The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  Jessira tsked. “We have never required or desired worshippers.”

  Rukh quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “I’ll explain later,” Jessira said.

  Serena frowned. “Why do you have to explain it to Rukh? Why doesn’t he know what you know?”

  “Our memories are mostly intact, but that’s not the same as entirely,” Rukh explained. “There are things I remember that Jessira doesn’t, and vice versa. But every week the gaps fill.”

  “You never did tell us about your world,” William said.

  Serena had almost forgotten. Rukh and Jessira had claimed to be warriors from another world. “I remember you once said you were from a city called Ashoka.”

  “Are you sure you wish to hear it?” Rukh asked. “Our story is a long one.”

  “It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to be,” Jake said with a dry chuckle.

  “It’s not like you’ll be able to stay awake, either,” William countered.

  “Maybe if you tell the story,” Jake replied.

  “Boys.” Serena drew their attention. “I’d like to hear what Rukh and Jessira have to tell us.”

  Rukh smiled. “As I said, it’s a long story. We were born beneath a different star and upon a different world, Arisa. Ours was a world of the Castes and the OutCastes.”

  SINSKRILL

  * * *

  The wind whipped off the Norwegian Sea, but Adam gave it no notice. Nor did he deign to acknowledge the steady rain that had started in the morning and continued through the late afternoon funeral for the last of the mahavans who had fallen during Arylyn’s brazen attack. The cold, gloomy weather and wetness were a part of life on Sinskrill. None of it was worthy of comment. This place—its climate and its culture—hardened the mahavans and stripped away any weakness.

  Yet weakness lurked within Adam’s heart. Before those two powerful magi had arrived on the battlefield in Australia—the man and the woman who fought like demons—he’d had a chance to kill his one-time bishan. Serena had stood unprotected and unaware of his regard. He could have struck her down, but he’d held off the killing blow. He couldn’t harm the young woman he thought of as a daughter. He loved her too much.

  Serena was his weakness.

  Then again, was it really a weakness? Were the magi lesser warriors than the mahavans? Several weeks ago, before the attack on Sinskrill, Adam would have scoffed. Now he was far less certain.

  Despite having what should have been overwhelming odds—thirty mahavans and nine unformed against ten magi—it had been Sinskrill’s warriors who had come away bloodied and beaten. Even the Servitor’s might had not been enough to carry the day.

  All told, nine mahavans had died and a much larger number injured. He shuddered to think what the death toll might have been if those two strange magi, the ones who moved like a razoring wind, had truly unleashed themselves. Adam sensed that they’d held back. Though they could have killed everyone they faced, they’d chosen to deliver debilitating blows instead.

  They’d even defeated the Servitor.

  Adam frowned at the notion and eyed his brother askance. How could someone with such a potent lorethasra, and wielding the Spear itself, have been defeated? Adam continued to wonder, but the Servitor wouldn’t speak of it.

  Shadows had crawled across the waters by the time the ceremony reached its conclusion and the body was set out to sea. Seconds later, the family of the fallen mahavan set the funeral pyre alight. The wood burned yellow and red as black smoke rose, a vibrant contrast to the darkening indigo waters of the Norwegian Sea. Afterward, everyone spoke a few words of feigned grief to the Servitor before quickly dispersing.

  Adam waited alongside his brother until everyone left, and together, they ascended the zigzagging stairs leading to the Servitor’s Palace. A block of Air masked their conversation.

  “What a disaster,” Adam said with a shake of his head.

  “So it was,” the Servitor said. “But I sense you have more you wish to say.”

  Adam blew out his cheeks. “We were defeated, and I didn’t think we could be.”

  “Speak truly. You wonder how I could have been defeated?” The Servitor offered him a faint smirk. “I am not Shet. Though I wielded the Spear, and my lorethasra holds greater potency than that of any asrasin alive, those two . . . You know the ones of whom I speak?”

  Adam nodded. “The man and the woman.”

  “They are not asrasins,” the Servitor said. “They’re something else.”

