“Let’s get this over with,” muttered Kahn. “I know this has been avoided since the founding of our order. I know that the fail safe inscription is purely theoretical. I know we have very little idea how it will react and how it will judge us. But I feel that with the tatters we now lie in, that clearing the mistrust is all we can do and I see no other way.”
“Yes, yes. We’ve heard this already, you don’t want to do it, but you must, blah, blah, blah. Just do it,” barked Dorian. Kahn did not let his son’s words unseat him. He simply glanced around the Inscribed one last time, looked to Gudrik and with a nod of his head, they muttered the blue word.
The rune on each Inscribed’s foot glowed blue just as their other inscriptions would have, but the flickering ends of the blue light also showed a tinge of red. All members of the order reacted identically. Their teeth gritted and their eyes sprung as wide open as is possible for human eyes. There was obviously pain involved, just as it seems to entwine itself into everything life has to offer. They all quivered for a moment, then like a perfectly synchronised dance, collapsed into unconsciousness. Gudrik and George looked at each other. George scowled; she did not want to be alone with this monster. She hated this monster. Yet she could not leave. The Inscribed were all the family she had left. So she was forced to share a small two room apartment alone with the monster.
There was no ambiguity in the glare she gave Gudrik. It told him not to go anywhere near her, and he did nothing to try and change her mind. Instead he set about checking the vitals of all the Inscribed. George could see the rise and fall of their chests. No one was dead yet, that was for sure, but knowing exactly what was happening, that was an entirely different story. Was the rune slowly killing them all? Would it truly know what to judge them on? Kahn and Ami had broken a marriage oath, so there was a breach it could misunderstand for both of them. Dorian had disobeyed his father’s orders. Brood and Crave had a string of indiscretions between them which stretched back centuries. Teefa and Neasa George wasn’t sure about, but surely everyone has some dark regrettable act in their past. Gudrik slumped in the corner opposite to George and they patiently waited in frigid silence.
Seconds passed into minutes, minutes grew into hours and still they silently ignored each other, until a rattle sounded from the doorknob. Before Gudrik was even on his feet the door swung open and a group of men in brown fatigues burst in, rifles at their shoulders. George pushed back against the wall. Gudrik drew his wand, but halted his action, glancing at the unconscious bodies helplessly strewn about the floor. If this escalated, there was no way he could protect all of the Inscribed as well as George. Eight men now stood around the room, blocking Gudrik into a corner. A ninth entered.
He was a man in his early thirties with blonde hair much like Gudrik’s. He was neat and clean shaven, a handsome man, but for his left side. Mottled scaring peppered his left cheek. His ear was ragged, his eye clouded and white. A thick line of scar tissue ran from the point of his cheek bone through his eye and broke into his hairline. Most of his body was covered by fatigues, but George could see that only the thumb and index finger were whole on his left hand, hidden beneath a black glove.
The stranger looked around the group spread on the floor then glared at Gudrik. “Are they alive?”
“Aye,” the Warlock grunted.
“They are not to be harmed, we only want him,” he addressed his men. His voice was quiet and breathy, his demeanour was direct. His accent was exotic and unfamiliar to George. He pointed at Gudrik with his whole hand. Gudrik reluctantly sheathed the wand. The stranger drew a small leather bag from his pocket and threw it to him, the Warlock caught the offering.
“Sleep mist,” the scarred stranger said. “Draw a deep breath of the vapours in there and you shall sleep. You have my word no harm will come to you until I am certain you deserve it. Regardless, your companions will remain unharmed.” He placed his disfigured hand to his chest.
George looked to Gudrik. He stared back at her, his eyes seeking advice. She wanted to hug him, beg for him to stay, her hatred was becoming harder to maintain. Then, she remembered the precious, innocent face of her daughter screaming for help that never came. “Go,” she scolded. It was so harsh and cold that George even shocked herself.
