William Wilde and the Sons of Deceit

by Davis Ashura

  “Daniel, you’re dead,” Rukh said. Five against three.

  “Dammit!” Daniel flung himself on the ground, falling to where he’d been ‘killed.’

  Another shotgun blast took out Karla, and Rukh called it.

  Two Greens fell to Jason and another to William.

  Two against two.

  Jason took on Stuart Hart, a Green, and they simultaneously killed one another with bolts of Fire. It left only the commanders still alive, William and Ward. The two teams gathered as one group to watch the battle play out.

  “Get him,” Jason shouted to William.

  “Destroy him,” Lien exhorted Ward. “Victory before dishonor!”

  Of one accord, William and Ward stepped beyond their bulwarks. They paused a moment in seemingly silent assessment until William broke the tableau. Then, he raced forward and dodged a pulsing arrow of Air, rolled beneath a sizzling line of Fire, and leapt over grasping braids of ivy that erupted from the ground. A braid of Air pushed him higher, and at the peak of his leap, he hurled a weave of Water. It poured out of his hands with a sound like a breaking wave.

  Ward crossed his arms and pulled up a wall of dirt. A screaming-banshee wind ripped at his shield, and he steadily gave ground. He suddenly halted his retreat and unleashed another bolt of Air.

  William dodged right, rolled and straightened and hurled a whip-thin line of water.

  This time Ward split the braid apart with a weave of Fire but had to leap away when the ground shifted beneath his feet. He leapt again, and his eyes widened when he slipped and fell. His retreat had carried him onto the patch of ice William had ordered placed behind his trip-line. Ward landed on his butt and William finished him off with a bolt of Air.

  “Dead,” Jessira called.

  “Red wins,” Rukh said with a smile to William. He approached the jubilant, young magus who stood surrounded by his cheering team. “Well done.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “A word.”

  William separated himself from the rest of Red Team, and Rukh led him a few feet away. “I meant what I said to you once about how I can see you commanding the Irregulars if Jessira and I fall. I hope you see now that isn’t such an impossibility.”

  William listened quietly as Rukh and Jessira discussed their plans to the village council for beefing up the island’s defenses. Historically, the councilors didn’t do much more than attend a few relatively unimportant meetings, but now a decision of immense significance weighed upon them. They actually had responsibility for something more consequential than officiating at a wedding.

  The nondescript municipal building and the bare, spartan council chambers where they generally met was the scene of this decision. Three wooden benches, each one hard as granite, faced a large, rectangular table behind which the councilors sat and listened as Rukh described what he thought they needed to do.

  For some reason, William had been asked to attend as well, which he thought odd. Odder still was the fact that the meeting was closed to the public, another first for Arylyn.

  Rukh stood at a lectern and rifled through a stack of papers. “I have a list of all the landing sites on the island,” he said. “We need manned watchtowers guarding them.”

  “How many are there?” asked Mayor Care

  “Nine,” Rukh answered.

  Zane Blood, the Councilor for Cliff Spirit, lurched to his feet and pointed an accusing finger. “We’ll need hundreds of people to man that many watchtowers. We can’t afford that. We need our people working for Lilith’s betterment.” The balding man, every bit as nondescript as the municipal building itself, looked about for support.

  “They will be working for Lilith’s betterment,” Rukh argued. “They’ll be defending the island.” He sighed. “I would much rather that no magi ever learns the true meaning of battle. I love Arylyn as it is, the peace, the lack of turmoil, the tranquility, but our enemies have decided we must change.”

  “Sit down,” Mayor Care said to Zane.

  “But, Lilian,” he protested.

  “Please sit,” the mayor said.

  Zane tugged his shirt straight and resumed his seat. “Of course. Forgive me.”

  Bar Duba, the Councilor for Cliff Air, shifted, and his chair creaked alarmingly. The normally affable, thickly-built man appeared as intense as William had ever seen him. “I accept we have to defend ourselves, and I accept your words on what is needed,” he said. “What I truly wish to know is this: how long will it take for our people to learn to fight?”

