The Warlock soared over deserted city streets heading towards the river, steam swirling off his wings with each beat. “This much steam would need a lot of water.” The fog was quickly thinning as the massive cloud spread on the wind. He saw no signs of life below. Mid week, at noon, in one of Australia’s largest cities, Gudrik felt more isolated than he would have in the country’s arid centre. The streets and foot paths were populated with nothing more than cars which lay dormant, doors open whispering tales of a hasty retreat. Yet there was no clue as to what may have happened.
As he banked south between two sky reaching glass towers, a fleeting glimpse of something sparked Gudrik’s curiosity. He landed gracefully, swooping into a slow jog and shed his mighty, white wings. He walked through empty streets, eerie with stillness, towards the glimpse which had peaked his curiosity. As he rounded a corner into a thin one way alley, Gudrik laid eyes on the first person he had seen since leaving the Pack. It was a young woman, lying still on the road. He ran to her, calling out as he approached. There was no response from the woman. He dropped to his knees and grasped her shoulder, rolling her onto her back.
Gudrik had seen much death throughout his years and recognised it instantly on this woman. He ran his hand over her body. It was very warm to the touch, her forehead was still moist with sweat, but no other sign of injury or sickness was apparent on her. The cause of death was left to mystery. Such a precious, innocent face, far too young and beautiful to be left lying unceremoniously on the street. He scooped the body up and continued down the lane. As he rounded the next corner, Gudrik noticed another person further up the street, then another, then another. In fact dead littered the street as far as the eye could see. Man, woman and child none had escaped.
Even the war hardened Warlock was disturbed by what lay before him. Gudrik placed the young woman down and lightly closed her eyes, murmuring an old Varth-lokkr chant. It was a horrific sight which confronted Gudrik and continued along the alleyway, a plague of unexplained deaths which became more clustered and concentrated the further he went. Fog still hung in the air, but was fading quickly. Something had indiscriminately killed hundreds, maybe thousands without leaving any signs whatsoever of a method or a means. The street ended in a small grassed park area which led onto the waterfront boardwalk. Close to the river’s edge, the wave of death was at its peak. The dead lay three deep in some patches. These bodies however, bore injuries. There were scratches, cuts and bruises scarring their twisted bodies. These people had been trampled. A stampede, some form of desperate escape, but from what?
Gudrik sighed, stepped onto the carpet of death and followed the morbid breadcrumb trail to its source, the bodies soft beneath his feet. He stepped carefully and tried not to think who the anonymous dead underfoot had been, it was just easier that way. When he reached to origin of the of the trail, Gudrik was not in the least bit surprised to see what lay there. Looming high and proud before him was the Drake Mineral Resources building. Kyran had bragged about experimenting with Gudrik’s blood. Only the gods know what horrors had been created.
He bled and took to the sky again, perching on the ledge outside the Inscribed’s fourth floor window; his wings nestled into his back. The heavy black curtains hung open but there was no sign of any Inscribed. He now knew where this devastation had all begun. But where was it now?
Gliding over the twisted human carpet, once again following its lead, he noticed something from the air which had escaped notice from the ground. It was not only the people that had been affected by the mystery death. The grass, trees and vegetation of median strips and parks had also shrivelled to brittle, brown twigs.
An experienced Varth-lokkr knows that only one thing effects plant and beast as equals….a spirit, and a potent one. Perhaps some kind of pestilence shade, they were deadly, but uncommon and easily banished. No one knew how they came to the mortal realm, or why, but they appeared from time to time and were usually documented in the histories simply as plagues. Kahn had once told Gudrik that the modern sciences had developed ways to combat most of the varieties, but Kahn had personally repelled some over the centuries, back when he still tried to uphold his Varth-lokkr duties.
Eventually the morbid trail began to peter out as the populous had either died or found their escape. Gudrik flew down and landed amongst a cluster of halted military vehicles and fallen soldiers. The dead still men grasped the finest weapons that the age had to offer. All of which would have been completely useless against even the weakest of spirits, let alone one as deadly as this.
