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

  He sipped his tea. "The production is the same as wine except frost berries take the place of grapes. The redstalk you grind up and sprinkle in the finished barrel. I believe the ratio was two stalks per barrel . . . or maybe it was one. Well, Slats should know for sure. He was reading of it before you arrived."

  Sviska stood and went to the railing, the southern forest black against the snowy mountains stretched outward below. "Now may you tell me the purpose of this wine? I know it is magical and everyone seems to need it. What does it actually do?"

  Brethor took a sip of the tea. Standing, he crossed his arms as he came to Sviska's side.

  "The first batch of the wine was crafted by one of the last of my family, the apothecary master Thero. My brother, seeing the need due to the creation of the curse, sought a way to protect the people. In determining the recipe, he was stricken ill himself but began making the batch and taught our last winemaker before he died. The elf Loria, father of Berie, was our last winemaker."

  "Berie's father was who was killed before my arrival?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. For ages, he had procured many batches and kept us safe. You see, the wine is a source of the protection in our city, as it is the only source of true protection from the poisons of the curse."

  He stood, walked back into the room, and then reemerged with a glass bottle with just a drop of red residue on the bottom. He handed it to Sviska. The glass was smooth, with a long neck and clear stopper.

  "Why wine? Why something common to the southern lands and not ale or another type of drink as one might expect in the north? Something actually made in a northern climate."

  Brethor laughed, taking the empty bottle back from him. "Ironic, isn't it? Well, the easy answer is production of magic into wine began in the south many ages ago, and the name stuck, even with our retreat to this snowy mountain. The elves actually formulated the mixture first. My brother worked to improve it, and so Loria debated who actually invented it."

  He paused. "This city has lasted much longer than I feel even the Founders believed it would. The magic that protects our city has been waning for many years. The curse has weakened it even greater by reducing the population. As we have less people, the overall magic of the city is weakened. As the magic weakens, the outside forces that seek us can find us. It is why for many years we have never been found, but now things are changing."

  "You are under attack," said Sviska. "The fire in the winery was most likely set by someone trying to stop the wine production."

  He nodded, agreeing before bringing his tea to his mouth and taking a long sip and setting the cup down on the banister.

  "That fire was from a spell, not an accident. I knew as soon as I pulled Loria from the flames and began to attempt to revive him that it was a blast from a fire staff. All over his clothing you could see the markings. My guess is he was working and never saw his attacker. He took the blast to his back and fell forward into the winemaking machine. The fired burned until we managed to douse it, saving the entire Estate. Ever since, I have tried to keep Berie happy, a struggle unlike any others.” He sighed. “But I had to, for Loria.”

  “I even brought fairies from the grove in an attempt to cheer her up. Elves are curious creatures. They require companionship of another or they simply fade into the woods, forgotten like a child's play toys when they come of age. The Estate is a prison to her. Although I have always tried to be accommodating, my garden is a cold reminder of what things used to be. She keeps to herself there many days, tending to the frost roses. I remember you noticed them when I first showed you to the winery."

  Sviska thought of them, the large red petals covered in a gentle snowy frost, blooming wildly in the cold moonlight. It seemed that the moon was setting now. In the far distance, hovering gently above the horizon, a bluish glow cast down the mountainside.

  "It is soon to be morning. I bid you get some sleep. Tomorrow will bring its own tests without needing further difficulty of being fatigued."

  Brethor stood and took both of their cups. Sviska took a last look at the door to the vault and then followed him, taking off the loaned coat.

  "I hope you now understand the importance of your wine. It is a life force for my city. If only a small cup is shared among five people, they will be safe for many days. Please embrace your purpose, winemaker."

  "I will." He nodded. "I am awaiting the last of the equipment, and then I may begin. Slats, of course, will need to show me the finer points of this magic, though."

  The redstalk bundle had been set against the door of the balcony. Sviska walked over to the doorway to pick it up when Brethor stopped him.

  "Proper harvesting requires they lay out in the cold to prepare them. Slats will be delivering the goods when you are ready to begin production. Do not trouble yourself with it right now."

  With that said, Sviska took his leave. He followed back down the narrow stairwell and to the corridor. Passing the library and sitting area, he made the corner and ran into Cusis, who was half-awake, and headed into the dining room. Cusis took no notice of him and went on. Sviska pushed open the door to his room.

  Opening the door, he once again longed for his bed. Taking the dagger from his belt, he placed it under his pillow and collapsed like an old tired dog, his foot hanging off the bed. In no time, he was asleep.

  He awoke. His mind had raced throughout the night of the grove, the fairies, and the talk with Meredaas The histories of the peoples of the mountain and the momentous task of procuring the wine haunted him. It was unknown to him by what powers had brought his fate to this place.

  With those thoughts brewing in his mind, he also thought of the task of the Order. He did not know yet of what it would entail, but nothing was as he knew it now. He was tied into the fate of all upon the mountain. The people were suffering and were without hope except in him. However, others knew of his ordained task of his masters. The sea god knew and even warned him of his own destruction.