  Jessira, who had been seated next to Rukh, took the lectern. “Many of them already know some of the rudiments, but to become a proper fighting force they’ll need at least three months of training, and even then it’ll be only the bare essentials.”

  Rukh muttered something under his breath.

  Mayor Care’s gaze sharpened. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Rukh replied.

  Jessira shifted an annoyed gaze to Rukh. “He continues to struggle with accepting what the people here can do compared to those of his Caste.”

  Seema Choudary of Cliff Earth seemed simultaneously curious and puzzled. “How long would it take to train our people to that level of proficiency?”

  Rukh resumed the lectern. “A lifetime. Kummas train from the moment we can walk.” He smiled faintly. “It’s not required in this situation. Jessira is right. It will take three months to get the warriors of the Irregulars pulling in the same direction. After that, time permitting, we’ll teach them to fight more truly.”

  Councilor Break Foliage of Cliff Fire sat forward. “I still have trouble accepting that we’re expected to make such a momentous decision,” he said in his nasal voice. William imagined the man’s nose twitching like the weasel he resembled. “I wish we could turn back time and return to overseeing the refurbishment of a Clifftop road or something menial like that.”

  Lucas Shaw harrumphed. “We all do,” he agreed in his refined South Carolina accent. “Yet we cannot shirk our duties or our responsibilities. They are ours to bear.”

  Bar briskly nodded. “Well spoken, Lucas.”

  Rukh cleared his throat. “We aren’t quite finished with our recommendations,” he said. “In addition to the watchtowers, we need an offensive capability to deny the mahavans a beachhead if they do try to land.”

  Mayor Care peered up and down the line of councilors before returning her attention to Rukh. “You have a suggestion?”

  Jessira stepped to the lectern, “We’d like to use cannons.”

  “Impossible,” scoffed Zane. “Guns and bullets don’t work on Arylyn. No chemical reaction encased in metal does.”

  “Exactly,” Lucas Shaw said, “and even if didn’t, powder driven shells might be beyond our industry. It takes a great deal of metallurgical knowledge, which we unfortunately don’t have.”

  Rukh shifted and William caught his sidelong urging, as if he wanted William to speak.

  William’s eyes widened. He understood now why Rukh and Jessira had asked him here. “We already have what we need,” he said.

  All eyes went to him, and he squared his shoulders.

  Mayor Care gestured to the lectern. “Care to elucidate, Mr. Wilde?”

  William marched to the lectern. A few years ago, speaking at a council session would have made his tongue go limp, his mouth dry, and his mind empty, but he’d grown since then. “I’ve done a lot of reading,” he said. An instant later, his mouth twitched into a grin. “I was inspired. What I learned was that during the island’s founding, a number of weapons were placed upon Lilith’s cliffs and every possible entry point, in case the mahavans learned the island’s location and attacked. A few of them might still be around. There should even be one in the Village Green.”

  Lucas Shaw stroked his chin. “I don’t recall seeing any weapon upon the Village Green.”

  “That’s because it’s under the gazebo,” William answered. “It was buried.”

  His answer birthed silenc
e, one that was broken by Councilor Duba. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any others, would you?”

  William grinned. “As a matter of fact, there are a few more buried in front yards throughout Lilith. They were stored in stone chambers. Some of them might have even survived intact.”

  Mayor Care addressed him. “And what do these weapons do?”

  “They work as Rukh and Jessira want. They’re basically magical cannons.”

  The room broke out in eager conversation.

  Rukh clapped his hands sharply once, twice, and the room quieted. “Temper your excitement,” he warned. “We first have to ensure these devices are present, determine how they work, and barring that learn how to make them. We may have to learn to fashion them from scratch. Beyond that issue, however, lies another, final matter. If we place the cannons on the watchtowers, and one of the watchtowers is over-run, our own weapons could be used against us.”

