“Did any of your team survive?” asked the Warlock.
“Five from the sweeping team. One from the cleanup crew.” Gudrik sighed. “Though survive might be a generous description,” continued Solomon. Gudrik didn’t follow, it showed on his face.
“Brain dead, just machines keeping his body alive until the family makes the call to pull the plug.”
“I will mourn his loss,” mumbled Gudrik.
“So will I, but at the moment I mourn his life. This isn’t the way he would want to live.”
Solomon paused a second, but didn’t linger in his solemnness. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way Gudrik, I’m glad to have you back, but we need to get you out of here. Questions have been asked about who is in this room, and why it’s so secret. To be honest I would have been moving you out tonight or tomorrow conscious or not.” Gudrik saw no reason to wait.
“Let’s go now,” he suggested.
Solomon reached into his pocket. When his hand emerged, Gudrik welcomed it like family. In Solomon’s outstretched hand lay Scurt’s wand, still wrapped in its shaped, leather scabbard. He had feared it lost. “I’ll bring a car round back. When you hear a bang on that wall, do your thing and slip though. I’ll be waiting on the other side,” he said pointing at the wall behind the bed. Gudrik glanced at the door and then looked back at Solomon. “Too many eyes that way.”
By the time Solomon’s bang came Gudrik had talked George through what was about to happen. She wrapped her arms tightly around him. He opened his vein. He was surprised; the bleed was different, heavier. The blood flowed, rather than trickle. The clawing and whispering inside him also escalated and his restraints glowed bright. “Xitzsus,” he murmured.
The pair faded, gritting their teeth as they dissolved into shades, but all was not right. They began to sink through the ground. Quickly Gudrik adjusted, lessening their bonds with gravity, but too much, he found himself losing touch altogether. The room began to spin away from them. Gudrik fought not to panic, he focused and swiftly regathered, finding his balance. The ability was the same as it had always been, but he seemed to have a much broader range of control over it. Any adjustments he made needed to be much, much finer than he remembered.
Even though it was hazy and shaded Gudrik could see a look in George’s face which was silently asking if he had any frigging idea what he was doing. He ignored it and bit by bit, gently eased them through the wall, solidifying successfully beside Solomon’s waiting car. “I can get you off base; you’ll have to go on your own from there sorry.”
“Will there be a car waiting?” asked George.
“Sort of,” was Solomon’s response. “Can you do your invisible thing?” Gudrik climbed into the backseat and once again bled, “Victziscus-noh.” The Restraints flickered as the shroud swept over him.
They passed through the gate house unmolested. Solomon obviously carried clout and influence on the base, a glimpse of his face and he and George were waved through. A short drive down the road he pulled the car off the sealed bitumen and onto a thin dirt trail which wove through thick groves of trees. The car rattled and bumped along until the road ended at a small, tin farm shed. Beside it stood an old rusted out diesel tank on four corroded legs. Grass and weeds grew high around the shed, climbing the corrugated iron walls, but they had been crushed in the front where the doors would swing open. There was a chain slung through purpose cut holes in the doors. A shiny new padlock dangled from it. Solomon rustled a key from his pocket and clicked the lock open. “Ami left you a present,” he said as he dragged the age stubborn doors open. Sitting in the shed, gleaming ecstatically in the new found sunlight was Ami’s Harley.
George shuddered. “Are you serious? I can’t ride that.”
“Plan was to show him,” Solomon said gesturing at Gudrik. George was not happy. Gudrik on the other hand, looked like a boy seeing his first set of tits.
Under George’s burning scowl, Solomon started talking Gudrik through the use of the clutch, throttle, brakes and gears while the bike was silent and still. He practiced the movements and coordination. After a few minutes of repetition he was ready to try with the bike running. Solomon guided Gudrik, and he sprung it to life with a deep gurgle. George cringed as the smell of combustion filled the air, the men smiled.