  The words of Meredaas said that he had been watched by the people of the mountain his entire life. He was commanded to ask Brethor of it, among the other things he was told. Sviska still did not wish to at this time. Rather be it by fear or simple worry, he had not spoken much of his past to anyone before.

  He stood from his bed, kicking a charred piece of wood back into the fireplace. He rested his head on his closed fist against the stone of the room. Tears of frustration fell, staining the floor and darkening the ashen remains.

  He decided he needed to take a walk. Perhaps being outside would help clear his mind. He bound his coat and began out.

  The morning sky was not visible, if indeed, it was even still morning. His body was awake, but it was dark. A dim bluish glow was across the sky and stirred a feeling of uneasiness in him. The biting snowflakes drifted on his arms, and he shook them off. Looking around hastily, his eyes were unable to settle.

  He trudged through the snow toward the stone archways of the gypsies. A large fire was burning in the center of the circle, and the gypsies, bound in many blankets, sang in unison.

  He came to stand just before passing the stone pillar, and listened.

  "The Sun of days has sunk away; we see the polar glow.

  Stars and moon, as Wura plays; the shimmering of the snow.

  We bound ourselves, thinking of times warmer and alight,

  Dancing 'round a burning fire, the love of a summer night.

  We are old peoples of the world from long ago,

  Telling stories, teaching children of what we used to know.

  Losing time as days fade long, the matriarchs will rest,

  Without a care, free of time, back into nature's nest.

  Ya ha, gypsies na! We will endure!

  Ya ha, gypsies na! Forever we ensure.

  Come strangers of the lands, comes speak with us.

  The gypsy's hands will never lie; in us you may trust.

  Receive the blessing of a time when magic ran free,

  Listen now of divine-i
nspired melody.”

  It was then they stopped. Sviska had been unaware if they had noticed him, but now, as they all had turned and stared at him, he knew they saw him.

  He began stepping back, turning away from them. Perhaps he was not to have watched or listened.

  "Young man," he heard a familiar voice call. His shoulders tensed, and he turned back to the circle.

  "Yes?" he asked hurriedly, looking at the circle.

  There was a rustle of snow, and from the circle, a hunched figure stood. It was the old woman from before who had given him the card.

  "Stranger to our home, our hope and our deliverer, please come speak with me."

  Sviska approached, looking into the watchful eyes of the other gypsies. They looked him up and down, and he felt naked to their glare. He walked around, and two other people stood to give him a seat near the woman who was still standing.

  She stared at him and then threw a dust at his face. He crouched and rubbed his eyes. They watered, and he reached for the snow to rinse his eyes.

  "You have received the blessing of the gypsies," he heard above him.

  He tried to look around but could not. His eyes were still blurry. He continued to rub them. It was as if a film was across them, and nothing brought clarity.

  "In your partial blindness, the magic of the gypsies gives you sight. You will need the sight in the coming days. It is a reawakening of yourself."

  Slowly, he began to see more, and as he stared toward the fire, his vision went from just seeing fuzzy light to seeing the fickle flames, red and orange licking the wood.

  He took a deep breath and looked at the woman. "What was that?"

  She smiled and closed her eyes, touching his face. "I freed you of your burdens. You can now make your own choices as you see fit. You may also see what before you could not. There is evil about that we the gypsies have known. It will not just leave, and it is your task to source its cause. It was no accident that you came here this day."

  He shook his head, feeling dizzy but somewhat more alert. A sudden gust of mountain air struck him, and he shivered.

  "The lands have heard my prayers. I bid you go on from here and continue as you planned. Such things set in motion will continue like the path of the moon. There is only so much that may be helped now."

  She sat back down and turned to the fire, rocking forward and back with her eyes closed.

  It was now as if he was not even there. The gypsies began into song again, and he slowly backed away from them. The old woman opened her eyes and nodded at him. He gave a small smile and went on into the city, perplexed further.

  Overwhelmed by emotion and unable to concentrate now, he felt worse from whatever it was that the gypsy hoped to bless him with. He traveled to the far side of the city. He could see the northern wall ahead of him, and the thought of turning around began to direct him to turn away.

  Coming to a white-stoned terrace, he spotted what seemed to be a faint light on the ground. As he looked down, he rubbed his eyes, assuming the dust the gypsy had used was skewing his vision, but it had not. Lying on the snow, a fairy slept, but her natural light was dimmed.

  He looked around but saw no one. He did not know how to heal a fairy, if that was needed. Sviska knew little of the lore of such beings but it was obvious to him that something was not right. He could not just leave her here. Scooping her up in his arms, he put her under his coat and began toward the Priory.

  He looked down to the tiny lifeform within his arms, like a flickering torch about to be extinguished. He felt there was not much time. He feared the fairy was barely holding to life. Its tiny form rapidly drew breath, gasping every few moments.

  His feet could not carry him fast enough. With his chest pounding, he ran, nearly tripping over rocks as he made his way through the archway of the Priory. Grasping the iron handles of the large wooden doors, he pulled at them, but they were locked. He pounded his fists but heard nothing from the inside. Then came the sliding sound of an iron bolt and the creaking of the opening door.

  Nelkor emerged, and Sviska opened his coat, showing the nearly darkened fairy. He opened the door, and Sviska hurried in.

