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

  “Dwemhar skills are beyond simple obtainment. Patience is one skill. Your powers are a part of you, making you more attune to quick motions, sword fighting, and such things you younger ones do.”

  Sviska thought on her words and then thought more of Kealin.

  “So he is half-elf and Half-Dwemhar?”

  “Yes, but not even those of his family long ago knew it. Well, his mother did but she would not have spoke of it. Times were confusing then. Kealin is of your kind and within him is a child yet awaiting his light and eternal release. As different as you are, you are equally very similar.”

  “So why does he speak as he does, assuming you have spoken with him?”

  “I have seen him in visions and his toils for the northern gods left him changed from his original self. Even the gods themselves cannot see everything that Kealin has done. His part in your fate is not yet done, heed this, and be hopeful.

  “Of Kealin, I feel that one can only see so much death and remain the same as the day before he had taken a life. His mind is fractured, his thoughts ramble except when he kills. He seeks enlightenment in our world but I will say, he was once called god-killer but as for why, even that knowledge is hidden from me.

  “But I worry of darker happenings, Resua. There is a mark upon you and I feel it troubles you, as I am troubled of it. Tell me, Resua.”

  He recalled his capture in Tar Mena and being taken to the mountain citadel and of the Order Hand. He continued on to the curse but it seemed she just nodded along, almost ignoring him.

  “Forgive me for wondering but are you listening to me?”

  She stared at the ground not moving and then looked up, “Is that how you saw things with the curse? Was that what you were told?”

  “Yes, well,” he stuttered taking a moment to recall it further, “Yes, that is what happened.”

  “Hmm,” she said, “You must realize that we of the Dwemhar are strong in mind and with that, we have a great weapon. You say you were cursed but I do not know if it was true. I have been blocked from that part of your mind by you.”

  “I did not try to.”

  “This is not something you did intentionally, at least towards myself, but it is there. This is good.”

  “If I cannot escape this curse, how will I prevent my falling towards it?”

  “Preventing others from seeing the details of it is the first step. Continue to grow in mind and you will garner the strength to resist it fully. Men can be weak-minded and if one is commanding you to do something against your own will, it is possible to fight it. Now, the winds are cold up here. Let us go back inside.”

  Chapter 12 Well Earned Comforts

  As they entered the interior area of the tower, Sviska thought of the blank fortune card he had been given back in Elinathrond.

  “Gypsy Mother, what meaning does this card hold for me?” he asked.

  “Do not seek meaning in cards for they are little more than parchment and ink. A blank card appeared not because your future is uncertain as the card may assert but because one of the Dwemhar cannot possible read another Dwemhar so easily.

  “Take heart, Resua. Though magic returns and you see many of differing powers arise, remember, be it a strong blade or the power of elemental magic as the Rusis has, it is the Dwemhar who were deemed the chief of the old councils of magic in the shadows of days long ago.”

  At that moment, Garoa emerged from the lower levels. He leaned on his staff, looking towards them.

  “Gypsy Mother, it is good to see you.”

  “Was the time with your daughter good?” she asked with a smile.

  “It was. It was saddening that her grandmother cannot enjoy her as I wish. She had difficulty understanding it was not her daughter. It was not too easy for Asnea either.”

  “Important for her though.”

  “I agree.”

  The Gypsy Mother began downstairs with no assistance, although Sviska jumped to walk beside her.

  “I can manage,” she told him, shooing him away.

  Although he disagreed, he chose not to insult her but instead watched from behind her as she walked, doing so quite well and with quick step.

  Garoa placed his staff down and looked at the parchments that Slats had read.

  “Good reading?” asked Sviska.

  “I had difficulty with some of the words but I managed. Did you want to read?”

  He offered the papers to Sviska.

  “No, Slats read it to me before. I told you before, I cannot read the runes.”

  “Fair.”

  “Did she have anything of interest for you?” Garoa asked pointing down the stairwell. Sviska looked down the stairs and noticed she was just passing out of view again, nearly three levels down.

  “Yes but nothing of what me and Slats were searching for. The shrine of Etha still remains out of sight.”

  “I am trying to locate a spell to help us,” he said, opening the Galhedriss Arcana, “but there are a lot of spells to work through. Some, like this, I do not even understand.”

  He showed Sviska a page with an image of a man and spherical orbs around his head.

  “The language is difficult to discern. Perhaps it will take me longer to understand, but I cannot even see the source of this magic. It isn’t elemental.”

  Sviska thought of the powers of the Dwemhar but did not wish to mention it. Garoa had enough on his mind of obtaining power.

  Sviska shook his head, “I do not know of magic as you do, but of greater interest, Wura came to us, myself and Slats, and informed us that while empowering the Itsu will come from restoring magic it is necessary for their defeat and the end sought by the gods of the north.”

  “An interesting necessity but more so, why did Wura appear?”

  “We sought the Void of Ages in the book of knowledge.”

  Garoa gave a quick look and stared at him, “That is what I was trying to figure out the other night; I was able to translate the Void of Ages but could not make sense of it. The runes Slats read to you mentioned it as well. Did Wura say anything else of that place?”

