Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2016 05:37:11 -0500
From: Kody Boye <boyekody@gmail.com>
Subject: His Touch of Ice - Part 45

DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction, and contains scenes of graphic violence and
explicit male/male sex. If you are not of the legal age to read this, or
are uncomfortable with this sort of content, please turn back now.

HIS TOUCH OF ICE (The Ice Men, Book 1) is copyright © Kody Boye. All
Rights are reserved.
______________________________________________________________________________

My arrival with Guy to the home's first floor was met with the
acknowledging glances of both Elliot and Amadeo from their places in the
living room. Dressed suavely in robes made from the fur of long-dead
animals, Amadeo stood upon our entrance and watched Guy and me with eyes
that appeared far too knowing for his own good.

"Jason," Amadeo said. "Guy."

We both nodded.

"Are you ready?" Elliot asked, setting his attention on me.

"Yes sir," I replied. "I am."

I wasn't sure what to expect when Elliot stood. Maybe it was because I'd
seen so many science fiction or military movies in which secret compounds
were hidden beneath parts of the floor with dials or security codes, or
maybe it was because I was still adjusting to this whole `secret life'
thing. Either way, when Elliot crouched down and pulled the rug aside to
reveal nothing more than the simple, nondescript wooden floorboards, I
couldn't help but frown.

Was this it—Guy's whole secret entrance declaration?

Before I could open my mouth to speak, Mr. Winters trailed, then locked his
fingers along a floorboard before sliding a section aside.

Beneath was a handle—which, when grasped and then pulled, extended, a
metal cord spooling from its prison, until it was fully within standing
length.

Guy and I needed no instruction when Elliot pulled the trapdoor open.

Bared to the world, it revealed a flight of stairs which disappeared down a
dark, narrow corridor, lit only by emergency lights that glowed a dull red.

"Before we make our way down there," Elliot said, taking note of Amadeo for
only a moment as he checked to ensure that his partner was securing the
front side of the house, "there's a few things you need to know."

I remained silent—subservient to his demands.

"One," he began. "You do not address the Kelda unless she addresses you
first. Two: You do not interrupt or speak out of line. Three: Give respect
and authority, for she is the reason why you are here. And last, but most
importantly: you are to never divulge the location of her sanctuary, the
concepts of her home or the makeup of her person. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir," I said. "I'm clear."

"Come, then. I will escort you the furthest I can."

Elliot took helm of our small party as he descended the stairs and
disappeared from sight. Heart throbbing in my chest, sweat breaking out
under my arms and along the back of my neck, I forced myself to match
Elliot's steps one-by-one and instantly panicked the moment my foot pressed
down on a stair. Stone-cold, its impact reverberated through my feet, and a
sick wash of chill swept up from the base of the stairs as if testing
me—wrapping around me and prying at every visible aspect of my modern
body.

"It's ok," Guy whispered. "Keep going."

I only glanced back long enough to see the trapdoor closing behind Guy
before continuing forward.

I'd forgotten I was claustrophobic.

The temptation to panic was immense.

The short flight of stairs ended before I could become too overwhelmed.

We continued through a metal door which met Elliot's presence by wrapping
ice around his hand the moment he touched the metal bar. Twisting about the
handle, pressing against the flat of his palm, darkening his knuckles until
they turned a taut blue upon his skin—he waited for a moment before
opening the door and ushering us in as quickly as possible, the reason
instantly marked when the opposite side was encased in ice.

"Come," Elliot said.

At first, I didn't bother to question where the source of the
near-unbearable chill was coming from. Such was my belief that it was
because we were underground and in an ice-people's territory that when I
finally did begin to scan the room—first by tracing the frozen patches
that lined the bottoms of the walls, then by following them to the
ceiling—that I realized why it was.

Directly above, a miasma of ice crystals hung like a spread of honeycombs
across the largest bee colony in the world. Like Guy's eyes on that fateful
night, they glowed aurora, offering light that otherwise would not have
existed.

