Blue Words by M.C. Edwards

Author:M.C. Edwards [Edwards, M.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: blood, australia, warlock, urban magic, blue words
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I am Kyran

I write the following as a declaration, as an assurance that my intentions will never be misunderstood after my sacrifice is made. I have been called many things in my time, monster, tyrant, guardian, madman and hero. I would be lying if I said that all weren’t titles I have earned. But like everyone, my life is not so simple as that. There is so much I need to say. I guess I should just start as all things do, at the beginning.

I was a sickly child, strong of mind but weak of body. My mother gave her life to bring me into the world, a level of sacrifice no man could ever dream of equalling. My father raised my brother and I, Kyranus the Blessed Dragon, a knight dedicated to protecting the innocent. Kyra meant dragon in the dialect of my father’s village. He was named after a famous beast of legend, as was I and my brother Kyrark. His beliefs were strong. “When you do god’s work even demons themselves cannot stop you,” he would say.

When I was ten, my father left on a crusade to reclaim holy lands lost for a generation to godless heathens. My brother and I travelled with him and his army, a band of knights whose honour and loyalty was iron clad. They fought battle after battle and won one victory after another. I worshipped them, believed them invincible, but our day of reckoning inevitably came. It was a day which still sends sparks of rage prickling along my spine.

On that day, I saw my father and his band of brothers decimated. Not in a glorious battle against a noble foe, no there would have been honour in that, glory. He and his army fell against a solitary man, no creature. The heathens had signed a blood pact with a Warlock, Gudrik of The Twelve. He laughed and revelled mercilessly in the barbaric slaughter. By the end he was red with the blood of my family.

I ran, my eyes streaming with tears, death filled the air. Amongst the carpet of fallen, I came upon my brother. He was eight years my senior, still only a teenager himself. He lay twisted and broken, a distorted look of anguish frozen across his face, a look so distraught that I could feel it myself.

More than anything I wished to collapse beside him. I was laden with grief, though anger also burned within me, an anger which soon took hold outweighing the sorrow. I scooped up my brother’s sword and struggled to hold it up as I charged screaming at the monster. It simply grunted and slapped me aside as if I were nothing. I tried to threaten it, abuse it, chastise it, but no sound came out. I was weak, frozen, and craven. In fact I was so pathetic the beast simply took to the skies and left me to starve on his field of slaughter.

I sat for a time beside the body of my father, broken and brooding, waiting for death, all the while terrified of it coming.

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