by Andy Remic
"I think she's jealous," smirked Myriam.
"I think you're right," agreed Saark. "Go on! Shoo! Bloody donkey! Bugger off!"
Myriam touched Saark's cheek. "I'll be waiting for you. Tonight."
Saark gave a single nod. "I know, my sweetness."
The Iron Forest shifted slowly back into view, but Kell had stopped up ahead. The travellers had become strung out, Kell in the lead, followed by a sullen Nienna walking alone, then Saark and Myriam trotting across the flat lake side by side, their faces awash with laughter and good humour. After a few minutes they caught up to Kell, whose dark eyes were surveying the black, seemingly impenetrable mass of the Iron Forest. It was dark, daunting, huge angular trunks and branches like broken claws. A dull silence seemed to ooze from the forest like an invisible smoke. No birds sang. No sounds came to the group, except for…
"Was that a cracking sound?" said Saark, going suddenly very still.
"Shh," said Kell.
They listened. Beneath, somewhere seemingly deep beneath, there came another series of tiny, gentle cracks. The noises were unmistakable, and this time in a quick-fire succession like a volley of crossbow bolts from battlements under siege.
"Should we run?" said Saark.
"A very bad idea," said Kell, softly. "We need to walk. Quickly. And I think we should spread out. Distribute the weight."
"I knew this was a bad idea," said Myriam, ice in her voice.
"Hold your tongue, woman! It's saved us three days' travel, and every day matters with those bastard vampires out there; or had you forgotten our purpose, so busy were you sticking your tongue into the dandy's foul mouth?"
"Let's just move," said Saark, holding his hands out.
They spread out, to a retort of more crackles from under the frozen surface of Balaglass Lake. This time, the sounds were nearer the surface; not deep down, like before.
"I'm frightened," said Nienna.
Kell said nothing.
They moved towards the iron-black trees, spreading apart, listening to the cracking sounds. Some were quiet, distant, deep below the surface; but some were loud, rising in volume suddenly until they made Kell's ears hurt. He increased his pace.
Saark was jogging, with Kell to his left, Myriam and Nienna to his right. Mary's hooves clumped the ice behind him, and he stopped, suddenly. He felt the ice beneath his boots shudder. Could the impact of Mary's hooves be making it worse? After all, there was some pressure there. Saark turned and stared at the donkey. Mary eyed him warily, and brayed, stamping her hooves as if to ward off cold.
"Whoa!" said Saark. "Don't do that, girl!"
"Eeyore," brayed Mary, as if sensing something beneath the surface of the snow, something like a predator closing in on them fast. Saark glanced up. Kell had made the bank, closely followed by Nienna. The bank was a muddy, root-entwined step, maybe waist height. Kell reached down, and hauled Nienna up to safety.
Saark started to run, then stopped as a crack opened in the surface before him. "Ahh!" he said, more an exhalation of horror than a word, and he took a step back. An evil, sulphurous aroma rose from the crack which zig-zagged before him. It shuddered, the whole toxic frozen lake seemed to shudder, and the crack grew yet wider. Saark ran right, where the crack petered out, and around it with Mary in tow still stamping those heavy hooves. Saark looked up, saw Myriam had reached the bank and Kell hauled her up a lower, ramped section. Her boots scrabbled and slid in the frozen mud. There! Mary would get up that! How did I get so damned far behind? What happened there? Are the gods mocking me again?
He ran for it. Kell grew closer, beard rimed with ice, face screwed into a mask of concern.
"Come on, Saark!" hissed Myriam.
More cracks rang out, like ballistae from siege engines; Saark pumped his arms, and Mary trotted obediently after him – and suddenly stopped, hauling back on the rope, rear haunches dropping, a strangled bray renting the air. Saark was jerked back, nearly pulled off his feet, and he whirled, scowling. "Stupid Mary!" he snapped. "Come on! Come on, damn donkey, or I'll leave you out here to sink!"
Mary shook her head, braying, and a shower of spit hit Saark like a wet fish. Saark moved behind the donkey, and slapped her rump as hard as he could. Mary coughed, shook her head again, and launched ahead with hooves flying over the ice. Saark ran after her, saw her scramble up the slope, just as the ice opened up before him and his boots sank in up to the knees. He screamed, flailing forwards, stumbling, fingers brushing the bank. And Kell was there, leaning forward, and their hands touched and eyes met. "Oh no!" whispered Saark.
