The Merchant of Nevra Coil (Legends of Windemere Book 8)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Oh! Breathing is what they have to do to stay alive, right?”

  “This is why we don’t let you help very often.”

  The goddess grabs a nearby railing, turning it into a fanged serpent that spits orange juice. “I know the real reason. I’d overshadow all of you with how efficient I am.”

  “Yola, I love you like the sister I never asked for, but you’re a fickle idiot.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  “Go over there,” Trinity demands, pointing toward the gnomes. The workers are crawling through a hole in one of the crates, the finished toys strewn across the dented platform. “Let them go. They earned their lives by not losing their minds to fear. Have to adm-”

  Nyx bursts from the smoke and knocks Trinity across the factory with a condensed wind blast to the chin. The chaos elf stretches her arms to grab two support beams and launches herself like a slingshot. With a building-shaking smash, the channelers collide and destructive spells fill the air. The pair crash through two walkways and land on top of a metal platform, each of the combatants gripping the wrist of the other’s dominate hand. Nyx delivers a kick to Trinity’s stomach, the blow exploding with rolling flames and sending the women slamming against opposing rails. Not waiting to catch their breath, the rivals leap forward with battering rams of force forming on their fists. The spells shatter on impact, which pushes the channelers back to the edges of the platform.

  “You’ve been practicing with Casandra,” Trinity says, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. “I think you cracked a rib at some point.”

  “I don’t remember you ever being this weak,” Nyx claims while flicking wind arrows at her enemy. She growls as the nimble chaos elf effortlessly dodges her spells. “All you’ve learned is how to run away. To think you gave me a beating last time we fought.”

  “It’s never about power,” the other channeler retorts with a wide grin. Growing an acidic blade from her hand, she cuts off a piece of the railing to use as an off-hand club. “It’s all about who’s the most cunning fighter.”

  Ducking under a feeble spray of ice, Trinity sprints at Nyx and feints at her shoulder with the green blade. The magical weapon is dissolved by a shield of roiling flames, but the chaos elf follows up with her makeshift club. Due to the thick bracelet on her wrist, the champion’s left arm jerks to the side and knocks her off-balance. Trinity thinks she has the upper hand, so she puts all of her strength into the blow that hits the enchanted jewelry. A stunning force pushes the channelers apart and the metal rod sails into the churning waterstone below.

  “Pineapple,” Nyx growls, deactivating the bracelet. She tries to create a wall of fire, but nothing happens. “I’m not going to compliment you on that trick.”

  “Like I care,” Trinity replies as she attempts to send a bolt of lightning at the half-elf. The spell veers to the left due to a wave of crippling vertigo. “Perfect. That damn thing hurt me more than I expected. I can’t even take a step without wanting to vomit.”

  Nyx cracks her knuckles and runs toward her weakened enemy, her fist pulled back for a punch to the nose. She skids to a stop when Yola drops in front of her and repeatedly slashes at the ground with razor-like hair. The champion is driven to the edge of the platform where a wall of solidified waterstone rises to prevent her from escaping. Feeling her magic return, Nyx emits a wave of heat that melts the grasping hands that stretch from the barrier.

  “This one is too dangerous,” Yola says, her arms combining to form giant scissors. “I can snip her aura off and be done with her. Poor little channeler will never feel the warmth of magic in her veins again.”

  “No . . . That’s too much,” Trinity states as she catches her ally by the elbow. The thought of being without her aura makes the chaos elf shudder, a voice in her head screaming that such a fate should never be inflicted on a channeler. “I want her to keep her powers. Nyx is mine to defeat and she isn’t worth my time if she doesn’t have her magic. I told you to handle the other champions.”

  “Other champions? Is that why there are those other toys?”

