Grake And Blues
Jack M Brown

 

"Nama 'Magician' Ustinov, Ruler of the World, you have been found guilty of all charges of genocidal preparation and of the murder of the three wizards: Har Manna, Jeem Groo and Kassak Ope. Under the provision of the Fifth Law, it is in my opinion and the world's best interest, that you be taken from this place to be imprisoned in Hell for a duration of time spanning man's existence. Upon this final day, you shall be granted a ten minute period upon Earth to realise the place that you were willing to create. Hence, you shall be granted entry to Heaven. However, I deem it necessary to place a stipulation upon your imprisonment that it must be carried out for a minimum of a thousand years, to begin immediately."

---

Grake and Blues entered a small room through a large door. An anticlimax since they expected something huge on the other side. The architect must have ran out of money, thought Grake.

Both wore black robes that covered their faces and feet, merely revealing the tips of their fingers through the large sleeves that were lined with red.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I must search you for any weapons," said the young guard standing in a smart uniform. Behind him was an older guard with balding features, a truncheon noticeably hanging from his belt.

"Don't you recognise a wizard, Prek?" asked Blues, reading the name tag.

"He's new here, but it's policy these days, I'm afraid," said the older guard, "red tape an' all that. Just let him search you, it's good for practice, eh?"

"It's not like it's actually possible to break anyone out of Hell. Only wizards and those from Heaven can get in and out. Those who are there stay put."

"That's true, sir, but last week someone smuggled in a sleeping gas that knocks out the devils. While they were asleep, the inmates formed an army and tried to take down Lucifer. It didn't work but we don't want it happening again. We'll be more vigilant from now on."

Grake grunted. "Suppose."

Prek beat his hands down the sides of the cloaks to the feet of both Grake and Blues and signaled that they were clear. The older guard unlocked the door and the two wizards passed through into darkness. A long corridor appeared, cells on the left and right, running for miles and miles, full of inmates.

"Going for the state penitentiary look today, Trew?" asked Blues to the guard who was on his shift. He was quite young, like Prek, but had a large quiff in his haircut. "Devils are looking better each time I visit."

"What do you want?"

"We want to see Nama Ustinov, the Magician."

"Ah, one of our new arrivals." Trew grabbed a key from his pocket and opened a nearby cell. Grake and Blues entered and sat down on two seats beside the bed. "Five minutes." The Magician wore an orange shirt and trousers, his left arm and leg chained to the wall.

"We got your letter, sire," said Grake.

The Magician seemed dazed but regained some 'togetherness' by breathing deeply and blinking his eyes. "Good." Cough. "So you know what I want you to do?"

"It's quite a task, sire," added Blues.

"Look, you have a thousand years, that's a long time. I'll be here for all of that and I don't want to be a day more, you understand? Get it done, kill them all. Use the techniques I showed you by 'jumping bodies'. No nuclear weapons though - makes it hard to count the bodies. The one of you with the highest body count at the end gets to rule the world in my place. Won't be much of a world till the next Adam an' Eve comes around though, so you may have to wait a little while. I'll meet you with my ten minutes and give the winner the power then, alright? Now go, or people'll be getting suspicious."

"You all right here?"

"Food's good, but we've got to go through ten hour lashings each day. It's not pretty, I'll survive - you can't die twice."

---

The seat was hanging by thin chains attached to the top of the porch. It creaked to and fro slightly in the intermittent breeze, ruffling the thin moustache of the man who sat, his legs outstretched upon the wooden panels of the floor, one leg over the other. Grake slept, or pretended to sleep, his hat over his eyes. For the moment he was the sheriff, a suit of black gone grey with sharply polished boots. A seven pointed star sat upon his left breast pocket.

The sun shone brightly down upon the dusty street, brief gusts sending the sand floating through the air into passers' eyes.

Grake's head shot upwards, a hand throwing the large hat to the side. Standing, he watched a man down the end of the street walking hard towards him, a checkered red shirt with brown trousers. Blues had blonde hair now and was youthful. The soul never gave away how old you really were. Grake grabbed his rifle that had sat beside him on the seat and aimed it at the on comer.

Blues took two revolvers out of his holsters and rolled to the side as the bullet rocketed past, slamming itself straight into an old man's head, tearing his skull apart. The young cowboy jumped twenty foot into the air from his crouching position and dived towards Grake firing both guns instantaneously, yet Grake diverted their path by spinning his badge into the flying bullets. Blues fell on his feet just in front of the sheriff and was smacked in the nose with the butt of the rifle sending him backwards onto the floor.

