Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves

by Richard M. Heredia

  It was not by mere coincidence. The handpicking of her and Vallüm had been deliberate. There were the tip of the sword of this foray into the Melded World by the Rigă-Kur himself, the High King of the Vülfen, for a reason. Their choosing had been out of thousands. To assist in the execution of the first crucial steps needed to bring the Storm Lord onto this plane itself was a great honor. After which, their great Lord would begin his conquest of all the known universes and they would be held above all others.

  She was well aware of her worth now, cognizant of her value. She was not about to squander it. This could well be her time…

  {Inghëldir, it is by my command that I summon you! Attend to my request, you brazen bitch!}

  More inky filth and the thrust of his poisoned will filled her. Where it should have made her cringe with fear, it made her chuckle to herself instead. With languorous relish, she finished the last of her meal. Her thoughts had consumed her to the point she had blocked-out Vallüm longer than she had intended. This was a thing she had been unable to do until recently. After almost six hundred and fifty years of her vapid existence.

  She grinned, a bloody grin not bothering to wipe at the sanguine juice coating the lower half of her face? Who cared? All the pretenses she’d had to fulfill earlier were no longer necessary. She was more than happy to reveal what the true Inghëldir the Nixy looked like. She was much more than the beautiful, child-like, cherub. Sure, she had delicate features and appeared innocent. But she also had a pair of jaws that could chew through bone faster than a hyena. She had a tongue she could use to strangle a grown human male without the use of her hands.

  She was Inghëldir.

  Blood was her favorite lipstick, gore was the basic ingredient in her rouge. The obsidian coolness about her eyes was wrought of nothing more than pure evil. She would revel in her horrific allure. She would grow into the creature she had often dreamed she would become. She would make her own way –.

  The pain hit her like a thousand daggers stabbing through her flesh at once, so intense, so white hot, it was searing. The force threw her sideways, away from the hulking body of Jätung. Her hands and feet pulled taut as if she were drawn and quartered by some invisible entity.

  It was then that Vallüm entered her mind, not like before, not with a polite probe. This was a delving - a shoveling of his consciousness into hers with such force, it almost stunned her into unconsciousness. Only at the last second was she able to hold on, able to recall who she was and why she was in the small cave. She was at the brink of oblivion, lost to the abyss.

  {You grow ever impertinent, Inghëldir. I find it all the more tiresome and wasteful of my time, which is precious to me}, thundered Vallüm in her mind.

  Her small body went rigid, making her strain with the brutality of his intrusion.

  {Maybe Fenris is correct in saying I have given you too much leash over the course of all these years. He believes you have forgotten to remember your proper place in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it is time to relinquish some of what I have given. What say you of that?}

  Inghëldir was half-aware her mind - her very self - should have dwindled into nothing. She should have been held fast in a quivering stupor by now. For some miraculous reason, she was not.

  She had seen many a Nixy destroyed beyond repair by such a mental assault. She had seen their desecration with open glee, had danced about in exaltation to the great Metohkangmi himself.

  Now, it was happening to her.

  And. she had survived.

  She was somehow strong enough to exist, even before the massive shockwave of enchanted mental strength assaulting her. This tiny, insignificant thought comforted her, made her feel at ease. It soothed her, despite the mental molestation Vallüm was exuding upon her psyche.

  Unlike the night before, she was able to sense something else as well. It was something she should never have been capable of sensing in the first place. She’d never had this level of control. In the past, such information was not hers to know. A Nixy should not have been able, and yet…

  She could sense something he felt, an emotion. It was no more than an impression, but to her it was monumentous.

  She was exultant.

  For the first time, she could make out something of him, from him, a window into him! This gave her hope, a tether from which she could tie off, hold onto. It allowed her to know who she was, what she was. She would not lose herself in her own mind.

  He was desperate.

  {You do not answer, my sweet. And yet… somehow you still have the capacity to resist where you should not. I should have been rendered a muddied pulp of brain matter for me to command}, Vallüm volunteered. {I wonder…}

  Inghëldir knew Jätung was no longer pretending to be asleep.

  Now, he was looming over her with an expression that melted from anticipation to hunger. He was unsure of what to make of his master strewn about the floor, helpless, unable to defend herself. She could see he could not decide between loyalty and the strong desire to taste her sweet meat. He was salivating onto the stone of the cave.

  “My lord, forgive me,” she repented through the mental connection. She knew her master could hear it regardless. “It has been a long day. I had to eat before… before the worst, of which you are well aware.”

  You ignorant toad, so keen on rutting that you cannot even see deception when it is so obvious before you! She had wanted to say, but forced herself to keep her opinions in check. She dared think on them for too long.

  She could feel the pressure against her mind, the aching press against her personality, let up a bit.

  The Prēost gave pause to consider her excuse.

  In this second of distraction, she was able to remember what she had been thinking before Vallüm’s brutal, psionic beating. By retaining that small part of herself, she centered her consciousness.

  She sent a tiny, soothing message to Jätung.

  The great beast sat down upon his haunches, trying to resist it at first, but in the end he could not. In seconds, his tongue lolled. He was as playful as he had been as a pup, smiling at her with wide jaws.

