The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves (25 page)

She quickly surveyed her
environs, finding everything as it should be. Since the museum was
on its’ winter schedule, it was closed today. In the warmer months
it was open every weekend, holidays included. Because of this,
there was no sound, no tourists, and no tour-guides bellowing out
this and that as they took the museum-goers about the
Square.

She turned back toward the
Way, feeling something coming through from the plane of black ice
and ebon snow. Since only she could traverse from the world of her
master to the World of Man, all the Ways and Nodes and Points were
hers. She could always tell when someone else had accessed one of
them. It would have to have been with her showing the Path, of
course. The Grand Edicts of the Lord of the Light had long sundered
this universe from the others. Her birth upon the Earth had
rendered those canons null and void when applied to her. This was
condition her master, the Great Maelstrom, had used time and again
when he’d wished to sow discord and strife upon mankind. She was,
after all, the tip of his thrust. She was the Stiletto. She was the
Seeker.

A figure stepped into
being. It was huge, humanoid, though covered in long flowing robes
of black. Other than its’ hulking shape, not many other
characteristics were discernible. Only the large, scuffed boots
below the hem of its’ thick over-garment was all anyone watching
would’ve seen.

She moved toward the
stairs, leading up to the parlor, providing the necessary space for
the rest who would be joining them shortly. Peering over at the
seven foot figure, she allowed herself a thin smile, at the very
corner of her mouth. There would be twelve more, striding through
the shiny gray rectangle in the middle of the basement. They had
once been titans in the World of Storm, before the reign of her
master, countless years’ agone when it was known as Chaos. This was
before the Ancient Snowman had brought order and unification,
herded his minions under a single banner – His. This was before the
advent of the Isig-Vültriäk, what was commonly known as the
Six-Fold Empire.

They had been the Lords of
Chaos, the dreadnaughts of everything and nothing all at once. They
were but a shadow of what they’d once been.

They were hers now, sworn
to her, devoted to no other. She had given them sanctuary in return
for their unfailing loyalty. She had given them an existence when
all the other Lords of Storm had wished them destroyed. They had
been their enemies for thousands of years, after all. Why
not?

Rasputna had been
far-seeing. Or maybe, a better way of describing it is to say her
perspective wasn’t tainted with emotion, vendetta, politics, dogma
or any other condition. She was devoid of a point of view. She was
thoroughly unhindered. Her mind was crystal clear. She had seen a
use for the former Lords of Chaos, now known as the Knights of the
Seeker. She had come to their defense. She had saved them. She had
understood the advantages of possessing these creatures of anarchy
and discord. Tens of thousands of years ago, she had
known.

When her master had
detailed his Grand Design in his Citadel of Storm, she knew she’d
been correct. She was to use her access to the World of Man. She
was to unleash her knights upon its’ unsuspecting denizens and
steal the second-most precious commodity living among humankind.
When the Hand began the Rending, casting forth the Melding, she
would remain behind. When the Twelve Guardians of this plane were
thrust upon the Melded World, she and her minions would
strike.

Now, she smiled in
full.

Not many knew of the
Lesser. Those who had studied the Lore, interpreted prophecy and
were intuitive enough to make the connection – they would know.
Most others merely dismissed them.

The Lord of the Storm had
not. He knew of their value. He knew how to use them as well.
Though they might not as strong as the Greater Twelve, the current
Guardians - the Lesser Twelves, those who were the descendants of
past Guardians - were treasures beyond measure. They would prove
invaluable to the execution of the Grand Design. They would be at
the crux of the Vyche necessary to bring her great master into the
Melded World. No one, not even the high and mighty, Lord of the
Light knew this.

The largest of her knights
came forward when all twelve of his companions had emerged through
the Way. His voice was a myriad of voices, all spoken at once –
male and female, old and young, sweet and gruff.

“
We are assembled, my
Lady.”

From the third step of the
staircase, she glanced over the tops of their heads, and then
focused her eyes upon their ever-shifting orbs. She saw blue irises
turn hazel, then navy, then slate. On and on, they changed in
color. This was the nature of her knights. They were beings of
chaos. They features were a constant melting of all features,
unceasing, forever flowing.

“
We will travel at night.
I will personally take you to your rendezvous with the strongest of
the Lesser. There you will wait until the appointed time. You are
to reveal yourselves to no one. You are to draw no attention to
yourselves whatsoever. You are to stay out of sight. The Rending
itself will be the signal. When you see the glorious green of decay
upon all things, you will know, the time has come.” She paused.
They didn’t move. “Fail me in this and I will slay you myself,
understood?”

“
Yes, Lady Seeker,” they
said as one, though it sounded like hundreds had
replied.

“
Good. We wait here until
nightfall.” She brushed the first three fingers on her right hand
across a corresponding eye.

Behind them, the Way
closed.

A palatable reticence
followed and stayed, for hours.