  Adam hadn’t considered that possibility. “Woven, then? Like the necrosed and the unformed?”

  “Perhaps,” the Servitor said, drawing the word out. “But they struck me as human. Only they possess a knowledge of asra vastly different from our own. I spoke to Lord Shet of my observations.”

  Adam waited for further explanation, but none came. He wanted to grimace in annoyance but knew he dared not. This was the Servitor to whom he spoke. “What did Lord Shet say?” Adam asked at last, his voice patient rather than irritated.

  “The Lord seemed worried when I told him,” the Servitor answered.

  Adam’s eyes widened in shock. “Lord Shet sounded worried?”

  “Even fearful. He named those two World Killers. That was the name he gave them. He says their kind have been seen before, and where they go, worlds die.”

  Adam frowned. “Beyond sounding ominous, that explains nothing.”

  The Servitor shrugged. “It’s what the Lord said, and given his reaction, I knew not to press for further details.”

  Adam grunted understanding.

  “He did offer one piece of information that brought me some solace,” the Servitor said. He smiled then, his first expression of genuine humor since the disastrous raid by Arylyn.

  “What could possibly bring you comfort after all of this?” Adam asked, gesturing to the still-burning funeral pyre in the harbor.

  “He told me Arylyn’s location.” The Servitor’s smile faded, replaced by a brief jaw-clench of determination. “We will pay the magi back for what they did to us, and this time it will be we who invade their home. It will be we who steal something they consider precious.”

  “Why bother?” Adam asked. “Lord Shet arrives in a few years. Let him deal with the magi. They can’t survive him.”

  “We may not survive him,” the Servitor reminded him. “But if we do exactly as we’re told, if we find favor in his eyes, perhaps he will not lay waste to us after he destroys Arylyn.” He sighed. “Doing whatever is required to serve Lord Shet is the only way we can save our people.”

  Adam had his doubts about such a plan, but he was also wise enough to keep his concerns private. “We’re going to bring Fiona back?”

  “Not only Fiona. All of them. Serena, William, Jake, my other daughter, and the troll.” The Servitor’s face tightened with grim purpose. “Or we’ll see them dead.”

  * * *

  The End

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Once again, I’d like to thank you for taking the ride with me. I can’t express how grateful I am that you’re willing to spend some of your time on what I’ve written. As always, the characters remain close to my heart, and I hope William, Serena, and the others are finding a place in yours. I have to say that learning that people have found joy in my stories is one of major reasons why I continue to write.

  * * *

  It’s with these words in mind that I once again ask that you please consider leaving a review for The Chronicles of William Wilde Books 1-3 on Amazon or Goodreads.

  * * *

  As I might have mentioned before, I’m like every author who’s vying to gain some traction in this constantly shifting publishing industry. My biggest hope is that others have a chance to discover my books, which is why I need your help to send out the signal.

  * * *

  Leaving a review or rating may not seem like much, but it makes the climb for your favorite authors (such as me) just a little easier. It evens the grind and helps
boost their careers in a slightly higher, quicker trajectory.

  * * *

  Thank you again for reading The Chronicles of William Wilde. Please keep reading, though. At the end of this book is a preview for William Wilde and the Sons of Deceit, book 4 of The Chronicles of William Wilde. I always intended William Wilde to be a follow on to The Castes and the OutCastes, and Rukh and Jessira will be playing a larger role in this next book.

  * * *

  Also, if you want to get in touch with me directly, you can email me at davisashura@davisashura.com. You can also find me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/davis.ashura or on Twitter at https://twitter.com/DavisAshura.

  * * *

  Happy reading, everyone, and I hope you keep up with William and Serena’s story!

