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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “It’s Dariana!” the telepath shouts from the hallway. A brief scuffle seems to ensue before another blow strikes the wall with enough force to make a crack in the stone. “I’m here with Catarina Warrenberg and Bessaria! I tracked a Sari to your manor and caught her at the outer wall. I’m guessing you have something to do with her being damaged. Can you let us in, Lady Grasdon?”

  Happy to hear from someone who is not a toy, Kira throws the door open and half-heartedly smiles at her guests. She can see one of her butlers standing behind them, the elderly man looking apologetic and gesturing at the saddled sheep standing next to an unfamiliar gnome. Dropping her weapon, the relieved heiress hugs Dariana and pulls her into the decimated bedroom. She accepts Catarina’s handshake and casually points toward the other Sari doll, who is waving from a chair. Once everyone is inside and introductions have been made, Kira goes into the hallway and slams the door behind her. Dariana stares at Sari while Catarina tightens the bonds on the struggling figurine hanging from her belt.

  “It’s been a rough morning,” the gypsy states with a smirk. “Any luck finding the others?”

  The awkward silence fills her with a pang of dread that she knows would make it difficult to breathe in her real body.

  *****

  Using his sabers, Luke catches a crack in the edge of the walkway and climbs out of the swift moving sewerage. He crawls to the slimy wall and drags himself up to his feet, his mind telling him that he should be exhausted. Instead, the only sign of fatigue is that it is more difficult to move his limbs. Glancing down at his clenched fists, he sees that one of his weapons is gone and the other has been bent at an odd angle. He tries to fix it, but the waterstone weapon merely snaps in half.

  “Guess it wouldn’t have been useful anyway,” Luke mutters before tossing the broken toy away. He touches the slick ground and realizes that the sensation of wetness on his fingers is very clear. “Touching things has been weird since I was put in this body, but it’s become more natural now. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m bonding to this toy. I need to get to the surface and find Dariana. First, Luke should stop talking to himself like a crazy person.”

  Examining the tunnel, the half-elf is relieved to see several rivulets of rain water flowing down the walls. Straining his ears, Luke is able to hear the rain pelting the ground above, which means he is not very far below the surface. With a burst of static, his sound sight roars to life and he can see for a mile in every direction. It is a crippling barrage of images that drives him to his knees until he regains control. As he turns his unique ability off, Luke catches another noise that is gone by the time he tries to hear it again. Driven by curiosity and worry, he calmly falls into a trance and tunes out the burbling river before him. The half-elf gradually phases out the noises that he recognizes and peels the layers of sound in search of the elusive one that caught his attention. Echoing from his left is a tiny sneeze followed by a familiar whimper, which causes him to break into a sprint downstream.

  “Fizzle!” Luke shouts as he runs around a corner. He charges at the large gap in the walkway and leaps across, a burst of wind giving him an extra push to the other side. “Guess I got those powers back. Does that mean I’m not alone?”

  “I am here to some extent,” the griffin replies, sounding distant and tired. “The others are helping me reach you. We are sealed within your real body. The gnomes are taking good care of it.”

  “That’s a comfort,” the half-elf says while he continues following the sound. He leaps along a series of pipes, pausing to let water spit out of one of them. “This body can transform into a replica of you. I wonder if that would put you in control. If I run into anything dangerous then I might have to find out.”

  “If it pulls me into that form then I will do my best to defend it,” the griffin swears, her consciousness becoming stronger. She takes a few seconds to search the waterstone body for the parts that are associated with her. “I do not like this thing. It is an insult and a travesty. Your people are so strange in what you wish to own.”

  Luke chuckles as he vaults over a stream, a powerful wind knocking him into the distant wall with more force than he planned. He falls into a mound of sticks and muck, disturbing the rats that were living inside. The hissing beasts circle their broken nest as the small intruder pushes his way out of the mess. Twenty pairs of yellow eyes watch the strange creature that resembles a person, but is much smaller. Sniffing at Luke, the rats try to figure out what he is and their chattering make him feel like they are more concerned with discovering if he is edible. He takes a step toward a gap in the mob, but one of the animals snaps at his leg. The teeth graze his knee, leaving a faint scratch on the waterstone. Having tasted the strange material, the rat spits and hacks in disgust.