Kell turned, fumbled with Ilanna. "Grab the axe, lad," he shouted, leaning out. But another crack rent the air, and Saark went under, and was gone beneath the surface of the frozen lake.
"No!" screamed Myriam, but Kell grabbed her jerkin.
"Whoa lass, you can't go in there!"
Chunks of ice bobbed, and Mary brayed forlornly. Snow began to fall from a bleak pastel sky, and they stood there on the bank, watching the chunks of ice, listening to more cracking sounds and praying for Saark. Kell grimaced. What had Myriam said? That the man's legs had eaten away after the toxins of the lake came into contact with his flesh? But maybe Saark will be lucky, thought Kell. Maybe he'll drown.
Myriam strained again, and Kell picked her bodily up, and moved her away from the edge of Balaglass Lake, her legs kicking, eyes furious. "Put me down!" she hissed.
Kell dropped her on the frozen forest floor.
"I'm sorry, lass." Kell shook his head sadly. "He's gone. He's dead."
There came a surge from the lake, and Saark appeared gasping and spluttering, kicking and struggling. "I'm not fucking gone!" he screamed. "Help me out! Now! This shit! It tastes like shit!"
Kell sprinted back to the slope, and lying full length reached out with Ilanna. Saark grabbed the blades, careful not to sever his own fingers, and Kell hauled him onto the sloped bank where he rolled, coughing and choking. Saark was covered in what appeared a thick, oily, black green sludge, and he coughed up some huge chunks which sat, quivering on the frozen mud.
"Fucking horrible! It was fucking disgusting!" He struggled, fighting with his wet clothes until he stood, naked and shivering on the icy bank. He looked at everyone. "What? What? Come on, get me some fresh clothes, will you? Out of Mary's basket."
Myriam found fresh clothes, and Kell grabbed handfuls of snow, scrubbing Saark's violently shivering body free of the lake's sludge. When he came to Saark's groin, he handed him a snowball. "Here you go, lad. A man's cock is his own business."
"Myriam," said Kell. "Build a fire. I'll find some water, we need to get the lad cleaned off. And Nienna, can you get some firewood? Good girl." He turned back to Saark, struggling into thick woollens, his fingers almost blue. "What the hell were you doing, lad, putting that damn donkey before yourself?"
"I couldn't leave her!" snapped Saark.
"Well, I hope she was worth it," said Kell with a scowl.
"She is. She is."
"We'll see if you still think that when your flesh is peeling off your bones."
"I'd forgotten that," shivered Saark miserably, and stared forlornly at his boots. They were leaking black dye onto the snow. "The whoresons! Those boots cost a pretty penny."
"I think you've got bigger problems than that," snapped Kell.
Soon they had a reasonably large fire burning, despite Kell muttering about visibility and smoke and announcing their location to every damn soldier, brigand, Blacklipper and cut-throat for a two league circle. Kell found a frozen pool, and cracking it with his axe, bid Saark undress once more and jump into the icechilled water.
"But why?" he whined, kicking off his trews.
"Get that shit off your skin. And out of your hair. Don't want to go bald, do you?"
Saark looked at Kell in absolute horror, and undressed with acceleration. However, it took a prod from Ilanna to get a squawking, flapping, very unhappy Saark into the frozen pool and he went under, and spluttered up,
and scowled and cursed, swore and chattered. He scrubbed at his hair, muttering obscenities to Kell, to Mary and to the world in general. Then Kell hauled him out, wrapped him in a blanket and supported the shivering man to the fire, laying his clothes next to him.
"It's like having a baby again," muttered Kell.
"Well, if you hadn't dragged us across that bloody lake in the first place, I wouldn't be sat here with balls the size of acorns."
"So, nothing's changed, eh lad?" grinned Kell.
Saark was shivering too much to reply.
Myriam and Nienna got a large pan of broth cooking, and Kell disappeared into the Iron Forest searching for bad people to dismember. He returned after an hour, shaking his head, to find Saark slurping his third bowl of soup and in much better humour.
