Nienna frowned. "How does that work?"
"I was bitten by a Soul Stealer; her blood-oil infected me. But the vachine are different from the vampires of old, and the blood-oil they carry instead of vampire's blood is like a drug, a living cancer, and without the clockwork machines to control it, it will finally kill you. What me and Myriam did was to save my life. Nothing more."
Nienna looked into his eyes. And she heard it. The tick tick tick of the machine vampire. Saark tilted his head, and then gave a short nod. "Yes. It feels… odd. Almost like I carry a weight in my chest. But that is all. Otherwise, I think and breathe and fight and love, just like before."
"Love me," said Nienna.
"I can't do that," said Saark, stiffly. "Kell would cut off my balls, and you damn well know it!"
"You have to live your own life. Don't be scared of my grandfather. I am a grown woman now, you said so yourself." She had moved closer, a lot closer, and despite Saark's accelerated vachine skills he only now realised. He swallowed. He could smell the musk of her skin and something took hold of his mind in its fist and squeezed, gently, and he felt himself losing control. It was always the same. With women. With wine. The temptation would present itself and Saark could never, ever, say no. It was as if his brain was mis-wired, and didn't work like a normal person's brain. He had not the capacity to deprive himself of any earthly pleasure. Saark was a slave to hedonism, and had very little real control in his conscious decision making. It was a curse he carried deep.
Nienna was close. He stared at her lips, slick and wet. Her tongue darted out, a nervous gesture, and then Saark was falling into a well of uncontrollable insanity and every trick and nuance and skill fell neatly into place, click click click, like a brass karinga puzzle being worked by an expert's flashing fingers. And she tasted good, tasted sweet, and he was inside her and they kissed, sat there on the rocks, and kissed.
Saark pulled away.
"Oh!" said Nienna, and smiled.
"Oh no," said Saark, and grinned. "But shit, Kell will rip off my balls! He'll rip off my head!"
"Rubbish! It was only a kiss." And she giggled, but he could see it in her eyes, she wanted more, she wanted much more, she wanted it all. Saark swallowed, as a hand thumped his shoulder.
"Not far now, lad."
"Kell." Saark's voice was a croak, and he did well to speak at all.
"Did you sneak up on us, grandfather?" said Nienna, turning her head and fixing him with a beady stare.
"Heh, just checking Saark here was being an honourable gentleman. Anyway, come on, there's a cottage up ahead. It's been lived in recently, but it's empty now; probably owned by a crofter. We can have a good rest, I think we've earned it, and approach the Black Pike Mine prison fresh tomorrow, eh?"
Saark stood, and took Mary's rope.
And as Kell led the way, he threw Nienna a look which she missed; she was gazing, distantly, a dreamy look on her face. Shit. Shit shit and double horse and donkey shit!
Less than an hour saw them inside the small and cosy cottage. It was little more than a living room and a sidelarder, mostly empty except for a few flagons, old mouldy bread and three small sacks of grain. Saark made a nosebag for Mary, filling it with grain and placing a blanket over her back under a rickety lean-to on the south side of the cottage, where there was the least wind.
Nienna prepared a thick broth, and Kell chopped firewood. He got a good blaze burning, and they sat, warm for the first time in what felt like years, bellies full of hot broth and mugs of coffee in dirt-ingrained hands.
"I'd forgotten what it felt like to be a part of civilisation," said Saark, quietly, and sipped his sweet coffee, relishing the heat and the mixture of bitterness and sweetness all mixed in together. A contrast of pleasures.
Kell snorted a laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"Not long ago, lad, this would have been far from your idea of civilisation. Where's all your raw fish on silver platters now? Where are your buxom serving wenches with rouged lips and powdered wigs? I tell you, a curse on nobility."
"Spoken like a true working man," smiled Saark.
Kell stood, and stretched, and Saark eyed the old warrior thoughtfully. He was much leaner than when Saark first met him back in Jalder, hiding in a tannery from a hunting Harvester. The miles, the fights, the climbing of mountains, it had done much to return Kell to a lean, rugged, muscular figure, despite his advancing years. Then Saark's eyes slid sideways to Nienna; here, also there had been a vast change in physical appearance. Whereas she had been slightly plump, and soft, her face carrying the puppy-fat of childhood, now she was slimmer, stronger, more muscular; she carried herself erect and proud, like a fighter. The fat had gone, and there were creases in her face, hard edges around her eyes. A young woman who had seen too much hardship. Still, she was coping, mentally, as well as physically. Saark wasn't sure how long many young women from King Leanoric's court, with their white make-up and long, crafted fingernails, would have lasted in the mountains, or being hunted by Soul Stealers and cankers and rough soldiers from the Army of Iron. No. Not long, he'd wager.
Nienna saw the look, and gave him a dazzling smile. Saark licked his lips. He could still taste her there. It was most pleasant. His ruse about Myriam had worked. Nienna believed him.
Kell moved into the small storeroom, and came out with a pewter flagon. He sniffed it warily, and his face lit up. "It's whiskey," he said, in all innocence.
"Oh no," said Saark. "You know you shouldn't drink that. You know what it does to you!"
"Just a small one," said Kell, and smiled easily, and pulled up a chair with a scrape. "Saark, after all the shit scrapes we've been through, lad, after nearly dying on Skaringa Dak and falling through that mountain, the least I can do is have a drink."
"It makes you bad," said Saark.
"No. Too much makes me bad. But I know when to stop. I always know when to stop. It's just sometimes I choose not to." He lifted the flagon, and took a hefty drink, then lowered it and smacked his lips with the back of his hand, rubbing at his beard. "By all the gods, that's a rough drop, but it warms a man's belly after a trek through snow, so it does."
"Here." Saark took the flagon, and took a hefty drink himself. He nearly choked as the raw moonshine burned his throat, but Kell had been right, and it warmed him right through.
"It's good, right lad?"
"It's like drinking donkey piss, Kell."
"You should know, mate. You and that Mary lass have got way too close." He laughed, and winked, and offered the flagon but Nienna waved it away. He took another hefty swig, and this time held it there for a while. As he lowered it, Nienna looked concerned.
"No more, grandfather. Saark was right. It turns you bad."
"Ach, I'm a big man, I can take the whole flagon and it wouldn't touch the hole in my stomach!"
"Or indeed, the ego in your skull," said Saark.
"Ha!" He took another big drink, and passed it to Saark, who put the flagon carefully to one side.
"No more, Kell."
"You big girl!"
Saark smiled. "Maybe, but I having a feeling that where we are going tomorrow, the last thing you need is a drink; or even worse, a damn hangover!"
Kell shrugged, easily, and sat down. For a while they sat in amiable silence, watching the fire, then Kell stood again. "I'll go and chop some more wood. You know me. I like to keep active."
Saark nodded, and Kell stepped outside. The world seemed brighter, more whiter than white. He grinned to himself, and licked at the droplets in his beard. They tasted just grand. Snow was falling heavy now, obscuring the sky, obscuring the world. A fluffy silence filled every space. This cottage clearing felt small, safe and secure.