Blue Words - Part I

by M.C. Edwards

“Brood?” Gudrik rumbled.

  “Hope so,” George replied gesturing for him to go find out.

  Gudrik trudged down the back steps and walked warily towards the man. “Greetings,” he grunted as he approached the stranger. He was comforted to see a string of blue runes running up the back of the stranger’s neck.

  “Hello?” questioned the stranger’s faded French accent as he spun around. He was just as wary as Gudrik. The Warlock halted halfway between the man and the shack, ensuring his hands were clearly visible.

  “I am Gudrik.”

  “The Gudrik?” The stranger eyed the wand strapped to Gudrik’s wrist.

  “Um, of The Twelve,” he grumbled awkwardly.

  The stranger looked at the ground and stomped his foot. “Merde! Kahn is gonna be pissed at me. Baiser tout!” he said running his fingers through his short hair. “Well that explains all of the missed calls. They call me Brood.”

  Brood was a head shorter than Gudrik, a slim yet well toned man with a strong handshake. He was clean shaven with short, brown hair carefully styled with a sweeping part to the left. His large eyes were a green so light that they could almost be mistaken for grey in the wrong light. “Where are the others?” asked Brood as they headed inside.

  “Kahn, Dorian and Malaki went to meet with some contact while Paw went for supplies with the two women. They will all be back later.”

  “We weren’t meant to check in with Ami until next week,” mumbled Brood. “I guess you being here shunted the schedule along. You had better fill me in.”

  The two men entered the house, where Brood joined the breakfast. Pup growled a deep menacing rumble at the stranger as they entered and looked to Gudrik for guidance. “Friend Pup,” grunted the Warlock and the beast was satisfied, flopping back to the ground near Tabitha. The introductions were made and Brood was brought up to speed on the previous day.

  Brood had been at one time a royal guard for the French monarch Louis VII or Louis the Young as he had been known. He was forced to flee his post when it became known that he had become too ‘familiar’ with his Queen. “That pious fool never touched her; someone had to keep her happy. Baiser tout!” he joked. His true name was Reme, but the Inscribed had taken to calling him Brood in tribute to the army of bastards he had surely fathered over his many promiscuous years. For far more powerful than any gift Warlock blood could bestow upon him was Brood’s gift with women. He was a pretty boy with a charm so warm it could melt the iciest of hearts, a charm which he used any chance he got. He had been there less than half an hour and already he had George giggling and blushing like a school girl.

  Around lunch time the other Inscribed began to return. First it was the girls and Paw. The girls lugged boxes of dry goods out of the car. Paw on the other hand trotted playfully up to Tabitha. He clicked and mumbled cheerfully as he held out some colourful sweets in his full hand. She giggled and hugged him as she took them, splitting his face ear to ear with an enormous toothy smile. A couple of hours later, the boys also returned. Pup suspiciously greeted each new set of arrivals with teeth and snarls until Gudrik vouched for their reliability.

  Upon seeing his leader Brood lowered his head like a naughty child and wore a stripping down for going out chasing tail, before smiling ear to ear as he shared all the filthy details with the other men. George overheard the entire sordid tale and instantly understood why Neasa and Teefa had screwed their noses up when asked if they had ever been seduced by his charms. He spoke of acts so twisted and so perverse that she had never even considered their existence.

  That afternoon, every afternoon for that matter, was spent training on the beach. Fitness and strength drills were a part of the Inscribed’s daily existence, as well as combat training. There was a crude target range built on the beach, firing into a natural enclave of stone in the northern hill. It was useable only on the low tide, but was quite effective and it was Gudrik’s first chance to see firearms close up. Kahn took the Inscribed’s training very seriously. Agelessness was not immortality and unlike Gudrik the Inscribed could not afford to become inactive. Their bodies would grow soft and slow, just as any human would. “No matter how much the weaponry of the world may change,” Kahn said, “One advantage we will always hold is time. Time to perfect skills, time to adapt skills and time to learn new skills. Patience and discipline will one day bring us victory.”

