Blue Words

by M. C. Edwards

  He stopped his forward motion and hovered, carefully beating his wings over an updraft to hold himself at altitude. Gudrik thought it best to gauge the creature’s reaction to him. As it closed in alarm struck. This thing was not constructed from the soft curves of muscle and flesh. No, this thing was formed of the hard straight lines of metal. This thing was forged by the hands of men. The massive rotors created erratic draughts of air as it zoomed past and circled around. Gudrik struggled to hold his position, which didn’t really matter, he held no intentions of lingering anyway.

  Gudrik shot up into the air, pumping his giant wings as hard as he could and gaining altitude swiftly to hide in cloud. It was a great natural instinct, but for one unfortunate complication. A side effect of the beautiful, sunny Queensland weather was a distinct lack of clouds. With a panicked glance down he noticed the machine lifting after him.

  Now this was a situation Gudrik had never been in before. In his time, the sky had never been man’s domain. Even amongst The Twelve he was the only one who had regularly taken to flight. The others had always believed it reserved for their gods.

  Gudrik tucked into a dive and rolled into fast, evasive weaving patterns to lose the metallic beast. He headed east, towards the ocean and south, away from home. The last thing he wished to do was draw his hunters to the safe house. Gudrik’s speed and manoeuvrability allowed him to soon lose sight of the threat, but as he glided, still south, breathing heavily the return of silence did not ease his concern. How exactly he had been found in the first place?

  The Warlock was about as far as possible from an expert in the modern day sciences, but that had been no coincidence. It was clear to him that he had been tracked by some means. Tracking in mid flight was a feat which had been impossible in his time, even for The Twelve. He wasn’t about to go as far as saying that George was right about his trip being a bad decision, but from there on he decided to stay out of sight and head home.

  Gudrik tucked his wings in and plunged toward the shimmering ocean waters below. As he fell he opened his veins. “Aegirstus!” he shouted. Gudrik’s wings flittered into a trail of blue droplets as he stretched his arms out and broke the surface of the water.

  Gliding deep into the refreshing embrace of the Pacific Ocean, Gudrik clenched and winced with pain as the change took hold. Enveloped in a cloud of bubbles, his fingers and toes cracked as they elongated and flaps of skin crept through the space between them. The flesh on his neck tore apart exposing long, bloody gashes which formed into flapping gills. He sped through the waters, staying deep and heading north, only emerging on occasion to check his surroundings for some landmark or feature which he recognised.

  Once the pain of the transformation had passed the experience became quite pleasurable. Perfect water temperatures and pristine reef were a decadent feast for the senses and after a long, cooling swim through shoals of fish and tropical gardens of coral, he finally he found himself looking upon the jagged rock formations of the Serpent’s Jaw.

  He paused floating behind the breakers looking towards the beach house. A strained look covered his face, a look which his stoney face almost hid, a worried look. He dived down ploughing through the water to an overhanging piece of reef he often fished. He circled it several times before snatching a large cod out of its hole and heading ashore. The Warlock choked and fought for air as his body cracked and snapped back to normal. As he trudged up the sand, it clung tightly to his wet feet.

  Whether he wished to admitted it or not, the experience had shaken him, forced the Warlock to accept that there was much in this modern world which he did not yet understand. His vast years of experience may count for far less than he believed. He may have to turn to the Inscribed or even George for more help than he intended, just as she had told him he would. That last thought put a burr in his throat. He coughed and shook himself dry. The Warlock walked back into the beach house, still damp and stomping a trail of water and sandy footprints as he went. “How did you go?” asked George, disapproval dripping from her face.

  “Uneventful,” he grunted. “Just ended up fishing.” Gudrik slapped the cod down onto the table. There was no way he was ever going to admit George was right; Gudrik was far too stubborn for that. He left the room before questions could be asked.

