Blue Words - Part I

by M. C. Edwards

  “Well, we’re well and truly done!” George announced as the realisation sunk in. Gudrik shakily raised his head and looked around.

  “No, this will do woman,” he assured.

  “Um, you can call me George. You know, rather than woman.”

  “You have done well George.” The grim bastard almost smiled.

  The six guards were by now at the large, glass doors. All had their guns trained on the pair. “Dagger is on his way up,” she heard one mutter to the others.

  “Hand over the amulet and the relic and you won’t be harmed,” yelled another gruffly. George pondered the offer for a few seconds, weighing up seemingly non-existent options. Summoning all the remaining strength he had, Gudrik suddenly snatched the night stone casket from George. “Don’t move!” shouted one of the guards. With all his might Gudrik threw it over the railing and dropped to his knees.

  The black casket hurtled down, twisting and rolling through the air and ending its journey with a splash. It sunk quickly and silently into the waters of the river below.

  Gudrik’s strength surged back. He climbed to his feet and rattled loose a fierce battle cry. The guards looked unsure how to react. George seized on the distraction and ran from firing line, straight to the glass paneling which fenced the roof. She peered down the sheer drop of glass, metal and concrete to Eagle Street far below. The guns stayed with Gudrik. George hoped and prayed with all of her might for a fire escape, a window washer’s lift, anything. She saw nothing but a dead drop.

  “Don’t move or we’ll fire,” ordered one of the guards, his voice shook and his trigger finger twitched. Gudrik glared at him and swiftly shot towards George, who was now leaning over the stainless steel top rail, still scouring for an escape which didn’t exist. The guards began to fire wildly at him. They may not have seemed overly competent, but they could shoot. Several projectiles tore through Gudrik’s flesh as he moved, spattering blue onto the grass. Startled by the gunshots, George spun just in time to see the scruffy relic hurtling towards her. A bullet buried into Gudrik’s knee. He stumbled. Before she had a chance to react, Gudrik crashed into George. His momentum forced her backwards, toppling them both indigently over the safety railing in a tangled mess of arms and legs.

  The pair rocketed towards the ground. George screamed profanities so coarse that they blistered the very air around her. She scrambled and flailed as if trying to climb back up Gudrik’s body. He wrapped himself tightly around her. “Earvictius groot,” he bellowed.

  His bullet wounds glowed, and the tender flesh surrounding them began to transform into cold, speckled granite. The stone rapidly spread along his limbs and across his abdomen, searing with pain as it went. He cringed and grated his teeth. As it spread across his chest and onto George she began to scream as though he were slashing chunks of flesh from her. Thankfully, the agony did not linger and in the blink of an eye, stone had completely swallowed both of them. No matter how hard she tried George could not move. It was both claustrophobic and frightening.

  The living statues whistled closer and closer to the ground. Until......SMASH! They crashed unhindered onto the roof of a parked car. Glass and shrapnel exploded from the vehicle as they tore through the chassis and into the road beneath.

  Just as painfully as it had spread, the rock retreated returning the flesh to its vulnerable state, leaving it sensitive and speckled with sweat. Both lay for a moment of recovery. Their chests heaved deeply as they came to terms with what had just happened. Gudrik crawled out of the mangled wreck and climbed to his feet. “Are you harmed?” he grunted, lifting George to her feet.

  She was pale and disheveled with blank shock clouding her eyes. Time was of the essence. Gudrik slapped her across the cheek. Fire filled her blank eyes. She swung a punch, which he avoided. He grabbed her shoulders and repeated his question, “Are you harmed?”

  “I-I’m confused as hell,” she responded, panicked, but glad to be alive. “But fine. I think. Yes fine. Definitely ok,” she stammered nervously, quickly checking her body over for injuries and pulling her dress down to cover the lacy black panties on show to the world. Her hand quickly went to her locket, checking it was still there. “Was I made of stone then?” Gudrik ignored her question. His attention was otherwise occupied. By that stage, a huge crowd of onlookers and good Samaritans had gathered around their impact point.

  “We must keep moving.”

  He dragged his hand along a twisted shard of the car’s metal shell and spoke, “Unjallius.”

