“It looks like your time as the strongest is coming to an end again,” the red-haired goddess mentions, enjoying the frown on Gabriel’s face. “Once the prophecy is done and a Primordial awakens, you will lose influence.”
“A time where I can relax and no longer worry about the destruction of Windemere?” the Destiny God mockingly asks with a small chuckle. “I think the loss of unrivaled domination is a worthy price for some serenity and peace. Besides, I still rule the paths of mortals and hold enough power to defeat any who threaten me. I will be anything, but weak.”
“Then why are you worried?”
Gabriel stares across the ocean at the two channelers whose lineages he has carefully crafted for centuries. He can smell something brewing on the horizon of history, an event that is just beyond his sight. The sense of not knowing every detail sends a shiver down his spine and brings back memories of the greatest disaster to have ever befallen Windemere. Part of him refuses to believe that two mortals can copy the effects of enraged gods. Yet he cannot shake the thought that the return of the channelers might be more ominous than their mother believes. For the first time since the Great Cataclysm, the Destiny God wonders if he has made a mistake that will lead to his defeat.
“Be ready, Pure One,” Gabriel whispers, turning to his companion. His eyes become cloudy as if they are twin thunderstorms embedded in his handsome face. “We might have another disaster on our hands. I pray we handle this one better than the last.”
1
Helgard has been a hive of constant activity for the last two months as it is cleaned and refurnished. The work has been anything, but easy as the workers routinely uncover new areas that have been damaged over the centuries. Even the most mundane activity requires caution and patience due to the layers of debris that have gathered in the unused rooms. Several times during the early stages of the repairs, the stone entrance is shoved open to release a gust of ancient dust that would billow across the surrounding desert. At first, the broken arches of the outer walkway randomly reactivate and their expulsion of destructive magic cause more damage to their side of the volcano. Now that they have been rebuilt and polished to their former sheen, their protective energy takes the form of crimson curtains. The soft material is soothing to the sand-covered skin of anyone who has traveled the southern desert.
Echoing bangs and yells can be heard from everywhere even with the most difficult of the repairs having been completed. Working in shifts, the once nomadic caretakers move along the volcano’s sides and within the temple’s halls. Many of their tents have been turned into communal canopies since the Helgardians have erected their stone houses on the cliffs. These vertical structures run up the mountainside, connected by narrow paths and expertly carved steps that are fringed with metal railings. Sitting below the resurrected city of Palqua is the hardened magma lake, which has been transformed into a collection of hot springs. Restaurants and shops have been built around the base of the mountain, the tents fanning out from a single inn of wood and stone that rises to ten stories. For the last week, nearly half of the people outside Helgard have been curious visitors from Bor’daruk and the other nomad tribes.
By order of the exhausted savior of the temple, the inside of the volcano has remained off-limits to visitors. Under penalty of their mistress losing her temper, the barriers and guards only allow caretakers and the champions through. Once covered in corpses, the stone floor is spotless and the walls are decorated in ancient paintings that are always being discovered in hidden storage rooms. Statues of solid fire have been erected within the alcoves and act as lights as well as beautiful pieces of art. None of them are of anything easily discernable, so everyone has made their own interpretation of what the inexperienced creator was trying to make. The only stone statue in Helgard is a basalt image of an Ifrit that proudly stands on top of the volcano and watches over the churning magma. An altar of polished stone holds a single flame and has been placed at the lion-headed monument’s feet to honor the deceased demon. Many of the workers have laid gifts of polished rocks and vials of moist sand around the statue. After centuries of corruption, Helgard is no longer a lonely place of death, but a bustling hive of life and happy voices.
“I’m not sure I like that my temple has been turned into a tourist attraction,” Nyx mutters as she watches the small army of channelers practice. The former crypt has been cleared of the undead and coffins, leaving a vast chamber for her brethren to use for training. There are still balls of magic rolling across the ceiling to illuminate the area, but they are now pink and release the calming scent of lavender. “There’s plenty of money in the treasure rooms we found. So your people can take as much as you want, Sharne.”
