Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content)

by J. T. Williams

  A few warm sips of the minty beverage and he began to gather his things. There was a stack of extra coats and blankets, and a note.

  You will need these.

  He smiled, thankful, before binding his cloak around him. He left the nook and noticed the sounds of the tavern were quiet. He was not sure of the hour and hoped he had not overslept.

  As he descended the stairwell, he thought of the book from before and of the difference of stone in the second floor and the first. Given the antiquated stonework of the passage, it seemed likely that they built the tavern on the foundation of the old cathedral.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he noticed that the tavern was empty except for Rudin, who was busy cleaning behind the bar and not particularly noticing his exit. He hastened his pace outside and then remembered he did not know exactly where the warming stables were, only that he needed to go north of town.

  As he pushed open the outward door of the tavern, the rush of chilled air hit his face and took him by surprise. It was much colder now. The town was dark. A few torch basins burned with fading embers. No one was out at this hour to give him directions.

  He began to follow the road, which seemed to arch up away from the town. The woods were denser and the snow deeper the further he went. Overhanging branches, weighed heavily with ice, sagged above, creaking with the wind blowing over them. The crunching of frozen leaves beneath his feet was the only other sound in the woods at this late hour.

  Trudging on through a deep blanket of snow, he eventually could make out a dim light glowing down a smaller road that led off the main path he was on. A single orange glow floated in the veil of darkness.

  As he drew nearer to the source, he noticed a structure outlined in the darkness and a large wooden door appropriate for a large horse cart. There was a single door off to the left, sealed from the inside with no keyhole or even a doorknob on the outside. The lamp he had seen from down the road swung off an overhang to the side of the door.

  Sviska gave a firm two knocks, and a peephole slid open, with two eyes looking out. It shut as quickly as it was slapped open, and the door was unbarred with a firm thump of wood. A rush of warm air covered him. He entered, and the door slammed behind him. He turned to see a brown-haired man slide a wood lock in place.

  The room was bleak and only sparsely decorated. There was a small iron stove in the far corner that was burning brightly. The smell of horse manure and hay melded with the smell of the burning wood. Sviska glanced to the right and saw into the barn through a narrow slit. He could make out a cart, but the opening was too small to see much else.

  Sitting at a wooden table, a gruff man was eating what looked like some sort of porridge. The person who had opened the door had already went back down on a nearby bed and was fast asleep before Sviska could sit down at the empty spot at the table.

  The man stopped eating and set down his spoon.

  "Are you the one who is headed north?" he grumbled, tightening his right fist.

  "Yes, I am," Sviska answered, unable to make out the hooded man's face.

  "I will finish eating and then we will go. Do not spook my horse or I will kill you." There was silence as the man coughed, turning his attention back to his spoon. "Did you bring coverings to stay warm?"

  "Yes," Sviska replied smugly. He was thankful Rudin has provided for him.

  "If ill fortune befalls us and we begin to freeze, you will die. My horse is more important to keep alive than you. Remember that."

  The reception with the man was as warm as the snow outside. Sviska stared at him. His slurping and dribble of porridge was broken up only by stern dunks of hard bread into his bowl.

  The man finished his food. Not in a hurry given Sviska's presence, but with an air of inconvenience and annoyance. The man pushed himself away from the table and walked into the barn.

  Sviska followed him through a wooden door.

  "Get in the wagon," the man ordered, shouting from the other side of the cart.

  The wagon was about as long as Sviska was tall. It was a good thing that he was traveling light. He climbed up into the wagon, a metal step as his footing, and found a spot near a bag of grain. With bare wood underneath him, it was as comfortable as he expected it to be.

  Looking around as the man fiddled with the wagon's ropes, he noticed a large fire at the rear of the barn. What seemed to look like an old and neglected blacksmith's workshop was in one of the corners. The walls were bare except for tiny hooks for tools that were missing. The man went toward the blacksmith area and began to pull large wool blankets from a rack near the fire. One by one, he stacked them atop the black anvil a few paces away. After stacking the blankets, he disappeared into a stall, moments later emerging with a large horse. Atop the animal, he stacked the wool blankets freshly taken from the fire, nodding in self-approval as he patted the horse on the jaw.

  The man then led the horse to the front of the cart, attaching the bridle before tossing the reins up to his single seat situated above the frame of the wagon.

  He looked over to the other room, snarling. "Get out here and manage the door!"

  Another man scurried awake. Hastily sitting up, he stumbled over his feet to the gate of the barn. The driver of the wagon took his position and clicked at the horse. The horse neighed and rocked its head up and down.

  The man slid in the snow as he pushed the door open. The crackling of ice on the hinges sounded like shattering glass as snowfall blew in and over them.

  The wagon jerked forward, and the clicking of the horse's walk became a crunchy serenade as they began to pull away from the barn. Sviska turned to see the doors being shut, and his last view of the village below faded as they began the ascent.

  The path was dark, and the chill of the winds and snowflakes did not bring any further warmness to his thoughts. It was like a barren cave—dark, cold, and wet. The very air he was breathing felt like tiny daggers in his nose, burning to the center of his chest. He brought his cloak about his face and blew air into his hands to provide some warmth to his already tingling fingertips.

