Blue Words - Part I Read online

below. But we survived; there was no journey to the underworld for us. Anyway, shouldn’t such brave heroes have gone up to the hall of the gods? We made the decision that more must be known about what had happened to us. We couldn’t be the only ones; we set out to find Scurt’s clan.

  For many moons we rode, traipsing from city to city in our search. At every stop people knew of my uncle and his clan, but none had seen them in recent times. We had almost given up hope when my father spoke with uncharacteristic excitement. He remembered an ancient Varth-lokkr refuge in the cliffs of the northern coast. It had been a meeting point in old times, but had been unused for generations. He had been there once during his youth. Scurt knew of the refuge as well, there was a chance we could find the clan there. So off we set north, towards the bitter ice of the north coast.

  We were soon running low on supplies, winter was in full force and game was scarce, it was not a journey usually made outside of summer. By the time we reached those jagged cliffs which fought back the North Sea, we were half starved. I formed camp in a sheltered nook of rock while my father climbed higher to gather his bearings and refresh his faded memory. “I am sure this is where it should be, but perhaps we are too far east,” he said, surveying the area. “I cannot be certain. We will rest here tonight and see if morning brings new clues,” he mumbled, clambering back down the rocks. We ate the last of our salted venison that night, the following days would be hard. Sleep didn’t come easily, despite our exhaustion, but in the wee hours of the morning we both succumbed.

  I was rudely awoken at sun rise the next morning by the jabbing of a walking staff. As the mist of sleep cleared, I recognised a familiar voice. “Ah brother, your memory always was better than mine. We traipsed this coast line for four days before I remembered where to go.” We quickly emerged from our furs and greeted the clan members present. My father instantly sprung into theatrics.......well to be honest he only spoke quickly, but compared to his normal steely resolve, he was hysterical.

  Uncle Scurt was swift to quash his rant. He calmed my father and explained that they had experienced the same changes, it was the reason they had come to the ancient refuge, to decipher what was happening.

  They believed that the Valkyrie had been too powerful for the amulet to bind. They believed it had broken its restraints and attempted an escape. However, in a side effect they believed not even the creature had foreseen, its essence had been split, overflowing through the bloodlines and finally being bound within our bodies. The healing and vigour seemed to be side effects, but that was not their greatest discovery.

  One day while cutting herself and examining her ghostly blood, Kadlin mumbled a common Varth-lokkr health blessing, the words “Odin karrjk,” spirit tongue for ‘Odin’s fire’. As she spoke the word ‘karrjk’ the few droplets of blue blood which had managed to drip free of her wound hissed into flames before hitting the ground and fizzling out.

  So we decided to stay. We studied and practised, and yes we failed......often, but in time we learned our craft. When I bled I exposed the essence of the creature bound within. Mixed with commands spoken in the spirit tongue and more than a dash of focused thought I had the recipe to affect the world as if I were of the other realm. Concentration and control allowed us to conjure and shape the casts in creative ways, bending the meaning of certain words and even focusing commands onto individual drops of blood. We were by no means as powerful as the Valkyrie bound to us, but compared to the common man we might as well have been gods.

  Every slash I made and every blue word I cast brought pain with it, but woven through that pain with a mind numbing intricacy was always something else, something which far outweighed the suffering. That woven pleasure took me right back to that moment I first laid eyes on the Valkyrie, that moment when I realised mankind’s complete and utter insignificance in the world. But now it was reversed; now I was the one looking down on mankind.

  After hours of debate a decision was reached. We would go our separate ways and spread our craft throughout the world, holding to our Varth-lokkr blood oath. Though we no longer felt the need to travel in groups, we would always remain connected. You see spirits are all knowing beings. They do not search, they do not wonder, rather they operate as a collective consciousness or hive, what one knows all know. While I don’t possess the full knowledge of the other realm, we could hear each other’s minds. Should we feel the urge to tell each other something in haste or share an emotion, The Twelve instantly knew it. Actually, it took great practise and restraint before I learnt to keep my private thoughts just that.

