Blue Words

by M. C. Edwards

  “I’ll tell you when I’m ready!” snapped Gudrik harshly. His hard cheeks actually reddened. Instantly he apologised, “Sorry, the pain makes me......short.” That was true; the dull throb, which constantly pulsed inside him, did put Gudrik in a foul state of mind. Deep down though, Gudrik knew that there was more to it than that, something much darker. It wasn’t Gudrik who had replied then, he had lowered his guard and something else had spoken.

  The trip back was not jovial. The comment had dented the awkward peace between Gudrik and his host. There was no doubt that Tyson was questioning what exactly his brother had gotten him into. The farmer leaned forward and flicked the radio on. A news report boomed through the cab of the ute.

  “The first victim of the Brisbane massacre was laid to rest today. Nine year old Madeline Waters perished along with 3013 other souls when a biological device was detonated near the Brisbane River. Members of a terrorist group known as the Inscribed are still being sought in connection with the disaster. Despite government denials, unofficial channels are reporting a connection between these Inscribed and the Warlock creature which still remains at large. Many who witnessed the events are still haunted by what they saw. Experts have explained the recounts of an ominous blue cloud to be nothing more than hallucinations brought on by low level exposure to the currently unidentified toxin.”

  “That’s why they don’t believe anything Solomon has told them about the incident,” said Tyson, “They think he was hallucinating.” Gudrik shook his head, he could not believe how easily or quickly misinformation could be spread in this modern world.

  They were served a mouthwatering meal that night, prepared by Tyson’s wife Dana and Gudrik met his children, Parker and Courtney. He was as pleasant and charming as the grumbly old Varth-lokkr could be, but for the entire meal, Gudrik found himself biting back snide and hurtful comments, vile thoughts which raced for his tongue only to be halted at the very last instant.

  After dinner they were all sitting on the verandah in the cool night air telling tales of times long passed, when Dorian’s phone lit up. “Neasa,” he announced and put the phone on the railing, “You’re on speaker.”

  “Hi guys!” She sounded as sweet and cheerful as ever. “We’ve been snooping around as deep as we can. Everything looks as it should. Mining leases are still running under the control of the board of directors. All of his personal stuff has sold at auction, not just the stuff in his lobby either, the really precious artefacts in the penthouse too. The mementos he would have never sold. The furniture has gone; the sign hasn’t even been lit the whole time we’ve been here.”

  “Any sign of paladins, greys or security nosing around?” asked Dorian.

  “Nope not a thing, in fact it has never been easier to get around. His security system even appears to be offline.”

  “Click find anything?”

  Click was a friend of the Inscribed, the accountant who was responsible for hiding their properties and burying their paper trails. His real name was Bruce, but Brood had dubbed him Click because he seemed to do everything with the click of a mouse.

  “Yeah he is seeing the same stuff as us. Kyran’s board of directors are looking pretty hard for a buyer, they are scared that things are going to come out which will plummet their share price even further. Most companies don’t wanna touch it. Click has his company acting as a potential buyer and they are opening everything up to him. Apparently they are desperate to show how profitable the company was before the controversy. He had no will or instructions on how to transfer assets upon his death.”

  “Typical, he had never even considered he could die,” said Brood.

  “Exactly,” replied Neasa, “With one exception.” Now that comment peaked everyone’s interest.

  “He transferred the title on a small charter boat company out of the cape in far North Queensland.”

  “To who?” rushed Dorian

  “Some guy we have never heard of.....um, I wrote it down, hang on.......Garry Worth. He’s never been an employee of Drake Mineral Resources or any of its subsidiaries though, other than working for the charter company.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not really, I think that is about all that there is to find. Click may get more in the next few days, but we’ve done all we can. We’ll head back to you guys if you agree chief.”

  “Yeah see you in the next few days girls. Well done.” The phone call ended.

  Smiles showed all round. “Doesn’t sound like the stories of the Heir panned out brother,” said Crave.

  “Fingers crossed, but I think we should look into this Garry Worth, just in case,” replied Dorian

  The rest of the night was filled with banter and stories, as in the days of the beach house. Then one by one they all retreated to their beds.

