Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves (82 page)

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.

She drank his
blood.

He died, confused and
bewildered, uncertain what had happened to him or why. To him, his
way of life had flipped on its’ head. Nothing of what he had known
for so long was truth. In a flash, all that was crucial to what he
had been was gone.

If he could have heard the
thoughts of his long-time master he might have known.

If he could have heard her
thoughts in those final seconds of his life, they might have
soothed him. Maybe he would have accepted whatever fate was to
befall him. Maybe he would have remembered his devoted Nixy and
master.

…
I will avenge you,
Jätung! And they will know it is I, Inghëldir, who does so in your
name…!

Alas, he did
not.

He died alone and
encapsulated, cut off from the only creature he had adored. He was
unaware it was she who sucked the life from him.

All the while, she wept,
bitter and rank with thoughts of revenge.

~~~~~~~<<<
ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

~ 49 ~

Pixy

Day Five, Monday, At The
Same Time…

He watched her, through
the torrent of snow and ice, as she leaped over the hulking
Isighünd yet again. He felt himself enlarge, gorge, at the sight of
her powerful, fluid movements. Her strength and vitality amazed
him, for she was beautiful to behold. He relished the thought that
soon he would reduce her to nothing. Just the thought of her sheer
size and vigor excited him. It made him stand upon the balls of his
feet like a child anticipating its’ first bite of a sweet
cake.

He waited, though, for the
right opportunity to strike, in spite of the fact he was on the
verge of madness by her mere presence. Already, he lost himself in
wondrous thoughts of sinking himself into something as stalwart as
her. He would feel her strong inner folds attempt to keep his
mighty tool at bay, only to have them forced aside by
his...

He made himself alter his
train of thought, knowing full well what he would do if he indeed
lost control. He did not want that to happen just yet. They told
him she was naught but a Nixy, but she seemed a much larger one
than any of her kind he had overpowered in the past.