My awe over the sight was extinguished when Guy's hand latched around my
shoulder, stopping me before I could run directly into his father's back.

"Father?" Guy asked.

"We're here," Elliot said.

The door beyond was nondescript and ordinary, carved simply out of wood and
bearing upon its surface a lowercased r-shaped insignia that began at the
bottom of the door and hooked down diagonally before disappearing into the
doorframe. It, too, glowed like the ice crystal formations over our heads.

"Remember what I told you," Elliot said, stepping aside to allow us free
passage. "And son—do not speak for him. She will understand his position
and act accordingly."

"Yes Father," Guy said. Stepping forward, Guy set a hand along my upper
back, then trailed it across until it came off my shoulder. "Come on,
Jason. Let's go."

I waited for Elliot Winters to offer further instruction—for him to say
not to speak of ill wills or laugh or cry or do anything that most human
men did—but when he did nothing and offered only a slight nod, I
returned it in kind and stepped forward.

At the threshold to the Kelda's domain, Guy reached forward and pressed his
hand against the door.

"Kelda," he whispered. "Our Well. Our Spring."

His eyes burst into brilliant aurora light and tendrils of ice siphoned up
and beneath the surface of his arm before disappearing under his shirt.

Once they hit his neck, it didn't take long for a constellation to strike
their mark on his face and guide two significant arcs from his left eye and
lips.

Breathless, Guy bowed his head. He trembled as his breath whitened.

Despite myself, I managed to keep from asking if he was all right.

No sooner had he pressed his hand to the door, he pulled it away, the
vein-like fading from his body.

Something clicked, and then the door cracked open.

Guy pressed his hand against the wood and directed me inside.

I couldn't know what to expect.

Light, dark, hot, cold—I stepped into the room knowing that whatever I
could face could easily change my life.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the room.

At first, I wasn't aware it was the lighting. When I finally was, I allowed
my conscience to bathe in the sight before me.

Darkness pooled the room in a way I'd only imagined it doing in a place
where light held the concept of liquids and wreathed about like
waves. Drifting along the stone floor, it swallowed our feet in a ghastly
mist and rose only briefly to reach out for us—begging, senselessly,
like children hungry and without regret. I tried to detect any similar
abnormalities, but such formations were only apparent around clusters of
black ice that seethed with smoke. I couldn't gauge the relation. Was it
heat? It couldn't be, since ice was never hot, but if it was black ice,
then couldn't that mean—

A flicker of movement at the far corner of the room caught my eye.

"Kelda folkhagi," Guy said, his voice nearly-godlike in such an enclosed
space. "Great leader, our fountain, spring and mother—I am Guy Winters,
Svell Kaldr of Folkhagi Elliot. You requested audience with the one I
brought into our presence. I have brought him here."

A whisper of acknowledgement flickered along my skull.

I shivered.

Had that been her speaking?

All around, the crystals began to take on life.

Ascending from darkness, they birthed light from the core of their beings
and dispersed it like webs woven from the quickest of spiders.

It took little time for the room to be thrust into such luminescence.

It wasn't until she revealed herself that I realized the integrity of the
situation.

Her person was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. She came from
the shadows of the room like a wraith whose purpose was to submit oneself
to the darkness of another's situation. Tall, bone-white, with a face whose
angular features were defined by the sharpness of her cheekbones and the
cleft V-shape of her jawline—upon her face where her eyes should have
been existed two great onyx stones fromwhich I felt a presence despite a
pair of pupils, upon her head a crown of crystals molded in the natural
shapes defined by earth. Without a nose, she appeared alien, and almost
devoid of lips she appeared somewhat comical—a fish who surfaced only
once every great moon and never again.

Her body was not adorned with clothing. Frost guarded the finer parts of
her sex—slight breasts upon her chest and a cleft where her legs would
have been, had she not floated above ground. She appeared to be adorned in
a gown of falling snow.

Her gaze was immense—penetrating into me.

At first, I couldn't help but think that no Kaldr could compare to her.

But then I realized.

