Blue Words

Decisions

Decisions

"Choices are neither right nor wrong until a decision is made."

 

The Warlock tumbled violently through the void, his limbs flailing, the heat bristling at his skin and singeing his hair. All the while Gudrik prayed and hoped that his exit glyphs were still whole. Thankfully, it was no more than a few seconds before he felt the welcome snap and found himself lying on familiar floorboards, the Inscribed safe house, home. Steam rose off him. Gudrik picked himself up and looked around. He had expected the beach house to be deserted and unkempt, but it was completely the opposite. The windows and doors were open, light and wind flowed freely into the living space. It was clean and tidy and there was even signs of inhabitants scattered across the table.

Gudrik wandered through the house and down the back steps. In the shed he found a long trestle table, set up for some kind of celebration, a celebration which had apparently never happened. Clean plates and cutlery still sat unused around the table. There was a new fire pit full of blackened coals with a wooden spit above, stained by heat and grease. It was cool to the touch, but the fire under the boiler still crackled. A fire that small could burn for no more than a few hours without being tended. People were certainly still nearby. The sound of footsteps crunched from behind the shed. Gudrik stomped down the side of the drunken structure towards the chicken coops beyond, towards the sound. His footsteps were deliberately heavy, so as not to startle which ever familiar was back there. "Or maybe it's George?” The thought excited him more than he had expected. She would certainly still hate him, but to lay eyes on her again.....that would be a treat still. His pace quickened, but as he rounded the corner he saw only a gun barrel in his face.

"Who are you?" asked a strange face. Behind it stood a group of four more armed strangers and a large pigging dog, a heavy chain ran from its thick leather collar to one of the strangers. They were standing by a bush trail which wove through the scrub and over the hill. Gun barrels had become an all too familiar sight.

"That's him!  That's the one with the golden blood," said a weasley little voice from behind the stranger. "See, told ya I had seen him in the car with that queer bunch that camps out here."

"Look," Gudrik grunted. He had already been far too charitable with treasure hunting mortals, but his decision from the valley stood,he couldn't play himself off as a saviour after a slaughter. No matter how stupid or annoying the victims may be. "I will gladly give you a bottle of blood if you leave. You can make your fortune and keep your lives," said Gudrik.

"No deal sorry," said the leader, "For the big reward we need you whole."

"Greed will be the death of you," warned Gudrik, not realising quite how correct he was.

The weasley man giggled a nasally snuffle at the prospective riches he saw. It was a sound which crept up Gudrik's spine and disgusted him deep inside. Mercifully, it was a sound which was suddenly and very violently replaced by screams as the dog at his heel leapt up, gnashing viciously at his throat. He fell to the ground under the beast and wailed, wildly fighting the unprovoked attack; albeit unsuccessfully. The other men spun in shock. Two white, hot daggers spun through the air and an arrow whistled closely behind dropping all but the leader. He looked about and glanced shakily at Gudrik, his eyes now child like with fear.

Teefa leapt down from her hiding spot in the old tin water tank, armour glowing as it fought gravity’s influence, the force crushing the small weeds at the tank stand's base. Neasa slid down the ladder. "You killed them," said the remaining stranger, his once brave gun now hanging flaccid at his side. Teefa walked over and drew her silver, feather shaped daggers from the dead men's necks.