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

  She tucked the card away and then look upon him again.

  “There is more you wish to know of?”

  He nodded, “Kealin was half-Dwemhar and so he used the power of the mind. He referred to the Dwemhar way before I was taken into his mind and to a childlike version of himself. There is a lot I don’t know but what is the Dwemhar way?”

  The Gypsy Mother shuffled her cards and tucked them away.

  “The Dwemhar left this level of existence, though many not so pure did not. Those with the blood of the ancestors have the power to renew what has been lost and in time that shall be revealed. But beware, though Kealin had mastered much, of the Dwemhar power even The Order feared. You met one of the others. One of the descendants like yourself. Her face stopped you from committing what you had so many times.”

  “Lord Utros’ daughter?”

  She smiled, “Go now. For a time you shall rest. The Saints of Wura have completed their task but you are Dwemhar and your journey is not yet complete.”

  It was three days following the return to Lokam, that the Gypsy Mother prepared the bodies of Brethor and Runka to be burned. They constructed two pyres just north of Lokam near the waters of the bay. Sviska stayed near them the entire time. He felt a connection to Brethor and he was saddened by the loss of his friend.

  Upon the falling of the next night, people assembled near the pyres. In attendance was Rincew; his mane well-brushed by attendants in the hours before. He stood with a few of the Wolves of Taria just next to one of the pyres.

  Lord Utros of Taria, as well as Master Nusian with the Leechers, filed down the pathway. The Island Nation Chieftains Knasgriff, Tvila, and Ruir were there also. The Falacar Chiefs stood to the side, as well. Shadowhawk held Bloodhawk under one arm. Silverhawk was to their left and silent. After the battles, he had taken his vow as was custom of their peoples.

  In a procession from the gypsy carts came both the bodies, prepared in flowers and scented with oils. Sviska and Garoa walked in front, holding two handles of a carved wooden carrier with Brethor atop it. Berie and Slats walked behind them, carrying the other handles. Asnea walked behind them.

  Then came the Priors of Kel, their red robes flowing from a strong northern wind. Next came the remaining Wolves of Taria dragging the Runka’s body on a wooden sleigh. Nupps walked behind them, adorned in leaves and branches. He wore the horns of a deer on his head.

  They placed the bodies on the wooden pyres and a stillness and quietness settled, as those that had borne the bodies stood still before the others.

  The Gypsy Mother came and rubbed a dab of oil on both Runka and Brethor. She then reached into the bag on her chest and dusted each of them with a purple powder. She went to where Sviska stood and took a place in front of him, raising her hands.

  “To ash.”

  The two pyres burst into flames and, in mere moments, became no more than smoldering embers.

  Those in attendance took their leave and went on their way with little said between them.

  Slats went to the remains of Brethor and knelt, “Lord Brethor, you said that no statue be made of you but you have surely earned such a token now. I will not step away from this city until I have carved one for you and all of Elinathrond that have fallen during our struggles. I must do this.”

  The dwarf was red in the face and walked quickly away after his words.

  The others remained and even the Gypsy Mother stood there until the embers died down. Sviska and Berie gathered the Brethor’s ashes into an urn of stone and for the wolf, one of wood. Nupp took the one of wood and took it to Rincew. The wolves departed without further word.

  The one of Brethor’s remains was offered to the Gypsy Mother but she raised her hand,

  “To keep him in a vessel is to dishonor him. Return him to his home and to that which was home to his family.”

  Sviska brought the urn back to himself.

  “I will do so.”

  She smiled and walked away, looking down as she did. She would return to her cart.

  Garoa sighed. “Follow me,” he told the others.

  Sviska and Berie, as well as Master Nusian who was standing nearby, followed the Rusis back into Lokam. Turning down the road towards the waterway, he led them to the makeshift tavern they had made a few weeks back.

  As they filed in and stood before the table, Garoa lit the fire with a cast of magic and tossed some logs until the place was filled with crackles and pops.