~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼
}>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

And for the season it was
winter, and they that know the winters of that country know them to
be sharp and violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms.
-
William Bradford

“
Winter
is coming.”
―
George R.R. Martin
,
A
Game of
Thrones

~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼
}>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

“
I’m the Boss”

Sunday, November
21
^st
,
3:03 pm…

The kitten watched his
fingers fly across the wireless controller with typical feline
scrutiny. Jason Fong knew in the next moment or two, the little guy
was going to make another leap for them with its tiny, razor-sharp
claws extended, it’s jaws agape. For the hundredth time in the past
hour, the kitten was going to try and kill his right
hand.

“
I think that cat of yours
in insane,” commented Joaquin from the beanbag next to an identical
one Jason was sitting. Half of his attention on the TV they faced.
The other followed the wild, semi-feral cat Jason had brought home
a few days ago. It was a feline that, ever since, couldn’t stop
chasing after anything moving.

The kitten would become
instantly alert and watchful of every movement, sometimes to the
point of exhaustion. Jason had burst out in loud guffaws the first
time he saw the little cat hopping and leaping about, only to fall
sleep, death-like in its tracks a few moments later. It had fallen
sidelong onto the floor in a deep slumber. The tiny, crazed animal
had been dreaming within minutes.

Both boys were wearing
cotton shorts and shirts, white socks and sneakers, Joaquin with a
baseball cap on, Jason without, his short hair spiked in its usual
fashion – both of them in total chill mode.

“
You might be right, bro,
he’s a little high strung, huh?” replied the Chinese teen, deftly
moving his hand a little higher, out of the reach of the determined
kitten, while executing a five-button-move, hitting Joaquin’s video
game character with critical damage.

“
High strung?” asked
Joaquin, his eyebrows rising in consternation. “That little dude is
like obsessive/compulsive or something. Once he starts something he
can’t stop. I mean look at him.”

Sure enough, the kitten
was leaping and lunging for Jason’s hands despite the fact they
were at least half a foot out of the range of its’ exertions.
Still, it kept on. Jason glanced down at the cat and smiled.
It
was
absolutely insane!
Then,
he grimaced as Joaquin whacked his character three times in rapid
succession during his moment of distraction. The others’ gaze had
been glued to the TV before them the entire time.

“
Hey ass cheese, you did
that on purpose!” Jason complained, and then grunted with a
vengeful glare in his eye when Joaquin smiled, but didn’t return
his glare.

“
I
use
every
tool in
the arsenal, my man,” Joaquin announced, his smile broadening, his
teeth bared behind his broad lips.

“
You’re a tool,” countered
Jason, which made his friend laugh. Neither of them was looking
away from the TV screen. The one-on-one battle was coming to an end
and, up to this point, it had been about even.

The little cat pounced
again, missing by a wide margin.

Suddenly, it seemed to
realize it was fighting a losing battle and sat back on its
haunches, its’ head no more than five inches off the ground. Just
as swift, it appeared to get another idea and scampered off to
Jason’s right and out of sight.

The boy paid little heed
to the miniature feline. His focus on the TV as he blocked one of
Joaquin’s strikes, then another and yet another, before he
counter-attacked, hitting his friend’s toon with a ground-level,
sweeping kick, knocking him to the ground. Jason quickly punched in
the button sequence making his character jump high into the air and
come down for the killing blow when he felt a sharp pain on his
right shoulder as something bit through his t-shirt and into the
skin below.

“
Ooowww!” he yelled. He
turned his head to look, forgetting to push the final button
necessary to complete the “death move”, catching sight of the
kitten as it leapt from his shoulder and onto the controller he was
holding both hands. Without so much as a by your leave, the little
cat took one glance at the knuckle of his right thumb and promptly
bit down with surprising strength. It’s needle-like teeth easily
penetrated Jason’s skin, making the teen call out again as he
dropped the controller and grabbed the kitten on either side of its
jaws and squeezed slightly. He hoped the small amount of pressure
would be enough to convince it to let go. Then, he heard the
simulated blow of Joaquin’s toon hitting his and knew immediately
he’d just lost the game.

In the same moment, the
kitten twisted in his grasp, its teeth no longer embedded in his
thumb, and made ready to attack the offending hand that had forced
its jaws open. Jason tossed the kitten on the ground in front of
him before it could do anymore damage and glanced over at Joaquin
who was smiling back at him.

The kitten immediately
disappeared. The make-believe war in its head was still very much
alive. It scurried off to some unknown place of ambush.

“
I
told
you,
Jas. I use every tool in the arsenal,” Joaquin repeated through a
grin, a taunting cast to his face.

“
You could’ve at least
waited until I got the damned cat off my hand,” growled Jason as he
watched four tiny driblet’s of blood bubble through the nearly
invisible puncture wounds the rambunctious kitten had left
behind.

“
Hey,
man, don’t get all mad at me,” replied Joaquin, raising his arms,
palms facing Jason in mock surrender. “I’m not the one who brought
home
Cujo the Cat
, you did.”

Jason chuckled, sucking
the blood from his thumb. “Ha, no shit, huh? What the hell was I
thinking?”

“
Your guess is as good as
mine,” was the other’s response. He placed the controller he’d been
holding on the ground before him and was abruptly forced to snatch
his hand back up in order to avoid yet another attack from the
kitten. “Jesus, where the hell did that little bastard come
from?”