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

by Richard M. Heredia

  “Somehow, all this is somehow connected.” The little girl was lost in the tangle of her own mental web.

  Silence surrounded them. Each was marooned on an island of their own making. They just did not know enough to make an educated guess plausible.

  “Have any of you tried to find another way of this freakin’ hell-hole?” wondered Miles to the structure as a whole, his eyes darting about their environs. The quiet had unsettled him. He needed to fill it with some sort of sound or activity.

  The blonde-haired Christina shook her head, vehement. “We didn’t look all that much with those things coming and going all the time.”

  “Well, someone should,” he proclaimed, standing erect, wiping his palms on the sides of his pants.

  “Don’t,” mewled Alicia. The first thing she had spoken in hours.

  “What if one of them comes back?” Christina’s expression was beseeching.

  “Yeah, it might prove unwise,” agreed Chum-Lee.

  “I don’t think we have a choice. We gotta try and find another way out. We gotta find a way to get away from those things before… you know.” He stopped, adjusted the baseball cap still perched atop his head, pulling it by the bill. It was a anxious gesture. “Well, we gotta do something.”

  Jeremy stood. “Why don’t you guys stay here? Miles and I will check things out, ok?”

  The four girls huddled together – uncertain.

  Miller and Chum-Lee remained unmoved.

  Only J.J.’s orbs unveiled a ray of hope.

  “If the chain rattles,” began the handsome teenage boy anew, “let us know and we’ll come running. Sound good?”

  “What if you’re too far away?” inquired Marissa, her powerful mind unrelenting.

  “I don’t think we’ll be too far.” Jeremy looked skeptical.

  “Why?” asked Christina.

  The boy’s chest filled with air that he let loose in a mighty gust. “I don’t think those things would’ve chosen a place with another exit. They seem… too organized.”

  “Then why risk it?” demanded his friend.

  He shrugged his muscular shoulders. “Miles is right, we gotta do something.”

  “Come on, Jer, let’s see what’s down these stairs,” called the large teen from the opposite end of the passage. He was at the rail. He was looking down into what Marissa knew was a circular chamber about thirty feet deep. It had matching stairwells that wound about either side.

  “Be right back,” he said and was gone.

  She wrinkled her nose at the thought of what was at the bottom of that strange circular room.

  At the center of it, about four feet in diameter was a bowl-like structure surrounded by a seven inch ledge. It was where she and the others had been relieving themselves the entire time they’d been there.

  That’s a whole lot of pee and poop! Gross!

  “Marissa what’s this all about?” asked Miller, having come close to her while she thought.

  “I don’t know for sure, but whatever it is, it isn’t good.”

  “Are they going to kill us?”

  Even at her tender age Marissa possessed the equanimity not to answer the question.

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  ~ 42 ~

  A New Scheme

  Monday, November 29th, 1:29 am…

  It was late. Every child in the bleak, concrete hallway was fast asleep.

  Although, she deemed not one of them would have been aware of her presence if they were awake, because she chose to mask it. After all, she was the Stiletto of Storm, the Unseen, the Unhuman Being. She could hide within a sliver of murk. She could mask her movement behind the sound of a single drop of water or the odd breath seeping from her next victim. She could go anywhere she desired. She could investigate within mere feet of her enemies and still go undetected.

  She was the Ancient One, among the first to roam the World of Man (after the Age of the Serpents had passed). This was when the surface of the planet had been remade by heat and wind and the eternal flames from the sky.

  She had watched as her kind multiplied, learned the ways of nature, became hunted and hunter alike. She had watched the offspring of her siblings. She watched their offspring and their offspring as they spread about the primordial lands of Earth. Often, she wondered if she would ever be anything like the rest of them.

  In the second third of her fourth century, she came to understanding that she would not. She came from a different vein of salt, a different mold. Hers was a fundament whose origins came from an altogether different place. She was an outcast from the day of her birth. She was nothing like those first few, those who were, in a technical sense, her family. They had been born with a sense of community, a degree of compassion and protectiveness. This had allowed them to thrive when the much larger of nature’s beasts should have killed them off through predation. They had played. They had loved. They had created a great many things along their journey toward civilization.

  It was not like she did not care for such things. If the capacity had been within, she would have cared – most definitely. She was sure she would have. That was not the issue. It had never been a conscious decision or a matter of choice. Such possibilities did not exist for her either. She lacked the ability to understand what most would term what it meant to be human. In that regard, she had always been set apart. She had always been on the periphery.

  Rasputna stood in one of the two corners nearest the iron-bound door. She gazed over the slumbering children a few feet from her soundless boots.

  A part of her was curious. A small part, no more than a thin slice, wondered how such things as proximity, a soothing touch and intimacy could form those impossible bonds between humans.

  She watched the children.

  She knew a few of them had known one another before her Loki had brought them here to her underground dungeon. But some of them were strangers to the others. And yet… there they were, lying close, holding hands, forming protective shields. How could this be? Why was this so important? How could such simple, meaningless gestures put one’s mind to rest?

