by Andy Remic
"You old bastard," he muttered, and began to pick his way back down the trail. Something moved, in the undergrowth to his right. It was something large, ponderous, and as Saark stopped, so the thing stopped.
It has to be a canker, thought Saark. His imagination flitted back, to those towering, powerful, snarling evil creatures, huge huge wounds in their flanks showing the twisted corrupted clockwork of their deviant manufacture. Kell had killed a fair few, the mighty Ilanna ripping through towering flesh and muscle and gears and cogs. But Saark? With his pretty little rapier? Against such a creature he was less than effective.
Saark began to creep. In the darkness, something stomped and changed direction, heading for the path. With a start of horror Saark realised it would cut him off. He broke into a panicked run, but ahead something huge loomed out of the darkness, stepping menacingly onto the trail, and its bulk was terrifying, its eyes demonic orbs in the gloom, a swathe of black fur running across its shadowed equine flanks, and Saark screamed, turning, slipping suddenly on iced roots and hitting the ground hard with his elbow, then his skull. Dazed for a moment, he realised he'd dropped his rapier and his right hand scrabbled blindly for the weapon as the great beast moved up the path towards him, looming over him like a terrible huge smoky demon, and Saark opened his mouth to scream as terrifying huge fangs descended for his throat…
"Eeyore," said the demon, and a long hairy muzzle dropped and nuzzled against Saark's chin, leaving a long slimy path of hot saliva across his stubble and wellgroomed moustache. Donkey breath washed over him. The donkey stepped back, and there came an unmistakable and unterrifying clop of donkey hooves.
"I… I just don't bloody believe it!"
Saark sat back on his arse, found his rapier, and with shaking fingers levered himself up from the icy trail. He stood, and stared at the donkey in the gloom.
"Eeyore," brayed the donkey.
Saark squinted. Then he rubbed his chin. Then he squinted again. He moved alongside the affable beast, and looked at the basket on its back. He rubbed his chin again. "And now I just don't bloody believe it! Mary! It's you, Mary! You came back over the mountains! It's me, Saark, your faithful owner, oh I'm so pleased to see you, so pleased you got away from those cankers and Soul Stealers, you must have come back through the Cailleach Fortress, then headed south down through the Iron Forest, following the trails until, by sheer coincidence, we were reunited! Joy!"
Saark stopped. He realised he was standing in the woods, talking to a donkey.
He rubbed her snout, and Mary nuzzled him. "Still. It's damn good to see you again, old friend." He grinned, and taking her loose dangling rope, led her on the trail back towards the adventurers' makeshift camp.
Stew was bubbling over the fire when Saark stepped triumphantly from the tunnel of trees. "Look, everyone!" he cried. "I found Mary in the woods! My faithful old donkey! She's come back to me from over the mountains! What a coincidence! It's a miracle!"
He beamed around, and Kell, glancing up, continued to sharpen Ilanna. "Good. Get her killed and gutted and skinned; we can put some donkey hooves in the stew."
"Ha ha," said Saark, smile wooden.
Kell stopped his honing and stared. "I'm serious. We're at risk of starving out here. As I've always maintained in the past, there's good eating on a donkey."
Mary brayed, nostrils flaring.
"You jest, surely?" said Saark.
"Leave him be," said Myriam, moving to examine the animal. It was indeed Mary, donkey, beast of burden, and Saark's honourable equine friend. She nuzzled Myriam's hand in a friendly fashion. "Are there any supplies still left in the basket?"
Saark rummaged around, and triumphantly produced dried beef, salt, sugar, coffee, arrows and blankets. "See, Kell, no need to kill my special friend. She has brought us much needed supplies! What a brave donkey. Yes you are, a brave donkey." He rubbed her snout.
Kell grunted.
Nienna moved close, and stroked Mary's muzzle. "I can't believe she found her way back. All that way!"
"Ahh, well," Saark stroked his neat moustache, "a clever creature, is your average donkey. You may think they're stubborn, and a bit docile, but I guarantee they have more brains than the majority of idiots you find in any smalltown tavern." He gave a meaningful glance to Kell, who was studiously ignoring both Saark and the donkey.
"Still. An incredible journey for a donkey," said Nienna. "Admirable. And that she managed to find you in the woods? What a stroke of luck!"
