A World of InTemperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 2) (19 page)

P.O.V. Persephone

“Mush, doggies!”

“Allons-y, too!”

“I say,
tally ho
, lads! By Jove, the speed these lads maintain
is
astounding. I really must say that these Huskies are proving to be an inspired mode of transportation, eh hem?”

“Oui, Persephone! Standing astride the skids at the rear of our sleds, gripping handles at ergonomically placed perfection, we fly through the wilderness at thrilling speeds!”

“Personally, I just like having dogs around for the pleasant company. No offense, ladies.”

“Eh hem, yes, of course, Abigail, none taken, I’m sure.”

“Ho, ho, these are some enthusiastic boys, oui!”

“Prepare yourselves, ladies, there is a rough spot in the terrain ahead; a small drop-off. I think the dogs want to take it at speed.”

The lead sled momentarily leaves Terra’s embrace. Abigail's strong legs absorb the impact of her return, not unlike the springs of a carriage’s suspension.

Mademoiselle and I do not hesitate in following her example. How thrilling and exhilarating is this dog-driven excitement!

Ever onward, our able Abigail leads us higher into the foreboding mountains.

Without hesitation, our intrepid Indian Princess guides us through the snow covered forests, rugged mountain passes, and over wind blown peaks.

We pause to take stock of our position on the top of one such peak; the wind trying its best to cast us off it’s icy crest.

“Zee Mademoiselle, she depends on her logistically gifted companions I think.”

“I have a sense of disquiet. What do you think, Persephone?”

“I say, I concur, Abigail. What’s more, the dogs tell me that this is not a good place.”

“Oui, for the first time, these dogs have no enjoyment in their eyes. The fact that they want to leave, tells me that this is where we want to go, no?”

“I say, quite so, I concur wholeheartedly. A faint odour of evil’s foul presence pollutes this otherwise pristine environment, eh hem? It gives me chills.”

“Perhaps it is your scanty wardrobe that fails to warm you, Persephone?”

“That’s enough, Gauzot. I have a strong sensation that a valley lies hidden, there, beyond that mountain range. Come on, ladies and gentlemen, this, I think, is our destination.”

*~~~*

“This is as far as we can go with our sleds, ladies.”

“I say, the lads have carried us high into this mountain range, but it is up to us to proceed on foot at this juncture, eh hem?”

“Let us camouflage the sleds, no?”

“Good idea, DeeDee. I am going to unhitch the dogs, but command them to wait on our return.”

“Your DeeDee, she has the question, no? Is this an armed assault? Do we load ourselves with weapons d’assault, or, are we making a more subtle infiltration?”

“I vote for guns.”

“I say, I share your predilection for firearms, Abigail, however, we might do well with a softer invasion, as opposed to hard, eh hem?”

“I suppose it did work well for us at the factory.”

“Of course! This, I think, is the accepted course of action, oui!”

“Watch your step, ladies, this mountainside now has us inching along a narrow ledge over incomprehensible heights.”

“I say, our perilous path now expands itself onto a wide precipice.”

“Oui, a welcome shoulder on this arctic mountain.”

“Leaping Lords and Ladies, what an uncanny sight lies before us! A bridge spans a seemingly bottomless mountain gorge. Huge blocks of ice have been cut to form this translucent arch, which hangs with gravity-defying brilliance in the arctic air. How could such an amazing thing be constructed in such a wild and untamed spot?”

“I don’t know how it was built, but that is not why I came. We have a bridge, so let’s use it. Ladies?”

“Merci Beaucoup! Mademoiselle GoldenBear! Let us accept this invitation, oui!

HUH
-
WU
H
-FOO-
WHOOOOSH
!!!

An explosion of smoke and flame at the head of the bridge! A wave of heat passes over us and is immediately followed by clouds of smoke, filling the open precipice. The sulphuric stench brings tears to my eyes.

The never ceasing winds of this elevation quickly sweep the unclean vapors from our scenic platform.

The dispersing smoke reveals a crouching figure.

His head is bowed.

Both fists are firmly planted to the rock floor.

Smoke continues to ooze from his body.

He stands to an exceptional height.

Shoulders are pulled back, and hands are as claws, folded together and held before him.

A crest rises from top dead center of his forehead. Extending out, this comb continues in an arc to rise above his head and eventually taper its line to the nape of his neck.

The black eyebrows of this male are incredibly pointed.

They extend outward, upward, and to the rear, as do the shape of this handsome creature's eyes. Shining with terrible, purplish-ebony delight, they too, point out, back, and up.

The stylish, long points of the eyes and eyebrows attempt to follow the same line as do the ears.

The ears too, grow, out, back, and up.

They reach to a point.

They reach to a very sharp, point.

I have never seen such very pointed ears.

Or such exotically slanted violet eyes.

Thin lips twitch in disdain as we are examined in turn.

“What have we here? Three insignificant females? It is quite sad, quite sad indeed.”

“‘Sad,’ you say? Sad for whom, might I ask?”

“Why, for you, puny human. You and your frail compatriots shall die most ignominiously, for you find yourselves overmatched. I am the Imhotep of Intrigue, the Descartes of Discourse, the Inimical One Himself. I am Therion.”

“Quel crétin!”

“In my experience, any man who needs such long titles is overcompensating for something.”

“Quite right, Abigail. I concede, sir, that your rhetoric palls; indeed, it is inimical to my ears and an affront to good taste everywhere. My question to you is simple: you say we are ‘overmatched,’ but it appears that it is you who stand one to our three. Did your tutor not educate you in counting? Look to your fingers, man, and learn.”

“Why, you puffed up little tart!” screeches this Dark Elf, “I grant you your parity, that you may regret your insolent tongue! As with all the sheeple of this world, your time has expired. I raise Billy G. Gruff’s horn on high and signal my keepers.”