“We cannot impose any more than we do, mistress,” the dark-skinned priestess says with an awkward smile. She looks to the young warrior lying on the floor, his sheathed bastard sword across his chest. “I thought you explained to her that we need our own commerce for our people to exist beyond a generation or two. One needs some form of trade to survive in the desert. She seems to listen to you, Mr. Cunningham.”
“I’m standing right here!” the black-haired channeler shouts, flames flickering on her fingertips. Nyx rubs her violet eyes, hoping to wipe away the furrows that have been created by her constant exhaustion. “He explained everything, but I’m worried about people coming into the temple. The last thing I want to hear about is a child falling into the volcano.”
“That’s rather morbid,” Delvin claims, rolling to his feet. He ruffles his brown hair and lazily yawns while strapping his sword to his belt. “Sharne, Misrae, and Casandra have everything under control. Nothing will go wrong while you’re away, Nyx. Why are you so nervous?”
“I feel responsible and there are so many people here,” the half-elf says, glancing at a nearby explosion. Sweat appears on her brow as she stares at the churning fire and it puffs out of existence when she squints. “Look at the power within Helgard. We didn’t leave Pallice and the Garden of Uli with a basement full of channeler apprentices. Not to mention we’re sitting on a volcano and there are strangers wandering around outside. If anything goes wrong then I’m the one at fault because I’m in charge.”
“Maybe we should start calling you Queen Nyx,” the brown-haired warrior teases before a burst of wind knocks him down. He stays on his back and admires the mural on the ceiling, his blue eyes focusing on the section depicting the battle between himself and the cursed bastard sword. “Have some faith in those who are here to help. Besides, you can’t stay here as long as the Baron is alive. You’ll come back to Helgard one day.”
“Unless she forges her own kingdom and leaves this place to me,” a powerful voice declares with a friendly laugh. “The real point is that you’re right, warrior. Due to her destiny and power, she can’t stay within this nest forever. You’re too great to rule over such an isolated and simple place, youngling.”
An elegant woman with chocolate brown hair and violet eyes materializes out of a curtain of warm ashes. The thin layer of soot on her bare arms and the stains on her black dress vanish as a quiet spell ripples throughout the chamber. A seven-foot tall bird with red and orange feathers stands behind Casandra, its head dipping beneath its wings to preen. Smoldering down falls to the floor and leaves burn marks on the tan stone, which causes Nyx to scowl. Wanting to keep her temple pristine for as long as possible, she wipes the damage away with a wiggle of her fingers. The other channeler is about to speak when a pair of angry voices in the distance causes her to hold up her finely manicured hand. Looking around the room, Casandra sees a dwarf and a calico arguing. Before they can use their magic, the two channelers fall asleep and collapse on cushions of aura that rise from the floor.
“As you can see, I have the children under control,” Casandra assures Nyx with a pleasant smile. The corners of her mouth quiver, the muscles still unused to the movement. “The barriers we erected will contain any explosions, so the rest of Helgard is safe from us. Only those that I g
rant permission to can pass through the portal and the phoenix is here to handle injuries. Trust me when I say that you have nothing to worry about. At least from us. With the people gathering outside, you’re bound to attract a few thieves and looters. Maybe an occasional murder if things get heated.”
“Why would you say that?” Delvin asks as he covers Nyx’s mouth. He feels the heat from the half-elf’s muffled curses and waits for her to calm down before removing his hand. “I’m sure everything will be handled perfectly. Let’s get back to Bor’daruk and see if the others have figured out what’s wrong with the Compass Key.”
A young boy with brown hair approaches the small group. His eyes stare into the distance as he nervously grips his fancy flute. “Excuse me, but Fizzle has arrived and wants to know when you plan on leaving. He’ll be waiting for you in the big kitchen. Something about wanting apples for the long trip.”
“Thanks, Zephyr. You can go back to your training,” Nyx states, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. With a constant whistle, the blind boy uses his awoken magic to lead him down the stairs and back to his practice area. “I was very surprised to see Zephyr appear on my doorstep. I knew he was a talented bard, but I never guessed he had such magic. Too bad he had to bring that damn squirrel with him. Remind me to have a talk with Zale before we leave. He needs to be reminded of the penalty for causing trouble.”
