Blue Words

by M. C. Edwards

  “Hope so,” George replied gesturing for him to go find out.

  Gudrik trudged down the back steps and walked warily towards the man. “Greetings,” he grunted as he approached the stranger. He was comforted to see a string of blue runes running up the back of the stranger’s neck.

  “Hello?” questioned the stranger’s faded French accent as he spun around. He was just as wary as Gudrik. The Warlock halted halfway between the man and the shack, ensuring his hands were clearly visible.

  “I am Gudrik.”

  “The Gudrik?” The stranger eyed the wand strapped to Gudrik’s wrist.

  “Um, of The Twelve,” he grumbled awkwardly.

  The stranger looked at the ground and stomped his foot. “Merde! Kahn is gonna be pissed at me. Baiser tout!” he said running his fingers through his short hair. “Well that explains all of the missed calls. They call me Brood.”

  Brood was a head shorter than Gudrik, a slim yet well toned man with a strong handshake. He was clean shaven with short, brown hair carefully styled with a sweeping part to the left. His large eyes were a green so light that they could almost be mistaken for grey in the wrong light. “Where are the others?” asked Brood as they headed inside.

  “Kahn, Dorian and Malaki went to meet with some contact while Paw went for supplies with the two women. They will all be back later.”

  “We weren’t meant to check in with Ami until next week,” mumbled Brood. “I guess you being here shunted the schedule along. You had better fill me in.”

  The two men entered the house, where Brood joined the breakfast. Pup growled a deep menacing rumble at the stranger as they entered and looked to Gudrik for guidance. “Friend Pup,” grunted the Warlock and the beast was satisfied, flopping back to the ground near Tabitha. The introductions were made and Brood was brought up to speed on the previous day.

  Brood had been at one time a royal guard for the French monarch Louis VII or Louis the Young as he had been known. He was forced to flee his post when it became known that he had become too ‘familiar’ with his Queen. “That pious fool never touched her; someone had to keep her happy. Baiser tout!” he joked. His true name was Reme, but the Inscribed had taken to calling him Brood in tribute to the army of bastards he had surely fathered over his many promiscuous years. For far more powerful than any gift Warlock blood could bestow upon him was Brood’s gift with women. He was a pretty boy with a charm so warm it could melt the iciest of hearts, a charm which he used any chance he got. He had been there less than half an hour and already he had George giggling and blushing like a school girl.

  Around lunch time the other Inscribed began to return. First it was the girls and Paw. The girls lugged boxes of dry goods out of the car. Paw on the other hand trotted playfully up to Tabitha. He clicked and mumbled cheerfully as he held out some colourful sweets in his full hand. She giggled and hugged him as she took them, splitting his face ear to ear with an enormous toothy smile. A couple of hours later, the boys also returned. Pup suspiciously greeted each new set of arrivals with teeth and snarls until Gudrik vouched for their reliability.

  Upon seeing his leader Brood lowered his head like a naughty child and wore a stripping down for going out chasing tail, before smiling ear to ear as he shared all the filthy details with the other men. George overheard the entire sordid tale and instantly understood why Neasa and Teefa had screwed their noses up when asked if they had ever been seduced by his charms. He spoke of acts so twisted and so perverse that she had never even considered their existence.

  That afternoon, every afternoon for that matter, was spent training on the beach. Fitness and strength drills were a part of the Inscribed’s daily existence, as well as combat training. There was a crude target range built on the beach, firing into a natural enclave of stone in the northern hill. It was useable only on the low tide, but was quite effective and it was Gudrik’s first chance to see firearms close up. Kahn took the Inscribed’s training very seriously. Agelessness was not immortality and unlike Gudrik the Inscribed could not afford to become inactive. Their bodies would grow soft and slow, just as any human would. “No matter how much the weaponry of the world may change,” Kahn said, “One advantage we will always hold is time. Time to perfect skills, time to adapt skills and time to learn new skills. Patience and discipline will one day bring us victory.”