  He pushed aside the table and placed a stool in the center of a circle of chairs. Behind the bar area, he bent down, grabbing a bottle from behind a panel that he himself had only found in the weeks before when they were cleaning. He was surprised it had remained since the many years from when it was hidden.

  He brought forth the dusty bottle. On the label was the image of a dragon holding a flame beneath a moon.

  “Back when I was younger, the Children of Lokam had set out to save the city from the Grand Protectorate. We kept this for the time when our deed was done, when the world was as it should be, as we saw it, at least.”

  He paused, looking at Master Nusian. “Elum and Telis are not here to share so perhaps it is too soon, but I wish for this now.”

  Master Nusian agreed, shaking his head, “It was Brethor that made this possible by protecting those of magic, as I understand it.”

  “It was he who worked in the shadows to carve this world as it is,” Sviska added, “His vision for what we have now.”

  Berie nodded, “Then be sure to offer him a chalice.”

  Garoa smiled. With a sadness upon him and a twist in his stomach, he set a silver cup on the stool. He then gave glasses to each of the others, and twisted open the bottle with an echoing pop. He filled Brethor’s glass and then the glasses of the others.

  They each held their cup and then in unison raised them.

  “To Brethor,” they said.

  Sviska pressed the glass against his lips and took a sip. It was wine, much like that he had the first time he met Brethor. The fire before him reminded him of the fireplace in the Estate. The dual dragons on either side, the painting of the polar lights above the mantle. He could feel the warmth flowing through him.

  The night passed and though much was to be done, Sviska wished to depart for the spreading of Brethor’s ashes soon. There was much about the city to tend to for a time.

  Down near the southern bridge of Lokam, Slats had begun to work on a statue of Brethor holding his dual blades. In a large plaque placed on an altar before it, he was to inscribe all the names of those he could remember on the stone. To ensure he had recorded as many as he could, he sought those of Elinathrond within the city, asking of the names of their loved ones lost.

  Garoa spent much time with Asnea but the smiles of the Island Chieftain Tvila had drawn him to spend time with her, as well. With less worry upon him, he had frequent conversations and made time to walk with her along the bay. Even though Evurius made mention of a new leader for the city, and his name was mentioned much within the city walls, he tried for now to avoid what would soon become an unavoidable appointment as chief consular of Lokam. He was at rest. His dragons too, were resting, having taken to roost atop the tower of Kel.

  Of the surviving Iolas Lewya, she was nowhere to be found in Lokam. Sviska was able to confirm that she had come to the city and received care but no one knew where she was now. Though the Falacar searched the plains, wary of even a lone Iolas, she was nowhere to be found.

  It was nearing two weeks from the passing of Brethor when Berie approached Sviska.

  “Do you mean to make the trip to Elinathrond?” she asked.

  “I do. Do you wish to come?”

  The elf looked down and then back up to him, taking his hands.

  “I wish not to go, for I desire to remember the city as it was and my grief at the loss of Brethor is still too strong. I will wait for you here and then, we may go where we wish,” she smiled and kissed his lips.

  The next morning he se
t out, riding north through Taria and to the crossing between Tar Sol and Tar Aval. As the ship left the shore, he laughed as the same bumbling, pipe-smoking captain ferried him over to the other side. It was summertime now, and though it was still cool, the snows in the lower mountains were melted and flowers of blue, red, and orange dotted the roads. The village of Tar Aval was little changed from the first time he saw it.

  Ascending the hill towards the stables, he passed the place he had seen the old woman; knowing now she had been partly the Gypsy Mother, he laughed. But the old woman was not out for him to say hello to her.

  The tavern was open again, though under a new barkeep, of course. He did not pause for a drink or to take even a moment for the priest of Wura. His path was set. He headed on north, up the mountain.

  Night had fallen. As he ascended, passing the warming shack, or rather the rubble where it had been. Grasses and flowers grew up around the broken door leading down to where he had spoken with Gemanc.

