When did he get back?
She peered about the area a second time. She gazed farther into the surrounding store than before, looking for but not catching sight of Anthony.
She stood with her legs straddling either side of the chair.
“Hey, Joaquin, is everything cool? Where’s Anthony?” she asked, surprised when he opened his eyes. She saw they were bloodshot, watery almost as if he had been…
Crying?
He sniffled, loud, wiping his shirt-covered forearm across his nose, peeping over at her through a squint. “He’ll be coming along soon, Soph. He said he was going to look for some thicker socks up in the Men’s department. He’ll be along.”
She stared at him. Her eyes darted about his face, seeing the drained look of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes. They had not been there before. She knew for a fact, he had been crying and for some reason that frightened her. What on earth could make someone as tough and giant as Joaquin cry? How could this be if it had originated from a mere conversation with her boyfriend? What happened up there at the front of the store? What had they said to each other? What had Joaquin’s Gift revealed now?
The last thought made her stomach drop precipitously. She felt a hole, shotgun-sized, punching through her torso. She almost sat back down on the lawn chair.
Her vision crossed Joaquin’s. She saw the tightness about his edges.
She knew then, he was lying to her. She could feel it with every cell in her body. He was not telling the truth. But this was not simple deception as most people would think. No, this was worse. Tears came to her eyes. He was lying, because he was trying to protect her. She knew enough about Joaquin to know he’d lie under no other circumstances. This was for her “own good”. She could taste its’ bitter truth and know it for what it was.
But, from what? God damn it!
Then, beyond the sleeping area and the heaped racks of clothing, she saw him, walking. His shoulders hunched, but as he continued to walk toward her, his back begin to stiffen. He held himself erect, but strained as he did so. His stony expression softened, became that of the young man she had fallen in love with. Anthony’s hair was still down. It floated around him as he strode down the aisle, as he walked onto the bright red, carpeted sleep area.
To her shock, she saw he was carrying a bag of long woolen socks just as Joaquin had said.
Coincidence? Or was this a set-up?
He walked up to her and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead
This garnered a snicker from Louis, who was walking back from the Toy department again. This time he was carrying a couple of books. Sophie could only guess at what the young boy was doing now.
But she blocked him from her mind, turning to watched Anthony walk on passed her. He came up to where they had placed their individual backpacks. He unzipped the one he had earmarked as his own. With haste, he tore open the bag of socks and placed them, one at a time, inside the backpack. He crinkled up the plastic covering in his hand when he had finished.
Sophie turned back to look at Joaquin, who was completely ignoring the both of them. He was busying himself by talking with Louis, pointing and gesticulating at the books the boy had brought back with him.
When she resumed her vigil of Anthony, she saw him put the plastic in one of the large trash cans they can scavenged. He spun on his heel, light on his feet, making his way back toward her, a broad smile on his face.
Through the entire display, all Sophie had to see to know the truth was look at his eyes. They were bloodshot. The area of his face that was cleaner than before was where tears would have stained face, where he would have wiped them away. She saw it and knew the whole thing had been an act. He was hiding something as well, though in a different manner than Joaquin. Still, the intent was exactly the same– he was protecting her.
Fucken boys!
“Hey girlie,” he greeted her, his voice a little scratchy as if it were raw, hurting.
“Hey, yourself,” she replied, not about to ask what was plaguing her at the time. She was more irritated by the omission of the truth than she thought she was. She wanted him to volunteer the information, especially if it was going to involve little white lies or strategic omissions. “How’d everything go?”
“Good, ok… I guess. I mean, it wasn’t like it was anything major or eminent. It was just some background info, you know,” he divulged, albeit reluctant, awkward.
Sophie nodded, turning back and forth at the waist. “Right, and this would be the same background information that had to be told in private, in confidence. I get it, Anthony.” She said it more forceful than she meant to. She realized the entire situation was bothering her more than she was able to conceal.
It must have shown in her face, because Anthony’s expression changed from nonchalance to a more piercing stare. He looked into her eyes and did not break the connection when she gazed back.
Pain welled in her eyes, though she fought against it with all her will.
He stayed motionless for a few more moments. “I will tell you. I promise. When I’m ready. When I can. It’s just that right now, things…,” he paused to take a deeper-than-normal breath of air. He swallowed it as if he were swallowing something more tangible and not just a gulp of nothing. “There are things that need to happen, things we need to focus on to succeed. I don’t want other worries or fears clouding yours or anyone else’s mind right now.”
“I am stronger than you think, Tony. I can take it,” she offered, looking at him through her eyelashes.
Anthony half-exhaled and half-smiled, bending down to kiss her on each cheek. “I know you are, my dear. It’s me that isn’t, at least for right now. Plus, I know there are others who are walking on eggshells. One more burden and they’ll snap.” He stopped and placed his hands on either shoulder. “Will it be ok, if you give me some time to sort through this? When I do, I promise I will tell you. I will tell you everything.” He raised his brow, asking her with both his voice and the entreating look upon his face.