  A spinning great axe slams into Yola’s chest and sends her flying off the platform, the goddess laughing as she falls into the waterstone. Trinity catches the incoming ice hammer in one hand and a globe of fire in the other, hurling both of them at Sari who has Dariana on her back. Still floating to the ground, the gypsy can only redirect her spell into Nyx’s approaching flames. The dense mist billows over the platform and hides Fizzle as he flies low enough to take the chaos elf’s legs out from under her. In griffin form, Luke drops Timoran and Delvin onto the far side of the platform and makes a wide circle around the factory. The forest tracker lands next to Nyx and returns to his normal state, but the channeler refuses to wait for her friends to get in position. She pounces on Trinity and they rocket into the air to continue their battle away from the others.

  “I guess we get the other one,” Delvin says as he watches spells explode against the ceiling and walls. “Then again, I doubt she survived falling into this mess. Is your axe going to be okay in there, Timoran?”

  “It is enchanted, so it will be fine once I retrieve it,” the barbarian calmly states. He draws a small knife from his bracer, the tiny weapon looking ridiculous in his large hands. “Who was that woman?”

  “Yola Biggs the Goddess of Chaos,” Dariana answers while watching for any sign of the deity. She can hear the mental cackling of the deity in her mind, the eerie static making it difficult to focus. “I hope she went back to Shayd because we can’t defeat her. To be honest, I’m surprised she’s even here. My father has only used her for messages and transport because she is wanted by the other gods. Something about breaking the Law of Influence centuries ago and she ran away instead of accepting a trial.”

  “He has a goddess as an agent?” Sari groans, covering herself in ice armor. The blue and white platemail sprouts barbed spikes from the shoulders and a vortex of boiling water appears on her chest. “I hope this means Gabriel or Ram will step in to save us. I’d even be happy to see Lorvis or one of the destruction gods.”

  “I’m surprised they haven’t shown up either,” Yola admits as she materializes next to the gypsy. Scratching her head, the goddess stares at the axe in her chest while her other hand tears off Sari’s armor and tosses it over her shoulder. “My axe is sore. Does anyone know what to do about this? It’s really . . . little Dariana!”

  The Chaos Goddess rushes to give her master’s daughter a hug, but the silver-haired woman ducks under her arms and yanks the great axe free. Dariana tosses it to Timoran before she is embraced by coiling limbs and spun around at a nauseating speed. Yola stops and glances around at the other champions as if seeing them for the first time. The stench of their fear and anxiety wrinkles her nose, but a delicious whiff of defiant bravery catches her attention. Her eyes turn dull green as they fall upon Luke, the half-elf searching for an opening to attack.

  “I can’t kill you, but I can hurt you,” she whispers, tossing Dariana away like a doll. A third arm erupts from her back to catch Fizzle by the tail and ties the appendage around his body. “I don’t like dragons. They taste like leather and the teeth tear up my tummy. Wait a minute, little thing. You’re not a champion, so you’re not safe here.”

  Yola throws the drite at the bubbling sea of melted figurines, but a plume of water bursts from the deadly sea to knock Fizzle back onto solid ground. The champions charge the goddess who sends Timoran slamming into the ceiling with a flick of her hair. Dariana leaps to catch the plummeting barbarian, using herself as a cushion for his landing. The ringing impact shakes the platform and the floor beneath them turns into a vat of honey that they struggle to escape. Delvin and Sari keep Yola moving with a flurry of slashes and bursts of jagged ice. A spike pierces the goddess and she splits in half, both parts bouncing around on their solitary legs. The halves pop into swarms of bees that cover Luke and pin him against the railing. The goddess reappears behind Sari and Delvin to knock their he
ads together. Their skulls fuse together and they can feel their brains get tangled, preventing them from speaking or moving.

  “No killing!” Trinity shouts as she lands with Nyx pinned beneath her. The channelers roll around, blasting holes in the factory with their deflected spells. “Free those two before they die! We’re done here!”

  “They still have to suffer for leaving me out of the toys,” Yola angrily growls while freeing the two champions from her fusion spell. She yawns when Dariana leaps at her, the telepath’s hand detaching at the wrist to punch its owner in the face. “You said we can hurt them as long as we don’t kill them. Guess I’ll get rid of the bees too.”