“I already have that rodent under control. I told him that if he behaves then I will teach Zephyr how to restore him to his true form,” Casandra explains with an impish smirk. A howling screech makes her roll her eyes and effortlessly release a spell that stops the brewing ghost storm. “That boy has taught me a lot about what has happened to my bloodlines. I expected everyone to be of pure channeler aura, but that’s not the case. Most of these people have been mixed with something. For example, Zephyr’s lineage crosses over with that of a song caster so he works entirely through his music. He lacks the raw power of a channeler and needs to use his voice, but he has our versatility. There are others whose families have specialties like I accused you of, which has diluted the bloodline. It will be several generations before true channelers like you and Trinity come about. That is unless something else happens.”
“Don’t say it,” Nyx groans, covering her face. She peeks at Delvin through her fingers and prays he does not see her blush. “Hide your ears, Cunningham.”
“All I am saying is that he should get you pregnant, so your superior bloodline can continue,” the ancient channeler casually states. Casandra is barely able to get a glimmering shield up in time to deflect a javelin of flame, the twitch of Nyx’s lower lip the only subtle warning she gets. “You’ve gotten better with disguising your tells, but your temper makes you easy to predict. The barbarian has said the same thing in regards to your hand-to-hand training, which I still think wasted precious time with me.”
“I’m not having kids with Delvin.”
“Then find someone else.”
“I’m in the middle of a destiny that will end with me facing an ancient evil.”
“So don’t waste time and get to work on it.”
“Please stop talking about this.”
“It’s only breeding.”
“Do you even listen to what you’re saying?”
A fist of lightning races toward Nyx, who ducks out of the way and spins around to grab the spell. Using the attack like a glove, she punches Casandra and sends the woman flying over the practicing channelers. Everyone stops to watch the ensuing fight as the half-elf soars into the air and pummels her opponent’s shields with a swarm of fireballs. With a proud smile, Casandra stands on the ceiling and holds her ground among the thickening curls of smoke. Nyx stays on the move to dodge the incoming spells, forcing those below to put up barriers or run for one of the many cabins. A giant bat of ice and fire appears, but nobody is sure which of the combatants created it because a blast of wind makes it shatter against a support pillar. The fight comes to an end when Helgard rumbles and the combatants see the magma rise high enough to cover the distant glass wall of the shaft. Casandra puts up her hands in surrender, causing the threat of an eruption to end.
“I thought you were done with the sneak attacks,” Nyx says as she repairs the damaged areas of her home. Her connection to Helgard helps her sense every crack that she seals with bubbling magma that she cools with an arctic breeze. “I don’t have time for this. We need to get back to Bor’daruk.”
“Just a gentle reminder to keep your guard up and avoid going soft,” Casandra replies as she drops from the ceiling. She floats to Nyx and gives her a hug while they drift to the floor. “I promise to take care of your temple. Still it doesn’t hurt to think about the future of our people while you’re out there.”
“Let me know if you need me for anything,” the half-elf softly replies, ignoring the suggestion. Transforming into smoke, Nyx slips from the other woman’s arms and reappears next to Sharne. “Do you or Misrae need a ride to Bor’daruk? I overheard him mentioning a need for more fruits and vegetables.”
The young woman falls into a bow, her arms out to her sides. “Thank you. I will tell him about the offer.”
Nyx gently pushes up on Sharne’s chin, her violet eyes full of friendly warmth. “Don’t do that, my friend. This is your home as much as mine. In fact, I would say you belong here more than I do. Your people should never hesitate to ask for my help because I wouldn’t be here without the Helgardians. We’ll meet Misrae in the kitchen. Hopefully, Fizzle hasn’t eaten all of the apples we bought yesterday.”