  Childhood

  “Childhood shapes the person you become, so fill it with joy and wonder at every opportunity.”

  The smell of the salty air filled Gudrik’s nostrils and before his eyes had even opened he knew what was happening. Once again he stood on the island, naked and wandless. The twisted palm rustled in the breeze. He bit his hand and the red trickle oozed from the wound. He followed the dream just as he had last time, following the same path, following the same sounds, until finally he found the same wall. He climbed it and looked over the grounds. There, unexpectedly, he found change. The pairs before him were different. Most things were identical to last time, but the children were certainly different. Last time it had been a boy and a girl bashing at each other with blunted swords. Now it was two small freckled boys, slightly older. They were armed with wooden hammers. He could see the pair from the last dream; they were at the shooting range, firing at small paper targets. Suddenly his dream got more interesting.

  He leapt down from his wall and walked freely amongst them. He headed for the centre of the grounds where the younger group of toddlers sat in a circle clapping in rhythm as an old woman sang in an unfamiliar tongue. The large banner fluttered above them. He desperately moved around the circle searching for Tabitha’s face. It wasn’t amongst the happy group. He headed straight for the cottage he had last seen her in. There he found her, droop-faced, hunched on the bed. She was thinner, she hadn’t been eating. He tried to call to her, but his voice made no sound for her ears. He pushed a small wooden cup from the table in front of him. It fell to the floor with a loud clutter. Tabitha looked up. Her eyes did not see through him. They were red, raw. “Home Googy,” she sobbed at him. He reached for her, and as their hands touched, he woke.

  He sat up with a start. He had cried, the tears still ran down his cheeks. “Pathetic,” he scolded himself. Gudrik had really come to hate dreaming. He stood and walked downstairs, out onto the verandah. There he found Ami already sitting with her feet up on the rail, cigarette between her lips. The wind flicked at her short, silken gown fluttering its corners and edges. It clung to her tightly, she was clearly naked beneath. There was something very seductive about the odd flashes of suggestive flesh and the curves under silk. He sat on the chair beside her.

  “Want one?” she asked holding the pack up to him. Gudrik accepted and lit the cigarette.

  “Where’s Dorian?”

  “Asleep. He’s a beast in the sack, but a baby once he’s spent.” They both chuckled. “You ok?” she asked.

  “Dreams,” he responded.

  “About?”

  “Tabitha.”

  “Ahhh, think they might mean something?”

  “Maybe.” Ami puffed a smoke ring into the air.

  “Look for symbols that you can try and decipher some meaning from.” Gudrik thought it sounded like rubbish, but he had nothing else to do. So he searched through the fragments of dream which faded more and more with every waking moment. “There were lots of kids fighting.”

  “Too broad, try for something more specific.” Again he sifted through the fragments.

  “A banner!” he announced as he stumbled upon the memory, surprised he ha
dn’t recalled it earlier.

  “Yeah that might work. What’s on it?” She drew on the cigarette, glowing the end brightly.

  “A rack of black weapons on a red background.” Ami’s attention sharpened as she blew the smoke from her lungs and leaned forward.

  “What weapons?” Gudrik strained to recall the details as he fumbled with the memory.

  “A spear and hammer on the edges of the rack. A sword, a quiver of arrows and a dagger in the centre,” he recalled. Ami went silent, as if frozen in place. The ash dropped off her cigarette.

  “That’s the banner of The Forge Gudrik.” The Warlock looked blankly at her. “Where the paladins are trained.”

  The gears clicked together in his mind, “So it’s a real place?” He had learned not to discount the links between dreams and reality.

  “Maybe, I mean there would be one still, but....” she trailed off, “Tell me more about the place.”

  Gudrik spoke fast, excitement put a strange pitch through his rumble, “Five wooden cottages arranged in a circular pattern around a cobblestone centre.”

  “The nest homes and the challenge arena. The big banner would have been hanging above it.”

  “Aye, that’s right. Where is it?” Ami slumped back into her chair.