  Remembering the Valera Root from the barkeep, he reached into his coats. Untying the string, he blindly opened and reached into the bag, moving his fingers through the herbs. Pinching the twigs and leaves, he withdrew his hand. He cupped the herbs to shield them from the wind before placing them in his mouth.

  The taste was sweet and began to warm his tongue. With a tingling sensation, the warmness spread to his throat and nose, soothing him. He felt for a moment he was back beside the southern seas, breathing in the warm air and salty breeze. But there was no sand and sunlight here. The harsh winds reminded him of that, and he began to shiver more.

  Fresh snow rushed over him, and white powder was building up along the road. Twice already, the driver had abruptly stopped and, cursing something under his breath, pulled a shovel from beneath the wagon and hacked away at the growing mounds to clear the road.

  Sviska offered to help, but the man just stared at him and pointed for him to stay. They then would begin again, and another lonely reach of road would pass underneath them as the journey continued.

  He could see the rising sun over the cliff side. It was just above the horizon and seemed to float there even as hours passed. There was some truth to what he had heard—in the far northern lands, the sun would not sit as it does in the rest of the world. He watched as it slowly drifted along the far away horizon, the sea below it, glistening like a field of jewels. He had nothing else to do, and no conversation was going to spark up with his driver, even with an improvement in the weather.

  It was sometime after this when they came to a building just off the road. It looked like the warming barn from before, just smaller. The cart came to a careful stop just outside of it, and the man climbed off and began unhitching the horse.

  "Go there," he said, pointing to a barely visible door off under two large trees.

  Sviska was happy to get out of the weather and felt warmer just at the
thought of going inside, anything that would shield him from the cold.

  As he approached the door, he saw a stone chimney jutting out from the ground and smoke billowing from it.

  Good. Fire.

  As he opened the door, he found a few steps that went downward, much like at the tavern back in the village. A second wooden door radiated warmth with just a light touch, drawing him in as he struggled to escape the cold.

  Opening the door, he noticed a few tables and chairs. Dust was no stranger to the surroundings. A fire was just next to a single wooden bar. Aside from a loaf of bread and a few wooden cups strewn about, there was nothing else.

  He immediately went to the fire and began warming his hands. His skin prickled as the numbness fled. He rubbed them and continued to warm up. Just off the side of the flames, an iron kettle sat. It seemed that some sort of stew was cooking. He tried to peer in as the smell of herbs filled his nostrils.

  From a room he had previously not seen, a young woman emerged, carrying a bag of potatoes.

  "Oh, hullo, sir!" she said. Her eyes brightened at the sight of him. "I knew a carriage was due soon with grain for the animals, but I did not know anyone else was coming."

  She set the potatoes on the bar and reached out toward Sviska. "Your coats, sir. We shall warm them while you wait. It is not often we get visitors this far north at this time of year."

  Sviska took off his outer tunic and coat and gave them to the woman. She wore a dress of pale green with white sleeves rolled up. She kept her hair up and tied back. From the sweat on her head, he could tell she had been working when he came in.

  "Thank you," he said.

  "I can tell from just your looks you're not one of the Northern peoples. The people of Tar Aval do not come this way, and those who do are normally Northern peoples. If we do see them, they rarely do more than warm up, and then we never see them again. Where are you from, sir?"

  "Near the seas to the far south, the warmer areas." Sviska again turned to the fire and continued to warm up.

  "My manners, sir. Please, sit down. I will get you a bowl of stew." She went around the bar and pulled a chair up for him to sit. "The potatoes aren't in it, but it will warm you up. We don't have much, but we try to accommodate travelers when they come."

  She handed him the bowl of soup and a torn piece of bread. He dipped the bread and took a bite. The herbs were sweet, and the broth was a rich mouthful. It was good to him, or perhaps it was just warm. Either way, he quickly ate.

  She stared at him. He looked up once or twice but said nothing. He wondered of how he must look to someone accustomed to next to no travelers, especially to this far northern place. His guise would need to continue from this point on.

  "Do you like wine?" he asked, looking up from his bowl a third time.

  "Why yes, I have had it before," she said, confused by his question. "Why do you—"

  "I will assure with the coming shipments you get a sample. I am a winemaker in service to the lord of the Northern people, as you call them."

  "Oh?" she asked. "I did not know people from the outside ever went up the mountain."

  Sviska smirked. "Well . . ." he said, pausing for a moment to find his response, "he has need of a winemaker and has sent envoys searching for such a person. In the coming days, there will be more business along this route, I'm sure. Give them my name, Turmin, and tell them you would like a sample. I'm sure that will suffice."

  "That is very generous, sir. I did not know the lord of the city had any contact with the world off the mountain."

  "It is peculiar, I agree. But I think we must get to know our neighbors of the snowy reaches. We grow the finest grapes where I am from. I will have to figure a way to do it here, but nonetheless, it will be done."

  In truth, he made a promise he was unsure could be fulfilled, but he did not take it back.