The Warlock drew in the clutch and dropped it down into first gear. The bike roared as he ripped and rolled the throttle back repeatedly. “Easy!” urged Solomon. The advice though, came too late. As Gudrik rolled the throttle back one final time, he dropped the clutch. The bike exploded forward. Dirt and stones pittered and pinged as they sprayed the shed and his friends in a wild, stinging rooster tail. The back wheel slipped violently to the right in the loose dirt, then to the left. Finally it slipped back hard to the right again and bit in as Gudrik veered onto the grass. He was unceremoniously flung off and flew through the air as the bike fell heavily onto its side, still roaring.
Solomon ran to the bike and silenced it. George stormed away around the back of the tiny shed. “I am not going anywhere near that fucking thing with him riding it,” she screamed.
Solomon had wrestled the metal steed back onto its stand by the time Gudrik emerged from the scrub. He growled with rage and repeatedly punched a near by tree so hard that his fist shattered and bled, painting the trunk blue. His restraints flickered and glowed angrily as the wounds healed. The outburst was out of character for the Warlock, but the constant throbbing pain inside made his tolerance thin and the ever present whispering gnawed at him.
The bike seemed to be okay. Solomon went over it finding only the odd scuff or scratch here and there. The clutch lever was bent and the left foot peg was broken, but the bike still seemed to run unhindered anyway. Which would be more than they could say for Gudrik when Ami found out, lucky he healed well. When George returned from her spat, Solomon was explaining what Gudrik had done wrong. “Don’t bother, we aren’t going on that thing,” she ordered, upset that her first tantrum had been ignored.
“Maybe I should just fly us,” suggested Gudrik drawing deep breaths and calming his frustration.
“No way, too close to the base they would simply track you and find the others, as well as figure out it was me helping you,” said Solomon shaking his head.
“Well give us your car and you take the bike,” whined George.
“Yeah that will be discreet,” replied Solomon, rolling his eyes, “Driving a missing military vehicle.”
“I’m not getting on that, with him riding!” she reiterated sternly.
“Why don’t you ride it then?” grunted Gudrik harshly, sick of George’s constant complaints and criticisms. The sharp grunt silenced her and George suddenly let them be as she seethed and bubbled.
Gudrik climbed back onto the bike and started it again. He rolled the throttle back and eased the clutch out, this time with much more grace and respect. It began to creep forward. The Warlock walked his feet alongside the beast for a few meters, as it crawled in first gear. Gradually from there he got more comfortable, raised his feet and began doing laps around the clearing with a wide turning circle. Gudrik then progressed to running up and down the dirt road, moving further up through the gears and increasing his speed, with a much tighter turn at the end. A couple of hours later Solomon fuelled them up for their journey with a jerry can from the back of his car, while Gudrik smeared a blue wheel of glyphs onto the back wall of the shed.
“That will get you as far as you need to go. George knows how to get there. Remember, keep your head up and look where you want to be when leaning into turns. Keep this needle below that symbol and you should be fine,” said Solomon, pointing at the 100kph mark on the speedo.
“You ready to go?” Gudrik grunted at George.
“No! Get me a car.” Once again Gudrik lashed out with uncharacteristic fury as he climbed onto the bike, “So be it, stay here.” George glared at him. His returned glare was cold and harsh.
“He’s fine, you’ll be alright,” int
errupted Solomon. She shook her head violently, but as the bike started, she ran up and climbed on anyway.
George pulled on the helmet Solomon had given her. It was little more than a cooking bowl with straps. It bore a sticker on the back which said ‘Magic Happens’ and had a picture of a rearing unicorn. Solomon thought it was hilarious, George less so. “If you kill me, I swear to god I will come back for both of you as a spirit which will make that Valkyrie look like Casper the Friendly Ghost,” she announced above the rumble of the engine.
Solomon waved as they streaked down the dirt road. George clung tightly to Gudrik and squinted out from under the old helmet as it flopped forward and sat on the bridge of her nose. After a short while she became more comfortable with Gudrik’s riding abilities. He followed Solomon’s advice to a T, keeping his speed under the limit, approaching corners and bends with caution and keeping his head up.
