The Chronicles of William Wilde Boxset 1

by Davis Ashura

  “I thought you liked it hot,” she said.

  William smiled in response. “Hot, yes. Stifling, no.”

  “Or maybe you’re just hard to please.” Under the moon’s bright light, it was easy to make out the teasing glint in Serena’s eyes.

  William hated losing at anything, and for whatever reason, letting Serena get away with making fun of him counted as a contest. “You want to head back to your cottage?” he asked. “We can take a stroll through the jungle on the other side of it.” He guessed Serena would say ‘no’ since she hated sweating, finding it unbecoming.

  She didn’t let him down, casting him a crooked grin. “Well played, sir.” She doffed an imaginary hat.

  William grinned in triumph and they continued on, cutting across the sands of Lilith Bay. A mile later they reached the Guanyin, a silvery-metal bridge that spanned River Namaste where the waters gathered at the base of Lilith’s cliffs. From there, they rumbled through a canyon leading to the ocean.

  “Jake’s getting his groove back,” William said as they crossed the bridge.

  “What?” Serena asked, sounding distracted.

  William glanced her way and noticed her stiff, fearful posture as she stared at the statues lining the dark, river canyon. William smiled. Serena always did that. The statues made her nervous, and even with her mahavan training, she couldn’t entirely mask her reaction.

  “I said Jake has a third nipple,” William said. “It looks like a toe.”

  Serena’s gaze finally focused on him, and he could see her mentally replaying his last words. Her eyes widened in shock. “What?”

  William laughed.

  Serena’s face scrunched. “What’s so funny? And what’s this about Jake having a third nipple?”

  William laughed harder.

  Serena put up with his humor for a few seconds, but apparently she had enough when William laughed a little too long. She sent a sharp elbow into his ribs.

  He grimaced. “What was that for?” He rubbed at his aching ribs. Serena was a strong woman.

  “For not answering my question.”

  “Sorry,” William said, although he really wasn’t. “I just think it’s funny how much those statues scare you.”

  “I can’t help it,” Serena muttered. “They’re creepy.”

  “Sure they are, but I’d have figured you’d have gotten used to them by now.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” Serena said. “And was there anything about Jake you did want to tell me?”

  “He’s getting his groove back,” William repeated.

  “What does that mean?”

  “His self-confidence,” William explained. “I’m glad, but I also hope he doesn’t go back to being the same jackass he used to be.”

  “You really think that’s possible?”

  William shook his head. “No. But I’m going to pretend it is so I can remind him about it.” He grinned in anticipation. “I’ll want to do that early and often.”

  “Why?” Serena asked, clearly perplexed.

  William’s grin faded. “Because it’ll piss him off,” he replied, perplexed himself by her confusion. Making fun of their friends was what guys liked to do more than almost anything.

  Serena shook her head in clear disappointment. “Boys,” she said, her tone making the word sound like a curse.

  “Girls,” William mimicked in the same tone.

  Serena rolled her eyes, and they pressed on in silence through a half-mile path through the rocks and boulders at the base of Lilith’s Cliffs. While they continued on their way, William found himself surprised by Serena’s easy admission of a weakness, her fear of the statues along the river canyon. There had been a time when getting her to admit to anything other than perfection was impossible.

  Eventually, they reached Cliff Spirit’s Main Stairs.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t go sailing,” Serena said as they ascended toward Clifftop.

  William shrugged, doing his best to hide his lingering disappointment. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure there will be lots of other times we can go.”

  “Are you sure?” Serena asked. “You know about Shet. He’s coming, and we won’t have time for much of anything when that happens.”

  William sighed. “I’m trying not to think about him.”

  “You’ll have to,” Serena said, her jaw briefly clenching. “Saving Fiona and Travail was only the beginning of our troubles. All of us have to be ready for him.”

  William had no reply. He understood what she was saying and largely agreed with her. Still, couldn’t he forget about his troubles every once in a while? They climbed the Main Stairs, and William caught Serena eyeing him askance. He frowned, unsure as to the strange turn in their conversation, but he had a suspicion. “Why are you bringing this up now?” he asked.