  "Well, Turmin, I am Gemanc, wife to the barn keeper. I have lived here for about five years now, and my husband's family has been keepin' the warming barn for as long as it has been here. If you find yourself back this way, please do not hesitate to come in."

  Sviska had just finished his stew and was about to set it on the bar when the driver came in. The door swung open and closed only because Gemanc rushed over to push it as a wave of frigid wind blew in.

  "Food. Now," he demanded.

  Gemanc served a bowl of stew and a piece of bread as before. The driver quickly ate and began back to the door. "We leave. Now."

  Sviska nodded to Gemanc. "Thank you for your service. And forgive the driver there; he isn't friendly."

  "It is good. We know him," she said with a grin. "Good luck with your work."

  Sviska took his coat and tunic and hastily followed the driver. Being stranded on the mountain was the last thing he needed.

  Throwing his coat back on as he headed out, he noticed the cold was harsher now. The winds had kicked up and swept down the mountains with a fierce bite.

  Before he settled himself on the cart, the horse began walking, its fresh coverings warming its blood and stirring him to continue on the trek.

  Sviska shook his head at the fact Gemanc had easily believed the guise and the name Turmin. So far, the guise was working well, although little stress was it to trick a single woman in a desolate shack.

  There seemed to be fewer trees along the road as they went on. Although more snowbanks meant more stopping, it was clear that not many went this way.

  An icy stream, that he wondered how it was not frozen, cut across the path and twisted down the mountainside. The cart came to a slow stop, and the driver got off. He began to splash the water on the wheels of the cart, and the built-up ice slowly melted away.

  The driver took to his place again, and the wagon rocked forward. It was sometime later, the sun difficult to see as it fell below the horizon again, when Sviska began to see a massive form atop the cliffs ahead. How large it was or what it could be was difficult to discern. It was still a distance away, and the snow was blinding them, blowing across the path in gusts.

  For a time, he stay tucked away in the corner of the wagon. The driver seemed unmoved by the snow, even as more twisted around his hunched form and began to grow in piles in the cart. More time passed, and the winds began to die down. The skies above shimmered, painted with white stars and the light of a bright moon. He had no real knowledge of the time, only that it was night.

  Ahead, Sviska noticed the dim lights of what appeared to be torches as lone beacons far up the road. They passed through a rocky arch that stretched above the path and continued for some time, like a small tunnel. At last, they came to another opening and a great gate that towered upward.

  With the moonlight above, the gate appeared silver with the image of a star with a jewel set in its center. The driver looked up. Sviska noticed commotion from atop the gate. There was a whistling sound. The gate opened with a creak, and the cart began to go in.

  Sviska marveled at the size of the entryway. Taller than most sailing ships, from what trees they were carved, he did not know, but there were no signs of wear on them from the snowy barrages, or creaking, showing signs of age. The artisanship was unlike anything of the world to the south.

  The gates closed behind them. Dark windows devoid of any signs of life lined the roadside as the seemingly abandoned buildings sagged at either side of the road. Most of them were beyond decrepit and weathered. He wondered of the rest of the city and what kind of place he had come to.

  As they slowly went further up a cobblestone road, many alleys twisted and turned through the buildings. They came to a second gate much plainer than the first. However, this time there were two men garbed in white robes holding large staves at either side. They did not move.

  A large fire burned atop the wall, and two smaller torch basins lit the area around the cart. The gates opened, and a man in a white robe came directly to the cart.

  "Please step out, sir. We must check yourself and your belongings," he commanded, motioning for Svis
ka to get up.

  The driver remained seated and did not look up. The two men from the gate came to either side and began searching Sviska and his coat. They then took his bag, and after going through it, pushed it back into his possession.

  The man who had spoken before shook hands with the driver.

  "We will take him from here," he said.

  The guards at the gate opened a single wooden door off to the side, and Sviska entered.

  The room was small and dark. The fire burning to the immediate left offered a glow that cast shadows onto the wall opposite of it.

  Sitting in a chair near the fire, a figure looked up. He was also dressed in white, but hooded in a gray undercover. As Sviska saw his face, he observed that it was stretched with wrinkles. He was much older than the others were. The man moved a staff sitting across his legs and stood. He reached down to pick up the mug sitting in front of him, and then he approached Sviska.

  "Greetings, winemaker. Welcome to our city," he said, holding aloft the mug, a twisting steam rising up. "Before we continue on, have a drink that will warm the bones. The journey here is not easy."

  Chapter 5 The Lord Of The Estate

  Sviska took it and drank without speaking. It flushed his face with warmness, a bitter bite with a brisk sweetness. It was wine, or some brew very close to it, likely spiced and warmed over the open fire. It rushed down his throat, soothing his frigid body.

  The man looked on, nodding.

  "I thought you might enjoy it, considering your trade. Some of the last of the spiced winter wine, I am afraid. Sadly, due to the recent passing of dear Loria."

  The man cupped his own chalice with both hands. He breathed in a deep sigh, and then the chalice was at his lips.

  "Such is life, I am afraid." He took a large gulp. "Alas! So, to better things. My name is Ustavis. What shall I call you?"

  "Turmin," Sviska answered. He sat the cup on the table and laid his head back in his chair.