  “No.”

  “There is much mention of that place in the documents and parchments of the Order, and what worries me more is the use in recent and less dusty documents. As well as in a mention of forbidden words of the Grand Protectorate.” He shifted through another stack of papers, “That list is here.”

  He threw the parchment back down.

  “Most everything was in such shambles, it was hard to tell when things were written but a broken inkwell in the back room atop a hastily written parchment gives us some clue.”

  He handed it to Sviska.

  Most of us are in hiding.

  We have sought to preserve our world as one tree is cut down another snatches us from within.

  This will not go well.

  “That is the last of what the Order wrote.”

  “At least, here in Lokam. I assume they have other cities but given what the Itsu Priest said, I doubt it is the Order we know. Those here the other night were nothing but pawns, slaves to the priest.”

  “Well,” Garoa sighed. “That is what we have. Go sleep, my friend. I assure you I will not stay up another night. I am weary, as it is.”

  Sviska departed, once again leaving his friend to the Galhedriss Arcana. He walked down the stairwell, his pace quickening, as he thought he might see the Gypsy Mother again and would not feel as bad to have let her go down the stairs on her own. He reached the causeway and found it empty, save for the Priors guarding the path to the citadel.

  He went down the causeway, the roar of the falls below. Reaching the center island, he noted Tvila throwing her daggers at a nearby post.

  “Is he still up there?” she asked, freeing one of her blades from the wood.

  “Garoa? Yes, did you—?”

  “No, no. I was just wondering. We were supposed to meet tonight.”

  “As was I,” Sviska said.

  Tvila cocked her head, “U
m?”

  “Never mind,” he told her, embarrassed and thinking of Berie, “He should be down before too long. He said he wouldn’t stay up there all night again. Are you two…?”

  Sviska moved his hands together, signifying that they were a couple.

  “Having a drink, yes.” She gave him a look that told him further questions were not warranted.

  “Have a good night, Tvila.”

  He proceeded towards the west side and then back across the southern bridge. Slats and Brethor stood smoking pipes, looking at a shard of stone.

  Slats followed him with his head, “Sviska, do you not wish to see?”

  He turned to them and then looked to Brethor, “You smoke?”

  “On occasion. My normal drink is hard to come by in civilized settings and wine is in short supply. Too bad we don’t have a winemaker.”

  Sviska joined in the snickers between them and then looked at the oddly-shaped stone.

  “What is it?”

  “A rock, what does it look like to you? I only mean to hold you up. The elf said you were meeting, we figured we would waste your time some.”

  Sviska turned from them, shaking his head, “Well, you did good.”

  They both laughed and continued smoking.

  Sviska jogged up the western road and towards the inn, when he heard a voice from atop a dark step.

  “I thought I would have to hunt you. Come on, we will go to the woods.”

  From the darkness, the elf appeared. Along with her bow on her back, a sack was slung over her shoulder.

  “Come on,” she said to him.

  As they exited the northern gate, they turned, walking past the gypsy carts and one of Brethor’s wolves that sat staring into the darkness.

  “Good boy,” said Berie.

  The wolf began to wag its tail like a housedog before laying its head down.

  There was a scent in the air as Sviska trailed behind Berie, of flowers of the field but spiced. He looked around and saw no blooms in the moonlight. It was Berie herself he smelled.

  They entered the woods, passing a line of trees they found a narrow brook that traveled south and had large flat stones layered and white in the moonlight above. They stopped and she opened the bag.

  They laid blankets on the rocks and placed kindling near some larger sticks. Soon Berie struck sparks and made a small fire. In a metal pitcher, she caught some of the flowing water and began to heat it above the fire, with the other hand she brought out two stone cups, as well as a tea satchel.

  “I have long desired to have tea again.”

  “With me?”

  “No, in general.”

  She smiled at him, a slight blush on her cheeks lighting up her face even though the marks of her people were dark.

  “It looks as if we have passed from the lands restored with magic.”

  She nodded, “Yes. But the woods have some radiant magic within themselves. Though the trees no longer move as they may wish, they are still entities of their own. Magic just enhances them.” The water began to steam and, just before boiling, she took it from the fire and added pinches of tea, covering it with a metal lid.

  “How have you been, Sviska?”

  “Tired.”

  She laughed, “You lazy person, it isn’t like we’ve been running around the lands and attacking cities. I am about to be bored to the point I am a statue myself. Did you see what Slats and Brethor were doing?”

  “I saw them smoking and hindering me from getting to you.”

  “I had thought that was their plan. It is well that everyone seems happy. It makes me think we can all return to our homes. But I did, and it wasn’t as I had imagined or at least hoped for in my mind during the darkness of Elinathrond.”

  “We can have new homes,” he said, taking her hand.

  “I would like that,” she said, “A place near the woods, the cliffs, and the sea. If I could find such a place.”

  They began to stare into one another’s eyes. The aroma of tea beneath them, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. It wasn’t intentional as he did not plan to do it. She was surprised herself and, as he looked into her eyes, pulled back. The normally stalwart Berie shuffled her eyes to the tea which was below them.

