Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves (81 page)

It was
incredible!

She was so much more than
a mere tracker now, capable of such destruction, able to move in
ways she had only dreamed of before. She commanded mental ability
that could outstrip any idiot Prēost who might attempt to cross her
path. She could do so with ease.

She was
Inghëldir!

She was no longer a Nixy.
She was so much more than that now.

That was when she felt
him. He was running fast, as only he could run. His strides, with
each unimaginable flex of his muscles, were more than thirty-feet
in length.

It was Jätung. He was
running for the cave with blinding speed.

Why, my old friend?
she asked, letting her mind reach out to him. It
was automatic that she followed the usual paths and threads leading
to the nexus of his mind. She repeated the question as she did so.
She sent the familiar, calming tendrils of herself to him, the
question riding upon their heels.

Jätung, what has
happened?

To her utter shock, her
mind did not connect with his as it should have. Her question was
not conveyed as it should have been. Even with her expanded
consciousness, he was completely dead to her. He was void, as if
she did not exist to him. For the first time in two hundred years,
she knew without a doubt – Jätung was no longer her pet.

Something else was driving
him.

He was coming to kill
her.

She told herself to stand.
But, she was already doing so by the time the thought had
completely flashed across her consciousness. She was unaware her
body had responded. She stood there; much taller than she had been
minutes before, with her legs well apart. Her left foot she placed
a bit before her right, balanced upon the balls of both her bare
feet, poised. Her fingers she spread as wide as they could go. She
felt a new tingling sensation at the tips of each of
them.

Gazing down, amazed, her
nails now extended beyond the ends of her fingers by more than two
inches. She had only a second to glance at them. There were barbs,
shaped and strengthened like fishing hooks. She knew, if she sunk
them into flesh, they would not pull forth without leaving grievous
wounds behind. She stood there, panting, waiting for her rebellious
Petling. Her child-like dress was no more than a sundered remnant
of what it once was, not solid enough to cover her nakedness
beneath. Much of her matured features it exposed to the cold air
about her.

She cared little that her
womanhood was plain to see. There was only one thing on her mind at
the moment - the most feared Isighünd in all Storm. He was bearing
down on her, keen upon ripping her limb from limb.

She was facing the
entrance to the cave, her eyes penetrating far through the murk and
muddiness of the blizzard. Already, she could see his light-gray
form approaching at speed.

She could not help but
remember, in the heat of the moment, pulling him from the clutches
of his mother. Her ample litter had been before her. He was the
biggest of the bunch, the strongest produced out of an already
strong line. He had been responsive and keen to her mind from
almost the first second she reached out to him and stroked his
infantile brain. He had been pliant and willing. He was the perfect
addition to the Nixy that had outlived all others, the Nixy who had
earned the right to own a Petling of her own.

Every chance she was away
from the diabolical charms of Vallüm, she had spent with the baby
Isighünd. Aptly, she had named, Jätung - meaning “He of Me” in the
Old Tongue. She had nurtured him, fed him. And she trained him to
the best of her ability. Until one day, he had become the fixture
beside her, a forever companion that went wherever she went, no
questions asked.

They had been through so
many harrowing adventures together, Inghëldir had long lost count.
The narrow escapes, the last minute rescues and the near death
experiences were so many it was beyond her ability to recall them
all. He had been her fiercest protector, her most loyal
servant.

Oftimes, he had been the
only other being she shared her innermost thoughts, though he
understood her only half the time. He had listened, nonetheless.
Every time she had opened her mind to him and shared what had hurt
or poured out what was bothersome, he had listened. With soft
grunts and long drawn out growls, he had lent her his mental ear
and she had spoken into it, time and time again.

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 step back. She wanted to keep an adequate distance between
them.