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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  A cruel smile plays across the Insanity Goddess’s lips and a fiery oven sprouts from her chest. “I took her from you. See? I’ll burn her alive if you don’t do as I say.”

  “You monster. How dare you threaten an innocent toy in my presence? I, Yola Biggs the protector of . . . stuff, will rescue my . . . thing from you.”

  Aeriel turns into a swarm of mosquitos as Yola’s spear-like arms pass through her. The insects buzz around the Chaos Goddess’s head until her mouth becomes a vacuum that sucks all of them into her throat. An arm erupts from her right ear as the Insanity Goddess escapes and coils around her enemy like a hungry serpent. Yola melts into a floating puddle of butter that makes her enemy trip and fall into a nearby thunderstorm. Aeriel returns with crackling lightning stuck in her nose, which she sneezes at her rival. With a scream, the puddle evaporates into a yellow vapor that distracts the wild-haired deity long enough for her to get tackled from behind. The pair become a whirlwind of movement as they wrestle, each one trying to punch and kick the other in the knee. Yola grows a glass needle out of her palm and jabs Aeriel in the back of the skull, but the Insanity Goddess strikes with her own syringe to her enemy’s forehead. Screeching sparks fly from their eyes and a cocoon of emerald aura forms around the battling women. They struggle to separate themselves, but the energy gets tight enough to cause their bodies to begin merging into one.

  “Not good,” the goddesses mutter before they plummet toward the ocean below.

  They hit the water with frightening force, the impact sending a tsunami across the seas. Four small islands are wiped out by the waves and every ship within fifty miles is decimated. The goddesses plunge to the bottom of the ocean, trapped within their incredible power and too angry to untangle themselves. All that is left of the battle is a shining, half-melted figurine of Trinity that floats upon the calm water.

  8

  The inside of the large, wooden crate is dark and cramped with all of the figurines tightly packed. There are thick wads of cotton between the products to protect them from getting damaged if the container shifts or falls. Most of the toys show no signs of concern that they are enveloped by something that would suffocate a living creature. Yet this is a terrifying thought that takes hours for the disembodied champions to forget. A slight sense of calm washes over them when they realize that their new bodies are unable to breathe in the first place. They have no idea how long they have been trapped and talk only when they know there are no workers in the hold. Luke still has no idea how his sound sight can work without functional ears, but he refuses to question the solitary scrap of good luck they have had since their battle with Yola and Trinity.

  “Should I try to talk to them again?” Sari asks, her voice coming from multiple directions. “Maybe they’ll believe me this time.”

  “You already tried it four times and they still think you’re a bunch of prototypes,” Luke replies while rubbing the pommels of his sabers. The touch of waterstone on his palms is unnerving, especially since his hands still feel like they are made of flesh. “I say we wait to get delivered and sneak off when nobody is looking. We’re in trouble if any people see us walking and talking.”

  “I agree, but we need to make a plan in case we get separated,” Delvin mentions from somewhere near the bottom of the crate. The others can hear him struggle in vain to climb the other dolls and cotton. “If that happens then everyone will make their way to Rainbow Tower. Nyx isn’t in here, so we can contact her through Cyril and Willow. Dariana is probably hunting for us too since there wasn’t a toy for her to be put into. Then again, she could be in something else, but I’m trying to be optimistic. I’m surprised they haven’t contacted the ship to turn around.”

  “I heard a few of the workers discuss how the communication orbs were destroyed in the attack,” Timoran interjects while climbing to the top of the crate. He lifts the lid to peek out at the other containers. “Yola Biggs could have placed Nyx in a random figurine and she could be in another box. We will find out more when we reach our destination.”

  “We’ve been hovering for a while now, so unloading will be soon,” Luke whispers as he joins the barbarian. He scans the hold for the shifting sounds of movement, but all he can pick up is the distant hum of the ship. “If Nyx and Dariana are in another crate then they’ve spent this entire trip in silence. I’m sure Dariana would have tried to contact us with her mind. What happens if somebody buys us?”

