by M.C. Edwards
completely wasn’t possible, but it was possible to twist or stretch it slightly with concentration, something The Twelve had termed ‘bending’. Bending the spirit tongue term for shift, Dorian could move from one point to another a short distance away in the blink of an eye. Harnessing a bent interpretation of a blue word which loosely translated as gather together, Dorian could force particles from the air around his hands together into tiny, highly charged shards or darts which he could throw with deadly accuracy.
Although insignificant at first pass, one of the most powerful of abilities belonged to Neasa. A shy, soft natured beauty, she chose ‘chortsian’ as her final inscription. It was blue word which instilled a crippling fear into enemies with no more than a look. It was not simply a fleeting shock or fright either. It was the kind of white knuckle terror which buckled knees and caused hardened men to collapse at her feet, soil themselves and blubber like babies. Brood reluctantly posed as the target for that particular demonstration, a penance for his indiscretion the night before. Everyone roared with laughter as he climbed to his feet and shuffled into the water to clean himself.
George sat wide eyed and silent for the entire afternoon as Tabitha and Pup played under the shady Casuarina trees. Gudrik had been impressed, but above the skill and discipline, the group’s limitations leapt out at him. Limitations he saw as common to all of their blue words. It seemed the words of the spirit world were not meant for the frail bodies of mortals, none could be sustained. Most could be used for no more than a few seconds at a time before harming the familiar. More than two or at most three of Dorian’s shifts in close succession had him coughing and spluttering blood as his body began to break down. More again left him almost catatonic; the same was true for the others as well.
The limitations only made Gudrik appreciate how much he took his own craft for granted. It amazed him that these Inscribed had battled against such inconceivable odds and numbers for centuries with the limited abilities they possessed. It only served to strengthen the respect he already held for these people. Their discipline and bravery were not to be discounted.
Once again they feasted and celebrated as a group that night and once again when George woke in the morning all but Tabitha, Gudrik and Pup were gone.
The days and nights blurred together and flowed into weeks. Slowly but surely George grew accustomed to living off the grid and the troubles which lay back in the city became more and more distant....began to weigh less and less on her mind. The isolation of the homestead created an artificial world, completely removed from modern reality. It was a world where she lived free of her cares, a world where money and status were of no consequence. The presence of Gudrik provided her and Tabitha with a traditional family, something which took her back to happier days. It was a family which was extended by coming and going Inscribed, who grew to be aunties, uncles, cousins and grandparents of the little princess. All loved her dearly, but it was Paw she grew closest too. It was Paw’s visits she waited for. If Gudrik was the surrogate father then Paw had certainly assumed the mantle of grandfather. The two of them would sit on the beach for hours, waves licking at their feet, discussing the issues of the world in mumbles, gibberish and clicks which neither could understand.
For Gudrik the presence of Tabitha was a much needed distraction. He developed a soft spot for her cheerful wonder and bouncing, brown curls. He genuinely enjoyed his time with her. Tabitha provided him a sense of fatherhood, something which had seemed an impossibility in his life for so long. An impossibility he had until now begrudgingly accepted. However, at night in the absence of his precious, little distraction, his mind still bubbled and boiled with thoughts of revenge and more than a splash of guilt.
The hot summer days were filled with swimming, fishing and games; the nights, barbecues and bonfires. The Inscribed came and left sporadically during those times, either to drop off supplies, rest or simply to catch up. But much of the time it was only their little family. Tabitha tailed her “Googy” wherever he went. They collected eggs from the chicken coop behind the drunken shed, built gigantic sandcastles on the deserted beach and took long walks into the picturesque hills. George even emerged from a morning shower one day to find her only child being whooshed about high over the hills and ocean in the arms of a winged Gudrik. Following a standard George sized freakout, a torrent of curses and a lot of running around the yard in a towel; she managed to signal them down by waving her arms wildly. All the while she was playfully chased by a giant, frisky wolf.