"She could smell his awful perfume," muttered Kell.
"You be quiet, old man," snapped Saark, bottom lip quivering a little, "just because you don't have a donkey of your own."
Kell stood, and stretched his back. He stared at Saark, a broad smile on his rough, bearded features. "Well lad," he grinned, and rubbed at his beard, and ran a hand through his shaggy, grey-streaked hair, and knuckled at weary eyes, then winked, "at least you'll have something to keep you warm under your blankets tonight, eh?"
And with that, he sauntered into the woods for a piss.
CHAPTER 5
Regular As Clockwork
Dawn was bright and crisp and cold. Snow clung to bare, angular branches, and in the magenta glow of a new morning the trees did indeed appear to be cast from iron. Most were huge, gaunt, stark against a brittle sky. Saark yawned, stretching, and opened his eyes to see Nienna sat by the fire, to which she'd added fuel and stoked it into life.
Saark rolled from under his blanket and shivered. "By the gods, it's cold out here."
"Did you sleep well, Saark?" Nienna didn't look up, but continued to prod the fire. Her voice was soft, lilting, like a delivery of fine soothing birdsong. Saark swallowed, and breathed deep.
"Yes, my sweet," he said.
She looked up then, and their eyes met, and Kell's snore interrupted the moment like a burst of crossbow quarrels. Saark glanced over to the old warrior, who had turned over in his slumber, boots poking from beneath his blanket. It was as if he was mocking Saark, even in sleep. I am watching you, boy, the sleeping warrior seemed to say. Touch my granddaughter and I'll carve you a second arsehole.
Saark crossed and sat opposite Nienna. He watched her for a while, her delicate movements, and with a start he realised… On their long journey, she had changed – from child, to adult. From girl, to woman. She was harder, leaner, fitter. Her eyes were creased, and her face, on the one hand weary from endless travelling and the threat of being hunted, was also radiant with a new, inner strength. This was a woman who had stared into the Abyss, and come back from the brink.
"How are you feeling?" asked Saark.
Nienna tilted her head, giving a half shrug. "Tired. What I'd give for a hot bath."
"Me too." Saark coughed. "I mean, on my own, not, not with… you." He stumbled to a halt. Flames crackled. Wood spat. In the Iron Forest, snow fell from branches. Mary's hooves crunched snow.
"Am I so hard to look at?" said Nienna, suddenly, tears in her eyes. "Am I so ugly?"
"No! No, of course not." Saark moved around the fire, and placed his arm around her shoulders. He gave her a gentle squeeze. "You are beautiful," he said.
She looked up into his face. Tears stained her pink cheeks. "You mean that?"
"Of course!" said Saark. "It's just, well, Kell, and that axe, and, well…"
"You always say that," snapped Nienna, and rubbed viciously at her tears, heaving Saark's arm from her shoulders. "I think, for you Saark, it is a convenient excuse."
"That's not true," said Saark, and placed his arm back over Nienna's shoulder. "Come here, Little One. And before you bite off my head with that savage snapping tongue, it's a term of affection, not condescension." Saark hugged Nienna for a while, and rocked her, and she placed her head against his chest – so recently violated, now repaired with advanced vachine healing.
• • • •
Nienna could hear Saark's heartbeat. It was strong. Like him. And she could smell his natural scent, and it made her head spin and he
r mouth dry. She could see stars. She could look into heaven and taste the ambrosia of a distant, fleeting promise.
Kell coughed. "Sleep well, did you?"
Saark eased his arm from Nienna's shoulders. "Don't be getting any wrong ideas, old man."
Kell leered at him from the dawn gloom. "I wasn't," he said, almost cryptically, and disappeared into the woodland for a piss. Saark glanced at Nienna, as if to say, See? My guardian devil, but she was looking at him strangely and he didn't like that look. He knew exactly what that look meant. It was a look a thousand women had given him over the years, and Saark knew about such things, because he was a beautiful man. But worse. He was a beautiful man without morals.
He shivered, in anticipation, as a ghost walked over his soul…
They ate a swift breakfast of dried beef, and set off through the Iron Woods, Saark leading Mary by a short length of frayed rope. The walking was hard; sometimes there were narrow trails to follow, but more often than not these petered out and they had to travel crosscountry, Kell leading the way and cursing as he fought the clawed fingers of the trees and tramped heavy boots through snow and tangled dead undergrowth.