  “Fizzle no want to be pet,” the drite whines from his corner of the container. He struggles to move among the other soft dolls, but all of them are squished in tight. “Fizzle think have small magic, but no control. Scared to try. What about Sari?”

  “I have a little magic, but nothing connected to my naiad heritage,” the gypsy replies from all over the crate. “Let me take a look outside too.”

  The entire crate shakes and rocks as twelve Saris climb out of the cotton to peer out the slit that Timoran has made. A few grumbling voices can be heard from the ones that get stuck beneath the collapsing figurines and padding. Only one of the complaining toys sounds like Delvin while the others resemble Sari if she had food in her mouth. Unable to stand on the shifting contents, Luke and Timoran lose their balance and fall into the mess as the lid slams closed. Once organized and neat, the champions are now trapped within a sea of wadding and inanimate figurines.

  “How many of you are in this crate?” Delvin asks as he searches for his missing shield. He gives up looking and takes one from a nearby figurine, its face staring blankly at him. “I swear there were only three of you yesterday.”

  “There’s always been fifteen of me in here. Most of us woke up today,” Sari answers with a chorus of giggles. One of them crawls through the cotton and toys to snuggle up to Luke. “I think we should find a way to stick together. Maybe tie ourselves back to back and people will buy us as a pair. Or we can go front to front.”

  Another Sari pounces on the first one and they tumble through a gap in the cotton. Two more try to grab Luke’s arms, which click and come out of their sockets. More Saris try to get at the half-elf until they are beaten away by one in a torn dress and dirt patches painted on her exposed skin. The growling gypsy drags Luke into a corner and hunkers down in front of him, snapping at anyone who approaches. She hugs the dismembered arms while cooing, the crazed toy eventually reattaching them. As the others close in on the corner, a shimmering cloak of aura falls over them and they collapse with their eyes open.

  “I’m really worried about me,” the only conscious Sari admits while she gets her foot untangled from the ponytail of another Luke doll. Her red top and yellow skirt resemble something Nyx would wear, but with a lower neckline. “I’ve been fractured between all of these toys. Most of them are caught up in playfulness and lust, which is why they went for Luke. I’m surprised they didn’t try anything earlier, but I think he was always standing near the overprotective one. Guess they finally saw an opening. Though I already sense that a few of them are shifting their interests toward Delvin and Timoran. It’s weird, but I can only catch a hint of their desires. They’re rather vague because I’m the rational mind and don’t share their wants. Such an undercurrent of misery within them too. Why would this be done to me?”

  “It might not have been on purpose,” Timoran suggests while he tucks the Saris into the cotton. The grinding of distant gears and hurried voices urges him to work faster, the others following his example. “I am not an expert on Yola, but her followers have always admitted that she is easily confused. She might have been unable to decide on a single figurine to put you into and splitting you was her solution. It is strange that most of you are prone to be lustful. I would think each aspect of your personality would go into one doll.”

  “I’d think that too,” the gypsy admits, scratching her head. She daintily lifts her skirt to examine the dagger painted on her thigh. “This whole thing makes no sense. We should consider sneaking out of the crate and hiding on the ship. Letting all of . . . me out of
here might be more trouble than we realize.”

  “I think there’s a set of lockers nearby,” Delvin says as he returns the shield to the other figurine. “If even one of us can get there then that person can get help. I say we run over there in groups of three. Going out there at once might make too much noise.”

  A loud bang shakes the ship and the sound of rushing feet wake the slumbering Saris who tumble down to the bottom when the container is tipped on its side. The crate is carried outside, the morning sun sending beams through gaps in the knotted wood. Shouts and screams erupt from all around the champions who try to burrow further into the thick wadding. They can catch a few words in the growing din, but it is not enough for them to figure out where they are or what is going on. As if battling against a strong current, the container moves back and forth in a desperate attempt to push forward. Fizzle manages to press his eye against an open knot, but all he can see is a beautiful sky.

  “Not raining. That good. Maybe in Gods’ Voice and friends find us. Sound like same mob.”

