The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves (79 page)

Flash!

He was standing, half a
heartbeat later, next to the giant-sized cross, peering at the
scrollwork, the various etchings, covering both the front and back
surfaces of the crucifix. He wondered at their meaning, something
tugging at his consciousness, telling him to turn to the right. He
did so, his eyes widening. He saw a wide casement of stone steps,
wide enough, in fact, ten men could walk abreast and still not
touch the sides. They were moss covered and ancient looking, though
they remained intact, devoid of cracks, seemingly unmarred by time.
They seemed to have been there for centuries. He stepped toward
them and saw they lead downward, into the ground, a good forty
feet, before they stopped at a broad landing, made of mismatched
stones - once polished to high sheen - but now shone dully. They
were topped with years of grime and the weathering effects of the
sun and wind and rain. Across from the landing, stood a pair of
gargantuan doors, bound in steel, huge spikes rising from the
metal, obvious defense against attack. But they didn’t appear as
old as the stones. They looked brand new, as if forged only days
ago. The contrast between them and the stone flooring was amazing.
Joaquin paused, comparing the two – one ancient, the other just
erected...

Great
sorcery
, came the unbidden
thought.

He made his way down the
last of the stairs and came to stand before the immense doorway.
Somehow, he knew they weren’t only locked. They were
sealed
.

More sorcery, an
incredible magnitude, makes them thus.

Whatever was beyond the
portal, it was shut away from everyone and everything, except to
those whose entry was permissible. Yet, when he placed a hand upon
one of the four-inch thick steel bindings holding the immense
wooden beams in place, it offered no resistance beneath his touch.
One of the humongous doors opened wide enough to allow him to slip
past.

He stepped into a passage,
larger than the portal itself. It stretched on, into a profoundly
disturbing darkness that his eyes couldn’t pierce at
first.

Heretofore, unseen torches
began to ignite along either side of the tunnel-like way, two at a
time, bursting to life, pushing back the inky blackness farther and
farther away.

He stood for a full
minute, watching, as the torches continued to light in their
scones, again and again, until he could barely make them out. The
passage, slowly unfolding before him, went on for at least a
mile.

He began to walk and
found, once again, he was immersed in some sort of fast-forwarding
state. Everything whirled around him and he was winging his way
down the tunnel within moments, turning ever slightly to the right,
traveling deeper in the earth. Until suddenly, he “popped” into
real-time, before another giant set of stairs leading downward,
only these were three times the size of the one’s he had left
behind some miles distant. He could make out a landing below, huge,
for beyond the stairs emptied into a chamber of gigantic
proportions. It took no more than a thought and he was at the
bottom of the stairs, facing another set of double doors,
humongous, King Kong himself could’ve walked through without
issue.

Again, he placed a hand
upon the mass of wood and steel, spike and hinge, blocking his
path. Again, they didn’t hinder him. One of them opened smoothly,
just enough for him to squeeze through.

And found himself within a
great, limestone cavern, complete with all of its natural features
and deposits that had been the catalyst behind its growth over
eons. The entire structure expanded slightly downward toward what
Joaquin assumed was its’ middle. From there, way in the distance,
something glowed, pushing back the darkness with a soft green,
languidly shimmering. It was easy to discern it was far, far away
from where the boy stood.

As in the passage minutes
ago, ensconced torches began to light themselves along the rough,
uneven walls of the cavern. Beginning at either side of him, they
came alight two at a time – one on the right, one on the left. At
first they were close, but eventually, they came to life farther
and farther away from his position until they too were so off in
the distance, he could barely make them out. He waited as the light
slowly increased within the cavern, one minute and another, and
then one more as the torches continued to burst into flame,
revealing more and more of his surroundings. Joaquin was amazed
when the luminance was enough to reveal he was in a space easily as
large as the clearing above him. It was nearly half a mile square
and entirely filled with every sort of limestone deposit
imaginable. This was a living cavern.

Wherever there was a sink-
or swallow-hole grew great vertical chimneys, standing where water
had flowed straight down. Where water had flowed, more
horizontally, grew large galleries of calcium bicarbonate. He could
see thin stalactites clinging to the ceiling and fat lumpy
stalagmites protruding up from the floor, even finger-like
formations called helictites, pointing this way and that, just
about everywhere. Where water had run along a crack in the ceiling,
strange types of fringe curtain-like growths emerged. Above him was
a great collection of deposits that looked like freshly cooked
bacon, while along the walls of the cavern rippled flowstone after
flowstone, in places where water had run down the vertical stands
of the cavern. In many areas about the irregular floor where it
seemed turbulent water had once coursed, lay strange accumulations
called Gours. They appeared like a series of ill-shaped ringlets
with sharp wavy edges, but were sometimes one within another, like
giant, random puzzle hastily conceived. Ultimately though, his eyes
came back to rest upon the center of the cavern where still a soft
emerald-blue light emanated.

He made his way through
the jumbled, unevenness of the floor toward the tarnished glow.
Every few steps, he stumbled or tripped where the surface of the
ground was either too slippery or where he had merely tripped over
some unseen obstacle. More often than not, he felt the snapping or
cracking of the timeless formations and grimaced at his clumsiness.
Although it happened time after time, each time he looked back at
the assumed damage, he would find the stony deposits as pristine
and unchanged just as nature had formed them.

