by Andy Remic
Tunnels flashed past. Some lit with mineral deposits. Some were huge, caverns dissecting the tunnel through which Kell fell and he thought, where is all the water? And he realised, a flood, a flood of magick, drowning Silva Valley, drowning the vachine civilisation… and then he hit another curve, which slowed him, and he was sent tumbling through air and darkness and plunged into water so cold he gasped, ice-needles driving through his eyeballs and brain and numbing him. He was deep under, and he clung to Ilanna. I will not let you go, I will not lose you, my love. With a sudden spurt of anger Kell punched upwards, powerful legs kicking, and he broke the surface with a splutter and desperate intake of air. He went under again, but fought upwards and as he gasped and breathed, he saw the nearby glow and kicked out for it, his strokes urgent, cold battering through his old bones.
It was a beach, of sorts. Kell kicked and struggled, then flopped uselessly onto his back, great chest heaving. Kell had never been one for swimming, and he hated the water with a vengeance.
Pain and fear ran rampant through his blood, and Kell pushed himself to an upright position and cleared his nostrils with snorts, head spinning. He heard something then, a crying, a thrashing in the underground lake. Nienna!
Dropping his axe, Kell surged back towards the freezing lake. "Nienna!" he boomed, and his voice reverberated back a hundred times more powerful, a cackling of demons.
"Grandfather!" shrieked the young woman, "I've got Saark, help, he's dragging me under!"
Kell kicked off his boots, muttering darkly, and with the surreal and ghostly glow behind, leapt back in to the freezing waters, powering over to Nienna and taking the dead-weight of Saark's body from struggling hands. Kell struck back for the shore, Nienna following, and they lay there on the black sand panting, exhausted, shivering with core-biting cold, and Kell rolled Saark to one side and growled and said, "You should have let him sink. What sense, Nienna, in rescuing a corpse?"
"He's not dead," panted Nienna.
"I watched them carve out his heart!" snapped Kell, weary now, and crawled and stood, and rubbed his hands together. "Of course he's dead! Now we need a fire, girl, or we'll also die in but a few short hours."
"But…"
"Nienna! Stand up! Get moving. Keep moving."
She stood, and they looked around. The shore of the vast underground lake seemed to stretch off for eternity. The cavern was vast, endless, and the glow came from eerie stalactites and stalagmites which sat cloaked in some kind of fungus. Kell moved to one, and peeled back a little. He sniffed it. He touched it to his tongue. "I hope it burns. Because," he gazed around, long grey hair plastered to his shivering scalp, "if it doesn't, we're going to die down here."
The beach was littered with stones and rocks, of a million different descriptions, all washed up over millennia. Kell set Nienna to gathering the glowing fungi, and he found several rocks, striking them together until he found a combination that gave a spark. Back from the water, near a cluster of flowstone and stalagmites, Nienna piled the scraped fungus and Kell knelt, feeling foolish, shivering violently. He struck sparks in the fungus, and on the fourth attempt it glowed, and flames flickered. An odd-smelling smoke rose and heat blossomed from glowing flame-petals. Kell glanced up. "Get more," he said.
"Bring Saark to the fire," said Nienna.
Kell ground his teeth in annoyance, but gave a nod. He moved back down to the lapping shore. He bent, and lifted the dandy, and retrieved his axe. He carried both back to this odd subterranean campsite and threw down the axe. He laid Saark out. Saark's eyes opened.
"Thanks, old man," he said, voice a hoarse whisper. "Thought you were going to leave me out there to die."
"Saark! Gods, man! You tough little cockroach!" Kell moved Saark closer to the flames, and stared in awe at the savage chest wound. He could see Saark's heart beating within, pulsating with very, very slow thumps. Kell shivered. Saark was a hair's-breadth from death.
Nienna returned, and they piled more fungus on the fire. Flames roared and within minutes steam was rising from their sodden clothes. Saark's eyes had closed, and Kell gestured to Nienna. They stepped away from the fire.
"There is nothing I can do for him," he said, sadness buried in his eyes, in his voice. "I wish there was, Nienna, truly I do. It is a miracle he has lasted this long. He must have lost a lot of blood."