The Warlock’s eyes lowered. He loosened the strings holding the pouch closed and drew a deep breath. A choking stench filled his nostrils, fire and ice at once. It forced air from his lungs and fogged his vision. In an instant, he collapsed amongst the Inscribed. Three men quickly bundled him up and dragged him out the door. The scarred man gave George a curious nod and left, honouring his word. The last thing she noticed about him was a curious golden bone shaped pendant dangling around his neck. The kind you would normally see on a dog.
George slumped back against the wall and began to shake. She looked at the Inscribed, all blissfully unaware of what had just occurred. She drew a deep breath and tried not to think about what was happening to Gudrik. She failed. Terrible things filled her head. “I can’t believe I did that. How many times did he protect us?”
Two more restless hours passed, George fondled her locket and wrestled her guilt. More than once she jumped to her feet determined to set out and find Gudrik, but always she came to her senses before reaching the door. During that time the only sounds heard in the loneliness of the room was that of a ruckus raging outside, down the street briefly. It must have been a protest, a demonstration or something a few blocks away, lots of yelling and sirens which sounded for a time before all fell silent again. Crave was the first to finally wake. “Urghh, darkest trip I have ever been on,” he mumbled, fluttering his eyes.
He paced in circles as he described his dream to George. It was a dark world that he had found himself in, a place lit bleakly by flames as black as night themselves. The very air around him seemed to burn and prickle. Every breath was hot and seared as it filled his lungs. A huge set of eyes shone through the darkness blue and bright, peering at him, into him and through him. Nothing was said, but he felt the presence probing his memories and thoughts. As Crave finished his story Neasa woke, recounting a very similar dream, in fact it was an experience mirrored by all. Kahn woke next, followed by Brood and Dorian. The group then sat with bated breath as they waited for the last two Inscribed to emerge.
Ami and Teefa lay unconscious still. Neasa knelt beside her soul mate stroking Teefa’s long black hair, waiting patiently, thinking positively. Dorian stood over his lover, jittery and fragile, ready to explode at any moment.
Just as the tension reached a point where something was destined to snap, Teefa’s eyelashes fluttered and her deep, dark eyes shone up at Neasa. Tears filled the redhead’s eyes and she leant down, kissing Teefa longingly. Brood’s eyes ignited, but even he restrained himself from making comment under the circumstances.
Everyone’s eyes fell upon Ami. Everyone’s minds echoed what Malaki would be saying right now if the grumpy, old prick were alive. No one voiced their thoughts, but as Dorian scanned the room he knew. “She’s no traitor!” he screamed at the group. The burst of noise startled Ami. Her body jumped and twitched. Her eyes sprung open. Dorian dropped to his knees in relief and embraced her.
“Well it’s settled. We are all loyal to the order,” announced Kahn.
“So how did they find us then brother?” asked Crave.
“Who knows, satellite, tracking bugs or maybe even some tech we haven’t heard of yet. Either way we never should have had to go to these extremes. You should have trusted your team,” sniped Dorian at his father.
“You may be right, but it matters not, the trust is now rebuilt,” Kahn replied.
No one said anything, but not a single person in the room, including Kahn, believed that. In fact the opposite had occurred. The order now lay in tatters. Once a finely forged weapon, it now stood as nothing more than a collection of splintered shards bundled loosely together and destined to shatter at first use. Kahn had wished the separate groups to reunite in that apa
rtment, but it seemed they were to leave separately too.
Emotion was high, minds were clouded, and no one had even noticed Gudrik’s absence. Dorian and Ami were the first to leave, farewelling their friends and brutally ignoring Kahn. When the door closed, talk was murmured and uneasy. Kahn looked to Gudrik for advice. It was then that he noticed the Warlock’s absence. “Where is Gudrik?” he asked George. Guilt flooded her.
“Some men took him,” she replied.
“What? Why didn’t you say something?” he asked.
“Because I wanted him gone.” George burst into tears; the group was on alert instantly bombarding her with questions. She told an altered truth, one where she appeared less of a bitch.
