“The old man never trusted me anyway!” Stephen shouts, his voice breaking into a bout of echoing cackles. “It doesn’t matter that I’ve done his bidding without question for centuries. Well maybe a few questions and I don’t always obey. Yet I’ve never given him reason to think I would betray him. Your distrust really cuts me to the bone, old man.”
“One thousand and seven years ago, you declared that you planned to kill me and take the throne after I defeat the champions,” the Baron calmly replies. He covers his mouth to yawn and gestures for the mind seer to proceed. “This is for your own good, my son. The damage your sister inflicted on your mind must be repaired for you to continue your work. Whether it be under my orders or against my will, I want you to be made whole again.”
“I don’t need you for that,” the young nobleman declares, straining his bonds to their breaking point. Stephen scares the mind seer by trying to bite it, his flawless teeth clacking together. “Once I get my hands on Nyx, I can use her and Trinity to defeat you, the champions, and the gods. She is the key to everything and you know it. Your victory will be short-lived, father, because the world will see me defeat the monster that they all fear. Then they will worship me!”
“There’s a flaw in your plan, Stephen,” Nyder carefully interrupts, taking strength from the fact that he does not sense a void. His heart still skips a few beats when the deranged man faces him and snarls. “For your father to claim victory and return to Windemere, he will need to have killed the champions. That includes Nyx. You would only have Trinity and that’s if she is still alive by the time the final battle occurs. It’s in your best interest to forget about them until you have recovered and can think clearly. Besides, why would Gabriel make six champions and have only one of them be important?”
Stephen spits at Nyder who ducks the foamy projectile that pierces a nearby boulder. “My mind has never been clearer, you disgusting tinkerer. As for those other champions, they’re nothing of importance. There’s fodder in every battle. Our old friend used to love that phrase, right, old man?”
“He learned it from me, but even fodder serves a purpose and should never be underestimated,” the Baron replies, rising to his feet. He waves his hand over his companion, a glittering shield protecting the gnome from any further attacks. “Please proceed and send my son down the healing path. I have heard enough of his childish ramblings and wish for him to return to his natural state.”
The mind seer mentally reaches out to the captured priests and priestesses, saturating their bodies with agonizing pain. Prayers in several languages erupt from the sacrifices and holy magic fills the air as they call to Neberith for salvation. The archways absorb the thick energy causing the curved metal to shine bright enough to be seen for miles. The ritual emits such a massive amount of holy power that it disintegrates all undead within a two mile radius. Minutes pass as the prisoners are consumed by their own magic and lose their mortal forms. The uncontained energy coats the archways and spreads out to create a tunnel of aura with shimmering curtains every twenty yards.
Satisfied with the results, the mind seer casts the residual sentience of the Neberith followers into the abyss of its mind where they will remain lost for eternity. The misty creature touches Stephen’s psyche with a probe that attempts to urge the grinning man to walk down the lengthy path. Expecting its patient to accept the powerful suggestion, the confident figure takes solid form and prepares to undo the immortal’s bonds. Without warning, the mind seer is hurled back by an invisible force that tosses it into the air and slams the creature into the ground. The confused creature rolls onto its back and freezes at the sound of ropes snapping. Stephen appears straddling the mind seer’s chest and smiles wide, a dribble of drool falling onto his fresh victim’s face.
“I didn’t invite you into my head, worm.”
“Your father wants you to be healed,” the mind seer desperately whispers. It turns to the Baron, who makes no move to intervene. “This is the best method to ensure your full recovery. If we don’t do this then you will be missing pieces forever. That’s if you recover anything at all because it is more likely that you will fall further into this erratic, self-destructive behavior. After all, your humanity has been locked away, Lord Kernaghan.”
“It was holding me back,” Stephen says, lifting the creature by its collar. He stares at the shining tunnel of pure magic and rapidly licks his lips like a twitchy lizard. “I’m curious about this healing path of yours. There’s so much god power coursing within those arches. I assume it could cure everything, but I sense that it’s very sensitive. So what would happen if one was to pass through it without a disease or injury?”