"Can you not stitch him? I've seen you sew wounds before!"
"No, Little One. It is too wide. It's straight through the bone. We must… sit with him. But when it is time to move on, well…" Kell gripped his axe tight, trying to convey understanding through gesture.
Nienna understood clearly, and she punched Kell on the arm. "No!" she hissed. "You're not going to kill him! I won't let you."
"We cannot take him with us, girl. Look around you! I doubt very much we will survive. How foolish, to try and drag a guaranteed corpse."
"He may be a guaranteed corpse to you," said Nienna, eyes cold, voice in the tombworld, "but he's a fine friend to me, and I will not leave him. You go if you wish, grandfather. But I will find a way to get Saark back to the sunshine."
Kell sighed, and watched Nienna return to Saark. He ground his teeth, and rubbed at his temples, and moved back to the fire as the chill of the underground cavern bit him with tiny fangs. She has the stubbornness of her mother in her, he thought bitterly, but that only led to further painful memories, of ancient days, and Sara, and Kell closed that door with a violent shove.
Saark moaned, and his eyes fluttered open. "Where am I?" he murmured.
"You should be dead," growled Kell.
"Nice to see you, too, you old bastard."
"I'm simply being honest," prickled the aged axeman.
Saark coughed, and Kell rubbed at his beard. "I reckon we'll need to be moving soon. Don't want those Vampire Warlords ramming claws up my arse."
"How long have we been stranded?"
"A day, maybe."
"If they wanted us, they would have found us," said Saark, voice a croak, eyes watering. "Is there anything to eat?"
"No."
"Anything to drink?"
"Just brackish, oily water. At least the lake will sustain us."
Saark laughed, then grimaced in pain. "You bring me to the finest places, Kell."
"Yeah, well, we ain't married yet, are we?"
"At least you acknowledge there might still be time. Ha!"
"Not whilst I'm breathing, lad."
"Where's Nienna?"
"Gathering more fungus. It burns well, but with a strange smell."
"I recognise that smell, Kell. It's drugsmoke. You're keeping us all high. Well done, that man. I thought my pain had receded; it's because I've been inhaling a natural narcotic for the last few hours. Don't you feel the buzz?"
Kell bared his teeth, face eerie by the light of the fire and the glowing, fungus-covered stalagmites. "Yes. But what you're feeling – that may be the smoke, I agree, or it could just be the vachine blood which now runs through your veins in a torrent."
There was an awkward silence.
"Listen," said Saark, finally, eyes shifting uneasily.
Kell placed his hand on Saark's, and patted him. "Don't you worry, lad. I know you think I'm an insane vachine killer… well, I am an insane vachine killer, but you're one of us. You're a friend. I promise to you, here and now, on my honour, on my blood, on my axe, that I will not kill you – vachine, or no vachine. That settle you?"
Saark coughed. Blood rimed his lips. "Thank you. But you do not know what you promise. You do not know how it feels."
"Explain it to me."
"Wait. Somebody's coming."
"How can…"
Saark grinned. "Vachine senses. They are good, Kell. Very good."
Kell rose, Ilanna in his great fists, and scanned the black shoreline with narrowed eyes. If it was the Vampire Warlords, immortal deities or no, Kell would give them a taste of his axe they'd never damn well forget!
And if it was General Graal come snif
fing around after blood and violence? Kell smiled, a nasty smile on such a wise, old, ravaged face. Well, Graal had it coming from a long way off.
A figure picked its way carefully along the shoreline, gradually materialising into a woman. She was tall, limbs wiry and strong, but whereas once she had sported short, cropped black hair, now it was long, gently curled, and luscious like the pelt of a panther. Whereas once her features were gaunt, ravaged by cancer, sunken eyes and narrow bloodless lips, her flesh stretched like ancient, oil-stained parchment, now her skin was smooth and pale like marble, her face proud with high cheekbones and glittering dark eyes. She was a striking figure. A beautiful woman. She had the tiny, pointed teeth of the vachine. The gentle, slow tick tick tick of the machine vampire. A clockwork vampire.