High towers of seating surrounded the grassed area, like the fighting arenas of old. Half the grass in the field was still green and supple, the other half, scorched or brown. Small craters scarred the ground, with fragments of twisted metal scattered amongst them. Gudrik searched the area. There was nothing to be seen, but he knew that sight wasn’t the most reliable sense in situations such as this. Ancient instincts were stirred from slumber. All of the tell tale signs were present to any who understood them.
His Varth-lokkr instincts flooded back, as if he had been releasing spirits with his father just yesterday. The wind swirled unnaturally, only lightly, but strong enough for him to notice. The bitter temperatures of a spirit caused air to behave strangely around them. There was the smell too, a pleasant but faint warming smell like an approaching lighting storm, the sky was clear.
He called to the spirit in its own language, offering an invitation to show itself, showing he had an understanding of its kind. It was something his father had always done, though only rarely had it worked. Most chose to stay hidden, many are as fearful of men as we are of them. In this instance however, the response was instantaneous. Light streamed up towards the sky from the very ground on which he stood. The force was such that Gudrik staggered backwards. It circled around him twice before flowing into a loose, billowing form on the ground. The flurry of blue, incandescent light shards pulsed and crackled. Occasionally, human like features flashed on it, hinting at its appearance in its native realm.
The crackling mass simply stood before him, beautiful, terrifying and awe inspiring all at once. The flurry slowly settled into a female form. Though still billowing, the light was moulded, contained. The woman sporadically expanded for brief moments before remoulding as if struggling to hold the shape. It spoke without the need for sound. The words echoed and vibrated within his blood, a sweet feminine voice which sang in spirit tongue. “It is only the most ancient of souls which knows of our language. I felt you as you approached, smelt you as you bled and see you for what you are,” whispered his blood.
In a flash of panic, his dreams made sense. “What am I?” Gudrik replied trying to shield the terror he held for this creature.
“A mongrel, a half breed, an abomination.” Gudrik’s hand moved to his wand. “Revenge.” The word hissed through his body, lingering within for a several heart beats.
There was no doubt in Gudrik’s mind what he was looking at, but how had it freed itself? For so long his existence had kept the Valkyrie weak enough to remain trapped within the amulet. What had suddenly changed? “It doesn’t make sense!”
Then it came to him, though Gudrik was unsure if it was he who realised it, or the spirit simply placing the thought within him. His soul darkened, his eyes drooped. Suddenly the Warlock knew……he was to blame. He had released the fallen Valkyrie.
The image of Kyran’s wounds leaking blue leapt to mind, the wisp of mist as he was ended. Gudrik had done this. The vengeance he had dreamed of for so long had brought death to the world and he could do nothing to stop it.
The time for self pity passed quickly. The Valkyrie burst into a light cloud and streamed at him like a blue-white splinter of lightning. Gudrik dropped to the ground purely out of reflex. The tangled shards of blue surged over him, reforming at his back. He leapt to his feet and flung his body around to face the threat. It had already launched again. This time he was too slow to evade the attack. It was too close. Gudrik closed
his eyes.
The world slowed to a crawl. His life flashed before him as the Valkyrie surged straight at him. Having lived so long, Gudrik had always tried not to linger on things which had come to pass, nor did he usually waste his time with regret. Still, he found himself surprised that despite the millennia of memories he had to sort through, the ones which seemed to surface the most prominently were of George and Tabitha. In the final seconds of his life he did find himself regretting that he would not see them again. He felt a warm, even pleasant sensation as the Valkyrie touched him, not the ice he expected. “Is this it?” He had heard tales of a peace at the moment of death.
Gudrik opened his eyes. “Still alive!?” Confusion struck. The touch of a Valkyrie was fatal to anything living. Yet there he stood and therein lay the secret. A Valkyrie’s touch was fatal, but he had not been touched. It had passed through him in the way spirits pass through each other. “It cannot kill what it can not touch.” Gudrik had just emerged unscathed from something no other had ever been able to. The Valkyrie too appeared confused by the turn of events, it settled back into its humanesque form. Never before had it required more than a fleeting effort to vanquish an annoyance. Gudrik felt a surge of confidence. “Karrjk scwarve!” he roared slashing his palm. His faithful axe tore from his hand, crackling with flame.