  * * *

  All the best,

  Davis Ashura

  WILLIAM WILDE AND THE SONS OF DECEIT

  CHAPTER 1: RECOVERED CHOICES

  September 1989

  * * *

  Serena Paradiso paused to take a breather from tilling Sile’s garden. She glared balefully all about her. The blazing hot, humid day and backbreaking labor had her heart drumming rapidly, and she gulped in deep lungfuls of air. Perspiration beaded uncomfortably on her forehead, dripping down her face, shoulders, and chest. The sweat soaked her shirt, and she fanned herself, trying to cool off. She hated this kind of weather. It always left her sapped of energy.

  She cast her view west again, checking the time. The sun hung a few fingers’ width above the horizon. Twilight approached, and with it relief from this heat.

  Thank God.

  A stray breeze stirred Serena’s hair then, curling it about her face and obscuring her vision. She cleared it off but an instant later it happened again. This time Serena leaned her hoe against her hip, pulled out an elastic band from her pants pocket, and tied her hair off into a ponytail. She also gave her back a muscle-easing arch before resuming tilling the soil.

  She had agreed to tend Sile’s garden while he did the harder work of planting the fields, and Ms. Sioned had decided to help her out. Serena was grateful for the old raha’asra’s assistance. Sile’s garden was huge. It was an acre of rectangular dirt framed by several rows of bricks, which usually contained tomatoes and other vegetables that Sile shared with anyone who asked and took hours of hard labor to ready for the next round of plantings.

  As Serena tilled, she glanced at Ms. Sioned, who worked in silence with her head bent and a thoughtful frown on her face. The other woman acted as if something troubled her, and Serena wondered why. It wasn’t like Ms. Sioned to carry such a burden of worry. More commonly the small, white-haired woman had features that held a gentle, generous smile.

  But not today.

  Serena studied Ms. Sioned a moment longer. She remembered how kind the sweet, old lady had been to her after her arrival to Arylyn. She’d had faith in Serena, trusting her words to be true when few others did. Ms. Sioned never lifted her eyes from her work. She hadn’t done so the entire afternoon. In fact, thus far, she and Serena hadn’t shared more than a few words.

  What’s bothering her?

  Serena shook off her thoughts and returned to tilling. Minutes later her attention wandered again when the singing of Jennifer Troy, Sile’s wife, carried on a stray breeze. Jennifer sang a lively song about summer, sunshine, and waves, and Serena smiled. Sile’s wife had a lovely voice.

  She was also an excellent baker, and the scent of fresh-made bread wafted from the white, clapboard farmhouse standing on a nearby rise. The aroma was carried on the same stray breeze as Jennifer’s singing. Serena’s stomach growled. She not only needed a break from the heat, she also needed food. But her hunger would have to wait. Only a little bit longer and they’d have the garden finished.

  Serena never broke off her hoeing and actually found herself working in time to Jennifer’s singing, cutting through the detritus, digging into the dirt, and levelling it out.

  Eventually, her mind moved away from thoughts of fatigue and hunger and drifted to other, more important matters, such as going sailing tonight with William.

  “You seem pleased,” Ms. Sioned said in her Irish lilt.

  Serena’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “You were humming,” the other woman explained. “You only do so when you’re happy.”

  Serena smiled, a true expression of her feelings rather than the feigned emotions she’d often used in the past to accomplish her purposes. Part of her mahavan training. Nowadays Serena was glad of the more natural reaction.

  “I am happy,” Serena replied, explaining the plan about sailing with William.

  Ms. Sioned nodded. “I’m glad the two of you are spending so much time together.”

  Serena maintained a nonchalant air even as suspicion swept over her. While Ms. Sioned’s words indicated approval, her posture and visage spoke differently. They told of something negative, but Serena wasn’t entirely sure what. She decided to take a direct approach to find out. “Does it bother you that William and I spend so much time together? I know you advised against it before we saved Fiona and Travail, but what about now?”

  Ms. Sioned ceased her tilling and muttered something unintelligible before bracing the hoe’s blade on the dark soil. She rested her hands upon the tool’s knobby handle and smiled wanly. “There is no hiding my emotions from you, is there, dear?”

