The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  “We saved no one,” Mr. Zeus said. “The Memories of the elves and dwarves were created through the magic of those two races alone. The other races didn’t have such abilities, and they faded into extinction.”

  “They aren’t extinct,” Serena said.

  Mr. Zeus sighed. “Ah, yes. Seminal.”

  “It’s real,” William said. “Travail believed it, and from what I’ve learned, some other saha’asras have lorasra that stinks like Sinskrill’s. Maybe they have a common source.”

  “Which proves what?” Mr. Zeus asked. “I need more than smelly lorasra to believe in Seminal.”

  Jake, William, and Jason sat on the front porch of Mr. Zeus’ house as night fell.

  Below and in the distance, Lilith Beach glowed ivory beneath the liquid-white light of the crescent moon, and the Milky Way’s majesty filled the night sky. A cool breeze rattled the fronds of the palm trees.

  Jake had always liked the night, the sense of peace, as if tranquility had taken the place of hectic daytime.

  He sensed when Mr. Zeus stepped outside and sourced his lorethasra—a vanilla aroma filtered outside—and formed a braid of Fire that dimmed the lanterns hanging next to the front door. The lights transformed to a rich red, and the night’s darkness more fully invaded the front porch.

  Mr. Zeus maintained his lorethasra and drew out a thread of rustling Earth and a line of cool, icy Air. He twisted them with a strand of Fire, and the overhead fans ceased their movements.

  “Don’t really need them with the trade wind coming in,” Mr. Zeus said, joining them.

  “Are you two still thinking of going back to Sinskrill?” Jason asked.

  “I promised I would,” William answered.

  “I can’t say I’m thrilled at the notion of either of you going back there,” Mr. Zeus said. “I don’t know if I should allow it.”

  “It’s going to happen,” William said. “One day, Jake and I will be fully trained raha’asras. No one can stop us from leaving then.”

  Jake nodded agreement, although inside he felt far less sure. Sinskrill terrified him, and the notion of returning there left him cold.

  Mr. Zeus grunted. “We could do the same thing to you as we did to Serena and block you from leaving.”

  “No, you can’t,” William said. “You’d have to limit our access to our Spirit. We wouldn’t be able to do our work as raha’asras then, as creators of lorasra.”

  “You wouldn’t get to do your work as raha’asras if you’re dead,” Jason noted in a wry tone.

  “Or if the mahavans recapture you,” said Mr. Zeus.

  William shrugged, his expression one of acceptance, a sentiment Jake didn’t share.

  “You’re bound and determined to carry out this notion?” Mr. Zeus asked.

  William nodded, and Jake followed a beat later. He’d promised to save Travail and Fiona, but he wished he didn’t have to.

  Mr. Zeus sighed. “Fools,” he muttered, “but I suppose I should be proud of your courage and commitment, no matter how poorly reasoned.”

  “Thank you," William said.

  Mr. Zeus snorted. “It's not exactly a compliment,” he said. “By the way, what’s Serena’s role in all this?”

  Jake’s eyes widened in surprise. How had the old man known?

  “She’s inquiring about building materials for a boat,” Mr. Zeus explained. “I have to wonder why.”

  “She’s going to teach us to sail,” Jake answered. “We need to know how in order to approach Sinskrill.”

  Mr. Zeus frowned. “I have no objection with Serena teaching you to sail, but she can’t help you in any other way. She stays on Arylyn.”

  “Agreed,” William said. “The last thing we want is her leaving Arylyn.”

  Jason wore a frown. “If you need someone to teach you to sail,” he said, “there are a hundred other people who could do that. And why do you need to build your own boat?”

  Jake had made the same point on many occasions, but for some reason William continued to insist on Serena.

  “I want my own boat,” William explained. “I don’t want to have to borrow someone else’s.”

  “And Serena as your teacher?” Mr. Zeus asked.

  “Serena knows Sinskrill better than anyone,” William said. “She can teach us the best places to arrive unseen, and how to safely approach them.”

