The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves (107 page)

He is a wonderful
kisser!
she couldn’t stop the
thought.

{No… please. I don’t know
him.}

Though, they hadn’t
stopped kissing, though their bodies didn’t part, she heard him
speak. How she’d been able, she would never know.

“
I am Andrew”

He said it again and again
and again… in her mind, in her soul. All she wanted was to know
even more.

{Andrew? Do I know
you?}

~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼
}>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

Stolen

Day Four, Sunday, 6:49
am…

He wasn’t quite sure what
had awakened him. His mind was still foggy with sleep. Had it been
a scraping sound, a bump or something moving? He couldn’t rightly
guess. Yet, before he could really think it through, ponder why he
awoke so early, he was presented with another, more immediate
issue. It was below his waist - Joaquin Barrientos had to pee -
badly!

He uncovered himself,
rolled off the “bed”, slow and quiet, unwilling to disturb the
three other boys he’d slept amongst. Gaining his feet, he glanced
around frantically for his boots, because the rocky floor of the
cave was ice cold. He found them where he had left them at the
corner of the bedding and swiftly crept over to them. His feet were
already cramping in his socks. He had only been walking upon the
ground for five seconds.

God damn, the floor is
freezing!
he thought as he slipped into
them and began to walk awkwardly toward the privy crack, his
bladder about to burst.

As he went, wrapped
himself in one of the throw blankets he had slept in. He noticed
Mr. Patas “standing” watch near the entrance to the
cave.

The rest of the Fist slept
near the fire pit. The fire itself still smoldering, reduced to a
copious amount of red-hot coals, piled high and emanating enough
heat the air about the cave was cool, but not cold or absolutely
frigid as was the cave floor.

He could make out the four
huge bodies of their protectors. They were breathing deeply and
sedately. He knew it would take no more than the drop of a pin and
all four of them would be on their feet, at the ready - from
unconscious to full awareness in seconds.

His head turned back
toward the rabbit-man, sitting on the floor, his back leaning up
against the rock wall of their sanctuary. Joaquin waved in silence,
acknowledging him, but not at the risk of waking the others just
yet, but Mr. Patas didn’t reply in kind. He made no move at all and
merely sat there, resting his head against the stone wall of the
cave, his ears drooping down to either side, his mouth slightly
open.

Was he asleep?

Joaquin frowned, slowing
for a half a second before he thought better of it. His entire
abdomen was aching. He quickly ducked into the homemade bath stall
and relieved himself, a bit self-conscious at the amount of noise
was emanating from the thick stream issuing forth from his body.
But what could he do? When you had to go, you had to go.

But why was Mr. Patas
asleep? None of the Fist ever slept when they were keeping
watch.

Still immersed in thought,
he used the hand sanitizer someone had left near the exit, smiling
because he was certain it had been little Elena who had done it.
She was always so taciturn and thorough with nearly everything she
did. He could see her quite easily divining the need for
cleanliness after using the “toilet” and going about in search of
something that would solve the problem. She was a smart, cute
little girl, always ready with a smile or a witty jape. There was
always a sparkle at the corner of her young eyes, letting them all
of know there was a very powerful mind behind them.

Well, at least, he could
see it when she trained those brilliant, light-brown eyes on him.
He could already see some of the strong willed, if not beautiful
woman, she’d grow up to be.

At least, he had faith
they would all grow up, outlive the incredible forces arrayed
against them.

“
She is the Illuminai, the
maestro of the Light, of all forms of light, every type - flame,
electric, incandescent, nuclear. Whichever sort, she is its master.
She alone has command.”

He shook his head at the
thoughts that weren’t his own, though he was in utter agreement.
After the Kring-Hël and the Elemental - whoever that may be - Elena
would be the strongest of the Twelve, her Gift would shake the
Melded World. He didn’t need his Gift to tell him this was the
truth.

“
She will save you time
and time again.”

He let the thought that
was not his pass. He let the silence in his head grow.

What we need is for the
rest of us to discover our own gifts,
he
thought.
We need to get things moving. We
need to make progress. This enemy of ours is light-years ahead of
us in terms of power. He’s had centuries of experience at this sort
of thing. What can we possibly do against such strength were we to
meet them upon the field of battle? They had no more than primitive
weapons they could forge with their hands. How would we
survive?

We need to get
moving!

He saw the titles once
again in his head as if scribed by a medieval monk with a long
flowing script:

The Kring-Hël – the Light
of the World.

The Üllimëntai – the Base
from which All is Made.

The Illuminai – the
Maestro of the Light.

The My-Ėind – the Vessel
of Knowledge.

The Isig-Hövan – the
Lord/Lady of the Heavens.

The Tükir – the Mind of
Minds.

The Blytz – the Tower of
Strength.

The Flĕsch – the Quick and
the Flash.

The Skëi-Van – the
Lord/Lady on the Wind.

The Chymerae – the
Changeling Light.

The Apithükri – the Hands
of Health.

The Lükk – the Harbinger
of Chance.