“We must track him down!” said Kahn. It was a welcomed distraction from the turmoil, something he desperately needed, a cause…..a cause to unite over. The group was just about ready to go when the door thudded again. It was a knock, a loud knock, a knock of urgency. Kahn approached it like a coiled snake ready to strike; the apartment’s occupants were on their toes in nervous readiness. He threw the door open. Dorian stepped through.
“You’d better look out the window,” he said.
Teefa ripped the black curtains open to reveal a heavy, white fog. It was a fog so chokingly thick that they could not even make out the shining tower a block down the street. It was an unnatural fog, a midday fog.
Dark Places
“Bad things hide in dark places.”
Again Gudrik’s sleep was plagued by that same persistent dream.....no, nightmare. The constricting darkness seemed to choke him. He fought and kicked at the walls of his cell. Water trickled in through the tiny cracks. He kicked harder and harder, with more and more desperation. He had grown weary of these nightmares plaguing him, his frustration boiled. Gudrik gathered all of his anger, all of his frustration to a point where it exploded. He kicked with every ounce of strength, every drop of frustration and every shred of rage, everything he had in him. Something new happened, the first change since these nightmares had begun. He kicked through. The wall of the black cell shattered. Water poured in forcing him against the back wall. He gasped and struggled for one final deep breath as the water closed in around him. He launched out of the cell into a vast brown ocean and swum with all his might up, kicking and pushing towards the light. Up, up, up!
He woke in a cold sweat. Gudrik found himself sitting in a worn wooden chair. A small room surrounded him, a box of the queer smooth stone. It was dimly lit by a single glowing bulb. Ahead of him in a matching chair sat the scarred stranger. Other than that the room was empty.
“Are you a man? Or a beast?” The confusion of sleep was still with Gudrik, the hushed voice made little sense. After a short pause, the question was repeated, “Are you a man? Or a beast?” This time with more success.
“I am somewhere in the middle,” Gudrik grunted, rubbing his eyes. He was not restrained; it seemed the man had held to his word. The wand was still on his wrist, he rubbed it.
“Aren’t we all?” the scarred stranger replied.
He crossed his left leg across his right knee, his ankle showed. It was shiny, metallic and black, definitely not flesh. The scarred man noticed his gaze. “An unfortunate incident with an I.E.D. left me a little worse for wear,” he said, tapping the leg.
“Why am I here?” demanded Gudrik. The question was ignored.
“Where is Drake’s bitch?” Gudrik looked blankly at him.
“The blonde assistant. The one with the gorgeous set of tits?” Again he received a blank look.
The stranger was astute, he read from Gudrik’s look that he genuinely had no knowledge of this woman. “How many people did you kill for Drake?” Gudrik remained silent.
“No guards.” The Warlock’s fingers twitched.
The man looked deeply at the Warlock through his good eye, it was a rich hazel. “How many people did you kill for Drake?” he repeated. Once again the scarred stranger eyed him curiously.
Gudrik’s knuckles clenched white. The Warlock launched himself forward, tearing the wand free as he moved. The blade flashed silver in the light as he thrust it at the crippled man. Like lightning the scarred stranger rolled sideways and grasped Gudrik’s wrist. The room spun. Before he knew what was happening the Warlock felt the cold floor crash against his back. The cripple was on top of him, holding the wand to his throat. His grip was like iron as he pinned Gudrik, even his disfigured hand seemed strong. The mismatched set of eyes hovered only inches from his.
“Well that wasn’t very good was it?” he said as he flipped the wand in the air delicately catching it by the blade. The scarred man loosened his grip and offered it back to Gudrik.
“I am hoping to count you as an ally Gudrik. All I ask is that you answer my questions.” Gudrik looked unsure…..or maybe it was just humiliation. “Look around. I know what you are capable of. I have not restrained you. I have not harmed you. I am not armed. I even left that blade strapped to your wrist. I brought you here simply to get answers from you face to face.” Gudrik accepted the wand and cautiously slid it back into the sheath.
“I never killed for him,” he grunted, climbing to his feet. The scarred cripple smiled and sat back down on his chair as if nothing had happened. He tilted his head side to side, as if inspecting Gudrik and clicked his tongue in thought.
