The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  He wondered if he should leave any cookies for Jake, who would come by in the afternoon.

  “Pay attention,” Ms. Sioned chided, drawing William’s wandering notice back. She sat before him with her legs crossed. “It’s like this,” she said. “I’ll go slower.” She sourced her lorethasra, and split it into the five Elements. She formed them into a glowing, white ball before wrapping it all in a blanket of Spirit.

  “The forging,” William said.

  “The easy part,” Ms. Sioned said. “Now comes the tempering.” She heated the braid with Fire, and a sulfur stink wafted. Fiery lines crackled and wrapped around her chest and down her forearms. Fingers of flame extended into the bundle, setting it alight.

  So far, her creation of new lorasra was no different from Fiona’s back on Sinskrill.

  “Next, the quenching,” Ms. Sioned said.

  Threads of rustling, ivy Earth and susurrating Water wrapped around her arms. A hissing sound and the dry smell of ice arose when they contacted the now-golden globe she held in her hands.

  She let the ball of fresh lorasra disperse into the ground and smiled at William. “Your turn.”

  William shook his head. “I can’t do any of that. I can’t braid the individual Elements, much less forge, temper, or quench them.”

  “Then focus on less than what I did. Try to hold one Element at a time rather than all of them.”

  “How does that help?”

  Ms. Sioned tapped her chin, her sign of thinking. “The practice of our art is like juggling,” she said. “Some of us can immediately start by juggling two or three or even four balls, but others need to begin more slowly. They need to start with one.”

  William shrugged, unsure how holding a single Element—something he’d long ago mastered—would help. If anything, it felt like going backward. Nevertheless, he did as Ms. Sioned asked. He sourced his Spirit, and from it, he unspooled a line of Fire.

  “Now braid it to lorasra,” Ms. Sioned instructed.

  William reached out. His thread of Fire trembled, but he quickly steadied it. He reached out again and wove a pale, yellow braid of Fire. It curled down his arms, and the smell of sulfur momentarily flared.

  “Good,” Ms. Sioned said with a nod. “Now tighten the braid, make the link stronger.”

  William concentrated. He bound the threads more tightly together, until the braid glowed with the brilliance of a hot forge. The smell of sulfur grew stronger.

  “Now loosen it.”

  William sweated. He’d never practiced very much at this before, but he slowly relaxed the braid until it reverted to its prior paler color.

  “It’s harder than you thought it would be, isn’t it?” Ms. Sioned said, cracking a grin.

  “A lot harder,” William said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He felt like he’d run up the Main Stairs.

  “It’s time to add a second Element,” Ms. Sioned said. “Bring up Earth.”

  William did as she ordered. A rustling, ivy-colored thread of Earth glowed and unspooled in his hands. He reached again to lorasra and tried to form a second braid. His weave of Fire trembled, and he worked to stabilize it.

  “Let go of Earth,” Ms. Sioned said, her voice calm and soothing.

  William did so. He focused on his thread of Fire and brought it under control. More sweat beaded on his brow. He’d taken a few more trips up and down the Main Stairs.

  “Try again,” Ms. Sioned said. “This time, don’t bother if your braid of Fire is maintained. Form the one of Earth.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” William took a deep breath. He hardened the braid of Fire before trying again to form one of Earth. Slowly it took shape, shuddering for a moment before coming together in his hands. The green braid of Earth, pale like a new shoot of grass, rustled and smelled of ivy.

  William laughed. He’d never consciously been able to hold two threads at the same time.

  Ms. Sioned clapped her hands in apparent delight. “Excellent!” she said with a grin. “Tighten the braid of Earth.”

  William kept his eye on Fire, and did as instructed. While the braid of Earth quivered, he managed to strengthen it until it darkened to the color of old pine needles.

  “Again,” Ms. Sioned said. “Loosen the braid of Earth.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” William repeated. He strained to carry out her instructions. Sweat dripped down his forehead and the back of his neck. Slowly, though, he managed what Ms. Sioned asked. He exhaled heavily when he finished.