  Gudrik groaned as huge, white wings tore from the flesh of his back in a puff of loose feathers and a splatter of blue. They stretched to a massive, elegant span and quivered in the sun. The suit jacket and shirt were left torn and tattered, spattered, stained and hanging in shreds from Gudrik’s muscled shoulders. The stunned onlookers stepped back in awe. He grasped the confused woman tightly and with a few powerful beats of his mighty wings launched the two of them into the sky.

  George clung tightly as they whipped and glided through the city. They weaved between the highrise buildings, slowly gaining altitude and suddenly plunging toward the ground as Gudrik negotiated the unpredictable up-drafts above the busy city streets. George was not as terrified as her brain insisted she should be. She loved the speed, she loved the wind and she loved the gaping faces of the populous below. It all exhilarated her. Gudrik’s grasp was gentle and caring, but still so firm and reliable that there was no fear of falling.

  Finally, Gudrik surged up and breached the top of the sky scrapers. The onlookers below were now nothing more than ants. George released her grip on Gudrik and shielded her eyes. The sun was much fiercer up there without the buildings’ protection. She swivelled and squirmed as she gathered bearings. “Land on those cliffs over there,” George said pointing at a small lookout point above the river.

  Gudrik dived and swooped in, gently putting the two of them down on the grass in a rapid flutter of tiny wing beats. “Gratitude,” Gudrik grunted as the wings collapsed into a sprinkling of blood.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied. A strange look crept across George’s face, a coy curiosity. “Why didn’t you just do the whole, graceful angel wings thing when we were plummeting from the building?” she blurted, “You know, rather than turn me into a rock.” He simply scowled and shrugged. “It was kind of embarrassing crawling out of the car wreck in front of everyone with my dress hiked up around my waist?” Gudrik glanced over his shoulder, ever wary.

  George looked the relic up and down. It was much taller now that it stood straight and strong. She had torn feelings about this relic. Or creature. Or whatever the hell it was. Every fibre of her being wanted to lay blame for everything at its feet, but if it wasn’t for it there was no telling what would have happened. George wanted to both embrace and slap him. “It or him.” In the end, rushed by the distant wail of sirens, she made a decision.

  “Come with me, I live just a few blocks away,” she said motioning down the road. Gudrik paused a moment and then nodded gratefully.

  “I will see you to your home safely,” he replied and began to walk in the direction she had indicated. Despite her reservations about Gudrik, she would see Tabitha again thanks to him, and for that George would be eternally grateful.

  As they strolled down the road, George looked at the tattered remnants of jacket and shirt still flapping about Gudrik’s shoulders in the breeze. “You look about my ex’s size. I still have some of his clothes you can use.”

  “Gratitude,” he rumbled.

  Evaporation

  “Any obstacle can be overcome when one flows like mist.”

  Tabitha answered the door with a smile. “Meeeeeoww,” she purred, long, black whiskers streaking her cheeks.

  “Hello baby, did you miss me?” George asked, scooping her up and smothering her with kisses.

  “So.....interesting day then?” greeted Edna sarcastically, eyebrow arched at George’s windswept hair.

  “Ha,” she pouted, “You don’
t even know the half of it.” Edna glared at her with that all-knowing gaze older, wiser people give when they are just about to school you.

  “Mummy, tee bee,” squealed Tabitha clapping her hands. George wandered into the apartment and looked at the television. She bit her lip. An announcer prattled excitedly over shaky footage of Gudrik and his majestic wings carrying her off into the sky. George’s heart began to miss every second beat.

  “So who’s your new friend?” asked Edna, eyeing off Gudrik, who was still standing politely in the hall, barefoot and shirtless.

  “Oh sorry, this is Gudrik,” she replied, beckoning him in.

  “Nice to meet you Gudrik,” replied Edna, picking up his hand and shaking it. “Next question, what is your new friend?” she continued, looking him up and down and rubbing her hands unashamedly over his chest and stomach muscles as she ushered him in.

  “No idea Edna.” Her attention shifted to him, “Gudrik, I believe you promised me an explanation to all of,” George paused for a second, searching for the right words. “This,” she finally added waving her hands theatrically. He examined the room.

