Blue Words

by M. C. Edwards

  “Karniu!” he cried as he slashed its blade down his arm.

  The blood glowed. Gudrik twitched and his body mass exploded, instantly shredding yet another set of clothes. Bones cracked, skin tore and muscles stretched as he shifted agonisingly into a large, black beast. The groans of pain changed into a feral growl as his vocal pipes grew. When the process had run its course, Gudrik dwarfed George and had an appearance which sat somewhere between that of a man and a bear. The beast snapped and salivated, leaving George to wonder whether or not Gudrik was even in charge of the gruesome monster. If she truly had any idea how tenuously Gudrik clung to his humanity, George would have fled in terror. The snarling monstrosity leant forward slamming its hands on the ground with a heavy thud. The wooden floor crunched as it dug its claws in twitching and coiling its thick muscles. Then without any warning the beast launched itself straight through the closed door.

  Splinters sprayed out in all directions as the beast tore down the hallway toward the open door of Edna’s apartment. It burst into the room. Through the sharpened, yellow hue of the beast’s vision Gudrik saw two policemen and several of Kyran’s grey men standing over Edna’s lifeless body. One was holding Tabitha by the arm. She was screaming and blubbering in a confused terror. The men, whom had obviously by then noticed the hulking bear-human hybrid growling in the doorway, frantically drew their weapons and began firing. Gudrik leapt around the room with blurring speed. The shadows seemed to swarm to the creature as it moved, shrouding it. He avoided most of the initial shots and sprung from the wall onto the ceiling as if he had cast free the laws of gravity. The long talon like claws ripped through the brick and plasterboard as if they were butter, casting shrapnel and dust about the room as he scurried. Focusing on his targets he crawled along the ceiling on all fours, faster than the men could follow.

  Spurred by the feral instincts of the beast, yet controlled by the Warlock’s concern for the child, he launched into the group of men. With bloody grace he tore through them in a rabid flurry of claws and teeth, all the while desperately avoiding the delicate prize which stood amongst them.

  Tabitha clenched her eyes tightly closed. Still she heard the screams, the snarls, the shots, the tearing of flesh and she felt the warmth of blood.

  George entered to a scene of utter devastation. Her stomach turned, but she fought it back. Gudrik stood once again in his human form, naked and dripping with blood. He was surrounded by the mangled signs of carnage. Metallic taps rang out as bullet wounds spat their projectiles with puffs of blue spray and seeped closed. In his arms Gudrik delicately cradled a blood spattered Tabitha.

  George screamed. The bodies panicked her, especially the ones with badges. Her protective instincts crept in. She shut the door to hide the crime and ran over to Gudrik, snatching her daughter from his blood soaked arms; they still quivered with the adrenaline of battle.

  “She is unharmed,” he growled drawing deep laboured breaths. George furiously wiped her distraught daughter clean and slathered her in cuddles and comfort. Holding Tabitha close to her chest George surveyed the mess of blood and distorted bodies on the ground, all the while still fighting to keep the contents of her stomach down.

  “You can’t just kill people Gudrik, there are consequences. These men have families.......well, had families.”

  Visibly annoyed at being scolded by a woman a millennia his younger, Gudrik bit back.

  “These men, killed her,” he pointed at Edna lifelessly slumped in her chair, “and they would have killed the child too had I not interfered. The lawmen may have been honourable under normal circumstances, but you do not understand the power of his rhetoric,” he shouted, slamming his fist on a nearby cabinet. “He convinces the ruling powers of my evil and sells them on his heroism and piety. The soldiers simply follow their misguided orders without question, as any good soldier must. That’s how it happened then and it’s how it will happen today. I am not pleased you were dragged into this, but it seems that the fates have chosen us to fight this battle together. You gave me my freedom and in honour of that I will keep the both of you alive as long as I can keep my head on my shoulders.” George was taken aback by that comment. She had never had anyone dedicate their life to her. “But never question my methods of doing so again. Any hesitation on my part could end in your death, or even more tragically, the child’s.”

