“It is west, and atop a granite platform, or so we were told.”
Brethor shook his head, “I have been west many times but I know not where that is. The Annuals of Eclipses may have something of it, have you looked?”
“Not yet. I kept it with the Galhedriss Arcana in the tower. The Priors and Garoa have not lifted guard on such a place even a little.”
“It is good they do now. I do not know the workings of the enemy, but something is going on.”
“What of Kealin?” Sviska asked.
“What of him?”
“Do you worry of his betrayal?”
Brethor looked down, taking a deep breath. Sviska had never seen him at a loss of what to say. Brethor then looked back up.
“Kealin is older than I, but I met him after the loss of his siblings. He was many things and did terrible acts in the name of vengeance but he was faithful in his convictions. He also knows more than most, he has done more than most. I cannot see him betraying us so easily.”
“He stopped Garoa from attacking the Priest.”
“Yes, but he has dealt with such an entity before. He did not tell me much of it, but I can tell you Kealin is no friend of the Itsu.”
Evening approached. They made their way back to the inn just to have a seat and hear a knock on the door. Asnea, who was laying her head down, looked up. Leurka went to the door, finding a messenger had come to the inn. Garoa went to the door, taking a parchment. His eyes scanned it and then he looked up.
“Friends, we must go to the north gate.”
“What is it?” asked Berie.
“Those of Elinathrond that made it to the far east are arriving.”
All within the inn, except Leurka, went outside and jogged to the north gate. With clanking chains, the gates opened and in the distance, they spotted the gypsy carriages.
Chapter 11 Secrets of Runhadis
It was strange to see them, a traveling group that had made great haste from the lands of the east to Lokam. Many began to stop along the road running along the waterway and those from the city went to them. Most carried bags, small animals of differing kinds, and were obviously tired from their journey.
The gypsy carts moved to a grassy space away from the main gate near a large wooded area north west of the city. Many on foot carrying bags, small animals, and generally spent and worn from travels, began to file into the city.
As Brethor walked beside the people, there were a few smiles and pointing though most seemed to not recognize him in his current garb and unshaven look.
“My people,” he whispered to himself, just enough to where Sviska heard it.
A man in robes approached Garoa and Berie who looked on. Underneath his ragged clothing they could make out the gleam of silver armor and a white tunic.
“The Falacar told us it was safe. We thank you for seeing us to safety here. Who is your Lord here?”
“There is no Lord,” Garoa told him.
“You may find that some people are more fearful if you use magic. If you have injured, you may direct them to into the city or to one of the Priors,” Sviska added.
The man stared at Garoa. “I know you,” he told them, “And you, you were in Elinathrond.”
“I know you,” interrupted Brethor.
“Lord Brethor,” the man exclaimed
“Guard of Wura, Osur is your name.”
“It is. I had thought all in Elinathrond were dead. We left the way of the dwarven tunnels and, until the man with the wolves told us, did not know that their were others that survived.”
“The man with the wolves was me. But I knew questions would arise and so I kept information to the very least until later. You met up with the gypsy caravan, I see.”
“Yes, some of us went by horseback under the cover of night to the east. We were trying to find others of Elinathrond and I had hoped to meet up with our captain.”
Brethor clenched his teeth, “Your Captain fell in defense of the estate. A memorial was made for him within the city a few weeks ago.”
Osur’s face became red and tears fell, “I had feared that and now I know. Though our Captain fell among the defenders, the Brotherhood lives on.”
“Indeed. Find rest here, you deserve it,” Brethor told him.
The man nodded and began away.
“Order of Wura soldier,” said Brethor.
“Yes?” he replied, turning.
“Do not hide your armor here. Let others know who you are, it is safe.”
The man drew a knife kept at his belt and cut the ties holding his tunic. His silver armor now visible, he continued on, following the rest as guards of the Island Nation led them into the city.
The Saints of Wura and Brethor walked towards the gypsy circle. The lamps around the carriages were lit one by one and incense was already burning near one of the carts.
“Brethor! The cards had told me you had digressed to a scruffy look but I did not know one like yourself could have gone that way!”
The Gypsy Mother approached, hobbling from one of the carts, her daughter holding her under one arm. She reached up and threw her arms around Brethor
“I knew not where to search for you.”
“Even us gypsies have our secrets, young man.”
He smiled, “Very well.”
“The land to the east was offered to us before Elinathrond, we simply took the offer at a later time.”
She smiled warmly then turned to the others, embracing them each before stopping at Sviska.
“Resua, you have done great honor to the people of the Dwemhar.”
He had nearly forgotten his birth name; he had not heard it for many weeks now.
“I sent Bloodhawk with tidings I knew only you would understand and I am happy I did. You are the key before the end and I have continually watched you ever since you earned the white tarot card. I felt the return of magic to the east and know the west will follow.”
She then turned to Garoa and looked behind him. Asnea stood with her bow on her back.
“The blood of the Rusis continues on.”
