Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves (66 page)

“
There is no possible way,
Rakel - the whore - could have tricked the Seeker,” said Fenris
aloud to the walls about him. “She does not have the talent or the
gumption to risk the wrath of Rasputna.”

Besides, it did not refute
the fact that the Seeker was, at this minute, unleashed somewhere
upon the Melded World. She could cause a great deal of harm to all
the plans Fenris had laid out with his father and his uncle. There
were plans ensuring the advancement of the Vülfen Kur Ambalaj. If
she found out what they all had been planning in secret, it could
well be the death of them all.

Damn! Father said it best…
I will need to keep my ears pointed high… high indeed if I am to
hope to catch wind of the silent and the unseen!

Rasputna, of all the
dwellers of Storm, was one person Fenris had hoped too never cross
paths unless it was necessary.

Now, she was here, in his
proverbial backyard. While he dawdled about warm and cozy in his
keep, waiting for the fucking snow to stop falling, she was on the
move, working toward some invisible end.

Maybe, it was time to
switch to his alternate plan. If he indeed had no choice and time
was running out… maybe his father and his uncle served up cold
might be enough to gain him what he desired more than anything –
power.

His secondary option was
looking ever better with each passing minute.

~~~~~~~<<<
ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

~ Interlude ~

The Great
Meldings

Day Five, Monday, 4:17
pm…

Looking down, from the
vast coldness of space, upon the fledgling world forged from two
others revealed naught but sheer madness. It was an infant planet
when compared to the agelessness of the multiverse. But it was
turbulent, unbalanced, in the midst of a titanic struggle. From
this vantage, the entire surface of the Melded World was obscured.
The new-made world remained hidden beneath in layer upon layer of
roiling Corliss winds. They drove massive hurricane-like formations
in wide swaths. These gigantic clouds curved across entire
continents. They left wide bands of destruction in their
wake.

Every so often, these
great sheets of white and gray and black would part, scatter. In
those moments, monumentous stretches of snow and ice unveiled. They
would reach far into the tropics, killing the jungles. They froze
everything under the thick drifts and merciless grasping chill they
left behind. Those moments would be brief, though. The never-ending
rush of the clouds would return – sometimes in hours, sometimes in
mere minutes. Another great storm would once more cover all and for
hours would show no signs it would ever relent. These storms
dominated entire hemispheres, wracked the length of mountain
ranges. They would blast thousands of miles of grasslands, planes
and deserts alike. They would shroud league upon league of
woodlands and forests. They buried them beneath blankets of snow
and layers of ice so fast things upon the landscape became buried -
often before they could find shelter.

The vista itself was
evidence this false planet was at war, the climate itself fought.
And yet, the weather alone was not the only thing happening on a
planetary scale. Nowhere was more evident than in what should have
been the trackless South Pacific. But, over the course of the past
day and a half, it had changed into something else
altogether.

Atop what was once Mount
Kilauea, on the big island of Hawaii, it shimmered into existence.
It appeared off the horizon to the south.

Atop one of the highest
points of the Galapagos Islands, into the gloom of the west, it
glowed. Then, it coalesced into being at the edge of visibility,
just before the curve of the Melded World would have hidden it from
view.

From within the waters off
New Zealand, the currents began to change. The ocean swelled, a
gentle push toward the west. In the east, a towering cliff, running
north to south, as far as the eye could see in either direction,
appeared. It loomed mere miles from this location - a cliff that
had not been there before, a cliff standing well over a thousand
feet tall. This was an escarpment with rock of an unusual color. It
appeared like that of dried bone, brittle, as if it would fall
apart at any moment. It was as though the rock had been freeze
dried for thousands of years.

Along the northern end of
Siple Island off the coast of what should have been Antarctica,
came a flashing brilliance. A second later, the ground shook with
violence as if some mighty fault line had ruptured the seafloor for
hundreds of leagues. An instant later, came a horrendous roar as
alien stone erupted forth of a sudden. It was the same ancient rock
seen thousands of miles to the north and west. It was impossible to
tell if the rock had come up from the ground or had fallen from the
sky, for it had done neither.

In reality, it had come
into the Melded World just as had the Twelve and the Fist, Fenris
and the Host.

And, it had not come from
Earth.

It had come from another
place, a desolate, frozen realm long banished from the worlds of
Light and Man. It had – in volume - replaced this entire part of
the vast Pacific Ocean exactly. Each cubic foot of water switched
with an identical cubic foot of stone and dirt.

It was a misshapen oval,
touching each of those four points, roughly drawn, outlining a
gargantuan mass of land.

It was a new continent,
born of the Storm, now forever in the Melded World.

It was Richuese, the
ancestral home of the Skrímsli…

…
And it had been stricken
with banishment, along with all its inhabitants.

*****

She stood in the shadows
of his highly appointed and private chamber, provided to him by his
great, great, great nephew. It was spacious, despite the meager
size of the keep itself. Dominated by a large canopied bed, it
housed the many, many accoutrements required of the greatest Prēost
of Storm.

She had watched him as he
used one of Nixy’s. She had been gazing upon them, unnoticed, as he
undressed her. He had tied her up in the most uncomfortable
position. Then he proceeded to indulge himself in a long, unending
session. Until - what seemed like hours later - he had finally
collapsed atop her exhausted and spent.

By then, the Nixy was