"Myriam!" snarled Kell, and readied himself for battle.
Myriam approached, warily, both hands held wide to show open palms, no weapons. Her eyes met Kell's, and she knew there was death waiting there; but then her eyes met Saark's, and a smile touched her lips.
"He is still alive," she said, voice no longer the croak of the dying.
"No thanks to you, vachine bitch. Arm yourself, Myriam, because by all the gods I'll cut you from head to quim, whether armed or no."
"I have not come to fight," she said, stopping, boots crunching on the stones of the dark beach. "If I'd wanted you dead, I could have picked you off from five hundred paces with my bow. And you know that's true, old man."
Kell grinned. "Yeah. Well. I don't die easy." He moved forward, lowering his head, face full of rage and thunder, Ilanna lifting a little and seeming to glow black in anticipation of battle. Myriam had betrayed them, allowed Kell and Saark and Nienna to be caught by the Soul Stealers, aided in their capture by the Soul Stealers and delivered to General Graal trussed up like festival turkeys for summary execution. She was the enemy, through and through. She was a vachine contortion. A puppet. She must die.
"No!" screeched Nienna, dropping her armfuls of fungus and racing across the beach to stand before Kell. She held her arms wide. "No, Kell, no! Don't do this."
"Get out of my way, child, or you'll feel the back of my hand."
"Hard brave words from the Black Axeman of Drennach!" she sneered. "Such heroic spit to threaten a little girl."
Kell focused on Nienna for the first time. "She will betray us. She is the enemy. She must die. Have you forgotten so easily what happened on the bridge? I have not."
"Hear her out, grandfather." Nienna's voice softened. "Please? She has her bow. I've seen how incredible she is with that weapon – devastating! She could have easily killed us from afar – all of us."
"Girl, you are fast becoming a thorn in my side!" Kell snapped, but lowered his axe, aware he was putty in her fingers, and knowing deep in his soul he would regret allowing Myriam to live.
"Yes, but surely I'm a thorn on a rose?" she said sweetly, and turned to Myriam. There were tears in Nienna's eyes. "Myriam? You have come to help?"
"Yes, child," said Myriam, and smiled, and there was love in her eyes. "Kell released me. From imprisonment. From thrall. From slavery."
"Explain," growled Kell.
"When you killed the Soul Stealers, Kell. They infected me with their blood-oil, their disease, and used clockwork to change me into a full vachine. I was theirs to command, not just through words or gratitude, but by – it is hard to explain. They took a part of my soul, and I took theirs. We were joined. I could not refuse them; Shanna and Tashmaniok were a drug for me. I was their marionette. But when you killed them, I was dazed for a while, and then their essence faded back to the Chaos Halls and I was set free. And then I saw the Vampire Warlords, I listened to their words, and I was filled with an absolute terror. I ran, Kell. I was frightened. I slipped away from Helltop and came looking for you. Believe it or not, you people are the only family I have."
Kell grunted, and slumped down beside Saark, who was panting heavily. "Well, you've found us in a sorry mess. I hope those bastard vampires don't come after us, for we are in no real state to defend."
Myriam moved forward, keeping a wary eye on Kell and his axe. "May I examine Saark's wound?"
"Go ahead. The lad will be dead by tomorrow." He fixed a beady eye on Myriam. "And you had a great part to play in that, girl."
Myriam knelt, and peeled back the torn linen pad which Kell had placed over the wound. "It has begun to heal," said Myriam.
"Nonsense," snapped Kell. "And even if the flesh healed, I've seen wounds like that before on the battlefield; he'll surely be riddled with infection. Gangrene will set in turning his flesh into a stinking putty. He will die, horribly, there is no doubt. And in a great amount of pain."
"Kell, shut up!" breathed Saark, scowling. His eyes fixed on Myriam's. "What's happening to me?"
"It is the vachine blood-oil in your veins. You have changed, Saark. You already know this. You now possess accelerated healing powers, and no infection will touch your tainted blood." She glanced at Kell. "The old man is wrong. There will be no gangrene for you; no maggot-filled infections. Your flesh is clean, because no bacteria can face the vampire parasite."
