William Wilde and the Sons of Deceit

by Davis Ashura

  “I was,” William said with a nod. “I was asleep pretty much non-stop until yesterday.”

  “Did it work? Afa’s weave?” Jake, Jason, and Mr. Zeus had all said it had, and while she couldn’t see a hint of the rage in his bearing, she wanted to hear the words from William’s mouth. She needed his confirmation.

  “I think so.” William paused and appeared to think over his words. “Or at least I hope so. The anger, the beast, it’s still there, but it’s not like it used to be. It’s smaller and not as violent. I can control it.”

  Serena smiled in relief, and they continued on their leisurely wandering.

  She didn’t realize she was humming until William pointed it out. “What is that?”

  “It’s called “There is a Balm in Gilead”,” she said and recited one of her favorite verses from it. “There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole.”

  “I like that. Is it your new favorite spiritual?” William teased.

  He’d guessed the truth, but Serena didn’t like admitting it. She remained a private person, even to William. She merely smiled in reply.

  Minutes later, their walk brought them to the Village Green, and they took a seat on a bench overlooking the cliffs and cascading waterfalls.

  As Serena worked on her ice cream, she noticed William shifting about and frowning, his countenance troubled. “What is it?” she asked.

  He continued to frown as he stared at the darkened waters of the Pacific. “While I was laid up, I was thinking about things. You and Jake—everyone really—keeps telling me to live for today instead of always for tomorrow,” he said. “But I don’t know how. With everything we’ve been through and everything we still have to do, and especially fighting the anger, I think I forgot how to relax.”

  Serena didn’t have an easy, rational answer for him. She chose instead to speak what was in her heart. “Maybe you need to recognize the special moments in your life and treasure them instead of always hoping they’ll be there waiting for you tomorrow.”

  “I wish I could, but you know Sinskrill is going to—”

  Serena put a finger on William’s mouth and silenced him. “You’re an idiot, William Wilde. I’m talking about right now. Us.” Her heart thumped when she realized what she’d said. Us. A word freighted with heavy meaning.

  Thankfully, William missed her slip-up. “I just think—”

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you think.” Serena managed a chuckle at the small joke meant to hide her newly risen uncertainty. Us. What did I mean by that?

  “Are you trying to be annoying?” William asked, smiling to take the sting out of his words.

  Serena grinned, a true expression, but one driven by relief rather than amusement. “Only if you keep making every one of our conversations about life and death.”

  William’s eyes flashed in warning, and Serena worried for him. Maybe his anger isn’t entirely banished.

  An instant later, he quirked a wry smile. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Anything but Sinskrill.”

  “Then what?”

  “How about when are we going to the Far Beyond again?” she asked. “I want to try that rib place you, Jason, and Jake keep going on about.”

  “Montgomery Inn?”

  “Yes.”

  He wore a hopeful cast. “Can we rent Batman afterward? I never got to see it.” He chuckled. “I can’t get over how they cast Mr. Mom as Batman.”

  Serena tilted her head. “Is he related to Wolverine?”

  William groaned, which was exactly what she hoped he would do.

  Aia sat up and yawned wide, wondering who had disturbed her nap. She yawned again and searched around, quickly locating the disturber of her sleep. Shon, her tawny-furred brother. He’d kicked her in his sleep. One of his rear legs twitched while Aia observed him.

  Her ears flicked in annoyance. The big pest likely was dreaming of chasing a gazelle on the Hunters Flats on Arisa. As she continued to watch Shon slumber, Aia unconsciously crouched low. The temptation to pounce on her brother and scare him senseless flitted through her mind.

  She hesitated for a few seconds before straightening and choosing instead to shake out a paw and lick it clean. Jumping on Shon was something only kittens did. It wasn’t an acceptable behavior for someone of Aia’s august nature, especially now that she remembered herself, her long life and the many miracles and wonders she’d witnessed and experienced. As the bearer of such a lofty heritage, she had to maintain the grace expected of a regal Kesarin.

  Kesarin.