After a few hours of walking and cursing, they stopped for a break. Or in the case of Saark, for a moan.
"My feet are frozen! We should build a fire."
"We haven't got the time," said Kell, face sour.
"Yes, but if my toes freeze solid I won't be able to walk. Even worse, I saw one man once, used to work over near Moonlake when we had those real bad falls a few years back. He was stranded, out on the Iopian Plains, out there for days he was. His toes went black and fell off!"
"They fell off?" said Nienna, aghast.
"I've seen this also. In the army," said Kell, removing his own boots and rubbing his toes. "The trick," he gave Saark a full teeth-grin, "is to keep moving. Keep the hot blood flowing. When you languish on your arse like a drunken dandy, that's when you get into trouble."
Saark ignored the insult, and gazed around. "But it is pretty," he announced. "Reminds me of a poem…"
"Don't start," snapped Kell. "I fucking despise poets."
"But look, old man! Look at the beauty! Look at the majesty of Nature!"
"The majesty of Nature?" spluttered Kell, and his face turned dark. "Where we're headed, boy, there's little majesty and lots of death."
Saark considered this, as Mary nuzzled his hand. "And where is that?" he said, finally, when Kell ignored the hint to continue.
"Balaglass Lake," said Kell.
"You're insane," said Myriam. "We can't travel there; it's poisoned land!"
"Whoa," said Saark, holding up a hand. "Poisoned? As in, gets into our bodies and chokes us, kind of poison?"
"Balaglass Lake is frozen," said Myriam. "But not with ice, with toxins. Even in high summer it remains solid, but as unwary travellers wander across its seemingly solid surface, then a pool will suddenly open up and eat them. I saw it, once. Near the edge. Man fell in, up to his knees; over the next few days, the… water, or whatever it is, ate the flesh from his bones. We strapped him down, used tourniquets, a leather strap between his teeth. He screamed for three nights until we could bear it no more and put him out of his misery." Myriam faltered, and was silent.
"A happy tale," snapped Saark. "Thank you so much for lifting my mood!"
"We need to cross it," said Kell. "It's the quickest way."
"Where to?" said Saark, face a frown.
"To the Black Pike Mines," said Kell.
They stood by the shores of Balaglass Lake, but there was nothing to see except a perfectly flat platter of snow. A wind sighed from the edge of the Iron Forest, ruffling Kell's beard as his dark eyes swept the flat plateau.
"You see?" pointed Myriam, behind her. They looked at the animal tracks. "Nothing heads out onto the frozen lake; it's as if the animals know it's evil and will suck them down."
"What freezes it, if not the ice?" said Saark, rubbing his chin.
Myriam shrugged. "Who knows? It has always been thus. Styx said his father, and his father's father, had both always known it as such a place. And that only the foolhardy attempted to cross."
"How big is it?" said Saark, peering out across the desolate flat plain.
"Big enough," laughed Kell, and stepped out onto the frozen surface. "See. Solid as a rock."
Saark stared at him. "It's when you say things like that the ground normally opens up and swallows you! You should not tempt the Fates, Kell. Their sense of humour is more corrupt than a canker's brain."
"Ah, bollocks," said Kell. "Come on ladies, we have a mission. You want to save Falanor? Well it won't happen if you all stand there picking your noses."
"I do so under protest," said Myriam, and warily tested the surface with her boot. "Seeing a man scream with only bone sticks as legs taught me never to chance my luck here." Even so, she stepped onto the frozen lake and stood beside Kell. Then Nienna stepped out, and lifted her head proudly, turning to meet Saark's gaze.
Saark stepped from one boot to the other. "You sure there's no way round?" he whined.
"Get out here!" thundered Kell, and turning, stalked off across the plate of ice.
Warily, Saark followed, leading Mary who shied away, trying to pull back. "Shh!" soothed Saark, and slowly, gently, coaxed the donkey out onto the frozen surface.
Myriam, who was twenty paces ahead, turned. "See. Animals can sense it. Sense the death."
"Will you fucking shut up!" shouted Saark, irate now as he fought with the donkey. "Shh, girl, come on, girl, it won't hurt you, girl, please come on, trust me, it won't hurt."
