the appearance of some puzzle – or at least, a madman's example of architecture.
'It's depraved,' said Saark, eventually.
'It's old,' said Kell.
Staring at the warrior's broad back, Saark, said, 'The two go hand in hand, Kell, old wolf. But what I mean is, look at it, the whole thing, it's – well, it's not straight, for a start. I thought they would have brought in some decent builders. Architects who could draw a straight line. That sort of thing. Not some epileptic draughtsmen who spilled the ink and let idiots loose with a trowel!'
Kell stopped and turned. His eyes were glinting. ' Shut up, ' he said.
'Yes, fine, no need to be rude. You only needed to ask.'
There was an old road, made of the same strange dark stone. Many cobbles were missing, and filled with dirt and frozen weeds. Much was obscured by wide patches of ice. Kell picked his way carefully to the road, and they moved down it, towards the huge maw of a leering archway. The Cailleach Fortress reared above them in the gloom, defined by moonlight and foregrounded by the immense power of the sentinel Black Pikes.
'The archway is a guardian,' said Kell, voice little more than a whisper. 'Listen. She will speak to us…'
'What?' snorted Saark, voice dripping sarcasm. Yet as he stepped forward, so warm breeze rolled out to greet him and he halted, shocked, hackles rising on the back of his neck. 'What's going on?' he growled. 'What kind of horse-shit is this?'
'Be quiet, boy,' hissed Kell, glancing at Saark, dark eyes glinting like jewels. 'If you value your bloody life. Follow me, say nothing, do nothing, do not draw your weapon, don't even shit in your kerchief unless I give you permission. I've been here before; and there are rules.'
'Rules?' whispered Saark, and despite himself, despite his new found… strength, from impure blood, he moved closer to Kell. 'I don't like this place, Kell. It has a stench of evil, in its very rocks, in its very bones.'
'Aye, lad.' They moved beneath the huge gateway. Beyond, darkness wavered like the oesophagus of some huge, breathing creature. 'So follow me, be a good lad, and we both may get through this alive.'
'You really think so?' whispered Saark, and the final dregs of light were cast from the sky.
'No,' said Kell, 'I'm just trying to make you feel better.' And with that, he disappeared into the void.
Saark walked, his eyes narrowed, his mouth shut, his fist wound tight about his mount's reins and his arse puckered in terror. Behind, he heard Mary the donkey braying and he wanted to turn, to shout 'Shut up you stupid donkey!' but he did not; he had neither the nerve nor the energy. Fear coursed through him like raw fire. It filled his mind with ash.
They walked, boots echoing on cobbles. Shapes seemed to drift around them, ghosts in silk, sighs caressing cold skin, and Saark realised he had new, heightened senses. He could feel more, sense more, smell more. He could smell his own stench of fear, that was for sure.
Something brushed his cheek, like a kiss, and he fancied he heard a giggle of coquettish laughter. Something tightened in his chest. It had not occurred to him the ghosts – or whatever depraved spirits, or dark magick these creatures were – it had never occurred to him they would be women. He felt a caress down his thigh, and another kiss on his cheek. His resolve hardened. The whole thing felt wrong, and then he caught sight of a figure ahead and she walking towards the two men. She was tall, eight feet tall, and very slender and narrow, both of hips and limbs. Her skin was dark, and shined as if oiled. She wore a black silk robe which rustled, and the hood was thrown back to reveal an almost elongated face, high and thin with pointed features and narrow, feline eyes. Saark looked into those eyes and realised the pupils were horizontal slits. They looked wrong. Saark swallowed. The tall woman stopped, and only then did Saark realise she was both insubstantial, like a drifting haze in the darkness; and that she carried a black sword strapped at her hip. Ha, thought Saark. A ghost sword? And yet he knew, in his heart, it would cut just like the finest steel.
'Who passes in my realm?' came her voice, and it was note-perfect and absolutely beautiful.
'I am Kell. Once, I served your people.'
'Kell. I remember. You slew the vachine. That was good.'
