Blue Words - Part I Page 22

straight through it. He released the blue word and tried again.

  It was a strange sensation staring at the blood in the vials. Gudrik could see it, he could feel it and knew it was his, but even without trying he knew that it wouldn’t react. “Protected maybe?”

  Gudrik set to searching for journals or papers explaining what was being done with his blood. There was little to be found and although speaking and understanding the language, he could not read a character of modern text. Eventually, his search left him scowling at a laptop beside the fridge. Gudrik had seen these before, but had no idea how to use one. He bashed, slapped and barked orders at the confusing box, all to no avail.

  Defeated, Gudrik decided to take the samples and laptop and run. It was only a discreet shuffle that alerted him to something behind. “Hold it,” came a stern, but calm voice. It was a deep voice, used to being listened to. Gudrik looked around to see a soldier with a rifle aimed at him. He was a tall man, easily as tall as Gudrik, but much thicker with muscle. His skin was almost as dark as Kahn’s, and his head just as smooth and shiny.

  “That weapon won’t do you any good,” rumbled Gudrik, attempting to intimidate him.

  “I figured. Bet it still fucking hurts,” sounded the reply, clearly intimidation was not going to work here. Another soldier dressed in identical greens joined him. He was as tall as the first, but slimmer with close cropped red hair and heavily freckled skin. These were not Kyran’s men.

  Gudrik laughed, “Aye, that it would.”

  “You know, I have been stuck in this facility for weeks now waiting for you to show up,” complained the first soldier.

  “Julian Drake is not to be trusted,” rumbled Gudrik.

  “No doubt, but I don’t trust you either. Orders are to call in his team on sight.”

  “Do you always follow orders?” challenged the Warlock.

  The soldier remained expressionless, “They’re already here.”

  Gudrik barred his teeth and growled. The door to his left burst open and in rushed three of Kyran’s greys, two men and a woman. They were tailed by a tall, golden-haired woman whose uniform set her apart from the others, above the others. Without a word, the woman in grey fired a blast from her shotgun. Gudrik spun away, but the pellets spread too far. His teeth clenched as they struck, ripping through his skin and forcing him back against the bench. He slid to the ground.

  The wounds scalded and throbbed with every heartbeat. He reached for Scurt’s wand instinctively, but it was kicked from his hand by a black boot. Gudrik, slumped his head back against the cupboards and plunged his finger into one of the blue seeping holes. Amongst the thick blue ooze was a crystal of rock salt.

  Salt was something which was very familiar to any Varth-lokkr, it was useful in dealing with spirits, but he had never seen it used in this way. Before he could speak, the golden-haired woman fired a small dart into him. Gudrik instantly snatched it from his chest. “What is this?” he grunted flicking it back at her. The woman ignored him. Her body armour was jet black. Instead of the white dragon’s tail which was emblazoned on the breast of all Kyran’s greys she had a white spear tilting diagonally across her chest. Peeking out of her collar, just below her ear sat a blue tattoo, a dragon’s talon.

  Gudrik’s body seemed to slow; an odd feeling crept over him. He felt heavy. “What is happening?” he demanded. Once again he was ignored. He struggled to move, he hissed commands. His wounds still sat open, but the salt contaminated blood refused to obey. Once again he let his head slump back.

  “That really slowed him down,” said the first soldier, bending down to closely look at the Warlock. Gudrik stared back at the dark man, helpless and too heavy to move. Behind the soldier the woman with the white spear drew her side arm. The greys did the same.

  “Pity your gross incompetence let him get away,” she said raising her gun to the red headed soldier’s ear.

  “What?” replied the crouching soldier, screwing his face up.

  “Behind you,” whispered Gudrik.

  The crouching soldier glanced up and caught a reflection captured in a large glass dividing panel just in time to see his comrade shot. With lighting fast reflexes he spun around and disarmed the grey standing over him as she fired a shot. The bullet went wayward and struck Gudrik in the leg. The wound did not bleed. The soldier eyed the woman in black as his powerful arms clamped the grey’s neck. A sickening crunch sounded through the room as he broke her spine and dropped the lifeless body to the ground.