"See?" beamed Saark. "Nothing wrong with me! Nothing at all! I think all these stories about toxic lakes that eat men whole are nothing but horse-shit ghost stories spewed by cranky old woodsmen around their inbred fires." He gave a meaningful glance at Myriam, and then sat back, opening his blanket a little to allow more warmth in.
"By all the gods lad, put it away!" boomed Kell. "We don't want to be looking at that whilst we eat our soup!"
"What's the matter, never seen such an example of prime steak before?"
"I've never seen such a little tiddler!" roared Kell, good humour suddenly returned. "You make the sausages at the butchers seem quite majestic! Now put your clothes on, we've wasted enough time messing around here. We should get moving."
"I have barely recovered from my near death incident," whined Saark, pulling his blankets tighter with a scowl. "The least you could do is have some compassion!"
"I'll have some compassion when you're dead. Get your trews on, I found soldiers out in the forest. Lots of soldiers. Enough soldiers to, for example, give us a real bad day."
Myriam stamped out the fire, and they were ready to move in a few minutes, Saark complaining about his wet boots and how he was chilled to the bone.
Snow started to fall heavy, and clung to the angular branches of trees like a white parasite. They trudged through the silent forest, leaving a narrow trail and cutting randomly between the trees in case the soldiers had seen their fire, and came to investigate.
The sky was streaked with ice.
And through this frozen forest world, they moved.
They came upon a deserted farmhouse, a leaning, ramshackle affair with no obvious trails leading to it, or from it. It must have been deserted for years, and the woodland had slowly reclaimed the land, the road and the stables. It still maintained a roof, and that was something, for the snow was coming down thick. Kell was thankful for this; as he pointed out, it would cover their tracks.
Kell allowed them a fire, for without fire, he said, they may die; and to hell with the soldiers.
"If they do come," he grunted, "I'll teach them something new about cold. The cold of an early grave."
With a fire burning in the old kitchen fireplace, and the sky dark outside, the enclosing forest blocked out ambient light and gradually piled high with the fresh fall.
Myriam disappeared into the woods, returning with wild mushrooms and berries from which she made a stew, and Saark busied himself in the stables making sure Mary the donkey had a thick blanket over her back, and was not subjected to too many draughts.
Saark patted her muzzle. "I'd have you in the house with us, but you know what Kell's like. Grumpy old bastard. Soon as eat you as look at you."
"Talking to your donkey again?" said Myriam, almost in his ear, and he jumped.
"By the Chaos Halls, you move quiet, Myriam."
"Just one of my many talents."
She moved in front of him, and draped her hands over his shoulders. She leant forward and they kissed, and despite the cold and the snow, despite the darkness and the distant nagging fear of their mission, of the vampires, of the state of Falanor, here and now they were enclosed in a shield of warmth and desire.
"You coming to my bed tonight?" she whispered, husky, pulling away but not letting go. She was in control now, she was the dominant one, her confidence returned tenfold, her eyes bright and eager. Saark enjoyed this. Enjoyed the reversal. It was stimulating.
"Yes," said Saark, seeing no need at coyness. His hands moved down her back, onto her buttocks, and he pulled her to him so their hips touched. He was hard against her, and he grinned because he knew that she knew; and she knew he knew she knew. They kissed again. "I'm going to treat you so fine, Myriam," he said.
"I know," she smiled.
"Where's that firewood?" came Kell's coarse shout.
"Coming, Legend," grinned Myriam, and filled her arms with chunks from beside the leaning, rickety stables. "And then we'll have some poetry! We'll have some hero-song!"
"Not from me you won't," growled Kell, and slammed the door.
The fire had burned low. They had arranged blankets before the flames, Nienna close beside Kell – presumably so the old goat can keep an eye on me and her, mused Saark. But as embers glittered, so too did Myriam's eyes and she rose, taking her blankets with her, and moved to the nearest bedroom. Saark followed, and stepping into the small room, he closed the door.