bruised and bloodied from his harsh attention. She lay motionless
atop the mattress of the bed, breathing shallow, a hair’s breath
away from death itself.

The Mheto-Prēost twitched
and spasmed, and giggled with glee. He had enjoyed himself to the
fullest, content for a time to keep his naked and grotesque body on
top of the poor, child-like creature. All the while, he whispered
vile things into one of the Nixy’s ears.

Through it all, the
watcher had remained motionless and silent. She had slowed her
breathing, taking a breath only four times a minute. She had urged
her heart to slow, made the blood in her veins crawl, consume less
oxygen, less energy. Still, her eyes missed nothing.

Finally, Malik-Käi of the
age old House Kór of the Vülfen raised himself from the Nixy,
wiping his genitals on her thigh with a leer. In quite tones, he
promised he would return after he had is evening meal with even
more delights.

She listened, knowing she
should have felt repulsed as he detailed those plans.

But alas, she was
not.

Never squeamish or
revolted in the slightest way, she endured the time it took for him
to explain every detail. Yet, she was only half-listening to
the
content
of
his words. After a while, she wondered if he would ever shut up and
rolled her eyes, bored.

She had done many of the
same things he had conveyed to the Nixy. In truth, she had done so
more times than even the twisted little Prēost could have dreamed.
She had even asked her lovers to inflict similar torture upon her
upon occasion.

Thus, she could better
understand the pain and the suffering that went along with such
acts.

In the end, she never felt
any of it, not in an actual sense. She was shut off in that manner.
She did not comprehend the relevance or reality of agony, or any
other feeling for that matter.

I am immune.

After what seemed like
another hour, the ridiculous man-wolf finished. But by then, his
torn and battered Nixy had fallen into a comatose slumber. Many of
her orifices still oozed, coagulating blood. Other fluids spewed
and splattered upon the bedcovers.

He turned to make for the
door and the antechamber beyond.

She stepped forth from the
shadows just as he passed her from left to right. She allowed him
to place his hand upon the doorknob. He had not heard her, but then
again no one ever heard her unless she deemed it so.

He had no idea she was
within his so-called closely guarded bedchamber.

She could have cut his
putrid manhood from his body and shoved it up his sagging ass.
Impaling him, before he would have known what was
happening.

She did not.

She had other things in
mind, had other plans and machinations to tend.

“
Malik-Käi, how nice to
see you again,” she spoke, slow, even and devoid of
inflection.

The Mheto-Prēost jumped in
air as if she had indeed stuck his shriveled cock up his anus. He
whirled upon her with fury in his eyes. “How dare you invade my
private sanctum!” he yelled.

Then, he saw her,
recognizing
who
she was.

In an instant, he froze in
place.

She smirked at him,
knowing he had recognized her tall, athletic body, her
waist-length, jet-black hair. She had always worn it as straight as
an arrow. Her wide face with its wide nose and pursed, bright pink
lips would be familiar. He knew the color of her skin as well. So
dark, it was often rumored to be darker than night
itself.

Her sneer turned to a
smile when he looked into her eyes, seeing the white within white.
Her black pupils were vivid against the absence of
color.

She remained silent for
the time being, letting his eyes search over her clothing which she
knew he would find odd, confusing. She never wore garments from the
World of Storm. She preferred things from her home world. The
materials woven there were more form-fitting, flexible and above
all else, did not rustle. She wore a one-piece leotard, black, that
clung to her body like a second skin. She did not wear any under
garments. So, the tight nylon caressed her ample breasts and
budding nipples, clung to the twin, firm half-spheres of her rear
end. It folded around the crests and valleys of her vagina like a
fervent lover.

If only she could
understand what that meant, for love was beyond her as
well.

I am immune to that
too.

Over her leotard, she wore
a long overcoat, made of kidskin leather. It would have cost
thousands of dollars in the World of Man and was like those worn by
the cowboys of the Old West. Over her feet, she wore supple, silent
black boots with thick, suede soles. These never creaked, never
scuffed the surface of any floor and never revealed her position to
anyone.

“
Rasputna!” he began,
gulping down air.

Stupid Prēost! You forgot
to breathe.

“
I-I-I heard your w-w-were
in the Melded World.” He bent at the waist as if he were bowing,
completely forgetting he was still naked. “He-he – um, how was your
foray in-t-t-to the World of Man? P-p-pleasant I hope.”

“
It was typical, Prēost.”
She stepped toward him.

Out of instinct, he
skulked in retreat.

“
But that is of little
import now. What is important -. No, what is vital is your
explanation of the targeting of the Grän Herra and the Skrímsli.
Why were they banished forthwith without the blessing of the Lord
of the Storm?” She paused to glare at him. “That I deem is a topic
of some value. Wouldn’t you agree?” She did not wait for him to
reply. “So, that said, I would like for you to divulge everything
to me in detail why this has occurred.” Her grin was humorless,
dry. “If you would be so kind,” she added as if she had just
remembered to honor his rank.

It was a rouse.

He sputtered, looking
about with extreme agitation.

“
Oh,” she began anew as if
a new thought entered her mind.

It was obvious to Malik
that it had not.

“
And, I would also like to
know what do you and Claudiu dok Kór expect to gain from
it?”

“
I k-know n-not of what
you speak, my Lady,” he replied, shaking his head back and forth so
wild it looked like it might fall off. His hands were before him as
if to ward her off, as if that would have mattered.

Stupid Prēost!

“
No, Malik, you know
exactly what I am talking about. And you will sing it all to me.”
Another ghost-like smile emerged. “Trust me. I know, you will
sing.” She took another step forward.