  As soon as the insects melt into a puddle at his feet, Luke spins his sabers and sprints at the goddess. A metallic fist lances from the platform to hit him in the stomach, but a desperate slash manages to graze Yola’s shin. The pain that shoots through her veins is like nothing she has ever felt in her lifetime. She leaps onto the railing and crouches like a cornered beast, the mortals freezing at the sight of the shuddering deity. An electric charge runs through the atmosphere and igniting several pockets of flammable gas that transform into screeching rainbows.

  “You can cause me pain,” Yola rambles while staring at the bleeding wound. The blood is a bright crimson that is both mesmerizing and horrifying to the goddess. “Champions can cause me pain. I can’t kill champions. Master needs champions. Trinity says we can’t hurt champions. Need to punish champions. Make the champions suffer for hurting a goddess. I am forbidden from killing any of the champions.”

  “Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Yola,” Dariana says, a sense of dread heavy within her mind. Flickers of disturbing images appear in her mind, the deity’s thoughts too powerful for her to block. “My father gave you orders, so you have to follow them. If you’re upset that you weren’t included in the dolls then destroying the factory won’t help you. Put everything back to normal and go back to Shayd. There’s no reason to make a mess here.”

  “Dolls . . . I like dolls,” the Chaos Goddess coos with a wicked grin that rises to the corner of her eyes. “Everyone likes dolls.”

  An explosion of swirling light and shadow erupts from Yola’s chest, enveloping everyone on the platform. Dariana can hear her friends screaming as she steels her mind against the pounding aura of the goddess. For a brief moment, she can sense Trinity and Nyx’s thoughts shatter before the channelers seem to blink out of existence. With a sickening pop, the shouts of her friends are silenced and the telepath finds herself trapped within a chilling darkness. The only sound she hears is the mad cackling of Yola Biggs and a child-like whimpering that she fails to realize is her own voice.

  7

  Dreary light envelopes Dariana as she lays on the cold, metal floor amidst a sea of choking shadows. With a weak groan, she moves her fingers and toes to see if she has control of her muscles. It takes several minutes for the twitchy digits to respond perfectly to her commands, which gives her time to gather her hazy thoughts. She cannot sense her friends, but there are distant voices in her mind and blurry images of gnomes flicker around her. An hour passes before she can confirm that she is conscious and not trapped within an astral landscape designed by her own trauma. Dariana stands and bites her lip at the painful tingling in her limbs, the sensation causing her to stumble forward. Her vision flips and she is unsure if she is on the floor or the ceiling, which nearly triggers a panic attack. She is startled by a gentle pressure on her stomach, so she leaps away and slams into an invisible wall. Tiny hands catch the confused telepath and try to manipulate her, but she battles her way out of their grasp. The voices become louder and full of concern as she staggers ahead. She makes it a few steps before her eyesight abruptly turns off.

  Tripping over her partially numb feet, Dariana flails in the darkness and catches what feels like the edge of a metal slab. Her knuckles graze cool flesh, which sends a tremor of emptiness through her mind. The unexpected abyss is disturbing and reminds her of the times her mind has touched on the hollow shell of the recently deceased. There is just enough residual energy for her to make contact, but all she feels is a sucking void. Dariana rubs her temples to focus and sees a burly arm come into existence before her. The image vanishes when she loses her concentration and recoils from the area, her shoulders bumping into another metal object. Whirling around, the telepath sees the shimmer of a yellow dress with nothing inside. Her breathing becomes labored and her lungs feel like they are about to explode until a sharp pain strikes her in the thigh.

  “This is why you sedate the patient before they panic,” a gravelly voices mutters as the darkness is devoured by a blossoming light. “She could have died from a heart attack or her mind could have shattered. It is important to take magic and special abilities into account when treating a patient. This woman is a telepath, which means she will be extra-sensitive upon awakening. I want everyone to write a ten page paper about the importance of caution and compassion in the medical field. Get it done by tomorrow afternoon. Are you okay, Lady Dariana?”

