The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  “I don’t understand,” William said. “You’re part of the Memory. You’ll live forever, won’t you?”

  Grail shook her head. “I will exist, but I won’t live. These past two weeks have been the closest I’ve come to life in many, many years.” She sighed. “I’d almost believed myself a part of the world again.”

  “But Serena will be here tomorrow,” William said. “Why can’t you teach her like you taught me?”

  “Because your friend will require her own guide. Another one of my people, the one best suited to earn her trust, will bear the burden, and I will fade away.”

  William didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

  Grail smiled sadly. “It is no matter,” she said. “I’ve had two weeks of near-life. I should thank the Lord of Singing Light for His blessings.”

  William smiled wryly. “I’ve heard of the Lord of the Sword and the Lady of Fire,” he said, “but this is the first time I’ve heard of the Lord of Singing Light.”

  Grail’s brow furrowed. “Truly? I never spoke to you of Him before?”

  William shook his head.

  “Well, your knowledge of my people won’t be complete unless I teach you of Him who gave form to all the worlds in this vast cosmos. He is the First and the Last.”

  William’s confusion cleared. “You’re talking about God.”

  “A short and ugly word to describe the Lord,” Grail said with a sniff of derision.

  “Maybe, but God and Jesus are the only names I use to worship Him.”

  “Now you know another one,” Grail said. “A better one.”

  “Why do you call him the Lord of Singing Light?” William asked.

  “Because upon our final passage from this coiling life, He will call us home to His realm. His beacon is a singing light.”

  William frowned as a lurking memory came to the forefront of his thoughts. It had been in Sinskrill. He’d ridden the languid currents of his Spirit and had found a peace, a light that shone and sang . . .

  The memory slipped away, and William frowned more deeply. What had he remembered? He tried to force it back, but the harder he strained, the more easily it escaped his clutches, like a fish slipping through his fingers and darting back to sea.

  He sighed in defeat.

  “I sense you once felt His call,” Grail said, “but do not despair. To truly remember His abode is nearly impossible.”

  “I don’t know what I felt,” William said with a shake of his head. “For a moment I thought I did, but now I can’t remember.”

  “Few do,” Grail said. “My people only know of two who were blessed enough as to perfectly recall the Lord’s call.”

  “Who were they?” William asked.

  “Who are they is the better question,” Grail said. “I sense their presence in the world. They still live.”

  William waited but she said no more, and no matter how many times he asked, she wouldn’t say anything more about the subject.

  “Go to sleep, William,” Grail said after a while. “I will watch over you on this final night of mine.”

  William’s heart went out to the elf maiden. Her voice sounded full of despair. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

  Grail placed her ghostly fingers on his eyelids. They felt as soft as the touch of a butterfly. “Sleep,” she ordered.

  Tiredness tugged at William’s eyes, and he slept.

  When he woke, Grail was gone and an elf child, a girl, stood in her place. “My name is Timial of Iliasithe,” she said.

  “Where’s Grail?” he asked.

  “She resides and rests within,” the girl answered. “Come. Your friends are expecting you.”

  The girl led him out of the jungle and to the Tor, where Mrs. Karllson and Serena waited for him.

  “How was it?” Serena asked.

  William was about to answer her, but the elf girl spoke first. “I am Timial of Iliasithe. Come with me, Serena Paradiso, and I will teach you of our lives.” With that, the little elf girl marched back into the jungle.

  “You better hurry,” William advised.

  Serena sighed, and hustled down the Tor after the girl, leaving William alone with Mrs. Karllson.

  “What happens now?” he asked.

  “Now you go meet the dwarven Memory,” Mrs. Karllson said. “Come on.”

  William slung his belongings onto his shoulder and followed Mrs. Karllson. They traveled east, along a rugged, rising terrain. Their trail ascended, and boulders lay strewn about like a giant’s toys. Despite all his exercising, William panted. He was glad to see Mrs. Karllson similarly struggling, and they spoke little. Early in the evening they reached a grassy meadow at the foot of Mount Madhava.