Already we know who were
the Quick and the Flash, and of course, the Maestro of the Light.
I’m the Knowledge, but still we have nine more to go and four more
members to find. We’ve been in the Melded World for four days and
all we have been able to do is sit tight and wait, while we eat,
talk, fart, crap, eat, piss and sleep and not one damned thing
else. There is still so much to do!

He glanced about the cave,
noticing for the first time Mr. Patas’ head was lolling to one
side, his tongue dangling at the corner of his mouth.
What the hell?
There was
no denying it now. The rabbit-man had fallen asleep!
Incredible,
thought
Joaquin.
How could he leave us so open and
unguarded like that..?

Wait, why hadn’t another
of the Fist come to relieve him if he was that tired?

Mr. Patas huge ears
bounced and bobbed every time he breathed, long, deep draughts of
air as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

That sort of rankled
Joaquin’s nerves, not only at a loss for such lack of focus, but
why had the whole Fist let them down?

He glanced back
at the remainder of the Fist stretched or lazed
about the floor, letting his eyes roam amongst them as he became
more accustomed to the dimly lit cave. Even from his vantage, he
could hear the deep, bassatones of the bear-dogs as they slept, the
low-level snore of Mugzy and...

That’s when he saw
Garfield and was so shocked, his jaw cracked in his skull. It was
an even more disturbing sight than seeing Mr. Patas asleep when he
was supposed to be protecting them. The huge feline was lying flat
on his back, all four of his legs sticking up, bent at the paws. It
was how a newborn kitten would sleep, but not a fully matured,
seven hundred pound monster of a cat.

His frown deepened. The
first inklings something was wrong began to fire across his
consciousness.
What’s going on…?
His eyes continued to dance about the cave,
taking stock, evaluating. He came upon his seven companions – all
of them angled this way and that about the two temporary beds. His
eyes fell upon the slumbering Anthony, who should’ve been spooning
with Sophie, the boy behind the girl, his arm draped over her body.
It was how he’d seen them late last night when he’d come to bed.
They slept like boyfriend and girlfriend now.
He remembered thinking, even in their sleep; they didn’t want
to be far from one another. The thought had brought a wry smile to
his face. Clarisse had flashed before his eyes and his heart
lurched with longing. That was why the thought had remained with
him, because of Clarisse; the girl he knew one day would be his, if
he survived. He hoped. He prayed.

The evening prior, he had
stared at them for a few heartbeats, thinking,
Anthony, my friend, you might be the savior of all the
worlds, but with a girl like Sophie Reed hounding your heels, in
the end I think you’ll do whatever she wants. She will have you
wrapped around her little finger in a flash.
He had shaken his head.
At least,
she’s a good kid and won’t break your heart, you lucky
bastard!
Then, he had lied down and
promptly fell asleep.

But that wasn’t the case
now. What he saw now was completely different. Anthony laid akimbo,
half on and half off the makeshift bed, the lower portions of his
body still upon it, but his entire upper half was strewn upon the
icy cold floor of the cave, one arm outstretched as if he were
reaching out for something as he slept.

He took a few steps
forward, unsure of what to do. He saw something move out of the
corner of his left eye. Instinctively, he stopped and turned to
look. There should’ve been nothing other than the eight of them and
the Fist moving with the confines of the cave. This wasn’t them.
His brow tightened with dread as he rounded upon the
sight.

It
was
movement.

He realized, a split
second later, it was the heavy furniture pad they’d placed over the
entrance of the cave. It was moving, bulging slightly as though
something was pushing against it from the other side.

What in hell?

Then he saw it – something
cylindrical and thick, almost as thick as his thigh. It was a
molted, sickly, puke color with long coarse filaments that looked
like hair at first, but were far too thick to be merely
pili-ish.

Oh shit, what the fuck is
that thing? Is it trying to get in… or out…?

He glanced back toward
Anthony, frozen in place, fear creeping up his back and
immobilizing him as another even more terrifying thought bubbled
and popped in his brain.

Where’s Sophie?

The question hung in the
air, before his mind’s eyes – furious, searing. Time seemed to
slow. Each breath seemed to take a minute. There were three second
pauses between each eye blink, ten seconds between each beating of
his heart, a half-minute before he could move a muscle.

His eyes flicked back
toward the hanging furniture pad.

The thing was
gone.

His eyes fell back to
Anthony once more.

His orbs bounced to
Garfield, lying so ridiculously on the ground.

The question came
again.
Where’s Sophie?

Suddenly, it all added
up!

SOMETHING TOOK
SOPHIE!!!

“
Wake up! Wake up!
Everyone, wake the fuck up! Something took Sophie!” he screamed at
the top of his lungs.

Mr. Patas shook as if he’d
been electrocuted.

Garfield literally flipped
onto his feet from his back, so fast Joaquin’ eyes couldn’t follow
the great cat’s movements, though the sound of his huge claws
screeched against the cold stone of the cave floor. A jaw-straining
screech echoed throughout the cave, making Joaquin’s ears ring
painfully.

He ignored the buzzing in
his head, continuing to yell, pointing toward the mouth of the cave
just as something behind it pushed inward for a second time. The
large teenager lunged for the blanket, wild with the thought Sophie
may be hurt.