  William had an answer for such a dilemma “The ancient asrasins had a protection against that. They put fatal flaws in all their cannons so they could blow them up if they ever fell into enemy hands. You only have to be able to see the cannons to trigger the fail-safe.”

  The meeting quickly broke up after that, and William caught up with Rukh and Jessira as they were leaving the building. “You already knew about the cannons,” he said. “Why did you really need me here to tell the council about them?”

  “If Jessira and I fall, someone has to lead the Irregulars,” Rukh said.

  Serena smiled as she reflected upon the recently finished afternoon’s training session with the Irregulars. She’d led the Greens in battle today and managed to defeat William and his Reds, something no one else had managed in the past three weeks. However, the idea of how to achieve victory had come from Jessira, the notion of holding back a portion of her forces as a reserve. It sounded so obvious in retrospect, but until today, no one had ever done it correctly.

  During the engagement, as he always managed, William had inflicted heavy damages on her forces. The tide might have turned his way, until Serena called in the two magi she’d held in reserve. They’d entered the battle and made all the difference. As a result, the day belonged to the Greens, and Serena still held a rosy glow of success at the accomplishment.

  Also, as the losing side the Reds were the ones tasked with cleaning up the field of engagement. They had to dismantle the various, scattered bulwarks, smooth out the many gaping holes littering the ground, and heal any trees or bushes damaged in the battle.

  Meanwhile, the Greens were already dismissed, and they biked back to Lilith along a gravel track. Their tires crunched on the loose stones.

  Serena pedaled alone behind the others, wanting privacy to savor the day’s victory. Crops of corn towered on either side of her, and their leaves rustled like braids of Earth while their tassels shook in the stiff breeze funneling through the fields. The wind was refreshingly cool, especially with the downpour of no more than fifteen minutes ago, which lingered in the smell of wet leaves, dirt, and muddy water.

  Despite the day’s normal Arylyn heat, in some ways the weather reminded Serena of Sinskrill, especially when the sun drifted behind a cloud. She smiled again.

  “You seem pleased,” Jessira said in her confident contralto. She’d drifted back from the others, and her green eyes sparkled. “You should be. You did well today.”

  “Thank you,” Serena said. “And thank you for your advice.”

  Jessira raised a single, elegant eyebrow in query.

  “Your mention of holding back a reserve force.”

  Jessira smiled modestly. “It is an old concept, and certainly not of my own unique design.”

  They passed through the last of the corn, and the track they followed dead-ended into Sita’s Song. Jessira took the left-hand turn toward Lilith smoothly and evenly, demonstrating the grace and restrained power that were innate to who she was. Serena eyed her enviously. Despite being in Jessira’s presence almost every day for months on end, she still found the woman intimidating. Serena had never grown used to her, to her confidence, or her sense of unrelenting resilience.

  “It was unique to me,” Serena replied with a grin, “and William had no idea about it, either.”

  Jessira chuckled. “Oftentimes that’s more important.” They traveled in silence for a few more seconds until Jessira broke the quiet. “Why do you ride alone?”

  Serena shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. “I prefer not to intrude on the happiness of others.”

  Jessira gestured ahead. “Is that the only reason? Are they not your friends?”

  Serena didn’t know how to reply, unable to truthfully answer Jessira’s questions. A ripple of indefinable unease coursed through her.

  “I notice you’ve formed deep friendships with some of the people of Lilith. In their presence, you don’t hesitate to speak,” Jessira said. “There are other times, though, when amongst those you don’t count as friends, you fade into the background and listen only. Why is that?”

  Serena didn’t like the turn in conversation. She preferred not to speak of her motivations and passions. “I don’t need to be the center of attention. Lien does that well enough for both of us.” She smiled at her joke.

  Jessira smiled in reply, and they fell again into silence. They pedaled on, passing vineyards and orchards as twilight’s glory splashed across the sky.