“It’s just I… I don’t understand. It should all be so simple. Because it’s not, it makes me a little angry you don’t have enough faith in me to tell me.” She felt the first of her tears fall from her eyes. She wiped them away, irate that she could not stop them.
“I do have faith in you, Sophie, more than you know. All I’m asking is for you to have a little more faith in me. I promise you, you will understand everything you need to understand when it is crucial for you to understand. Right now, it would just bring unnecessary worry and anxiety. Emotions like that could be disastrous to the goals we have set for ourselves. Let’s get through some more of the plan. Let’s get the hell out of here and back to the cave. Let’s get up into the mountains and find that clearing. Let’s find the crucifix. Let’s go down under the earth and into the cavern. And, let me finish what I have to do, so I can protect us all, save us from those assholes who want us dead!
“We are running out of time, Sophie. The Kring-Hël must begin to resist somehow. There is still so much to figure out…,” he trailed off, taking yet another cleansing breath to steady himself. He closed his eyes, tilting his head up toward the ceiling of the store.
Sophie pulled her vision from her boyfriend. She took in what he had said, the import of his words sank into her mind, burned across her consciousness. Begrudgingly, she knew she had already decided to go along with his request. Though she knew she would hate every minute she did not know what had transpired between him and Joaquin, she would go along with it.
In a way, he was right, at least from his perspective. He had a lot more to worry about and he had a greater responsibility than she. It made sense to her that he needed some time to sort out whatever the hell it was he needed to sort out. She turned back to him and gave him one of her patented fierce hugs.
He reciprocated in kind, bending down to cover her with more of his body.
She felt herself melt into him, willing, it was almost as though she had been doing it since birth.
<
br /> “If that is what you need, then that is what I can give,” she mumbled near his ear.
“I’m sorry, Sophie,” he said. It sounded like he was about to say more when his voiced cracked and he stopped.
She could feel him wither in her clutch, wilt like a flower without enough water. She knew, even though he had said no more on the subject, whatever it was, it was bad. It was the furthest thing from being good. Her intuition was all she needed. That and the way he held onto her like a child.
She sighed, long and slow, saying the only thing she could in a moment such as this, holding the young man in her arms. “I love you, Tony. No matter what, do you hear me?”
He nodded.
She felt him kiss her hair.
“Now, don’t worry. I believe you, ok? I know you will tell me when you can. I trust you.” She held him even tighter when she finished.
“Thank you, Sophie…”
It was a long time before they broke their embrace.
When they did, surprise struck her. Sophie had not realized she had been crying the whole while. Her body, once again, had responded to her boyfriends’.
In that regard, they were already two made one.
It was a crucial step. One day, it would save the lives of countless millions.
~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~
~ 38 ~
A Blizzard of News
Day Four, Sunday, 8:18 pm…
The Hand of the Great Maelstrom sat in his office on the uppermost floor of the tallest tower in his keep. Sheaves and sheaves of missives, lists, letters, updates, ledgers, accountings, orders and directives surrounded him. They piled so high they obscured the entire surface of his desk.
He was in a rounded chamber with four shuttered windows equidistant from one another. They cut into the three-foot thick walls, looking more like tunnels than windows. The Hand had them covered now to keep out the biting cold and keep in the miniscule heat the roaring fire, upon his right, provided. The cold and the drafts were all the more demonic and treacherous due to the height of his office from the ground itself. But, there was little else he could do to sustain warmth within the chamber. He had lit every lamp, stoked every brazier, put on his massive, fur-lined cape over his thick, insulated robe. Still, he could feel a chill against the exposed skin of his snout. The tiny tendrils of icy air flowed about his furry scalp, trickling down to the nape of his neck. They threatened to run all the way along his fury spine.
He sat in the same high-backed, over-stuffed chair made from the charcoaled bones of an ancient IsigWyrm. It was the more comfortable and stylish substitute to the colossal Seat of the Dragon Skull. That, he loathed. In his home world, he was often forced to sit upon it for hours on end, attending the supplicants of his father’s vast holdings.
Unlike that eyesore, this chair comprised of the great finger bones of an IsigWyrm, forming its’ back. They splayed outward from the center of the seat, bent slightly forward. Thus, it appeared the great fist of the long dead beast was about to close upon any who sat upon it.
About him, along the walls of the chamber, were many bookcases and other shelved affairs. They held the impressive library he had gathered over the years. Some of it he had garnered out of the sheer thirst for knowledge. Some of it he had used to gain favor over others. Yet, a good half of it he had compiled in preparation for the Rending and the insertion of the Lord of the Storm’s Vanguard into the Melded World. That had been an overwhelming feat of Vyche he and his Hross undertook over a century in the past.
Also within the room were a long, red couch and a pair of matching over-sized chairs. All three of which he had upholstered with the hides of his greatest enemies. Three rival Vülfen he had vanquished over the course of his rise to power. A rise placing him second only to that of his father within the Vülfen Kur Ambalaj.
Soon, he hoped to supplant his father’s reign with that of his own.
The furniture was before the hearth, the couch parallel and the chairs perpendicular to the fire. They all sat atop the lush rugs he had strewn across every square inch of the ice-cold, stone floor.
