Blue Words - Part I Read online

breasts. There the two rune strings met a third which flowed between them. They ran parallel down the centre of her abdominal muscles, splitting only to snake around her naval and then flow at angles into her denim shorts. There the central line curled into a tight, complex spiral. Both of the outside chains reappeared running straight down the back of her legs, ending only when they licked at her heels. Two other fine spirals also hovered at the base of her spine, just showing above her waistband.

  Malaki had no artwork on his back and chest other than a thin chain around his neck. His arms however were a different matter. They were all but completely covered from shoulder to wrist in ordered, clustered blue sleeves. The text flicked and lashed over the thick, sculpted curves of his muscles like tongues of flame.

  Like Teefa, Neasa’s armour was much more feminine. It started on top of her left shoulder with a small wheel of runes. From there four chains broke away, snaking in different paths across her back and wrapping around under her right breast. As they passed under Neasa’s arm, one fine wisp of script crept a little higher, running up the soft curve and passing just under her nipple. The four chains then swept across her stomach and down the inside of her left hip bone where they disappeared into her skirt. Only one delicate chain emerged, trickling down the back of her leg before curling halfway down to the inside of her thigh. Two tight spirals also adorned her forearms; a single chain escaped each, the right running up to her shoulder, the left running down to her palm.

  George noticed Gudrik’s gaze drifting from one tattooed body to the next. She failed to realise that he was actually reading the armour. She noted that his look seemed to linger on Teefa and Neasa. Jealousy took her, though she could not really say why. “Boobies!” squeaked Tabitha, her eyes fluttering on mum’s shoulder as she woke.

  “Clearly neither of you have had children,” George bitched at the firm perky breasts. Teefa’s mouth snapped open, venom dripping from her teeth, but she was instantly silenced by a small gesture from Kahn. She exhaled loudly, gave a chilling glare and slipped her shirt back on. The others did the same, except for Dorian. He was the most chiselled of the group and enjoyed displaying it.

  “You Warlocks stand part man, part spirit,” Kahn began, “We on the other hand lie somewhere between man and Warlock. I knew your uncle Scurt. He took me in and treated me as if I were family when I was in need. Eventually he trained me in the old ways of the Varth-lokkr, which had been long forgotten.” Kahn lowered himself back into his seat. Malaki and Neasa returned to the dinner preparation.

  “Scurt always spoke of wanting to share The Twelve’s craft with the world. He felt if it was in reach of the average man, people would no longer fear you.” He smiled warmly as he spoke of Gudrik’s uncle. “He came up with the idea to tattoo spirit tongue commands onto my skin using his blood. I became his guinea pig.”

  George was intrigued. “Did it work?” she interrupted excitedly. With a snort she realised the stupidity of her question and wished to suck it back in. Kahn and Gudrik both stared as she flushed red.

  “I know, I know. My bad, please continue,” she submitted as she hid her face in her hands.

  “Obviously it worked to some extent, but the.....,” he paused for a second and looked at George, “schpals.”

  “Spells?” she blurted.

  “No, schpals!” The Inscribed corrected her pronunciation in chorus. “Schp-arl-s!”

  “Spirit tongue for word,” explained Gudrik.

  “Told you we needed to stop using that term,” grumbled Malaki, “People think we are Harry fucking Potter when they hear it. We just call them blue words.”

  “The schpals, or blue words are watered down versions of what The Twelve were capable of.” Kahn looked apologetically at Gudrik, “Sorry, are capable of. They differ from one Inscribed to the next, but they have given us an edge over the years.”

  “Kyran even tried it. Never worked though, he doesn’t know enough of the tongue,” added Teefa.

  “Turned into a tradition but, he still tattoos a Warlock blood talon onto his paladins and any greys who distinguish themselves above the rest,” said Dorian, sweeping his hair from his eyes.

  “His father’s men all had a Dragon’s talon on their shields,” grumbled Gudrik.

  “We are all inscribed with furthtu-rah,” said Kahn. He looked at George. “Ageless.”