  The silver-haired woman’s eyes blink rapidly as the hospital room materializes in front of her. Cabinets of tools and medical supplies line three of the walls while the fourth shows a peaceful forest scene that moves as if it is real. Dariana finds herself relaxing at the sight of the grazing deer, the illusion so detailed that she can skim simple thoughts of grass from the fake animal. Robed gnomes are working among the metal beds, the mattresses looking only slightly more comfortable than the dull gray floor. When the windowless door opens, Dariana can see a hallway full of workers rushing around with strange pieces of equipment. There is a lot of shouting and the occasional crash can be heard in the distance. Dented clipboards are constantly flung back and forth between the doctors, nurses, and the bustling central desk. Though the activity looks chaotic, there is a subtle sense that everyone knows exactly what they are doing and where they are going.

  Shuddering at the din of voices in her head, Dariana moves further into the room and jumps when a foot touches her arm. With her senses settling, the first thing she notices is that she has been stripped down to her underwear. The champion reaches for the nearest sheet and wraps it around her before realizing it was covering a body. Dariana’s psychic scream freezes the entire hospital when she sees Luke on the bed, the naked half-elf staring at the ceiling with cloudy, unseeing eyes. She slaps the needle from the hand of an approaching gnome and finally notices that Timoran, Delvin, Sari, and Fizzle are on the other beds. All of her friends are naked and attached to potted plants. Shining roots have grown out of holes in the brown pots and merged with the patients’ skin.

  “Wh . . . What . . . What happened?” Dariana asks, falling to her knees. She does not fight back when a gnome takes the sheet from her to cover Luke. “They . . . my friends . . . where are they?”

  “They’re right here,” the doctor replies as he takes her arm. With the help of two nurses, he leads Dariana back to her bed where she sits and clutches the foot railing. “We found all of you unconscious in the factory after the Chaos Goddess repaired it and disappeared. That was two days ago. She left a box of figurines of herself too. We have priests checking to make sure they’re safe and then deciding on what to do with them. At least all of you are alive. You were in the best condition since you moved and reacted when we touched you. The others are still cold and dependent on the salvation plants to keep them nourished. With you awake, it’s only a matter of time before they regain consciousness.”

  “No they won’t,” Dariana whimpers, slipping off the bed and walking to Timoran. She touches his forehead, pulling away and crying from the lack of thoughts. “They’re empty. Yola . . . removed them from their bodies. I can’t feel anything. Not even a whisper of dreams or basic thoughts that keep people alive.”

  “Your friends do have the same symptoms as someone who is brain dead,” the gray-bearded gnome points out while adjusting the leafy plant attached to the barbarian. “Though there is one dif
ference, which has us confused. It’s more pronounced in the drite and we stumbled onto it when he was being attached to the plant yesterday. Maybe you can shed some light on this mystery.”

  A nurse walks over to Fizzle with a bucket of ice water, which she places on a small table next to the bed. She tenderly strokes the drite’s cheek to demonstrate that he does not react to the contact. Taking a deep breath, the young gnome takes a piece of ice and runs it along Fizzle’s tail. The drite tenses and flaps his wings until the piece is removed and the cold water is wiped off his scales with a warm cloth. He goes back to his eerie stillness, the rising and falling of his chest fading back to a barely perceptible level.

  “Does it hurt when the salvation plants connect?” Dariana asks, rummaging through the nightstand next to her bed. She gets her clothes and hurriedly gets dressed, desperate hope filling her heart.

  “It pinches a bit when they burrow into the skin,” a male nurse answers while handing the champion her red slippers. “Lasts no more than a few seconds, which was still enough to see their reactions.”

  “That means the mind is still connected to the body,” the telepath replies, wiping a few remaining tears from her cheeks. She rolls her head and feels her neck crack, the sound making the gnomes cringe. “It’s a small bond, which is why I can’t read their thoughts. They must have been sent very far away, but pain and pleasure can travel any distance. If I can create a reaction then I can track it to an approximate region. I don’t want to hurt my friends, so pain is not going to be an option. Who should I use . . . and how do I make them feel pleasure?”

  “May I remind you that this is a hospital,” the doctor politely mentions with a chuckle.