Lying on his back, he closed his eyes. He needed rest, but this night he would not get it. The familiar call of a messenger bird above caused his spine to cringe and his eyes to jerk open. The Order had sent a message. He shook his head.
The bird swooped low, its eyes bright white in the stormy sky—a sign to Sviska that it was indeed under control of the Order. Though magic was no more in the lands, the Order had their ways of controlling those they wished. The bird came directly toward him, wings outstretched, and opened its talons.
A bound parchment was dropped a good distance from his feet and rolled toward him. The bird screeched. The flapping of its wings brushed Sviska, and he covered his face with his arm as the bird lifted back into the sky, disappearing into the night.
He reached for the paper, broke the gray seal, and unrolled it.
The Order has called upon you once more and in more immediate need than prior tasks. You are to head north through the towns of Tar Sol and Tar Aval, into the furthest northern reaches of the lands.
Take with you only clothing and food for your journey. You are to take residence with the lord of a mountain city as a winemaker. We will send you what you need for the task, with shipments of supplies to follow you.
You will use the name Turmin. All other specifics and the center point of your tasks will become evident with the shipments. In Tar Aval, we have made arrangements for you at the local tavern. Do know, the lord of the Estate does not allow such trinkets of war amongst his premises, and doing so will jeopardize our desired outcome. Go in further secret than normal and let no weapon remain in your hand after crossing the river Stalp.
You alone must be sure of your task. Do not fail us again.
He looked down to the ground, shaking his head as he bit his lip. This was not a normal task, not an assassination from the shadows. He did not wish to serve the Order with any of their doings, but in truth, he had no choice in this matter. Sviska was bound to obey them or face death. After reading it a few more times, he tossed the note into the fire and watched the parchment catch and become absorbed into the flames. He pushed dirt into the fire and extinguished it. There would be no rest for him this day.
Chapter 2 The Road Leads North
Sviska traveled to the far north with haste. It was not until crossing into the rocky, barren lands, leaving the wooded regions of Taria further south, that he would slow his pace. It was midday when he reached Tar Sol, a solemn town, hidden behind the veil of a recent snow, its buildings running alongside the river Stalp. Above him, a gray sky promised more snow was to follow.
He trudged past two guards wearing deep red woolen coats and holding spears on his way toward the docks. The river, though fast further south, was wide and slow this far north and was much more a small lake than a river. The ferry crossing was active, and the docked boat was soon to leave with both people and supplies. Sviska stepped off the rocky shore and onto the wooden docks.
A sharp breeze and the call of the gulls reminded him of the waters of the south and his home, but the wind here was cold and harsh. A man with a book and a brown parchment bag scowled at him.
"I do not know your face. You are new to us here. You will pay twice the amount. Ten pieces of coinage."
Sviska paid the man and nodded. Arguing would garner attention he did not want.
Tar Sol, though he did not even stop to stare at it, would soon be behind him. Tar Aval was his next stop. From there he only could guess as to his path into the mountains. Just before the ferry, he noticed a stall selling bread and bought a half loaf. He tucked it away in his coat, tearing off a piece before he did. At least it was something warm.
The bells on the dock rang as more people gathered onto the boat to be ferried across the icy river. Sviska waited to sit until others had taken their spots.
He tucked his tunic around his face, the bite of the cold nipping his ears and cheeks.
Walking past the other passengers, he found a place unoccupied where he could keep to himself. The clucking of the chickens, noisily prancing and pecking around him, would be his company for the crossing.
From the shore, whistling sounds preceded a large man jumping onto the deck. The captain of the ship, by his careful glares at the masts and happenings of the crew, had arrived.
With a coarse cough, he set the mouthpiece to a long pipe in the corner of his mouth, dropping flakes of freshly lit tobacco on Sviska's legs as he passed.
"We might need to be gettin' off now!" he yelled. "Snowstorm is coming fast from the north."
Sviska looked back down to find a wrinkled hand reaching into his coat pocket. He grasped the hand around the wrist, and with his other hand, pulled his dagger just past the brim of his coat, all while glancing up at the gray-haired pale man before him.
The old man staggered, his eyes widened, and he began to breathe shallowly.
"I didn't mean any harm," he squealed.
"Away from my things!" Sviska replied, pushing the man's hand away. He slid his dagger back into its sheath.
Sitting back, he looked about the other passengers, hoping none had seen what had transpired. None of the others or the crew, including the captain, who looked over the water away from them, had seen anything, and if they had, they were ignoring it.
The ship lurched with the raising of the sails and began cutting across the windswept waters. The land he had always known was far from his mind now. The blue skies, the white clouds that bellowed about day after day, and the humid sea air fled from his senses. He did not like the cold and never had the Order sent him, nor anyone to his knowledge, so far north.
What purpose was he to have to take care of a winery? How could any grape grow this far in the north? It was unknown to him how this guise as he understood it would hold up.
Sviska felt naked in preparation. Although bound in many layers with a few bags of supplies, he knew his dagger would accompany him only to the further shore. He had reread the note many times before burning it.
The lord of the Estate does not allow such trinkets of war amongst his premises.