  With some cursing from the exhausted gnomes, the crate tips over and crashes onto the hard ground. The lid pops off and tiny fingers yank Fizzle out of the pile of toys before the cover can be reattached. Two of the Saris scramble to the top and attempt to lift the lid as they are jostled and bounced along. Another shout erupts when the container is placed down and the top is removed, hands of all sizes immediately grabbing at the toys.

  Timoran and several of the Saris are gone in seconds while Delvin is repeatedly picked up and dropped back into the crate. He recognizes Gaia’s marketplace from the quick views he gets during his brief moments out of the container. A yelp from the right causes the warrior to turn and he watches Luke get lifted away by his head. Someone grabs Delvin and holds him high enough to see a young boy giving money to the shopkeeper. The child hurries into the crowd with the forest tracker clutched to his chest. Again, the person who has the former mercenary tosses him back into the crate where he lands on the red and yellow Sari.

  “This is definitely a worst case scenario,” the gypsy mutters as more toys are taken out of the container. “People aren’t even waiting for us to be put on the table. Do you have any-”

  Sari is roughly lifted out of the pile by her hair and dangled in front of a familiar, and slightly unwelcomed, face. Knowing she has to be careful, the gypsy holds back a flood of curses as Kira Grasdon stares at her. Something about the woman’s expression makes Sari wonder if the Luck Goddess is subtly involved and trying to help the champions regain their body. Far below, the gypsy sees Delvin get taken by the shopkeeper and placed on the counter with a discount sign at his feet.

  “Guess I have all the others, so I need one of you for the set,” Kira mutters as she checks the toy for damage. Tossing a few coins to the shopkeeper, the heiress grips her new toy by the hair and pushes her way out the busy marketplace.

  *****

  “What do you mean you’re sold out?” Catarina asks the halfling shopkeeper while violently shaking him by the collar. Bessaria shifts to keep her rider on the saddle and pleadingly bleats at Dariana. “These were delivered two hours ago. We raced over here with the help of potions and gods. How can you be sold out?”

  “It’s not my fault, lady!” the red-haired halfling exclaims, slipping out of her grasp and hiding behind his stall. “The shipment was late, so people swarmed the marketplace when the delivery arrived. It took us thirty minutes to clear a spot for that strange vessel to land and people crowded around as soon as it stopped making noise. It’s usually bad at the beginning of the month, but it was worse because of the delay. I suggest you take your argument up with the creator and leave me alone.”

  “I am the creator!”

  “I’m sorry, everyone,” Dariana apologizes before wiping her companion’s last statement from the witness’ minds. She pats Bessaria on the head and smiles at Catarina, a touch of irritation in her white eyes. “You’re right, my friend. We should find a place to rest for a bit and get something to eat. It’s a shame we couldn’t get here in time, but there will be more deliveries in the future. No sense in making a scene and causing a riot.”

  “Good point,” the gnome responds, catching the warning in the champion’s voice. She bows to the shopkeeper and tosses a gold coin onto his table. “My apologies for the outburst. I was really looking forward to seeing if the rumors were true. I heard that some of the new toys could move and talk on their own. Guess you would have noticed that.”

  “I certainly would,” the halfling agrees while straightening his remaining wares. “I know your people are geniuses, but that sounds pointless. It would be like having a pet golem and those aren’t much fun. The ability to speak means talking back too, so one can easily see where all the trouble would come from.”

  “Very true,” Dariana says before mentally urging Bessaria to saunter towards a nearby tavern. “Have a good day, sir, and may you sell all, but your shirt and shoes.”

  Still feeling guilty, Catarina throws another coin to the halfling as the sheep trots away. The beast gets nervous as it nears the horses tied to the hitching post, the only open space between a pair of majestic stallions. The larger animals whinny and snicker at Bessaria who bleats in protest to being left behind. With a comforting pat on the head, her rider gives her a carrot that she happily shows off to the snorting horses. When the brown and white mount on her left leans over to snap at the snack, Bessaria slips under the hitching post and makes a show of devouring the food.

  “Try to make friends, old girl,” Catarina whispers into the sheep’s ear. “I’d say act like you would for my father, but I know the stories.”