  “I am a Varth-lokkr,” he rumbled. The room was silent as his his eyes darted from woman to woman. “A Magnus?” The faces remained blank. “Veneficus? Stregone? Djinn?” He paused and thought on it, curling his lips in vague disapproval. His mouth opened to continue, but Gudrik’s attention was suddenly stolen. He looked up to see a familiar face on the televisiom, a face which halted him mid breath and sent his so far level temperament swinging violently. He lurched for the television attempting to snatch the man from out of it, his hand struck only glass.

  “That’s Julian Drake,” said George, finally slapping Edna’s probing hands off Gudrik. He was hosting a press conference in response to the day’s very public events.

  “Thank you all for coming. Since my youth I have lived with a secret, a secret which today has managed to bubble its way to the surface. It is a secret I have kept simply because no one would have believed me anyway, had today’s events not occurred. My line of ancestors can be traced back as far as history itself. We have long been charged as guardians. Along my bloodline has been passed the responsibility, the charge, the duty to protect the people of the world from a dark threat. A threat long believed to be myth by our society. The threat of Varth-lokkr or Warlocks.”

  George and Edna’s eyes widened, that was a name that they recognised.

  “Wizards, sorcerers, demons and witches. All are familiar with the mythology attached to these beings. The dark creatures which are the source of these tales and many more are in fact real and much, much worse than any tale could ever do justice. They once rained death and destruction upon the world and for an age they were unchallenged, until my ancestor rose against them. I believed them to be extinct, but this attack proves otherwise. Six good men died today.

  Once again the world is shadowed in terror. I swear to uphold my bloodline’s ancient charge and once again rid the world of this Warlock, even if it costs my life. I posses the knowledge, resources and weaponry, passed down through my family to combat this monster and I have agreed to work with the authorities in a symbiotic relationship to achieve our shared goal.

  I urge everyone to be wary of this creature. It is an expert in lies and an artisan of deceit. I hold grave fears for the woman seen with it in the footage. No doubt it has convinced her by this time that it is in fact the victim in this situation. However, this creature will leave nothing but a trail of bodies in its wake. I implore her to distance herself from the creature immediately and seek help. The instant it has what it needs, she will join the dead, along with all whom she holds dear.

  Anyone with information please contact the police immediately. I will be liaising closely with them and have offered my private forces to assist, as well as my elite paladins. These paladins have trained their whole lives, just as their fore fathers did, in preparation for the day this very situation arose. They are more than prepared to combat this creature and will prevail. Thank you.

  The crowd of reporters erupted into a sea of flashes and waving hands. A chorus of questions roared, none being heard above the others.

  The mood in Edna’s lounge changed dramatically. There was now an uneasy silence as everyone digested what they had just heard. The shaky truths which George had made with her cynical subconscious had just been shattered. The air hung heavy with tension. George and Edna shot conspiring looks at each other across the room. “What on Earth was I thinking, bringing this creature into my home?” thought George.

  “So does this mean that for once, I’m not the oldest person in the room?” japed Edna, awkwardly chipping at the silence. The women both chuckled uneasily, but not Gudrik. He sat still and silent, visibly shaking with anger.

  “Ahh, Gudrik, why don’t you come with me? We’ll get you some new clothes and you can be on your way,” urged George, shooting a ‘you know what to do’ look at Edna.

  “Aye,” he grunted, distant and angry. As soon as the door clicked closed Edna leapt for the phone.

  George disappeared into her closet. All sorts of rummaging and crashing echoed as she searched. Eventually she reappeared holding a cardboard box labelled ‘Brad’s Clothes’. “I packed these up furiously and never did anything with them other than put them back in the closet,” she said, her face part reminiscence and part anger. George slashed at the tape with a small, blue handled kitchen knife. “Stupid and sentimental, I know. I think I still hope the asshole may come back one day.” Gudrik gave a short cough.

  “The ability to forgive speaks to the quality of your character. Never be sorry for it. Few people, including me possess it,” he rumbled quickly, the whole time avoiding eye contact.

