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

by Richard M. Heredia

  Now, something had cut him off from her. Something had severed the bond that had grown between them over twenty decades in the matter of minutes. It was something powerful. Something she had yet to encounter and it had taken him from her.

  He was a dark-gray blur now, ambling over the massive snowdrifts that had gathered beyond the mouth of the cave. She could make out the huge muscles on his chest and neck, bulging and flexing as he galloped toward her.

  Jätung! Stop! It is I, Inghëldir, your master. I command you to stop!

  He did not.

  Her thoughts went into the land about the hulking beast, but could not penetrate whatever had control of him.

  He was a black shape streaking toward her now, mindless, shut off.

  She crouched down farther in anticipation. She figured she owed her old companion one last chance before she let him cross the line and become her enemy.

  Forgive me, Jätung.

  He came through the entrance of the cave with unimaginable speed, a blur of white fur, black hide and red gnashing teeth and fangs. He had his claws extended, before him. He leapt through the air at her, eager to grab a hold of her not so small form. It was obvious; he wanted to rip her to pieces before she could bring any of her fighting skills to bear.

  Inghëldir did not move more than an inch or two to the left with a shift of her feet. Her right foot slid back further than the other. She kept her eyes riveted upon the Isighund, balling her fists around her new, elongated nails. They felt more like metal now than the hard keratin they had been when she had awoke that morning.

  She breathed in one, slow-drawn breath.

  Jätung was no more than ten feet from tearing her apart.

  Then, she moved.

  She side-stepped the beast. In a flash of movement, she streaked two feet to the left. Then, she took three great strides forward, just as the Isighünds body began to descend toward the floor.

  Its’ jaws snapped at her as she passed.

  She leaped into the air, over her Petling - much like a high jumper would have jumped over the rod with her back facing down. She found herself peering up at the ceiling of the cave. She extended her fingers, up and over herself, reaching back as far backward as she could. Her barbed nails plunged deep into Jätung’s thick hide at the scruff of his neck. She pushed them even further into his flesh just as she passed above him. She anchored herself onto him from above and behind, far away from his powerful jaws.

  Jätung STOP! she yelled from within, trying to breach the psychic barrier between them.

  The age-old Isighünd took no heed of his master’s call.

  He landed on all fours upon the cold, rocky surface of the cave, heedless that she had sunk her claws far into his hide.

  Instead, he continued his forward motion, then spun lightning quick, flinging himself. In one fluid motion, his back was toward the wall. It was an attempt to smash the smaller Nixy-that-was-not-a-Nixy between himself and the unyielding stone.

  Inghëldir expected this. Having fought alongside of him for so long, she had memorized all his fighting techniques.

  Faster than a cat, she loosened her grip upon the Isighünd’s back. She tightened the muscles throughout her legs, waiting for the inevitable impact. Her feet gripped the beasts’ hide, his long, coarse hair wedged between her toes. Just before Jätung’s body collided with the stony wall, she leaped from him. She wished to put as much distance as she could between the two of them.

  As she sailed through the air, her arms held outward from her body at right angles, she heard the walloping impact behind her. The granite there cracked and broke beneath the tremendous weight of her Petling. He struck the wall of the chamber, stumbled and fell. Everything within the cave shook with the force of it.

  She ignored it. She tucked her head down. Her chin rested against her chest, curling herself into a ball. She had her shoulders bear the brunt of her landing, but for no more than a split second. Half a heartbeat later, she exploded forth, springing from the summersault. She stood upright, though she slid back half a foot as she arrested her motion.

  She extended her nails as far as they would go, her hands spread wide to either side of her.

  Jätung wiggled and writhed in a vain attempt to gain his feet, knowing his former master was already preparing to attack.

  Jätung enough of this! Do not force my hand! STAND FAST!!!

  There was nothing from him. She could not even trace a bit of his mind. It was like the unspoken connection between had been sundered as if it had never been. She had no ability to contact him telepathically. He was a voided mind she had no hope of reaching.

  The mighty beast regained his feet, turning to face her. His glowing red eyes bore into her.

  Sad in her heart, she could see none of her former Petling within them. He was gone to her, someone or something had taken control and erased everything of what had been her only trusted companion.

  They circled one another, wary of the others’ fighting prowess.

  Inghëldir cross-stepped, crouching low to the ground.

  Jätung growled from deep within his chest, walking the inner circumference of the cave. His head he kept pointed at her.

  Jätung stop! I am not your enemy!

  He stopped then. He turned to face her, bearing his long fangs, even longer runnels of saliva dripping from his huge jaws and onto the floor. His glowing red eyes never once left her.

  Stop, Jätung! It is I, Inghëldir! I am the one who cares for you!

  She had just sent the final word with her mind when the animal charged.

  Inghëldir sighed as she tensed for battle.

  Damnation, Jätung! she cursed in silence, slipping to her right once more.

  The great beast tried to bite her. The clap of his jaws were so close, so powerful, she felt the wind of them across her face.

  She wasted no time though, and lashed out with a fist. She punched her Petling, catching him just below the eye. It was not her hardest, but hard enough to knock his head in the opposite direction. She had retracted her nails on purpose, not wanting to hurt him more than what was necessary.

