As they walked, he noticed that within the cells were more people. Some still did the mindless activities as was in the second level, but most were bleeding. Injuries, self-inflicted, were plentiful. They stopped at a cell, and Brethor pointed to a young woman who was biting her hand. As Sviska looked closer, he saw that she had rows of teeth marks going up both arms.
"She was an herbalist from the first level of the city. A nice woman, due to marry within a few days of being brought here. She did not go to the second level. Her family had hid the fact that the curse was so powerful in her, and she killed all of them in a blind rage, including her betrothed. If not for a neighbor, we might not have found her before others were harmed."
The woman snarled and ran forward, striking the bars of the cell with her hands.
"Let me out!" she screamed.
"We forcefully took her to the third level after the Priors of the temple were unable to calm her. She will soon be moved to the fourth level. That is a sad fate."
"Why do you just keep them here?" Sviska asked. "This is no better a fate than what happened to those in my lands. Why not put them to death and end their suffering?"
"The way your world works and the way we work here is very different. In your world, your people are plentiful. But here, we of magic are fading in numbers, just as the curse was designed to ensure. The Itsu sought the death of all magical beings, and with the binding of Kel, the curse was procured and spread, its presence unseen and unfelt by normal people. Those who see the process believe the person to be just crazy. The ruling people put them to death for the reason of the safety of others. These are our friends. We hope for the curse to be broken, but as of now, no ways to do so have been found. We keep them in this asylum as hope for their families. But even I feel those already here cannot recover. Their fates were sealed before they arrived."
He began to walk back toward the others. "And now, the curse is spreading amongst those of our mountain even faster."
"She will have to be moved down soon, Brethor," said Roega. "She cannot remain here."
"I know," he replied, distraught.
"We have no way to protect others from the spread of the curse."
"We are working on it, Roega," he said, looking at Sviska. "Production will begin soon."
Roega again led them to the stairs. They descended further and to a dark area. The Priors at this level were many more than Sviska had seen in the entirety of the rest of the asylum. There was a large open area with a single walkway that crossed the entire room. Underground waterfalls provided a river that snaked under divided walls that numbered in the hundreds. The room was massive, and looking over the edge of the walkway, Sviska noticed there were many rows of people kept down in separate cells below.
Harsh wailing and screaming echoed through the air. More like beasts than people, they bellowed curses and ripped at themselves. The smell of blood and feces permeated his senses, and his stomach felt sour.
At the end of the walkway was a circular area where an assembly of Priors stood. A body lay in the center of the circle. Bloodied, blackened, but alive, the person took shallow and rapid breaths.
A Prior held his staff above the person, its glow preventing the person from moving. It quivered and reached out toward the other Priors as they recited verses from a book in his hand.
"Hallowed body we find you here,
The curse of mania, loss, and fear.
No longer you; your soul is lost,
We bid you now the final cross.
Without more sadness to bear you down,
Without the drear and horrid sound,
By our sacred power bestowed at last
Your suffering shall now be cast."
The Priors brought forward their staves in unison. A bright light enveloped the person and blinded Sviska for a moment. The wails of the room became louder, a product of the curse devoured within the death of the person. A blast of cold air rushed outward, and then all went silent within the room.
In the circle within where the body had been, only ashes remained.
"To ashes and dust," said Brethor quietly. He bowed his head and turned slowly back, walking away from both Sviska and Roega.
"This is how the curse ends," said Roega. "If you are not killed by someone in the second level, or by yourself in the third, the fourth will take you. The madness and suffering becomes too much for the mind to handle." He then followed after Brethor, bowing his head.
Sviska stood, staring at the ashes. The Priors filed away from the circular area, and a single monk brushed the ashes off the side, the remains to fall into the pits below. This curse, as they called it, was horrible to Sviska. Seemingly only affecting those of magic, how could making wine help this at all? Aside from this, his reason for being here was not to figure out a cure for the people. Although his task was still unclear, he knew that the cares of the people were not his concern. But, there was a strange twinge in his mind, like a thought that was cloudy being made clear. However, he could not betray the Order. The second shipment would be arriving before too long, and with it the rest of his task.
He joined the others who were awaiting him near the stairwell. Brethor was quiet, and upon seeing Sviska, smiled.
"Well, you have now seen it. You have wondered of my family. This is what became of them. Every child, woman, and man of my bloodline, lost to the curse long ago. If only I could have helped them."
Brethor and Sviska made their way back to the first level. Near the entrance of the area, there were a few of the Brotherhood of Wura holding a young boy by the arms. A group of Priors held their glowing staves above him. The boy went limp. The Priors lifted him out of the main walkway, placing him against a wall.
"A new victim," said Brethor.
He went to the boy and sat down next to him. He stroked the boy’s hair and began to weep. "So young. His life forfeit by this evil curse." Sviska knelt next to him.
"So here, even the young get memory sickness?" he said.