  The fire was suddenly back in George’s eyes. “I may not have been through all of...well...whatever this is before,” George screamed, waving her free hand dramatically, “but I understand the time we are in much better than you. People’s beliefs are not so easily warped and controlled by fear as they were in your time. We are more intelligent, more civilised, more free thinking and more capable of making our own decisions.”

  Gudrik’s patience had worn through by this stage. He didn’t have time to waste. “You only demonstrate ignorance and arrogance with what you say. People are no more or less gullible than they have ever been. It seems they simply have a more inflated opinion of themselves today. If you cannot cope with what I will, and must do then walk away now and I will happily wash my hands and conscience of your deaths, which will come swiftly, believe me.”

  “Fine!” George yelled storming toward the door, child in hand. “Julian Drake was right about you, you are a monster!”

  She furiously ripped the door open, nearly tearing it off its hinges. Abruptly a large, dark man loomed in the doorway and effortlessly bundled her back into the apartment where he clasped her and Tabitha tightly captive. Instinct moved Gudrik as he glanced for something, anything sharp. On the small table beside Edna’s chair he spied her sewing scissors. In one swift motion he snatched them up and slashed their blade deeply across his bare chest. “Spirtis-fawn.” A long flurry of black tentacles burst from his chest, twisting and reaching their way across the room straight at the mysterious intruder. The dark appendages wrapped tightly around his arms, coiling and clenching, until with a vice like grip they pried his grasp off George and Tabitha. They leapt free and took refuge in a corner of the room.

  “Histfush,” the stranger whispered. His entire form collapsed in on itself, distorting to a puff of hazy, blue mist. The tentacles flopped to the ground with a dull, moist thud. The cloud drifted across the room as the tentacles lashed at it. Blue swirls broke off with every strike. Suddenly it pulsed back into human form and the stranger once again stood before them. The twisted mass of tentacles snapped quickly back into Gudrik’s chest. George still huddled in the corner, doing her best to shield Tabitha. She shot glances between the door and the stranger, wondering if she could make a break for it. The stranger was still too close.

  Gudrik shouted at the stranger in tones which were foreign to George, all hisses and grunts. The stranger then replied in turn using the same obscure gibberish. The defiant shouting back and forth continued, until gradually their demeanour began to relax and an air of peace took the violence ravaged room.

  “You must leave now Gudrik of The Twelve. There are more. Many more,” said the mysterious stranger, switching his speech to thickly accented English.

  “Who are you?” Gudrik rumbled sternly.

  “Time is of the essence Varth-lokkr. There will be an explanation later, but right now I have a promise to keep, a promise to Scurt of The Twelve.” He pulled a small metal and leather trinket from his coat pocket. Gudrik’s eyes lit up. He recognised the peace offering instantly.

  “Scurt’s wand,” grunted Gudrik.

  George eyed the item. It was a small golden hilted knife. Ornate designs adorned its blade while the beautiful image of a naked, winged woman formed the handle. He ran his finger along the blade, still razor sharp. Its scabbard was a thick leather wrist cuff with runes inlaid into it. Gudrik took it from him gratefully and strapped it onto his left wrist.

  George felt the situation had died down enough to emerge from her huddle; she was trying very hard to get back to her rage. “How on earth is that a wand?”

  “Wand is s
pirit tongue for blade,” Gudrik grunted, admiring his gift.

  “Spirit tongue?” wondered George.

  “Each of us crafted their own to help use the craft. Mine was lost,” grumbled the Warlock, drawing it again to admire. The blade glimmered flawlessly as if exaggerating the dim light of the room.

  “As stories pass from generation to generation they inevitably change. In this case, the term ‘wand’ carried through, its appearance didn’t,” interrupted the stranger, visibly trying to hurry along what could have become a very long discussion. “We must get moving.”

  “What is The Twelve?” George asked gruffly. She was sick of getting half answers which simply raised more questions. She was ignored.

  The stranger turned to George. “You are also in danger. The authorities are at panic stations. The likes of him has never even been considered,” he said pointing at Gudrik. “They have no idea how to even handle the concept and have turned, in sheer desperation, to the closest thing they have to an expert, Julian Drake. As far as he is concerned you know too much and he has flagged you as part of the threat. I will not take you against your will, but I suggest that you allow me to help.”