  She swirled about and ran from him before he could recover.

  The wait was not long, though.

  Within seconds, she heard Jätung move to follow, his long, curved claws scraping against the stone floor.

  She got no more than six strides when the scratching sounds stopped and she knew he had left the ground. He was flying through the air aiming for her back.

  She cut her gait, swinging herself out of the path of the Isighünd, flowing like water.

  He did not have the time to react. He landed awkward, trying to twist at the last moment, in mid-air, to take a bite of her. Once again, his jaws missed her by fractions of an inch.

  She used his momentary imbalance to her advantage. At once, she pushed Jätung with both hands on his barrel, using all the strength she could garner.

  The Isighünd squealed, trying to maintain its’ footing, but could not. He landed with a tremendous thud upon his side, his legs tangled beneath him.

  “Jätung! Stop!” she shouted as loud as she could, stepping back from him, hoping a verbal command would work where her mental ones had failed.

  It did not work.

  The Isighünd scrambled to his feet and lunged at her again.

  She slipped his attack once more and clouted him on the side of the skull. The blow was harder and more exacting this time, making him swoon for a moment.

  “I do not wish to hurt you! Stop!” she yelled at the hell-bent animal.

  He lunged yet again, then again.

  Each time, she walloped him, she did so harder, until he was staggering, the loud thwacks echoing throughout the cave.

  He changed his tactics then, unable to withstand her mighty blows. He stood across from her, regaining his wits. A few heartbeats later, he took a step toward her. But, he did not lung. He stepped forward, coming closer.

  She reciprocated by taking a ste
p back. She wanted to keep an adequate distance between them.

  He took another step.

  So did she.

  He did again, forcing her to step back a third time.

  Feeling backward with her long fingers, she realized then what he was trying to do. He was attempting to corner her against the curvature of the cave wall itself. She glanced around, letting her nails extend to their fullest.

  He took yet another step.

  She did too. She was running out of room.

  He stepped again.

  “If you insist on coming after me, Jätung, I will hurt you,” warned Inghëldir, taking another step back.

  Undaunted, her Petling continued. His head was lower to the ground, sniffing at her scent, making his flews rise anew, bearing his fangs. His growl was bass, drawn out.

  He tells me I am his enemy now, she thought, reading his body language. It was as plain to her as if he had spoken out loud.

  He growled louder, more menacing, and stepped.

  She peered about again. “Enough!!! Jätung!!!” she hollered at him.

  He lunged again.

  Inghëldir threw herself out of harm’s way, sideways, into the wall of the cave with bone-jarring force.

  It had not been enough.

  She did not have enough space to evade him.

  His massive jaws clamped down upon her left shoulder, painful, powerful.

  She screamed in agony. Out of instinct, her hand flashed outward. She raked her barbed nails across the Isighünd’s cheek, tearing away lengthy furrows of his flesh.

  Though, the beast squealed from deep in his throat, he did not release her. Rather, he bit down even harder. His fangs sank deeper into her, his jaws beginning to grind away the meat of her shoulder. He shook her like a rag-doll, trying to separate the chunk of meat and bone he had in his mouth from the rest of her body.

  She cried out for a second time.

  “Stop! Jätung, no more!”

  He increased the vice-like grip he had on her and began to drag her across the cave, yanking and pulling her toward its’ middle.

  She fought back with all her strength, but she was naught but a play-thing in his maw. She was certain, at any second, her bones would break, tearing her arm asunder. She could feel the cartilage grinding in the socket of her shoulder. The agony so incredible it was making her eyes water.

  I am sorry, my Jätung. You were all I could feel in my heart, and now – not even that.

  It was a murmur, conveyed through her mind. She knew her Petling could not receive the message or the intense degree of sorrow and regret with which she sent it.

  Something inside severed, a tie, a connection. He had been the only creature, other than herself, she had ever deemed important, worthy.

  She held back tears, her decision made.

  She let herself go limp for no more than a second.

  Without warning, she twisted away from the Isighünd as far as she could manage with her shoulder held fast between his teeth. Balling her free hand in to a fist, she reared it back, extending to the fullest.

  Jätung shook his head back and forth again, once more wanting to tear her arm from her body.

  A piercing shriek ripped from her throat and she struck the Isighünd with all her might just below the socket of his eye once more. It was sickening when she felt the thick bones underneath her fist break. Then, they disintegrated from the force of the blow. Her fist plunged into the side of Jätung’s face more than three inches. The cave resounded with a nauseating, meaty thud. Then the snapping and crunching of shattered bone followed.

  The Isighünd’s entire body came off the ground, twisting to the right. His jaws loosed their grip. His eyes went wide with bewilderment as he landed stiff. He remained on all fours, but his whole body was rigid with shock.

  Inghëldir wrenched herself free of her Petling and staggered across the chamber. She clutched at her shoulder, gazing back at Jätung, knowing she had only stunned him. There was still more fight within the might beast.