Screams from the crowds fueled their need to escape the scene, yet some just cowered close by, not wanting to miss this unorthodox battle of powers.
Grake pulled a knife from his boot and jumped down upon Blues to stab and cut, yet the cowboy wriggled away in time while taking the sheriff's left hand behind his back with the weapon. The sheriff pulled them both forward and ran up one of the wooden supports to the porch opposite the sheriff's office, flipping over the cowboy's head. With the knife in-hand he slashed at the youth's back and stabbed repeatedly into flesh and bone. Blues' eyes were wide open as he fell to his knees, clutching the support with one hand, the other trying to feel the wounds. Face first, he fell, dead.

The sheriff smiled with satisfaction and backed away only to be caught in the back of the head with his dropped rifle. Blues, who had taken control of a six footer who had been passing, was now bald. Using his new large hands, he picked up Grake by the jacket and threw him head first into the support beam, cracking it in half. Still not finished off, the sheriff crawled up the two steps onto the porch and tried to get up onto his feet. Blues took a spade that was leaning by the wall and smacked it into Grake's face sending him over the wooden railing and onto the floor head first. The large man caught the sheriff again as he got up, blood pouring from Grake's forehead. The spade slammed sideways straight through Grake's face, pushing him to the floor.

Wary, Blues looked around him yet he could not find anyone wanting to attack him. He smiled, thinking that at last it was over, at last he had won.

"Hey Blues!" shouted Grake who had become the deputy sheriff inside the office. He had taken hold of the trigger to a brand new machine gun that stood upon the large table. The gun fired round after round through the wall and window out into the street. Blues and the wall were torn apart, chunks of flesh, blood and wood spraying onto the dusty road.

---

The room was filled with the smell of rich coffee. That was real coffee, the good stuff, ground properly. Blues just loved to sit there for a minute, his eyes closed, not thinking about anyone else in the crowded room, and just inhale...that was real coffee.

Now a middle aged man with brown hair, he took a cigarette out of his brown leather jacket and lit it up. Tobacco and coffee, it kept him alert these past centuries. He may not need sleep, but the drugs worked like a dream. Either that or the body would wear out with exhaustion after several days. Not that it was a problem, it was just a nuisance since you'd get used to one body and then you'd be onto the next.

Blues looked down at the cup of coffee, black. Maybe it was all pointless, maybe. Hundreds of years this had gone on, all over the world, fighting anywhere, everywhere. They were wizards, their souls immortal, able to control the closest body after death as if it were their own.

The coffee shop had a window instead of a wall that looked out upon the pavement and the busy T-junction. Lunchtime traffic. Blues looked out upon the long street, car after car after car. One car was moving rather quickly towards him.

Grake was driving through every available space in-between the tightly packed cars. Long black hair came down to his bare shoulders, his vest laced with ammunition for a handgun he was keeping in his right hand while his left turned the wheel. As soon as he saw Blues, he fired through the windscreen, catching the second wizard twice, once in the leg and another in the arm. The landrover crashed into the backside of a car and flew through the air, crushing several people who walked on the pavement and slammed through the coffee shop window, shooting glass into anyone close by. Blues and others were torn apart by the quickly spinning wheels and fast moving body of steel. Many were caught under the heavy car as it crashed onto its side, finally stopping as it hit the counter.

Out of the carnage came Blues, now a woman in a smart office suit, carrying an axe with one hand that he'd taken from the kitchen by the fire hose and extinguishers. Blues jammed the axe straight through the top of the landrover, narrowly missing Grake who squirmed out of the way. Trying to get away, Grake rolled down the window and was just halfway out when the axe was slammed into his chest. Dizzy, Grake's eyes wandered as his hands fumbled to release the axe but it was useless.

Blues walked round to the dead body of his former self and ruffled around with the inside jacket pocket and took out a crystal the size of a golf ball and tucked it into his own pocket. Finding his old bag, he removed a sub-machine gun and made his way out of the coffee shop. Moving quickly, he jumped from car to tightly packed car, moving along the road as fast as was possible to gain a vantage point.

The vest wearer was dead and Grake became a police officer who had been cowering in the toilets with his coffee-to-go. Using the axe, he tore open the top of the car a little more and took two Uzis out of a duffel bag and made his way for Blues. Jumping onto the first bonnet, the policeman skipping from hood to hood towards the office worker.

Blues halted, turned and pumped ammo towards Grake's position but he flew into the air in a somersault, twenty or thirty feet. Blues' firing line followed Grake's flying body but none punctured. The clip empty, the sub-machine gun was thrown to the side and as Grake fell to Earth, Blues grabbed his arm and flipped him head over heels into the top of a nearby car, crushing those inside. Blues took one of the fallen Uzis while the other was taken by a young girl of fifteen who flipped up onto the top of the same car. Facing each other, both fired their Uzis but used their free hand to push the danger out of the way, their hands moving like lightening. When both were empty they were thrown through the air in different directions.