  For another fortnight, the makeshift family played and frolicked, free of all cares in their private tropical paradise, though the idyllic beach side retreat was not without its dramas. There was the frantic morning when one of Tabitha’s precious little pink bows, which had to be in her hair everyday, disappeared. Tears streamed from her distraught little face and the roars of her woe drove even the hardest of Inscribed warriors to scamper around on their bellies searching every crack and crevasse. Paw was the hero of that campaign, trotting from under the table with the bow held high above his head in victory and chuckling his muffled laugh. He received a kiss on the cheek for his bravery.

  Then there was scandal when George stumbled upon Teefa and Neasa kissing passionately in a hammock late one night. The discovery finally prompted the girls to announce a secret which Paw had kept for an eternity, declaring their love. Neasa blushed quietly while Teefa’s furious eyes dared anyone to have a problem with it. Of course none did, in fact Brood suddenly developed a keen interest in their activities, always tagging along with them wherever they would go. “I knew all along,” he boasted, when out of earshot of course, “It’s the the only reason I’ve never had either of them.”

  As the summer reached its peak, the Inscribed even surprised them with a special Christmas for the little princess, organising gifts, food and fun. George thanked them profusely, she hadn’t even realised the date. “We aren’t Christian, but we thought she would enjoy it,” Kahn said as Tabitha received a pink kite from a crudely dressed Santa with no fingers on his right hand. The rest of the day was spent swimming and playing on the beach, until all were red and sunburnt.

  Each was a small matter, but still they seemed to make for many laughs and helped to draw the group together.....to draw the family together. The safe house as it had always been known suddenly began to be referred to by all simply as ‘home’.

  A couple of nights later, New Year’s night to the outside world, it was once again just the immediate family. They were sitting around a large meticulously stacked driftwood fire, as they often did. It crackled and burned brightly against the speckled night sky. The heat radiating from the licking flames provided a pleasant contrast as it fought with the cool breeze blowing in across the ocean. Tabitha lay on a towel beside Pup and her kite, curled up and deep in sleep, drained from the long day and lulled by the warmth of the fire. The needles of the Casuarinas rustled and rattled a gentle lullaby.

  George stared into the crackling, orange tongues of flame. Her fingers fondled the locket which rested between her breasts, not by any conscious means, simply through pure habit. “It is precious to you?” came the Warlock’s raspy voice out of the blue, his sudden words shattering the tranquil silence.

  “What?” George replied.

  He motioned to the locket, “I have often noticed you playing with it.”

  “Oh yeah. Brad gave it to me; it has a lock of his hair in it.” She smiled into the fire. “Tabitha’s father. She has his eyes,” George added.

  “Where is he?”

  “Brad died almost two years ago,” she replied. “Just after she was born.”

  “How?” George’s smile left her.

  “The dickhead wiped himself out driving home drunk from a buck’s night,” she spat it in her bitchiest tone. “They say he died instantly. Well I hope he did. The wreck burned to the ground with him in it.”

  “Things were not well with the two of you?” the Warlock inquired.

  “No, quite the opposite. I loved him intensely and I have missed him every day since his death. But at the same time I hate him for making such a stupid decision, a decision which impacted his family so dramatically. The selfish prick.” She shoved another branch onto
the fire as if jabbing it into Brad’s ribs, embers sprayed into the air.

  “I doubt he meant to die,” consoled Gudrik.

  “Maybe not, but when all is said and done, Tabitha has to grow up without knowing him doesn’t she?” she asked in reply. “Anyway, what about you? Ever had a wife?” asked George, jolting the conversation along, away from the emotional storm that was her life.

  “Aye, long ago. An amazing woman. She was taken from me,” Gudrik replied.

  “I guess it was inevitable that she would age and you wouldn’t,” suggested George.

  “It was, but Elya never had a chance to grow old. It was a choice I made a generation earlier which took her from me before her time.” His eyes stared across the fire, as if there was something in the distance only he could see.

  “Kyran?” George asked. Gudrik nodded, turning his deep blue eyes back to her.