  “In that case, I should be allowed to leave,” Luke says, part of him hoping they understand his words. “I’m not made of anything edible. In fact, I’ll probably make you sick if you try to make a meal of me.”

  The rats hiss and close in, their pink tails slapping the ground behind them. Praying an apology to Silvestris the Nature Goddess, Luke jumps into the air and kicks the nearest animal in the nose. The beast is sent tumbling back and the half-elf races through the opening with the other rats snapping at his heels. Using quick bursts of wind, he darts out of reach whenever his feels their breath on his back. He manages to remain out of their reach, but the animals are still too close for him to do anything other than charge ahead at full speed. Risking a peek over his shoulder, Luke sees that a lot more of the vermin have joined in the chase.

  The tunnel eventually opens to a shaft that plunges deep into the sewers, the area reminding the half-elf of what he has seen under Bor’daruk. Not wanting to slow down, Luke leaps for a narrow ledge that he would have missed if he was in his full-sized body. He grabs the rough edge and flips onto solid ground as the rats gather across the chasm. A few are knocked into the darkness by the impatient shoving of their brethren, but the horde quickly settles down. The forest tracker groans in frustration when he sees the dark forms climbing the far wall and clambering onto the beams that span the shaft. Heading for a tunnel, he tries to move quickly while watching the rats scamper above and ahead of him. Several of the braver creatures jump to the ledge on both sides of the half-elf, making his only option the dark abyss.

  A faint sneeze catches Luke’s attention and he looks ahead to see the opening of a small pipe. He scrambles forward as the animals get closer and he squeezes into the tunnel, his body creaking as he rolls onto his back. A rat catches him by the ankle, but he twists his leg hard enough for the limb to snap at the lowest joint. Not expecting the foot to detach, the screeching animal tumbles off the ledge. The others hiss while the nearest one follows Luke, its furry body squishing into the narrow tube. Dragging himself backwards, the half-elf can only listen as his pursuers file into the pipe.

  “I told you that I’m not made of meat,” Luke says, kicking the nearest rat in the face. To his relief, he hears another sneeze from the far end of the tunnel. “If somebody’s there then I could use some help! Not that anyone can fit down here. You know, I think I’ve got a way out, so please wait for me. I’ll only be a few seconds. Also, get away from your end of the pipe!”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” the griffin asks, sensing the warrior’s thoughts. “You have only used the wind to enhance your physical abilities. What you are attempting now is much more difficult and closer to what a caster would do. Do you really know what you’re doing?”

  “I’m doing the same thing I always do,” Luke admits while stretching his arms over his head. He kicks the hissing rat again and presses his hands to the cold metal. “Kind of like using a sled in the winter. I think.”

  Luke moves as if he is yanking his body along the pipe, which creates a powerful wind between himself and the rats. Compacted by the tight tunnel, the force is more than the half-elf expects and he is launched down the tunnel with a scream of surprise. He can hear the rats getting
ejected from the other end, those that were caught in the full blast being sent hurtling into the chasm. Once Luke is free of the tight space, he flips and tries to kick off the wall that he is hurtling towards. Forgetting that he only has one foot, he ricochets at an odd angle and slams into the low ceiling. Unable to stop his descent, the half-elf waits for his body to break against the ground, but he lands on a soiled mattress instead.

  “Luke!” Fizzle exclaims, the plush drite staring down at him. “You find us! Fizzle get taken from city and brought here. Not sure ever be found. Now Luke be hero and rescue Fizzle’s new friend.”

  “New friend?”

  Fizzle is held tightly by a small boy who is covered in dirt and grime. The child’s stomach rumbles and he whimpers, which turns into the sneeze that Luke has been tracking. His clothes have been reduced to thin rags that provide very little warmth and protection within the damp sewers. Instead of shoes, he has layers of wet fabric wrapped around his feet and sloppily tied off at the ankle. Pieces of garbage that Luke cannot identify are stuck in the child’s wild, dark blonde hair. When the half-elf stands, the boy backs into a corner and buries his face in Fizzle’s softness.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Luke claims, putting up his hands and taking a few awkward hops toward the child. “Fizzle and I are friends. Do you have a name?”