  After some time, he came to the river on the outskirts of Elinathrond. The snowfall was still on the ground in this area. He crossed the river, the warm waters flowing over his boots. He then came to the gates of Elinathrond.

  The gateways, smashed to pieces by the legionnaires, were left barely hanging on their frames. The walls were mostly broken down. He continued and found himself looking at the fractured earth where the Itsu Priest had destroyed the ground and had attempted to sacrifice the prisoners.

  He walked up Tareh Way to the east square and then past the circular standing stones. Sviska now stood alone, looking at the ruins of the Estate of Elinathrond. He opened the urn and a tear fell from his eye as he spread the ashes of Brethor upon the doorway of the home of the man who had been a stranger to him months before. With a swift wind, the ashes were caught and carried through the holes in the Estate and up around the rafters and the collapsed roof. This was the passing of Brethor of Elinathrond.

  Sviska walked alone around the edge of the estate to the cellar. He brushed the snow off and then, taking only a glance at the wood, he walked towards the walls looking south. As the sun began to rise in the east he bound his cloak around him and turned back towards the road out of Elinathrond, his task now done.

  “Sviska,” a voice said.

  His hand went to his dagger and he looked in the direction of the voice. It was Dran. The Keeper had a bandage on his arm but smiled at him.

  “I had wondered if you had fallen but I see it is not so. Are you following me?”

  Dran shook his head, “I wouldn’t call it that. But I am in the same place as you, for a time. I wished to see the city, the city where you went and the events of the past many weeks began.”

  Sviska turned, looking over the ruins.

  “There is not much left.”

  Sviska began to walk when Dran touched his shoulder, “I know you are no longer a Keeper but I wish you to know. Our charge is now to protect the children, the children the Order sought dead. The children are those of the blood of the Dwemhar. I understand that holds importance to you. Perhaps you wish to join us now?”

  Sviska closed his eyes and then placed his hand on Dran’s shoulder, “If that is your charge, keep them well then.”

  Dran had his answer. “I will.”

  With that, they parted. He now sought the shore of the bay north of Lokam and voyage to the sea. An elf waited for him.Their future together was his only desire as he departed through the city gates where his life was changed and his path towards his destiny had been chosen. He turned a last time and glanced at the city before following the road out of Elinathrond.

  This is the final novel in the trilogy! Ahead, you will find the bonus content! If you’ve enjoyed these books (or even if you didn’t) I’d appreciate if you reviewed this collection on Amazon. Thank you for reading my work!

  The following is bonus content including some history, lores, and two additional stories. See how Berie and Slatnichor met in Arrowfall and learn of Slatnichor’s father’s fate in Blood of Harrodarr!

  I. Mythos of the Lands

  II. Of the races

  III. Arrowfall -a short story

  IV. Blood of Harrodarr -a flash fiction story

  Of Creation, The gods, and the Collapse

  As transcribed from the lore of lands

  By the hand of the ‘ever writing quill

  Of Runhandis

  Creation

  In the times before time, when not elf, nor dwarf, or man yet breathed life, there was blackness. Upon the rhyme of the Great Poet, the world was sung into existence with the perfect balance of lyrical harmony.

  For every stanza of righteousness there came the words of darkness but there was a balance in that magic interwove into life from the very makings of the stars and the lunar light of the great Mother. For at the time of creation it was forever night but from the first founts of magic in the lands of north came life under the light of the great Mother.

  As magic came, red crystals atop mountains created life and warmth and the world received the gifts of the Elder trees. Saplings at first, they grew with the company of every beast of the land. The waters of life poured from the breaths of the Poet and the oceans filled, the deep places of the earth became as springs, and the great poet took up its home within the center of the world.

