The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves

by Richard Heredia

  He sighed, sounding more like an elongated lisp out of the former of his mouth, letting the frustration drain of his person. Aside from the emergence of the Fingers of the Light and the subsequent disappearance of the Chosen, everything else was going quite smoothly. When they opened the Way entirely, it would only be a matter of time – the children would be captured and the Fist ground into the snowy dirt. When the Way opened fully, the forces that the Lord of the Storm would bring to bear would be too numerous, too powerful to overcome. By then, the armies of the Six-Fold Empire would be on the march. The fate of the three - no, four - planes would be decided forever.

  And the Storm will rule them ALL!

  From the tent issued a laugh as horrid and as evil as the creature exuding it.

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  ~ 55 ~

  The Agony of the Enigma

  Day Two, Friday, 3:27 am…

  He knew, somewhere deep inside his mind, he should’ve been frozen solid by now – dead. His body should’ve been stiff and unyielding, trapped in time, soulless. His humanity scooped out like the guts of a Christmas hog.

  Like the ones, we used to love to eat back in Mexico when I was a little cabron.

  For the second straight night, for some unknown reason, he wasn’t. Though he was wallowing in the four inches of snow, covering every square inch of space in this accursed place, he remained untouched. He could feel he was damp. Beneath his tattered clothes, the icy precipitation melted against the warmth of his skin nearly covering him from head to toe in a frigid wetness. This should’ve been his undoing.

  Yet, it didn’t seem to affect him. He wasn’t even shivering. Actually, he felt comfortable, as if he were taking a casual stroll through Highland Park on a balmy spring day, on one of those perfect days when temperature was seventy-five degrees. He shouldn’t feel so snug when the air around him was in the low teens. And, he should’ve been hungry too - famished, starved – but, just like his inability to feel the effects of the weather, he wasn’t. Desire for food wasn’t on the top of his list, despite the fact he hadn’t eaten a single morsel or drank more than a mouthful of snow in more than thirty hours. There was no twisting urgency in his gut, no persistent desire of chew and swallow to assuage the emptiness his stomach. There was no headache, no dizziness, and no lightheadedness – nothing. He didn’t seem to need anything. He just was. He existed in the mind numbing bleakness of the land around him.

  As time passed, even that was not entirely true. There was more. He was driven… nearly mad with the need to find his son, to make sure he was unscathed, to hold him in his arms and feel his heartbeat counterpoint to his own. He was consumed by the memory of what had come for his son, of what had crashed into their home and taken him. It was a vivid recollection - a demonic child and a hulking beast that looked worse than anything ever dreamed by the greatest fantasy writers of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. How could he forget the terror on his son’s face - stark, raw? How could he forget the terrible Gongs! that seemed to dissolve the very existence of his oldest boy, right before his eyes? He could he think to calm or ignore the nagging urge to find his son. He had to make sure he was unmolested, safe, and secure. Never before had he felt such overwhelming compulsion. He wouldn’t stop until he found him!

  In the first few hours following his arrival, he thought these maddening thoughts might be the reason behind his lack of hunger. He figured this had to be the reason behind his imperviousness to the overpowering cold of this place. But, over time, he began to feel something else, something different about himself. He could feel small things, tiny things moving, mutating and altering from within. They came from his bones, his muscles, and his brain - everything! He knew his mental state wasn’t the sole reason, especially now, after so much time had passed from the moment he’d passed out. He had heard a huge explosion of some sort just before the darkness took him. He had awakened to find himself on the steps of his front porch, lying face down. His house was gone. So was every other house on Milbur Avenue. They were all gone. Only the three steps and a small portion of the landing, comprising his front porch remained. The small bit of his home his body had rested upon was all that was left, all that had come with him. He’d been transported to this place of desolation and cold.

  When he did, in fact, feel small changes here and there throughout his physical form, he thought upon them fleetingly. Whatever was happening, it was of very little import when compared to the whereabouts and condition of his son. That was paramount in his mind. The notion was the center of his drive, his determination to finding out just what the fuck was going on. He had to solve this problem. He just had too.

  No, his physiological instability wasn’t the culprit. Something much different was the reason behind it. He was certain, though its’ real nature still eluded him. He knew for sure, nonetheless. He could tell there were forces at work, gigantic, titanic forces responsible for this. That is what drive him, what made him untouchable.

  That pinché pendeja better not hurt my boy!

  It was dark now. The moon’s strange purplish light was hidden behind a mostly cloudy sky. He had no problem making out a broad swath of tracks crossing his path at a slight angle from right to left. He stopped to inspect them. It was easy to divine the five sets of very human looking treads in the snow, ranging from what looked to be adult down to one set that had to be those of a child. A heavy child, he clarified when he saw the child-sized tracks seemed as deep as some of the ones made by persons with a much bigger shoe size. Then, he saw, running directly through these footprints, were four… no… five sets of runnels. It was as though a sled, a large sled, had been dragged through the snow, back into the copse of trees he’d just exited, just north of his current position.