  Right then, George wished more than anything that she had never even thought about that training job or gone anywhere near the Drake Mineral Resources building. She wished she were back in her noisy, chaos filled classroom, where the greatest risk to her life was Lachlan’s snot covered fingers. Once again she found herself facing a life altering decision which needed to be dealt with on the spot. Once again she found herself blaming Gudrik for the situation she was in. While it wasn’t as black and white as George’s mind coloured it, blame is a much simpler emotion to embrace in times of stress.

  The stranger removed his long coat and threw it to Gudrik. He snatched it from the air and covered his bloody, naked body before following the stranger down to the building’s parking garage. He made no show of looking back, but Gudrik was acutely aware of George’s footsteps trailing them. “My name is Kahn,” said the stranger as he opened the large side door of a battered, white van.

  Kahn’s dark appearance had so far hidden his features amongst the poor light, but as the van opened light flooded out revealing him fully. His head was bald and gleamed in the light. His features were square and bold; at a guess, George placed his heritage as North African. He sported a thick black goatee and eyes of a brown so rich you might have called them black as well. George noticed intricate strings of tattoo creeping out of his long sleeved shirt and spilling onto his wrists. Similar strings peeped out of the shirt’s neckline. His face was young but littered with raised scars, and the whites of his dark eyes were tinged yellow and seemed to suggest the weariness of a long life. Once the three fugitives were inside he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the van. “There are others surrounding this place,” Gudrik warned.

  “They have been dealt with,” responded Kahn.

  As they drove out of the parking garage Gudrik stared anxiously out the window. Grown men scattered the street, huddled into foetal positions rocking, wailing and sobbing. “They met the Mother of Bears,” smiled Kahn, “as will you.”

  “Where are we going?” asked George, trying to ease her suspicious nerves.

  “Somewhere safe. It is very remote and more than a bit primitive, but it’s well off the grid and is your best chance for survival,” Kahn replied. The response didn’t ease her mind in the slightest. In fact it only provoked a collection of new concerns.

  “What! You mean us to run and hide like children!” snorted Gudrik, his eyes alive with rage. “I have waited far too long already. No more! I will have his head before the sun rises.”

  “That is not possible Varth-lokkr. We must get away and let things settle.”

  “No!” growled the Warlock. Kahn sighed loudly.

  “The mortals are stirred by Kyran’s fear mongering. The world has changed, changed in ways you cannot yet understand. Anything you do will be seen by the world instantly with no context applied, as with your escape. An attack would do nothing more than add fuel to his lies,” replied Kahn.

  “Dead tongues cannot lie.”

  “I can’t let you. He’s not even in this city anymore Gudrik.”

  Gudrik slumped back into his seat, his expression was stone. “Your trick is impressive Kahn, but you still breathe thanks only to my mercy. Do not think for a second you posses the strength to stop me,” he threatened.

  “I don’t need to stop you Varth-lokkr. The oath does it for me.” Gudrik fidgeted in his seat. “You swore to defend the innocent. In your current blind rage many innocents, including these two, would surely die, if you even found your target. I know you would never dishonour the blood oath over something as petty as a personal vendetta.”

  Gudrik went silent. He clearly had no recourse to combat Kahn’s logic. “You speak like my uncle did. A few extra days will not hurt after centuries of waiting,” Gudrik allowed, as he crossed his arms. However, before he let the matter lie he added, “But know that there is nothing petty about my vendetta.”

  “Understood,” replied Kahn, flashing a smile in the rear-vision mirror. “I have spare clothes behind your seat Gudrik.”

  Gudrik reached back and grabbed them. He slipped the coat off and began dressing awkwardly in the restricted space. As he fumbled with the zipper of the jeans Gudrik briefly caught George’s eyes on him. His lips curled into a cheeky smile.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. It was right there, I had to look,” she snapped, turning to the window.

  The van wound through the sprawl of urban streets and began turning north. It was a surprisingly quick trip through the city, there was almost no traffic on the road. George found it eerie to see the usually manic streets so quiet. The footage of Gudrik’s escape had shaken people. It had been blasted across every channel and social media outlet imaginable. The masses were not sure what to make of this strange creature and when their confusion was coupled with Kyran’s incitement it sent all but the bravest into hiding. Fortunately, the deserted roads gave Kahn a heightened awareness of his surroundings. He noticed a grey four by four which had been following them since shortly after they left George’s building. It was being very careful to stay a long way back, but on the empty streets it stood out like a glowing beacon.

