The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves (101 page)

“
What?!?” exclaimed the
man-wolf. “How is that possible? The bond between Prēost and Nixy
is nigh unbreakable. How is it she can now exert a will of her own.
By the Storm Lord’s scaled sack, how can that be true after so many
years!” He was standing now, at the edge of his desk, one
gauntleted hand resting upon a stack of parchments, the other
balled in a fist.

“
I know
not the particulars, m’Lord, but I know it has manifest as a
direct
result
of
the Melding. There could be no other explanation,” replied Vallüm,
clasping his hands tightly before him, forcing them to stop
moving.

“
How
could this aspect, this
condition
, have eluded the notice of
the Conclave? How is this possible, Prēost?” Fenris was disturbed
now, which made some of Vallüm’s earlier uneasiness diminish,
though it raised flags of caution in other areas - a frantic Hand
was never a good thing, for he often struck out blindly,
recklessly. They could ill afford any more
mistakes.

“
Of the magics – the
Vyche, m’Lord, I’m of little help. My area of expertise has always
been with flesh,” he offered offhandedly, which was an error one
his part.

Fenris rounded on the tiny
shriveled man, taking a couple of menacing steps toward him, his
finger pointed at him. “I know very well what you are a master of
you, beast!” he growled, spittle flying from his snout. He was
salivating, the first indication he was about to bite.

Vallüm held up both of his
hand before. “I am sorry, Your Highness, please forgive my rash
remark, do not -!”

“
You filthy defiler of the
young, you are lucky I have need of you, dire need. Otherwise, I
would tear you limb from limb and feed on you slowly, raw and
writhing.” The Snowman’s Hand spun on his heel and strode behind
his desk once again. He didn’t sit. He placed both of his hands
upon the surface of his desk as he leaned onto them. He inhaled
hugely, then exhaled long and slow, calming himself. “Very well, in
the worst case, what sort of havoc could a Nixy cause, free and
able to do what she wanted?”

That made Vallüm cringe.
“M’Lord, please forgive me, but there is a reason why Nixy are held
with such binding force and why only we, us Prēosts, are entrusted
to maintain them. There is a reason why we kill them the instant
they go insane from lack of proper food or show a slice too much
will.”

“
Pray tell…”

“
They change, Your
Highness.” Fenris glared at him through furled eyebrows. “Nixae are
seekers of flesh, smellers of want, and an insane Nixy, or one
allowed to grow to maturity, would acquire power beyond reckoning.”
He paused to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “In addition,
m’Lord Hand, Inghëldir could become something never witnessed
before in Storm, something terrible to behold.”

The man-wolf continued to
stand erect, waiting, stoically preparing for what the Prēost was
going to say next.

“
It’s her age, my Lord.
She is more than six and a half centuries old, she is the longest
surviving Nixy ever to have walked the Realm of the Great
Maelstrom. Her power, if left unchecked, could grow beyond even
yours, my Prince.” He finished meekly, feeling Fenris fill with
anger and frustration.

“
What would she become,
precisely?” was all the Hand asked, though he sounded a mere
fraction from exploding with rage.

“
Of that, even I cannot
tell you, but I can guarantee neither of us would want to find out.
She would want revenge. Already, I can sense that in her.” Again,
his words were no more than murmurs echoing throughout the
tent.

“
You have kept her alive,
because she has made you rich beyond your wildest dreams, because
she has always been the best. Her record had remained unmarred
after all of this time,” lisped the man-wolf through a tongue he
let go lazy as he sat down upon his throne-like chair.

Vallüm merely nodded
retrospectively, but stayed otherwise silent.

“
You were handpicked by my
Father, the great Rigă-Kur of Vülfen Ambalaj himself, because of
this perfect performance. You were given onto me to ensure the
capture of the Twelve, of which we had most deftly succeeded until
the arrival of the Fist changed all of that.

“
Yet, now your very
presence here, on the Melded World, could jeopardize this entire
operation, because the abomination under your direct control may
now have the ability to break free of your savage bondage. Am I
correct, thus far, Prēost?”

“
Y-yes, m’Lord.” What else
could he say?

“
And, in
your expert opinion, do you think that this condition, this
alteration in your abilities affects only you and your Inghëldir or
would it affect
your entire
ilk?”

It was another question
Vallüm had been dreading to answer.

“
It would affect -,” he
began before his throat constricted of its own volition, choking
him momentarily. He cleared his throat vociferously, all the while,
the Crown Prince’s gaze became all the more direct. “Excuse me,
m‘Lord, but it would affect all of us, for this place has somehow
either infused the Nixy with great degree of will or has diminished
the ability for a Prēost to impose his own. I tend to think it is
the former that is the issue at hand.”

“
Damn you all, Vallüm!”
bellowed the Hand, slamming his hand down hard on his desk,
rattling everything, sheets and sheets of paper cascading to the
floor. “Are you aware of how many Prēosts and Nixae are coming with
the Hlāford Dhŏŏm in less than a fortnight?”

“
Y-yes, my Prince, scores
alone will be in his retinue,” responded the tiny, old man
sullenly.

“
Do you know what that
could spell for us?” he shouted, salivating even more.

“
Yes.”

