The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves (42 page)

“
Oh my god,” was all the
eight-year-old girl was able to mutter when a confident, commanding
voice sounded directly behind her. An unseen gauntleted hand
descended upon her left shoulder, gripping her so hard she nearly
yelled out in pain.

“
Be careful with her you
idiot, our Great Lord Metohkangmi, wishes for all of them to be
healthy and unhurt when they are placed upon the Throne. I do not
want that one marred with a broken neck.”

The girl wasn’t certain to
who was the owner of the disembodied voice. For the time being, she
would continue to be ignorant of it.

Something heavy clouted
Mikalah, hard across the back of her head and she fell into the
inky darkness of unconsciousness.

*****

Anthony stared in awe at
first. The side fence, toward the back of their grandmother’s yard,
erupted as if it had dynamited. Unbelievably, Elena came floating
out of the shadows, dangling in front of the something his eyes
couldn’t comprehend, but his mind had no trouble recognizing. A
calm voice in his head spoke.
“It is a
Jötun. This is what you see before you.”
He knew what it was, although he wasn’t able to explain how
he
could
know.
Had he dreamt of them before? Had the shock and fear of Jätung
clouded his mind, so he couldn’t remember? Then, he turned toward a
loud voice, booming throughout the yard…

“
Be
careful with her you idiot, our Great Lord Metohkangmi, wishes for
all of them to be healthy and unhurt when they are placed upon the
Throne. I do not want that one marred with a broken
neck
.
”

…
He watched in horror, as
another large creature stood upright, directly behind Mikalah,
man-sized, but big, wearing what seemed to be a thick, leather
jerkin and matching leather pants. Both were dyed a very deep red.
They were studded here and there, reinforced and hardened, as if
for battle. It wore calf-high, horned boots and heavy, armored
gloves. Over all else, a heavy cloak draped, apparently treated to
resist anything wet, for beads of moisture gathered atop its
shoulders and sluiced off onto the ground when it moved.

It turned to look at
Anthony with a wide grin. The boy stood thunderstruck. His eyes
revealed what his mind couldn’t readily understand. The voice in
his head had gone silent.

Its’ head was wolf-like,
complete with a five-inch shout and long tooth-filled jaw. Its’
skin was the color of dried blood - deep crimson - offset by course
hair, long, jet black and pulled back over its head. It had it tied
loosely at the back of its half-man, half-canine neck with a thin
leather cord. When it smiled, it looked frightening, almost insane,
but it was the shrewdness in its eyes, belying something altogether
different. This was a creature of cunning. It was intelligent. He
knew this wasn’t a mere animal like the Jötun, holding
Elena.

It didn’t look away as it
placed a large, gauntleted hand upon Mikalah’s shoulder, squeezing.
Its’ grin was maniacal as it rose its’ other hand above its’
shoulder. It continued to stare at him.

Anthony was a flurry of
activity, trying to reach his sister, but didn’t get
far.

Suddenly, more hands,
powerful and relentless, restrained him, holding him helpless and
immobile. They forced him to watch as the wolf-thing’s hand
descended and smashed into Mikalah’s unprotected head. The awful
–

Thwack!

- of the impact, resounded
in Anthony’s ears, a lightning quick glare blinding him for a
second. He felt his stomach lurch at the sight of her rendered
unconscious. She crumpled onto the ground like a rag
doll.

He struggled against his
captors with all of his might, tears beginning to stream down his
face. The huge ape-bird-thing approached the man-like-wolf-thing in
two massive strides, the ground itself groaning against its
tremendous weight. Concrete and stepping stones alike cracked and
shattered beneath its heavy trod.

“
Stop you’re wiggling,
man-child, or we will tickle you just as Lord Fenris has tickled
the wee-one over there,” said a guttural voice at Anthony’s ear. He
let himself go partially limp in their grasp and watched as Mikalah
was put into the arms of the same Jötun holding Elena. The hulking
creature had no problem carrying both of the girls in its clutches.
It had them piled like cord wood in its arms, holding them close to
its chest, protectively. Its’ bottomless eyes searched over the
man-wolf, awaiting further instructions.

Anthony could feel one of
his captors’ breaths upon his ear, hot and foul, surmising at least
he was as tall as him was, possibly taller. Gauging from the two
sets of hands on his person, he knew there was more than one of
them. And, to his chagrin, they were stronger. He gave up, relaxing
fully in their grip, defeated - a few more strangled whimpers
escaping from between his lips.

“
Bring forth the
Kring-Hël!” shouted the wolf-thing the man behind him had called,
Fenris.

Here we go again with that
name!

…
Or was it a
title?

Anthony was hauled toward
the creature without ceremony. It stood in the centermost area of
the backyard. They had to traverse the cemented walkway to the main
patio area. The furniture he and his sisters had just made ready
for the following day, now lay strewn about, knocked over, this way
and that.

It was then, Anthony
realized there were a lot more figures in the backyard than he’d
initially seen. He glanced around, taking better mental
notes.

They’d come from almost
every direction, hopping the fences, surrounding the yard or
smashing through them when they were forced to. There was one more
Jötun beside the one holding his sisters, Fenris, and at least a
score more man-like warriors.

Although, if he had a
choice, Anthony wouldn’t have called them men, per se. Though they
were about the same size and shape as an average six-foot human
male, they clearly weren’t. They were dressed similarly to Fenris,
though in dark green leather jerkins and pants with less studding.
They wore boots and gloves, and weather resistant cloaks. Unlike
Fenris, though, they bared arms. Some with swords and daggers
sheathed about their waists, some with wrist-crossbows, while
others with black re-curved bows and wickedly barbed arrows notched
and at the ready. All of it, fairly man-ish in appearance, but
that’s where the similarities stopped.