Sharne gives her friend a hug before stepping through the stable portal that opens into a large room. The dark-skinned priestess waves to the Aquestar Dragon that is lounging on the other side of the sand pit that takes up most of the chambers. Cudgel’s sand-colored scales help her blend into the comforting home that she has known for so long that she cannot stay away for long. As she retracts her grainy frill, the beast nods her head and places a large pair of glasses on a nearby hook. With a lazy yawn, the dragon sinks into the pit and swims back into the desert to stretch her legs. Nyx and Delvin yell their good-byes to Cudgel as they step out of the glass-like portal, both of them turning to wave to Casandra who has returned to watching her descendants. The sound of exploding spells and shouting is muffled by the glimmering gateway, but Nyx still takes a few moments to enjoy the lights.
“You going to be okay?” the warrior asks when he notices she is no longer behind him.
“Ever have a feeling that something bad is about to happen?”
“From time to time, but I figure it’s nothing more than a healthy level of caution.”
“You’re probably right.”
Delvin puts his arm around Nyx’s shoulder in a friendly hug that lingers a little too long for her liking. With a smirk, she jolts him with a mild zap to his ribs and runs out of reach before he can retaliate. The warrior watches her bound up the stairs while he adjusts the shield gauntlet on his left arm. He wipes some sand off the polished plates that encase his limb from the tip of his fingers to the middle of his shoulder.
“One of these days, I’ll figure her out.”
*****
Timoran turns the Compass Key in his hands, the gems of the relic sparkling as their magic struggles to react. The polished obsidian orb sputters to life and attempts to create the image of a doorway carved into an upside down hill. When the crimson-haired barbarian puts the artifact back around his neck, the illusion disappears. Voices appear outside of his room at Grasdon Manor, so he tucks the Compass Key under his vest of black fur and red leather. He chuckles when he remembers that their enemies would be unable to see the item and everyone who has no knowledge of his destiny has assumed it is a colorful bauble. Timoran realizes how strained his nerves are since he is jumping at simple noises and shadows. He is calmer by the time someone knocks on the door and it is instantly opened by Sari, who happily bounds into the room.
“He didn’t say we could come in,” Dariana whispers
as she slips her wrist from the gypsy’s grasp. The silver-haired woman has her eyes closed for fear of the barbarian being in the middle of changing. “I’m sorry, Timoran. We wanted to see if you were free to help us pack the supplies. If you need time to get dressed and gather your personal belongings then we can start without you.”
“He’s fully clothed and it isn’t like he has anything I haven’t seen before,” Sari states with a flourish of her yellow and white skirts. The blue-haired woman is practically glowing with excitement as she leaps onto the bed, nearly landing on her friend’s sheathed great axe. “Now that you have a bottomless pouch like the rest of us you can just stuff things into it, Timoran. The quicker we move, the sooner we’ll be out of this place and back on the road. Why are you wearing that vest when it’s unbearably hot? I’m not sure it’s smart to wear that thing anyway given its origin. Did the Compass Key react to you or should we try Delvin again? I had my magic boots polished. Do you think it was worthwhile since I’m probably going to scuff them before we even get out of the city?”
“I assume our little friend has been drinking coffee again,” Timoran says while he puts his bracers on and folds his extra clothes. He is very careful with a white shirt of silk that shows no signs of ever having been worn. “The Compass Key has been silent, but I have seen magic run through it. That is why we should return to Rainbow Tower and see if anything has been unearthed in its former resting place. As for the vest . . . Sutter may have been a demon, but he had honor. In the very brief time I knew him, he earned a lot of my respect and sympathy, which is why I asked Nyx to make this vest. I am not sure if it does anything special, but my purpose was to give Sutter’s lifetime of sacrifice more meaning.”
“You people always confuse me,” Dariana admits, adjusting the buttons on the side of her light blue shirt. The flexible woman stretches her leg up to her shoulder to wipe some dirt off the side of her black shoe. “I’m sorry, but I find it strange that you would honor a demon. They are supposed to be evil creatures even if they act polite. Such a change in behavior is caused by being away from the Chaos Void for too long. It isn’t their natural state.”
The Merchant of Nevra Coil (Legends of Windemere Book 8) Page 3