Grake caught Blues by surprise by slapping him round the face. Grinning, the young girl sent Blues flying into the air with an uppercut, throwing him into a windscreen. An old man, perhaps in his eighties, clambered out of a nearby car and grabbed the crystal. Throwing it through the air towards Grake, the young girl's eyes lit up with horror as he sent a bolt of lightening to deflect the power. The light hit the small crystal and slammed into the ground, ripping the street in half, sending cars flying through the air, buildings crashing to the ground, the two wizards catapulted away...

---

"And the old woman says, 'Only if I can be a pocket'!"

Giggles filtered through the room but mostly groans. Comedy Night wasn't the most eagerly anticipated of entertainment available in the Red Hoop. However, there wasn't much alternative within a hundred miles of the watering hole. The landlord had found the old monument about ten years before, and since then, it had gained a steady amount of drifters who wanted a room, something to eat and drink. No one knew what the monument had once been since it was all covered in sand, buried. Where once had been a city was now a wasteland, a desert. Sweet home, Anavah.

Not everywhere was a desert. Some land survived after the destruction caused by the two wizards, but their names had been forgotten over time along with their special abilities. They were living legends. The inhabitants still got word of their fights in town after town, place after place, all over the world. Of course, news came slow in a place like this but all they could do was wait, wait for the end.

Frankie took the small glass in his dirty fingers, a woolen glove over the hand to cover scars of old, and emptied the drink into his dry mouth. Some harsh home-made gin that was sure to fry the liver. He coughed and hit his chest thinking that it might help. Frankie's clothes consisted of several layers of woolen cloaks to keep warm during the cold nights.

Opposite Frankie was Holden, his strong glasses making his eyes look huge through the frames. He wore the same sort of gear as it was necessary with the conditions, yet he held a gun close to him at all times, while Frankie's was on the bar next to his drink.

"When will they come?" asked Holden, shaking from the freezing temperature.

"Soon, Holden, soon," replied Frankie, chucking another glass of gin down his throat.

"Soon? How long is soon?"

"How long's a piece of string?"

"I can't wait much longer, Frankie. This life is pointless as it is. I'd might as well be back in the south where I can at least grow some fruit and vegetables. This place is horrid, no moisture in the earth, can't stand it."

"Look, we're here for that reason. We'll kill off those two wizards before they can do any more damage, if any more damage could actually be done to this place. You got your Pater?"

"Fully loaded."

"Quiet!" shouted the landlord, turning up the volume on the old radio. The large groups of people within the tavern became quieter while the crackling sounds of a voice spurred out of the old box.

"It has been reported that the two wizards who brought about the end of many places around the world, have just entered Anavah from the west and east. They are on a collision course, suspected to meet at the Acca Tower very shortly. People have been warned to evacuate the area in case of another deadly explosion."

"That's it!" roared Frankie, standing up on the bar. "This is the day we've all been waiting for! Grab your weapons and ammo, gentlemen, we are driving to Acca Tower, ten miles north!"

Frankie jumped down and was quickly joined by Holden as they jogged out of the bar and into a battered army vehicle.

---

The sun scorched the ground, throwing up heat trails into Grake's line of sight as the engine of the truck chugged along, mile after mile. The sunglasses weren't doing much and were nearly melting in the heat due to their age and poor craftsmanship. The other day, Grake had taken control of this middle aged man who was heavily built, a metal chain had been round his neck to denote military service. But since a military hadn't existed for two hundred years, Grake guessed he had found it in the dust.

The truck was soon upon Acca Tower. It was the remnants of a skyscraper, mostly covered in sand, one side toppling. The remaining chunk held a good twenty floors, however, yet all of the windows had smashed and many of the floors had collapsed or were unstable.

In the distance, Grake spotted another vehicle travelling towards the same position. The truck halted close to the tower and Grake got out, double checking that he had guns and weapons attached to him. Four pistols, a shotgun slung round his back and several knives at hand stuck in his belt.

The second car pulled up and Blues hopped out also with lots of weapons ready.

"Hey, Blues, I came here to talk."

"Go ahead, Grako, I've only got eternity."

"Well, I never got to ask you why you used that crystal. I mean, what was the point? We don't have long sprees of kill-'em-ups anymore. Now it's just the odd battle in some small town with a population of five or six. The Magician told us not to use nuclear weapons, and those Flamer Crystals are near enough. I mean, he could be really pissed."

"What's the big problem, Grako? Bodies can be counted in those explosions, it takes a couple to do serious damage anyway. We're here to do a job, and not just that - to win power over the world. The new world."

"You heard the radio broadcast?"