  The word echoed in Aia’s mind, and she wondered if she’d ever regain her prior stature. Would she ever again stalk the Flats and pull down a full-grown water buffalo? Or cause an elephant to move aside for her? Full-sized, she’d been more than seven feet tall and twenty-five feet from nose to tail tip, and Shon had been even bigger.

  She examined her body and snorted in disgust. Now look at me. Landon says I’m the size of a mountain lion, but I’m still less than a quarter of what I once was. Pathetic. Her ears flattened in depression.

  An instant later she shook her head in irritation at her self-pity. Enough. She stood, arched her back, and stretched, digging her front claws into the cool dirt. She leaned forward and did the same with her hind legs. Next, she set to grooming herself. Her calico fur held a coating of dust from where she’d been napping in the patch of sunshine beaming down between the trees surrounding Landon’s cabin.

  While she worked on her coat, the hunter side of her made a mental note of the people moving around the small, tidy village in which she had settled the past few years. Sand was its name.

  Aia and Landon had washed up in this place, and shortly thereafter, Shon had joined them. He should have arrived alongside her, but her brother had somehow managed to get himself lost during the long journey from Arisa to Earth.

  Foolish kitten. The thought held a deep well of affection.

  Her grooming complete, Aia sat with her tail curled about her front paws and studied her current home.

  Roughly fifty cabins made up the village, and wide lawns of soft grass separated each of the rough-hewn homes. Most were made of logs stacked atop one another and rose only one or two-stories, but all of them had broad, deep front porches leaning over the streets. Smoke curled off most of the chimneys, and there was no mystery as to why. This place, Idaho, remained cold all year long, even in the summer. At least it did for Aia.

  Her kind, the Kesarins, had been bred to hunt on wide, warm savannas, not cold, evergreen forests.

  Aia watched as the Wrin, the people of Sand—witches and warlocks as they were known elsewhere—moved along their streets. They talked and laughed with their neighbors, friends, and family while the occasional ringing of a blacksmith’s hammer drowned the sounds of the surrounding forest of pine, cedar, and aspen.

  Aia hissed when someone laughed, a high-pitched, yelping sound. Humans are as loud as thunder.

  Shon sat up and noticed her annoyance. He blinked. *What’s wrong?*

  *Nothing,* Aia replied. *We’ve napped long enough. It’s time to hunt.*

  Shon swished his tail. *Hunt what? We aren’t allowed to kill any of the tasty animals here.* He blinked again. *Do you think Landon would miss it if we ate his goat?*

  *I’m certain of it,* Aia said. *Rukh and Jessira would.* She rubbed Shon’s forehead with her own. *Let’s stretch our legs and see what trouble we can rouse.*

  Shon rose and stretched in the same languid fashion Aia had. Once he was ready they padded away from Landon’s home to skulk around the perimeter of the village. Aia took the lead, and they prowled along the edges of back yards that ran to the evergreen forest soaring all around Sand.

  *That’s a lonely looking cow,* Shon said. He gestured with his nose toward a solitary bovine placidly munching grass.

  Aia warned him. *That one belongs to Elaine. She’ll skin you if you kill her cow.*

  Shon grumbled a complaint, and they continued
on their way.

  A stream that bisected Sand interrupted their wandering. They eased down the bank, leapt the water, and clambered up the other side. There they encountered a farmer tilling his field. The heavy-set, balding man growled noisily at them and made broad gestures with his hands.

  *Farmer Ted,* Aia said. *I wonder what he tastes like?*

  *Probably disgusting,* Shon answered. *Isn’t that what Thrum said about Humans?*

  Aia recalled their long-deceased brother. Smart, brave, but a bit of a braggart. How would he know what Humans tasted like? Jaresh wouldn’t have allowed it.

  Her thoughts must have leaked to Shon since he answered, *You know Thrum. He did whatever he wanted. No one could tell him otherwise.*

  Aia grunted and they continued their exploration and passed more fields, some of which were ripe and ready for a harvest. Others were only now being made ready for a planting.

  *This isn’t at all like Ashoka,* Shon said, sounding approving. *It’s much more peaceful.*

  *Ashoka was peaceful, at least Dryad Park was,* Aia said as she flicked an ear to ward off an annoying fly. *But there was no peace after They came.*

  Shon hissed. *They were worse than the Demon Wind.*

  Aia was forced to agree.