  Despite an unflinching expression, Gudrik was curious to see the Inscribed in action. He did not have to wait long. Kahn was happy to show off what his order could do, calling them up one by one like a proud father. Gudrik gladly volunteered as a sparring target. The Warlock was impressed, though he soon realised that many of the inscriptions had lost their edge as weaponry, technology, the world and warfare had evolved.

  For instance there was Neasa’s animal charm. She held the ability to draw wild beasts to her aid. Even the most rabid of creatures was a sleepy kitten in her hands and a deadly weapon to her enemies. Fighting from the wilderness of the New World, she had been able to call on wolves, bears and elk, all of which were devastating against men armed with blades and single shot muskets. That was where she had earned the title Mother of Bears. But most often now conflicts happened in urban areas where the best she could muster was a plague of rats and the odd house cat.

  Amongst Kahn’s collection was a blue word which allowed him to bestow unnatural speed and vigour onto any beast he rode. It was of huge benefit in his time, but its usefulness gradually declined as automobiles and telecommunications took hold.

  Malaki possessed the ability to become a wolf. Not a grotesque cryptid like Gudrik’s bear form, but a regular grey wolf. An incredibly powerful and majestic creature, but modern firearms limited its usefulness. Unlike Gudrik, Malaki’s body didn’t have the privilege of simply spitting out projectiles and healing. It was a talent which did still have its uses though. A wolf was swift and good for scouting. Unfortunately the trauma which the change put his body through left him in shock for sometime after, so it was rarely used.

  Then there was the sad tale of Paw who, absent a tongue, could no long command any of his blue words. He had once been able to plunge the temperature of his blade to a cold so bitter it would sear upon touch and shatter other steel blades on contact. An avid seafarer, and at one time a notorious pirate, Paw also chose the ability to shape gusts of wind. A useful ability in battle, but on the ocean it truly shone. Paw could once propel a stricken vessel on its way or halt an assailing ships progress. Even his legendary swordsmanship plummeted in value as they entered the age of automatic rifles, so fatal from such distance.

  With creativity and ingenuity, Teefa had managed to adapt one of her blue words to a modern purpose. She was able to infuse an intense burst of heat into arrow heads and daggers. On contact, they ignited into scalding blue-white flames hot enough to melt iron. Through practice she had transferred this ability, along with her natural marksmanship, to bullets.

  There were also several blue words amongst the group which still held the same tactical value today as on inscription day. Kahn could briefly manipulate the density of his hands, though it was rarely used due to the accompanying pain. It was a gift which served many purposes, the chief of which had been medical. He often had to remove objects or projectiles from his troops over the centuries. While still unbelievably painful, his ghostly hands were far less intrusive than any other techniques of the time and had saved many lives.

  Teefa was able to summon long sight. Her eyes would wash over a solid, glimmering blue on command. Her peripheral vision was reduced to zero, but it briefly made her eyes function like a scope seeing far beyond human limits, a perfect complement to her natural marksmanship. She was also one of the few Inscribed tough enough to withstand a fourth inscription. The final blue word chosen was ‘gractous’. Though float was its closest translation, it was more aptly described as ‘fight gravity’. It was not as if she could fly, but should she fall from height, which is somewhere a marksman often found themselves, she could briefly bend gravit
y’s influence slowing her enough for a safe landing.

  Malaki and Brood could both use short bursts of berserk rage where their strength and agility was increased. Their reactions when enraged were fast enough to avoid scattered gun fire and once in close range they could clear a room in a few seconds. But the rage was blinding, they struggled to separate friend from foe and had to be given a wide berth. More often than not they ended up fighting each other when let loose in too close a proximity; as was the case while sparring Gudrik.

  Both men slumped in the sand exhausted and bloodied as Brood half-heartedly held out his shield arm. On Kahn’s order he mumbled. The tattoos on his outstretched arm glowed, sprouting jagged, triangular scales of durable night stone, or obsidian as he explained it was known as in the modern world. The transformation could only be held for a few seconds at a time, but proved useful during hand to hand combat.