  It had never worked for her. Even now, her mind was ablaze with the goings-on of the past few days, uncertain which course of action to pursue. Her calculations had consumed her to the nth-degree. What road would benefit her most? Which choice was most likely to earn her the top spot at the shoulder of the Lord of the Storm? It was the very spot she hoped would land her in his bed. She wanted more than anything to be what Rakel had been so many thousands of years ago – The Dronning of Storm, the Consort of Ahriman.

  She had been waiting for eons to be his lover; desperate to bear his children into what he promised would soon be their Golden Age. Though she had taken many to her bed (the latest being a young human), she had never allowed herself to conceive. Her eggs were for Metohkangmi alone.

  Looking over the children, she pondered how holding hands could garner solace. Events had always demanded so much of her. This is it! The time was now! There was no time for cuddling.

  At first, she had seethed over what Malik dok Kór had revealed to her while he had sung within her grasp. At first, she had wanted nothing more than to transmute back to Storm. She wanted to let her great Lord know of the deception unfolding right under his nose. She wanted to scream of the potential weakening of his forces should the Gran Herra turn against them. Rakel’s countless hordes could tip the balance. She knew this for more than truth.

  Now, Rasputna was not so eager to run to the Citadel and tattle upon the idiot factions held together by her master’s iron fist. As time progressed, she began to realize the situation as it was.

  Well, it was a tad more complicated than she had allowed herself to believe at the outset. Sure, she could serve up Ghregûr, the King of the Swûreg, Claudio dok Kór, the Rigă-Kur of the Vülfen, and Asmodemus, Da-Magna Furia like so many chips upon a platter. What they had done to Rakel Angantýr was treason. There was no delicate method to define their actions. Exiling her
and all the Skrímsli upon the verge of the greatest battle of all time was unconscionable. They had enfeebled their ranks by more than half. Rakel’s limitless minions had been ear-marked for the Vanguard into the World of Man. Their massive numbers were to have been the swamping waves necessary to dull the effects of the mighty technological weapons her human counterparts would bring to bear upon the field of battle. Their hordes were crucial, because they were expendable – and there were billions of them.

  And, this was thinking along the bright side of things!

  Should Rakel choose revenge over loyalty (of which she had never known upon Storm), she could choose make a ploy for power herself. She could go out on her own by going after the Greater Twelve. Then, there would be a three-sided battlefront forever mired in stalemate.

  Those of Storm abhorred stalemate.

  The Wars of Chaos had come within a Hair's Breadth of ripping their plane of existence asunder in ages past.

  As the hours passed though, Rasputna put those notions of the future aside and began to think more in the immediate. There was too much assumption when she thought that far ahead.

  By Maelstrom’s Maw, the Hand had still yet to recapture the Greater Twelve. How could she presume to know what would happen until they had those misguided brats in their grasp, under lock and key?

  She couldn’t.

  She continued to stare down at eight of the Lesser underfoot. Her mind raced at the possibilities tumbling about. She could continue to fulfill her part of the Grand Design. And if she did continue to abscond more and more of the Legacy Guardians, in time she would have enough to form a Wheel. The Kring-Hël’s, the Flĕsches, the Illuminae, the My-Ėind, the Blytzes, the Isig-Hövans, the Skëi-Vans, the Tükiria, the Apithükria, the Chymeraens and the Üllimëntae could be easily interchanged between Lesser and Greater. A representative of a given Spoke would be enough. Blood from either line would suffice. She only needed the Lükk of the Greater Twelve to unlock the spell that would bring her great master into the Melded World in the flesh. All she needed to do was continue with her given task and, with time, her actions would prove fruitful. She would hold all the cards.

  And, she would have the power of knowledge on her side. When she and her ever-faithful Knights had gathered enough of the Lesser, the vast partisan landscape of the Isig-Vültriäk would tip in her favor.

  By then, if only the Lükk remained unaccounted for, then things would turn real simple, real quick. Should Ghregûr or Claudio or Asmodemus so much as take a step out of line again, she would have enough cause to slice them into a thousand pieces. In the eyes of the Lord of the Storm, she would be in the right.

  She smiled at the thought. The first movement she had allowed herself to make in a quarter of an hour. Only the Chance is necessary, she reflected. All the others are expendable, replaceable. Only the Ibarra boy matters. She continued to stare down at the unknowing creatures at her feet. She was half-a-mind away from stomping upon one of their skulls just to see what it would look like. But she decided otherwise a few moments later.

  True, there were hundreds of Legacy Guardians, but why tempt fate? Too many of her colleagues had done just that to their detriment. No, she would not be like them. She was the Unhuman Being, the Unheard, the Mistress of Chaos. She would not make similar errors in judgment. Her plans were always folded in layer upon layer with caveats and substitute schemes built within. She had always been meticulous and this time around she would prove no less fastidious. If she wished to become the Dronning, then she could afford no less.

  Her black eyes searched the females of the group, her thoughts wicked. Soon, little girls, I will unleash Ricardo Charon upon you. His training is near complete. Soon I will let him loose among you and I will watch with relish as he twists the rest of you as I have twisted him all these months. He will use every trick I have taught him. He will befriend you, win your heart and part your legs…

  He will be my greatest tool yet.