"Yeah, there'll be loads of them coming to get us, like last time. Maybe not so many, but quite a few. Always good fun..."

Grake quickly took out one of the pistols and aimed it at Blues' head. Firing at close range, Blues, who had been a twenty something year old woman, had his face explode with blood and shards of bone tangled in golden locks.

"You're getting slow, Bluesy."

Blues took over the driver of the lead open-top army vehicle of the vigilantes and stamped the pedal down, speeding up towards Grake's position. Wondering what was going on, the passengers shouted at Blues but he gave no reply, really pissed off that he'd just been shot in the head. Leaving the driver's seat, Blues hopped over the windscreen and onto the bonnet, pushing it way down. Using this as a spring board, Blues flew at Grake continuously firing his pistol but always missing the target. The army vehicle crashed nose first into the sand, sending the back flying upwards, spinning mid air with all of the passengers, until it fell upside down onto the sand, crushing those unfortunate to be underneath.

The other two vehicles that were following the first stopped some way off and unloaded themselves, also watching the two wizards throw punches and block them over and over in the distance. After disorientating Blues with a shot to the throat, making him splutter, Grake ran through one of the windows into the Acca Tower and disappeared into the gloomy ruins. Blues, regaining his sense of stability, followed the first wizard in.

"Right, you lot go after them, Holden and I will set the charges. Make sure you're out of there when it goes off!"

Ten or more that were fully armed and had been in the bar jogged through the windows into the building.

---

"Where are you?!" shouted Grake in the eery silence, slowly moving down a narrow corridor with the shotgun in both hands.

Suddenly, out of a doorway came a kick from Blues to the gun which sent a shot into the ceiling and the gun to the floor. A series of lefts and rights from Blues caught Grake in the gut and sent him into the nearby wall where he continued to pummel.

Down the corridor, two of the vigilantes appeared and unloaded rapid fire at them both, making their bodies twitch and shake as if they were being electrocuted. Once the two bodies were dead, Blues and Grake took over their assassins bodies and tried firing their weapons at each other but the bullets missed each time, plunging into the walls instead.

A well aimed fist from Blues, however, sent Grake stumbling backwards, allowing him to get going to find some weapons. First he came across, however, were two more vigilantes. Speedily, he grabbed their guns from their gloved hands and shot bullets into their faces. Before they fell to the floor, the guns were dropped and Blues tugged at their arms till they fell forwards, dislocating and then tearing them off. Grake came through into the space and was battered with the two severed arms, sending blood all over the walls and floor.

A creaking sound of instability from the floor above sent one through the ceiling, breaking his neck on impact.

From behind, through a doorway, came a large man wielding a flame thrower which charred Grake and Blues' two bodies. Grake took the large man and aimed the flame up through the hole in the ceiling at Blues' new body, pushing it against a wall.

---

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?"

"Who gives a damn about them? Let's get rid of those two wizards!"

Holden pushed the detonator down and the charges at each corner of the building exploded, shaking the rest of the building and sending it toppling to the ground. A great waft of smoke and debris spread further than expected and surrounded Frankie and Holden like a fog.

Grake and Blues took over Frankie and Holden and began punching each other again, oblivious to the building which had just been destroyed. Blues sent a final blow to Grake on the head that sent him to the ground. Blues, however, had been badly beaten also, and collapsed to his knees, blood running from his mouth, hands, nose and eyes. He too fell, dead.

---

"Well, here we are," said Grake, a largely built bald man with an eye patch. In front of him was Blues, a midget of a man clothed in jeans and shirt.

"The last two alive are the ugliest pair I could have ever imagined," laughed Blues. "A good place for it, though - the last stand, upon a cliff edge."

"So, do you want to go together?"

With answering, Blues leapt at Grake and they both toppled over the cliff edge, spinning widely in the breeze. The bodies tore apart on impact with the sharp rocks and their blood was mopped up by the sea.

Upon the rocks, Grake and Blues, back in their robes, leapt high into the air together, back to the top of the cliff. They stared down to the two bodies, the last of humanity.

"It is done," said Grake.

"It is done," repeated Blues.

"It is finally done," said the Magician, back in his robes of old, blue with gold lining. "Good work, my friends." He put a hand on each of their shoulders in appreciation.

"So who won?" asked Blues, trying to hide his excitement.

"I did," replied the Magician, suddenly plunging his fingers into the wizards' shoulders, sending them to their knees. "To think I'd give up ruling the world." The two bodies collapsed to the floor and the Magician kicked them over the cliff, sending them down to be with the two last humans.

From the clouds in the blue sky, a revolving staircase appeared. "See you next time, Earth. I've got a date with Heaven...maybe God's in need of an assistant..."

 

 

Copyright © 2004 Jack M Brown
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"