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

  Berie looked to the others. "Everyone, to the stairs of the mountain!"

  Sviska did not know where there were going, but after following the others, he learned of an iron gate at the opposite end of the courtyard. Berie broke a lock and kicked open the gate. Up a narrow snowbank they went, circling around the mountain.

  Above them, they heard thunder and roars, the sounds unlike any animal Sviska had ever heard. Snow, kicked from its resting place on the summit, fell on the group as they ascended the passage.

  Soon the narrow chasm opened up and they could see the surrounding summits and a large stairwell built into the mountainside. Flickering torches bordered the path, acting more as beacons to keep them from stepping off the mountain than actual light sources. Turning once more, they climbed the final crest and were now on a snowy platform. The ruins of an ancient structure jutted up into the sky.

  Sviska looked over at the city and the Estate set below them. The darks woods appeared darker than ever this night.

  Brethor stood opposite the Lich. His clothes were torn, his arms were sweaty, and blood trickled from his lip. The Lich was also injured. Its arm had begun to rot and fall to the ground from where Berie's arrow had stuck.

  As the Priors, the Brotherhood of Wura, Berie, Garoa, and Sviska came to the side of Brethor, the Lich laughed again.

  "Do you really think that you can do anything to stop what is coming? I am a Lich of the Undead. I have found true power in this earth. The ethereal darkness gives me strength and has empowered me to extort the powers of this city. Whether I am destroyed or not now is no further matter to the Order. But I will not simply fade."

  The Lich raised his hands, and from the clouds above, like a waiting predator, the dark demon descended from the sky. Brethor threw his tunic over himself.

  "Berie, bring a shield of light!" he yelled.

  Sviska turned to Berie. Silver markings shined brightly on her forehead, and as she drew her arrow, a golden glow set alight the mountain. The arrow shot into the dark sky. The mountain became as bright as day. The demon recoiled, pushed back for a moment. A wail and scream shook the core of the mountain.

  Brethor, dropping his veiled cape, leaped at the Lich. His hands now clawed, he tore into the flesh of the being. He grabbed its neck, ripped the head from the creature, and threw it from the mountain. Brethor fell to the ground as Berie rushed to his side, covering him again with his tunic.

  The shield of light that had protected them from the demon dimmed, and the mountain was now as dark as before. The demon, outlined in fizzing light, had been stunned. The Priors raised their staves, and in a barrage of white orbs, they tore into the demon. It shrieked and once again fled, disappearing into the sky above.

  Chapter 20 Recovery

  Sviska took a breath of relief. He looked at Garoa, who nodded, also out of breath, and was wiping sweat from his brow.

  He glanced to Berie and then jogged to where Brethor lay motionless. The elf, rubbing his chest, pulled his coat up to his neck.

  "What happened?" Sviska asked, baffled by Brethor’s collapse.

  "He cannot be in sunlight," she explained. "Doing so causes him intense pain, and if left uncovered, severe injury. Not to mention he is weakened when in his other form."

  The transformation surprised Sviska. The appearance of his clawed hands and his swift flight up the mountain was intriguing. He wondered of what magic he had witnessed.

  "Let us move the lord to the Estate and get off this barren summit," shouted Berie.

  The Priors took up around the lord and lifted him up.

  As they began the way back down the snowy stairwell, Berie went ahead of Sviska and Garoa.

  "Thank you for your help, Garoa," Sviska said, stopping and offering his hand to him. "Truly, your assistance here was very much needed."

  Garoa took his hand, and they embraced. "I hope the lord of the Estate does not feel too ill toward my reckless use of magic." He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. "I am not liked by many. Most of that is purely my people's reputation, I assure you."

  "I trust you,” Sviska told him.

  As they came to the Estate, Sviska followed the procession that was holding Brethor, and Garoa headed off the Estate grounds with the Brotherhood of Wura. As they left, Sviska watched as members of the Brotherhood of Wura bowed to Garoa, and he quickly bowed to each one as they passed. He seemed taken aback at the same time as relieved, as he nodded toward the last few.