  By now his head throbbed with the beginnings of a headache, and a frown had left his brow feeling as deeply furrowed as a farmer’s windrows. Sweat stained his underarms, and he panted with fatigue.

  “Enough,” Ms. Sioned said with a gentle smile. “Let the braids go.”

  “Thank you,” William said, groaning with relief as he released the threads.

  He instantly realized his mistake, and his eyes widened.

  Too late.

  His groan of relief became a moan of pain. A stinging pain stabbed at his forearms. They were as bright as a boiled lobster. A vice seemed to grip his head. William’s eyes ached, burning like they might explode. His ears rang. Blood trickled from his nose, and William fell forward, clutching his head.

  Fear filled him.

  A hand—Ms. Sioned’s—settled on the back of his head, and a cooling mist seemed to expand from that area of contact. It soothed his throbbing eyes. His vision slowly cleared. His ears ceased ringing. The pressure on his head eased. The burn on his forearms grew less angry.

  William slowly sat up. “Thank you,” he said, shuddering with relief.

  “You let the braids go in an uncontrolled fashion,” Ms. Sioned said, her voice stern in admonishment. “Doing so is dangerous. You know this.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” William said. He took in her words and shuddered in delayed reaction. If Ms. Sioned hadn’t been here, he could have seriously injured himself, maybe even died. Just last week, Silas Green, a glassmaker, had burned his shop to the ground when he’d been careless with his braids. Silas had died three days later from his burns.

  “Are you well?” Ms. Sioned asked, her earlier reprimand replaced by concern.

  “I’ll be fine,” William said, the pain easing further as the healing braid continued its work. He sighed as he levered himself onto his knees.

  “I think that’s enough for today,” Ms. Sioned said. “Take the next few days off as well.”

  William merely nodded.

  “Also, I think you should meet with Ward Silver,” Ms. Sioned said. “He’s skilled in the use of Air, Fire, and Earth and can perhaps teach you how to use them more effectively than I can.” She smiled again. “And if you still have an appetite, you can still have some cookies.”

  FIRE TO FARMS

  October 1987

  * * *

  William stood outside a cottage that belonged in the Shire. Part of him wondered if any orcs were nearby. Mist billowed from where one of River Namaste’s innumerable falls impacted the ground behind the house, and the water left a film on William’s skin, soothing the burns on his forearms that had yet to fully heal. Stacked stones, wreathed in ivy and moss, formed the walls of the home, and smoke lifted from its solitary chimney.

  The house belonged to Ward Silver, the magus Ms. Sioned thought might be able to help William master Air, Fire, and Earth. Unfortunately, rumor also held that the man could be a pain in the ass, at least according to Jason. Of course, Jason also admitted that Ward was one of the best instructors on the island.

  William knocked on the russet front door, and seconds later a man in his early twenties answered. He was obviously a native of Arylyn, given his dark features and coloring, and his mouth split into a ready grin. “Glad to meet you, William. I’m Ward.”

  William shook hands with Ward, surprised by his friendliness. “Thank you, Mr. Silver,” he replied.

  “Mr. Silver is my father. Call me Ward.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ward gave a wry qu
irk. “And I’m no one’s ‘sir.’ I’m too young and you’re too old to call me that. But if you insist on giving me a title, I prefer the Great Lord of the Darkest Darkness.”

  Ward chuckled at his own joke, and William laughed with him. He found himself warming to his new instructor. Ward was nothing like how Jason had described him. Nor was he like what Ms. Sioned had said, formal and stuffy.

  “Come on in,” Ward said, “and let’s figure out what your glitch is. Isn’t that a term in the Far Beyond? Glitch? Doesn’t it mean ‘What’s your problem?’”

  “As long as that’s all I’ve got,” William said. “Glitches can be fixed.”

  Ward led him inside, and they passed through a room that served as both a living room and study, and into a small kitchen with a long, oak table. French doors led outside to the back yard where the waterfall tumbled down in the near distance.

  “You don’t mind getting a little wet, do you?” Ward asked.

