Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves

by Richard M. Heredia

  She looked around, turning herself, three hundred and sixty degrees, still hovering above the ground as she did so. She was on the great plains of Aramont as she had been moments before. And, she was most likely levitating over the exact same spot where her council chamber had been on the ground floor of her palatial Fortress of Dǿd.

  Now, though, there was no such palace. There were no fortifications stretching for miles around in all directions. There was nothing. Not even a piece of furniture.

  They have left me with nothing! Again, they have stripped me of all that was mine!

  She would have continued along this same train of thought. She would have shrieked above the sound of the wind and blasted the land with her magic. But something made her stop.

  She saw him lying in the white snow at her feet still clad in the scale armor he often wore to formal events. As he had when he had sat to her immediate left as she spoke within the confines of her Privy Chamber, he was wearing his boots and cloak as well. Even his long sword was still fastened at his waist, strapped to the heavy belt of leather he always wore. She could not make out his face, but she knew it was him just the same. His hair she would recognize anywhere and under any conditions. It was long and streaked with alternating ribbons of the brightest blue followed by the deepest black. He was Rikhardt Mortenson, the Mörgum Sterdum and the High King of the Lycanthropes. Her most trusted advisor…

  …And, her exuberant lover.

  So, I am not alone this time around, eh?

  He stirred with a jolt as did someone else beside him, who was so covered in snow she could not discern, at first, who it might be. But she could guess with a degree of certainty because of his distinct horse-like body. It would be none other than the Gran Riddar, the Herdmaster. He had been standing next to Rikhardt before everything had changed.

  They have sent many companions with me this time, she thought to herself. She gazed further out from where she floated, seeing lump after lump of supine forms under the snow. She altered her vision so she could see even farther through the storm. She saw what she had expected to see – more lumps, more figures stirring and coming awake. She changed her vision yet again, and still saw more. Again. And the outcome was the same until she maximized her sight. She pushed it to its’ limits, a task that always left her with a blinding headache. She did not care. She knew the great plains of Aramont were about six hundred leagues square. In her current state, she could see about half of it. And still, she spied bodies lying upon the ground. She saw them over small hillocks and within shallow valleys. She saw them about long swaths of flat earth and in places where jumbles of rocks sometimes made things tight and cramped. She knew there were more beyond her ability to see. But, she had seen enough. Instead, she made her vision return to normal, seething with rage.

  They were her people, every last one! They were all exiled… outcasts…

  For a second time!

  “My Lady what is happening?” asked Rikhardt from below her dangling slippers, looking into her eyes of melted gold. His orbs danced over the delicate features of her face.

  She could see the love and admiration behind the confusion dominating everything about him.

  “You wish to know what is happening, my Lord?” She answered with a question of her own.

  “Yes, Grän Herra,” he replied just above the wind.

  “War,” she responded, simple.

  “War?” he asked startled, his blue-black hair wiping in the wind revealing most of his human-looking face.

  “Yes, Mörgum Sterdum, war is coming to the Six-Fold Empire.” She smiled at him like an innocent schoolgirl caught doing something bad.

  “How do you know there will be war within the Empire, my Dark Queen?”

  “Because, my dear, I am about to wage it.”

  She let herself come to the ground as Rikhardt gathered his feet to stand beside her.

  The others around him were beginning to sit up, glancing about in bewilderment.

  “Call the High Radid to session once again, my sweet Rikhardt. We have work to do.”

  He drew his long blade so fast; it was hard for her to follow the motion. He yelled as loud as he could. “Come to order! The High Radid must come together again! Rise! Stand! The Grän Herra has spoken! Rise! Stand with your Demon Queen!”

  They will all pay this time… that I vow.

  *****

  In the World of Man, Mount Saint Helen's was the most active volcano in North America.

  In the Melded War it was the Throne of Jüle. And about its’ ever growing column of rock and ash, within the entire expanse of its’ near-collapsed caldera, lay the foundations of a mighty fortress. Huge stones, some thirty feet in length and a third of that in height and width, were place by tens of thousands.

  From nearby, they all chanted. They sang to the stone, reshaping them. They made them stronger, placing them side by side with seams that were mere hundredths of an inch apart.

  They were the Wërggig of the Warren, the great masons of Storm, who could walk and work unencumbered by the storm. They appeared as stone themselves with broad shoulders and arms and legs like rocky tree trunks. Most of them moved about in only a thin loincloth, covering their blocky genitalia as they went about their work. They were as featureless as wind-blown rock. They had slits for mouths, gashes for eye sockets and had nothing that resembling a nose on the front of their faces. Their ears were mere holes in their heads, lacking lobes of any sort. They were hairless. They had skin resembling the color of a boulder draped in lichen. It was gray and white in some places, splotched with various shades of green or brown or yellow in others. They were tireless, requiring little sleep or food or drink. And even when they did partake of sustenance, it was only on a most minimal level. They would work until they dropped. Only then, would they eat or rest, but only for a few minutes. Not long after, they would resume their work - whatever it may be - until there was no more to do.