"The curse has no qualm of age nor experience, evil nor good, only the sense of magic within you. This boy was a son of one of the Priors from the Priory of Kel, the temple in the western part of the city. Those who work the asylum are of that temple, so this will prove more painful for those who are here. I was with him since the night before last in the temple. The family was stricken, and I had no offerings of help other than to offer my presence. To feel powerless and be the lord of this city is my own torment."
Brethor stood and wiped his face of tears. "We should go. I know you need sleep."
Sviska followed him back out of the asylum, and the cool night air met them as they left. The metal gate and heavy stone sealed behind them.
"Are you well?" Brethor asked, concerned.
"Yes," Sviska replied. "I only wish to know my part in all of this."
"Brethor!" a voice said. "And our new winemaker, Turmin!"
They both turned to find the man Sviska had met when he first arrived in the city, Ustavis, leaning on his staff.
"I was hoping I could speak to the man who will be our savior here. It seems he has been too busy to find me again!” Ustavis smiled.
"What business do you have with him?" asked Brethor. His hands moved to his hips, and he took a step backward.
"Just a friendly conversation of simple happenings, I assure you. There is much a wandering mage can teach a winemaker from the south."
Between the two of them, a long silence ensued, their glances held, unmoving, with little emotion except a wry smile from Ustavis. At last, Brethor nodded, turning to Sviska.
"I have business to attend to myself. Go ahead. Learn what you can from Ustavis. He is wise and powerful, as powerful as a mage can be."
Ustavis laughed, and Brethor began walking out of the area of the asylum at a hastened pace.
"I guess apologies are in order, then?" Sviska asked. "With my arrival, I have had little time—"
"No, no, my son, excuses are not warranted here. Expectat
ions in the other lands are not the same as here. Here, all is forgiven by me."
They began to walk, following out toward the locked doors. Ustavis, unlocking the doors with no key but with sleight of hand, led him. They made it back into the desolate area of the city. Brethor was no longer in sight.
"He who haunts the night is already gone," said Ustavis.
"What?" asked Sviska.
"Oh, just ramblings of an old mage. Tell me, how was the asylum and the story of the curse?"
"I am without words. Horrible, but that doesn't seem to do it respect."
Ustavis nodded. "Indeed it is. The wine is the only hope for us here. What private stock some have is dwindling. And those who have it do not tell."
They made their way to a far wall, ascended the stairs, and began following down the parapets. As they passed the Black Shards, the eyes of the statues glowed gold, as if seeking their presence, and then went dark.
The snowy, rock-strewn cliff sides jutted down away from the walls. Further down, a few frostbitten trees were growing from the rocks. Between the trees, water snaked. The source of the warm waters of the valley splashed into a pool as it poured out from underneath the city, casting steam into the air.
"Magic is a wonderful and powerful force," said Ustavis, admiring the falls. "From an icy mountain comes warm water."
Sviska looked over the wall, down to the water. "When I first arrived here, I wondered how such a thing could be. Now I have no doubts."
"So a believer you've been made. I wish there was more you knew. Perhaps the great lord of the city would not be so great."
Sviska stopped. "Brethor has done no wrong, by my accord," he told him. "I hardly know him as I should, but I am trying to know. He took me to see the fate of his family."
"Yes, but is it now odd that he did not share the same fate?" Ustavis glared at him. "I am a powerful mage, but even I may be susceptible to such curses. What makes the lord so strong that his entire family would be wiped out but he remains? I believe dark magic is in the works, and I beg you, be careful."
Sviska had no reason to doubt this man. He knew Brethor not much more than he knew Ustavis.
"I only wish you to be wary, dear boy," said Ustavis. "You are welcome to my wisdom as you seem fit. The last winemaker met a horrible fate at the hand of violent fires. Perhaps you should speak with the Brotherhood of Wura. You already met Captain Runa, and I am sure he would be happy to speak with you of his investigation given your position in the city."
"I will speak with the captain. Perhaps I can assist him in discovering the culprit."
Ustavis patted him on the back. "Indeed. You should speak with him tomorrow. You need to be warned; the wine is not sought by all to be spread around in the city once again. I bid you be careful."
With a brilliant flash, Ustavis was gone. Sviska now was alone on the parapets with only the moon to give him company.
He wondered now of Brethor and if he should be fearful. His mind returned to his task and the vial in the winery. He needed to hide it before it was found.
Sviska made his way back to the Estate and crept toward the winery. He found the bottle that he and Brethor had tasted, and poured the wine out on the floor. He broke it on the table and left it there as if it had fallen by accident. The vial lay in a curved shard of glass.
Within the vial was a green liquid. What he was to do with such a liquid he did not know. He went to where the other bottles were. He had noticed when placing the bottles that there was a loose stone behind one of them. He had thought nothing of it then. Now, he knew it would make an ideal place to put the vial.
He went to the stone, pulled it with little force, and it came free. Chipping at the mortar and brick behind it, he made a small crevice in which to place the vial, and then covered it with the stone. The vial was safe.
He dusted his hands and began out of the cellar. As he made his way up the stairs, he heard the door open from the area where he and Slats had taken a break.