  George looked at the supposed Warlock, intrigued by the apparent wisdom which oozed from it. Or him? He spoke little, but when he did the words carried weight. If you stripped back the wild hair and beard Gudrik looked to be no older than her. She handed him some blue jeans and a t-shirt. “You can get changed in there.” She motioned to the bathroom.

  “Is there any truth to what Drake said Gudrik?” she asked through the wall after a short pause. Her suspicions had finally become too heavy to bear. Gudrik appeared at the bathroom door wearing only the jeans. He drew a deep but frustrated breath; he was at the edge of breaking.

  “I have not lived a perfect life. It was and most likely still is a brutal world. To help people I had to be brutal as well. I have fought many battles and killed many, many men. Most deserved it, but I am sure that more than a few who met their death at my hands did not.” He paused a moment, solemn and dark. “The most depraved man I ever killed was a warlord who waged a ridiculous holy war on a peaceful land of people because they held a different god. H-he would......the things he did to the children.........those things will never leave me. That is the heritage your Julian Drake boasts of.”

  “So his distant ancestor was a scumbag, doesn’t mean he is too,” replied George. Gudrik cocked one eyebrow at her. “Ok so he kept you prisoner, he’s not completely innocent.”

  “His every word is a lie. Did I kill those six men on the roof as he claimed?”

  “Well I’m not sure; it is all a bit of a haze. I fell off a skyscraper for Christ’s sake.” Gudrik shook his head and bared his teeth.

  “It was not his ancestors which eradicated my kind, it was he. My only regret is allowing him to live on that day I killed his father.” He stopped and pulled the t-shirt on backwards. Now it was George who cocked her eyebrow.

  “So you’re telling me that Drake is a Warlock too?” The word ‘Warlock’ seemed to stick in her throat.

  “No, mortal,” replied the Warlock as though it was a stupid question. “His real name is Kyran. Well...it was.”

  “That’s where your story falls apart.” Her voice was becoming agitated. “If what you say is true he must be well over a hundred years old or something.”

  Gudrik hardened his tone in response, “Believe what you wi
ll, but he is the monster who killed my kind and survived the following generations as a parasite, and it’s well over a hundred years.”

  George had no idea what to say. The story was a lie, it had to be, yet there was so much passion in his statement. Then, wasn’t that exactly what one would expect from an evil Warlock, a master deceiver? George’s evaluation was soon cut short as a distraction rang. The sound of sirens closed in around them, stealing their attention. George ran to the window to see a mix of flashing squad cars and unmarked black sedans crowding the building. “Thank you Edna.”

  “Damn, I thought we would have had more time before they identified me from the footage. It’s time to hand ourselves in and sort this out Gudrik,” suggested George, praying he would take her advice and end this.

  “No we must leave,” he growled franticly. “These men are not to be trusted, Kyran has turned them.” George rolled her eyes.

  “Gudrik, things are different now. They are police out there, not his men. If you are innocent the system will protect you.” Gudrik glared out the window watching the authorities surrounding the building, his doubts festered. He had seen firsthand the misinformed hysteria which mankind was capable of. Fear drives people to react without guidance. It was only out of respect for George and what she had done for him that he even considered what she was suggesting. Just as he was ready to reconcile himself with trusting her advice, a gunshot rang out down the hall of the building. George and Gudrik both sprang to alarm.

  “Tabitha!” George screamed. Gudrik accepted her distress as permission to do things his way. He snatched the blue handled kitchen knife from her.

  “Karniu!” he cried as he slashed its blade down his arm.

  The blood glowed. Gudrik twitched and his body mass exploded, instantly shredding yet another set of clothes. Bones cracked, skin tore and muscles stretched as he shifted agonisingly into a large, black beast. The groans of pain changed into a feral growl as his vocal pipes grew. When the process had run its course, Gudrik dwarfed George and had an appearance which sat somewhere between that of a man and a bear. The beast snapped and salivated, leaving George to wonder whether or not Gudrik was even in charge of the gruesome monster. If she truly had any idea how tenuously Gudrik clung to his humanity, George would have fled in terror. The snarling monstrosity leant forward slamming its hands on the ground with a heavy thud. The wooden floor crunched as it dug its claws in twitching and coiling its thick muscles. Then without any warning the beast launched itself straight through the closed door.