She wasn't Kaldr. She was Kelda.

Once more, the whisper echoed around my skull.

Jason, it said. DePella.

The surname she said as if she were pronouncing a word that defied the laws
of her existence—tentatively, with a slight ambition, as if she wanted
to discover it. Though my father claimed French heritage, I could never
find anyone else with the name DePella, but it wasn't like it was something
completely foreign. But to her? Maybe. I didn't know. I just nodded and
watched as she drifted forward.

She lifted a long, gangly arm and extended a three-fingered hand toward me,
gently stroking the curve of my cheek. Her thin mouth parted into a smile
and revealed a distinct measure of thick molars descending from dark blue
gums.

"Hello," I managed.

Hello child.

She withdrew her hand and floated a few steps back, her dress of falling
snow shifting about nonexistent legs and her head inclining toward me. The
three largest crystals upon her head pulsed and then began to swim like
Guy's eyes had in the past, then dimmed until they darkened again.

I swallowed a lump in my throat.

What did she wish of me, if not simply my presence?

"You... wanted to see me," I said, careful to express my words as a
statement rather than a question.

Yes. I did.

She tilted her head to the side, then flushed it about her bony shoulders,
as if it was weighed down by the ornate formation upon her head, before
hovering forward.

Beside me, Guy tensed.

The Kelda's distance was cleared in but an instant. Soon, she hovered no
more than an inch in front of me, her face so close that I could feel the
cold pouring off her porcelain skin.

There is a mission within one's life, she thought, her hand once more
rising, tracing my face before snaring her fingers through my hair. One
normally chosen by the individual, but often defined by others. Do you not
agree?

I nodded. The true nature of my person would've been quick to counter such
a sentiment. I was as great a pessimist as any—I believed that, yes,
life usually sucked, but it was the little things that got us through the
day; that the government was crooked, and that no matter how charming a
person or attractive a smile they had, every politician was out for their
own good; and that if Santa Claus really did exist, the banking industry
would be fucked. In that regard, I was like every other person. But unlike
most people, I'd come to believe in faith—purpose, if you would, in what
your life meant after one or a series of events changed who you were
forever.

The Kelda reared her head back to examine me in full.

Then you understand that your position has changed, she said. And that who
you thought you would one day be will no longer exist.

She drifted another pace back.

Svell Kaldr Guy Winters, she said, directing her attention on the man I'd
spent the last few weeks of my life with. Child of the Firstborn, Declared
Prince of the Second-Kin: for thirty years, you have lived beneath a
shadow, wishing well the intentions of one whose wishes you'd only seek to
prefer. But there are always times when the tides will shift. This you
know, for you have left and then returned on a construct of your own
salvation.

Guy nodded. His sheer admiration for the creature could be seen in the
loyalty within his eyes.

Reign will one day be yours. But your father—the First-Born, the Kelda
Svell—sees you as impudent: childish, irresponsible, and incapable of
duty. But that is not the case. You, as well as any who look upon you, know
that.

She shifted around me and then came face-to-face with Guy, whose energy
immediately bonded with one another like symbiotic organisms beneath the
seas. Their eyes glowed bright, the crystals upon her head pulsed—even
the marks beneath Guy's body, which I thought were no more than an
illusion, appeared, then darkened into tight blue knots, throbbing as if
filled with blood.

The time is almost upon us, she said, her hands lifting along, but not
touching Guy's skull. Will perhaps there be another when the Moon does
pass, or will Luna be lonely and rule alone? It is as we know, and fear,
and loathe, and love: that it is the age of the Wendigo, and if trifled,
will rise to stake its claim.

The Kelda withdrew and floated toward the back of the room.

The warm flesh will remain, she said. As is decreed by the Kelda Svell.

"Thank you," Guy said, and then bowed his head.

He stepped forward, took hold of my arm, then began to pull me toward the
exit.

I watched the ice queen fade into the darkness.

Her eyes glowing the entire way.

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If you enjoyed this installment of HIS TOUCH OF ICE, consider emailing the
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