Gudrik wandered through the wards after the nurse, looking at the children as he passed through. Most were asleep, but some tossed and turned in their beds unable to rest. Whether due to pain, uncertainty or loneliness, all were tortures that the Warlock could empathise with. It was hard to say how many children he had seen, twenty, fifty, maybe more.
“What do I do with the rest?” asked the nurse as she finished. She was seemingly less afraid of the monster now.
“Keep it, but keep it hidden.” The nurse nodded at him, but wondered how on Earth she could keep a bucket of blue blood hidden. “Tell no one what happened here. Save that for only the most hopeless of cases which come to you.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked before adding, “with all due respect,” as an after thought.
“A man is nothing if he doesn’t keep his promises.”
Gudrik found himself wondering what had happened to the twisted, old wise man who had guided him to this point. But the inevitable thrum of helicopter blades and screech of tyres from the street let Gudrik know that his time there was at an end. He looked to the window; the first glow of sunrise had begun to emerge. Gudrik drew Scurt’s wand and strode purposefully down the stairs towards the foyer. He emerged into the wide space with a cringe on his face, rubbing at his left forearm, wiping blue from it. The doors burst open and a flood of soldiers crept warily in, surrounding him. Spotlights streamed in white and hot.
For the briefest of moments a standoff held the room silent. “We have the creature, please advise,” said one of the men into his radio.
“Do not engage. Merlin squad is en route. Repeat, do not engage,” crackled the radio in response. The head man rallied his courage and stepped forward. Gudrik smiled wickedly, a creepy smile which crackled crookedly across his stoney face. Before the soldier could speak the Warlock lunged at him, burying his knuckles into his left cheek. Two bullets struck Gudrik in quick succession and he braced for the viral agony of night stone bullets. It was a pain which never arrived.
“Only steel!? Do they still have no respect for what I am!?” He bled, but spoke no blue words. He grabbed the next man and spun, throwing him through the sheet glass. More bullets struck him, but with what he had been through, that pain was absolutely no barrier. The Valkyrie screamed with excitement, his restraints glowed and the fog began to creep in. He fought it back this time and sought clarity and calm rather than trying to ignore it, as on the island. The Warlock kept his blood from the boil as he fought and kept his rage level.
Gudrik instead revelled in the fight until all the men were down and he was a mess of holes and blood. Then, spurred by a whisper, the stream of blue running down his arm took weight and an axe fell into his grasp. He crouched over one of the men clasping his throat and raised the axe high above his head, the flames ignited, licking and crackling hungrily. The soldier glared up in terror, clawing and struggling to get free.
Suddenly a swirl of blue mist appeared from nowhere and blue words echoed through the room. Three shards appeared in quick succession blossoming from the Warlock’s chest and neck and crackling jolts of energy through him. A heavy boot to Gudrik’s face knocked him onto his back. Dorian stood over him, his foot jammed into Gudrik’s throat. The Inscribed leader crouched and clasp the Warlock’s wrists and neck in shackles lined with a ring of night stone. Dorian leant in close. “I am forever your familiar,” he breathed beside Gudrik’s ear, before punching him hard in the mouth. Gudrik closed his eyes and relaxed.
The soldiers climbed to their feet and an anxious silence followed. Dorian bared his hands to the armed men; half now had their barrels trained on Gudrik, the other half on him. “Thank you for providing the distraction I have so badly needed,” he said to the men. “We are not your enemy.” The soldier which had just faced death under Gudrik’s axe wiped blood from his mouth, eyed Dorian’s tattoos and slowly motioned the weapons away. The Inscribed leader talked briefly with the cautious soldiers, exchanging uneasy thanks and queries. “I assume you have some form of containment for him?”
“The Merlin Squad are almost here, they’re the experts,” said the head man, still nervously eyeing Gudrik.
“Good just remember salt and obsidian.” Before the soldiers could reply, he had vanished into a swirling blue cloud.