  Then he saw the prints of an incredibly large beast, a sort that wasn’t familiar. His eyes darted about, when he realized he was seeing more than just one set. They were disturbingly large footprints, some of which were nearly a foot and a half in diameter!

  That’s bigger than a bear, he thought to himself as he bent down and sniffed at the impressions in the snow, not entirely sure why he did so. There was no second-guessing. The moment the scent hit his nostrils, it registered in his brain – canine. But, what kind of pinché dog is larger than a bear? Son of a bitch! His brow wrinkled with concern as he tried to picture what a dog of that magnitude would look like. In his mind’s eye, it would have to be a beast of some magnificence, possibly more impressive than the largest Saint Bernard or Great Dane. It would have to be something on the scale of a cow in weight, but made to look – and smell - like a dog. It would be wondrous to look at, he surmised.

  Another thought crossed his mind.

  What was a beast of such immensity doing assisting a group of obviously lost and desperate young humans? Was it a creature of burden, a dumb, obtuse brute of bulk and brawn? He looked down, his hand cupping his chin in thought. From whatever angle he tried to broach the subject, the answer to his question didn’t seem to fit. Something was missing he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  There was much more afoot within this place than he’d first concluded.

  He glanced around and recognized the area within which he was standing. It looked very much like the lay of the land around the intersection of Figueroa Street and La Loma Road. Although, the wide streets and boulevard were gone, replace by a wagon trail and a pathway respectively, and, of course, all of the manmade structures were completely entirely absent as well. What could possibly be around here that these people would want? He took a few tentative steps around, in deep thought. With a mental coin-toss, he decided to follow the tracks to where they began versus from where they terminated, his curiosity getting the better of him. He had gone only twenty yards when the answer to his question was revealed. Standing there, surrounded by a hundred-year-old forest, was the local Vons Supermarket. Its’ lights were out, its’ parking lot devoid of cars, the doors on right hand side of the edifice were p
ropped open, gaping. It was from there the tracks originated.

  Madre de Dios!

  He knew why this resourceful group of people had been out in the cold searching. They’d gone for supplies, most notably food. It was likely, they took it back to wherever they were holed up, hunkered down. For the first time since setting foot in this god-forsaken place, he had a thought that gladdened him. Some of the pain eased. With all of his heart, he hoped these hearty folk had found his son. He prayed with every ounce of his soul, they were taking good care of him.

  He quickly turned on his heel and began to follow the tracks in the opposite direction, his mind made up. He would find where these people were staying. He would help them. It was, after all, the human thing to do.

  Ay, por favor, Andrew estar bien!

  ~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

  ~ 56 ~

  The Gift of Knowledge

  Day Two, Friday, 3:39 am…

  It was light, white light. It surrounded him, warmed him and bathed him with care his mother might’ve given a decade and a half ago. He could feel it in the very depths of his heart, mind and soul. No longer was he swimming in the darkness, with pain pounding inside his head, his dreams plagued by terrible visions of death and decay. No longer did he breathe in sickness and corruption until he was near vomiting. All of that was gone. It had been replaced by comfort and heat.

  Little by little, bit by infinitesimal bit, he came to realize he was moving. His body was cradled in what felt like an impossibly large hand, skimming him across a vast whiteness, stretching out about him in all directions. It wasn’t blinding, though. There was no impairment of his vision.

  Ever so slowly, he turned his head to peer in the direction he was moving. He saw nothing at first, but as the minutes passed, he began to make out a tiny dot of color in the light, a pinprick of muted earth tones incredibly far away. He rested his abused head upon the puffy digit of a giant finger as he was conveyed toward this speck of color. He watched silently. His mind was devoid of thought. He let himself relax for the first time in what seemed like ages.

  It was then he felt the acceleration, as if awareness of his movement was enough to speed him ever faster toward his unknown destination. Faster and faster, he glided until he felt like Superman flying through the sky. Only, he was cupped protectively and upside down relative to the preferred manner of flight employed by the Man of Steel.

  The speck became a splotch, and then quickly turned into a smudge. The smudge sharpened and focused, finally coming into clarity – it was almost like a picture, only this one moved. A few seconds later, it shifted, reformed and abruptly there were three figures standing before a roaring fire, encased in the largest fireplace he had ever seen in his life.

  A breath after, he was there, standing before three tall, gray-robed figures in a chamber that an instant before hadn’t existed. It was a stone-walled affair with a ceiling vaulted high above his head; the only sound was the popping and hissing of the fire. He chanced a quick look about, seeing large tapestries hung upon each wall, depicting flowing garden scenery in various forms of season and time of day. They practically covered every square inch of the bulwarks about them. He let his eyes fall back to the three humanoid figures in front of him.

  Before he could stop, he let out a gasp of shock and made to defend himself.

  But stopped instead, forestalled by one of them – a quick movement of the hand, placating, calming. His palm outward from his body, long, slender fingers splayed slightly. It was the universal gesture asking one to “stop”.