At last, he made it to the
center of the cavern and discovered the source of the greenish
glow. It was a shallow pool of water about ten feet in diameter,
looking like glass it was so smooth. He could see straight down to
the very bottom of it, which to him appeared to be no more than
five or six feet deep.

It lies
within
, he thought as the knowledge flowed
into his mind one more.
This is where I
must bring Anthony. This is where the key will unlock the unknown
power of the Reborn Kring-Hël - The Final Iteration.

Here lies the Legacy of
Truth.

He blinked his eyes,
emerging from the depths of his mind. He felt himself, once more,
in another cave the one housing his companions. All of them were
still asleep.

From the pit of despair he
emerged. No longer did it grip him as tightly as it had a short
time ago. Joaquin felt the spreading warmth of determination begin
to permeate his limbs, course through his body. For the first time
since his rending from the world he had loved, he knew exactly what
to do, and precisely how to do it.

He hadn’t needed the
Teachers after all. His Gift had shown him the way.

A few minutes later, he
was asleep, dreaming. Joaquin Barrientos had finally found rest
within the Melded World.

~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼
}>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

An Unwelcomed
Visitor

Day Two, Friday, 6:41
am…

She stood at the
intersection of three small trails, atop a shallow rise. She
glanced about, at the destruction left behind by the brief battle
she learned had raged between the children, their unbeknownst
Familiars and the forces of the Storm – her allies. Ordered to
investigate their sudden disappearance, she had searched high and
low, quick and fast, using all of the ability to track flesh until
she’d come to this place. The entire time, she had wondered how
these children had been capable enough to escape the clutches of
the Vülfen Crown Prince, Lord Fenris. She shook her head at the
miraculous nature of that accomplishment, for it was a feat never
before witnessed - even dreamed, in the World of Storm. No
one
ever
escaped
Fenris and his highly trained Host,
ever
, and yet - she frowned with the
sour thought - somehow these pampered, prattling little brats had
managed to do just that!

Nonetheless, she wasn’t
here to contemplate their escape or their subsequent vanishing. No,
she was there to do what she had always done. She was to track. She
was to seek and to find. And, she was to bring back to the Hand the
quarry he had lost. For this, she would be given her meal of
twisted and tortured flesh to stave off the insanity threatening to
boil over inside her. It was the curse of her forged race. She
would fall victim to madness should she not eat the proper food in
a timely fashion. Already, she could feel the writhing in her gut
and the slight ache at her temples. They were the first telltale
symptoms she would need to feed soon or face incapacitation, or
worse.

She would have to move
fast.

With great effort, she
pushed the bothersome aspects of her physiology aside and tried,
with herculean mental focus, to concentrate on the task at
hand.

All about her were the
strewn remnants of what must’ve been a fierce battle indeed. There
were Swüreg bodies, parts of Swüreg bodies, even piles of tiny,
pulverized pieces of pieces of Swüreg bodies all about. There was
even what looked like a good portion of one such unfortunate
creature smashed high up in the boughs of a tree - foreign to her
in nature – more than four cable-lengths above her head. She could
make out the long sinewy entrails of the warrior dangling from the
tree’s spindly, thorn-like leaves. She could see the bits and
chunks of what looked like an arm, only it was twisted so horribly
delicious it made her mouth water. It was the only distinguishable
part of the Swüreg left.

Inside, her stomach ached,
and she began to smack her lips at the sight of so much tortured
flesh. She almost forgot her mission and had to literally force
herself to stay put and not jump headlong into a ravenous frenzy of
consumption she was wont to delve from time to time. Maybe if she
slowly picked her way through the carnage and partook of an
occasion sweetie of ghoulish meat, maybe she could hold back the
urges. Maybe, this time, she would be capable of fighting the
compulsion to shed her clothing and rub the mangled parts about her
tiny ones…

Maybe… but only just, she
would have to be careful, meticulous.

She smoothed out her
short, white dress. As was acceptable, it ended an inch above her
knee. Fastidious as always, she adjusted the bright blue ribbon
about her waist and its matching partner holding her severely
blonde hair in place. It was more out of habit than out of need.
Very seldom did she ever look disheveled; it was part of her
allure, her beguiling ability to portray, at all times, the tiny,
demure ideal of an innocent girl. This was how she reeled in her
victims. This is how she got them close, within reach of her
incredible strength, her retractable teeth and razor sharp claws -
though none of that was currently evidenced.

Unfortunately, it was also
what slaked the lust of her shriveled, decrepit master, Vallüm, for
it is well known all Prēosts desire the bodies of the young. The
torture and rape of the young is the very source from which they
derived their ungodly power. Otherwise, they would lose their
ability to mold and bend flesh, bone and sinew into whatever shape
or form they require. The services shared between her and her
master were a vicious cycle of depravity of both mind and body. She
was typically on the losing end of it…

Above her and off to the
left, stood Jätung. He was her mighty Isighünd, sniffing at the
ground, pawing every once and a while when something needed further
dissection. The great bulk of his body was never entirely concealed
behind any of the low-lying plant life, shrubbery and scrub brush.
He was merely too large to be completely hidden.