“The path would implode and the person could be crushed.”
“I’d like to see that.”
Flipping the mind seer over, Stephen grabs it by the ankles while purging its body of all scars, diseases, and injuries. Spinning in a tight circle, he hurls the terrified being at the magical tunnel’s entrance. A blast of light erupts from the healing path and the mind seer shrieks in pain as the pure energy tears at its healthy body. The curtains implode as it hurtles along, but the entire structure crashes down on the creature before it can get halfway down the plateau. A pillar of holy magic pierces the eternal clouds and Shayd gets its first look at the starry sky in nearly a hundred years. With a dull thud, the mangled and burnt corpse of the mind seer appears next to Stephen who gleefully kicks the smoking skull into the distance.
“Now for you, old-” the crazed noble starts to say. He is dropped to the ground by a bolt of lightning to his temple. “That the . . . best . . . spell . . . you can . . . think of?”
A stone dragon bursts from the ground beneath Stephen and catches him in its clamp-like jaws. The winged beast follows the Baron’s hands and repeatedly slams its captive into the solid earth, leaving dents in the plateau. Emitting a stone-grinding growl, the golem sinks into the soil with the immortal nobleman still in its mouth. When the Baron snaps his fingers, his son is violently ejected from the ground and lands at the warlord’s feet. Another bolt of lightning strikes the cursing man in the head, knocking him unconscious.
“Well that’s a shame,” Nyder casually states, pulling a whistle from his pocket. He blows on the small piece of metal, but no discernable sounds come out. “My new wolves will be here to drag him back to his room. They can inject him with a toxin that causes sleep paralysis, so we have extra time to come up with a new plan. What should we do with him?”
The Baron reaches down to push a lock of oily hair behind Stephen’s ear. “Contain him. Watch him. Let me know of any changes. If you wish to get another mind seer then do so, but I fear my son’s usefulness is coming to an end. I will be in my room considering my final options and preparing for my grief.”
Nyder quietly nods and waves to the pack of orange-eyed beasts that appear on the far side of the plateau. Their serpentine tails slithering along the ground, the hairy animals open their mouths to release metallic coils that wrap around Stephen. They drag him away while the Baron disappears into the shadows and his loyal agent hurries to make sure the altered wolves behave themselves.
*****
The red-eyed man stands on the black marble balcony as his companion angrily sings, the fierce voice filling the wind with raw power. Voran glances at the wooden chair that has been offered to him, but he knows sitting will remind him of when he was a mortal youth getting scolded for causing trouble. The tall Gnome God’s face is mostly flesh, but perfectly forged iron is exposed on his right cheek and by crescents around his ears. Unlike his toned left arm, the deity’s entire right arm is mechanical with pipes and wires interwoven beneath the polished plates. Hearing a subtle creak in one of his legs, he rolls up his pants and hoists the limb onto the table. Pulling a can out of a chest compartment, Voran injects sweet-smelling oil deep into his squeaky knee. The Gnome God stares at the container and sighs as he remembers his own ascension. He has very little magic compared to his brethren, but his tec
hnology and ingenuity have earned him respect even among the Primordial Gods.
“That is three more leaks that could have led to our enemy being remembered,” Gabriel announces as he finishes singing. He scowls at the sight of the younger god refusing to sit down before taking his own seat at the circular table. “Your people have caused a mess with this new endeavor. Such a ridiculous thing too and it is all for money.”
“Do you run any other destinies in this world?” Voran asks, finally sitting and swinging his booted feet onto the table. His chrome shirt and black pants shimmer in direct sunlight, which makes them resemble metallic skin. “I don’t mean any disrespect . . . sort of. It’s only that I remember when there were so many threats to Windemere that you had to forge new destinies every week. All manner of monsters and warlords used to run around this world, so I find it hard to believe they’ve all been taken care of. Have things slowed down?”
