want is a terrified, two-thousand-pound troll on a wooden boat in the middle of the ocean. I can only leave Sinskrill the same way I came, by the anchor line.”
“Now you tell us,” Serena growled in obvious frustration. She glared at the troll.
Travail gazed back at her impassively.
She muttered something under her breath.
A realization came to William, and his eyes widened.
“What?” Jake asked.
“Serena’s right. We have to leave Sinskrill as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
“Because if what she said is true, and Travail thinks it is.” William looked to the troll, who nodded affirmation. “Then Sinskrill’s lorasra is poisoning us. We’ll end up like everyone else here.”
“Will Mr. Zeus be here by then?” Jake said.
“Who’s Mr. Zeus?” Fiona asked.
FLIGHT
July 1987
* * *
Serena had called for Selene’s attendance, and she tried not to pace about her quarters while waiting for her sister.
A knock on her door had her breathe out in relief. At last. Only Selene knocked so softly. She opened the door and ordered her sister inside.
“How can I help you, Madam?” Selene asked. Her face held an open expression of innocence and trust, and Serena mentally scowled, hating lying to the little girl.
“I need you to go to the dhow,” Serena said. “William and Jake should be there. The bear damaged the boat worse than I thought, and I’ve sent for them to help me fix it. I want you to make sure they’re not wasting time and are actually working. I’ll be along shortly.”
She figured if she and Selene departed the Palace separately, they would be less likely to be noticed.
“Yes, Madam.”
“Good girl. Now go and make sure to hurry.”
Selene left, and Serena gathered a few belongings, including the anklet William had given her for Christmas. She fingered it for a moment. Regrets, long suppressed and ignored, arose, and her eyes welled.
She mentally snarled at her weakness. Work needed doing, and she blinked back the tears. Her features firmed, and she dashed away a few unspilled tears and shoved the anklet inside a small bag, imagining her regrets being thrust away as well.
She turned to leave.
Isha stood in the doorway. He gestured, and the world grew quiet.
Serena’s stomach hollowed. “How long have you suspected?”
“Since we returned to Sinskrill.”
“Yet you said and did nothing.”
“I’d have continued to say and do nothing until you were gone,” he said, “but matters are no longer so simple. The Servitor spoke to me this morning. He told a strange story about two girls who confronted Lord Shet and showed him disrespect. He has his suspicions of who these two girls might be.”
“Lord Shet?” Serena cursed under her breath. The Spear.
“The Servitor wants these girls stripped and questioned, possibly in that order, and any who are closely associated with them may find themselves similarly punished.”
“Unless they give over the ones who supposedly offended Lord Shet?”
Isha nodded, regret filling his face. “I wish it could be otherwise, but your actions put my own life at risk, to say nothing of my position.”
Sorrow rose like nausea in Serena’s chest. She didn’t want to see Isha harmed, but she also couldn’t let him take her or Selene. Serena gazed outside at the sunny day. What to do? She turned back to Isha. “What did the Servitor have to say about Lord Shet?”
Isha’s brow furrowed. “You know something more?”
Serena briefly explained what she’d learned about the Spear.
Isha rubbed his chin. “Even if what you say is true, it changes nothing. We . . .”
He tumbled bonelessly to the ground, and Serena gaped.
Fiona stood in Isha’s place in the doorway, a large hunk of firewood in her hands. She sourced her lorethasra, and her silvery Spirit flared. She formed a braid too complex for Serena to follow. “Hurry! I’ve numbed his mind and his Spirit, but he won’t be out for long.”
“You heard what he said?”
“Yes. Now hurry. The Palace is about to become a beehive. In addition to learning that you and Selene visited Seminal, the Servitor also claims magi have landed on Sinskrill’s shores. He rallies the mahavans.”
Serena startled. “Truly?”
“Truly. Come!”
Instead, Serena bent to check on Isha.
“Leave him!” Fiona hissed. “You must flee.”
“Do we have to kill him?” a cold part of Serena asked. Horror filled her mind even as she voiced the question.
“It will be for you to decide,” Fiona said.