  The two stared awkwardly at each other; the crackle of flames and the slow crashing of waves the soundtrack to their moment. George placed her hand gently on Gudrik’s knee. Slowly she leaned in towards him, gently licking her lips in anticipation. “We had better take the little one up to bed,” said Gudrik suddenly in an effort to break the silence, completely and utterly ignorant to what had just been about to happen. George pulled back and nodded, fussing with her hair and hiding her reddening cheeks. Effortlessly, he scooped the small child up and cradled her in his strong arms. Pup led the way as they made the short trek back through the arch and up the hill. Gudrik gently laid Tabitha on her mattress and closed her door, cringing with every creak of the floorboards.

  George sat down at the kitchen table tying to get her head around what had happened, or almost happened by the fire. Gudrik wandered down the old rear steps and returned with two massive steins of honey mead. George laughed and dropped her face into her hands. “You’re a bad influence on me Gudrik of The Twelve. I am going to have a headache in the morning again, aren’t I?”

  “Aye, that you are,” he said as he held his mug up for her to cheers. George clanged her pewter stein to his and took a long drink. The clang of three more meads quickly followed the first. They laughed, they joked and they flirted, enjoying each other’s company until eventually, drunk and with all inhibitions lifted George suddenly leant toward Gudrik again. This time she did it with far more conviction, and kissed him on his lips; just lightly. She pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes, weighing his reaction. Goosebumps bristled all over her skin as she tingled with excitement. Gudrik, being a man, needed no more provocation than that and slipped his arm around the small of her back drawing her close and kissing her right back.

  The kissing continued for some time, gradually becoming more and more passionate as the intimacy and urges grew. Clothing loosened and hands wandered, until Gudrik suddenly paused and slid back leaving a startled look on George’s face.

  “Are you sure you want to do this George?” he asked, eyeing the door separating them from the sleeping princess. His look was strained, like he was fighting within himself. George stared back at him for the briefest of seconds.

  “Fuck yeah,” she sighed loudly. “I am a single mother with a two year old kid. These opportunities don’t come along very often, so shut up before you wake her.”

  The grin on Gudrik’s face was so large it belonged on some absurd cartoon character. “I’m not really sure that your whole body was onboard with the chivalrous offer either,” George added looking down at his hands which were still stubbornly clamped around her breasts.

  I am Gudrik

  For two days we rode without rest. I was hungry and I was saddle sore. I was so tired that giving up was never more than a few steps away, then in the distance I saw the guard towers of Sovenglen peek above the horizon and my strength was renewed. Scurt led us up a winding goat track which meandered its way through the hills overlooking the city’s fortified walls. There in a small, rock littered clearing I came upon it. To this day I can still recall it as clearly as that first bitter, cold afternoon, a sight to make a man realise his complete and utter insignificance in this world.

  In the centre of the clearing was a large circle of flame being tended by two of Scurt’s clan. In the centre of the fire ring stood a large flurry of blue light, violently throwing itself against the unnaturally tall flames. Every clash thundered and caused the very earth to shake beneath us, unsteadying the horses. The rest of the Varth-lokkr greeted us as we rode closer. Their relief was painted into their expressions. They had no doubt begun to give up hope Scurt would ever return. Before I had even dismounted, they began preparations for the ritual. There would be no time for rest and no time for recovery.

  The twelve of us gathered at the northern point of the fire ring. All shed a drop of blood onto the amulet, a single drop for each of the stones; twelve bloodlines, twelve stones, twelve sacred words. This was no accident; twelve is a powerful number when dealing with the spirit realm. We began chanting the sacred words from the amulet.

  The ritual seemed only to enrage the creature further and its actions became more and more violent. Finally as the crux of the ritual approached, Scurt thrust the bloodied amulet above his head, the group silenced. He placed it in the ring of fire and backed cautiously away. The presence of the amulet caused a break in the flames. The Valkyrie halted its rebellion for a second, as if eyeing the opening. Then, with blurring speed, the fragmented light poured through the gap intent on reaping vengeance upon us, its captors. I stepped back in fear as the incandescent splinters of blue flowed towards me, a sign of my inexperience. I questioned the sanity of what we were doing. This plan was based on a song from before my grandfathers’ grandfathers’ time. Though, not one of the other hardened Varth-lokkr even flinched. They stood steadfast staring the spirit down, eyes afire.