“The champions have taken much of my attention this past year, but I do take time to forge new paths for the future,” the Destiny God admits as he removes his gloves and claims a few grapes from a nearby bowl. His ebony armor shifts and transforms into more comfortable attire, the silk shirt ruffling at the cuffs. “After all, an Age of Heroes will appear if the champions succeed. I need to be ready for an increase in adventurers, despots, and whatever else has been brewing under the surface of our world. My predecessors and I had many a threat sealed away instead of destroyed back in the old days. No telling when those will wake up. Does anyone realize that my station comes with limits? Everyone thinks I know exactly what will happen when a prophecy comes to fruition, but I can only predict so much. Now about your people risking the survival of my greatest curse.”
The Machine God pulls out a green pouch of smooth-skinned worms and tosses one into his mouth. His mechanical jaw squeezes the juice from the creature, its taste reminding him of his favorite mint and chocolate treat. Part of Voran wonders if he has any mortal relatives alive to carry on his family’s business or if time has devoured his bloodline like many of his fellow ascended. With the squish of another worm, a gentle calm rolls over him and he lets his mind drift through the ideas that he has yet to share with his followers. It unnerves the god that many of his creations have violent applications, which is why they have not been given to the ambitious gnomes. He is snapped out of his daydreaming by Gabriel’s impatient cough and a snort from the nearby black unicorn.
“Sorry about that. I was trying to collect my thoughts,” Voran apologizes, tucking the worms back into his pocket. He turns his right ear to change his short hair from soft black to a dark red. “You should try some of these treats. Eporwil makes them from her clear brews, but she hasn’t given them to Windemere yet. They might help you focus and relax during this trying time.”
“Stop stalling and-”
“And do what?” the Gnome God interrupts in exasperation. He gets to his feet and walks to the edge of the balcony to stare at the shoreline below. “Our only law prevents me from putting a direct stop to this even though it has gone too far. Unlike the incident three centuries ago, this doesn’t include a technology that could plunge all of Windemere into eternal war. There’s no bending the Law of Influence here. You told me to do something so that the champions could have support and possibly a small army when Kernaghan returns. It’s not my fault that the follower I picked went in such a wild direction with it. Hold that complaint and give me a few minutes.”
“What are you looking at?”
He joins Voran on the balcony and glances at the shoreline where a quartet of beautiful figures are bathing. The Four Sisters, who control the seasons, resemble human-sized fairies with wings that glisten in the ocean spray. Sunlight is absorbed into their skin, giving them an ethereal glow that can be seen from miles away. Even though they are together, the ascended siblings reveal the divide that occasionally blossoms between them. The two sinful sisters sit on one side of the smooth rocks while their more benevolent pair bathe within the cool shadows of a broken cliff. A hint of aggression is in the wind, made more prominent whenever the civil conversation turns bitter and threatening glares send sparks through the air.
“Do you ever look at some of your old companions and remember the days of being mortal?” Voran asks, waving to the sister with brown hair and red skin. The lustful Lady Aiko of Autumn blows him a kiss and moves to give him a better look at her exposed body. “Funny how things change. Aiko was an ambitious chosen that nearly destroyed the world, but now she’s an important goddess. Her sisters were among those of us pulled into the adventure to save magic and they were at war. Now they act like a family even though they still fight during the transition times. It’s very . . . human. Do you ever miss being mortal, Tri-God?”
“Not in the least,” Gabriel responds, nodding to the green-skinned Lady Raku of Spring. The smiling Fae Goddess closes her eyes and drifts on the current, disappearing behind a collection of rocks. “Though I am a special case. I wanted this power once I learned it was possible. The rest of you were cast into our world and put under our law without a choice. I commend all of you for adapting to your new existence and handling the challenge of godhood.”
“I distinctly remember you giving us a choice,” the Gnome God states with a wry smile. He turns away from the bathing goddesses and leans on the railing, his metal hand leaving an imprint in the stone. “The alternative was to say good-bye to our friends and remain in isolation because we were living weapons. Guess it really wasn’t much of a choice when I say it that way. This makes me wonder if a champion will rise into our ranks. There’s always room for another lesser god to help us keep Windemere out of the abyss. I could use a Goddess of Oil or God of Metal.”