  “I only know where it was. It always moved with Kyran, and has many times since I grew up there.” She drew on the cigarette, “So I take it you think this is more than a dream?”

  “Maybe. I saw the Valkyrie’s escape in my dreams through its eyes. It felt real, like I even played a part in it. This feels the same.”

  “Yeah but you’re not exactly seeing Tabitha through its eyes are you. Maybe it’s just your grief manifesting in a dream.”

  “What about my description of The Forge but?”

  “Maybe you were taken there once during your captivity?”

  He thought on it, “No, there is a lot of memory to sort through, but I am sure I have never been there.”

  They hit a stalemate. Their cigarettes burned out and Ami bid him good night. Gudrik waited out the rest of the moon and saw the sun rise.

  At dawn Tyson appeared sipping at a hot mug of coffee. He seemed surprised when he saw Gudrik sitting there. “Morning mate. How’d ya sleep?”

  “Short. The night was peaceful but.”

  Tyson nodded, “Must’ve been, I slept through it. Wanna come start the pumps?”

  “Aye,” said Gudrik, climbing to his feet, “A distraction would be welcome.” As he rose Gudrik winced and clutched his head.

  “Pain?” asked Tyson.

  “Always.”

  “Here,” he said, flicking him something from his pocket. Gudrik snatched it from the air and a small silver flask sloshed in his hands. Gudrik flashed him a smile and took a long swig.

  “Now I know why you’re always smiling,” said the Warlock, offering it back to him.

  “Hang on to it, I’ve got another.” He tapped the pocket on his shirt, making a metallic thud. “Dana stopped me drinking after work; she thinks it’s bad for me. So I drink while I work now. It’s called a compromise.” Tyson smiled. “It’s the secret of a long, happy marriage. Just don’t tell her.”

  It took almost three hours to travel to all the pumps that were to be run that day. Each one had to be run a couple of times a week on a rotating schedule to keep the water troughs full for the beasts. Gudrik had quickly finished his hip flask and topped it up from the bottle of scotch Tyson kept under the seat. The alcohol successfully dulled the fury rumbling from within. Again Gudrik was dwarfed by the expansive scale of Tyson’s cattle property and he laughed through stories told of growing up there with Solomon. By the time the pair returned, both were merry and red cheeked from the mixture of sun and scotch.

  The Inscribed were running laps of the small paddock beside the house. Crave, who was the most unfit of the group stole an opportunity to rest and speak with Gudrik, running up to the fence and flopping onto it. “Ami mentioned the dreams,” he managed to stutter between pants.

  “You have some insight?”

  “Yeah brother, I think I know exactly what is going on.”

  Dorian jogged past, “Keep moving fat bastard!” he yelled.

  “Give me a second,” Crave replied. “There’s a spirit in you now right?”

  “Aye.”

  “Some of their abilities can work through people; we are all proof of that, right brother?”

  “Aye.” Gudrik failed to see where Crave was going.

  “Spirits are all knowing right? Not just most shit, literally everything which other spirits know. I think when you sleep you are accidentally tapping that ability. Spirit lives in man here; in your dreams it may be the other way around.” Gudrik just stared at him, he had a point. Ami ran up and joined them.

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Yeah,” panted Crave. Dorian came past a second time.

  “Keep moving!” Ami burnt him with a glare and he quickly trotted off, leaving them be.

  “What do you think Gudrik?” she asked.

  “It’s a good theory, I want it to be true, but I thought only the offspring of paladins lived there? Why would Tabitha be there?” The question brought the return of the stalemate.

  “It’s possible that she is just being kept there,” suggested Crave.

  “Yeah, but that kind of shits on a thousand years of strict tradition, something he would never have allowed,” Ami added doubtfully.

  “Smoko time Gudrik!” Tyson called cheerfully as he trotted up the steps.

  Gudrik leaned closer to Ami, “What’s smoko?” he whispered.

  “Just go find out,” she smiled and jostled him off.