  “I don’t mind,” William said, taking a moment to peer at the area out back.

  The cascade fell down a series of stony stairs before crashing onto a field of boulders. From there, the waters formed a stream that gurgled its way to the front yard and tumbled over the far side of the cliff. A wafting mist filled the air, but an awning kept off most of the water. Hedgerows ran down both sides of the yard, while a riot of flowers in bloom filled scattered planters. A small, wooden workshop with window-paneled doors filled out the space, and inside it William spied a forge, an anvil, and a variety of hammers and tongs.

  “I like to forge,” Ward said, apparently seeing William’s notice.

  “So does Mr. Zeus,” William replied.

  “He’s the one who taught me,” Ward said. “I’m better than him at making flowers and pottery, but he’s still the best damn bladesmith on the island.”

  “I’d like to learn that,” William said wistfully.

  “What? Bladesmithing?”

  “Yeah,” William said, “but only after I figure out what my glitch is.”

  “Ha.” Ward slapped him on the shoulder. “Have a seat, and let’s figure it out.” He gestured to a table and chairs beneath the awning.

  William took a seat. “Ms. Sioned always has me sit cross-legged on a mat.”

  “Is that more comfortable?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Then don’t do it,” Ward said. “Ms. Sioned is a right proper old lady, but ‘old’ is the key. She’s set in her ways. Go with what works. That’s my motto.”

  William smiled. “I like it.”

  “Now, source your Spirit, my friend, and let’s see what you can do.”

  William sourced his lorethasra.

  Ward whistled. “You’ve got yourself one powerful, strong lorethasra.”

  William wanted to scowl. “A powerful lorethasra doesn’t do me much good if I can’t braid it the way I need to.”

  “Show me,” Ward requested. “Let’s see what you can do with Air and Earth.”

  William split his lorethasra and drew out the required Elements.

  Ward clucked. “Rather clumsy there.”

  William frowned. He’d always thought he could separate his Elements well.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Ward said in a placating tone. “You’re fast, but what you need is both speed and control. It’s why you’re here. Now, bring up Fire.”

  William strengthened his threads of Air and Earth before attempting Fire.

  “Link them to their attendant Elements.”

  William took a deep breath and readied himself. He worked with Air first. It poured in pulses around his chest and smelled of winter. Next he created a slender, green braid of Earth that curled around one forearm. Fire came last.

  This one was the hardest.

  William began to sweat as he struggled to make the third connection. The weave of Fire crackled and carried the stink of sulfur. It threatened to dissipate, to fade away. So did the other braids, but eventually William had all three woven and steady.

  A sense of pride surged through him when he beheld all three burnished braids curling around his arms and torso. It didn’t matter that sweat drenched his forehead and trickled down his neck, or that he felt like he’d run miles to create this simple series of braids.

  Ward was frowning. “I see your problem,” he said. “Let go of your braids. Carefully.”

  William did so, recalling the disaster at Ms. Sioned’s.

  “Watch,” Ward instructed. A sun-bright yellow thread of Fire coursed over his chest, purer than any William had ever seen. “Here’s Earth,” Ward said. A thread of green ivy crackled over his hands.

  “Now, here’s the trick,” Ward continued. “Watch closely.”

  William’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to follow Ward’s work. The magus had started with the strand of Fire, and William leaned in when he saw a sliver of Air helping to form the link for the braid. Ward wove Earth, and this one had a support made of Water.

  “It’s a part of the theories of asra,” Ward explained. “We forget about them because most people are naturals with only one or two Elements. Those of us who can become adepts at three or more—the more powerful magi—we have to pay closer attention to those other lessons. Remember, Air bridges braids of Fire, and Fire does the same for Air. Same with Earth and Water.”

  William sat back, stunned.

  Had that been the answer to his problems all along?

  “Ready to try it?” Ward asked.

  William replied by sourcing his lorethasra. A spark of excitement filled him, but he tamped it down. He had to concentrate. He separated the Elements and drew Earth first, making sure to use a thin line of Water to support it. He linked the slithering thread to lorasra with hardly any effort, but when he withdrew the support of Water, he noticed a bluish hue to his braid of Earth.

