William Wilde and the Sons of Deceit

by Davis Ashura

  “You alright?” William asked, his face filled with concern.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You looked like you were somewhere else, someplace dark.”

  “I’m fine,” Jason said. He brushed past William, not wanting to discuss it. “Let’s go find what Mr. Zeus wants.”

  “Want some iced tea first?” William asked. He pointed at Jimmy Webster’s Restaurant.

  Jason smiled. “Only if you’re buying.”

  “I’m buying.” They walked toward Jimmy’s. “You sure you’re ok?” William asked after a moment.

  Jason nodded. “I’m good.”

  William apparently struggled with wanting to say something and frowned.

  “What is it?” Jason asked.

  “I know we aren’t as close as we used to be, as close I wish we could be,” William said. “It’s all the training and things we’ve got to do.”

  Jason managed a faint smile. “There’s the William I know, always going on about training.” He meant it as a joke, but William scowled, and Jason groaned. Here comes the anger.

  William surprised him. His scowl disappeared. He seemed to shove it aside and exhaled heavily. “Sorry about getting angry like that,” he muttered. “I think it’s the stress of training.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jason said. “I know you have a lot on your plate. We all do. I know Sinskrill’s coming for us, and I believe Serena about Shet.” The last made him want to gag. Believing Serena should have been impossible, would have been a year ago, but lots had changed since then, including his opinion about the one-time mahavan.

  “Then we’re good?”

  Jason stopped and eyed him in surprise. “Why wouldn’t we be? We’re still friends. We always will be.”

  Serena shifted her weight forward and made minute changes to her stance, maintaining her balance as she rode the wave she’d been waiting for all morning. She focused her attention both inward and outward, the moment in which she existed, embracing all of the world’s sensations: the gusting wind, the shifting water, and the newly risen sun warming the world.

  The wave changed, and Serena felt power building behind her, a lifting motion. She flexed her hips, thighs, and calves as well as her core. All the muscle contractions occurred in an automatic sequence, one she didn’t have to consciously focus upon.

  She cut across the water, carving the wave. A barrel readied to form. Serena could sense it, and she aimed for where she anticipated the entrance would open.

  It did so, right where she expected.

  She ducked low to enter the tube. The world became a tunnel of endlessly falling water. Rainbows glittered in her wake. Spray splashed, warm and salty, across her body and face, trickling into her mouth. Her vision obscured momentarily. Wet hair clung to her scalp. Distantly, she noticed the cry of a petrel.

  The barrel unrolled endlessly before her even as it collapsed behind her. It hammered like the steady beat on a drum. The far end never seemed to get closer but it never stopped moving and she made minute corrections, a flex there, a twist here.

  Serena ran a hand through the wave. It felt like warm, liquid cotton, and alive.

  On she sped. With a breathtaking suddenness, the far opening arrived, and the barrel spat her out like a seed. Serena shifted her weight onto her back foot and brought the board to trim. She stood tall, arching her back. The wave petered out, and she slid into the water.

  She whooped as the ocean enveloped her. What a rush!

  Too bad William had been too impatient to wait for the better waves. He had set off a half hour ago for his morning run and after that, his work as a raha’asra. He never stood still long enough to enjoy the moment.

  Whose fault is that? her conscience asked.

  Serena had no answer. She’d pushed William away, told him he could only be a friend until Shet was dealt with. Sure, it had been Ms. Sioned’s advice, but the truth was the words had been an excuse that Serena had latched onto like a drowning woman clinging to a lifeline. She lacked the courage to open her heart.

  Maybe her rejection of William was the cause of his inexplicable anger.

  She wondered about it even as she did her best to ignore the guilty thoughts that swam to the surface of her mind similar to how she swam to the water’s surface. She clambered atop her board and sat facing the ocean’s depths, managing to set aside her self-reproach, trading it for the experience of the world. Once again, she heard petrels call as they soared the trade winds. Waves surged against the shore, and she knew without looking that some of them crashed high against Lilith’s red-veined, black cliffs and left jewel-like rainbows in their wake. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and it beamed through vagrant, fluffy clouds that resembled stretched cotton balls.