  Serena dipped her head in silent acknowledgement, and her wariness rose further. Whatever Ms. Sioned wanted to say, Serena realized she wouldn’t like it. Maybe that was why the other woman had remained so unaccountably quiet and unhappy throughout the afternoon.

  “I have worries about you and William,” Ms. Sioned began. She hesitated. Her lips twisted, and she conveyed the impression of searching for the right words.

  Serena remained quiet while waiting for Ms. Sioned to explain herself.

  When the old raha’asra finally spoke, she surprised Serena with a question. “What do you know about this Lord Shet?”

  Serena frowned, unsure as to the purpose of Ms. Sioned’s query. “He is the god of the mahavans. Their rightful lord. The Servitor rules Sinskrill in Shet’s name.”

  “And Shet will one day return to claim what is his?”

  After silently reflecting upon the question Serena held back a scowl. She now had a sense of the nature of Ms. Sioned’s inquiry. The old woman wanted to know if Serena truly believed in something few others did, something others called a fable or the fear-induced belief in a being who didn’t exist. Most thought Shet a myth, but Serena knew different. She knew the truth. She’d seen Shet, imprisoned on a high mountain on the equally mythic but nonetheless real world of Seminal. Smoky, black chains had bound the god, but even chained his power had dwarfed anything she could have imagined.

  “I’ve already explained my beliefs to the Village Council,” Serena said, careful to keep her voice even and unruffled.

  “I’ve heard this,” Ms. Sioned replied. “Does William share your beliefs?”

  Serena nodded, and confusion added to her irritation. “Of course.”

  Ms. Sioned bent her gaze and stared at the ground. “Of course,” she repeated softly, seeming to have a silent conversation with herself before shaking her head and lifting her gaze.

  “What is it?” Serena asked with a frown, already tired of this guessing game. “What do you really want to say?”

  Ms. Sioned sighed. “I know you wish to pursue a more personal relationship with William but is that really what’s best if you have to prepare for the return of an evil god?”

  Serena’s face went drone-blank while fury coursed through her. She now understood the real reason for Ms. Sioned’s questions. “You still think I’ll hurt William?”

  Ms. Sioned startled, and some of Serena’s rage faltered. “Of course not,” the old raha’asra said, sounding scandalized.

  Serena’s fury ebbed further.

  “I worry for you,” Ms. Sioned said. “Not him.”

  �
��Me?” Surprise eroded the last of Serena’s anger.

  Ms. Sioned chuckled. “I think in the coming months you’ll be pushed to your limits. You’ll have to work every bit as hard as William, maybe harder, and as new as you are to emotional truth, to allowing yourself to acknowledge and accept your feelings, I worry about what that might mean for you.” She wavered. “You might lose focus, something I don’t think you can afford.”

  Serena didn’t reply at once. Instead, she gazed past Ms. Sioned, toward the ocean where the first edge of the sun touched the horizon, and pondered the other woman’s words. Could it be true? Could I lose myself to passions? Become sappy and silly?

  After a little more thought, Serena realized the answer might be ‘yes,’ which was something she couldn’t allow. She eyed Ms. Sioned and noticed an anticipatory cast to the other woman’s visage.

  Upon seeing it, suspicion rose once more to the forefront of Serena’s mind. Or maybe this was all something Ms. Sioned had planned because she’ll never trust me to not hurt her precious William. Serena’s face hardened.

  Upon seeing it Mrs. Sioned’s features became sad. “This truly isn’t about William,” she said. “This is about you. Many of us understand how much you were willing to sacrifice in order to save Fiona and Travail. You’ve earned your place here and the respect of your neighbors and fellow magi.” Ms. Sioned leaned forward, bringing greater emphasis to her words. “You are a woman of worth and a woman worth loving. Never doubt that I know it.”

  Serena blinked at Ms. Sioned’s passion, and the last of her suspicions drained away. “What do you counsel?” she asked after a moment.

  “Work hard, dedicate your life to what must be done. At least, until it is done. Let nothing distract you, or you will surely fail.”