  Their short journey eventually led them back to the center of Sand. There, Aia came to a crashing halt. *Granny Castor,* she warned, pointing out the old human with her nose.

  Elaine’s grandmother was a wiry woman who wore glasses and the pinched, pursed lips of perpetual irritation. Aia and Shon always stepped warily around her.

  *How does she wield such a swift broom when she can barely see or walk?* Shon asked.

  Aia didn’t know, but they held still until the old woman wandered away.

  *I miss Jessira,* Shon said, exhaling heavily once Granny Castor passed from view.

  *And I miss Rukh,* Aia replied.

  *When can we go to them?*

  *When our Trial here is complete.*

  Shon flicked his tail. *Trial? That’s something Rukh or Jessira would say. They’re Human. We’re not.*

  Aia smiled, a perking of her ears and widening of her eyes. *Some of what they so often say must have rubbed off on me.* She licked Shon’s ear. *Just as it has rubbed off on you.*

  Much to Aia’s chagrin, Shon behaved as a kitten then. She yowled when he tackled her.

  Walker Brandon Thrum of Sinskrill stepped out of the rowboat and marched ashore. Once he reached the beach, he knelt and cupped a handful of fine sand and let it slowly drift through his fingers. Arylyn. We actually made it.

  Brandon’s feet were proudly planted upon the home island of the hated magi, perhaps the first mahavan in all of history to be able to make the claim. He smiled, watching as the final grains of sand drained away from his hand. He rose to his feet then and took in the warm breeze blowing off the ocean, the soft waves washing against the shore. A fruity fragrance drifted on the wind, emanating from the surrounding jungle and treed hills that lined the beach and stretched out in all directions. Palm trees swayed, and their rustling fronds masked the sounds of his mahavans as they gathered their belongings from their rowboat and approached him.

  The excitement of arrival gave way to the necessity of work, but it was a labor for his lessers. Brandon merely observed the mahavans over whom he’d been given command as they collected the supplies. He made no effort to assist in their work, choosing instead to merely wait on them. He could easily able to make out their features as they trekked toward his position. The realization made him curse. The night was too bright. Unlike Sinskrill, Arylyn apparently had no ready cloud cover to provide shelter from prying eyes. Here, despite no illumination but the Milky Way, the night still gleamed brightly enough to make out Deathbringer, their ship, floating in the harbor.

  The ship would soon depart, though. Already the rowboat returned—even now oars rose and fell as it moved steadily back to the ship. As soon as it arrived, Deathbringer would cast off. Then Brandon and his mahavans would have to fend for themselves. They’d have to survive by their wits and skills alone, avoiding detection while simultaneously learning all they could about Arylyn and the magi. They need to learn the island’s state of readiness and strengths, their culture, and also their weaknesses—especially their weaknesses. Of those, Brandon reasoned there would likely be many.

  After all, consider the island itself. If the magi were anything like Arylyn, Brandon reckoned that he and his mahavans had little to fear. Arylyn was warm, tropical, and comfortable. Soft. Her people likely would be, too.

  A nagging voice pestered him from the recesses of his mind. It was the part of him that refused to simply accept orders. How, then, had the magi defeated the mahavans? Twice thus far, including on Sinskrill, no less?

  Brandon hid a grimace. Perhaps the magi aren’t as weak as their soft island.

  A moment later, he threw off his concerns. No matter. He had a duty to perform, a tremendous challenge to overcome, but with success in this, the greatest of pilgrimages, mighty rewards awaited.

  Again came his nagging voice. What if those two, the man and the woman who cut through the mahavans like a spinning saw through straw, find us? The World Killers as the Servitor had labeled them. What then?

  Evelyn Mason, a Rider, took that moment to address him, thankfully breaking his worried thoughts. “Your orders?” she said in a tone short of a demand. Time and defeat had possibly robbed Evelyn of her prior breezy self-confidence and lackwit manner. In fact, she was now a woman of few words and most of them terse.

  It was all a façade.