  Be content. Be at ease. This is not but a ruse, she lied.

  I am sorry, my Petling.

  Then…, {So be it, my succulence, I will forgive your transgressions this last time, and this time only. Know that you will get no more acts of leniency from me. Henceforth, you will obey on command or I will destroy you, or better yet… feed you to your own Petling. Do I make myself clear?}

  “Yes, my lord. I understand,” she surrendered. She gave him almost all her attention, except the tiny bit she held back, the small bite she kept for herself. It was for no one else.

  Though Vallüm could read almost every thought in her mind, this he could not see. Without so much as a trickle of thought, on more than one level, she delighted in her newfound ability.

  In this Melded World, she, Inghëldir, had grown beyond what her master could control. She was certain one day she would be strong enough to turn the tables on him…

  Mmmm, then tickle, tickle, I will eat your pickle!

  Why was she on the verge of laughter? She should be wriggling in agony.

  {Enough of this}, he demanded in her mind, setting her body thrumming, though he eased the pain coursing through her. Finally, he was just a presence in her head. {Now tell me, what say you of your mission? How were the bloody children able to evade your senses and outrun the speedy Jätung for such a long period of time? It has been about four days! Do not tell me your skills have not diminished, just because we no longer walk upon the Plane of Storm.}

  Inghëldir paused, contemplating what had occurred in the days and hours after she had transmuted from the World of Man. “My Lord, in all truthfulness, I think I was, with purpose, led astray by something other than the Chosen Twelve,” she replied. Keep it simple, she kept telling herself. It made the most sense to tell him some of the truth, but definitely not the whole of it. There was no way the children could have
evaded her abilities for such a lengthy duration. She should have some hint of where they were, even if by accident.

  Besides, she had known for some time now her following the fat human had sent her in the wrong direction, far from her quarry. That infernal man had driven her far off the trail of the Twelve, which had infuriated her in the beginning. But, that had been before the change, before she had grown in both body and mind. Now it was an altogether different tale.

  She could feel Vallüm’s shock through the mental connection between the two of them. Surprise made her eyebrows rise when she sensed a tiny fraction of fear in him as well.

  {Of what do you speak? What creature is this?}

  Again, she delayed answering right away, thinking. “I’m not sure, My Lord. I have yet to sense a being such as this.” Once more, she cloaked the whole truth about a veil of obscurity.

  {What do you mean? Speak clear to your master!}

  She had anticipated his impatience and was ready with her reply the moment he stopped roaring in her head. “It is an enigmatic being, my Lord Vallüm. The creature is so peculiar it is difficult to explain. It led Jätung and me far into the hinterland. It was not for some time until I realized I was not following the trail of the Twelve. This being was leading me away, this something else… this something impossible.”

  {Explain impossible.}

  “It was as though this being could be in more than one place at a time. Or maybe a more apt way to explain it, is it could be before me in one instant and then somehow flash, far ahead without taking a single step. I could sense its’ warmth. I could hear its’ heartbeat. It seemed so human-like. It was infuriating to know he was before me one second, only to have him quite distant in the next. It seemed to dissipate somehow. It moved from one location, fast and without any lengthy incantation or ritualistic spell. It appeared to only need to think to move,” she finished.

  She sent Jätung another quick command, demanding he scout the strength of the storm to see if it had weakened. They needed to leave the cave and return to the environs of the Twelve.

  Mewling in reluctance, she was about to reprimand him when he bound out of the cave in a flash.

  To her delight, Vallüm had no clue this had occurred. He was completely blind to this newfound part of her mind now.

  Soon, my master, I will come for you...

  {Could you sense if this was a creature of the Light or a creature of the Storm?} asked the Prēost.

  ”It was neither, My Lord. It belonged to itself with no allegiance to either side,” she answered, truthful.

  {I will report this immediately! Meantime, you get back to the area about the Encampment as quick as the weather will permit. Resume your search. I want you to be the one to present the Twelve to the Lord of the Storm and not that hairy sod of a dog. Don’t let me down, Inghëldir. Or you will regret it to the end of days…}

  With that, he was gone, leaving what felt like a cloven emptiness in her mind. It took her more than a few minutes to fill herself with her own thoughts and desires.

  She sat up just as Jätung returned.

  He looked battered and beaten, though he had only exposed himself to the storm’s wrath for a short time. His head hung low to the ground in defeat.

  Inghëldir felt her jaw clench with fury, knowing full well her and her Petling were stuck in the damned cave for many more hours to come.

  She stood, dusting herself off. She pulled from the inner lining of her tattered and soiled dress another small animal corpse. This one was skinned alive. Its’ eyes gouged out with tiny, burning brands. Its’ tail tied in terrible knots, while it had screeched and screamed for the pain to stop.

  I will break these shackles. I will free myself from this prison. One way or another, I will rise to stand beside the Lord of the Storm alone! No longer will I stand at your side under duress. On this, I swear. She took a deep, joyous bite of the dead creature in her hands, its’ decayed organs squishing down her throat.

  It was wonderful.