  Berie touched Sviska's shoulder and he jumped, still somewhat on edge from the events from before.

  "Did I scare you, winemaker?" she asked with a slight smile.

  "Given what I've witnessed the last few days? Yes!"

  He pointed to Garoa, as the last of the Brotherhood of Wura left, but not before bowing to the Rusis.

  "He really helped us," he said.

  "Brethor will be pleased. It has been many days he has waited for the one of the Rusis to make himself a name and not just one within the tavern."

  She sighed and turned back to the door.

  "Come," she said.

  They entered the dining room and found Brethor had been placed by the fireplace. After being on the summit of the windswept mountain, the warmness and slight bite to Sviska’s frost-tipped hands was relieving.

  Cusis and Slats were busy tending to the lord and, having removed his coat, were now covering him with a blanket.

  "Not here," said Berie.

  She led them up to his room. Sviska, Slats, and Cusis carried the weight of Brethor up the stairs. Slats was in the middle of the group, huffing as he stumbled up the stairs. Berie opened the sealed door at the top of the steps.

  As they made it to the room, they placed him on his bed and straightened him on his back.

  "That is all," said Berie to the two servants.

  Cusis nodded and he and Slats left the room. The passage door shut and sealed.

  “The dust on these sheets needs to be dealt with,” said Berie.

  “If he actually slept in it, perhaps he wouldn’t have dust on them.”

  Berie went to a cupboard in the corner of the room. Removing a key from her belt, she opened the door and pulled a bottle from its resting place among others in the locked cabinet.

  "Most do not know of his condition," she said, pouring the red substance from the bottle into a silver chalice. "He hates to drink this, but after he turns, he needs the blood to restore his body. Radiant lights, like the sun or my arrows that were used to shield us from the demon, are especially harmful to him."

  As she approached the bed, Brethor opened his eyes. He reached out as she handed him the glass, smiling. He took a sip and softly closed his eyes. He laid back in the bed as he exhaled long and deep. He looked to Sviska.

  "So now you know of my true nature."

  He shook his head no. "I have heard of the blood suckers that existed at one time, but they were dead beings. You are not dead."

  "Not yet." He laughed. "My family is of those before that form. The bastard vampire is an animal, unable to control their constant thirst for blood. They are beasts, incapable of rational thought or action. They are the worst kind of being. Although, the weakness to the sun is still a bane to both them and myself. If you did not notice, before the sun set and it came time of the great darkness, you never saw me in the sun."

  Sviska thought and, in fact, he never did. He always wished to meet late at night and never appeared tired. Only now that the sun had sunk and never rose did he ever see Brethor about the city in the hours that would be daytime.

  "The only time I sleep is after changing. Not even Master Nelkor knew all the details of my condition. Berie, her father, and Cusis are the only ones who knew before, but now you also know my secret." He paused and looked to Berie. "I made the sacrifice by embracing the blood rites in order to protect myself from the curse and uphold my oath to Wura."

  Berie smiled and went toward the cabinet to replace the bottle.

  "How old are you?" Sviska
asked, now understanding better when Brethor told him he watched him at the orphanage as a child.

  He scratched his head. "Well, not as old as her!" he said, pointing at Berie as she came back to the bedside.

  "Thank you, Brethor!" she said, swatting his finger. She crossed her arms and gave a wry smile.

  "In truth, I do not remember. It has been many years since I even thought of my age." He took another sip of blood. "Is everyone else well?"

  "Yes, I believe many are injured, but no one was killed," said Berie.

  "Good. And the one of the Rusis?"

  "Garoa?" she asked.

  "Yes, where is he now?"

  Berie looked to Sviska.

  "I believe he headed home. He lives not too far from the tavern," Sviska explained.

  "Very well. I will speak with him at a later time." Brethor turned on his side, facing away from Sviska. "Did you get the book?"