He looked across the room. His eyes were just a fraction higher than the huge mountain of paperwork before him. Deep in thought, there was an unrolled parchment in his hand, bearing the broken seal of House Kór, the royal house of his family. This was a missive for his eyes only.
It had arrived a scant quarter of an hour ago by messenger from Storm. This had been after he had dismissed his council and was still in deep discussion with his shrunken uncle.
When Malik-Käi laid eyes upon the bone case containing the parchment, his eyes had danced over the intricate runes and etchings of power along its’ outer surface. He had stood at once and announced his leaving.
It had made Fenris smile, dark and foreboding. His great, great uncle might be the great Mheto-Prēost of the Fleshmasters. But, within the ranks of the Ambalaj, his place had diminished. The moment he had decided to break from their pure bloodline to join the hierarchy of the Master Creators, he had forever renounced his aristocratic claims. He knew his place, just as he knew he was to be forever excluded from the inter-workings of the Royal Family. At most, he could be a well-placed advisor, but never a confidante.
Thus, his wizened ancestor had hobbled from the council chamber.
Fenris had watched him leave and saw the door close behind him before he moved.
He had stood then. He left for his private study, posting armored Jötun at regular intervals all the way up the long staircase to his sanctuary. He had given each of them strict orders. Do not disturb him for any reason until told otherwise.
He had immediately lit the logs within the fireplace, as well as every lamp and lantern; every iron-bound brazier. With flicks of his wrist, he sent bolts of energy and heat, toward them all. Within seconds, his study was bright with a myriad of cavorting light. He had gone to the IsigWyrm chair behind his desk at once. In a hurry, he disenchanted the carrying case. He disabled the secret traps. He had known since birth, they would always be present upon any communication between members of House Kór.
He brought forth the parchment. Its' manufacture was that of the supple skin, flayed from the back of a young, human female on the first day of her first lunar bleeding. Her epidermis would have been suffuse with hormones. Skin of that nature was like butter and easy to work. It always produced the highest quality writing material and was best suited for a message such as this.
Immediately, his eyes had darted over the archaic characters of his father’s scrawl. His brows came together in a focused frown as he read:
For the Eyes of the Crown Prince of the Vülfen Kur Ambalaj, Heir to House Kór, Hand of the Great Nihhus, Supreme Lord of the Host, Begotten of my Flesh,
Fenris dok Kór – Ul-Rigă:
Son,
I am sending this missive in hopes the arrival of our aged and malformed uncle has assuaged some of the trouble incurred with that idiot Vallüm and his accursed Nixy. I have every confidence that you have made strides toward the recovery of the Master Twelve. I know you will accomplish this task posthaste, if you have not already.
I will attempt brevity, son. I also know you are as busy as I, for we both are making the final preparations for the upcoming infusion of troops and materiel into the Melded World.
Thus, I will summarize to the best of my ability and leave you to sort out the details.
For the most part, all proceeds according to the Grand Design as it was laid out before us all at the Great Assemblage in the Citadel of Storm. It was a glorious day when we had all stood before the Throne of our Great Master, Nihhus, and learned of his final solution.
Thus, let it be known onto you that I have given forth the final orders and arrangements for the mobilization of the Ambalaj into the Melded World. Within days, our vast nation will enter the Construct near the Great Saltine Lake far to north of your position. We will begin the retrieval of Ivinfrüst, the Frozen Blade of Old.
It will be quite a
sight to see this Drinker of Magic as it cuts through the Gifts of a Ring of the Twelve. We will see it spill their precious blood upon the Altar of Jüle.
Ah the glory!
Alas!
Simultaneous to our mustering, the Forgers, those chosen by the mighty Dýnmani of the Yíyak , himself, have departed our plane. They have entered the Melded World near the Cave known as the Chandelier Ballroom as was scrawled in the Grand Design. As I write this, they have begun their master-workings upon the Heart of the Storm. This, as you know, we will use to drink the blood of the same Ring of Twelve before the Altar of Jüle. That rite will open the World of Man to us and our dominion.
Third, the Wërggig masons of the König-Hoch have arrived en masse at volcano where grows the Throne of Jüle itself. They have commenced with the erection of the great citadel there. As you are well aware, this fortress will serve as the strongpoint from which Storm will rule the Melded World. From there, we will marshal our strength for the push into World of Man. This we will make our second to last stop before we puncture the ancient magics of the Light and extinguish them for all time.
Fourth, the Hlāford Dhŏŏm of the Swüreg Nation has already put his army to the march and is now headed toward the crossing nexus. There he and the many thousands that follow him will punch their way into the Construct and reinforce your position. I should think you could expect him within a week, a fortnight at the latest if he has fallen victim to inclement weather here on Storm.
If you have indeed the Master Twelve under your control by the time the Hlāford Dhŏŏm comes, you are to be his First Advisor. You are to be my eyes and ears within his court.
If it is such that you have failed to recapture the Twelve by that time, you fall under his direct command. He will give you all the resources you need to ensure we have them in hand by the time we all meet at the then completed Citadel of Jüle later this year.
Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves Page 44