  “It is ready,” she said, pouring them each a cup.

  They sipped their tea and talked, staying the night in the woods alone, the stars above them and the cool winds blowing through the trees beside the water’s edge.

  Sviska awoke with Berie in his arms. He breathed in the air and took in her aroma. It was then a stench assaulted his nose, twinging it . He could hear a scraping sound behind him but could not see it. There was heavy breathing from somewhere nearby. He then heard rustling leaves. He felt for his dagger but found it, with the elf’s bow, was nearby atop a pile of rocks. He shook her arm and she awoke, looking at him and then jerking her eyes to the sides.

  “A creature is near,” she whispered.

  She rolled onto her stomach and felt for her bow, pulling with it Sviska’s dagger. The scraping of the sheath caused the breathing to pause and she did the same. Sviska looked ahead of them. The two eyes of a wolf of Taria stared at something behind them. Berie looked and saw the wolf. She shifted her eyes to Sviska’s dagger. He nodded.

  In a quick motion, she flung the dagger into the air and drew an arrow from her quiver, drawing it back. Sviska caught his dagger and stumbled to his feet, he too turning towards the mystery behind him.

  It was large and gray, made up of branches of trees mixed into the grayish skin; it dragged a heavy trunk in its right hand.

  “A druid keeper,” said Berie lowering her bow.

  “Why do you not shoot?” he asked.

  “It means us no harm. It is likely confused.”

  She turned to the wolf, which still was on high alert. “Nida” she said.

  The wolf became calm.

  “It was created by elves long ago. They clean up the woods, fertilize trees with decaying bark. Peaceful for the most part unless angered but even then, they will not pursue anyone outside of the woods.”

  Sviska watched as the creature took the tree trunk it held and dumped a fertile mix of mulched leaves and decaying plants along the base of a tree. It looked back at them and then turned, heading back deeper into the woods.

  “It would seem that although magic has not returned here, that some has found its way to awaken these. It makes me wonder what else, perhaps not so peaceful-natured, has awoken. But I am happy to see them.”

  Sviska looked at her and found her smiling. They gathered their things and went back towards Lokam.

  In the city, they proceeded to the inn and found the others finishing eggs and a porridge that Leurka himself had even sat down to eat with them.

  The day moved quickly with the coming days following just as fast, as more of those of Elinathrond settled in vacant houses and began attending to the city. The remains of the tower of Kel came down. The stones, specifically the larger pieces, were hauled towards the southern bridge where artisans, as well as Slat, learning his hand at sculpting, began to work to replace the statued path that had been there before.

  Brethor oversaw the center structure. Though he did not demand it, the Poluti insisted that the sacrifice of Elinathrond be remembered and placed on the largest altar available. Slats worked to form out the base of what would become a figure, but of whom, he did not know.

  “I trust you,” Brethor told him, “You will pick someone well-deserved.”

  “You?” Slats asked him.

  But every time Slats asked the same question, the same response returned with a hasty shaken head.

  “No, I told you, I did not fall in battle or give my life for others as did they. I cannot be made into a statue as I still walk upon these lands.”

  The weeks drew on and many nights were spent between Tvila and Garoa, as well as Asnea and Berie and Sviska. Slats and Garoa went sometime within the second week and found what had been the tavern fr
om his time as a member of the Children Of Lokam. It had since become a store house for the Legions but after a quick walk through the city, Garoa, Slats, and Evurius had managed to garner help to clean out the stores and bring in ale recently brought in by the Island Nation for use during the feast.

  “They will not miss a single barrel!” Slats said with a wink.

  It was the night before what was to be a day of feasting when Father Elum, his wife Telis, and their son made it to Lokam. Together with Nusian, Garoa, Evurius, and Sviska they went to the tavern. Under pale light, they shared stories of old, and drank their fill. As the night waned on and Slats passed out in a corner, Sviska sit with Father Elum, Garoa, and Evurius. Telis, having to mind their child, had left.

  “Why do they call you Father?” asked Sviska.

  The man finished his cup of ale and twisted the plug of the barrel for another glass.

  “Many reasons, dear Sviska, but none of the natural father sort.”

  Nusian teased, “Oh come on, Father, why don’t you teach me to fire my bow?”

  A quiet laugh stirred between them.

  “I started the Children of Lokam and being called children, as many of them were, I became known as Father, even to my wife, who we all know is a bit younger.”

  Evurius was completely red in the face and, slamming his hands on the table, he shouted, “A bit younger? She could be your daughter!”

  He then laughed in a roar and the others, having well enough to drink already, laughed again, motioning for him to be quiet.

  “I indeed wished for the Grand Protectorate to flee but I took to living away from Lokam, albeit, remaining still close. Them actually leaving? I never expected it.”

  “There has been much not expected,” said Garoa.

  “Your daughter is well then, I hear, and her mother?”

  “She died some time ago.”

  There was a silence as each present stared at their drinks.

  “Well, the first things to be done have been done. The tavern is lookin’ well” Father Elum commented in such a way to change the tone of conversation.

  “Why do I always find myself fixing up places that serve alcoholic beverages?” Sviska asked.