It was like a curse, a man with no leg to have his cane taken away. What kind of trickery was it to him to be required to abide a rule like that?
He looked at his arm, loosening the bandage. His wound was healing well. Another day or two and it would scab over and be uncovered.
The old man from before stood and tried to walk but tripped with a sway of the boat, falling over Sviska's legs.
He jerked his head up, his eyes widely scanning Sviska.
"I'm sorry. So, so sorry."
The man struggled to stand, staggering as he did and falling again. He shook his head as he tried again. His eyes looked toward Sviska's coat and the dagger he knew was under it.
Sviska reached under the man's arms and stood. The man felt as if he had been in the river by the coldness from his body. His skin was dry and leathery against Sviska’s hands. The man shivered and cowered as Sviska lifted him to his feet.
"Sit down," Sviska told him.
Placing the man near one of the chicken coops, he took off his outer tunic and placed it over him. The man was dressed in not much more than rags and torn cloths for clothing. Sviska did not mind helping him, but it was an unusual gesture he normally wouldn’t do.
"I thought you were one of them Northern peoples," the old man said with a slight smile. "Thank you."
"Northern peoples?" Sviska asked, sitting back down.
"That's all we call 'em. They live in the mountains across the water here, where we are going."
The man hummed and quivered. Sviska looked at his thin arms and legs, his veins curled and his skin taut with age. The man smacked his lips, pulling Sviska's coat around himself tighter.
Sviska reached into his coat and pulled out the half loaf of bread. "I am sure you are hungry," he said, offering it to him.
The man smiled, took the bread, and began chewing on the portion as if he had not had food for his entire life. Sviska noticed the m
an had mostly chipped, if not fully missing, front teeth. However, even without all of them intact, in a matter of moments, nothing but a few crumbs of the bread remained on his lips.
"I am dearly sorry that I went to go into your things."
Though annoyed, Sviska nodded and stared out over the waters, but the white fog that they passed through veiled his view.
"The Northern peoples," the man began, "they are always quiet and secretive. No one trusts them, but nobody will admit it, especially to them. Some even say they have magic. But it has been many, many suns since I have seen any of them down this way."
Sviska snickered and shook his head as he stared at him. "There is no magic, not anymore. Blessed are all being rid of it, too. The disease that spread from magic was a horrible plague, and you should be wary of telling any that you have had dealings with any magic of sorts."
The man raised his finger, pointing at Sviska. Sviska stared back. The man made a circular motion with his finger before closing and opening his eyes wide. Sviska questioned what the man was doing.
The old man then reached into his tunic and pulled out a small satchel.
"Here, sir, take my coins." The man dropped the coins onto the deck and pushed them along the wood. Seven gold coins rested just a few inches from Sviska's hand.
"I cannot take those." He pushed the coins back toward the old man.
"Oh, please do. You are one of the blessed ones. I am sure of it."
"Do not believe such tales," he told the old man, shaking his head. "Magic is gone because it was time for magic to be no more. It was evil. There is no more magic in this world, and it has been that way for at least two hundred years. Do not give offering to anyone, be they supposed blessed or otherwise."
"But not all magic is bad nor gone, I know. I do not offer gold to you as a banisher of magic," he whispered.
The man chewed on his lower lip and began picking his teeth when Sviska noticed the old man's left hand. A scar, blackened with what looked like a lightning pattern, went up his arm.
Sviska raised an eyebrow. "What is that? What happened to your arm?" he asked him, pointing.
"Why do you point out an old man's faults?" he said back to him.
The captain of the ferry looked over.
Sviska shook his head. "I did not mean it as that."
"I know." The old man smiled. "The way you were talking was too serious. I needed to do something about that. You ask of this old arm, do you? Well, magic. That magic that doesn't exist anymore . . . Let me tell you a tale, and you decide of what you should believe."
He turned to listen but was reluctant to hear it. Be it the man's state, Sviska was beginning to think the man was nothing but a sufferer of memory sickness, a plaque that had struck many long ago, turning them from good, wise thinkers and doers of good, to worthless, flea-ridden beggars of the alleys who babble of uncertain times and happenings. The disease was said to be severe among those of magic and led to their disappearance.
The man gave a smile and stared upward. "It seems still to me like a dream," he began. "I was a younger man then, walking the woods after a good lunch and cup of warm tea. There was this woman, garbed in a purple cloth, standing alone in a clearing. I first was somewhat scared, worried of who she was. Who would stand alone in the woods, unmoving like a statue? I had heard stories of women, creatures of sort, who would lure men by their radiant beauty, only to devour them deep in the woods. This woman was not one of them. I could feel it.
“As I crept closer, moving from tree to tree for cover, I heard singing. A sweet song, graceful, a melody unlike anything I had ever heard. I was in a trance, unmoving for hours as the sun began to set and the stars to shine. I watched until she stopped, and felt an overwhelming peace cover me. It was then that there was a sudden ruckus in the bushes. Men in hoods, holding ropes and knives in their grimy hands, attacked the woman, surprising her like a caught fish in a net."
The man shook his head and grumbled to himself before looking back to Sviska.
