Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves (57 page)

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!”

The Prēost could sense the
two Jötun standing to either of the doors were moving closer toward
the two of them. Their giant hands were flexing and unflexing as if
they itched to grab a hold of something. The last thing he wanted
was one of those hulking monstrosities near him with the urge to
rip something limb from limb.