  Evelyn remained as arrogant as a storm. Her quietness didn’t indicate serenity. Rather, it was a mask, hiding a truth that Brandon knew about her. Evelyn raged for revenge. She wanted to be the one to capture Serena, and barring that, kill the traitor.

  Brandon eyed Evelyn for a moment before responding. “From what we could tell when we scouted from afar while aboard Deathbringer, there’s only one village on the island, to the southwest of our current location. We’ll make our way there and learn what we must.”

  Evelyn’s blue eyes—rare for a mahavan—widened in excitement and her auburn hair billowed about her. “And burn this place to the ground,” she breathed.

  “Perhaps,” Brandon said. “It is for the Servitor to decide.”

  “We should find cover,” Samuel Ingot said. “We’re exposed on this beach.” Samuel’s pinched features flittered about in worry and his clothes flapped like sails around his scrawny frame. Despite his lack of physical stature, Samuel was a powerful mahavan, a Rider, a Water Master, but his unfortunate sense of fair play and lack of ambition would forever deny him a chance at greatness. Samuel was doomed to follow rather than lead.

  His suggestion made sense, though, and Brandon quietly called out orders.

  They moved away from the beach, pushing past the hillocks of grass growing along the edge of the sand and a half-built tower commanding the bay. No one was about, and they pressed farther inland. They soon reached the trees, and Brandon breathed a little easier when they crept beneath the shadowy canopy of a jungle.

  Preeti Amal, also a Rider like Samuel and Evelyn, and the final member of their group, stiffened as if she’d been stabbed.

  A spike of worry shot through Brandon. He could neither see nor sense any injury to the sharp-faced, sharp-tongued Rider. “What is it?”

  However, it wasn’t pain that caused Preeti’s reaction. It was awe. Even in the jungle gloom Brandon could make out the wonder on the woman’s face. “Has anyone linked to the lorasra yet?” she asked.

  Brandon cursed himself. Just as he’d been the first ashore, first linkage to Arylyn’s lorasra should have also been his. I’ll have to make sure the history texts say I did, he silently promised as he sourced his lorethasra and reached for a golden thread of lorasra.

  He gasped. None of the saha’asras he’d ever visited in his life compared to what he experienced now. Arylyn’s lorasra tasted pure, like a perfec
t, fruity beverage, not overly sweet and with a sharp, tangy taste. No pollution marred its flavor. No sewage taste as on Sinskrill. Brandon could have luxuriated in Arylyn’s lorasra for hours, and based on the expressions of his fellow mahavans, they felt the same way.

  Brandon snarled. No. I won’t be seduced by this island’s charms.

  He gathered himself, strengthened his spine, and forced sternness to his visage. “The lorasra is lovely, but we came here to work. We came to conquer this island and make it Sinskrill’s.” He glared at the others. “We will not act like simpletons who’ve never seen the sun. Let’s go.”

  He marched into the jungle’s darkness and tried to ignore the golden glory of Arylyn’s lorasra.

  LONGING DREAMS

  May 1990

  * * *

  Despite the vow he made prior the Chinese New Year to make Arylyn his home, Jake had yet to make good on his promise. He hadn’t asked out Daniella Logan, and he hadn’t made any new friends amongst the other magi. He mulled again about what he wanted in life while he had lunch with Mr. Zeus, William, and Jason. They’d made fresh-cut potato chips, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and boiled peas and sat at the dining room table that adjoined the kitchen to have their meal. The others joked, laughed, and talked about what they had planned, but Jake kept quiet.

  The heavy aroma of hot oil lingered in the air, but Jake didn’t mind the smell. He liked it. It reminded him of summers at his Aunt Vivian’s restaurant when he’d helped out in the kitchen. Memories flitted through his mind, and he mechanically chewed and swallowed his food while staring out the picture window. He remembered something Rukh had once told him. The only things in life worth keeping are love and innocence.

  Jake thought about the words. His innocence had been stolen when the mahavans had kidnapped him to Sinskrill. He scowled at the notion. So many bad experiences in that place. So many terrible things. He wished . . .

  He realized the direction of his thoughts and did his best to redirect them. He could never regain his innocence, but what about love?