"Why so?" asked Kell, intrigued.
Myriam gave a small smile. "His flesh is cursed. No infection will touch him. Nienna! Bring me some of the fungus; the more yellow, the better."
Nienna carried some to the hunter and knelt by her side, watching carefully. "Can you help save him?" she said, voice soft, eyes wide. Nienna was in a permanent state of shock; she had seen too much death. Her childhood had been stripped away like bark from a tree, leaving her scarred and naked.
"Watch." Myriam tore the fungus into pieces, and taking a flat rock, began to crumble it between her brass vachine claws. "Mulgeth weed, it also grows in the Stone Lion Woods – in the cold, dark, damp places. It has many precious properties for those who live in the wilds."
"It burns well," said Kell, "although I wouldn't smoke it in a pipe, that's for sure."
"Some physicians use it," said Myriam. She opened her pack, now at her side, and removed a tin cup. "Nienna, run down and gather water from the lake," she said, handing the cup. She turned back to Kell. "Mulgeth weed removes pain, aids in healing, and yes, we can even eat it. But if one was to use it for too long, it would destroy a person's brain from the inside out; it delivers a slack jaw and permanent yellow drool. Soon, any such over-indulging individual would be down the Shit Pits at the docks shovelling fish-heads for a living."
Kell leaned close to Saark. "Hear that, lad? No downsides for you, then."
"Kiss my rosy arse, Kell," he coughed, wincing in agony.
Nienna returned, and dripping water into the crushed Mulgeth weed, Myriam kneaded it into a thick paste. Then, she leant forward and packed the hole in Saark's chest with gentle fingers. He groaned, a low sound of agony, and once Myriam had filled the hole she covered the wound with a bandage taken from her pack. She took another pouch, and from this a small, brown glass vial. She unstoppered it, and dripped a single drop of clear liquid into Saark's open mouth. Within seconds, he was snoring.
Myriam turned to Kell. "Now we must discuss Falanor. We must stop these Vampire Warlords."
Kell snorted. "We are trapped under the mountains, lass. What would you have me do? Topple the damn peaks on their heads?" Then his eyes turned dark. "And your words are fine and brave, coming from one who fled the enemy. Fled from them, yes, or maybe, instead, you are still in league with Graal and his bastards?"
"No," said Myriam. "The Vampire Warlords, they are terrible indeed. Dark creatures from the Chaos Halls. They were banished there once before, but Graal and Kradekka brought them back using blood-oil magick to open a portal! But I know their plans, Kell. I heard enough, before I was able to slip out down the passages into Skaringa Dak. I heard enough to bring the information to you!"
"Go on," said Kell, listening, brow furrowed. "But that part of your story where the mighty Kell saves Falanor and rides home on the arse-flanks of a pig carrying the sev
ered heads of three Vampire Warlords in a tattered old onion sack, and sucking on the honeyed teat of a rescued virgin, well it needs to be excised right at the start."
"Grandfather, listen to her," said Nienna, sitting cross-legged on a stone. "What have you got to lose?"
"All our lives?" suggested Kell, but muttered something unheard and scratched his beard. At least the oily lake had sluiced him clear of blood, gore and vachine brains, vachine clockwork. He was feeling barely human, for a change. "Go on girl, let's hear it. Then I'll focus on getting my granddaughter clear of this unholy shit-hole, and back to some semblance of sanity."
"Not in Falanor, you won't," said Myriam, voice soft. She glanced down at Saark, face now relaxed in peace, then back to the old, grizzled warrior. "There are three of them. Kuradek the Unholy, with a passionate hatred for all human religions. His favourite pastime was slaughtering monks and ladies of the cloth; or even worse, changing them into vampires and letting them loose on their colleagues. He burned churches and temples to the ground, then would eat their ashes, laughing that his shit would be baptised in holy fire. Now, he intends to return to the northern city of Jalder. He will control the northern half of Falanor, and build up his army of albinos and… and vampires."