  “We’ve got company,” Kahn called. “It will certainly be Drake’s men.” Gudrik looked back. A distant vehicle was not something which he deemed as a threat.

  “Why would they not just attack?” he added dismissively.

  “They are still wary of you Gudrik and Drake would never waste an opportunity to locate one of our safe houses. With you free his agents will appear when we least expect it, so be on your guard.” Kahn began looking around, “We’ll need to lose them.”

  “You’re a Warlock; just change our faces or something? Let them catch up and see they followed the wrong car,” suggested George, stroking Tabitha’s hair.

  “No,” was all she got in a grumbled reply from Gudrik.

  “It’s been done,” said Kahn, recognising that she wanted more. “I’ve seen it, but once changed you could never return. Plus what you look like is unique, part of a larger package. Mind, form and spirit, it’s all one. If he gave you someone’s face and body, their memories and personality come with it, mixing with your own.” He paused for a second checking the mirror again, “No, we need another way to lose them.”

  Gudrik casually sat forward, turned to his window and thrust his fist through it. Glass sprayed from the moving vehicle, peppering the road beneath them and crunching under the van’s tyres. George and Kahn both jumped and snapped their attention toward him. The van swerved violently off the road before being quickly corrected in a screech of tyres. Both glared at the Warlock, too confused to speak. Thankfully Tabitha, who had finally nodded off, simply fidgeted and slept away, oblivious to the whole ordeal. Gudrik hung his arm out the window and dripped blood from his glass shredded fist onto the passing street as th
e wounds leached closed. He then watched intently behind as their grey stalker closed in. “Qriktsus sune,” he whispered under his breath.

  A huge wave of stone exploded out of the road right in front of the trailing car in a cloud of gravel and dust. It curled and slammed down on their pursuer with devastating force, crushing it like a pancake between its rocky crest and the street. George was by no means weak in the stomach, but she felt a cold sickness wash over her at the brutality of the incident. Task fulfilled and void of remorse, the massive slab slowly recoiled back into the earth, leaving nothing more than a large hole in the bitumen and a twisted car wreck.

  Gudrik turned and settled again in his seat. Wind whistled through the broken window, wildly flicking at his untamed hair and beard. George still hadn’t blinked, her eyes big, blue saucers. Gudrik had so far been completely unmoved by any of the gruesome sights which had littered the day. There was something disturbing about his complete lack of empathy. How could someone so completely desensitised to death be anything but a sociopath? Her doubts crept back up her spine and Drake’s warning rang in her mind.

  “Gudrik,” Kahn prompted, attracting his attention. Gudrik looked up at him and Kahn demonstrated how his window rolled up and down. The Warlock released a deep grunt in response. His face went a faint shade of pink, the first sign of humanity through his stone shell.

  The rest of the journey was all but silent. Tabitha slept, George dozed, Kahn drove and Gudrik stared vigilantly out the window, taking in the vast, sprawling landscape of the new world. It was vastly different to the lands he had seen before. The night sky sparked memories of the old life which had been ripped from him. He was half a world away from the land of his birth, a millennia removed from all whom he loved. Gudrik took the time to assure himself and his fallen kin that he had not abandoned his quest for revenge. It had merely been delayed.

  I am Gudrik

  I wasn’t always hated. I wasn’t always feared. My eyes weren’t even blue on the day I was born. In fact things have changed so much throughout my years that I can scarcely even remember the man I once was, the stranger sharing my memories. I guess the same is true for any man, he goes into the forge a raw lump of steel and it’s the events of his life that truly shape him like a smith’s hammer. Some hammer blows are decisive and intentional, others are beyond control, but both impact with equal effect. In the end every man stands a different creation, all comparable in splendour. Sword, hammer, spear, plough, goblet, crown, all serve their purpose, all are important. It’s just.....well, sometimes a man does not become the creation he intends to be.