The Warlock charged the creature, slashing wildly, axe in one hand, wand in the other. The weapons passed harmlessly through the beautiful, blue maid. It had been a stretch at best, a stretch which had achieved nothing. They stood at a stalemate, each staring at the other and each wondering what the other would do next. Gudrik found himself wondering if the others were okay and hoped they were safely back at the apartment. The Valkyrie suddenly broke its silence, chuckling within him as it surged past at a blistering pace and vanished.
Gudrik heard the Valkyrie rattling excitedly through his blood. Glimpses of emotion flashed in his mind, similar to the way he once saw the minds of The Twelve. Piecing the fragments together a realisation was made. The Valkyrie couldn’t harm him; he feared it had gone for the people closest to him instead. He dropped the axe and it splashed into a speckled puddle of blood on the grass. Gudrik summoned his wings and took to the skies. He pushed harder than he ever had before, diving and driving for every dash of speed he could muster. As the Drake Mineral Resources tower came into view on the horizon, the seductive voice once again surged through his blood. “I see your fear Varth-lokkr. I may not be able to reap my vengeance on you, but I see there are others. Let the hunt begin.”
Gudrik harnessed the fear to drive him still harder. He pushed and pushed as fast as his wings would carry him. The city streaked along beneath him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His lungs burned with exhaustion. He dared not even consider that it may be too late. All the while the voice resonated within him singing sweet, soulful words of doubt and defeat.
Gudrik climbed steeply as he closed in on the high-rise, perching on the huge neon sign and looking hopefully to the south. His blood summoned longsight, no sign of his friends though the open fourth floor curtains. Gudrik clenched his fists with frustration. His hopes were dashed, he knew instantly they were in danger. He knew their intention would have been to help. Everything about these people was driven by honour, they would not think twice before throwing their lives down to help others. Though with this foe they wouldn’t realise just how feeble an offering it would make. He couldn’t predict how they would react to the desolation and death on the streets. Would they follow the trail to investigate like he did, or would they get the hell out of there to help survivors? Or were they already amongst the dead? He shuddered and hoped for the best as he leapt off the sign and spread his wings.
It seemed that Gudrik was not the only one stalking the city. Far above him he was aware of multiple iron birds circling in holding patterns over the city. The mortal rulers were aware of the situation and observing, obviously unsure of what to do.
“I see them,” echoed the voice within his body. Gudrik looked about desperately. An idea came to him. The Valkyrie could see his mind. “Maybe I can do the same to it,” he thought. Gudrik closed his eyes and focused, the way he once did when contacting The Twelve. He searched his mind for a doorway into the Valkyrie’s awareness. However, it was an access he could not find. What he did notice though, was the familiar urge. It had been shielded, hidden amongst the panic, but it was there. The yearning which tingled through his blood in the same way the spirit’s voice did. The feeling was pulling him, drawing him to the east. The Warlock had nothing else to go on, so Gudrik rolled his body and banked around a tower to follow it blindly.
A View of Hopelessness
“Hopelessness is the most crippling injury of all.”
George fired blindly from the car’s shattered rear window. The gun she had scooped up in panic jumped wildly in her hands, bullets flew harmlessly past their target. The Inscribed on the other hand were right on target, though their shots had much the same effect. “This is useless!” barked Dorian over the roar of the speeding engine. George’s ears rang from the surrounding gun shots; sweat ran down her forehead and stung her eyes.
“There’s not much else we can do!” yelled Kahn from the driver’s seat.