  "Yes." Sviska reached into his tunic and pulled out the book, setting it on the bed.

  "Did you speak with the Priest of Wura? Is he safe now?" He looked back at him.

  Sviska lowered his head. "He has passed, Brethor."

  A sudden sadness was in the lord's eyes. He looked away, nodding.

  "He said he had lost contact with you and could not risk being caught. He had remained in a vault behind the altar of the old church. He even had a supply of wine. When I arrived, I found him lying on the ground. A dark being attacked me. It was similar to the dead ones in the well, but able to shift into a smoky shadow and then reappear as he wished. The priest held him back, allowing me to escape."

  Brethor took a moment and then kissed his fingertips prior to lifting them to the skies. "The sadness of his passing is not even made better by the fact that he still had wine. He was an old friend and a wise man."

  He sat up in the bed, picking up the book. "This book is important. He was wise to keep it there and safe. Knowing him, he sat that book out for you to see when you were in the tavern. He was always a sly old man." Brethor laughed and then stood.

  Berie went to his side and placed her hands under his arm, but he took her hands in his and kissed them. "Thank you for your care, but I am much better."

  Brethor went to his kettle and poured fresh water in it from a silver chalice from atop the cabinet.

  "You two need your rest. Especially you, winemaker. After you have tended to the wine, come see me tomorrow. We need to speak of the book."

  They both nodded their heads, agreeing. Berie began out, followed by Sviska, who looked back to Brethor. The lord of the Estate was now standing and tending to his tea.

  Sviska turned back to follow Berie but found her already gone. Descending the last few steps, he turned and began toward his own quarters.

  Passing the main doors of the Estate, he decided thanks were needed. He opened the doors just enough to stick his head out. Looking at either side of the doorway, the motionless watchers, the statues, stood their ground, unmoving.

  "I know you’re not fond of speaking, but thank you for your assistance earlier." The two did nothing. Just as Sviska began to close the door, the one on the left lifted the bottom of his staff just off the ground and lightly tapped the ground beneath it.

  "Well, at least you’re not just silent statues."

  He laughed at himself and shook his head. Sleep deprivation was taking him, and his bed was a warm embrace he desired. Sviska fell onto the soft bed and his mind went foggy. He went to sleep almost immediately.

  ******

  Thunder.

  Lightning.

  His body shook and convulsed as his eyes saw images of fiery skies over the city. The black demon was upon him suddenly, and he struggled to raise his arms but could not.

  No!

  He cried out as the demon snatched his dagger and threw it away from him. It snarled, and its white teeth gleamed as Sviska looked into its mouth and saw nothing but a black abyss sucking in all light around him. His glare centered on its eyes as it drew him in.

  He struggled to fight again. This time his foot was free, and he rolled away from the demon. The demon vanished. He found himself standing in the Estate foyer; a shallow scream and a somber feeling overtook him.

  He saw himself running toward the rooms where the orphans were. A dark figure stood inside, awaiting his arrival as it held a small child in his grasp. Her eyes squinted and she bellowed as the jagged blade cut into her neck. She coughed and gasped before collapsing. The dark figure laughed a long and echoing cackle. Sviska reached out toward it, but his body cringed at the sudden sensation of falling and then coldness on his face.

  ******

  Opening his eyes, he found himself on the ground beside his bed. His body covered in sweat, he struggled to catch his breath and sit up. His eyes bounced from wall to wall as he glanced around. Rubbing his eyes, he stood and ran out the door. Going to the foyer, he passed Slats, who was eating an apple. He drew his blade as he pushed the doors of the orphans’ room open. There was a commotion, and the children screamed as they saw him. Like mice to a sudden barn cat, they ran to the corners of the room, tripping over each other as they did.

  Sviska looked around. There was no one else here. As he walked in front of the beds, he noticed one child had not joined the others.

  The shivering under the blankets and the quick gasps told Sviska that the child was not dead. He uncovered her head, and the little girl stared outward, her eyes fixed.