  In this case, they built the Citadel of Jüle. It would be the greatest structure ever constructed by the minions of Storm. It would rival all the palaces and castles of the three other universes. It would be the site where a Ring of Twelve would give their lifeblood to rend a hole into the World of Man. Soon after, the Lord of the Storm would wreak havoc and rule with unquestioned supremacy... forever.

  *****

  From deep within the ground spewed huge gouts of steam and flame, from the hidden mouth of the cave itself. Every so often, the ground would shake. Sometimes this was violent. Sometimes it was steady and for long periods of time as if vibrating with some terrible vitality growing in strength. It was a power that grew with each passing minute, an exponential leap each time.

  If one had been standing nearby, their hackles might have stood on end. Gooseflesh might have arisen at the electricity that was sometimes in the air during one of those long pulsating events. The wind lashed the barren land above the cave, uprooting cacti and throwing tumbleweeds about with merciless energy. They were deadly missiles capable of braining any living thing that stalked the land. There was no safe passage here.

  Above all else was the sound of hammering.

  These were huge poundings of mallets wielded by giants. It was constant and unstopping, thud upon thud upon thud. It was many rhythms as if a gaggle of blacksmiths were working below ground, within the caves had once existed upon the World of Man.

  But unlike Mount Saint Helen's, these were not copies. Rather, the entire serpentine structure had been rent from that world and brought to the Melded one like a tumor cut from one’s body. Done with meticulous care, not a single necessary stone remained behind. For these caves had something that did not exist anywhere else in all existence, but in the World of Man alone. They held the largest and purest crystals ever made - a geological miracle unlike any other.

  In the World of Man, there were bank vaults with less security than this place. Access to it was always restricted with the same level of scrutiny as seen at a nuclear power plant.
/>   This was Lechuguilla and deep within it was the Chandelier Ballroom.

  Someone, or something, was tearing it apart.

  *****

  As she walked from the gray nothingness of the portal, she swallowed to push down the bile that has risen in her throat. She stepped onto the Melded World for the first time. She told herself to “be brave”. She forced herself to think of anything other than the fact she was further away from her home, and her family, than she had ever been in her entire life.

  The life of a Vülfen Princess of the Royal House was a sheltered one. At times, she could be lonely with only members of her family to talk with, to interact with and to pass the time.

  Time, she had spent in preparation for this day.

  All the teachings pounded into her memory since the day of her birth were to now bear fruit. By tomorrow, she would emerge from her father’s bedchamber a recognized Vülfen suk. And if all went as planned, she would be pregnant with the first of many litters.

  Of that, she was scared as well.

  Though she knew in detail what would happen and had trained with fervor to perform to the standards her father would need of her. She was still a little apprehensive at the thought of what was at stake. She did not want to disappoint her family by not fulfilling her duty as eldest daughter of her father’s Familie. This was a Vülfen term used to describe an extended family unit. It comprised the head of the household, his first mates, his first brothers, his first sisters and his immediate elders as well as their many offspring. All functioned as parents, caregivers and providers for the Familie. But, it was always the eldest daughter of the head of the house who would give birth to the next patriarch.

  That was why she was here in the Melded World. That was why she was so far from everything she had even known. This duty demanded she leave even while war was afoot across several different universes at once.

  The Code demanded it. There was no denying the Code.

  She smoothed her hands over her long robes of red. It was the only garment she could wear, until her father broke her maidenhead and made her a suk, worthy of adulthood.

  Unsure why, she wiggled her long toes in the soft, skinned leather slippers she wore over her feet.

  Finally, she took notice of the horrendous cold and the stinging wind as it lashed large globs of snow about her face. She thanked the Great Maelstrom himself that her robes were woven of thick wool of the finest sort. She was grateful their many layers succeeded in keeping most of the freezing temperature at bay.

  She calmed her stomach beneath her hands and struggled to peer about. Immediately, she could see she was in some sort of temporary courtyard outside of her father’s ancillary keep. This was the one he had seldom used and only visited when he traveled near it. That was why, even in her mind, it was a good choice to have it transmuted from back home rather than the other various monstrosities he owned.

  It was small, compact, but still large enough to house them in comfortable fashion. It heartened her to know it would be her current home for the foreseeable future. Her babies would be born within it, if all went as planned.

  I pray this war will be brief, she thought to herself, but stopped. She was nervous the moment she realized her father was standing before her, three cable-lengths away. He wore long flowing robes of red as well, identical to hers. She knew from her teachings, he too would be nude underneath per the Code of the Ambalaj. And, he would be wearing slippers much like hers as well.

  He looks tired, she surmised as he raised an arm and reached out toward her.