  “My name is Jack Pursin,” the boy whispers, peeking out with tear-filled eyes. “Are you going to take my toy away?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Luke replies as he notice the boy’s gauntness. Looking around the alcove, he sees a collection of basic supplies, but there is not even a scrap of food. “Fizzle and I have a big quest and we need to reclaim our real bodies. Still I don’t want to take him away from you. Can you or Fizzle explain what’s going on? I mean, I see what’s obviously going on, but I’m confused and lost here.”

  “New friend take Fizzle from crate,” the drite explains, nuzzling the child’s dirt-caked cheek. “He take Fizzle here. This where new friend live. Why new friend not living with parents?”

  “Mommy and daddy died when I four and nobody take me. Now I’m five,” Jack answers, curling his body around his beloved toy. With a shaky arm, he opens his fist to reveal a tarnished coin that has a jester cap on one side. “Did this bring you here? I pray to Cessia like adults do with this coin. She bring good luck. That what old friend tell me before she sleep forever in winter.”

  “That’s right,” the half-elf replies in a cracking voice. Even after such a brief and simple tale, Luke cannot imagine leaving the child behind. “Can I talk to my friend over here? We just need to discuss what we should do now. I promise we’ll stay in sight. Besides, I can’t get very far with only one foot and we don’t know our way around the sewers. You can start packing up anything you want to take along because we’ll need your help.”

  Jack releases Fizzle and goes about stuffing all of his belongings into a frayed backpack, stopping whenever his stomach hurts. He eats a scrap of dried meat that he gets out of an envelope, the food making him feel a little better. The boy pauses when he sees Luke get on the drite’s back and flutter toward the ceiling. Jack is about to cry out of fear of being abandoned, but stops when the toys land next to a lantern. He watches as the half-elf hops off Fizzle and carefully examines the battered light source.

  “Thank you for taking new friend,” the dragon says, his button eyes twinkling with a spark of magic. “Why people let little ones suffer? People supposed to be civi . . . civ . . . closer and kinder than cruelty of animals. Even animals adopt lost little ones.”

  “Because as civilized as we are, there are times we’re worse than wild beasts,” Luke replies without hesitation. Slipping behind the lantern, he closes the oil burner and returns to the drite before the heat melts his body. “I really don’t have a general explanation aside from life can be unfair and cruel. Some people find it easier to ignore such suffering while others assume it will be taken care of by someone else. Others are focused on their own survival. My point is that his situation isn’t unique and that fact really makes me question a few things about the gods and my own path as a hero. I don’t like it any more than you, which is why I’m not leaving him down here.”

  “Where we go?” Fizzle asks as he takes flight. He grabs the lantern’s handle and lowers it to the ground while pushing the boy’s curious hands away from the hot face. “You know where Jack live?”

  “The only thing I know of is a place that will take care of him for a bit,” the forest tracker replies while he awkwardly climbs down the wall. His leg stump slips and he falls, but the boy catches him before he can hit the stone floor. “Thanks, Jack. If you can lead us to the surface then I can get us to Rainbow Tower. We’re friends with the masters and I’m sure they’ll help you if we ask. After that, I’m going to talk to Daniel Skyblade. I know this falls outside of his area, but maybe he can start some kind of orphanage program. Really surprised they don’t have anything like that already.”

  “Fizzle decide on plan too,” the drite announces. He lands on Jack’s head and grabs Luke with his tail, putting the half-elf on his back. “Fizzle no like this. Cities need stop bad stuff. Little ones need help.”

  “Thank you, Fizzle,” the boy whispers while he wipes at his bloodshot eyes. He is about to thank Luke when he remembers something and places the toys on the soiled mattress. “Storms make the surface bad, so we’ll take the sewers to Rainbow Tower. I know the way, but there’s biting bugs. I have swords for Luke to use.”