“I believe you,” he said nodding his head. “I genuinely apologise for this, but I needed to speak to you alone. I find that the right question combined with isolation can tell me everything I need to know. Absent distraction, the minuscule twitches of a face, the variation of pitch in a voice and the tiniest of mannerisms give more meaning than words.” Gudrik sat down, still unsure and rather humiliated.
“My father was one of Drake’s greatest rivals,” the scarred cripple continued. “He died in bizarre circumstances. I am sure Drake orchestrated it somehow, though I have never figured out how. We even have security footage of the moment he died. He was talking to himself, even mentions Julian Drake by name before simply dropping dead. At first I thought it had to be a stroke or something, but then I heard about you and the pieces started to fit.”
Gudrik knew nothing of the incident, but he could guess what had happened. “I have no doubt that Drake killed your father and that my blood was the weapon. He killed my father as well. He paid for that.”
“I believe you,” said the stranger. “My name is Chezic Grovern, but most people call me Half Man. My father founded Grovern Industrial, a manufacturing company which eventually moved into mining. The family business wasn’t really for me but, so I went into military service. All this ended that,” he said wiggling his half hand. “They wouldn’t take me back, so I started Grovern Security.”
Grovern Security was well known in business circles as the Pack, top of the line private security contractors. The Pack was relied upon for corporate security in only the most volatile of situations. It was an extremely well funded and flawlessly disciplined group. Half Man was famous for taking in mongrels and head cases which were spat out by the mainstream military or moulded by criminal enterprise. He seemed able to break and tame even the hardest of misfit souls into a loyal pack. It is said once you were born into the pack, you died part of the pack. All initiated men wore their name on a small golden bone shaped medallion around their neck.
“I have heard your name,” grumbled Gudrik.
“I have come across your tattooed friends before, in the early days of the Pack, in Africa. Always at a distance, but we have found ourselves from time to time with a common foe and a healthy respect.”
“I have no knowledge of the woman though,” confessed the Warlock.
“Alicia. After his death Drake’s private servers were wiped. I know she holds a backup of it all, but she dropped off the face of the earth. I have all my resources and connections searching, but they have turned up nothing.”
A heavy rhythmic thud came from the door. It echoed about the empty room. “Excuse me Gudrik,” sa
id Half Man politely, “What!” His soft, breathy voice suddenly burst into a roar. The door creaked open and a one of his pack entered.
“Sir something strange is happening. You’d better come and look.”
Half Man got to his feet and walked to the door. There he paused and looked at Gudrik for a moment as if waiting. “You coming?” he asked. Surprised, Gudrik got to his feet and followed. They moved down a long corridor evenly scattered with doors on each side.
“The secure channels are going crazy with chatter sir. Lots of deployment, sounds like men down everywhere.”
“What are they deploying against?”
“Haven’t been able to figure it out yet sir.”
Eventually the hall emerged at two open doors which led outside. Light streamed in and all three men briefly shielded their eyes. Gudrik found himself standing on a small concrete balcony about four stories up. All he could see ahead was thick, white fog licking at the surrounding industrial buildings.
“Well this is certainly unexpected,” said Half Man, calmly sniffing at the air. “Steam,” he said to Gudrik, looking puzzled. Gudrik’s intuition screamed at him. Something was very wrong. The few men around them rested their hands uneasily on their weapons.
“I fear those will be quite useless,” Gudrik said, drawing a look from the group. He drew the wand, and looked at Half Man.
“You are not a prisoner; I have the answers I wanted. If this is your fight then go,” he waved his misshapen hand. Gudrik nodded and bled. With a grunted word he sprouted his wings, shoving the members of the Pack aside and splattering them in blue. “Wait!” called Half Man, “Take this.” He ripped a small radio from the sleeve of one of his Dogs and tossed it to him. “Call if you need us.” Gudrik caught it and slipped it into his pocket, before climbing into the sky with a few massive beats.
Blue Words Page 24