"But I tell ya, she would not be taken as easy as that. They thought she would, at first. She struggled and struggled, and they tied her up. With long whips, they began lashing her fair skin, calling her a sorceress. She claimed she was not, screaming she was a simple bread maker from the nearby village. But I had never seen a bread maker to my memory there, and they did not believe her either.
“They lit a fire beneath her bound form. The smell of burning flesh filled my nose. She began to weep first, and then scream. The winds gusted around the woods, and then came a wail like a banshee in a nightmare.
“The woman began to glow, a soft white at first, followed by an eruption of fiery blue. Flames leaped from her fingertips, and the fire below burst outward, like a raging river, consuming her captors. The woods around me seemed aroused. The bushes and branches of the trees swayed as winds from the trees and grottoes of the woods rushed toward the woman, ripping her bindings apart. She floated gently to the ground, still aflame.
“The men cowered in fear as she went to each of them, casting blue fire, turning them to the very stones of the mountains. She was horrible yet beautiful.
“She began to walk my way. What drew her to me, I cannot guess, but she came. I stepped back, stumbled, and I tripped. The blue flames licked my feet. The cold fire that burned about her did not seem evil, but comforting. Her fire went out, and the young woman I had watched before was now above me.
“'Are you okay?' she asked. Her voice was like a songbird singing.
“I was too afraid to speak. She began to touch my face and smiled. Her fingertips brushed over my cheeks. I could not explain it—I felt peace but terror, both together.
“Infatuated with her, I gasped and reached out to her. But suddenly the white of her dress ran red. At the center of the stained satin was a black-tipped bolt. Her eyes widened as the angry arrow from a marksman unseen stole her life away.
“She let out a wail and turned as another bolt struck her in the eye. The blue fire returned to her body but then flickered. She collapsed on me as the fire was fading but still very much present. I felt a feeling as if a thousand needles struck my arm. I screamed, and then all went dark.
“I jerked awake sometime later, glancing around but finding only darkness surrounding me. Crawling a few paces, I spotted the light of a small fire. I noticed some other men, nothing like the men from before, though. They were silent, eating cooked meat and sipping their drinks until I said a hushed hello.
“They told me they had found me in the woods near a glowing tree, and that I had been unconscious for many days now. I noticed my arm had been bandaged, and when the wound healed, I was left with this scar."
He lifted his arm to Sviska's face.
"I feel it brings me good luck. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I have not seen anything like that since. But no magic left? Nah, there is magic. I know because I saw her not thirty years ago. There must be magic still, and I have a sense about people. You are indeed blessed."
Sviska shook his head in an uncomfortable disbelief. Perhaps the man was right about what he had seen, or maybe he was not and the many years on the man's mind had distorted his memory.
He had learned since he was able to walk that not all such things were true. Those wars of old were an essence of evil, and since magic had played a part in the cause of the wars of the past, most people believed all magic to be evil.
Sviska looked up to see the ship pass through a massive arch in the water, the rocky gateway into the village. He peered out further, just now able to see the makings of another small seashore town. They would land at Tar Aval soon.
The captain, still smoking his pipe, stood up and began to instruct his crew to direct them into one of the closest docks.
"Ho hum! As we get close, get those there ropes tied up quick! Don't want the ol' boat leaving without us!" he said with a laugh, puffing at his pipe and then grimacing as he noticed the tobacco was all but out. He felt about his per
son for a tobacco pouch, which he promptly located in his lower coat pouch, and began to fill the bowl again.
There was a distinct difference to this village from the one before. Sviska spotted small houses nestled up and down the coastline, each built three to four stories into the air, with little chimneys puffing plumes of gray smoke into the snowy sky. Their thatched roofs were heavily laden with snow and ice. He noticed the dimly lit windows and thought of how warm those within them must be. A deep chill was filling him as they reached the ferry landing.
A haze was moving in across the water, and the tickle of fresh flakes began to fall. Sviska brushed the snow off his arm just to have more take its place. The sound of the gravel against the bowel of the boat preceded a rocking motion as the boat came to a soft landing against the dock. The men jumped from the ferry, tying the ship to the stone dock in a fury of swinging ropes and quick knots.
The old man grabbed Sviska’s hand with both of his own, shaking them heavily.
"Thank you for the talkin'. I'm off to collect me some tobacco." He then hobbled up and off the ship before Sviska could say anything in reply.
Sviska looked around him and then stepped off the wooden planks, crunching into a mush of ice and snow. He shivered. It was colder here than in Tar Sol. But perhaps it was just in his mind.
The passengers of the ferry went their own ways, some arguing over what to carry, others simply walking toward the town, smiling as they surely thought of a warm room and hot tea.
He swallowed his saliva and looked about for somewhere to dispose of his dagger. The message had been very clear in that once past the river, he could have no weapons. He climbed up a snowbank by the water and walked along the shore.
His hands in his pockets, he glanced around, attempting to avoid attention to himself as he looked along the waters. Rocks jutted out from the surface, circled in rings of ice that the current had not broken up. He came to a narrow stretch of land that jutted out in the water a few paces.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 2