  Despite the late hour, farmers still worked their fields, finishing the last of their chores and tipping their hats as the Greens rode past. Serena nodded to those she didn’t know well and waved to those she counted as more than an acquaintance. On they journeyed, with shadows lengthening and darkness creeping across the farms and rolling hills of Janaki Valley. One field contained massive pumpkins that were weirdly spectral in the coming night, while another held banana trees that shook their fronds like rattles whenever a stray gust blew.

  During all of this, Serena considered Jessira’s question. She did retreat when others were around. She allowed others to direct the conversation and acted as a spectator rather than a participant. Why is that?

  She pondered the question, and the answer she determined left her frowning. It was as William had told her long ago. Serena had paid any price that could be asked for the sins she’d committed, and yet had she truly forgiven herself?

  Maybe she had, but that wasn’t the same as believing she merited acceptance and fellowship. Maybe that’s why she held back when others were around. She didn’t believe her voice needed to be heard because she didn’t feel worthy.

  “My questions trouble you,” Jessira said. “You need not answer them, but if you ever wish a receptive ear, you only need ask.”

  Serena’s natural reticence reared its head, and she hesitated. This time, though, she pushed past her inhibitions and spoke up. She explained the epiphany that had come to her.

  Jessira listened in silence. “Self-worth is something only you can determine,” she eventually said, “but as your friend and instructor, I will say that you are worthy of all the respect and friendship you’ve achieved.” She gestured to the other riders. “Everyone believes you can lead. You should believe it, too. Forgive yourself.”

  Upon hearing Jessira’s words a tightness in Serena’s chest, a tenseness she hadn’t realized had been there, loosened. Maybe it was a good step toward her ongoing self-acceptance.

  UNEXPECTED SECRETS

  July 1990

  * * *

  William paced around the cannon and gave it a final once over, checking it out from every angle. He had to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He’d spent too much time rebuilding the cannon, and he couldn’t afford to let any errors slip through the cracks. Not today. Today was too important. For the first time ever, they’d fire the cannon at full power, its first true test, and everything had to be perfect.

  After a few more minutes of study, he stepped away and rubbed his chin, recalling the time spent getting to this point.

  When they had firs
t dug the cannon out from beneath the gazebo in the Village Green, William had despaired of ever repairing it. It had been little more than a pile of rubble, and the notion that the broken pieces of steel and stone they’d discovered might become a functional weapon seemed laughable.

  However, luck had been with him. During his research on anchor lines, sometime before his anger had been healed, William had run across a pamphlet called Treatises on Ranged Weapons. Blind luck had drawn him to it. A tickle in the back of his mind had sent him questing through the library, spurring him on. At the time, he hadn’t even known what it was he sought until he’d found the pamphlet. He’d discovered it lost in a dusty corner of the library, but from the moment he first held it, he could tell it was important and that his search was over.

  Later on, he found out that the pamphlet had once been a famous book, a translation of a more ancient text, but no one had bothered reading it in decades. Why would they? In all the long millennia of Arylyn’s existence, the island had never been attacked, and the slim book had literally been written in Greek. Thankfully, Mr. Zeus had been able to help with the translation. They learned the basic tenets of how the ancient cannons had operated, including a helpful series of prints detailing how to build or repair one. Through the work and dedication of a number of skilled craftsmen, they’d managed to bring the cannon back to life.

  Now here it stood, next to the shores of Lilith Bay and placed atop a wooden platform large enough to hold the eight people who would hopefully witness the weapon’s first true firing. William, Ward Silver, Mr. Zeus, Rukh, and Jessira—all of whom had been instrumental in either shaping the barrel or helping interpret the text—and a few members of the Village Council, Mayor Care, Bar Duba, and Lucas Shaw.

  William couldn’t help noticing that the councilors—today was the first time they’d seen it—viewed the weapon with antipathy. It was an understandable reaction, since the cannon didn’t inspire much confidence on first inspection. It consisted of a short, black, marble barrel squatting between two heavy, steel-shod wagon wheels with a wheel-crank attached to a gear to allow for adjustment of the weapon’s elevation. In fact, more than anything the cannon reminded William of a toad with its mouth stuck open.