  “Do not be alarmed by our appearance, Joaquin Barrientos. We know well our resemblance our hateful brethren the Swüreg. I assure you, we are a much different race… in almost every possible fashion imaginable,” said the figure standing in the middle.

  Joaquin merely nodded nervously. Though, his skin crawled at the fact they knew his name. He would remain docile for now, but he wasn’t entirely certain he should trust these creatures any more than the Swüreg they’d mentioned. They did indeed look like them, complete with the strange elongated earlobes, stretching back behind their heads almost touching at the tips.

  Then, he noticed something that did make made them different, breathing a pinch easier. It was the color of their skin. It wasn’t the sickly gray of the Swüreg. Rather, it was the color of greatly compacted ice with a surrealistic depth to it. It was as though he could peer deep into their flesh. It began white, toward the surface and slowly evolved into a brighter, more blue-ish tone. He imagined if he’d been walking atop a glacier and peering into a frozen crevasse, he would see something similar to what he was seeing now. Their hair was grey-white and their eyes shone brilliant sapphirine, a blue variety of spinel he was sure he hadn’t seen before on any other living creature. All three wore identical robes of some rich, soft looking fabric that Joaquin couldn’t name. They wore them belted at the waist with navy-colored cordage. Upon their feet were matching sets of boots, black, leather, impeccably shined. They all wore their hair in similar fashion as well, combed back over their heads. For his vantage, Joaquin could see they had their hair twisted into many small braids, beginning an inch or so lower from where their hair passed underneath their strange, looping earlobes.

  “We are called the Nöhreg, the Teachers and the Students of the Light, Wardens of the Mortal Plane and Keepers of the Truth,” continued the one in the middle.

  Joaquin merely nodded politely. None of what it said made any sense to him.

  “We have summoned you here by the only means left onto us, since the Promise has been circumvented and the three final beats of Hope have sounded, and alas, the Heart, the Organ, has been made inconsequential.” His voice faded into a sad silence as if he could not speak through the emotion he felt.

  The one on Joaquin’s right took up where there other had left off. “I am called Röjan Selbû,” he spoke with a smile, placing a hand to his chest and leaning forward slightly in a half-bow of sorts.

  “The honor is mine,” replied Joaquin in the most formal manner he knew. For some reason, he placed his hand over his heart as if he were pledging allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, though he didn’t know why. It just felt like the right thing to do at the time.

  “The Nöhreg you see standing next to me is my brother, Slind Selbû, and beyond him is my second brother, Knüd Selbû. Together, we are the High Teachers and Foremost Students of the Light.”

  Joaquin nodded to the others as Röjan introduced them to him. He felt a little better at the soft and gentle manner with which they’d expressed themselves. They weren’t at all like the Swüreg he had encountered thus far.

  “Now we know you have many, many questions, and we would normally be more than happy to answer anything you might ask of us,” began Knüd his voice identical to others who had spoken before him.

  Joaquin wondered, absently, if they were triplets, since they looked alike and moved with similar mannerisms.

  “But, I am afraid that time is working against us. We have so much we must explain to you. So, if you would be so kind to ask your questions while we explain, I think we might be able to convey a modicum of understanding to you and your newfound friends with greater efficiency.

  “Is that to your liking?”

  Joaquin was lost for words for a few moments. Then, “That’s ok with me. It would be nice to at least know a little of what is going on, especially since everything’s been so weird and unexpected.”

  “Good,” said Slind, having regained his composure. “Let us begin with a question for you, shall we… Do you know why you have been brought to the Melded World?” He leaned slightly toward Joaquin in anticipation of his reply.

  “Well, one of my companions, a little girl, said that we were chosen or taken, because we all possessed some sort of power or magic inside of us. She and some of the others believed in some way we are a threat to those that want to capture us. There was something else about a Yule Throne and the Lord of the
Storm casting a final doom, but I think that was some crazy thought of my own,” answered Joaquin in a rush.

  Slind stood erect once again and shared a quick glance with each one of his brothers. “Well, it seems the Seeds of Knowledge cast into your mind have done an exceedingly good job, eh?” His brothers nodded, smiling, appeared relieved as well, which confused Joaquin. “But it is termed the Jüle Throne, not the Yule Throne, and it is not really a throne per se, but more of a sacrificial mount,” corrected Slind. Then he peered at either brother with a smile of his own.

  Seeing Joaquin’s brow furl, Knüd began with a motioning of his hand. “You are quite correct, nonetheless, on both accounts, my young Lord.”

  The sound of a title directed at him almost made him jump out of his own skin.

  But, Knüd did not seem to notice and continued without pause. “You are one of the Twelve Guardians, or Gifts, given onto your world in order to protect it in times of dire need. You possess of one of the eleven powers, or skills, or tools. It dwells within you, formed in the very crux of your soul, making you unique among the men and the women of your universe. You hold within you one of these vast Gifts, powers, hugely different from one another, but are in concert with one another. You are one of the eleven spokes about a twelfth that is the center. When used together, in unison, the eleven spokes about the twelfth hub can represent a tremendous gathering of force.” He breathed deeply. “Can you tell me what Gift you are?”