  "Brothers, come here quickly!" he shouted. From all over the temple, Priors came, and taking it from Sviska, laid the fairy on a pedestal at the front of the church.

  In a group, they brought their staves before them. The white glow over the fairy shrouded Sviska's sight of her. From the circle of Priors, Master Nelkor was the first to lower his staff and step away from the fairy. In their own turn, each of the other Priors ceased efforts to heal the being and stepped away. The light of the room dimmed to just the torchlight, and upon the pedestal, the fairy lay, darkened and pale. Sviska approached it, and it suddenly turned to dust, its remains disappearing little by little away by a draft in the temple.

  He was saddened, gripping his hands together as a nagging pull on his stomach caused him to be sick. He did not know why he felt so strongly for such a small thing.

  "So shall be all of us," said Master Nelkor. "It was too late for the poor creature. It is dreary news indeed that the fairy was affected. They do not leave the Estate, the few that Lord Brethor has, that is. This one was very sick to have wandered from the Estate and further to fade so quickly."

  "I will inform Brethor of its passing," said Sviska.

  "It is good you do and do so immediately. I fear the demon from before had a hand in this. The curse alone was not the bane of this creature. The very essence of evil harms their life force and causes it to falter. Such I fear was the fate of this one."

  Master Nelkor took a small jar and swept what last few granules remained of the fairy. He gave the jar to Sviska. "Take this to Lord Brethor's garden. The fairies there will wish to see it."

  Sviska nodded and began toward the Estate. Somber and questioning what worked beneath the veils of darkness, he walked with the sadness he felt before even greater. He was still unable to keep his mind settled on any one thing. The voices of many filled his ears, and the gypsies' song still was on his mind.

  Up the Estate steps and opening the door, he made his way to the dining room and found that Berie was there. Brethor had already told him of her love of the fairies, and so he attempted to avoid her.

  She approached him, a desolation shown on her face as her eyes saddened and her breathing became heavy.

  "I sense the falling of another innocent being," she said, reaching toward the jar. Her hand touched it, and her face became white. She gasped and collapsed onto Sviska. He fell, dropping the jar.

  He shook her. "Berie!" He shouted her name again. "Berie!"

  She did not respond.

  Chapter 14 Secrets Of The Cisterns

  Sviska was sweating now. The elf was pale, and he did not know if she was even still alive. She did not look to be breathing.

  "Brethor!" he shouted. "Come quickly! Cusis! Someone!"

  In a stampeding of feet, both Slats and Cusis came into the dining room. Cusis went to Berie's head and placed his hand over her chest. He looked to Slats. "Get the lord immediately!"

  Sviska rubbed her arms. They were cold and lifeless.

  Slats returned quickly with Brethor, and he knelt at their side.

  "What has happened?" he asked, staring at Sviska.

  He picked up the jar and then gave it to Brethor.

  "While walking the city, I found a sick fairy. I ran it to the Priory, but they were unable to save it. Master Nelkor instructed me to bring it to the garden, but I ran into her in the dining room. When she touched it, she collapsed."

  He rubbed her head. "She is not dead, but death is nigh for her. Where was the fairy?"

  "Northern part of town, near a garden of sorts."

  Cusis looked to Brethor. "The cisterns, the well," he said.

  "I must go," Brethor announced, grinding his teeth and shaking his head.

  "Go?" asked Sviska, stricken by Brethor leaving Berie in her current state.

  Without another word,
Brethor ran out of the room. Cusis seemed unaffected by the departure of Brethor. He placed Berie’s feet together and put her hands across her chest.

  "We must carry her to the fairies in the garden."

  Sviska gripped her under her arms, and Slats and Cusis both took her under her feet. They carried her out of the Estate and into the garden that wrapped around the dining room and kitchen. There was a massive tree trunk and a section of large bushes that carved out a half circle. Under Cusis' orders, they laid her down there.

  As if they sensed her presence, the fairies appeared, each one taking a spot on her exposed body, covering her in an ambient orange glow.

  "They will seek to preserve her and heal the wounds of her spirit," said Cusis.

  "But she was not injured," Sviska explained. His hands opened before him. "I did not touch her."

  Cusis shook his head. "No, you did not, but her grief was already great with the loss of her father. The sense of the dead fairy may have been too much, or perhaps it is more than even that. Go to the north of the city. There you will find a well. He may not like me telling you to do this, but Brethor may need you there."

  Sviska went to his room first, binding his dagger to his waist before jogging out of the Estate.

  He ran now. What Brethor could need his help with, and better yet, why Cusis would tell him of it, did not make sense to him, but things making sense was not exactly a theme he expected anymore.

  He made it to the area where the fairy was and looked around for signs of Brethor and the well.

  There was less light now. It must have been later than he had thought. There was no one else around this area. He jogged a bit further past a line of old wooden buildings that seemed unoccupied, and found a short stone wall where the garden was overcoming the confines of the stone. A small wooden gate was open; weeds pressed over by the recent entry into the walled area was a good sign that he was close.

  "Turmin," he heard a voice say. He turned to find Ustavis there, leaning on his staff.