CHAPTER 4
Kell fell, air rushed past him, and he prayed the hefty raft didn't hit him in the back of the skull. Rocks smashed to his left and right, and clutching Ilanna to his chest he managed to angle his body into a dive. He dreaded the impact with ice-chill water, dreaded that harsh impact slam to face and body and soul. He knew it was enough to kill a man, and he knew armour and weapons could drag a man to his death – he'd seen it before, several times, watched warships settle into the ocean like dying dragons, watched men flail and scream, panic invading them as quickly as any ice waters, only to be sucked under heaving green waves and never return. But Kell would never give up Ilanna. He would never give up the Sister of his Soul. Not even if his life depended on it…
Saark screamed like a woman, flapped like a chicken, and did not care that the world could and would mock him. He hit the water with a gasp, went under deep and surfaced flailing like a man on the end of a swinging noose – only to see something huge and black and terribly ominous tumbling toward him – and he realised in the blink of an eye it was the raft the fucking raft and he leapt back and twisted, swimming down, down, and something made a deep sonic thump above and Saark knew the bastard would hit him, push him down, drown him without any emotion and he swam, bitterly, secure in the knowledge that he was cursed and he was a pawn and the whole bloody world was an evil gameboard designed just for him. Bubbles scattered around like black petals, and eventually, as pain lacerated his lungs and bright lights danced like flitting fish, he struck for the surface, gasping as he emerged in a burst. He bobbed there for a while, in the gloom, listening to the roar of the waterfall, and then his eyes adjusted and he saw Kell, Myriam and Nienna on the raft, dripping, frowning, and staring at him. He scowled.
'Come on, lad,' urged Kell. 'What you waiting for?'
'What happened, did you all nail yourselves to the bastard thing?' spat Saark, and struck out through the undulating water.
'No,' said Kell, taking Saark's wrist and hauling the man onto the raft, which bobbed violently. ' You simply spent too much time paddling down there with the fairies. What were you doing, man? We thought you'd drowned!'
'Hah. I was simply counting my money.' Saark looked up. They'd fallen a considerable way, and behind them the base of the waterfall churned. Steam rose, and ice crackled on rocks. Saark shivered, and then realised he wasn't dying from the cold. 'Wait. Something's wrong,' he said.
'It's a geyser,' said Myriam. 'The water here is heated from thermal springs deep below Skaringa Dak.'
Saark scowled. 'It smells odd.'
'Sulphur,' said Kell. 'You should be thankful for the bath, mate. You were beginning to stink.'
'Amusing, Kell. If you didn't have that big axe I'd put you across my knee and spank you. And we all know how you'd enjoy that!'
Kell stared at him. Hard.
'I take it back,' said Saark, and watched Kell deflate. 'Was only a little joke. At least we're not dead.' He brightened. 'So many women! And so few days left on this world!'
Kell handed him a broken plank. Saark stared at it.
'What's this?'
'I meant to say. Don't get too happy. It's time to paddle.'
'You want me to paddle?'
'Yes, Saark. Paddle. Before we get sucked back into the waterfall's undertow, and dragged down to a real watery grave.'
Swallowing, Saark began to paddle. His efforts did not draw comment, although they probably should have.
They sailed through more darkness, a deep and velvet black that brought back childhood nightmares of vulnerability and despair; and the tunnels soon turned chill again, making all four shiver and regret leaving the warmth of the underground spring. After more peaks and troughs, the sailing started to become rough.
'We're vibrating,' said Saark. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
There was ambient light again from mineral deposits, and it outlined Saark in stark silver making him appear as a ghost. He was shivering uncontrollably, thin clothing sticking to him like a second skin.
'It means we're in for a rough ride,' said Kell. 'Get a good hold onto something. And for your own sake, Saark, do not let go.'
In the eerie silver light, the river became more and more choppy. Occasionally, they saw rocks appear like shark fins and glide past. Another roaring came to their ears, a gradual escalation of chattering sound as of a thousand insects, and the raft started to rock wildly. Kell clung on grimly, and Saark, with a start, ejected brass claws and stared at them in horror.
'Welcome to the world of the vachine,' said Myriam, with a smile, and dug her own claws into the lashed timber planks. Saark stuck his claws into the wood, and hung on grimly, looking sick, looking miserable.
The raft slammed onwards… and the river suddenly dipped, into a vast slope with twists and turns, and Saark was screaming and Nienna clung to Kell whose face was grim and scowling, and they flowed past rocks, and chunks of ice, and the river suddenly widened and hit wild swirling pools, gulleys and troughs, and they were pulled first one way, then another, water splashing over them, drenching them to the bone with freezing ice needles and Nienna screamed. They were spun around again, almost capsized, then accelerated down a wide tunnel past sharp rocks and Saark felt as if he was falling, falling down an endless tunnel of vertical water streams and he knew he would die there, knew he would die after all the pain and suffering he'd been through and it felt bitter on his tongue, wildfire in his mind and he was scowling and shouting and clinging on for life and then -
Then it was calm.
They flowed out into cold winter light. The river swirled through a forest of towering conifers, hundreds of feet high and suffocated by snow. An icy wind bit their cold wet bodies.
Kell laughed, a deep rolling rumble. 'We're out!' he breathed, and hugged Nienna, and gazed around, a man filled with wonder, a man seeing daylight for the very first time. He glanced at Myriam. 'Well done, girl. You were right! You did well.'
Myriam seemed to glow under the praise, and Saark looked down at his damp clothing, ragged, torn, mud- and blood-stained, and then he looked up at the sun. 'Are we… safe, in the sunlight?'
'Hardly sunlight, Saark.'
'I thought vachine…'
Myriam shook her head. 'No. A fiction. The brightest of sunlight might cause you pain in your transformed state, but that is all.' Myriam leant closer. 'What you have to worry about, Saark, my sweetness, is the fact that you have blood-oil flushing round your veins, but no real clockwork to control it.'
Saark gave a swift nod, and wary glance at Kell. 'The Big Man said as much. Said I would need to bind with clockwork, although I do not know how such a thing will be achieved. Or, even if I'd want such a thing.' He shuddered, and flexed his brass claws.
'You have no choice,' said Myriam. 'Without clockwork integration, without the skills of the Engineers, you will die.'
'Thanks for that,' scowled Saark.
The raft swept downriver, and Kell ripped free a plank from the edge of the ragged platform and used it to guide them to the shore, huge neck and shoulder muscles bulging as he fought the heavy flow.
Saark grinned, breathing deep the fresh cold air. After what felt like an eternity in the tunnels under Skaringa Dak, it was good to be free of them again; good to be free of the Black Pike Mountains. Good to be back in Falanor. Good to be alive.
' 'Kell stared melancholy into great rolling waves of a Dark Green World, and knew he could blame no other but himself for The long Days of Blood…' ' Kell turned sharply, scowling at Saark.
Myriam tilted her head. 'The poem?'
'Aye,' said Saark, and as the raft grounded on a bank of snow, he leapt from it and stared back, as if it was some great sea beast recently slaughtered. 'Thank the Halls I'm on stable land!' He placed hands on hips, and watched Kell step from the raft with Nienna clinging to one arm. She looked frail and weak, and his heart went out