  Jack reaches into one of the pockets of his backpack and draws a pair of basket hilt swords that are three inches in length. They are made of metal and lack an edge, but their points are sharp. Luke is pretty sure they are fancy, reusable toothpicks that nobles use at small gatherings instead settling for the plain, wooden varieties. He gladly accepts the perfectly sized blades and puts them in his empty belt loops, his palms rubbing against the pommels as if they were his precious sabers.

  “Carry the lantern by the handle and hold Fizzle’s tail with your other hand,” Luke tells the boy. The drite takes flight and wraps his soft tail around Jack’s wrist. “You’re our map, Mr. Pursin, so you’re in charge. Which way do we go?”

  The child has a bright smile on his face and points to the shadowy tunnel ahead. “That way!”

  *****

  Jack slowly climbs the slimy ladder while Fizzle flies alongside him, the child yawning and blinking his hazel eyes. They have been traveling for hours, which worries Luke because their guide is becoming sleepier with every passing minute. Every time he suggests resting, Jack holds his head high and proudly declares that he can keep walking. Half the time this announcement is said while the child is swaying on his feet and his stomach is rumbling. Being trapped in such weak bodies, Fizzle and Luke are unable to force the determined boy to stop and listen to reason. All they can do is keep their senses keen and pray that they avoid any threats that require a hasty retreat.

  “We close,” Jack says as he walks with his shoulder dragging along the wall. “I got lost because I don’t go here. There’s more food and dropped coins in the marketplace, but only during day. Sometimes, ladies give me candy because they feel sorry. One time, I got five pieces of candy from one pretty lady.”

  “That’s great, Jack, but we should head for the surface,” Luke replies, hopping off Fizzle’s back and onto the boy’s shoulder. “The storm is over and I’ve seen a few rays of sunlight through the high gratings. So let’s concentrate on walking and find the nearest ladder out of the sewers. You’re too tired to make it much further and passing out down here is too dangerous for a child.”

  The drite’s soft body straightens and he turns in the air, his fake tongue slipping out of his lips. “Fizzle hear something. Shifting, chattering, clicking, humming things. They smell bad and getting close. Over there!”

  Wrapping his soft tail around the lantern’s handle, Fizzle struggles to fly with the heavy object. The drite hurls the light source into the s
hadows to show that the walls are covered in black insects. Snapping pincers and vibrating wings make a nerve-wracking din that echoes along the tunnel. A very large beetle grows yellow spines and pounces on the remains of the lantern, its body erupting into flames. Terrified by the screech of the dying insect, the rest of the swarm takes flight and rushes toward Jack.

  “Biting bugs! Biting bugs!” the boy screams as he runs down the tunnel.

  “Run for ladder!” Fizzle shouts. He soars through the insects, uselessly slapping at them with his tail. “Fizzle no use!”

  Luke draws his blades and does his best to remain balanced on Jack’s shoulder. He stabs at any beetle that comes within reach, but the metal toothpicks do very little damage to the armored insects. The warrior kills a few bugs by slipping his weapon through a crease in their carapace, the blades finding the beetles’ heart or brain. The sound of Jack gasping for air and crying, drives Luke to leap into the swarm and bound from one insect to another. Desperate to protect the child, he slashes and stabs until the makeshift weapons snap.

  “Stay with Jack!” Luke yells at Fizzle as the vibrating swarm envelopes him. “Make sure he gets to Cyril and Willow!”

  With loud clicks and snaps, the half-elf transforms into the griffin. His back opens to release waterstone wings that unfold and lock in place. Luke’s head is covered by that of an eagle, the beak able to open and close. The limbs and torso turn inside out to reveal a layer of light-colored fake fur. A spring falls out from where his missing foot would be, the metal coil hanging onto a rubbery cord. Before the hatch closes, a rigid tail flips out and clicks into place. Luke can feel his consciousness get squeezed into the same space as the griffin, which causes the pair to struggle for control of the body.

  “How do we do this?” the griffin asks while trying to move to the left. “We do not even have all four feet.”

  “I know, but it’s not like I can grow a new one,” the half-elf replies, fighting in vain to get the wings to move. Their body is dented as they are battered by the swarm and shoved toward the ground. “The wings can’t flap, but they hardened when they locked together. If we use the wind and fly quickly then we might be able to smash them. I’ll leave it to you since this is your form.”