Wherever Tabitha went Pup was at her heels. In the scalding midday heat he would patiently lay in the shed while she clambered all over him, cuddling, patting and pulling at his fur. George was not an animal person, but even she had to admit he was a pretty amazing pet, other than the fact that he ate as much as a grown man that was.
One day, on a whim, George suggested that they cut Gudrik’s long, scraggly hair and beard off. She had wanted to see his face free of its wild, blonde mane for weeks. George had often admired his un-aged, battle-hardened body while he swum with Tabitha. “I wish I could sleep for centuries and still have abs like that.”
Lock by lock the hair fell as George hacked away at his wiry mop using a dull pair of kitchen scissors. Once satisfied with the style, she flicked open Malaki’s old cut-throat razor and set to work on his beard. That job was much harder than she had ever imagined it to be. In fact, if he wasn’t a Warlock, Gudrik probably would have bled to death. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she said dabbing blood off his chest, “Does it hurt?” Gudrik simply grunted through clenched teeth and twitched as the razor sliced him again.
Tabitha kicked and rocked on the kitchen chair chuckling ecstatically at Gudrik’s predicament. George was no hairdresser, but she was satisfied with the outcome. The clean cut man which now sat in front of her was a stranger. She couldn’t believe that behind that baby face lay countless years of life and experience. “What do you think?” asked Gudrik, running his hands over his newly short hair. His rough voice no longer suited his appearance.
“Well, you definitely look a lot less like an old, homeless man now,” she replied.
Gudrik smiled and turned to Tabitha, “What about you?” She clapped wildly and ran over to him, giving a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.
“I’d take that as a compliment if I were you,” laughed George. “You really do look like a completely different person.”
That small, throw away comment began Gudrik’s mind ticking. He stared into the small round mirror which George offered him, examining the new face before him. It had never sat well with Gudrik that he was forced to sit by and wait for the Inscribed to bring him supplies. Sure he tried to do his bit, fishing for the large tropical fish which inhabited the surrounding waters, but it never felt like he was really pulling his weight. It also has to be said that he had a yearning curiosity about the world around him. When all was said and done though, deep down, much stronger than anything else, he knew that it was Kyran he truly yearned to find.
“I am going for a bit,” he grunted suddenly, putting the mirror on the table.
“What?” George replied quickly, “Where?”
“I am not sure,” he lied as he skipped down the back steps like an excited child.
“But-but we can’t leave,” George called trotting behind him.
“We aren’t, you’re staying here,” he rumbled removing his blood stained shirt. Gudrik drew the wand from his wrist and released a spurt of blue. “Unjallius!”
Silvery, white wings reached skyward, shadowing George. “Y-you can’t Gudrik, you are like the most wanted man in the world at the moment. People are searching everywhere for you!” she shouted at him.
“You said it yourself, I look like a new man,” Gudrik grunted back with a childish grin and launched himself off into the sky.
Gudrik soared high, following the coastline south. He intended to find a smaller settlement, somewhere between the safe house and the city. Somewhere the authorities had only a small prese
nce. From there it should be possible to find a less distinguishing transport than his wings to continue his journey to the city, to Kyran. The coast was widely undeveloped. There were a few small collections of shanties and fishing huts, but nothing substantial for quite a while. The Inscribed truly had found themselves an isolated hideout.
About half an hour into his journey Gudrik took his eyes from the land below and glimpsed a silhouette in the distance. He looked harder at its odd shape, squinting his eyes in the wind. He did not recognise it as an animal....well not any animal he had seen before. The strange object closed in and its bizarre form became more visible. It screamed an angry humming noise as it sped toward him, a noise clearly audible even over the sound of air rushing by his ears, speaking volumes of its level.
He stopped his forward motion and hovered, carefully beating his wings over an updraft to hold himself at altitude. Gudrik thought it best to gauge the creature’s reaction to him. As it closed in alarm struck. This thing was not constructed from the soft curves of muscle and flesh. No, this thing was formed of the hard straight lines of metal. This thing was forged by the hands of men. The massive rotors created erratic draughts