  "What happened, dear?" he asked, stroking the girl's hair away from her eyes.

  She did not reply.

  Sviska glanced up. The other children, their faces white and their chests rising and falling as if they had been running around the room, stared back at him.

  "What happened?"

  The children looked at each other and then looked around at the corners of the room. One of the children stuttered.

  "We . . . we . . . woke up and . . . this man. He was cold," a little boy said.

  "What man? Brethor? Cusis?"

  "No one we know. He was all black. His face wasn't there . . . It was . . . um . . . it was . . . hidden."

  "Slats! Berie!" he shouted from the room.

  He heard the trudging of boots, and Berie appeared in the doorway. Her bow strung across her back and her coat tightly bound, she peered into the room.

  "I was on my way out to hunt. What is wrong?"

  Sviska pointed to the girl and then stepped back as the elf came to the girl's side.

  She stared into the child's eyes, placing her hand on her head. "She is stuck in the dream world. Her eyes are open, but she is not with us." Berie began to rub the girl's back. "Sleep, sleep peacefully, my child."

  The girl's breathing seemed to slow, and her body relaxed. Her eyes batted open and closed as she turned on her side and fell into a deeper sleep.

  Berie turned to Sviska. "Only a dark spirit could have caused such a terror to befall this child."

  The other children began to come from the corners of the room and sat near Berie.

  "The man was bad," one of them said. "He was going to hurt us."

  Berie took the two closest children in her arms. "Let’s not talk anymore of it. Why don't you all head to the dining room, and we will get some breakfast for you."

  The children began to file out of the room and down the corridor. Berie and Sviska walked behind them as Cusis appeared and beckoned the children to the dining room.

  The elf and the winemaker stood in the foyer. "A mass vision of a dark shadow is not something to be taken lightly. Especially given the state of events here. Perhaps it is due to the demon in the city." She shook her head and took a deep breath. "I need to tend to the children."

  She departed without saying anything else.

  Sviska turned and opened the doors to the Estate. A cool breeze blew in over the mountain, and fresh snowdrift danced across his face. The stars still twinkled, and just the hint of the blue glow of the sky was beginning to show.

  His thoughts bounce
d to the small child he had chosen not to kill in the name of the Order just before he was sent here.

  Now to have the dream of the murder of the orphan and see the terror-stricken eyes of the young girl just moments before, his chest tinged with a sick feeling.

  The Order was not what he had thought it was. It had changed. Or perhaps now it was just that he could see the true inner workings? He found himself unsure of his convictions, but a strong desire was growing in his mind. Could he abandon the task completely?

  From behind him, the door opened and he turned. Slats was beaming, jumping up and down.

  "The wine! The wine! It's ready! The wine!"

  Chapter 21 Runhadis

  Sviska followed the excited dwarf into the Estate. Passing the dining room and the many children now eating their morning fill, they descended into the winery.

  Sviska checked the press and noticed an abundance of barrel-ready juices beginning to seep from the seals on the machine. Before he could even ask the dwarf to grab a barrel, Slats had already rolled two into position and was headed back to get a third.

  They began filling the barrels, and a slightly green-hued dust went upward like steam from a hot tea. As Sviska began to fill more barrels, Slats cut the redstalk's bindings and began to slice a line in a few of the stalks.

  "Why are you cutting it?" Sviska asked him as he rocked a barrel away from the filling area, splashing virgin wine atop it.

  "This enhances the magic-binding qualities. It is supposed to make it even stronger, and to enhance the lasting effect of a single bottle."

  The dwarf went to the first few barrels and began dropping the redstalk into each one. Sviska followed behind with a large cork and a mallet, sealing each of them.

  Soon they had fifteen barrels full and stacked in the storing area. Sviska filled the machine again, and it went to life, the pressing mechanism lowering down as the process of juicing from the frost berries began again.

  "How long will the barrels take to be ready?" Sviska asked the dwarf, who was now polishing a silver chalice that he had pulled from his tunic.