The heavens grumbled, and distantly lightning flickered a web. Thunder growled, a beast in a storm cage behind bars of ignition, and heavy hail pounded the shingle around Kell as he heaved the boat down the beach, axe cleaving the securing rope, and leapt in, rocking the vessel.
They moved away from the bank, as the canker orientated.
“It can’t see us,” whispered Saark. “Shh.” He placed a finger on lips.
As they drifted away, they watched the canker, seemingly confused; then its head lifted, huge open maw searching the skies, and it turned and its head lowered and it charged across cobbles and mud and snow straight in their direction…
Nienna gave a gasp.
“It’s fine,” breathed Saark, throat dry with fear. “The river will stop the bastard.”
The canker reached the edge of the rampant water and without breaking stride leapt, body elongating into an almost elegant, feline dive. It hit the black river, rippled by hailstones, and went under the surface. It was gone immediately.
Kell stood, rocking the boat, and hefted his axe.
“Surely not,” snapped Saark, lifting his own blade and peering wildly about their totally vulnerable position.
“It’s under there,” snarled Kell. “Be ready.”
Silence fell, like a veil. Hail scattered across the river like pebbles. More thunder rumbled, mountains fighting, and lighting lit the scene through storm clouds and sleet.
“It was sent, wasn’t it?” said Saark, gazing at the dark river.
“Yes,” said Kell, eyes searching.
“How did it find us?”
“It followed your petal-stench perfume, lad.”
“Hah! More like the stench from your fish-laden pants.”
Calm descended.
They waited, tense.
The boat suddenly rocked and there came a slam from beneath; it swayed violently, turning around in the current. Something glided beneath them, snapping the oars with easy cracks; broken toothpicks.
“I don’t like this!” wailed Nienna.
“Shut up,” growled Kell. “Take out your swords. If you see anything at all, stab it in the eyes.”
The boat was slammed with tremendous force from beneath, lifting out of the water, then slapping down again and spinning, turning, all sense of direction lost now, gone now, in the turbulent storm. The boat was hammered again, and it shuddered, timbers creaked, and a long crack appeared across the stern.
“We need to get back on land!” shouted Saark.
“We have no oars,” said Kell, voice calm, axe rigid in steel-steady hands. “We will have to kill it.”
Abruptly the canker emerged, mighty jaws ripping free the prow of the boat and Saark ran with a scream, sword raised, as the canker released the boat and lunged, grabbing his leg and dragging him backwards, his body thumping from the boat’s prow and disappearing suddenly over the edge…
Everything was still.
The river surged, and the water levelled.
“Saark!” screamed Katrina. But the man was gone.
With a curse Kell dropped his axe to the floor of the boat, and leapt into the black river. He was encompassed immediately, swamped by darkness, by a raging thunder, merging with the gathered filth of Falanor’s major northern city. Down he plunged, unable to see Saark, unable to find the canker. He swam down with powerful strokes, and withdrew his Svian from beneath his arm; down here, Ilanna would be useless. What a warrior needed was a short sharp stabbing weapon…
Where is he? screamed Kell’s mind.
His lungs began to burn.
He thrashed, turning, round and around, but everything was black. He felt panic creep into him like crawling ivy; he had scant seconds before the canker drowned Saark, and that was providing the beast hadn’t ripped him apart with tooth and claw.
Kell was saved by the lightning. It crackled overhead, above the boat, and for an instant the churning river was lit by incandescent flashes. Kell saw the canker, dragging Saark down, and powered after them, Svian between his teeth, straggled hair and beard flowing behind him. He found them in the darkness, and his blade slashed down, he felt it enter flesh, grind in cogs, felt the canker lashing out and he was knocked back, and everything was a confusion of bubbles and madness and darkness and something was beside him, huge and cold, a wall of smoothness that slid past and Kell felt, more than saw, Saark slide up beside him. He grabbed the unconscious man, his very lungs filled with molten lava as he kicked out, boots striking the smooth, gliding wall and propelling him to the surface…
Lighting crackled again, a maze of angular arcs transforming the sky into a circuit. Kell looked down, and saw a battle raging beneath the river, between the canker, all claws and disjointed fangs, and a huge, silent, black eel. It must have been fifty yards long, its body the diameter of three men, its head a huge triangular wedge with row after row of sharp teeth. It had encircled the canker, was crushing the thrashing beast, its head snapping down, teeth tearing flesh repeatedly. Kell thought he saw trails of blood like confetti streamers in the black; then he burst from the surface, lungs heaving in air, Saark limp under one arm, and looked for the boat.