  Serena surfed for an hour more and wished she could have stayed far longer. Lilith Bay in the winter had some of the best waves on the island. Best of all, it was a short stroll to her cottage, as well as an easy climb up the cliffs and a short bike ride to Sile Troy’s fields where she still apprenticed as a farmer.

  Farming. Anyone who had known Serena from Sinskrill would have scoffed at seeing her engaged in such mundane work. In Sinskrill only drones, those whose capacity for lorethasra had been removed—slaves, really—farmed but not here. On Arylyn, farmers were honored. Not that it mattered to Serena. She would have farmed no matter the supposed esteem of her chosen profession. Farming felt like a natural extension of her years of pent-up longings, her desire to create rather than destroy, to see things grow rather than burn.

  And to hear the song of the Lord.

  The last was a private notion, one she hadn’t shared with anyone, not Sile, Selene, or even William.

  When she dragged her board to shore, she noticed Lien waiting on the golden-sand beach. “Hi,” Serena called in greeting.

  She recalled her promise to Jake, to ask Lien about girls who might be interested in him. Of course, right after breakfast, Jake had asked her to hold off on asking for Lien’s help. He’d said that he wanted to get the lay of the land on his own, so to speak. Serena had agreed to his request, but at the same time, she realized something Jake probably didn’t realize about himself. Despite his words about wanting to make Arylyn his home, he was like her: unready to open his heart.

  Serena high-stepped the last few yards to shore. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” Lien said. “It’s too hard finding you any other time. You’re either here, farming, or doing who knows what with William.”

  Serena’s eyes narrowed, and she tried not to scowl. “That sounded a touch judgmental.”

  Lien held her hands up in placation. “No judgment. I just wanted to talk.”

  Serena’s irritation left her, and she accepted Lien’s explanation. “We couldn’t talk at the enrune fields?”

  “Sure, but who knows when you would show up,” Lien said. “I already knew you’d be here.”

  “What did you want to talk about?” Serena asked as she braced her surfboard in the sand and began drying off with the towel she’d left on the beach.

  “I think you should make some friends.”

  Serena paused and stared at the other girl. “I already have friends.”

  “I mean girl friends.”

  “You’re not a girl?”

  Lien held up a finger. “First, I’m one girl. That’s a singular.” She held up a second finger. “Two, I’m talking about more than one. That’s plural. Hence, girl friends.”

  Serena resumed her toweling. For some reason Lien’s proposal filled her with trepidation. Maybe it had to do with her Sinskrill upbringing. All mahavans saw one another as competitors but amongst women it was even worse. Vindictive didn’t begin to describe the level of abuse they flung at one another. “I see,” Serena said. “What if I say ‘no?’”

  Lien sighed. “Stop being intentionally dumb. I won’t introduce you to a bunch of catty, mean girls,” she said. “You know me. Do you really think I’d be friends wi
th people like that?”

  “I suppose not,” Serena said, still unsure about Lien’s offer. She finished drying off, wrapped the towel around her waist, and slipped on her sandals. She then pulled the surfboard free of the sand.

  Lien shuffled alongside her as they headed back to Serena’s cottage. “Plus, as much time as you spend with William I’m sure you’re looking for someone who can provide more stimulating conversation. Him and his mission. Shet. Training. Shet. Training. Blah, blah, blah.”

  Serena paused to face Lien. She had long ago grown tired of the other girl’s snipes toward William. “I know you don’t think about him like that,” she said, “and even if you do, I’d appreciate you not speaking about him in such a fashion.”

  Lien’s face filled with amusement. “You really do like him, don’t you?” Even with her mahavan training Serena couldn’t entirely hide her reaction, and Lien grinned. “I knew it.”

  Serena sighed in disbelief. It was impossible to keep up with Lien’s thoughts. “That’s why you insulted William? To see if I’d come to his defense?”