  She gazed over their sleeping forms a few minutes longer. She tried to determine which of the females Ricardo would defile first. Her decision made, her lips locked with a speculative smile. Her eyes heated with inquisitiveness, she turned upon her heel and left without a sound. She barred the doors much as her Knights had done – only she made not a single sound.

  She strode through the sub-basement of the massive structure above her head. She moved, making no noise, easing her way through the host of discarded desks and chairs. It was the like detritus of every school she had ever known. Minutes later, having traversed a few more cluttered passageways and ascending two flights of stairs, she emerged through a small side door. She entered the auditorium proper. Producing a small key from somewhere in a hidden fold of her leotard, she unlocked the outer door. She walked from the towering building and onto the grounds of Benjamin Franklin High School.

  Her grin broadened at the irony of the situation. Was it not truly caustic that she should be holding the Lesser in an ancient World War II bomb shelter? The fact it was underneath the same school Andrew Ibarra had attended the week prior made it all the more funny.

  He was the same boy she needed to find no matter what. Soon, she would have to devote a tremendous amount of time and energy into finding that little brat.

  Soon, but not now.

  Deep down, she knew it had something to do with Chance.

  And it was chance she needed.

  With a flick of the fingers on her right hand, she opened a portal only she could manage. An instant later, she was gone.

  An instant after that, she stepped forth from its’ duplicate upon the Melded World.

  Let my Knights find the Lesser. I will find sweet, little Andrew, and I will bend him as I have all the others. He will be forever mine.

  And then, I will kill him before the Throne.

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  ~ 43 ~

  The Mayans Were Right After All

  Day Five, Monday, 2:37 am…

  Derek peered up and let the heat of the sun’s rays warm the skin on his face, enjoying the sensation even more. For some reason, he was certain he had not felt it in some time. Then, at the last moment, was not sure why. He glanced around the backyard of his house nestled high in the hills overlooking Eagle Rock on Castle Crest Drive. It was the usual sight. The lawn undulated over the multiples levels of the land owned by his parents, stretching a third of the way down the hill. Surrounding the area was a myriad of willows, oaks and a few pine trees. The entire outer edge of the yard, clinging to the line of wooden fencing, grew deep-green vines of ivy. It was natural barrier, demarking the extent of the property in a way that pleased the eye.

  He looked this way and that expecting to see some small patches of snow or ice spaced here and there about the yard, but did not. He tried to remember why he had expected to find any in the first place. Come on, dude, it does not snow in Los Angeles.

  He walked deeper into the yard, hearing the rustle of the thick grass under his boots. He smelled the loam of the earth below it, smiling at the clear, blue sky and the brightness of the day.

  This was his place, his special place, where he liked to play or think - or both - while sitting on the grass or rolling around upon it. Ever since he was a young boy, he had come out here with his toys. Or sometimes it was a book. Or he would spent time amusing himself in the thousand, thousand ways an imaginative child could if left alone, given time. It was where he went to escape the noise and the bustle of his large family, where he went to express himself to himself and no one else. There were no big brothers or sisters telling him what to do or commenting on what or how he should play or draw, or whatever.

  The yard was his.

  His sisters (all three of them older) only came to the backyard when there was a party. Or if they wanted to get away from their father’s all-seeing eyes, they'd come to back to find a secluded place to steal kisses from their boyfriends. His two brothers, who were older as well, were usually too tired from football practic
e or running track. They did not come out here all that much. More often than not, they opted to relax on the couch or in the hot tub on the patio. It was next the house at the top of the yard - far from his sanctuary below. No one ever visited the heart of the property like Derek. No one counted the flowers or knew where the thickest most comfortable grass grew - perfect for lying upon and gazing up at the sky. They had all outgrown it. This notion he had come to understand over the years.

  They all had, except him of course.

  He took a seat in the middle of the lawn, four terraces down from the house. He thought about his family and himself, the last one born of his siblings. He was the baby, the “oh my god, we’re pregnant again” kid, six years younger than the next child before him. He knew he might be a little spoiled because of that fact. He knew he was much loved by the entire family. Though, at times, he felt somewhat excluded from them, because everyone else was so much older. They knew things he did not. They had been a family long before he had arrived.

  That was only part of it though.

  When he thought about it, he was not completely sure it bothered him. It was his reality. He had grown used to it, because he had developed, at a young age, the ability to play alone and not feel lonely. If he had not, things might well have been more complicated and undesirable for him. As things played-out, he did not get upset even if he lacked a playmate or a confidant. It was how things were. He had known nothing else and was content to leave things like that. It made sense to him. He had his place of solitude when he needed it and he had a loving family to fill his heart and soul when he needed that too.

  He grinned at the thought of his good fortune, his body warm with the heat of a mild sun radiating down upon him. He glanced about, seeing some of his old toy cars and trucks laying off to the left from where he sat. Curious, he tried to recall when he had brought them out of his closet. When did I grab those baby toys and bring them out here? He had not played with many of them in years.