  She smiled wide. She chewed and crunched, lowering herself back into a squatting position. Her master had been so preoccupied. He had not even realized she had no intention of returning “to the environs of the encampment”. She would never go there again. She swallowed the entire contents in her mouth in one massive gulp, wiping at her lips, her eyes narrowing in thought.

  Things were moving swift now and along many, many different threads. It was quite possible, they were moving so fast, they had become too difficult for her poor, aged master to follow. Too much change had him pulled in too many opposing directions. Because of that, she just might slip through his fingers like the Twelve had through Fenris’s.

  Soon, she thought to herself. Soon, my Lord, I will tickle you in every place you have tickled me.

  Soon…

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  ~ 34 ~

  Anomaly

  Day Four, Sunday, 7:00 pm…

  Vallüm, Master Flesher of the Sixth Order, scurried from his modest tent. Within the new-formed, inner bailey of the Encampment, he ran heedless of his disheveled state. He took no notice he was striding headlong into the throat of a blizzard without his ragged, black robe. He wore only his long befouled woolen nightshirt and nothing else. He had worn no boots, no slippers upon his gnarled, knobby feet. He had not covered his head as Prēosts were apt to do, to hide the horrid state of their skin.

  Their complexions were more often than not rotten and molted, deep with cracks and yellowed as if rank with disease.

  Vallüm was no exception. His skin had decayed long ago onto his bones. It withered by a nasty combination of age and the use of massive quantities of power. It was necessary, of course, to keep a Nixy as ancient and strong as Inghëldir under control. His arms and legs, emaciated and misshapen at every joint, flashed now and again as he flung himself into the storm. His hands were grimy and unwashed. His hair was greasy, made dull by an unhealthy sheen, devoid of luster, wrought of neglect.

  To him, none of this was in any way important. He would contemplate such inconsequential details later. Besides, he was fortunate. He was a Prēost who had walked among the kingdoms of Storm for millennia. The cold and the biting wind did not touch him in any way. His feet did not cramp or freeze in agony. His body did not shiver with the frozen iciness swirling all about him. There was no dulling of his senses as a creature less suited to the elements would experience. His sense of direction, his eyesight, was perfect.

  He knew where he was going and exactly in which direction he had to travel to get there.

  All else was of no consequence.

  He had to have an audience with the Hand of the Host, and now! What his rebellious Nixy had told him could not go unreported. The full merit of what it implied must be taken into account.

  There was another entity, a mighty and impossible being, loose upon the Melded World. If this proved true, then this plane of existence (said to be under their absolute control) was already growing beyond all their abilities to curb. If they were reckless, they might lose it altogether. The dominion promised to them would substantiate nothing more than utter falsehood. This was an error of gigantic proportions. If another Power had indeed come to this place, that could only mean one thing. He did not want to think about it, but he had to consider it, or risk failure.

  They would have to make plans to contain this change. It would mean this was no longer a two-sided fight. It would complicate everything on an immense scale.

  This creature, per his Nixy, was neutral to both the Light and the Storm. And that could only spell a wider conflict, a greater war, one they were not prepared to wage. Already, it was on the horizon. The vast armies of Storm had yet to mobilize in full. They had to do something.

  Things upon the Melded World were nearing completion, but there was still much to do. By Storm’s fury, they had not even captured the Twelve yet! They were the crux of the entire scheme. Without them in their clutches, the Grand Design would fail without a doubt. />
  And what would that presage for those who had a hand in that failure? Something he did not want to think about either.

  It would be worse than death.

  He had to see Fenris!

  Couple these unfortunate events with his ever-waning ability to keep his Nixy under heel and they could all be in for a rude awakening. It would only lead to a horrible reckoning with the Great Metohkangmi. There would be no escaping that fate.

  He had to let the Hand and his Overlord, the Mheto-Prēost, know what was transpiring. They had to build a countermand to these occurrences. They had to find a way to wrestle momentum back to their side. They had to stem this insufferable flow of bad luck. Otherwise, they would drown in it.

  This was still coursing through his brain when he approached the twin doors of the Hand’s Keep. At once, he demanded an audience with the Crown Prince.

  He was beside himself with disbelief when the Swüreg Lieutenant charged with guarding the giant portal had asked, “What is the nature of your visit, filth?”

  Vallüm seethed, his eyes flashing with murder, his fists balled at either side of him. “That is none of your business, maggot! Open the door and let me in! I have urgent business with the Hand!” he shouted at the armored Swüreg before him. He looked nice and snug within a small alcove just next to the barred doors of the keep. The fucking imbecile was more apt to stroke his codfish. Just to see if his seed would freeze before it hit the ground than do a days’ worth of competent work!

  The Swüreg sneered at him, immovable. “We don’t let in every odd rabble that should step upon the porch, requesting entrance into the Hand’s domain.” He stood before the Prēost, thumbs tucked into his belt.

  “Did I not say the matter was urgent, you shit-headed cur? There is no time for preening at a time as this!” howled Vallüm, bristling like a feline He was pointing upward into the face of the officer. “I am the Chief Fleshmaster of the Host, you arse! Now, open the way this instant!”