  Lien smiled smugly. “Of course. And it worked.” Her amusement faded and confusion took its place. “If you like him so much, why haven’t you kissed him yet?”

  Serena blinked, and once more her mahavan training failed her. “What?” she asked, flustered. For some reason, kissing William in the West Virginia saha’asra right before Kohl Obsidian attacked didn’t count in her mind. “How did you know we haven’t kissed?”

  “I didn’t,” Lien said. “You just told me.”

  Serena silently applauded the girl’s cleverness while at the same time, she seethed at her intrusiveness. Serena was a private person, and she didn’t like people prying into her life.

  Lien blithely spoke on. “I figured after Australia, and all the time you spend together, you’d have at least kissed.”

  Serena’s mahavan training finally kicked in, and she managed to prevent her face from reddening. She wouldn’t have minded kissing William, maybe more than kiss him, but Ms. Sioned’s words still echoed in her mind, as did her own fear. Will I ever have the courage he deserves? She mentally frowned at the thought. Then again, he hasn’t asked me to Chinese New Year’s. He had for the Western New Year’s, and they had spent an awkward few hours pretending to dance. Mostly, though, they’d watched everyone else have a good time. After she’d made her statement about friendship, it was like they didn’t know how to act toward one another as anything other than friends.

  Lien patted her shoulder. “Don’t wait too long on him,” she said. “I know every once in a while I give him a hard time but—”

  “Rarely,” Serena murmured with a smile. “You rarely give him a hard time.”

  The other girl grinned. “Right. Rarely. I know I rarely give him a hard time, but he does have a cool, dangerous quality to him, doesn’t he? Girls like that.” Lien’s fond words were ruined an instant later. “Too bad he’s such a dork.”

  THE PAST REACHES

  November 1989

  * * *

  Jessira quietly observed her husband and reflected upon how much their lives had changed since they’d first met.

  Rukh wasn’t quite as handsome in his current form compared to how he’d been on Arisa. His nose was a tad larger and his mouth a mite narrower. However, his coal-dark eyes, his black hair, and his dusky skin, the color of tea touched with milk, remained unchanged. So, too, did his lean but well-built physique and his incomparable grace.

  Jessira knew that she was also different. Her hair was a lighter shade of blonde, her lips fuller, and her body slightly more curvaceous. She liked the last. On Arisa, she’d always considered herself boyish in build. Rukh had claimed otherwise, but his opinion didn’t overcome her feelings of self-doubt.

  She continued to study her husband and wondered at his thoughts. For once, she couldn’t sense them.

  Rukh frowned at the round, red entrance to Meldencreche, the dwarven village. Sunlight beamed down upon the meadow at the foot of Mount Madhava. Birds called from the nearby forest, and bees hummed amongst the early spring wildflowers. The gray-black bulk of the mountain towered overhead, and a crisp wind blew.

  The latter two features reminded Jessira of Stronghold, her long-dead birthplace and the home of her heart.

  Rukh surprised her then by reaching for the large knocker mounted on the red door. He rapped several times before pushing his way inside. Jessira followed, and they entered the dwarven home. No Memory greeted them this time, since Rukh had asked to be left alone for this visit.

  “Why are we here?” Jessira asked.

  Rukh paced along the long corridor and didn’t reply. Instead, concentration filled his features.

  Jessira strode alongside him and accepted his silence. He’d tell her when he was ready.

  Regularly spaced lanterns lit the long passage, another feature that reminded Jessira of Stronghold. However, one obvious difference between Meldencreche and her birth home were the numerous frescoes adorning the granite walls here. Stronghold had been spare and undecorated, a fortress prepared for battle. Here, though, colorful images embellished the walls, and almost all had humans in positions of importance and reverence. Despite knowing how the dwarves had come to be, the obvious adulation made Jessira scowl.

  Rukh halted in front of a mosaic. It depicted a dark-skinned man with smudged or rubbed-out features as he knelt amongst a small group of dwarves who stared at him as if he was holy. It was a rendering of the creation of the dwarves.

  “This one soothes my mind,” Rukh said.