Asnea looked down at her as she approached.
“Many flowers bloom but few continue their lives through the power of magic. It is good to see you, dear Asnea.”
“I am afraid I do not know you,” she told her.
“I know, but I had seen you well before this day.” The Gypsy Mother smiled again, “Lord Brethor, is this place safe for us?”
He nodded, “As safe as it can be made. There is not a spot in the city for your carts but my wolves will watch over you outside the walls.”
“I wish to see within the city and the place of the war god. He has spoken that many changes will come to the land.”
Brethor and the Gypsy Mother went into the city where he showed her around as she wished. Garoa and Asnea went towards the east side to see her grandmother, who knew little of her existence, and so that Garoa could provide closure to her on the loss of Lucia.
Slats and Sviska headed towards the tower of Kel. He wondered of the location of the western shrine of Etha. Berie caught them before they left and pulled Sviska aside.
“I assume you are going with Slats to read, but some tea, tonight. I have long held my bow in fear these past moons. I would like to perhaps share a drink with you and spend some time with you, as we did once before.”
Sviska smiled as his stomach stirred in an excitement that made the last few days fade from his mind. He was surprised by her sudden offer.
“Yes.”
“Now, go! Read your books with the dwarf!” she teased.
Slats laughed as Sviska joined him again, “She has not been as happy as that in a while.”
They began to walk.
“We have had many trials since Elinathrond.”
“I mean even before then. She was a young woman when she arrived, and I was but a child, but never would she desire the company of a man as she aged. There are stories of elven women and men as well, a fierce jealousy
upon them if their lovers were harmed. I would never wish to be the reason for such rage to ensue.”
Sviska doubted his story but the dwarf had no smile or sign of joking upon him as they began up the causeway, passing the red-robed Priors that stood guard. The inside stairwell of the tower had many stairs, and Sviska was tiring after so many trips up and down. Reaching the top level, he went to the altar where the Annuals of Eclipses sat and opened it.
“Runhadis, show me the Altar of Etha,” he said out loud.
The book began to flip pages until it stopped and the image of a structure surrounded by trees appeared on one page, and on the other, an image of the eastern Altar appeared. Beneath each image, the runic language of slashes and orbs appeared and Sviska looked to Slats.
“It is just a general description,” he told him. “The one of the eastern temple says ‘near the Elven homes of the eastern mountains.’ But the one for the west says, ‘Granite rocks of the earth make a temple from the forest floor high above the trees into the clouds.’ If we needed the eastern one one we could find it but I would think this structure would’ve been seen by now.”
He looked at the image, the towering spires of the temple and the mountains beyond.
“So we know only that it is in the mountains to the west, near trees.”
“Do you know of this place?” asked Slats, “Did you and Garoa see such a place and perhaps pass it by?”
“I saw no spires as this picture shows and the worst part is ‘trees beneath mountains’ describes most of the region around Taria and south of there. Before Elinathrond, I came in through the far west and into southwest Taria, so if the spires still are showing, perhaps it is on the eastern side of the range. Further south, to the west of the waters to the south, I saw nothing like this image.”
Slats looked towards stacked papers on the table nearby. As Sviska continued to look at the Annuals of Eclipses, the dwarf picked up the parchments and flipped through the pages.
“These are old,” he said.
Sviska didn’t see what Slats was looking at. “Of course it is, it is an ancient book.” He glance up and saw what Slats was reading.
“Oh, you seem to have drifted away from our current reading. Well, what does it say?”
“I do not know what book these pages are from but it talks of times well before now. I will read it from the beginning: ‘and concerning the North and South in terms of religious antiquities and the peoples of the world. There are the ones of the north, the daring and strong, and the ones to hold balance, and the ones of the south, those afraid of controlling the natural world, masters of the civility of the world.’ Pages are missing and it begins again: ‘There is the Northern Winds that need a master, the Trees of the world that need A Master, the Mountain forges that need a Master, the way of War that needs a Master, and the one to go among them along the skyward lights. Dimn, Etha, Throka, Kel, Wura.’”
“The Northern gods,” said Sviska.
Slats continued talking, “Concerning the fall of the southern realms: The seas have risen as ice melted, the people dwelling near the shores have fled. The gods of the South blame the ones of the north but they are told the world is to be balanced.
Those of the races convene to inspire the gods to peace. Rumbling in the north and swift winds in the south. The master of the mountain forge begins to brew for war with his brother, the one of War.
The world changes, the south is dry. The people flee north. The gods of the south head north to snatch back their people. The first of curses is placed. Those that do not cease their journeys to the north are struck down and unable to walk.
The second curse, affecting women that are with new life, if offerings are not made to the gods of the south in their name, the life within is struck and poisons the mother.
Watchers have been sent to watch the paths north. Those nations of the north have heard the pleas and cries as the fires burn in the furnaces of the temples. An overland march left the north to help those in the south, the southern god Barua sunk the peninsula they crossed and none were found. The numbers lost are beyond counting.’”