A woman appeared. She was dressed in silver and blue, adornments sat in her hair, and she was garbed in a tunic like Brethor and himself. Across her back was a silver bow and a quiver of arrows tipped with white feathers. She was quite beautiful, more so than any Sviska had seen. Before he could say a word, she came toward him.
"Winemaker?" she asked.
"Um, yes," he said.
"Better fate I hope for you." She began walking toward the kitchen dragging a bag behind her.
“What do you have there?" he asked, noticing a trail of blood soaking through the brown cloth bag.
"The body of the last person who continued talking after I did not wish to speak to them."
Sviska suddenly wished he had his knife on him still. He said nothing in reply.
She laughed and shook her head. "You like to eat meat. I will not pass up on a chance to leave the city and be in the woods, and vegetables are hard to come by. Though my kind might be less than happy, it is a hog and a deer for Brethor. I am Berie. That is all you must know of me."
She said nothing further and continued to drag her quarry to the kitchen.
Sviska made his way toward his quarters. The late hour and the events of the night were weighing heavily on him. As he made his way into the foyer, the doors opened and Brethor came in.
"Turmin," he said, his eyes opened widely in surprise.
"Yes?"
His expression turned more serious as he shut the door and removed his coat. "Did Ustavis speak with you as he wanted?"
"Yes, and then in a flash, you could say, he was gone."
Brethor raised his eyes in a manner of careful understanding. "He is a wise man, Ustavis, and a powerful mage. Did he say anything that you feel I may need to know?"
Sviska searched his thoughts and remembered Ustavis' warning.
"No. He did not," Sviska said.
A show of relief came across Brethor's face. "He is an old friend, but of late, I have been wary of him. You should be careful of some outside this Estate. I would trust anyone within these walls with my life. But I feel some within the city have lost faith. I do hope Ustavis remains on our side."
The first glow of the morning sun was now just changing the night sky to a dim red in the windows above. Brethor nodded to him and began down the western corridor.
"Before I forget," said Sviska, "I know you want the wine procured as quickly as possible. I do not have the entire winery ready, but I do have my seeds. I can begin planting them, but I am not sure where I can do that. Is there a special room in the Estate where the grapes can be grown?"
Brethor nodded and smiled. "I will show you tonight. Meet me in the foyer at midnight." He continued walking and disappeared around the corner.
Chapter 10 The Brotherhood and the Priory
Sviska slept without waking a single time. As he now awoke, his eyes blinked groggily to a roaring fire to his side. He scratched his face and felt something fall off the edge of the bed. He reached down, feeling the cold stone, until his hand brushed a piece of parchment. He read it aloud to himself.
I have went into town for a drink. Seeing as I am off as a servant and the winery needs nothing else, I will be drinking.
By the way, I cleaned up the broken wine bottle in the winery! You owe me wine!
Slats
He laughed and stood up, stretching his body that was fatigued from the long night. His mind was still torn from the horrors of the fourth level of the asylum. That place was a temple of madness and mania.
He made his way out, remembering the coat Brethor had gifted him. It was much easier than dressing in layers every day.
In the dining room, he found some prepared eggs and bread. He ate although they were cold and spongy, and then made his way out of the Estate. Ustavis had bid him to speak to Captain Runa to learn more of the attack on the winery. After a quick stop to ask for directions, he learned the Temple of Wura was in the east district of the city.
Sviska began that way. He did not know exactly
where it sat, but he could make it out just above the other buildings.
An opposing structure built into the mountain, its twisting steeple rose high into the skies. He came to a stone wall that curved around to a black gate. Two guards stood outside open gates of simple iron.
He nodded at them as he passed, but they did not move. A single bell sat outside the two closed wooden doors leading into the temple. There was a small fountain in a garden just to the side of the temple where white-cloaked men marched in groups of four off to the side of the main structure. In the expanse, groups of them sparred with each other and practiced with their staves, striking blows and deflecting their opponent's attacks. At the same time, others marched in formation. It was odd to have military-style drills next to a temple as regal as this looked.
Looking around, he did not see Runa anywhere. He made his way into the temple itself. Opening the doors, he walked into a smaller room with candles numbering uncountable along the walls. A single dark opening, made shadowy by the bright candles, led further in.
Crossing through the opening, he came to a large room with grand vaulted ceilings that looked like giant trees. He wondered if some were trees but encased in stone to support the structure. Above him, white dishes suspended by chains just below the level of the roof shone with a white glow, giving just enough light to see the rest of the temple.
At the center of the far end of the room sat a large round stone. There was an effigy of a black night, with stars, the moon, and a whimsical smoke of green strewn across the entire image. He rubbed the etching and felt the coarse and smooth contrast of the colored image and the rest of the stone.
"They say the god Wura would come with the snowy lights of the sky and steal from the other gods. That is, before he became good."
Sviska turned and noticed that Captain Runa was standing behind him, his arms crossed and his eyes heavy.
"Captain Runa."
"Hello, Turmin. I see you have made your way to the Temple of Wura. What has brought you to our temporary refuge?"
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 9