  “Because your training isn’t done yet. Neither is mine.”

  Suspicion crystalized to certainty. She wants friendship and nothing more. It was the real reason she’d cancelled their late-night sail. William’s face unconsciously took on the flat affect of a drone while he tried to hide his hurt. An evening full of promise suddenly tasted like ash. “I see.”

  Serena stopped and pulled him around. “No, you don’t,” she said. “I love spending time with you, and in another life that would be enough. But we can’t afford that. Not when we have all these responsibilities. They take precedence over our wants and desires.”

  William stared at her, hope and disappointment warring within him. It didn’t entirely sound like a breakup. Serena had acknowledged that something might actually exist between them, which maybe was better than nothing.

  “If that’s what you want,” he said, trying to ignore the discouragement roiling his stomach.

  Serena’s face held fleeting sorrow. It occurred and vanished so quickly that William wasn’t sure he saw it. The rest of their stroll passed in silence.

  William breathed slowly and steadily as he jogged behind Travail. His breath frosted, but his hemp pants and full-sleeved cotton shirt kept him warm as he and Jake followed the troll on a slender trail—Firedeep Gorge—one made for goats, that wended through the pine forest covering Arylyn’s rolling heights. Rather than their usual morning exercise of a light jog followed by lifting heavy logs up and down a hill past Linchpin Knoll, today Travail had chosen to take them on a long run.

  The forest here was beautiful, cool and dry, and it was easy to keep on running. Beams of sunshine shone through breaks in the canopy and illuminated the forest floor like floodlights. Wild jasmine grew in clumps, and their sweet perfume mixed with the sharp tang of pine and the loamy odor of mold and wet clay. William noticed the remnants of the overnight precipitation in the form of raindrops beading on leaf and bough. They trickled intermittently onto William’s head or down the back of his neck. He ignored the momentary discomfort as he followed Travail.

  They dashed along the trail, through clouds of gnats, gauzy spiderwebs, and brushed against wet leaves or splashed through small puddles. Thankfully, the chilly water couldn’t penetrate William’s rugged boots.

  On they ran, and while they did, William kept an ear out for Jake, who struggled to keep up, huffing and wheezing since his chest still bothered him.

  Fragging Adam Paradiso. William silently vowed to pay the man back for everything he’d done to him and Jake.

  William momentarily slowed when a squirrel darted across his path. The little creature clambered up a nearby tree and chittered at him from the safety of a high branch. William smiled at the animal but never let off the pace. A hundred yards later, they broke through the tree line and entered a meadow. Bright sunshine warmed the wildflower field, but a stirring breeze kept the area much cooler than Arylyn’s lower reaches, especially when a colony of clouds, some of them pregnant with a promise of a downpour, drifted across the sky and obscured the sun.

  Travail signaled for a halt, and William pulled up, glancing about.

  The meadow reminded him of the first s
aha’asra he’d ever encountered, a forest field in West Virginia. However, the clouds, the threatening rain, and the cold, gusting wind reminded him of Sinskrill in summer. At the best of times the mahavan island was icy and uninviting.

  Jake finally caught up to them, and he stumbled to a halt. He bent over, braced his hands on his knees, and continued to pant.

  William went to check on him. “You all right?”

  “Give me a sec,” Jake gasped. “I’ll be fine.” His sandy-brown hair lay plastered on his scalp, and his wiry arms and legs quivered with obvious fatigue. He’d once been thickly built, but since his injury in Australia and being laid up for weeks on end, he’d lost a lot of muscle. Of course, being Jake, he was determined to gain it all back as fast as possible.

  William shook his head. Jake always worked harder than anyone he knew, pushing past pain and common sense. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Jake insisted, but the tremor in his legs told another story. He was gassed and needed a rest.

  William silently passed him a canteen of water.

  Travail turned his white, iris-less eyes upon them and dipped his horned head in acknowledgement toward Jake. “You’ve progressed far,” he intoned in his deep voice.