“This is the start of the war of the gods,” said Sviska.
“I agree, but,” he flipped through more pages, “there is little else written. Here, the last bit!”
“Barua’s brother, the sibling to the deceiver, is dead. Killed by the war god of the north. I believe something is changed in the people of the lands. The southern gods have hidden themselves for a time. Now the people beg the god Kel to halt his rage.
The Order of Men has turned against the gods and against the advisors of the woods and mountains, the peoples of Etha and Throka.
I myself flee my place of watching. A terrible curse has begun but I feel that the southern gods are behind it. I have found a way to change. A way to protect myself. I may not again look upon these writings but if the time comes when the southern gods have arisen, take heart for the way to the Void of Ages is open.’ That is it.”
“Do you think that something within those texts drew Garoa to call the meeting this morning?”
“I do not know, but of some history we both knew, this Void of Ages is new to even me.”
Sviska looked to the Annuals of Eclipses, “Runhadis, show us the Void of Ages.”
The book glowed but the pages did not turn. The book quivered and then shut. The torches around them darkened and from outside a wind overtook the room.
Slat’s hand went for his ax as Sviska drew his dagger. The polar lights began to glow before them and a voice spoke from within.
“Why do you seek this knowledge, Saints?”
Slats fell to his knees, “Wura, we are honored.”
“I have little time to be here but what knowledge do you seek of those words? For it is not such uttering that avoid the ears of the gods.”
Sviska began, “We read these words on the parchments and re-learn much we have been taught and know, but the Order knew of this Void that is spoken of and we know there was ill happenings between the Itsu Priest and the Order. We fear the Void of Ages but we know not what to look out for.”
“Beware the times of magic returned, for in that the will of the Itsu will be known. Creatures of malice will awaken from the earth and those of magic will be drawn to the reckoning of the southern gods. Your enemy is of those who wish to prevent magic from returning but with its return comes the key to the end of the evils sealed away, and in those of the enemy you have allies unknown, but fear comes from all with the new moon.
Do not allow the enemy the sacraments of the northern gods. My book, the Staff of Kel, the amulet of my sister, Etha, nor the amulet of the wind god given to the Lord of Elinathrond. The end of all requires these and magic must be returned for the final passing of times in our realm.”
Before Slats or Sviska could say word to Wura, the god was gone and the candlelight returned. To the stairwell to the left, the Gypsy Mother and Brethor stood up, having taken a knee as Wura began to speak.
“Times are nigh when the god comes before us,” the Gypsy mother said.
“And before you ask me of it, you already have the amulet of Dimn, Sviska. Keep it well.”
Sviska felt his neck and the amulet that had allowed him to traverse down the mountain to retrieve the Annuals of Eclipses from the tavern, as well as go from the ruins of Elinathrond to Srun when the Legions attacked.
“I trusted it to you well before I was sure it was wished but it makes no difference. Slats, come with me. I have need of your hand near the bridge. Let us see if you hold the crafting skill of your ancestors.”
“At night?”
“Of course. It is the best time of the day.”
“Says the man who hates the sun!”
Slats set the parchments back on the table and followed Brethor down. The Gypsy Mother said nothing to Sviska and began to the top of the tower.
He followed, surprised by the spunk of the woman as she went towards the chains that had held Kel in place. Sv
iska stood silent behind her. She went to the edge of the tower and looked down.
“You know, Brethor was right. The view here is quite nice,” she said. “So this is where Kel was held?”
“Yes.”
“It was long ago when he was captured. He is reserved, in truth, a lover of solitude in the fiery mountains that are his domain. I am glad he is free.”
“Forgive my short-sighted belief but I had not thought you as strong in body as you are in mind. Though perhaps I was wrong to see you as a feeble woman.”
As soon as he had said it, he could not believe the words that he said.
“I can imagine you not having such keen eye for hidden truth. When you came to Elinathrond I am sure you thought that of me. Just as you did when you saw me in Tar Sol, when you were hit by that book.”
Sviska thought for a moment and then remembered the grumpy woman sitting on her porch, feeble and weak, who had gave him a lesson in politeness that even today he still did not feel he needed.
“That was you?” he asked her.
“In a way. There was no one that really was there but your mind was weak then, able to be manipulated. Not now. After the blessing I gave you to see what is not there, your mind became more guarded. And of the betrayer atop this tower, do not feel ill towards Kealin. He does what he feels is right. Though it will not end well for the half-elf, Dwemhar.”
“Dwemhar, you call me that.”
“I do, for it is your race of origin. Your magic was shielded from you but then again, the Dwemhar hold the power of the mind. The magics of the elemental are bound to the lands. That of the mind is greater, the Dwemhar power is supreme.”
“So more powerful than even the Rusis magics?”
“Yes, but elemental magic is, well simpler. With some teaching, elemental magic can be learned as many arts can be. With the Rusis, he doesn’t need a staff or warn and can past more potent spells but they are essentially the same.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 69