  “Can’t she simply tell you what you need to know?” Mr. Zeus asked. “I still don’t understand why you also need her to teach you to sail.”

  William shifted in his seat. Squirmed, really.

  Jake narrowed his eyes in suspicion. William couldn’t be that dumb, could he?

  “Yes?” Mr. Zeus persisted.

  “I feel sorry for her,” William said.

  Jake threw his hands up in disgust. William was that dumb. “I don’t believe this.”

  “Why would you feel sorry for her?” Jason asked on top of Jake’s words.

  “She needs a purpose,” William said. “She’s got no one but Selene, and nothing to do. I’ve seen her walk around the island all alone. Even on Sinskrill, Jake and I had each other to lean on.”

  “Why does she need anyone to lean on?” Jake demanded. “Unlike Sinskrill, this isn’t an island full of psychopaths.”

  “I think she’s hurting, and I’d like to help her,” William said.

  “Didn’t you have a large disagreement with her a few nights back?” Mr. Zeus asked.

  “It wasn't much of an argument. Just about how she could fit in better,” William answered. “Same as what Jason said to her.”

  “Yeah, but he wasn’t being a dumbass when he talked to her,” Jake said. “You are.”

  Anger reddened William’s face. “Listen—”

  “Enough,” Mr. Zeus interrupted. “If William wants to learn to sail from Serena, he can. If Jake would rather learn from someone else, he can do that, too. I’ll let the two of you work it out.”

  “He’s still a dumbass,” Jake muttered.

  “There’s something else I’d like you to explain,” Mr. Zeus said. “You told me the troll is afraid of large bodies of water. How do you plan on getting him off Sinskrill?”

  Jake shared a brief glance with William. They didn’t have that part figured out yet.

  “Right,” Mr. Zeus said in a wry but unyielding tone. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  MEMORIES

  August 1987

  * * *

  William, Serena, and Mrs. Karllson strode along the quiet streets of Clifftop as the sun peeked above the horizon. This early, Lilith’s terraced streets remained empty with most folk still asleep and the only sound to be heard was River Namaste cascading over the escarpment. As the sunlight strengthened, the lingering shadows faded and the ever-present rainbows grew bolder.

  The world dawned beautiful—William wondered if Arylyn had any ugly mornings—a lovely morning on which to begin their pilgrimages. In a few days, William and Serena would meet the Memories, those mystical remnants of dwarves and elves, races of magical beings who weren’t evil like the necrosed or bound on conquest like the unformed.

  Initially, Serena was to stay with the dwarven Memory while William would spend time with the elven one. Two weeks later they would switch places, and later on Jake would make his own pilgrimage.

  “Is it true that you run every day and carry a log up and down a hill?” Mrs. Karllson asked William. She was to be their guide, and her high-cheeked features—part of her Ethiopian heritage—were lifted in a challenge. “Or do you think yourself unable to keep up with an old woman?” Mrs. Karllson was in her forties, but magi aged slowly, and she could have passed for someone in her twenties.

  William tried not to smirk. Ever since Kohl’s blood had effected him, no one could keep up with him. Young or old, it didn’t matter. He could dust them all. “I can go as fast you want.”

  “Serena?” Mrs. Karllson asked.

  “I can keep up,” Serena answered.

  “Let’s run
,” Mrs. Karllson said. She took off, gradually picking up the pace until they jogged along at a good clip.

  William breathed easily, and so did Serena. She ran with slow, steady breaths. He’d heard she did her own share of running.

  They cut through the dew-covered grass of the enrune fields. On the far side, they crossed Lakshman’s Bow, a sturdy bridge made of flagstones forming the yin and yang. It was one of seven spans that arched over River Namaste.

  From there, they reached Sita’s Song, a long road constructed of broad, gray stones, and built wide enough to allow for the passage of large wagons traversing the length of Janaki Valley. Not a blade of grass or a blemish of moss marred the road’s mortar. It was as well-maintained as the sidewalks and streets of the village itself.