~
BRRRMP
-
BIRRRRRRMMMP!~

“Listen ladies, I hear the tumble of rock and the crash of falling tree.”

“I say, something is climbing up out of the gorge from either side of the icy bridge, eh hem?”

Two brutes, thick and wide, emerge, over the edge of the cliff. Though they stand at a good seven feet in height, their massive knuckles remain in contact with the earth.

“Something wicked awaits my wayward wenches! This is your unlucky day! The method of your demise would not have you cross his bridge. I present to you, Daemon Tauze and his brother, Knocks.”

Daemon Tauze sways back and forth, a disturbing grin smeared across his hideous features. Knocks stomps his feet in place, alternately pounding his fists from one palm into another. In contrast to his brother’s grin, Knocks wears an angry scowl permanently clamped on his brow-cinched face.

“I thought you said parity, man, not parody!”

With that one last rejoinder, we leap unto fray.

Abigail engages Knocks.

Mademoiselle Gauzot has taken on our Elven, Mohican Host.

And I get Mr. Pretty: this heavily troll tolled bridge’s favourite troll, Daemon Tauze.

His grotesque form sways towards me. He is not in a hurry. Or perhaps he is; it is difficult to discern. Yes. Quite. I say.

“We gonna dance!”

“I should say not! My word!”

With arms akimbo, my hopeful adversary attempts to take me in loving embrace.

With my Gung Foo training, I easily dodge the clumsy brute. I counter with a lightning assault of assorted and deadly martial arts maneuvers, each designed to kill, maim, and/or disable any would-be opponent.

“Monkey Hump!”

“Tail of Gecko!”

“Itch of Crab!”

This and more I pour onto my hapless victim.

“Blade of Grass!”

“Lash of Mother-in-Law’s Tongue!”

‘Saint Gingivitis Dance!”

“You flirty! Daemon Tauze like you!”

I say, my word. I am forced to admit that my offensive endeavors have fallen short of their desired effect. Oh, bother, I must maneuver to a place of safety to re-gather my stratagem in the furthering of this campaign. Pooh!

Daemon Tauze moves to rejoin our brief tête-à-tête, though in this instance, rather than a grin pushing its way through his leering features, the dreadful red haired troll is pursing his strangely earth and stonelike lips for an amorous kiss! T’is truly distasteful to conceive such a thing!

I am forced to perform an unsavory task.

Pursing my own lips, I entice my bridge guarding paramour.

“Smooch, smooch, Tauzey Wauzey. Smooch, smooch!”

“Oh, boy, kissy, wissy!”

My lover prances, in a way, to me.

“Drunken Sailor Spinning Ceiling Shin Cracker!”

I rush forward, crouching and spinning, while simultaneously I lash out with my heavy right boot, to catch a lumbering Daemon Tauze just as he puts his considerable weight on that unfortunate leg.

With his legs removed from under him, Smoochy Puss takes it in the kisser.

He rolls over to expose a somewhat flatter featured face.

I step back, and with a high leap into the air, I come down as hard as possible upon his solar plexus with a double-booted Fatte Man Stomp.

The considerate fellow sits up as he expends his air.

Standing on his jolly belly, I am afforded a splendid opportunity to strike his chin with my boot.

This I exploit with great enthusiasm!

“
Goal!
”

I can now turn my attentions to assisting my sisters.

Miss GoldenBear and the tremendous troll, Knocks, are slugging it out! Miss GoldenBear is able to deflect and block the monstrous troll’s crushing blows! Knocks towers over the girl, making even the incredible physique of Abigail GoldenBear appear small in comparison. She squats, in an effort to make the giant miss. He cooperates and she fights back in a flurry of devastating punches! The strength this girl strikes with is as great as any man’s! Knocks vainly tries to cover himself up, but the powerful girl picks her punches, choosing her targets, and striking sharply, using all her body’s strength in every blow. Enraged, the monster rallies, but again, the incredible woman is able to block and roll with her opponent’s punches. Ducking one wild swing, Abigail has the timing and position to return with a counter that starts halfway back to the sleds, and ends with the greatest roundhouse punch I have ever seen.

Knocks stumbles backwards to trip over his recumbent brother, Daemon Tauze, taking a long, long, tumble off the cliff.

“Come Abigail, we must assist DeeDee against her Elven adversary.”

Mademoiselle’s eyes are aflame, blood-flushed, with animal fury. Terrible to behold, she bares her inhuman fangs.

Therion also struggles to maintain human form. His eyes glow with a purple light bright enough to read under the covers.

“Persephone, they move faster than my eye can follow! Other than fractioned seconds where they each have the other in a devious grip, I cannot follow the movement.”

“I say, let us intervene on the next momentary lull in the action, eh hem?”

“Now, Persephone! I’ve got an arm of the elf!”

“Oh good, I have his other arm trapped. Now what do we do?”

“Augh, I am caught, Persephone!”

“I say, augh, I too, am ensnared. Oh, pooh, my troll has regained consciousness and now holds you and me up by the backof our necks, forcing us to relinquish our elven arm-bars.”

“Come on, Persephone, up and over!”

“Oh, yes, I see. By grasping the trollish wrist at our neck, we can pull there while simultaneously kicking our feet up to propel ourselves in a rearward somersault.”

“Good Persephone, now with our double top-wrist lock, we have the leverage to introduce authoritatively the back of his head to the ground.”

Mademoiselle reverses the hold that the Elf had enjoyed, but did not have locked in quite right.

“I say, good show, DeeDee has our wicked nemesis neutralized.”

“Augh!”

“You may scream, sir, but you are not getting out of this.”