  Before the Valkyrie could reach us it was halted mid flight, like a mad dog which had run out of rope. It seemed to have been snagged by the amulet. It struggled, roared and screamed, but could not budge an inch further. The stones on the amulet began to glow and the blue mass began to drag back, as its very form was being drawn into the amulet. The piercing screeches grew in volume and ferocity. The formerly incoherent clusters of light began to take on the form of fingers with long, crystalline talons. They scratched and clawed at the ground desperately. A very human face appeared from the disorder. A female face, one of the most beautiful I have ever laid eyes on. It looked into my eyes; it saw the doubt and fear in me. The woman reflected it right back, her eyes begged for help, her lips mouthed words I could not hear. I pitied her. I actually wanted to save her. Slowly, more and more of the spirit was devoured by the amulet, screeching as it went, until finally…….it was done. The ambient glow which had shrouded the amulet began to flicker and slowly fade.

  The mood lightened. Confused glances turned to smiles, they spread amongst us. They were deserved smiles, we had done it. Father slapped me proudly on the back, I had never seen him more jovial. Scurt scooped the amulet from the ground. It exploded with light. The flash nearly blinded me. Shards of blue lightning shot forth from the amulet. I felt an instant of heat as one pierced my chest and flung my body back as if I were a small child. Everything went dark.

  Slowly I woke. Was I dead? Was I about to see these “gods” the others believed in so strongly? I glanced around, below me was Sovenglen. Around me others were stirring on the ground or climbing to their feet. Not one of us had experienced anything like that before. We didn’t know exactly what had happened, but the Valkyrie was gone and we lived, under the circumstances that was considered a success. Other than a blistered scar on my chest, I seemed to be unharmed.

  The celebrations began. Over the following twelve days and nights we feasted and drank with the Jarl and citizens of Sovenglen to a standard which would rival the very halls of my father’s gods themselves. On the final day, our minds still dusty with the memory of drink, Father and I said our goodbyes and continued on our own.

  I looked at my father and smiled. His brow
crinkled, “Since when have your eyes been blue?”

  Revelations

  “When life is at its most perfect, complications are bound to reveal themselves.”

  “Mummy!” came a familiar and excited call. George wrenched her eyes open. Her cheek was nestled into the pillow.

  “Morning darling,” she croaked back, raising her head. She rolled onto her back and yawned, a deep yawn which opened her mouth so wide that her eyes squinted closed again. This time when they opened, the ceiling was wrong. It was then she noticed the bed didn’t feel like the one which had become so familiar. In an instant George realised that she wasn’t where she usually woke up at all. Memories of last night instantly snapped back into the front of her mind. George was all of a sudden painfully aware of her current predicament; on a mattress, in the middle of the main room, as naked as the day of her birth.

  George flung Gudrik’s arm off, sprung up and began scampering around desperately searching for something to cover her nakedness. “Here love,” said Kahn, holding up a large bright beach towel which had been draped over one of the chairs. He was sitting at the table enjoying a coffee and scratching Pup’s head. Paw was beside him bubbling with crooked laughter.

  “How long have you been here?” she growled, furiously snatching the towel from him and covering up.

  “Got back from the city about an hour ago. You two looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you. We’ll be off again once I weed my garden. So you can get back to all....that again,” he said winking at George. She huffed, scooped up Tabitha and trotted back towards the bedroom to get changed. On the way through, George swooped down and gave Gudrik’s bare arse a firm slap, nearly losing her towel. His head shot up and groggily looked around the room.

  “Fair warning, the girls and Brood will be back this afternoon!” Kahn called after her as she slammed the door. “You’re lucky I wasn’t Brood; he’d have been naked and snuggled in beside you before you could even flutter your eyelids open.”