  The gnome makes sure Bessaria is secured and her tether is laced with a sour liquid to prevent her from chewing through the leather. Confident that the beast will not get loose, the tired and slightly frustrated travelers head into the tavern. The waitresses and bartender are taking advantage of the light crowd by cleaning the free tables and restocking the glasses, but all of them take a moment to wave to the newcomers. Everyone stares for a little too long at Dariana, her height and silver hair making her stand out. She changes her tresses to a dull brown as if dropping an illusion and breathes a sigh of relief when she loses their attention. Catarina is already at the bar with two drinks, one of which she offers to Dariana.

  “Thanks, but I don’t drink alcohol. I’ll have water,” the telepath says while flashing a smile at the frowning bartender. “I can still pay as if it’s ale. Though I can . . . smell that you have a few juices for cooking, so I can take a glass of one of those. Any flavor is fine.”

  “You’re an odd one,” the bearded man claims while pouring her a mug of apple juice. “Can I interest you in something to eat?”

  “A loaf of bread and two big bowls of beef stew,” Catarina requests, her stomach roaring at the sight of an orc stirring a large pot in the kitchen. The bartender knocks on the window and holds up two fingers for the cook before walking to the far side of the bar. “Can you sense any of them, Dariana? We can wander around and ask if anybody has heard rumors of strange figurines, but that could take days. By my guess, we have a week left.”

  “It’s rather confusing,” Dariana admits while massaging her aching temples. The cool juice takes the edge off her headache, so she drinks half of her mug in one gulp. “Timoran, Delvin, and Luke are clear, but they’re not together. Still, they should be relatively easy to locate. Fizzle is faint, so I can’t get even a general location. The one that worries me is Sari. She’s all over the city. I count fifteen . . . sixteen thought patterns that match her. At least I think they’re all her. I’ve never felt anything like this before. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s been divided between multiple dolls. That does sound like something Yola might do.”

  “We should pick up the boys first,” the gnome suggests as she flips through one of her notebooks. She swiftly tucks it into her pocket when their steaming meal is placed in front of them. “They could help with Sari and Fi
zzle.”

  “How do you know they can talk and move?”

  “I don’t, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “We should investigate Sari first.”

  “It’s your decision.”

  “If I can get my hands on one of them, I can call the rest to me.”

  “And we can use the multiple Saris to collect the others.”

  With a small nod, Dariana eats her meal and lets her mind drift along the threads that lead to her friends. Every time she comes close to making contact with one of them, they move out of range and she goes back to wandering along the thoughts of Gaia. When Timoran disappears, she becomes curious and waits for him to return. A cold wind whips at her psyche and she can sense ice forming in her brain, the realization coming a moment too late for her to stop the attack. The pain hits Dariana like a hammer to the face and she snaps herself back to her body. It is such a jolt to her system that she spills her stew and loses all feeling in her hands. She desperately shakes them, but her fingers remain in twisted, unnatural positions. Glancing at the mirror behind the bar, she sees that her lips are blue and the comforting warmth of the tavern feels like the heat of the desert.

  “Are you okay?” Catarina asks as she sprays a yellow mist on the mess. The liquid of the stew evaporates and becomes an aromatic cloud that spreads across the tavern. “You’re sweating and a lot paler than you were a moment ago. Plus your lips were blue for a few seconds.”

  Dariana finishes her juice and inhales some of the warm fog that was once her meal. “Yola’s magic makes it difficult for me to track them. I don’t know how helpful I’ll be at long range. It’s like my friends run away whenever my telepathy gets close. If I linger at their previous location then I get attacked by a defense that tries to freeze my brain.”

  “In that case, you don’t need all of your abilities,” Isaiah interjects from a table in the corner. The fireskin stomps his staff on the floor and a spell washes over the tavern to put everyone, but Dariana, into a temporal stasis. “We need to discuss your focus. Gabriel and Ambrosine were unable to tell you some things, but they sent me a vision. Consider it a benefit of being a god’s mortal tool.”