  In Gudrik’s eyes though, Dorian had shown the most creativity and forethought in his selections. The other Inscribed had all used the literal meanings of words. Dorian on the other hand altered the meanings as he used them, something The Twelve did. Changing the meaning of a blue word completely wasn’t possible, but it was possible to twist or stretch it slightly with concentration, something The Twelve had termed ‘bending’. Bending the spirit tongue term for shift, Dorian could move from one point to another a short distance away in the blink of an eye. Harnessing a bent interpretation of a blue word which loosely translated as gather together, Dorian could force particles from the air around his hands together into tiny, highly charged shards or darts which he could throw with deadly accuracy.

  Although insignificant at first pass, one of the most powerful of abilities belonged to Neasa. A shy, soft natured beauty, she chose ‘chortsian’ as her final inscription. It was blue word which instilled a crippling fear into enemies with no more than a look. It was not simply a fleeting shock or fright either. It was the kind of white knuckle terror which buckled knees and caused hardened men to collapse at her feet, soil themselves and blubber like babies. Brood reluctantly posed as the target for that particular demonstration, a penance for his indiscretion the night before. Everyone roared with laughter as he climbed to his feet and shuffled into the water to clean himself.

  George sat wide eyed and silent for the entire afternoon as Tabitha and Pup played under the shady Casuarina trees. Gudrik had been impressed, but above the skill and discipline, the group’s limitations leapt out at him. Limitations he saw as common to all of their blue words. It seemed the words of the spirit world were not meant for the frail bodies of mortals, none could be sustained. Most could be used for no more than a few seconds at a time before harming the familiar. More than two or at most three of Dorian’s shifts in close succession had him coughing and spluttering blood as his body began to break down. More again left him almost catatonic; the same was true for the others as well.

  The limitations only made Gudrik appreciate how much he took his own craft for granted. It amazed him that these Inscribed had battled against such inconceivable odds and numbers for centuries with the limited abilities they possessed. It only served to strengthen the respect he already held for these people. Their discipline and bravery were not to be discounted.

  Once again they feasted and celebrated as a group that night and once again when George woke in the morning all but Tabitha, Gudrik and Pup were gone.

  The days and nights blurred together and flowed into weeks. Slowly but surely George grew accustomed to living off the grid and the troubles which lay back in the city became more and more distant....began to weigh less and less on her mind. The isolation of the homestead created an artificial world, completely removed from modern reality. It was a world where she lived free of her cares, a world where money and status were of no consequence. The presence of Gudrik provided her and Tabitha with a traditional family, something which took her back to happier days. It was a family which was extended by coming and going Inscribed, who grew to be aunties, uncles, cousins and grandparents of the little princess. All loved her dearly, but it was Paw she grew closest too. It was Paw’s visits she waited for. If Gudrik was the surrogate father then Paw had certainly assumed the mantle of grandfather. The two of them would sit on the beach for hours, waves licking at their feet, discussing the issues of the world in mumbles, gibberish and clicks which neither could understand.

  For Gudrik the presence of Tabitha was a much needed distraction. He developed a soft spot for her cheerful wonder and bouncing, brown curls. He genuinely enjoyed his time with her. Tabitha provided him a sense of fatherhood, something which had seemed an impossibility in his life for so long. An impossibility he had until now begrudgingly accepted. However, at night in the absence of his precious, little distraction, his mind still bubbled and boiled with thoughts of revenge and more than a splash of guilt.

  The hot summer days were filled with swimming, fishing and games; the nights, barbecues and bonfires. The Inscribed came and left sporadically during those times, either to drop off supplies, rest or simply to catch up. But much of the time it was only their little family. Tabitha tailed her “Googy” wherever he went. They collected eggs from the chicken coop behind the drunken shed, built gigantic sandcastles on the deserted beach and took long walks into the picturesque hills. George even emerged from a morning shower one day to find her only child being whooshed about high over the hills and ocean in the arms of a winged Gudrik. Following a standard George sized freakout, a torrent of curses and a lot of running around the yard in a towel; she managed to signal them down by waving her arms wildly. All the while she was playfully chased by a giant, frisky wolf.