As sunset approached, George slapped his shoulder repeatedly, pointing at the turn off to the property. By the time the sky grew pink, the bike had rumbled into the homestead.
A rough timber fence ran the length of the driveway and boxed the house yard. Its twisted rosewood posts and cross runners were lined with cattle which had come to inspect the new arrivals. Their hooves stirred up clouds of dry dust which drifted over the house. Unlike the paddock which was scattered with hardy tufts of dry desert grass amongst red dirt, the house yard was lush with soft, green grass. The cows stretched their heads under the bottom rail to steal nibbles of the sweet young blades beyond.
Bodies also lined the wooden verandah surrounding the house sporting contained excitement on their faces. It was a timber building constructed by pioneers during the fledgling years of the nineteen hundreds. Its stark white coating was accented with ornate mission brown lattices and trimmings which crept across corners and around windows or doors like a twisting vine.
The Inscribed were no longer containing their excitement. All smiled beaming welcomes, except for Ami that was. Instead she scowled and eyed the scratch running down the side of the fuel tank. Although George couldn’t hear her through the rumble of the engine, the movements of her lips were very distinctive. This would test Gudrik’s immortality.
George was embraced by all and welcomed inside, while Gudrik wore an abrasive lashing from the furious blonde. He had never heard many of her words before, but their meaning was certainly implied. Though she stood a good foot shorter than he, Gudrik nodded profusely and apologised for things he had never even done.
“Leave him be babe, you left your bike for someone who has never ridden before, what did you expect?” interrupted Dorian as he strode down the three worn white steps. At his shoulder was a new face to Gudrik. “Good to see you,” said Dorian, embracing the Warlock. “Let me introduce our host, Solomon’s younger brother, Tyson.” Gudrik eyed the short, chubby, white man up and down with confusion. Tyson spied his expression.
“Yes I know he is a little more tanned than I am,” he chuckled, “We’re both adopted.”
Tyson had a warm friendly smile, two rows of perfect white teeth which gleamed out through his curly black whiskers. The beard reached right down to his chest where it tangled into a point. He had an inviting look about him. “Come in, we’ll talk you through what has happened while you were out,” said Dorian, leading Tyson and the Warlock inside. Ami began rubbing and polishing at her scarred bike.
As Gudrik entered the sitting room of the homestead he scanned the faces which were scattered about the room. Some absences were quickly noted. “Neasa and Teefa?”
“Taking care of something,” replied Dorian, sweeping his hair aside.
“The fallout from the battle? Is there a count of the dead?”
“Over three thousand,” muttered Brood. The breath drained from Gudrik. He knew the dead would be numerous, but the figure still shocked him. He kept that shock to himself.
“Tragic, but a mere fraction of what it could have been. What is the feeling amongst the mortal rulers?”
“Publicly they are leaving you out of it completely, the government doesn’t want to seem like they don’t have you under control. They are blaming us in public,” said Dorian.
“As usual we cop all the bad bloody press,” mumbled Crave. Gudrik sighed, but in this case he had to accept that the blame was not fully misplaced.
“Baiser tout, I always looked forward to living life out of the shadows after Kyran died,” mumbled Brood shaking his head. “But now he’s gone we have every other person on Earth after us.”
“At least the deaths have scared most of the fortune seekers off,” said Crave.
“Half Man?” asked the Warlock.
“He’s still in the country; in fact they have been hanging around here. They went to Darwin yesterday chasing a lead on the woman,” said Dorian.
“So where do we go from here?” asked Gudrik.
“The girls are doing some recon on Kyran’s holdings. We should have a report by phone tonight. What happens next will depend on that.”
“Was your father sent on his way?” the Warlock asked, avoiding eye contact. Dorian nodded, the room erupted with mumbles praising their fallen leader. “I just wish we had parted on better terms.”
Gudrik put a hand on his back, “You were his son, his final act showed that there was no ill feeling. Think no more on it.”