“Sometimes we have to decide who to hurt if we’re to save the ones we love.” Isha had once spoken those words to her.
“Then he lives.” Serena couldn’t kill Isha—not now, not ever—but leaving as she intended would certainly hurt him.
“A merciful decision,” Fiona said, her eyes shining with what looked like pride.
Serena snatched up her jian as well as a longsword, and allowed Fiona to lead them down the hall to a cross corridor, and from there through the drones’ quarters. They reached a doorway opening onto a small yard behind the stables. They skulked inside and quickly saddled a pair of mounts. Serena went to help her grandmother mount up, but Fiona shook her head.
“I can’t leave,” she said.
“Why not?” Serena asked, nervously glancing about.
Fiona fingered a gold necklace at her throat. “Only the Servitor can remove this. If I make an attempt, or if I ever leave Sinskrill without permission, it removes my head.” Fiona shrugged helplessly. “I can’t go with you, child.” Tears filled her eyes. “But my life will have been well-lived if I know you and your sister have broken free of this place.”
Serena’s eyes blurred. “But . . .”
Her grandmother’s eyes softened. “I loved your mother so much. I’ve loved you, too. But this isn’t an island made for softness. It’s a cruel place, evil and hard, and I could never show you how much I cared for you and your sister. You have my eyes but Cinnamon’s soul, and you make an old woman glad. Now go! Flee.”
Serena made to argue, but movement from a nearby door ended all conversation. Mahavans poured out. They hadn’t yet seen her.
“I love you,” Fiona whispered, before running in front of the onrushing mahavans and gesticulating wildly. Her actions slowed them. “Hurry!” the old raha’asra cried. “The Servitor rallies us. Magi on the island, north of Lake White Sun. Get to your horses!”
Serena used the distraction to mount up, grab the reins to the second horse, and sprint past the confused mahavans.
“Hurry up! Twenty magi descend upon Village White Sun and a single mahavan won’t be able to stop them!” she heard Fiona shout at her retreating back.
She grinned at Fiona’s lies while she surged through the front gate and raced north toward Village Paradiso.
The cobbled road passed beneath her gelding’s hooves, and as she left behind the Servitor’s Palace—hopefully for the last time—Serena found herself wishing that she could have known Fiona better, laughed more with her, and loved the old woman as she had her birth mother.
Those regrets would have to wait. Right now, she had to ride.
Leaving Sinskrill turned out to be unexpectedly hard for William, all because of Travail. They had to leave him behind.
William hugged Travail one last time and blinked back unbidden tears. He’d forgotten how good it could feel to cry for love rather than pain and hatred. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, while the troll held him off the ground.
“There is no need for apology,” Travail said softly.
“We should have figured out a way. We could still try and . . .”
“You cannot.” Travail cut him off and set him down. He bent so his great, horned head drew level with William’s. “If your dreams are true, you know what you must do. You may not have another opportunity.”
“We wouldn’t have survived without you,” Jake said, his eyes wet as well.
Travail smiled. “You are both stronger than you know, and I don’t mean just your lorethasra. Go swiftly now.”
“I’ll never forget you,” William said, “and I won’t leave you here. We’ll get you free of this place.”
Travail nodded gravely. “I certainly hope so.”
With the sun barely risen over the eastern hills, William and Jake made their final ‘goodbyes’ to Travail and left his home. They had no belongings to their names and they set off, each armed with nothing more than a stout staff to fend off wild animals they might come across.
“I want to get to the dhow as quick as we can,” William said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about today.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” William replied. “Something tells me we should hurry.”
They’d already claimed two of the bicycles available at Village White Sun for today’s journey, and as soon as their path intersected with the Great Way, William pushed the pace. They rode hard, and soon enough, neither of them had the breath to talk. They pedaled in silence toward Bliss, working up a sweat as the crisp, cool morning felt like it would lead into a warm-for-Sinskrill day.
“I wish a necrosed had touched me,” Jake huffed during a break when they had slowed.
While the months spent with Travail had hardened them both, William could have gone faster and they both knew it.