The soldiers warily closed in around the Warlock and the bravest reached in, removing the wand scabbard from his wrist. The soldier examined the empty leather pouch closely then tossed it to one side. Gudrik gave a subtle sideways glance at his left forearm and the slight distortion under his skin. A six inch raised lump surrounded by dry, smears of blue blood, subtle to the average man, but obvious when you were privy to what lay beneath. It was his one final possession, his last grasping link to a previous life. It was precious to him.
Police fought spectators away from the large glass windows as a bag was slid over Gudrik’s head. It reeked of dust, but was thick and well woven, no light crept through. He heard more people arrive and he was shuffled into a vehicle of some description. The cabin space was large, he could stretch his legs. The seat was vinyl and squeaked as he twisted. The engine was deep and throaty, gurgling and vibrating through the space. Not a word was spoken by those accompanying him. The radio was silent. Time seemed absent. Gudrik could not tell if he had been driving for thirty minutes or three hours, the silence and darkness skewed things so drastically. He passed the time trying to guess the origins of sounds from the outside world.
When the vehicle did eventually swerve to a halt, the doors opened quickly. There was a brief pause before hands lay on Gudrik again and dragged him out. Wet, sprinkling spots of rain tapped upon his bare shoulders and back. He was led by a man on each side. At first the cold, soggy crunch of rain sodden gravel sounded underfoot, but it quickly changed to the slap of concrete as he climbed six smooth, wet steps.
Carpet was next for a short time; it was warm and dried his cold bare feet. The group paused for a moment waiting silently until a ping was heard. “A lift,” thought Gudrik remembering Drake’s tower. He stepped onto a tiled floor, scrunching his toes in the grouted lines. His stomach rose in his body slightly. It was a long plunge, he felt as if he may be headed to the very bowels of the earth themselves.
When the elevator car halted there was a whir and a clunk as the doors opened. The silent men at his shoulders finally spoke, though not to him. Different voices met them as he was handed over. The floor now was cold and smooth, almost slippery. He continued for a time, led by the new escorts. Their grip was different to the last, much more relaxed; they held no fear of him. A series of doors opened, then closed after him.
The murmur of other voices soon filled the air and the distant mumbling rants of the Valkyrie, which had become a constant background hum to his thoughts, suddenly stopped. The pain, which had become part of his existence ceased......not eased, ceased. Gudrik was guided alone through a small doorway. One of the escorts gently pushed his head down, so as not to bump it. His shackles were removed, then shortly after his shroud.
Gudrik’s eyes blinked rapidly. It was very bright, not the subterranean cavern he had expected from the long descent. He saw black bars drift into focus before him, smooth, carved of night stone. Arcing around about two metres from the cage was a shimmering moat of salt. Not grains though, which are easily disturbed. This was a long, smooth, unbroken block of crystallised salt, glimmering like glass, just as effective and much more secure.
“Impressive,” he thought. The military were far more prepared for him than he had expected from the assault team. Inside the cage, not only was his craft nullified, but so was the spirit. He was free of the torture, free of the torment and alone with his thoughts. It was as if he could think clearly for the first time since the Valkyrie was bound to him. It was pure and unadulterated relief.
The Warlock was free to think, and think he did. In the thoughts flowed, George, Tabitha, the Inscribed. He missed them already, but it was the picture of his little princess smilin
g out through her bouncing curls which drew tears to the Warlock’s blue eyes. Along with the tears though, came comfort, for here, in this prison he was finally certain that he could never cause the ones he loved any harm. That was far more important than anything else. This was what he wanted. This was a good place to wait out eternity.
“Hello Gudrik,” said a sweet and oddly familiar voice. “You look very different up and about, clean shaven suits you.” It was a voice he recalled from his captive days. “Not sure if you know me or not, but I know a lot about you.” Before him Gudrik saw the voluptuous curves and curling golden hair of a young woman. “My name is Alicia Carter, and I am very excited to be working with you.”