  Mrs. Karllson led them up a low rise and relaxed her pace before eventually coming to a halt. Her skin—so dark it seemed to hold blue undertones—held a light sheen of perspiration.

  William stopped beside her.

  From here, the emerald soul of Arylyn—Janaki Valley—extended before them, green and glorious. A fine film of fog pressed low to the ground and shrouded rustling stalks of corn, sheaves of golden wheat, and rows of trellised beans. On the rolling slopes of the surrounding hills grew orchards of oranges, grapefruit, and pomegranates along with rows of banana and coconut trees and small vineyards.

  Past the valley, a series of humped hills pressed east into the interior of the island, transitioning toward a set of sheer crags that ended at Mount Madhava. The peak soared twelve thousand feet into the air, rising in a series of rocky ridges. Beneath its base, the dwarves had hewn their homes inside of caves riddling the mountain.

  Mrs. Karllson took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the sky. “Every time I see this, I am reminded to thank the Lord for offering me salvation.”

  William arched his eyebrows in question at Serena, wondering what Mrs. Karllson was talking about.

  Serena wasn’t looking at him. The valley held her rapt attention. “It’s lovely,” Serena whispered, and her face filled with what might have been longing. “I hope I always see it so.”

  Mrs. Karllson studied Serena for a moment. “If your heart is true, then with prayer and love, you will.”

  The trek through Janaki Valley proved to be the shortest part of their journey, and they pressed ever deeper into the steamy jungle covering much of the island north of Lilith. Trees soared, and their canopy blotted out the sun. The stench of rotting vegetation and the raucous cries of birds and other animals filled the air.

  A couple of times William even heard the bestial roar of a tiger, but it caused him no fear. Animals didn’t bother magi. A simple braid of Spirit and Earth warned them off. It was one even he could create—he had little skill—and he mentally scowled at how much he still had to master in order to free Travail and Fiona.

  Two days and two nights later, they reached their destination, a bare, flat-topped ridge of rugged granite rising like a plinth from the depths of the jungle. Stairs had been cut into the hill.

  “The Elven Tor,” Mrs. Karllson said after they reached the top. “The Memory should arrive shortly.”

  “What’ll it be like?” William asked, staring around the place.

  “You’ll see,” Mrs. Karllson replied.

  A ghostly murmur whispered on the wind, and William started.

  Serena surprised him by shifting closer, and her face held what might have been anxiety. “I’m not sure I like this,” she whispered.

  “We don’t really have a choice,” he whispered back.

  “Hush,” Mrs. Karllson said. “You don’t want your first interaction with the Memory to be one of fear.”

  William stilled his movements and tried to rein in his rising edginess.

  A moment later, his attempt at a calm demeanor frayed when ethereal streamers of green fog lifted off the Tor. They twined around one another until they formed the shape of a woman. She was more firm than mist but less solid than living flesh. She was also smaller than Mrs. Karllson and Serena, but built along their athletic lines. Her clothes were a blend of greens and grays, and her brown hair fell over a pale, heart-shaped face and delicately pointed ears. William’s eyes widened when he noticed her corneal tattooing, a forest-green coloring of the whites of her eyes.

  Mr. Zeus had spoken to him about the tattoos. Apparently they had something to do with an elven ceremony in which a child became an adult. The coloring indicated where an elf resided. Blue for the ocean, green for forest, orange for desert, and yellow for prairie.

  Despite her strangeness, the elven woman was beautiful.

  “My name is Grail of Treasithe,” she said. “Come with me, William Wilde, and I will teach you of our lives.” With that, the elf turned and strode toward the jungle.

  “See you in two weeks?” William asked Mrs. Karllson.

  “Of course,” she answered before shooing him off. “You better hurry before she disappears.”

  “Good luck,” Serena said.

  William nodded a surprised “thanks” at Serena and darted after the elven Memory. He caught sight of Grail passing into the trees. “She sure is fast,” he muttered as he jogged after her.