“We both know that such a thing will not happen,” Gabriel sternly says with bitterness in his voice. His eyes turn into pools of malevolent energy that send a chill through the younger god’s flexible spine. “Can you fix the problem before the leaks become too much? The situation could lead to every mortal being driven insane. The return of such traumatizing knowledge should be gradual.”
Voran snaps his fingers and a large iron ring appears next to him, the opening becoming a portal to a vast factory. “I can’t go through my own followers on this one. They’re too enamored by the project, so they won’t listen. I’ll have to use outside agents to get your champions to handle things. They’re going to learn about their new level of fame pretty soon, which means I need to factor them into my plan. Still I’d appreciate some assistance when the time comes for the final push.”
“Just get it done and I will do my part.”
Voran tucks his hands into his pockets and black lenses fall over his eyes, shielding them from the painful light of the inner portal. A crackle of lightning licks at the Gnome God’s exposed metal and the energy changes from white to red as he crosses the doorway. The ring disappears behind him, leaving a colorful afterimage that is gradually washed away by sunbeams.
A warm wind dances around the balcony, causing Gabriel to suspiciously glance at the Four Sisters. The elemental goddesses are still bathing and lounging in the sun, but none of them are paying any attention to him. The hair on the back of the Destiny God’s neck stands as a powerful aura flickers to life behind him. Carefully turning around, he is surprised to see Zaria standing near the table where she plucks a pomegranate from the bowl. Her white gown and red hair show no signs of the powerful aura he senses, which brings his attention to the wrinkled figure next to the Purity Goddess. Clothed in a black robe and clinging to a metal staff, the old woman is difficult to look at because of the magic ebbing from her body. It is an energy that dwarfs Gabriel’s power, which is a rare sensation for him and helps to discern the identity of his unexpected guest.
“I am honored by your presence, Gola,” he says, falling to one knee before the Primordial Goddess of Magic. “I did not realize your century slumber had ended. I apologize if I did anything to disturb you.”
“Your apology is expected,” t
he goddess responds in a soothing voice. She places the orb-shaped top of her staff on Gabriel’s head, beckoning him to rise. “I contacted Zaria to help me speak to you about my children. Their return has invaded my dreams and I fear that I am too weak to give them guidance.”
“Will you grow stronger in time?” the Purity Goddess politely asks.
Gola pats the younger deity’s hand and flashes a toothless smile. “With the revival of the channelers, my power will grow and I will no longer need this ridiculous slumber. All I ask is that you look over them, Gabriel. They are scared and can pose a danger to everyone if left unchecked. The two that you have been using in your prophecy have me worried most of all because they are pitted against each other. I would be remiss if I sat by and kept my concerns to myself.”
“Thank you for sharing your thoughts,” the black-haired god says. He can feel his heart beating against his chest as the potent aura of Gola threatens to suffocate him. “One of my greatest chosen has already created a haven for channelers to be trained and, if they wish, to live in peace. For those that have already fallen from this path, I have had a special . . . location prepared to contain them. These people will not be killed, but this place can be used to remove their powers over time. Our goal is to rehabilitate them, but we do acknowledge the worst case scenario. It is complicated and you appear to be losing your energy as we speak, so I hope that you trust my judgment.”
“Yes, I need to sleep again, but it will not be for much longer,” the ancient goddess states with a glint in her narrowing eyes. “I will be with my family once again within a year or two. I only wanted to speak with you, Tri-God, and hear that you have considered the fate of all my children. It will be nice to see them thrive among the living once again.”
Gola flickers as she moves to lie down, her body fading away as if it is nothing more than an illusion. Zaria stares at the empty space and fights the urge to smirk at the sweating god standing before her.
The Merchant of Nevra Coil (Legends of Windemere Book 8) Page 2