  “The dwarves tend to soothe the mind.”

  Rukh grunted. “Yes, they do. I think it’s part of their magic.” He fell mute again as he stared at the fresco.

  Jessira waited on him to explain more, but he remained quiet, and her patience finally ended. “Why are we here?” she asked again.

  Rukh twitched as if in uncertainty, staring off in the distance. He answered after a few seconds. “Because my memory of our past life feels like his face.” He pointed to the faceless man of the mosaic. “We can see his skin and body, but the visage is missing.”

  Jessira eyed her husband in concern. Their shared ability to sense the other’s thoughts continued to fail her. “What do you mean?”

  Rukh’s mouth moved as if he struggled to piece together the words. “My memory, my sense of self isn’t complete,” he said. “I don’t remember most of my childhood, which is terrible enough, but I worry I’ll lose even more. I fear that the heart of us, who we are to one another, might similarly fade away and perish.”

  Jessira didn’t understand the nature of Rukh’s concern. “We already have the heart of us.” She took one of his hands in both of her own. “We’re together. We know one another, and we have our love.”

  Rukh shook his head. “The heart is there, but too many memories remain missing.” He frowned. “I worry I’ll never recover them.”

  Jessira brought his hand to her chest. “It will. Give it time.”

  “It’s been three years. That should have already been enough time.”

  Jessira smiled as she cupped Rukh’s face. “You delayed taking corporeal form when you placed Aia in William’s path. I didn’t. That has to be why you haven’t recovered all your memories.”

  Rukh remained unconvinced. “It isn’t only that.”

  Worry began gnawing at Jessira. “What else are you missing?”

  “Fear.”

  Jessira’s eyes widened in surprise. “Fear? I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything. Even when you should have been.”

  Rukh smiled at her. “I’m afraid all the time, but I’m usually too busy risking my life to pay it any attention.”

  Jessira chuckled. “I’m sure.” Her amusement departed when Rukh’s features became serious once more.

  “I worry about the future, but I don’t fear it,” he said. “I should. Shet is coming, but before he arrives, the mahavans will come first.”

  “You
truly think so?” Jessira asked, although she already agreed with him.

  “I don’t remember everything, but I remember Shet’s daughter. She would never allow what we did to Sinskrill go unanswered. If the mahavans are anything like her and her father, they’re coming.”

  “The magi don’t think the mahavans can learn the key to Arylyn’s anchor line.”

  “They don’t need to if they discover Arylyn’s location. They can sail here, like we did to Sinskrill,” Rukh said. “Plus, Shet’s daughter discovered our world and look what they did to it.” He put a hand to his chest. “Which is why I should fear, but my heart is empty of it. It shouldn’t be.”

  Jessira cocked her head. She finally had a sense of what had Rukh upset. “Our travels amongst the worlds isn’t yet complete, and you worry that if fear and your childhood can be stolen from you, love can as well.”

  Rukh nodded and drew her into his arms. “What do you know of Jareth, Wren, Sinder, and Brinatha?”

  Jessira stiffened. The names caused her joy and pain in equal measure.

  “You know who they are, don’t you?” Rukh asked. “I can’t see their faces. I only know the names.”

  “They’re our children,” Jessira told him.

  “And two are dead.”

  His words fell like a stone, and Jessira could only nod. Pain at what they’d lost stole her voice. After a moment, she managed to collect herself. “They were born without flesh and yet were mortal.” A tear leaked down her cheek.

  Rukh traced the tear. “You’ve known all along?”

  “I knew,” Jessira said. “It came to me when I first entered Meldencreche.”

  Rukh tilted up her chin. “You carried the burden of their loss alone. Why not tell me?”

  “They are only names until you remember their lives,” Jessira replied.

  Rukh hugged her. “It’s why I came here, to remember all I lost. To know our children when we see them again.”

  Jessira stepped out of his embrace and took his hand. She tugged him forward. “Let me show you what stirred my memories. It’s a mural of the Lord of the Sword and the Lady of Fire. You’ll know who they are when you see their faces.”