  As Kahn spoke the blue word, a tight spiral of runes on Dorian’s bare chest began to glow, shimmering and bathing the room in a brilliant, electric blue light. “The agelessness was intended to mimic your healing and immortality. However, while we do seem to be able to live indefinitely, we are still mortal. We do not fear age, disease, starvation or other similar ailments, but should one of us be seriously wounded in some way death is just as likely as any mortal. We have lost many brothers and sisters during the Inscribed’s war with Kyran. Other than that we are all inscribed with around two other commands of our choosing. We select them after passing the trials.”

  “Why not just write ‘immortal’ on yourselves?” asked George.

  “There is no word for it,” answered Gudrik before any of the Inscribed. “They did well; ageless is the closest they could have hoped for.”

  “It’s not really a word that eternal beings have a need for. It’s just what they are,” added Kahn.

  “How many of you did Scurt inscribe before he was lost?” continued Gudrik.

  “Four of us originally,” said Kahn, “Of which I am the last survivor. However, Scurt also shed a pot of blood before his death.”

  “Our blood doesn’t survive after death, I have seen it,” interrupted Gudrik.

  “The vessel he used was very carefully crafted and infused with fragments of Scurt’s skin, bone and blood melded into the very brass it was forged from. Your uncle was simply experimenting, but it turned out to be a wise move. It kept his blood viable even after his death. I took the collection to allow us to continue our order. I guarded the blood and used it to inscribe only the most honourable of warriors who aided our cause. Our numbers once stood well above fifty, a veritable army. But the supply ran out long ago, the war didn’t. Our numbers now stand at what you see before you,” Kahn said lowering his head solemnly.

  “Why stop at three blue words?” grunted Gudrik. “I read more than three on you.”

  “I have more, as did all of the original four, but there were complications. We don’t understand it fully, but when drunk or poured onto wounds, anything where Warlock blood is used, it does miraculous things. When delivered in small amounts, like in our armour where it becomes part of the body, it behaves more like a poison. The human body seems to have some tolerance for it. It differs, most can take three inscriptions, some more, some less, but we stop whenever the fever starts to show.”

  “Fever?”

  “A fever like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It felt like my flesh would melt.” The memory sent shivers through Kahn.

  “Food’s nearly ready,” called Malaki. Kahn nodded to him.

  “Where was I....oh. Some Inscribed over the years were even left with only two and a half inscriptions because they began to show symptoms early. Others have tried adding extra blue words against recommendation. All hoped to fight through the fever, all died. See, after Scurt’s death our supply was too small to use in the amounts needed for healing, but even with an endless supply there is the addiction to contend with.”

  “Addiction?” Gudrik asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “The blood has be taken sparingly. Use it too frequently or in excess and the body becomes dependant on it. Your natural immune response slows to a halt and cravings plague you, it twists and warps the mind.” It was all news to Gudrik.

  Dorian spoke up, “As you can see Gudrik, we have as much reason as you to want Kyran’s head. But we have to look past his death also. Should we kill him in the open, we would be hunted as criminals from there on. We really do need to wait for the right opportunity to arise. My father is no coward, I swear. When t
hat chance comes we will be by your side to avenge the deaths of all those loved ones he has taken from you and us.”

  All went quiet as the group digested the heavy words, and pondered memories of the fallen. But the heavy silence was suddenly shattered as George’s stomach once again piped in with a vicious rumble. Again she flushed red. “I’m sorry, but how’s that food coming?”

  The mood picked up and an air of merriment took the room. Malaki and Neasa littered the table with plates of local seafood and a selection of vegetables and salads plucked from Kahn’s treasured garden; a garden he nurtured as if it were a child. “Hook in!” said Neasa, and that they did. Dorian poured steins of home-brewed honey mead drawn from casks in the shed. The mead soothed Gudrik’s dry throat and summoned long forgotten memories. Kahn brewed it to Scurt’s recipe and it shared ancestral traits with his father’s. The strangers told tales, laughed and feasted happily while Tabitha, who was now wide awake, busily made shadow puppets with Paw in the flickering candlelight and giggled at the adults’ drunken antics. The room was a merry cacophony of accents drawn together from all corners of the world.

  All of the Inscribed, with the exception of Neasa were smokers, heavy smokers. Being ageless the long term effects had never been an issue. It was halfway through his third cigarette that Kahn suddenly noticed Tabitha