Myriam moved and opened the shutters. The snow had stopped, and eerie moonlight filtered in at an angle, highlighting her face, her high cheekbones, her smooth, pale skin. Her hair caught the moonlight, and shone like liquid silver shot through with strands of ebony. Slowly, she trailed to the bed and laid out her blankets. In silence, Saark did the same, and then they stood there for a while, staring at one another, like virgins on a first date, simply watching, not rushing, as if not quite sure what to do. Saark moved first, fired by lust and kneeling on the bed, and Myriam came from the opposite side to meet him. He touched her shoulders, and ran his hands down her arms, then leant in close and kissed her neck, and breathed in that musky scent. She groaned, a low, low animal sound from the pit of her stomach, and in that groan Saark sensed years of frustration, of longing, of need, and he caught sight of his own fingers in the moonlight and was shocked to see them shaking. What's this? Saark, the greatest of lovers, the most incredible seducer in the whole of Falanor, shaking like a child at his first sniff of an eager quim? He smiled, and enjoyed the sensation, and his hands took Myriam's head and his fingers ran through her hair. It was luscious, a pelt, and he kissed her and their tongues mated, and as they kissed they undressed one another, one item of clothing at a time, their hands that little bit too eager, a little bit too quick with excitement and the promise of what was to come. Saark touched Myriam's naked shoulder, as her hand slipped between his legs and took hold of his throbbing, eager cock. "A better performance than this morning," she purred, and bit his ear. He gave a little jump and grinned, face outlined by moonlight.
"You'd better believe it," he said, and his tongue left a slick trail down her jaw, then down her throat, and he took her left breast in his mouth, pulling slowly at the nipple between his teeth and holding it there as he felt himself pulsing in her hands and his own hand dropped between her legs. She was warm there, and wet, so wet, and Saark breathed in her scent and tickled her, slowly, teasing her with two fingers and her back arched and she reclined back on the bed, and Saark lowered his mouth to her cunt, and he played with her and she moaned, and his tongue teased and he nibbled and inside that dark sweet hole he could feel it, feel the rhythm of ticking clockwork and Myriam was groaning, writhing, and she could take no more and she pulled at him, her fingers eager and grasping, her nails leaving long red grooves down Saark's ribs and hips and he straddled her. Saark looked down. Myriam's face was bathed in moonlight, but more, she was lost, lost in an ecstasy and lost in the moment. She was so beautiful it that writhing, spellbound zone, and it was timeless, and endless, and she took his cock with both hands, pulling him urgently, guiding him into her and he fell, fell down a huge well of honey and spiralling scents, fell into a world of crazy colours which absorbed him, cushioned him, exploded him, and they
fucked on the blankets in the moonlight, and it was slow, and beautiful, and sensuous, and Myriam clawed his back and Saark bit her neck, drawing a little blood with his vachine fangs but this made Myriam more wild, and she bucked, writhed, with him entrapped, unable to let go. It was magick, but a magick deeper than anything cast by the so-called magickers in their long silver robes back in Vor. This was a magick of Nature, a magick of the beast, and it was completely natural, a need, a lust, and they came together in a vortex of pleasure and fell down a long black well to the infinite realms of contented sleep.
It was morning. Early morning. A cool wind drifted in through shutters. Somewhere, a bird gave a splutter of song and Saark opened his eyes, looking up into Myriam's face. She rested her head on one hand, raised on her elbow, and she was staring down at him. She smiled, and he saw her vampire fangs, complete with traces of blood. His blood. But he did not mind. In fact, it excited him rather a lot and she noticed this with a purr of appreciation. "Again," she said, a growl, a simple command, and Saark gave a nod, and within seconds they were fucking only this time this time it was different and Myriam was more wild, far more feral and something had changed something had gone and they kissed and he thrust into her, thrust deep into her so hard he thought he would tear himself apart and they worked together, in perfect rhythm, and sweat was dripping from her face into his and as he rose frantically to an uncontrolled and uncontrollable orgasm so the clockwork went click and the brass wires and gold wires threaded from inside Myriam, and the clockwork seemed to know Saark was blood-oil infected, and they were needed, and the machines came through Myriam, through her womb and into Saark and he felt a scream well as he came, and in the moment of greatest pleasure, his moment of greatest vulnerability so the clockwork burned through him, entered him, and he writhed around and would have yelled and screamed but Myriam's hand clamped over his mouth and her incredibly strong body pinned him, rigid, locked down to the bed as the clockwork inside her split and multiplied and her eyes glistened and she understood.