  Her one-time Petling shook his head and stumbled again. He shook it once more, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. He misunderstood why he could not escape the fogginess clouding his vision. The thickness kept him from moving in a proper fashion. For the first time in his life, he felt uncoordinated, vulnerable.

  Inghëldir sighed again. So be it…

  I am sorry, Jätung.

  This time she did not wait. She did not see any point in doing so.

  She charged the Isighünd.

  She was at full speed and came within range of him in five strides.

  Jätung seemed to realize what was happening, swiveling his head to look in her direction. He saw her running toward him and wasted no time. He launched himself at her with every ounce of strength he could muster.

  They came together with such velocity; they both were no more than blurred figures to anyone who might have watched. And they would have cringed at the anticipatory collision.

  Inghëldir had counted the steps in her head, calculating those of her Petling as well. As the creature began to turn its’ head, its’ jaws gaped. She knew it meant to take her by the midsection and bite her in twain if it could.

  I am sorry, my Jätung, thought the Nixy again. She jumped at the last minute, so close she felt the wind of the Isighünd’s immense jaws slamming shut against her firm belly. Large gouts of saliva drenched the remnants of her dress. She sailed through the gap between his upper and lower jaws before they closed with an audible clap. She twirled up and over his head, gaining in altitude as she went over his back. She passed his hindquarters until only his long, puffy tail was visible to her.

  That was what she had been waiting for.

  Without another thought, she struck for his tail with both hands. Her claws raked long, deep gouges of bloody flesh as she gained a firm hold.

  Jätung howled and tried to twist away from the agony, fight or flight instincts overriding all else.

  Inghëldir knew he would do this. And as abruptly as she had latched onto him, she let go. But, not before the violent whip of her Petling’s arse had reversed her momentum completely. She was no longer going in the opposite direction of the Isighünd, but was now following him in the air - from three feet above.

  She knew he would not be able to fix her position, because she was moving too fast.

  Before he could get out of the way, she landed upon his haunches, her mouth agape, as far as it could spread, issuing a harrowing screech. Her claws dug deep into him again. She bit down as hard as she could, ripped off an amazing amount of flesh. She yanked it this way and that in her expansive jaws, letting it fall free when it dislodged from her Petling’s body.

  She was not about to consume a creature as loyal and dignified as Jätung, she owed him that much.

  I am sorry, Jätung.

  Her Petling yowled in pain. He tried to break-free of the excruciating sensations exploding across his rear end. He roiled and bucked the back portions of his body with such vehemence; he began to tear muscles in other parts of his body. He kept on though, without a care. He was compelled, at all costs, to get the burning fury off his hindquarters. The price he paid was no longer relevant.

  Inghëldir held on despite his herculean attempts to dislodge her. She pushed her claws into the beast she had raised and nurtured and protected for two centuries. But her decision was final. She no longer had a choice. She spread her mouth wide and took yet another gargantuan hunk of flesh from his body. Huge gouts of blood and gore cascaded in every direction as she pulled the meat from him and sent it splashing everywhere.

  She bit him again… and again, then again and yet once more.

  I am sorry, Jätung.

  Below her, she felt the great beast falter and stumble. He was no longer capable of walking with the loss of so much his muscle and sinew. She had hewn mounds from his shoulders.

  Feeling him waiver, Inghëldir released her Petling, flipping away from him for a second time.
She watched him once she landed upon her feet, keeping focused on him, unwilling to look away.

  His entire body shook with distress. His eyes searched for her, though he seemed unable to find her behind the fog of deprivation she had visited upon him.

  She could see his confusion. She evaded him with ease.

  He mewled and whimpered. He searched for the comfort he remembered she would have given him at a time like this.

  Yet, whoever had seized control of him provided none.

  Because of it, Jätung seemed to wilt. His eyes dimmed. He lowered his head in a mock effort at smelling the ground.

  It was a gesture she knew so well, it made a wistful smile broach her lips.

  He was stalling.

  She crept in a sideways manner, using the wall of the cave, moving as quiet as she could. She knew her Petling had gone within himself like she had seen him do on countless occasions when he was talking to her with his mind.

  Already mourning, she wished she could know what he was thinking at that moment, as she had for generations. It would have been nice to know his finals thoughts.

  She stopped.

  He was too distracted to notice.

  She lowered herself to the cave floor, allowing larger, stronger, hardier feet to kiss the ground. She flexed the long, barbed nails on her toes. They were more like steel, as with the nails in her hands. She raked them into the granite, drilling them a fraction of an inch into the hard surface.

  “Jätung!” she yelled as loud as she could.

  The great beast rounded on her, trying to present as much bulk as it could, a hope against hope the stance would intimidate her.

  It was to no avail.

  “I am sorry!” she hollered at the top of her lungs and charged.

  The great Jätung took her final blow to its’ neck.

  Her movements were too fast for him to follow in his weakened state. He was completely unaware she had slid underneath his jowls. She was moving faster than she had ever in the past. Even at full strength, Jätung would have been hard pressed to track her.

  She dug her nails into him and ripped through his neck with savage abandon, as was the nature of a Nixy. She pulled forth with her mouth that which had kept him living for more than ten score years.