  Wherever Tabitha went Pup was at her heels. In the scalding midday heat he would patiently lay in the shed while she clambered all over him, cuddling, patting and pulling at his fur. George was not an animal person, but even she had to admit he was a pretty amazing pet, other than the fact that he ate as much as a grown man that was.

  One day, on a whim, George suggested that they cut Gudrik’s long, scraggly hair and beard off. She had wanted to see his face free of its wild, blonde mane for weeks. George had often admired his un-aged, battle-hardened body while he swum with Tabitha. “I wish I could sleep for centuries and still have abs like that.”

  Lock by lock the hair fell as George hacked away at his wiry mop using a dull pair of kitchen scissors. Once satisfied with the style, she flicked open Malaki’s old cut-throat razor and set to work on his beard. That job was much harder than she had ever imagined it to be. In fact, if he wasn’t a Warlock, Gudrik probably would have bled to death. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she said dabbing blood off his chest, “Does it hurt?” Gudrik simply grunted through clenched teeth and twitched as the razor sliced him again.

  Tabitha kicked and rocked on the kitchen chair chuckling ecstatically at Gudrik’s predicament. George was no hairdresser, but she was satisfied with the outcome. The clean cut man which now sat in front of her was a stranger. She couldn’t believe that behind that baby face lay countless years of life and experience. “What do you think?” asked Gudrik, running his hands over his newly short hair. His rough voice no longer suited his appearance.

  “Well, you definitely look a lot less like an old, homeless man now,” she replied.

  Gudrik smiled and turned to Tabitha, “What about you?” She clapped wildly and ran over to him, giving a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

  “I’d take that as a compliment if I were you,” laughed George. “You really do look like a completely different person.”

  That small, throw away comment began Gudrik’s mind ticking. He stared into the small round mirror which George offered him, examining the new face before him. It had never sat well with Gudrik that he was forced to sit by and wait for the Inscribed to bring him supplies. Sure he tried to do his bit, fishing for the large tropical fish which inhabited the surrounding waters, but it never felt like he was really pulling his weight. It also has to be said that he had a yearning curiosity
about the world around him. When all was said and done though, deep down, much stronger than anything else, he knew that it was Kyran he truly yearned to find.

  “I am going for a bit,” he grunted suddenly, putting the mirror on the table.

  “What?” George replied quickly, “Where?”

  “I am not sure,” he lied as he skipped down the back steps like an excited child.

  “But-but we can’t leave,” George called trotting behind him.

  “We aren’t, you’re staying here,” he rumbled removing his blood stained shirt. Gudrik drew the wand from his wrist and released a spurt of blue. “Unjallius!”

  Silvery, white wings reached skyward, shadowing George. “Y-you can’t Gudrik, you are like the most wanted man in the world at the moment. People are searching everywhere for you!” she shouted at him.

  “You said it yourself, I look like a new man,” Gudrik grunted back with a childish grin and launched himself off into the sky.

  Gudrik soared high, following the coastline south. He intended to find a smaller settlement, somewhere between the safe house and the city. Somewhere the authorities had only a small presence. From there it should be possible to find a less distinguishing transport than his wings to continue his journey to the city, to Kyran. The coast was widely undeveloped. There were a few small collections of shanties and fishing huts, but nothing substantial for quite a while. The Inscribed truly had found themselves an isolated hideout.

  About half an hour into his journey Gudrik took his eyes from the land below and glimpsed a silhouette in the distance. He looked harder at its odd shape, squinting his eyes in the wind. He did not recognise it as an animal....well not any animal he had seen before. The strange object closed in and its bizarre form became more visible. It screamed an angry humming noise as it sped toward him, a noise clearly audible even over the sound of air rushing by his ears, speaking volumes of its level.