  William paused to stare at the peak. It soared above him, starting as a sheer cliff and continuing in a series of snarly projections and rocky rises. A pine forest and a shroud of clouds claimed the lower and middle reaches, and a snowy peak shone like beacon in the afternoon sun.

  There, in the cliff, stood a closed round door with a large knocker.

  “Here.” Mrs. Karllson. “This leads to the village of Meldencreche,” she explained. “It means ‘home of the family Melden’.” Mrs. Karllson used the knocker to rap out a staccato rhythm. “Now we wait.”

  Seconds later the door opened and in the threshold stood a figure with a beard hanging to his waist. He wore a red vest over a gray shirt; black pants tucked into dark half-boots; and a shiny, gold buckle on a wide, black belt. He came no higher than William’s waist.

  “This is William Wilde,” Mrs. Karllson said.

  The dwarf bowed low. “The people of Meldencreche are honored by your presence,” he said, in a voice sweet like a child’s but stiff as an English butler’s. “I am Galse Melden.” His formality transformed into a winsome grin. “Call me whatever is easiest, but please don’t call me Gal.”

  “I will be back for you in two weeks,” Mrs. Karllson said to William before turning to Galse. “In your keep, I entrust him.”

  “In my keep, he is entrusted,” Galse replied with another bow. “No hardship shall befall him under my shelter.” He addressed William. “Come, let me show you my home.”

  William followed Galse down the throat of a long, narrow tunnel lit by regularly spaced lanterns.

  Illuminated frescoes decorated the otherwise bare walls, and many of them had humans prominently featured. They shielded huddling dwarves from fire-breathing dragons; defended against pale-skinned creatures with exaggerated fangs; and hurled streams of fire against decaying necrosed. One fresco had a faceless, dark-skinned man, a typical native-born Arylyner, standing amongst misshapen children who stared rapturously at him as if he was holy.

  William paused, and Galse must have noticed his interest. “The frescoes depict the lives of my family,” the dwarf explained. “That one,” he pointed to the one of the man amongst the children, “depicts the creation of the dwarves. He sighed. "It is to our undying shame that we know not the name of our beloved creator.”

  William stared at Galse in surprise. The dwarf had sounded earnest, even reverent when discussing the frescoes and the humans.

  “Come,” Galse said. “We’re almost to my home.”

  They continued on, and the tunnel ended at a broad ledge opening onto a cavern that spread out in all directions. William stopped and tried to make sense of the scale of the space. High up, a narrow window let in the sky and sun, which beamed dim light, but provided little illumination. In the gloom, William couldn’t see the far side of the cavern.

  Galse spoke a word, and glass lanterns mounted throughout the cavern lit up.

  William inhaled sharply.

  Deep in the heart of Mount Madhava, the dwarves had built a terraced village of beauty and strength. The floor held a large field of green grass surrounding a crystal-clear pond that seemed depthless. Graceful statues of dwarf maidens bending to fill buckets, children laughing while holding a parent’s hand, and couples embracing perimetered the water. Mor
e lovely carvings, statuary, and artwork in wood, stone, and metal decorated other open spaces and many walls.

  “It’s gorgeous,” William whispered. A sense of the holy permeated the place, and it felt wrong to speak too loudly.

  “Food awaits,” Galse urged. “Let me offer you a meal. Though I cannot eat, I can still cook.”

  They took a set of stairs winding upward, but a sense of being watched caused William to spin about. He frowned, searching for what bothered him. No one else was there.

  Galse’s mien became dejected. “It is the nature of our home,” he said. “Even with the lanterns, most humans find Meldencreche disquieting. We are sorry for your discomfort.”

  William forced a smile. “It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

  Galse brightened. “How splendid were it true.”

  They reached a wooden door hanging on stone hinges and carved into it was the figure of a human holding a bared sword and a ready shield.

  “The Lord of the Sword,” Galse said, sounding proud. “Our greatest defender. He is worthy of the highest honor and accolades.” His face grew unexpectedly stricken. “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. We honor all the magi who defend us.”

