Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves (83 page)

He decided to error on the
side of caution. He would approach her slower than he would under
normal circumstances. He was not typically cautious when it came to
his targets. But, caution seemed practical with her.

Yes, he would assay the
situation first, before he ran headlong into the fray. After all,
his superiors deemed her to have been the best tracker of flesh to
walk upon Storm in all its’ long, sordid history. Her size and
reputation gave him pause, slight pause. It was, after all, prudent
to be mindful of her and her vaulted history.

For now, he would wait and
watch.

There was plenty of time
for play. There was always ample time for amusement.

After a few minutes, he
knew he had done the right thing as he neared the entrance of the
cave. The moment he had seen her great pet lunge from the confines
of the cave, run into blizzard in abject fear, he knew what he must
do. He would close the beast’s mind from its’ master.

It was an ability all
Pixae had bred into their genes. It was a failsafe instilled to
keep Prēosts at bay when their Nixae slaves were about to come
under attack. More often than not, a Prēost would try and save his
Nixy from a fateful encounter with a Pixy. They often tried to
intervene. The ensuing battle usually resulted in the slaying of
the Fleshmaster as well as his creation.

It was well known, never
come between a Pixy and his intended lover –
Never!

Thus, many years ago,
those of the Wezzeinate, the great council of Fleshmasters over
which resided the Mheto-Prēost, made a decision. They insisted that
Pixae have the ability to sunder the bond between Prēost their
child-like concubines. They did this to protect the ranks of the
Prēosts from themselves. In their minds, a Prēost was much more
valuable than a Nixy, by far.

So it was within minutes
of the beasts exit from the cave, he had severed the bond between
the Nixy and her pet. He had left the Isighünd frightened and lost
amidst the onslaught of the storm. He had let the creature wonder,
aimless, for a few minutes, content to let it stumble and trip its’
way about the landscape.

By then, it was lost
without the guidance of its’ master’s mind, without hope and
misguided. The shining beacon that had always been there was no
more. Without it, the beast had become bewildered, shut-off,
rendered helpless.

Abilities and ancient
magic aside, he had done the severing for another reason as well.
As his impressions of her infused with greater detail, he sensed
something else. It was something he had not felt in the tiny frame
of a Nixy before. There was change, great change, where there never
should have been – in her body. Her scent was no longer that of the
young. Hers was richer, more succulent, rank with hormones a Nixy
was not supposed to possess.

He knew the fact she had a
Petling made her formidable. But after he detected her
metamorphosis first hand, he had come to wonder if he could take on
both her and the Isighünd at the same time.

The beasts’ emergence had
given him an opportunity.

He had severed the bond
between them, let the Isighünd traipse about in confusion and then
turned the odds back in his favor. It was only a matter of sending
images and scents, tastes and feelings to the creature. It was a
deluge of sensory information he fed the beast until, in its' mind,
its’ master became naught but the enemy.

The Isighünd had responded
in kind, its senses long honed to seek out prey once given direct
instructions.

All he had to do was
watch.

She will make the most
magnificent host, indeed
, he thought as he
continued his vigil. He knew a Pixy of great power would emerge
from the fundament of Nixy before him. It would be one of the most
robust to have ever lived. The Nixy’s power and ability would make
it so. He could not wait. He pushed more blood to his rigid organ.
He would make certain he would have capability to penetrate her
with the greatest of force. He would ensure his seed would take
root as deep as possible within her unwilling womb.

Of that, he had to make
certain. She was a formidable adversary. He had yet to see a Nixy
of her size and abilities. She was an enemy unlike he had yet to
see in his accomplished life under the auspices of his master, the
Mheto-Prēost.

He was, though, taken
aback by the dishelved look of her. All Nixae were known for their
fastidiousness when it came to their appearance. It was part of
their allure. Every time he had taken one, they had always been
prefect little creatures. They had wiggled and struggled
deliciously beneath him.

This one, though, did not
seem to hold herself to the same standard for some reason. This was
strange to him, because it was what they used to disarm the unwary
and the ignorant just before they ripped them apart.

This one is
different
, he pondered as he continued to
stare.
Very different.

She was two feet taller
than most of her ilk with long, cord-like limbs and gaunt muscles.
To him, she looked like she comprised more metallic properties than
those of flesh. She appeared too hard, too dense to be only muscle
and bone.

And, she was fast. Almost
too fast
, he though.

He watched her execute a
brilliant mid-air, change-of-direction over her pet, using its’
momentum to arrest her own. As adroit as any creature he had ever
seen, she landed upon the beast’s hindquarters.

A second later, shocked
took him again. The Nixy began to rend incredible chunks of flesh
from her one-time pet. She sending great hunks of meat in all
directions as she clung to its’ haunches and made a ruin of
everything she bit into.

He had yet to see a Nixy
move as efficient as she. She was an economy of motion, nothing
wasted. Her uncanny ability to dig into the hardest flesh as if it
were no more than thick porridge astounded him.

In fact, it stopped him
cold.

He stood, rooted. He was
unable to control his curiosity. He continued to stare.

She jumped free of the
beast, lightning fast, and faced it on equal ground as if she
respected the creature.

His beatific brow creased,
uncertain what to make of what he was witnessing.

Then he heard her yell at
the top of her ability, “Jätung… I am sorry!”