“
Do you!?!” It was shriek
now. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair with ferociously.
It looked to the Prēost, at any moment, the ancient bones of the
IsigWyrm would burst into shards.

“
It could very well spell
our undoing,” he began in earnest. “That is why I requested this
time with you, my Lord, because I wanted you to know as soon as I
was able to divine the cause, so we would have ample time to delay
or overt the effect. We have time, I can find a way to overcome
her. I know I can,” he pleaded, though he hadn’t realized he had
taken to begging.

Fenris let go of the
chair, his long nails scoring the large bones deeply upon either
side of him. “You had better, Vallüm… You had better, because it’ll
be your neck stretched over this, not mine!” He was nearly heaving
with fury. “Now leave me, and be about it, you wasted imp. I must
speak with the Hross. Hopefully, we can fathom a way to message the
King of the Swüreg, or anyone who might be able to help, before we
are deluged with Nixae we can no longer control. Get out of my
sight!”

The Prēost scurried from
the tent and back out into the blizzard, grateful he’d escaped
without a single blemish, his mindset, his will, focused. Inghëldir
would be his again! By the end of the day he would plunging himself
into her sweet folds with such vigor she would nevermore resist his
will,
ever
again…
the little bitch!

You are mine, Inghëldir.
Mine, forever!

All about, everywhere,
within the Melded Word changes came – plant and beast alike –
across this vast new world. Some popped into existence and were
immediately attacked, mercilessly savaged. Others, those nimble
enough, sought shelter, scampering out of harm’s way. Others stood
their ground, hackles or stalks or spines raised. Terrible, vicious
fights to the death ensued. While, overhead, the storm continued to
rage. It was the second marker. A sign this mixed plane struggled
to find balance, to become a universe onto itself, unique and never
before seen. With this ever-growing equilibrium came an upsetting
of the rules, both physical and sorcerous. A strange dance between
the wonders of science and the mystics of magic twirled and swirled
about. Their unexpected offspring would shock them all.

~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼
}>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

Wonderment

Day Three, Saturday, 11:07
am…

It had been hours since
they’d all washed-up, straightened where they’d slept, folded the
throw blankets, and readjusted the furniture pads that had skewed
during the night. Lastly, they had eaten. It was yet another meal
wonderfully prepared - as far as Anthony was concerned - by the
girl who had been occupying his mind the entire morning. When
compared to what his mother sometimes prepared for the family on
Sundays, it wasn’t much, but here in the freezing grip of the
Melded World it might as well been
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
. Three eggs
over easy, four strips of bacon, warm bread buttered until it
dripped and, of course, coffee for the older kids and hot chocolate
for the younger ones. What more could they have asked
for?

He had grown tired of the
conversation engaged about the fire pit as most of the teenagers
prattled on about this or that, harkening back to home. His mind
was preoccupied by what Jason - and Andrew - had told him earlier
in the day. He couldn’t help but ask himself, repeatedly…
Was it true Sophie Reed likes me? Would one of
the prettiest girls in school really want to spend time with
me?

He had sauntered over to
one of the “beds” and grabbed one of the folded throw blankets
lying atop the pile. He had tossed it halfway over himself as he
laid back one foot still on the ground, the other across the
padding. He had placed one hand under his head and was staring up
at the uneven ceiling. His mind was unable to shake the worry that
had descended upon his shoulders the moment his newfound companions
had told him the white-haired girl wanted him in a more than
friendly capacity. That was when the questions began to spin in his
head, and the dreaded hope began to build in his chest. What if she
did like him? What if she did see more in him than the skinny,
computer nerd he felt he projected to the world around him? What
would he do then? If it were true, how would he approach her? How
would he broach the subject in conversation? How would he get
around to asking? How would she react if he totally screwed things
up? What if she didn’t really like him at all? What if Jason was
just talking out of his ass? What would he do then? How would he
ever be able to live it down with all of them in such close
proximity for so many hours of the day?

Jesus Christ, there was
only twelve of them!

On and on, his brain
tumbled over the same questions, over and over. He was entirely
overwhelmed. He felt the urge to do something, but was fearful of
making an ass out of himself in the eyes of the others. Yet, he had
to do something in order to quell the thoughts circling before his
eyes like angry hornets out to protect their nest. They would drive
him mad otherwise.

That had been almost a
half hour ago and still, he lay there paralyzed with hope and fear,
caught between the two conflicting emotions, unable to move, unable
to focus long enough to develop a proper course of
action.

Why had he been cursed
with such a monumental problem?

“
What are you doing over
here all by yourself?” came the sweet melodic voice of the very
creature he’d been puzzling over for so long his head
hurt.

Anthony looked from the
ceiling and into the clear blue eyes of Sophie Reed, feeling only
unbelievable pressure behind his own. Absently, he pondered if they
were bloodshot. “Na-nothing,” he croaked, his throat betraying him.
Being silent for extended period of time tended to do that to him.
“Just thinking, I guess,” he added after a quick pause, swallowing
deeply.

Her thin eyebrows
knitted.

He marveled, even when she
frowned she looked exquisite.

“
About what?” she inquired
sitting down next to him, her bottom near his elbow.

He scooted over allowing
her to sit more comfortably upon the makeshift bed.

She took advantage of the
extra room, pushing herself farther onto the mats and
blankets.