  He soon reached the jungle and found a narrow trail. Little sunlight penetrated the thick triple-canopy, and along the floor, low-lying bushes spread their broad leaves to capture whatever meager sunlight came their way. The trees varied between the gigantic—some reached over one hundred-fifty feet in height—while others were a more pedestrian sixty or seventy feet.

  William continued jogging and caught brief glimpses of Grail farther up the trail. He finally caught up with her when she stopped in a glade several miles into the jungle and waited for him.

  She held a pensive air. “I’m told you are from the Far Beyond.”

  “Yes I am, Ms. Grail,” William replied, unsure how to address her. In addition, he struggled to maintain his focus. Because of her incorporeal nature, he could see through her, to the trees on the far side of the glade. It was distracting.

  “That is not my name,” she said. “I am Grail of Treasithe, and ‘Grail’ is how I wish to be addressed.”

  “Of course, Grail,” William said.

  “I suspect you have many questions,” Grail said. “Let us dispense with them before we begin your instructions on who we once were.”

  She wore an expectant expression, and William realized she was serious. She wanted him to ask her questions, and he wracked his brain, trying to come up with some that wouldn’t make him sound stupid.

  “You’re a Memory, and a lot of people have tried to tell me what that means, but I still don’t get it,” William said.

  “Are you posing a question?” Grail asked with an elegant arch to a single eyebrow. Spock couldn’t have done it better.

  “Err. Yes,” William said. “What are you?”

  Grail tapped her lower lip as if in thought. “It is the nature of Far Beyonders to compare a Memory to a ghost,” she began, as a faint smile curled her lips. “That is incorrect. A ghost only has the retained memories and persona of the one who has died, whereas I am the sum of all the elves who lived on Arylyn at the time of our passing. I know all we once were but am now blended and tangled into one being. In fact, I could have appeared to you as Drilstone of Manusithe.” Her form blurred and she changed from an elf maiden to an elf male. “Or Shinosei of Karlusithe.” She became an old crone. “I am all of them, and none of them.”

  William finally got a sense of what Mr. Zeus and Jason and others had explained to him about Memories. Every elf in the form of one being, all their memories and personalities tangled up together. “How did this happen?” he asked.

  “We are not like some of the other woven, creatures such as witches, unformed, or the necrosed, those who can create their own lorasra. We cannot, and when Arylyn could no longer support our needs, we had a choice: die out as a race or live on as a Memory. We chose this.”

  She shrugged, a de
licately dismissive gesture, but a single tear coursed down her face. “On a day of warm rain and heavy clouds, we gathered at the Tor. Our milders—our healers and teachers—fed us a drink, a quieting balm, and we drank our fill. The children had to be coaxed because the drink was bitter. They were the first to succumb, and one by one we all lay down for our final sleep.

  “Before the final breath passed from our bodies, our milders drank the balming liquid as well, and wove us into a Memory.” She smiled sadly. “Perhaps one day a magus will have the wisdom to learn how to restore us.”

  William backed away in horror. They’d murdered their children?

  “I see judgment on your face for what we did,” Grail said.

  “It’s not that,” William said. A second later. “It’s not only that,” he corrected himself, taking a moment to pause and consider the entirety of her story. “It’s more that I actually understand why you did it.” He hesitated. “Are you okay with this?”

  Grail gave him a pointed look. “No. We are not at peace with this.” She shrugged. “But what other choice was there?”

  Grail taught William much about the legacy of the elves. What resonated with him the most, though, were the ruins of her people. She brought their homes to life as ghostly images, and it quickly became obvious that elves revered nature. While they bent the forests, deserts, and jungles where they dwelled to meet their purposes, it was a light touch. They strove to live in harmony with the world around them, and William appreciated the balance they struck.

  In the end, William decided that the elves really had been a lot like the ones from Tolkien’s Middle-earth—a pale, long-lived race who viewed humanity with a curious but arrogant dispassion. A strange attitude to take, since elves were woven. They’d been created by asrasins, by humans.

  On his last night with Grail, the elf maiden’s countenance became melancholy.

  “What’s wrong?” William asked her.

  “Tomorrow you leave, and my time will end.”