  “You’ll figure out how to purify it,” Ward said. “Call up Air now.”

  William did so. The thread hissed and pulsed around his torso, and he supported it with an even thinner strand of Fire. He reached for lorasra, and once again, easily created the braid.

  William wanted to cheer.

  “Up for doing one with Fire?” Ward asked.

  William nodded, his confidence growing. He forged the third braid, and this time it didn’t leave him panting like he’d run a mile through mud.

  Duran the dwarf stared up at Rukh with hopeful eyes. “How long will you be staying?” he asked.

  Rukh bent low and stared the gentle Memory eye-to-eye. The two of them stood within the entrance to Meldencreche. The tunnel leading into the deeps of Mount Madhava stretched before them, rounded and tall enough for even a Bael to walk unstooped. Golden light lit the passageway, spilling from silver lamps that hung from walls as smooth as glass and cool to the touch. The air, cool and carrying the faint scent of water, remained hushed in a meditative silence. The quiet was an integral part of Meldencreche, and it felt sinful to speak loudly here.

  “I’m afraid I cannot stay as long as we both would wish,” Rukh said softly, not wanting to ruin the peace of the place.

  Peace.

  Long ago, Rukh had thought he had earned such an reward. Years of fighting, of fear and loss, and a long ago battle against a creature of madness. But Rukh couldn’t remember the specific details, only the shape of events, but what he recognized was this: warriors strove for peace, but no matter their victories, peace was forever fleeting. A new battle always reared its malignant head, carving lines of sorrow into the hearts of the young.

  Such a time as now.

  The people of Arylyn didn’t recognize it, but war was coming. Rukh could feel it in his bones and muscles, within senses trained acutely to discern impending violence. His heart heard the mournful call of imminent battle.

  And before the next sword stroke fell, he needed to remember who he was.

  In this world, this new life, Jessira had been the first person Rukh had recalled. His wife. Next, he remembered Aia, the calico K
esarin to whom he’d bonded. However, tattered memories indicated she was now a kitten. How?

  Rukh shook his head. He didn’t know, and worrying about it wouldn’t bring the answer. He’d see Aia again. She’d be restored and find her way back to him. All he need do was wait. Instinct told him so.

  But his skills, his training at the House of Fire and Mirrors in Ashoka . . . those required a more forceful approach. He remembered his abilities, but not all of them. Many remained hidden, unknown, and he needed them.

  The battle against the Servitor, the man’s power . . . Rukh grimaced. He had to remember what he could once do. He would meet the Servitor again. Of this, he was certain, and next time, he might not have the opportunity to retreat, nor the option of doing so. Next time, he would have to fight.

  Which is why he was here, in Meldencreche. His last time here, memories had stirred, bringing forth unknown truths, but not all of them. In addition, several frescoes had called to Rukh, and he sensed their importance.

  “How long can you stay?” Duran asked, his voice and face crestfallen.

  “Only a night,” Rukh answered. It occurred to him again how strange it was that these dwarves could so easily burrow their way into a person’s heart. Perhaps it was their serenity. Rukh ached for peace, and the dwarves provided it. In another life, he could have easily lived out his life amongst the dwarves.

  “So short a time?” Duran asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Rukh replied. “But I’ll come back to visit again as soon as I am able. For now, I need to look at a fresco.”

  Duran perked upon hearing Rukh’s promise to return. “Which one?”

  “The one showing the Lord of the Sword and the Lady of Fire battling Shet.”

  Duran smiled. “I know the ones of which you speak. Come. I’ll show them to you.”

  The doorway leading outside shut behind them, and they walked down the quiet tunnel, deeper into Mount Madhava. A memory, scattered and without mooring, flitted through Rukh’s mind. He remembered entering Jessira’s home of Stronghold through a tunnel similar to this one, into the heart of a mountain. On that occasion, he had been a captive with flanking warriors ready to kill him if necessary. Jessira had walked nearby, unhindered and alongside her cousin, Sign.