Were Nixae supposed to act
this way?

With blinding speed, she
streaked to the neck of the great Isighünd. Before he knew what was
happening, she tore out his throat and began to drink of its’
lifeblood with incredible swallows. Her throat bulged farther out
than the base of her chin.

He stood there in the grip
of the storm, poised. For a few moments, he did not
breathe.

She pulled the life from
her pet, one giant gulp after another giant gulp until the ancient
beast twitched and fell to the ground.

Still, she drank and drank
and drank.

Finally, after almost a
minute, she stopped and stood.

But then, she did
something the Pixy could not begin to understand.

She was erect, her
shoulders hunched, her face away from him so he was uncertain what
she was feeling or thinking.

She began to
shake.

His mouth
gaped.

At first, she did so with
slow, methodic bobs of her shoulders – up and down. But they
changed into something fiercer, spasmodic. Moments later, long
sequences of breath she could not control wracked her. Then, she
let out a shrieking cry. It was unlike anything ever heard on
Storm.

It did not
belong.

He almost took a step back
in retreat.

No, Nixae were not
supposed to act this way!

His huge member twitched
and he knew at once this was the time. Without another thought, he
launched himself at her with every bit of speed he could muster
from his gangly legs. His monumentous phallus engorged, bouncing
before him as he went.

He would savor every
moment he had with her, with every push inside. The thought of
desecrating already desecrated flesh was mind-blowing drug. It
drove him to the brink insanity with desire.

*****

She drank Jätung into
herself, one great draught after another. Almost immediately, she
felt the heat of her Petling infuse her entire body. Each steaming
hot drink seemed to pump a new sort of warmth throughout her. It
made her heart pound in her chest, her mind race in all directions
at once. She could feel it fortifying her body even more than her
anguishing transformations had. It nourished what she craved,
replenishing the energy and strength her body had used when it had
broken and melted her form. It was a radiating wellspring of fire
that went from her throat to her belly and then to the ends of her
body. It left her satisfied - truly satisfied - for the first time
in her long, tortured life. She knew what this meant. She knew it
was never supposed to happen. She knew it would make her an
outcast, a renegade. They would hunt for her for the rest of her
life.

She did not
care.

She had found the
cure.

They had pushed her – her
master and his vile overlords. They had pushed her too far, for too
long. They had let slip the restraints of her bondage and in the
process they had lost dominion over her.

Now, the essence of Jätung
healed her. His blood had mended her flesh and closed her wounds.
It burned away many of the scars that had crisscrossed her body for
so many years. Though she did not look like a true Nixy any longer,
she was still new - brand new. It was like she had just come from
her mother's womb, though she had no mother and did not come from
any womb.

She would make them pay
for doing this to her. They should not have let this
happen.

She sucked at her Petling
until he fell to the ground and still she pulled forth his blood.
She continued until no more than a trickle of his sanguine
lifeblood passed her lips. She released the once great Isighünd and
she pushed herself to her feet, standing above him, looking down.
The torrent of emotion and energy, the ride, the current of
rejuvenation ebbed and then faded away. It left behind a new
feeling, one she had not felt before and was helpless before it –
grief.

Her longest lived
companion and…
friend?
was dead, slain by her own hand, though it was forced upon
her.

She could not help it,
though she had never done so in the past and knew not how she had
learned. She wept. She mourned the loss of her Jätung. She cried
for him. She let the gratitude wash over her at the countless times
he had saved her life or had been there to keep her warm and make
her feel safe. He was gone now.

An unseen enemy had turned
him against her, made her slay him like some misbegotten
enemy.

I am alone…

NO!

I am Inghëldir! I am what
I choose to be!

Without regard, she reared
back her head and screamed as loud as she could. It was a horrid
ululation of sorrow and anger, her rage at the passing of her
friend too profound, too raw and genuine to go unexpressed. She
wailed over the terrible loss, but realized something miraculous
too.

For the first time, she
knew she had a soul, though her forging had been so far from the
Light. It mattered little. She knew for certain, because some it of
died in those moments she yelled for her Petling.

She had found the
cure.

If she had not been so
thoroughly consumed by her emotions, she would have wondered how
this could have been possible. She was Nixy, a tracker of flesh, a
twisted and tormented creature of Storm. Things of this nature
should be abhorrent to her, and yet -.

She smelled him
then.

A sort of musky tartness
registered in her nostrils. It made her turn her head to gaze at
him, open her wide jaws, her serpentine tongue dancing before her
chin.

He was small compared to
her, but was beatific and male, though a mere child when she looked
closer. She peered over his face, her eyes dancing over the thin
ridge of a nose that ended in a blushing bulb. She saw his arched
cheekbones, prominent and rosy as if susceptible to the cold. And,
his squarish chin made him appear though stone-craved and not
living flesh at all. He had hair the color of slate and wore it
with bangs about his eyebrows. It went to the length of his
shoulders elsewhere. He wore only a black robe of some unknown
material and appeared to be nude beneath it. She could see his
knees and feet were bear with each stride he took. He was
attractive in a boyish sort of way, a way she might have succumbed
to before she had matured, before her body had altered.

Now, though, he appeared
too child-like to her. It was almost like he looked that way on
purpose. She found it unappealing in the most profound sense of the
word.

He reminded her of her. He
was a forged being just like she, a creature made upon the whims of
others.