  He stared at the other three, willing them to make the next move. Make the next move they did, all training their weapons onto him. The soldier dived out of the line of fire in a desperate act of survival, but no shots were heard. Instead a small smash of glass rang out, along with a sharp spurt of guttural gibberish. The soldier shouldered his rifle and warily peeked over the desk he had taken cover behind. The remaining greys and the woman in black quivered and twitched impaled on massive, razor shards of glistening, black stone. Each shard sprouted from the same wet, blue stain on the carpet. Around it the floor was covered with delicate slithers of crystal vial which caught the light and sparkled.

  The greys twisted and fought as they died, terror and agony burning in their eyes. Horrific gurgling sounds bubbled from them. The woman with the spear on her chest however, was a completely different story. She glared unflinchingly at Gudrik still trying to raise her weapon at him until the final second when life drained from her.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” barked the soldier at Gudrik, checking the neck of his friend for a pulse, a pulse which was no longer there.

  “Drake does not want me,” he drew some deep, difficult breaths. “H-he does not want me captured by you. He simply wanted your help in locating me,” Gudrik finally gasped out. The soldier looked at his fallen friend for a few seconds then picked up Gudri’s wand. He paused a moment before handing it to the Warlock hilt first and helping him to his feet.

  “That stuff they pumped into you shouldn’t be permanent. It’s a coagulant, silver nitrate. It shouldn’t kill you, being an immortal and all, looks as though it stings a bit but.” Gudrik gave him a dark glare. “Most importantly though, it stops you bleeding. I can explain this away, by blaming it on you,” he continued looking around bodies, “but you need to get out of here now. More of this mercenary scum are on their way. Are you gonna be able to get away in this condition?”

  “Aye,” was all the answer Gudrik could muster.

  With that Gudrik threw another of the sealed tubes onto ground, shattering it instantly. He muttered the blue word and pictured himself somewhere far away. He knew shifting probably wouldn’t get him home, but it should get him further than Dorian was capable of. He blindly hoped it could at least get him to the northern outskirts of the city. The burn washed over him once again and the lab disappeared, but this time there was no cold exhilaration as he came out of it. This time when the heat faded it was replaced by an even more immobilising agony. It throbbed through his body like a hot sword slicing him long ways. Gudrik groaned and twisted, oblivious to what had happened. He looked down to see that his left arm, left leg and the portion of body between could no longer be seen. He seemed to have shifted into a brick wall.

  Gudrik screamed as he tried to move his left extremities. Lumps of congealed, blue blood slopped down the wall, still refusing to acknowledge any commands barked at it. In his right hand Gudrik still clasp the samples. Furiously he fought through the pain and in a clumsy flutter of fingers worked one of the vials out of the rack. It fell onto the pavement. In a crushing blow of irony the fine crystal tube bounced, rattled, rolled and failed to break.

  Gudrik let out another scream; this time as much frustration as suffering. Beads of sweat streaked down his forehead and he fought against the agony just to stay conscious. Slow, heavy heart beats struggled to force the thickened blue gloop through his body. Each thud resonated in his head, a wave of pain accompanying it. His vision began to grey, his head lightene
d. Mustering everything he had left, Gudrik heaved his right foot off the ground and in one last agonising act, slammed it onto the vial with all his might. The crystal crunched into shards under foot as his long separated blood flowed from its insulated prison. “Xitzsus,” he uttered breathlessly. His physical body once again collapsed into a shade, allowing him to float his mutilated limbs free of the brick. Exhausted, his concentration waned. The world began to move. Quickly, Gudrik released the blue word, bringing his body back to full physical being and crashing his twisted remains to the ground in a rolling tangle. He passed into the dark embrace of sleep.

  I am Gudrik

  Well......that’s when everything changed, that’s when I truly started being shaped into the weapon I would become. Our blue eyes were just the start of it, over the following seasons both my father and I noticed changes in us and in each other. Releasing spirits became easier, injuries healed instantly and illness seemed to be nonexistent. But most chilling of all, what really threw us into a panic, our blood now ran a ghostly blue.

  It was obvious that the battle with the Valkyrie had changed us, but to what end? The stories of old didn’t mention anything like this. The songs of legend all ended with Jäger’s clan making the long journey to the land