  She glanced about at the Jötunae and other Swüreg guards assembled for her protection. There were a few Nixae and their vile Prēost masters behind the ranks of the gray-skinned Swüreg.

  Missing from the small gathering though was her aged ancestor – Malik-Käi. Her grandfather had told her he had traveled here a few days prior.

  She walked across the snow-covered court alone. None had come with her, not even the messenger her grandfather had planned to send days prior. This was to the Code as well, it was proper she present herself to her father alone, head held high and ready to fulfill her destiny.

  She took hold of her father’s large hand. His large body stood head and shoulders above her own. His broad shoulders and thick muscles bulging under the voluminous robes he wore. He seemed to radiate masculinity at her, her nostrils flaring at the scent of him.

  He held her hand and breathed in deep as well. He took in the smell she emitted. They were the pheromones necessary to fire his blood and make his own body suitable for a successful mating. He would have to breathe in her sexual vapors for a few hours in order for their coupling to prove fruitful.

  Thus, she would stay as near to him as possible until he could bare the smell of her no longer. She would then let him remove her garment and she would remove his and they would begin.

  He gave her hand a slight squeeze, bringing her from her reverie.

  She looked up at him with different eyes than she had before. Back home she had seen him as just her father, her protector, the leader of his Familie. Now, she saw him a manner askew from the one she had before. He would be her mate. She would be his Birth-wife. And though he may have many, many mates, it would be she that would ensure the bloodline of House Kór remained strong and pure. Only offspring from the two of them would undergo consideration for rule. Even then, the first candidate would have to compete every day of his life with every other male Vülfen she pushed from her womb. Being firstborn had little to do with who would one day rule supreme over the Ambalaj. That individual would have to gain the approval of every member of the Vülfen Kur Consiliu to sit upon the throne.

  All the others would be servants, well cared for and pampered, but servants just as well.

  She smiled at him, crooked, her nerves still overpowering all her attempts to make it otherwise.

  He seemed to read her mind. “Do not worry about being apprehensive, my sweet Frumasia. I am more nervous than I can ever remember, so you are not alone.”

  His voice was deep and rich like she recalled. She heard the familiar lisp all Vülfen possessed when their tongues rolled over their large teeth. Hearing it this time was somehow comforting for her.

  Her smile became more regular, losing its’ deformation as her mood eased. She squeezed her father’s hand as he had hers. “Thank you, Father.”

  He clasped his other hand over hers, peering into her eyes. “From the moment your body began to enter estrus, I was your father no longer. I am your Birth-husband. You are my Birth-wife, forever – nothing can change that. Understand?” His voice was gentle, but firm.

  She knew from then on, he no longer wanted her to think of her as the one who helped conceive her, but as her mate.

  “Yes, my husband,” she replied like a dutiful wife.

  “Should we go in? If not, I am sure we will both catch a death of cold out here.” He stepped to the side, motioning toward the great double doors of the keep.

  “Please, I am about to start shivering any second now. I would not want to mar the occasion by making a fool of myself,” she said, a bit of her normal personality coming to life.

  “Come,” he beckoned and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

  Together they walked into the keep.

  “Where is our uncle?” she asked trying to make conversation.

  There was a brief silence before her husband answered her, but the pause was long enough for her to notice.

  “He is... indisposed this afternoon,” was all he said.

  “Oh?”

  That surprised her, especially since their mating was House Kór family business. The Code required Malik attend the First Meeting with her as the daughter/bride and Fenris as the father/husband. Someone from the Familie had to be present as a witness.

  What could have happened to him that would have kept him from the First Meeting?

  “We have a visitor, my wife…,” he began.

  Was he really reading my
mind?

  Then, he went on to tell her who.

  She felt her heart sink in her chest.

  When the Seeker showed her face, it was usually not a pleasant experience.

  Frumasia began to wonder if her aged elder was still alive.

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  Part Four:

  Awakenings

  What can we take on trust in this uncertain life?

  Happiness, greatness, pride - nothing is secure, nothing keeps.

  -Euripides, Hecuba

  Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;

  Naught may endure but Mutability.

  -Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Mutability"

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  ~ 39 ~

  Undelivered

  Sunday, November 28th, 10:31 pm…

  It had been another long day at work.

  He should have been at home with his feet up on the armrest of his parent’s couch. He should have been enjoying his fourth and final day of the extended Thanksgiving weekend. Instead, he was out late delivering pizza.

  He did not hate his job per se. He liked it in fact. Seeing the faces of his customers light up when they opened their doors to him, always made him feel good inside. When they got that first wondrous whiff of a steaming hot pie, he could not help but smile. His friends would say, “Well that’s how Miles is. He might be sloppy. He might always dress in the same jeans, white ‘T’ and a flannel shirt. He might wear that hideous zippered-up-the-front, jean jacket he wore on cold days. But, he was kind, borderline generous even. More than a touch sensitive for a guy who stood six feet tall and weighed two hundred pounds.