  William switched his gaze back to Travail and had to crane his head to meet the troll’s eyes. The troll towered ten feet tall and could move with an agility that shouldn’t have been possible given his half-ton, thickly-muscled frame.

  “We will walk the rest of the way home,” Travail added.

  “I can run,” Jake insisted.

  “No, you can’t,” Travail said. His stony face, with its jutting jaw covered by a braided goatee and craggy brow, showed no sign of bending, and after a few seconds, Jake relented.

  William exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Jake needed protection from his own hard-headed courage.

  Travail led them across the field where they picked up the trail again. “We should reach the middle part of Janaki Valley a few miles west of here.”

  “We can jog some of it, if you like,” Jake offered in a hopeful tone.

  Travail gave him a hard stare but said nothing, and Jake settled down again, muttering under his breath.

  After that they progressed quietly through the forest, and William thought again about last night’s talk with Serena. She’d basically given him the ‘Let’s be friends’ speech, but she’d also spoken about how she wished they could spend more time together.

  But which one is it? He wished he knew, and he shook his head in frustration.

  Travail must have picked up on his irritation. “What troubles you?”

  “Nothing,” William replied, not wanting to talk about it.

  “He and Serena had an argument last night,” Jake not-so-helpfully supplied.

  “Jackass!” William glared at him. “That was supposed to be a private conversation.”

  “Sorry,” Jake said.

  “Is this true?” Travail asked.

  William continued to glare at Jake. “Yes, it’s true. Jake’s a jackass.”

  “Hey!” Jake protested. “Ease off. I listened to you bitch and moan about Serena all night long last night after you got home. Maybe Travail can tell you what to do.”

  William’s irritation simmered down. “It wasn’t all night,” he said. “It was for a few minutes at most, and I didn’t bitch and moan. I was annoyed is all.”

  “And now?” Travail asked.

  William sighed. “Now I’m resigned,” he said. “Anything between me and Serena will have to wait until our work with Shet is done. At least that’s what she says.”

  Travail made a rumbling sound. “Rukh Shektan often talks about work, duty, and dedication as if they were the summit of his life’s purpose.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” Jake asked.

  Travail tilted his head in consideration, taking time to collect his thoughts. “It is a good thing,” he replied, “but not when taken to extremes, such as when it forbids that which makes life worth living, things like love, family, friends, and joy.”

  “Rukh isn’t like that,” Jake said in immediate protest.

  William wasn’t surprised by Jake’s defense of Rukh. His friend had a large case of hero-worship when it came to Rukh and Jessira. And if William was being honest, he did, too.

  “I don’t think so, either,” Travail said to Jake, his tone mollifying. “At least not entirely, but there is definitely a large portion of Rukh’s and Jessira’s personas that remind me of a diamond-hard edge of dedication. I doubt they’ll let anything or anyone get in the way of what they think is their life’s purpose.”

  “No, they won’t,” William agreed.

  Travail faced him, and once more he found himself the focus of the troll’s attention. “You’re certain you feel nothing but resignation for your situation with Serena?”

  William closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wished they could move on from talking about Serena. “Yes, I’m certain. It’s fine.” He caught Jake eyeing him skeptically. “Seriously, it’s no big deal,” he added in a pointed tone.

  He almost believed his own words.

  CHAPTER 3: PLANS OF DECEIT

  November 1989

  * * *

  SINSKRILL

  * * *

  Unaccustomed nervousness made Adam Paradiso’s hands tremble as he eyed Shet’s Spear, which currently rested in his brother’s thick hands. The weapon was shod with steel on one end and from the other rose a leaf-shaped blade the color of coal. A straight bar of ivory-colored wood formed the shaft, and it glowed with whorling designs, red-rimmed like the flickering the embers of a fire.

  The constantly shifting patterns had Adam’s heart thudding, racing and palpating like that of a stallion fleeing a lion. His reaction made no sense. After all, Adam was a big man, large-boned and powerful, menacing when he wished it, and possessing an intellect that had seen him rise to power here on Sinskrill. He was the Secondus to his brother Axel, the Servitor, and he answered to no one but Axel, an equally large man with similar heavy-set, dark-skinned features but with a full, thick beard in place of Adam’s sculpted goatee.