It was the color of their
skin that made them unique from men. It was a shade mankind didn’t
possess, a sort of gray that took Anthony a few minutes to place.
Yet, if he had to name it, the color that came close to what he was
seeing was that of wet cement – gray, gleaming and glossy, but with
a shine giving it depth. The color was so unique and unequaled,
Anthony wasn’t sure there was any other way to describe it. Wet
cement seemed correct.

In addition to this, there
was a second feature setting them aside from humanity. It was the
shape and placement of their ears. They were wildly strange when
compared to those of the average human. In fact, they might’ve been
construed as a deformity.

Every human, when turned
to the side, has the opening of the ear, on average, a quarter inch
or so lower than the corner of their eye. With these creatures,
placement of their auditory orifice was a half inch
above
the dramatic
corner of their eyes. The actual lobe of their ears was much, much
larger on the bottom, instead of toward the top as with humans.
Furthermore, each earlobe was hideously stretched. So long, in
fact, they reached around the sides of their skulls and nearly
touched at the back of their heads. It was as though they formed a
natural headband behind their heads, conveniently keeping their
long, straight hair out of their faces and eyes.

No need for a scrunchie
with these dicks.
Sarcasm sometimes helped
Anthony control his fear.

“
What do
you think, Kring-Hël, of my Swüreg warriors? Quite impressive are
they not? One should think so with all of the time and effort
required to get them here, to this… woefully
soft
place,” said Fenris with a
throaty lisp. His snout and long pink tongue prevented him from
speaking as clearly as a human would’ve spoken. “Too bad it won’t
remain that way for long…”

“
Don’t you hurt my
sisters!” warned Anthony with false bravado. His voice trembled
with fright, though not for himself, but at the sight of his
sisters being manhandled by a creature straight from the pit of
hell.

He stiffened, contorting
backward, as one of his captors grabbed him roughly by the scalp,
painfully yanked back his head, the gloved hand tangled in his long
hair, pulling hard. Anthony continued to glare at Fenris with
feverish eyes, savage, like those of a caged animal backed into a
corner. Tears steadily fell across both cheeks.

The tall man-wolf returned
the glare and laughed aloud, a chortle, sounding somewhere between
a bark and a cough, repeated again and again. “Or what, boy? Are
you going to reach for your Gift and use it against me?” He
chuckled anew. “It is my contention you haven’t even realized one
percent of one percent of the power your title claims you possess.
How can you possibly imagine you would be a threat to me?” said
Fenris coming toward Anthony. His menacing face hovered inches from
the boys own.

Anthony deliberately
looked away from the fell creature, the clear night sky provided a
much better view.

“
It is a pity you will
never be given the opportunity to reach your full potential. I
would have enjoyed the challenge, after so many years of waiting
and preparing for this day. It would have been a magnificent battle
indeed.” His sigh was more like a rasping gurgle. He turned from
Anthony and called loudly, “Bring the seal! We will celebrate the
Ceremony here, now, before the very eyes of the Kring-Hël, this
so-called leader of the Guardians of the World of Man. And, we will
do this upon the hallowed ground of his beloved grandmother!” The
man-wolf was staring at him anew, laughing horribly. “How fitting…
don’t you think, boy?” he inquired with a vicious grin, grotesquely
curling his snout, a malicious gleam in his piercing
eyes.

The hand gripping
Anthony’s hair let go. His captors manhandled him off to the side
of the cemented area, while the other Jötun came forward with an
iron bound chest about two feet wide and a foot each in length and
depth. As it reached Fenris, the Jötun opened the chest with on
hand - its huge fingers surprisingly dexterous - while managing to
balance its weight with the other. A very satisfied looked crossed
its’ face when Fenris reached into box-like case and pulled forth
what looked to be a simple star-shaped, Christmas
ornament.

Anthony could see it was
clearly wrought of the finest materials, forged with superior
craftsmanship.

It was silver and shone
with a metallic sheen in the lights about the back yard. Its’ many
surfaces reflected various beams of light, at varying times. It
spun slowly, suspended on a near invisible filament the man-wolf
creature held between his thumb and forefinger. He held it up for
all of them to see, turning slightly this way and that, making
certain all in attendance got a glimpse of the ornament.

“
The First Organ,” he
announced, his voice resounding about the yard. “The Heart, the
Promise and the Origin of Hope, since time before time before time,
has always been beyond the reach of the Lord of the Storm. It had
been nestled, for millennia, in the great bastion of the Halls of
the Light. For countless years, the very idea of sundering the
organ seemed impossible, a fantasy for only our most devilish
children, a dream to seduce their wickedness, a false morsel to
feed their diabolical glee.”

Anthony could only watch
in confusion. He had absolutely no clue what was going
on.

Fenris continued, “For
century upon century, we have been planning and scheming to reach
this great goal of breaking the First Organ. All the while, we’ve
shackled and enslaved all of those, our enemies, who have opposed
us upon the World of Storm. We have consolidated our might, our
power, to finally forge the vast Isig-Vültriäk, the Great Empire of
Storm. This very alliance, this unification of the Six Great Races,
has finally managed to subjugate all of what was once Chaos under a
single banner. We are finally united behind the will of the Great
Niveus!”

About the yard, the
creatures were nodding, leering with murderous lust.

“
We are
one now. We have a single focus and conviction! For the first time,
the World of Storm is
one
against the other universes!”

All about, the creatures
erupted in ghoulish howls and screeches and gurgling ululations,
throwing gloved fists and paws in the night air.

The man-wolf waited for
the din to die down, glancing about satisfied. “But, everything
being equal, all of our recent success
still
does not change one remaining
aspect of our struggle. The First Organ remains ever secure within
its’ Womb of Light - protected, guarded, and, will most likely
remain as such, until the very end of time.”