  So armed with our craft and pumped full of noble intentions we set forth individually and for the first time in my life I stepped into a journey without my father at my side. Centuries passed, age did not weary us, cold, sickness and war could not claim us. As the Viking warriors expanded their reach to distant lands we were there with them. The legend of The Twelve spread far and wide across the seas and into foreign lands. I traveled the known world and served jarls, warlords and commoners alike, anything I believed to be a just cause. I banished plagues, saved children, fought wars and won battles, but as the ages changed so did our roles.

  In more peaceful times we gave up our status as a tool of warfare and took positions as advisors, healers and even teachers. As our name was spread through the different tongues of the many lands it also evolved and we were known by many names. We were revered for the services we gave to mankind.

  However, as anyone who has seen years pass knows, all things one day end, and eventually the age of magic gave way to the age of religion. The mystically entwined gods of old, my father’s gods were all but abandoned by man for single gods of their own invention. These new gods demanded more of their followers and promoted the segregation of those who did not follow the same teachings. The things I have seen done in the name of religion sickens me to this day.

  These new religions seemed only to see the differences amongst each other, while to me it was their similarities which were blindingly obvious. Our powers went from being something which was revered and respected to something which was feared and hated. Led by the new holy men, uprisings began against The Twelve. Being immortal, the only injuries I bore were to my ego, but still we respected mankind’s wishes and retreated from view, hiding amongst the people we once served.

  My doubts about the gods grew. Yes I knew the other realm existed, but while to my father that affirmed his beliefs, it was the major catalyst for my doubts. I have never shaken the notion that these ‘gods’ mankind kneel themselves before are nothing more than spirits swollen into power by legend and rhetoric, but that’s a matter for another time.

  Some of The Twelve married mortals and settled, others continued with their work in secret, but for all it seemed our changes had made it impossible to produce any family. I met and married the daughter of a woodsman. Elya was an incredible woman, a pillar of beauty, strength and virtue. I was happy. I was in love. I had a home.

  It was around that time the messages started.

  Escalations

  “Sometimes even fate needs a jolt.”

  Gudrik fluttered his eyes open as the warm kiss of morning sun gently stirred him. The pain was gone. He held his left hand in front of his face and wiggled his fingers in the light. A relieved sigh escaped his lips as he climbed to his feet, his torn jeans sagged and struggled to stay up. The test tube rack lay on the ground to his right, two samples still intact. He was in a narrow alley which was scattered with debris and mess. One of the brick walls still wore stains of the incident and streaks of blue gore ended abruptly where he stood.

  He wandered down the alley and examined the street running off it. It was a quiet street, just a few cars and the odd couple of morning exercise nuts. Gudrik wandered back into the privacy of the alley and sliced his arm with Scurt’s wand. He was relieved to see blue trickle down his forearm. He grunted his command. His fists clenched tight as majestic, white wings once again burst from his back and flutte
red, flicking the blood from their feathers. With a few powerful beats he was airborne.

  Gudrik gathered his bearings from the juvenile morning sun and rocketed north. At first he soared high, as was his natural instinct, he would appear no more than a bird to the people on the ground. But it wasn’t long before Kahn’s warning echoed, cold in his memory. He twitched his wings and plunged downward, losing altitude quickly and altering his course eastward over the ocean. Luckily by that stage he was already clear of the city.

  Gudrik followed the coast line, skimming only inches above the water. From time to time a wave would reach higher than its brethren and he would lower his hand and drag it through the crest. Fine salt spray misted up, cooling his bare torso. It was a refreshingly uneventfully trip and before long Gudrik swooped up and over the weather worn roof of home.

  He landed hard, with a thud in the front yard of the beach house. A flood of people spilled out, sporting red, swollen eyes. The Warlock sat on the verandah steps. George ran over and wrapped herself around him, nestling into his neck. After a few warm seconds she drew her head back and her haunting ice-blue eyes locked his lovingly. A smile