  As Adam studied the Spear, he knew what icy sensation gripped his heart: terror. But he couldn’t admit to such a weakness, not on Sinskrill where any perceived vulnerability would be quickly exploited. Instead, he had to maintain a mask of simple curiosity or sneering disregard.

  “Take it,” Axel ordered.

  Adam stepped forward and reached out to receive the Spear, but at the last moment he hesitated. A fresh surge of fear coursed through his veins and held him frozen. He knew what would occur when he touched the Spear, when his fingers closed upon it and he sourced his lorethasra. He knew where he would go.

  Seminal. The realm of myths and magic. The abode of Lord Shet.

  Adam tried to maintain his mask of haughty derision, to hide any sense of his disquiet, but a single drop of perspiration betrayed him. It slid as a thin line down his forehead, circling around the orbit of his left eye before dribbling into his goatee.

  Axel noticed, a simple flick of his eyes and a furrowing of his brows. “Take the Spear,” his brother ordered anew. “Shet desires your presence. Do not disappoint him.” Axel leaned in close and hissed, “Or me.”

  Despite the coolness of Shet’s Throne Hall, Adam broke out in fresh perspiration. Thankfully, no one else was present to witness his humiliating loss of control. No one else but the six-armed monstrosity that towered behind the throne at the far end of the Hall. Adam studied the figure, the statue of their god Shet. Within its three right hands it grasped a khopesh, a mace, and the Book of the Dead while the left ones held a bow, a spear, and the Knife of Woe. It was the statue’s features, though, that gave Adam the greatest pause. The jaws of a crocodile crowned Shet’s head, while an arrogant sneer—one uncannily mimicked by his brother—curled its mouth. You mortal fools, the sneer seemed to say. You will bow or be burned.


  Adam mentally sighed, unable to delay the inevitable. He grasped the Spear and sourced his lorethasra. As soon as he did, a rainbow bridge—or a road, perhaps—opened within his mind. It stretched into an all-consuming darkness.

  With a sound like a rushing river in flood, Adam’s Spirit set forth upon the rainbow bridge. He’d made this journey on several previous occasions, but those prior excursions did nothing to prepare him for what was to come. Sound and sight faded, and he found himself encased him in a black tunnel. His travel surged, gaining speed, covering an incomprehensibly vast distance. A tearing sensation ripped at him, an impression that his core, his soul maybe, frayed. Emptiness tore at his heart, but on he raced, pulled forward by a tide like gravity. Colors faded to bleak, black night. Silence reigned. The darkness never ended, and it encroached upon Adam’s mind, threatening to devour his sense of self.

  At his breaking point, the travel ended with a jarring halt.

  Adam floated in the clouds, high above a foreign realm. Seminal. Nearby, a red dragon soared above a world infested by living nightmares: solitary necrosed, wild tribes of constantly shifting unformed, and elegant vampires who held court in dark, unlovely castles. He viewed a rugged range of strangely shaped hills that held the aspect of broken teeth and contained broken palaces on their slopes. There he found armies of ghouls stirring restlessly under the earth, hidden inside dead cities as they waited for the living to provide them sustenance . . . and entertainment.

  Adam silently snarled. He hated this place.

  An instant later, fear replaced loathing when a voice whispered to him on the wind.

  “Come to me, child,” the voice urged. “I sense your presence.”

  Adam knew who spoke to him—Shet—and he focused his mind upon a distant range of dagger-sharp, snow-capped mountains. His Spirit sped there, to where desolation and fear roiled off the peaks, dripping like poison into valleys filled with inky menace, places where the sunlight grew strangely dim as it reached the ground. As before when he’d visited this terrifying range, one mountain loomed above all the others, and there he found his destination. On a jutting ledge, wide and deep enough to support all of Village White Sun, brooded a newly-hewn palace built of black stone. It hunkered like a poisonous mushroom, seeming to consume all light. It swallowed sunshine like a snake would its prey.