George fluttered her eyes open as the morning sun flowed through the open windows. She sat up and stretched. Brad’s locket dangled open between her breasts. George eyed it quizzically as she snapped it closed. Tabitha’s giggling and bleating drifted up the stairs as Neasa hummed soulful Gaelic melodies to her. She slid out of bed and slipped on her gown. Drawing back her hair, George’s fingers touched upon a dried patch of something at her temple, she blindly picked and scraped at the blue flakes until they were no more then wandered down the stairs.
The Inscribed were up and about. All bar Neasa were fixated on the television. “Morning. Where’s Dorian?” George asked, noticing the absence immediately. Head counting was a natural reflex from her teaching days.
“Had to take off for a bit, should be back tomorrow,” said Crave.
George couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something had changed. Something was different. Something was wrong. Something was missing.
She shook the feeling, wandered into the kitchen and sat beside Dana, who was eating breakfast, Tyson was out working. Courtney and Parker were also at the table enjoying the morning meal either side of their mother. “Morning love,” Dana greeted.
“Morning,” replied George before adding, “Beautiful day.”
No sooner had she sat than a plate full of bacon, eggs and toast was slapped in front of her. “Thanks honey,” she said kissing the handsome young man lightly on the lips. He seemed a little surprised by the affection, but after a brief and nervous pause he smiled and kissed her back. Dana gave a smile too, though hers was a forced one, nothing more than a strained curl of the lips quivering beneath disapproving eyes. “Yes, thank you.......Brad. It’s nice to have a morning off.” There was a distinct pause and a dart of the eyes before the name.
The sound of Brad’s name triggered an echo deep within George’s mind; one so distant that it could have been but a whispered memory, though its source and meaning evaded her. George fondled the locket which for so long had been her only connection to him.
The news continued to chatter excitedly from behind. The word ‘Warlock’ caught her attention and she swung around in her seat. “Turn it up a bit please?” she asked of Crave.
The picture which hovered above the newscaster’s left shoulder sent chills up and down her spine and bubbled her stomach.
“Military forces this morning confronted and captured the Warlock creature which has been on the run for several months now. It was cornered at Brisbane’s St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital and subdued after a short clash. Eye witnesses claim that members, or a member of the terrorist group ‘The Inscribed’ sought over the recent biological attack, assisted and in fact played an integral role in the creature’s capture. This has obviously raised questions amongst the community. At a press conference this morning the Defence Minister was quoted as saying, ‘I couldn’t be happier with the success of this operation.’ When asked if the Inscribed group’s status as a terrorist organisation was to be revoked, he replied, and I quote, ‘Their actions have certainly warranted us to rethink that status, but more investigation is needed.’“
Footage of Gudrik being led into a van, black restraints weighing him down, was looped and repeated over and over. Strange feelings overcame her, a mash of emotions which she could not fully understand. George searched herself and something deep within identified the mysterious feelings as fear, hate and disdain. “I hope they execute the monster for everything it has done to my family,” she finally spat, turning back to her breakfast. Neasa shot a look to Teefa and a tear welled in her eye. Awkward silence filled the house.
“Googy!” called Tabitha excitedly, clapping at the TV.
George looked up at Brad cleaning away at the sink and gave him an adoring smile. He caught her look from the corner of his eyes and smiled back at her. His was an ecstatic smile, the smile of someone whose lifelong dream had finally come true. The feelings which in turn rushed through George were bliss. Her family was whole again. Brad reached for the tongs; his hand brushed the frying pan which still sat hot above the recently extinguished flame. “Fidix!” he grumbled shaking his blistering hand and running it under a cool stream of water.
The whisper deep within George’s mind echoed again, spreading and growing ever fainter like ripples in a pond.
“The Warlock is evil. It took you, it took Brad. Brad’s death was a deception, a Warlock trick. Your memories from the time you were taken are gone. The Inscribed are heroes, you witnessed their actions, you witnessed their bravery and you will tell of their deeds. You count them as family. They freed all you love. They saved your lives. They saved the world. You will look upon the Warlock with disgust, with fear and with disdain for the things it did to you and those you love. You are happy. You have never been happier.……..I love you.”