  “You didn’t insult me,” William said, confused by the dwarf’s reaction. “But why do all the frescoes and imagery have humans protecting dwarves?”

  “Because we can’t protect ourselves,” Galse said. “We don’t know how. It is not in our nature. We can no more cause violence to another being than a bee can swim. It makes no sense to even try.”

  William struggled to make sense of the dwarf’s words. They were utterly different from what he had expected. Unlike the elves, these dwarves appeared to bear little resemblance to the ones of Middle Earth.

  “Had I flesh and you struck me, I would have asked how I could correct my offense to you,” Galse further explained.

  “That’s awful,” William said. “No one should abuse you like that.”

  “No one did,” Galse said with a gentle smile. “Magi kept us safe from such harm.”

  William tried not to scowl. Whoever had created the dwarves had done a crappy job. They’d made the poor creatures slaves and sycophants to humans, dependent on their masters to protect them.

  “Are you ready to eat?” Galse asked.

  “Sure,” William said, although after learning about the dwarves' helpless nature, his appetite had fled.

  “Come in and be welcome,” Galse said. He opened the door, and it swung aside easily and without a sound.

  Galse spoke another word, and lanterns illuminated a small room separated into a cooking area, a place for a small bed, and another one for a kitchen table. On the wall above the bed was painted another fresco. This one held no humans. Instead, it depicted a beaming dwarf maiden.

  “The Hearth Queen of our family,” Galse said, apparently seeing the focus of William’s attention. “Our villages always have two queens: one for hearth and one for crafts.”

  “What about kings?”

  Galse laughed. “We have never needed one, nor have we ever wanted one,” he replied. “Unlike most humans, we follow our ancestry upon our mother’s side.”

  “A matriarchal society?”

  “Exactly,” Galse said, sounding pleased. He clapped his hands a single time. “I will now make you supper. I’m sure you’re famished.”

  William frowned in puzzlement. While he hadn’t been hungry minutes before, now he was.

  Supper ended up being a plain but hearty vegetable stew, made from William’s own supplies.

  Afterward, Galse showed him the rest of the village. During the tour, they paused at a raw, ragged, unhewn tunnel on the far side of Meldencreche.

  “Where does this lead?” William asked.

  “Deep into the heart of the mountain,” Galse said.

  “Has anyone gone in there?”

  “A human?” Galse asked.

  William nodded.

  “Only once. She said Meldencreche reminded her of her home, a faraway place called Stronghold.”

  “Is that an ancient magi city or something?” William asked.

  “We’ve never heard of it,” Galse said. “She said her home had been murdered, that it existed somewhere else and in another time.”

  It took William a few seconds to understand the importance of Galse’s words, and when he did, excitement surged through him. “Was she from Seminal?”

  “Seminal? No.” Galse shook his head. “Arisa. That was the name she gave.”

  William’s excitement dimmed into disappointment. What was Arisa?

  Galse’s eyes welled. “Can we leave this place? Talking of death and loss . . . I don’t like to remember how I became as I am.”

  Galse appeared upset, and William’s curiosity about Arisa faded. He didn’t like seeing the dwarf unhappy.

  William gave a tight-lipped frown of contrition. “Let’s go.” It felt natural to offer the dwarf his hand, and together they strolled through the rest of the village.

  LEARNING TO LIVE

  September 1987

  * * *

  Two weeks later, William’s time in Meldencreche ended, and he and Galse paced silently through the long tunnel full of frescoes that ended at the closed door leading into the world. This time, however, William studied the paintings anew and noticed a detail he’d missed before. In all the images, the humans fought against dragons and necrosed with tranquility on their faces.

  William vaguely understood why.

  Something about the dwarves, their quiet beauty, their peace and serenity, had touched him, and he found himself longing to see Meldencreche alive again, to see it populated by the gentle dwarves who had once lived here. He stood silent before the door leading outside, wishing he didn't have to leave. Maybe that’s how most people responded to living amongst the dwarves.

