"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 to her at that moment.
"We need a fire. Food. Shelter," said Kell, matter-offactly. His eyes were burning. "Or we will die."
"I like a man who doesn't mince his words," said Saark.
"And I like a man who fucking pulls his weight! Now get out there and find us firewood, and find us a shelter, or I swear Saark, you'll be wearing another wide and gaping smile on your belly before the sun is down."
"Fine, fine, a simple 'please' would have sufficed." Saark turned to hunt for firewood, a dandy in rags, but the look on Kell's face halted him. He frowned, turning back. "Yes, old man? Is there something else? Maybe I should stick a brush up my arse and sweep the floor whilst I'm at it?"
"One more thing. No more poetry. Or I'll cut out your cursed tongue, and be glad I done it."
Saark snorted, and headed into the gloom-shadowed forest, muttering, "All these threats of violence are so low born, lacking in nobility, so uncouth and raw. Threats truly are the language of the peasant."
Moving into the forest, they found a natural shelter from the wind, and in a small alcove surrounded by holly trees and ancient, moss-covered rocks, built a fire. Myriam was gone for two hours, and returned with a dead fox brought down by a single arrow from her bow. As she went about skinning and gutting the creature, Saark stripped off his wet shirt and laid it on a rock by the fire to dry. He flexed his fast-repairing body, and Kell looked up from where he was sharpening Ilanna's blades with a small whetstone.
"You're repairing well, lad," he said, eyes fixed on the chest-wound cut from above Saark's heart by Kradekka on the plateau of Helltop. "I still find it hard to believe you carried that Soul Gem inside you for so long – and realised nothing."
"I was bewitched. Once. And only once." Saark sighed, and stretched out, like a cat in the sun, and ran his hands up and down his arms and flanks, checking himself. "It'll never happen again, I promise you that! And by all the gods, I've taken a battering since I met you." His eyes sparkled with good humour. His pain had obviously receded, and he was more his old self. "Look at all these new scars! Incredible. One would have thought keeping company with The Legend would have brought me nothing but women, fine honey-wine, rich meats and incredible fame. But now? Now, I'm stuck in a forest after the, quite frankly, most abominable adventures of my entire life, I'm riddled with bruises and scars, been beaten more times than a whore's had hot fishermen, stabbed, burned, chastised and abused, and to top it all the only company I get is that of a grumpy old bastard who should be crossbow whipped in the face for his taste in clothes, whiskey and women." Saark sighed.