"Is that how you coax all the ladies?" grinned Myriam.
Saark considered this, and frowned. "That's just a damn and dirty misrepresentation," he said. Then smiled. "Although I have to admit, it works sometimes."
Kell and Nienna were ahead, Kell striding through the powdered snow without a backward glance, the mighty Ilanna in one fist, his other clenched tight. Nienna trotted by his side, and glancing back, she saw Saark and Myriam following.
"Does this lake really swallow people, grandfather?" she asked, staring down at her boots. She had come to trust the ground, and the thought of walking on thin ice filled her with a consummate fear.
"Old wives' tales," said Kell, without looking at her. His gaze was focused on the distant line of trees, a swathe of iron-black trunks no bigger than his thumbnails. Half a league, he reckoned. That was a long way to walk on treacherous, thin ice.
Behind, Saark and Myriam were making small-talk.
"Tell me more about the clockwork," said Saark, the rope from a disobedient donkey cutting into his hand and making him wince.
"What do you need to know?"
"You think I will die? Without it, I mean?"
"That is what Tashmaniok and Shanna advised. They may have been lying, though." She peered at Saark. "Why? How do you feel?"
"Wonderful! Powerful, strong, at the peak of my prowess! All pain is gone, my wounds have healed except for the odd twinge; I'm thinking maybe this clockwork vampire thing isn't so bad after all. I am faster, stronger, my eyesight more acute; my stamina rarely leaves me, and I have greater resistance to heat and cold."
"And yet you still moan about your cold toes," observed Myriam.
"That's because the moaning bastard will whine about anything!" shouted back Kell.
"By the gods, he has good hearing for a human," frowned Saark.
"Better watch him, then, when you're sat under the blankets cuddling Nienna."
Saark stared long and hard at Myriam. "I was simply offering warmth and friendship," he said.
"Yes," snorted Myriam. "I've seen that sort of friendship a lot during my short, bitter lifetime!"
Saark's eyes went wide. "Me? Really? You think I'd…" He considered this. "Actually, yes, of course you're right. I would. But you're missing the point. With that huge ugly axe hanging like a pendulum over the back of my skull, well, somehow I seem to lose that all-importa
nt urge." He grinned, but watched Myriam's face descend into pain. "Are you well?"
"Yes! No. It's just, well, I don't want to talk about it."
Saark replayed the conversation in his mind. Something had upset Myriam. What had it been? With his big flapping lips, he'd managed to put his damn soldier's boot in the horse shit again. Saark frowned, then stopped walking, placing his hands on his hips. Mary clacked to a halt behind him, and Myriam turned, a question in her eyes.
Saark moved to her, and he was close, and he could smell her scent, a natural wood-smoke, a musky heady aroma mixed with sweat and Myriam's natural perfume. It made him a little dizzy. It made his mouth dry.
"Yes?" she said.
"Nothing," he smiled, and leant in close, lips almost touching hers, and he paused, and felt her inch towards him, her body shifting, in acceptance, in readiness, in subtle longing; and this was his permission to continue and he brushed her lips with his, a delicate gesture as if touching the petals of a rose and he felt her sigh. He eased closer, pressed his body against hers, and they kissed, and she was warm and firm under his gently supporting hands, her body taut, muscular, stronger than any woman he'd held before. He heard her groan, and her kiss became more passionate and Saark understood now, understood with the clarity of blood on snow. She had been eaten by the parasite cancer, and retreated like a snail into its shell. Myriam had repressed her lust, her longing, her desires, and it had been a long time since she'd had a real man; a long time since she'd had any man. Saark grinned to himself. I'll show her what a real man is all about, and he kissed her with passion, with delicacy, with an understanding of exactly what women want, how to bring them out, how to allow them to enjoy themselves – and more importantly, enjoy themselves with him.
She pulled back. "You're a dirty scoundrel," she laughed.
"Kiss me again."
She kissed him again, with an urgency now that was suddenly interrupted as Mary shoved her muzzle into Saark's cheek and flapped her lips with a "hrrpphhhhh" of splattered donkey saliva. Saark made a croaking sound, taking a step back, and Myriam laughed a laugh which was a tinkling of gentle chimes.