As quickly as the echo had come, it was gone, rippled away. Forgotten.
Epilogue
“Every ending is simply the beginning of another tale.”
The fluorescent light hummed and flickered a strobed pattern onto the walls as the ceiling fan interrupted it. The light show was a welcome addition to the otherwise dreary room. Two men busied themselves in the space. Both dressed in black, one (with a white arrow etched on his chest) slumped on a table against the western wall. He deftly tumbled a combat blade through his fingers. The other (a white sword on his chest) hunched on a wooden chair meticulously snapping rounds into his extra mags with a bandaged hand.
“Do we have an E.T.A?” asked the Sword.
“No, but it shouldn’t be much longer,” replied the Arrow.
“Have the reinforcements arrived from The Forge?” the Sword continued.
Arrow shook his head, “The new Hammer was inducted but. The second born actually took out the eldest.”
Sword looked up and smiled, “He was never as big as his brother, but I always knew he was hard.”
“True. He is on his way with the last troop of greys from the African operation. It’s completely closed down now.” Arrow eyed the blade in his hand. “Throw me your stone.” He held his palm out. The Sword pulled a sharpening stone from a pocket on the leg of his cargos and tossed it to the other paladin. “No new Spear yet, she left an empty nest. A new bloodline was chosen but something happened during the transfer.” He locked the last round in place and loaded the mags into his vest.
“What happened?”
“No idea, didn’t ask.”
“Last I heard from your nest, that sister of yours was getting pretty cocky.”
“Yeah she challenged, was a dead shot,” Arrow said proudly as he carefully honed the blade of his knife. “But she has always aimed too long. Put a shaft through her eye before she loosed.” The paladin paused and took a swig from his mug on the table beside him. “The Dagger was challenged after losing the Warlock. The younger sister took the title; she’s around here somewhere, skulking like Daggers do.”
“Closer than you may think,” came a whisper. A wiry young woman slipped from the dark of the corner, a black hood shrouding her face. “Your sister is getting close to a challenge too Sword,” she added sweetly.
“Ah she is fast, always has been, I know she will take the title one day and make an incredible Sword for the Guardian.”
“For the new Guardian,” added Dagger.
>
“Who would have thought we would see a new Guardian in our lifetime,” mumbled Arrow.
“Any word on Alicia?” asked the Sword leaning back in the chair.
“Nothing, the bitch has disappeared. Took the drive too,” replied Dagger.
All looked uneasy about the possibilities of things to come. A mobile phone sang loudly echoing off the concrete walls. Arrow answered it without speaking, he simply listened and ended the call with a single word, “Understood.” He placed the phone back onto the table and drifted a look from one paladin to the next. “They’re coming now.”
“Are all the preparations made?” asked Dagger.
“Yeah everyone’s ready, just needs to be plugged in.”
For twenty four hours they had been at the Vault. For twenty four hours they had waited. They ascended the concrete steps and opened the door, entering a large underground car park. A small blue sign on the door read.
“Vision Haematological Engineering”
The trio stood ready in the shadows of the car park. “So how does this work Sword? You’re the only one who has seen it before.” The Arrow’s voice broke silence.
“The Guardian will be weak as the change happens. We simply need to issue daily rations of blood during that time. We need to be strict on the rations, most of the stockpile was lost and obviously we don’t have access to the relic anymore. After a fortnight the Guardian will be strong enough to stop the rations, but by then addiction will have taken over. The Guardian’s mind will stray, they will even try to drink their own blood if not completely restrained, mouth guard too. Drake kept feeding for days before we figured out he was biting his own tongue. Even more important this one doesn’t bleed during that time, this one speaks the language. Once the addiction passes, we will just be on security again.”
Blue Words Page 33