Adrenaline flowed as they flew through the city’s tight streets. Luckily there was no other traffic to contend with. Kahn slid around sharp corners and shot down tight alleys, veering wildly from lane to lane as the normally busy city centre rushed past. The others were crammed into the seats firing pointlessly at the blue mass seething at their tail. They were lucky enough to have seen a group of soldiers fall and the Inscribed had just enough warning and sense to run, snatching what weapons they could before it smelt their armour and gave chase. If not for the cluster of cars abandoned with keys in their ignition, George and the Inscribed would certainly have been amongst the dead. “Where are you Gudrik?” George thought.
“It’s gone!” came a sudden call from Brood. George looked back and saw he was right, nothing. It should have been relieving, but was far from it. A second ago that thing had been determined to get them, driven to destroy them by single minded bloodlust, now it suddenly gives up? George and the Inscribed were on edge, packed tight as sardines into a flashy, blue sedan. George’s heart still raced. Neasa felt it, and wrapped her long slender arm around her quivering shoulders. Her touch was always so warm and calming; George often thought it might be some kind of blue word.
“What are we going to do?” she asked
“Yeah,” agreed Dorian, “There’s no point driving around and--/.” Ahead in one of the glass shop fronts George spied something odd, a shimmering reflection, like dancing light. At first she admired the beauty of it, until the realisation of what it was struck. “Kahn on the righ--/!” Before George could finish her warning, the blue swarm burst from the glass. Kahn saw it and reacted quickly, swerving the car hard down a narrow side street, grating against brick briefly. The tyres skidded and slid. He rolled the wheel hard to correct, too hard. The car lurched. Unrestrained Inscribed slid and tumbled over one another. The world turned. George’s equilibrium left her. Up, down, left, right, they were indefinable. Everything and everyone seemed to orbit her. The roof caved in, the remaining glass exploded. The upside-down wreck slid to a screeching halt.
George could hear her heart in her ears; the beat muffled the outside world. Her breathing was heavy. “Am I hurt?” It didn’t matter, there was no time for injury, a second wasted would mean death. Inscribed clambered from the vehicle in all directions, snatching up whatever useless weapons they could. For some reason clutching them still gave confidence. George was still inside. Through the shortened windows she saw the distinct flicker of Dorian’s darts firing off. She went to the other side and dragged herself free.
The blue swooned and flowed from side to side, as if taunting the familiars. Lightning talons slashed at Kahn, but only stirred eddies of blue mist. The Inscribed fought hard against the impossibly powerful foe. Ami kept free of
its advances in the shadows, Dorian shifted from danger. Brood, Teefa and Neasa fired hopelessly at the intangible being from cover points while Crave bent and shaped deceptions and distractions all about it. Their attacks however, seemed to have no effect whatsoever and all were soon dripping blood and sweat. By spirit or by decay, their bodies would soon be lifeless.
George noticed Kahn signalling to her to run and run she did. There was bravery in her, but right then, it was faltering. The Valkyrie saw, it went to follow. Crave slipped between them, “Earvictsus fahl!” His projections flittered away and he crackled into stone as the blue swarmed over him. George gasped in shock, but didn’t linger. She darted down an alley and behind another building. The rattle of gun fire and the bark of blue words could still be heard. It was not long before the sounds died though.
“On your feet! Follow it!” she heard Kahn call.
Weary of toying with the Inscribed, the Valkyrie had focused its attention on George. It knew where to find her, the fear wafting of her was almost visible in the air. It moved slowly in a direct line towards her, passing through buildings as it went. The slow movement was a deliberate tactic intended to incite the others and keep their attention sharply focused on it. It thrived on evoking a sense of fear and urgency, of rage, battle and death. The Inscribed were helplessly limping after it anyway by now, dripping bloody trails on the ground, hardly opponents at all.
George scampered back against the wall as she saw the Valkyrie’s tendrils emerge through the brick. The chilling fingers of death stretched towards her. George sighed as she accepted the fact that there was nothing she could do, despite the screams of protest from the Inscribed. There was no point running, it could move through walls, it would surely catch her. She couldn’t fight it; a single touch would end her. The best she could do was face it bravely and hope that Kahn’s tales of the afterlife were true. She closed her eyes and waited to see her precious Tabitha again.
Blue Words Page 25