“This may sound like a stupid suggestion,” said George, “But if all those people were just.......well, alive again, our problems would go away. Right?” George’s use of the term ‘our’ did not escape Gudrik’s attention. She no longer considered herself separate from the group. The whole room knew where her line of questioning was headed and frowned. “Can you bring the dead back?” she finally asked.
“No, it is beyond the abilities of The Twelve,” dismissed Gudrik.
“But you’re not exactly just one of The Twelve anymore, are you? You are kind of the whole Twelve now.”
“Aye, but still it would not be as easy as you think.”
“Why?” It was clear he wanted nothing to do with the topic, but George just kept poking and prodding, “Valkyries are like heralds of the dead or something, right? You have a Valkyrie inside you right now.” His stoney face darkened.
“I could raise every single corpse which has ever fallen if I wanted too. But the spark, the spirit has already left them; they would be no more than empty wandering husks.”
George’s eyes lit with realisation, “Oh, that’s a Zombie,” she blurted, remembering the first day they had met. She curiously cocked her head at the Warlock, narrowing her eyes. “Wait, you said that it’s not as easy as I think. Which implies it is possible.”
Gudrik exhaled loudly, “Aye, it would be possible. But the blue words I cast don’t just happen, a trade is always made. Usually the payment is simply made in pain and blood, but to truly bring someone back like what you suggest would require.......more.”
“Like what?” Still she poked.
“Another life,” he grunted sternly, his patience now worn right through. George shuddered. “I don’t think myself qualified to decide who does and doesn’t deserve to live. Do you?” He calmed himself. “I have made that mistake before and my life was never the same again.” The room seemed to darken as if the mood of its occupants fed the shadows.
Tyson piped in lightening the heavy space, “I’ve gotta go run some pumps and check some fencing. Wanna come for a drive and see some of the property Gudrik?”
“Aye, I would enjoy that,” he gratefully accepted.
The two men left the dark mood of the room and climbed into Tyson’s truck. The old rig took a few goes to get started, but soon they were rumbling off down a dusty, red dirt road. Tyson spoke first, “Solomon said you might need a bit of alone time.”
“Aye, time to think is good.”
“I’ll take you up to the top of the gorge so you can get a good view of the farm.”
The trip bounced and wound Gudrik through patches of scrub, over flats of
red dirt and through several gates and gullies. It was the type of harsh, dry land he had become quite accustomed to and even grown to love. The trail eventually veered up, following a ridge. It snaked and climbed high until they came to a halt at the edge of a thicket of rugged trees and brush on top of the hill. “We’ve just come up the western border of the farm. Through here you can see the rest of it.” Tyson said, leading the way right into the dense heart of the head high long grass.
Gudrik stomped the tall stems down as he weaved between the trees trailing Tyson. The scent of broken grass wafted up filling his nostrils. All manner of scuttling and shuffling sounded about him as unseen creatures fled the trespassers. Gudrik suddenly realised he had fallen behind Tyson. “My favourite place on the whole bloody farm.” Gudrik heard from the other side of a thick grass curtain.
He pushed his way through and as the tall woody blades parted Gudrik instantly took his meaning. There was no slope on the eastern side of the hill, simply a sharp, red drop onto jagged rocks and water below. The sky was a blue as regal as his blood, hovering weightlessly over a land as red as the blood of mortals. Far below in the distance Gudrik could see a fence line running north to south.
“Aye it is an amazing sight. I see the eastern boundary,” Gudrik commented waving his hand in its direction.
“That’s the eastern border of this paddock. I’ve got three more this size after that to the east and one to the south.” Gudrik was lost for words; the amount of land was incomprehensible.
“You have an amazing home Tyson.”
“Solomon always refers to it as ‘my’ home, but it’s actually as much his as mine. It’s our home, where we’ve spent our whole lives. He won’t be a soldier forever; his half will be here when he’s ready.”
Gudrik didn’t reply, instead he simply soaked in the view. Its serenity calmed his pain wracked body and gave him some long desired relief. “You want to keep moving, see some more?”
Blue Words Page 29