  “Will you remember me?” Galse asked.

  “Forever,” William promised. He bent down and hugged Galse, kissing him on the forehead. The dwarf smelled like iron and roses, and his ethereal form had the softness of a raindrop.

  “May the peace of my home remain with you, even in life’s tribulations,” Galse said. “And may you offer peace to those who need it.” With his final benediction spoken, Galse smiled sadly and slowly faded.

  William stood alone at the tunnel’s entrance and swallowed heavily, blinking back tears. He would miss Galse, and it took him a few seconds to collect himself. When he had his emotions under control, he pushed open the door.

  Serena sat alone on the small grass field at the base of the mountain. “Mrs. Karllson asked me to bring you home,” she explained.

  “What happened?”

  Serena shrugged. “She dropped Jake off at the Tor and said she had something else to take care of.”

  “Why’d you agree to come for me?” William asked, suspicious of her motivations. The peace of Meldencreche was quickly slipping away.

  “Because she asked,” Serena said, as if the answer should have been self-evident.

  William’s eyes narrowed. “You know why I’m asking.”

  Serena sighed. “You’re wondering what’s in it for me?”

  “It is the way of Sinskrill,” William said. “The first and most important rule there.”

  “We aren’t on Sinskrill anymore,” Serena reminded him. A raspy edge burred her voice.

  He continued to stare at her through narrow eyes, and she threw her arms in the air in disgust.

  “Fine. I do have an ulterior motive,” Serena said. “I came to get you because Mrs. Karllson asked and I wanted to earn her good opinion, or at least a better opinion than she has. If you hadn’t noticed, she doesn’t like me much. Is that a good enough answer for you?” She spat out the last sentence, and her chest heaved and her eyes shone.

  William stepped back, stunned by her passion. In all the time he’d known Serena, he’d rarely seen her lose control of herself. Always before, no matter how dire or terrifying the situation, sh
e’d remained calm and cool.

  As he gazed at her, Galse’s final words came back to him.

  May the peace of my home remain with you, even in life’s tribulations. And may you offer peace to those who need it.

  Guilt crawled up William’s throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have accused you of anything when all you were doing was trying to help me out.”

  Serena continued to glare at him.

  “I really am sorry,” William said. “Can we try this again?”

  Serena exhaled heavily and took on the inscrutable affect of a Sinskrill drone. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said, her voice flat. “But I want to leave. Are you ready?”

  William nodded. He hitched his pack onto his back and they set off.

  For the first few hours, neither of them spoke. Serena carried a tightness in her spine, a stiffness in the way she strode that indicated a lingering anger, and William mentally scowled at her.

  Fine. She was angry. Who cares? He had far more reason to be angry with her than she with him. But even as the thought entered his mind, it sounded wrong.

  The uneasy quiet between them persisted, and William grew uncomfortable.

  “What did you think of the elves?” he asked. It was an inane question, but at this point he’d have said anything to end the silence between them.

  Serena remained quiet for so long that William thought she wasn’t going to answer. “I’m not sure what to think,” she said at last. “Both Memories made me sad, but I loved the dwarven one, Salthe Meldencreche, a little dwarven girl. She reminded me of Selene.”

  “Mine was a middle-aged man,” William said. “His name was Galse Meldencreche.”

  “But even though I felt sorry for her, Salthe made me feel hopeful,” Serena said. “You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” William agreed. “Maybe it’s because of how the dwarves lived. The peace of their homes and the way they always wanted to make a person feel welcome and better.”

  Serena smiled. “Salthe liked to play hopscotch, and if she won, she’d always apologize and ask me to play again.”

  “Galse did something like that,” William said with an answering smile. “He tried to teach me to carve wood, but I was terrible. Awful, really. I was trying to carve a tree, but I ended up making something more like cotton candy on a stick.” He chuckled. “Galse never mentioned how bad it was, and instead kept encouraging me to never give up on craftwork.”