  For many ages, the Poet wrote the words that gave life to the races. First it was the Dwemhar, those of purity. The elves, those of life. The dwarves, those of stout spirit. The Rusis, those that would command magics. The Poet decorated the world in beauty and found the rhyme and song pleasant.

  The gods

  The Poet then became weary and sought sleep. But the poet could not leave the world unwatched. Thus came the overseers, hands of the poet that could manipulate and act upon the world as the poet rested.

  The Poet thought upon the world, ‘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 of heaven fire. Dimn, Etha, Throka, Kel, Wura.’

  And so it was.

  The Poet thought of the southern regions, the great sands, the place of flames, the plains of white ‘Be these the southern lands, those closer to the great sun of time, and to these regions I give those that would be named Barua, Varua, and Ur.’

  The last without a lord were the oceans to whom the fish-god Meredaas would reside over as long as the ocean had life.

  These gods would be the brothers and sisters that guarded the world.

  A note on the Realms:

  Each god was given its one realm to live in when not active upon the world. Few mortals have stepped into these realms but great gifts and wisdom has been imparted on those that have earned entry. Of the realms visited within the Saints of Wura books was those of Wura (The starry realm), Dimn (The windy realm), and Kel, (The Fire stone realm.)

  A note on the gods: The natural form of the gods were massive giants, towering above the world. Though, on many occasions, the gods have chosen different forms. From that of man and elf to even animals. The only god that chooses the form of an animal at all times is Meredaas. It is unknown why he prefers this form.

  The Sundering of Harmony

  The knowledge of gods and the understandings of their actions cannot be written about so simply as a record but of what is known is below.

  Though there were many issues that arose in the stewardship of the world, the division of north and south worsened as those of the south sought power beyond their claim. Being closer to the great light, they deemed themselves the Itsu, beings of eternal light. The poet had slept for many ages and now the original three gods of the south sought to create life themselves. The first sin was that of the Demon god Ur and the creation of orcs, a mix of the elven race and dark magic. Though it should be noted that Ur was the first of the three to separate from the harmony of the world, he was not without the help of Barua and Varua. The Orc war
s began. It was a great struggle for the races of magic, but in time the orc were defeated and their bodies sealed in the deep places of the lands.

  The northern god Kel, known by now as the god of war, went against Ur and sealed him away in the shadow realm of the south. It is said he placed eternal bounds on the beast that shook the world so much that The Poet awoke for a time. The remaining Itsu quieted and in a flash of consciousness by the Poet, men were created to teach those of the other races of mortal love and to balance their hate planted by the wars of the gods. In response to the weight of Itsu powers, lesser gods of north were created. It was a last attempt at true harmony, for one cannot be at peace without understanding the nature of hate.

  The Itsu sensed this new life called ‘men’ and felt a renewed desire to rule those deemed much weaker than the races of magic. They began to create life again bringing about the bastard creation of demons which was then followed by the creation of god-beings. These giants, blessed with elemental powers, were meant to further enslave others to their will and that of their gods, the Itsu. The temples of Necromancy in the south were turned into a gathering place for those of men seeking the Itsu as a source of eternal life. As many of the Itsu were sent into the world, the northern gods worked against them in the outer realms until at last the gods’ war became the world’s and the races of the lands fought to keep their peoples safe.

  The Itsu began cursing their own people in an attempt to keep their people loyal. The war god Kel and Throka of the mountains, went south to protect the people. In a fight within the realm of the living world, the Itsu Varua was destroyed. Barua retaliated with sinking part of the southern lands murdering millions of the race of men. By the reckoning of the Northern gods, the deemed the Itsu nearly defeated, but it was not so. For it seemed the murdering of millions was a sacrifice that engorged Barua with power, the spirits of the beaten Itsu were formed into new beings of ethereal power. The Itsu gods and their ‘angels’ were growing in numbers and the very names of the many created were lost to time. The lesser gods of the north fought the angels of the Itsu. There was much suffering in those times. A more permanent solution was sought by the gods to deal with the Itsu.