Kell bowed his head, as if offering obeisance to royalty. He stayed like that for what – to Saark, at least – seemed an exaggerated length of time. Then he stood, and back straight, stared into the ghost's eyes.
'May we pass, lady?'
She lifted a ghostly arm, and pointed at Saark. He shivered, and felt suddenly light-headed as if… as if his brains were rushing out of his ears and a million memories flowed like wine like water and he was dancing and laughing and drinking and fucking and he was watched from a million years away by eyes older than worlds and he felt himself judged and he felt himself wrenched through a mental grinder and then Saark was kneeling on the cobbles, panting, and his head pounded worse than any three-flagon hangover. Slowly, Saark climbed to his feet, and ignoring Kell and the ghost, unhooked a water-skin from his saddle and took a long, cool draught.
'That hurt,' he said, eventually.
'There is a taint on this one,' said the ghost, pointing to Saark but talking to Kell.
'Aye. I know. But he's with me.'
'It runs bone deep,' said the ghost, and Saark froze as he realised what she meant. His infection. His bad blood. His newly acquired and gradually transforming nature. What had Kell said? He'd killed vachine for these creatures? So they were enemies, and she knew Saark for what he was – or at least, what he would become.
'He's still with me,' said Kell, staring at the apparition and, with his traditional stubborn streak, refusing to back down. Eventually, the tall, dark lady gave a single nod, and glided away, disseminating as she moved into spirals of black light which eventually whirled, and were gone.
'What a bitch,' breathed Saark, releasing a pentup breath.
'Halt your yapping, puppy, lest I cut off your head!' snapped Kell, and strode forward, leading his horse.
Saark clamped his teeth tight shut, and followed Kell. Behind him, Mary brayed, and Saark scowled. To his ears, it was an abrasive, mocking, equine jibe, and if there was one thing Saark hated, it was being laughed at by a donkey.
They emerged into the courtyard before the twisted, disjointed, deformed keep. Behind them, the tunnel was dark as the void, sour as a corpse. Saark breathed cool ice air, and thanked the gods he was alive – and not just alive, but with his affliction still his own.
Kell was panting, and they looked up at the sky in wonder. Hours had passed, and strange coloured starlight rimed the frozen mountains and peaks.
'Grandad!' screamed Nienna, and sprinted across ice-slick cobbles from the doorway of a small, stone building. She leapt at him, wrapping herself around the old warrior and he hugged her, buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent and welcomed her warmth, and her love, for without Nienna, Kell was a bad man, a weak man, a lesser man; a dilution. With her, he was whole again. Filled with honour, and love, and an understanding of what made life and the world so good.
Kell dropped Nienna to the cobbles, and she half turned as Myriam appeared at the doorway. Myriam gave Kell a curt nod, eyes bright, head high, proud and wary and strong despite the cancer eating through her. She gave a smile, but it was an enigmatic smile and Kell could not read her intent. She looked past Kell, to Saark, and he saw her eyes glow a little.
'How are you feeling, dandy man?'
'Better now your knife is no longer in my guts. But be warned, Myriam, your time on this planet is finite. You made an enemy of me for life; one day, I will slit your throat.'
'But not now?' She moved forward, still athletic despite her gauntness. 'Why not, Saark? What's stopping you? The poison which eats Kell even as we speak?'
'Enough!' bellowed Kell, and stomped forward, loosening Ilanna and swinging the great axe wide. For a moment only fear shone like bright dark flames in Myriam's eyes, then she shook her head and strode forward to meet him. If nothing else, she had spirit, and courage enough to match her cunning and evil.
Myriam halted before Kell, and looked into the huge warrior's eyes. She was tall, and proud, and she matched Kell for height. 'Do you want to live, Kell, or do you want to die?'
'I don't die easy,' he growled.
'You never answered the question.'
'Where's the antidote?'
'Close by. However, I have another insurance policy I need to show you; otherwise, what's to stop you cutting me in half with that huge axe? Ilanna, she's called, isn't she?' Myriam smiled, then, and Kell did not like the