  Despite an unflinching expression, Gudrik was curious to see the Inscribed in action. He did not have to wait long. Kahn was happy to show off what his order could do, calling them up one by one like a proud father. Gudrik gladly volunteered as a sparring target. The Warlock was impressed, though he soon realised that many of the inscriptions had lost their edge as weaponry, technology, the world and warfare had evolved.

  For instance there was Neasa’s animal charm. She held the ability to draw wild beasts to her aid. Even the most rabid of creatures was a sleepy kitten in her hands and a deadly weapon to her enemies. Fighting from the wilderness of the New World, she had been able to call on wolves, bears and elk, all of which were devastating against men armed with blades and single shot muskets. That was where she had earned the title Mother of Bears. But most often now conflicts happened in urban areas where the best she could muster was a plague of rats and the odd house cat.

  Amongst Kahn’s collection was a blue word which allowed him to bestow unnatural speed and vigour onto any beast he rode. It was of huge benefit in his time, but its usefulness gradually declined as automobiles and telecommunications took hold.

  Malaki possessed the ability to become a wolf. Not a grotesque cryptid like Gudrik’s bear form, but a regular grey wolf. An incredibly powerful and majestic creature, but modern firearms limited its usefulness. Unlike Gudrik, Malaki’s body didn’t have the privilege of simply spitting out projectiles and healing. It was a talent which did still have its uses though. A wolf was swift and good for scouting. Unfortunately the trauma which the change put his body through left him in shock for sometime after, so it was rarely used.

  Then there was the sad tale of Paw who, absent a tongue, could no long command any of his blue words. He had once been able to plunge the temperature of his blade to a cold so bitter it would sear upon touch and shatter other steel blades on contact. An avid seafarer, and at one time a notorious pirate, Paw also chose the ability to shape gusts of wind. A useful ability in battle, but on the ocean it truly shone. Paw could once propel a stricken vessel on its way or halt an assailing ships progress. Even his legendary swordsmanship plummeted in value as they entered the age of automatic rifles, so fatal from such distance.

  With creativity and ingenuity, Teefa had managed to adapt one of her blue words to a modern purpose. She was able to infuse an intense burst of heat into arrow heads and daggers. On contact, they ignited into scalding blue-white flames hot enough to melt iron. Through practice she had transferred this ability, along with her natural marksmanship, to bullets.

  There were also several blue words amongst the group which still held the same tactical value today as on inscription day. Kahn could briefly manipulate the density of his hands, though it was rarely used due to the accompanying pain. It was a gift which served many purposes, the chief of which had been medical. He often had to remove objects or projectiles from his troops over the centuries. While still unbelievably painful, his ghostly hands were far less intrusive than any other techniques of the time and had saved many lives.

  Teefa was able to summon long sight. Her eyes would wash over a solid, glimmering blue on command. Her peripheral vision was reduced to zero, but it briefly made her eyes function like a scope seeing far beyond human limits, a perfect complement to her natural marksmanship. She was also one of the few Inscribed tough enough to withstand a fourth inscription. The final blue word chosen was ‘gractous’. Though float was its closest translation, it was more aptly described as ‘fight gravity’. It was not as if she could fly, but should she fall from height, which is somewhere a marksman often found themse
lves, she could briefly bend gravity’s influence slowing her enough for a safe landing.

  Malaki and Brood could both use short bursts of berserk rage where their strength and agility was increased. Their reactions when enraged were fast enough to avoid scattered gun fire and once in close range they could clear a room in a few seconds. But the rage was blinding, they struggled to separate friend from foe and had to be given a wide berth. More often than not they ended up fighting each other when let loose in too close a proximity; as was the case while sparring Gudrik.

  Both men slumped in the sand exhausted and bloodied as Brood half-heartedly held out his shield arm. On Kahn’s order he mumbled. The tattoos on his outstretched arm glowed, sprouting jagged, triangular scales of durable night stone, or obsidian as he explained it was known as in the modern world. The transformation could only be held for a few seconds at a time, but proved useful during hand to hand combat.

  In Gudrik’s eyes though, Dorian had shown the most creativity and forethought in his selections. The other Inscribed had all used the literal meanings of words. Dorian on the other hand altered the meanings as he used them, something The Twelve did. Changing the meaning of a blue word