It had gone, slammed down the river without oars on powerful currents and a rage of mountain snowmelt.
Kell cursed, and half swam, half dragged Saark through the water, angling towards the high banks. He stopped, shivering now, teeth chattering, bobbing under the high earth walls too high to climb. He moved on, still dragging Saark’s leaden weight through the darkness, through ice-filled waters, until the banks dropped and wearily Kell rolled onto a frozen, muddy slope, dragging Saark up behind him, and he lay for a while, breath panting like dragon smoke, head dizzy with flashing lights.
Eventually, the cold bit him and Kell roused himself. He shook Saark, who groaned as he came awake, coughing out streamers of black water. Eventually, he stared around, confused.
“What happened?”
“The creature dragged you under. I dove in after you. I’m pretty damn sure you’re not worth it.”
“Charming, Kell. You would whisk away the pants from any farmer’s daughter without hindrance. Where’s the boat?”
“Gone.”
“Where are we?”
“Do I look like a fucking mapmaker?”
“Actually, old horse, you do, rather.”
Something surged from the river nearby, a huge black coil, then submerged with a mighty splash. In its wake, the canker, or more precisely, half of the canker, floated for a few moments, bobbing, torn, trailing strings of tendon and jagged gristle, before gradually sinking out of sight.
“At least that’s one problem sorted,” said Saark, voice strangled. He reached down, rolling up his trews. Puncture holes lined his shins and knees, bleeding, and he prodded them with a wince. “I hope I’m not poisoned.”
“It’s dead. For now.” Kell climbed to his feet. He sheathed his Svian and cursed. His axe, Ilanna, was on the boat. Gone. Kell ran hands through his wet hair and shivered again. Snow began to fall, just to add to his chilled and frozen mood.
Saark had found something in one of the puncture wounds, and with a tiny schlup pulled free a fang. “Ugh!” he said, staring at the brass tooth. “The dirty, dirty bastard.” He flung it out into the river. “Ugh.”
“We need to find Nienna,” said Kell.
“And Kat,” said Saark, glancing up at the old man.
“And Kat,” agreed Kell. “Come on.”
“Whoa! Wait up, maybe you’re in the mood for running cross-country in the dark, covered in ice; I’m going to die if I stay out here much longer. And you too, by the looks of it. You’re turning blue!”
“I’ve crossed the Black Pike Mountains,” growled Kell. “It takes more than the fucking cold to kill me.”
“And that was…how many years ago? Look at you, man, you’re shivering harder than a pirate ship in a squall. We need fire, and we need dry clothes. Come on. These lowlands are populated; we’ll find somewhere.”
They walked, Saark limping, roughly following the course of the river until a thick evergreen woodland of Jack Pine and Red Cedar forced them inland. Trudging across snow and frozen tufts of grass, they circled the woods and eventually came upon a small crofter’s hut, barely four walls and a roof, six feet by six feet, to be used during emergencies. With thanks they fell inside, forcing the door shut against wind and snow. As was the woodland way, a fire had already been laid by the last occupant and Kell found a flint and tinder on a high shelf. His shaking hands lit a fire, and both men huddled round the flames as they grew from baby demons. Eventually, what seemed an age, the small hut filled with heat and they peeled off wet clothing, hanging items on hooks around the walls to dry, until they sat in pants and boots, hands outstretched to the flames, faces grim.