  When he entered the kitchen there was a platter of pikelets piled with lashings of homemade jam and cream. The food was accompanied by two tall mugs of coffee. “Dig in Gudrik,” invited Tyson, sitting at the table, “Bloody beautiful babe.” His voice was loud and far too merry after a long morning of work. Dana knew he had been drinking and the single arched eyebrow he received certainly informed of that, hinting at suffering to come. “M-maybe we should, um go and eat this with the kids,” he suggested quickly getting up, keeping Gudrik between him and his wife.

  Gudrik slumped beside Tyson on the couch, balancing the plate precariously on his lap. Tyson quickly glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen, then whipped out his hip flask and poured a dram into Gudrik’s coffee, then his own. Parker swung around and looked at his father from the bean bag. Tyson silently held his finger up to his mouth and winked. The boy giggled and turned back to the TV.

  Parker and Courtney had just started watching a movie. Gudrik had seen television several times, but never anything that particularly interested him. This on the other hand drew him in and held him tight. It was like the epic songs of battle and turmoil, but with pictures. He quickly lost himself in the story.

  A great King died, poisoned by a rival King from another land. The dying King left no children or siblings behind. Instead of having his seat fall to distant squabbling relations, during his slow and painful death, he had decreed that a young child from the dungeon would take rule. This boy was to be raised and guided by a panel of advisors the King had selected. The child was too young to understand, and had never known anything but the dungeon. As the story twisted on the boy became a great King himself, a ruler for the people. He defeated the rival kingdom in battle and his history was revealed. He was the bastard son of the King he had just slain.

  Gudrik watched with childlike wonder as the film ended. He clapped loudly and the kids giggled at him, but suddenly he stopped, his face washed serious and he dashed outside. The Inscribed had finished training and spread about the homestead on different tasks. He found Ami in the shed polishing her bike, again.

  “A new line!” he grunted at her. The outburst achieved nothing more than confusion. “Why would Tabitha be at The Forge? We couldn’t figure out why Tabitha would be at The Forge. To get at me Kyran decided to turn her into h
is new Spear.” Ami nodded in consideration. Gudrik longed to share the theory with George as well, but restrained himself. “Not yet. Even if we are right, we still have no idea where this place is,” he counselled himself. “So where do we start?”

  “Your dreams were on an Island right?” asked Ami as she slung the polishing cloth over the handlebars.

  “I think so, it looked like mainland to the south to me, but that’s still only a guess,” replied Gudrik.

  “Okay, let’s assume you are right and assume Kyran kept it close to his central operations, as he always has. We are looking at somewhere off the northern Australian coast,” calculated Ami.

  “Well that narrows it down to a few hundred islands spread over about six thousand kilometres of coast,” echoed Crave from the next bay of the shed. It truly put the futility of their search into perspective.

  Once again they entered deep thought. It was Ami’s eyes which lit first, as her keen intellect threw another option forward. She pulled her phone out and began dialling. Gudrik and Crave watched on, ignorant to her plan.

  “Hey,” she said to the mysterious contact. “Where was that charter boat company?” Her eyes were alight with hope. “Cool, change of plans, meet us there.” Ami nodded along as if she were in a face to face conversation. “See you then.”

  “Who was that?” asked Crave.

  “Neasa,” she pouted, as if it were obvious, “We are going north.” Gudrik and Crave eyed her with reservation and she huffed, frustrated they weren’t following. “Why would an obscure little charter boat company be the only thing Kyran had a contingency plan for?” posed Ami. The dots began to join.

  “You’ll need Dorian’s okay for this, he is the boss remember?” said Crave.

  “I’ll take care of him, you guys start getting ready.”

  She put on her sexiest smile, pushed her breasts up so they bulged from the neck of her top and trotted over to Dorian across the yard.

  Crave packed the few meagre possessions the group still had while Gudrik smeared a wheel of glyphs onto an aged slab of concrete where a tank had once stood. With the vastness of this land it seemed sensible to have a few exit points scattered about. To this day no one knows exactly what was said between Ami and Dorian, but thirty minutes later the group was saying their fairwells to Tyson and his family. Ami grinned devilishly as Dorian informed the group his revelation about The Forge. George remained neutral on the idea, reluctant to get her hopes up.