Andy Remic - Soul Stealers

Myriam screamed, thrashing, and again Shanna clamped the woman's mouth, cutting the sound off with a sharp slap. The tiny clockwork machine cut downwards, opening a dark hole in Myriam's chest, and then climbed in. It reached back, and did something – as if closing a zip. Then it crawled into Myriam's heart and long tendrils of gold wire ejaculated from tiny needles, encircling Myriam's dying, fluttering organ and encapsulating it. Tiny sections of the clockwork machine broke away, and began to travel through Myriam's body. She spasmed, and convulsed, her limbs twitching, her eyes rolling back, froth foaming from her mouth, fingers and toes clenching and then suddenly erupting with brass claws, and her teeth broke out with snaps as fangs pushed from her own gums. They were made from gold. They gleamed.

Finally, Tash threw Shanna a knife. Shanna slashed her wrist, and allowed a gush of dark blood-oil to spill into Myriam's open mouth. She convulsed again, as if taking poison, her teeth stained crimson, and black, her tongue lolling around like a fat eel. Then, finally, she went still.

Shanna wrapped a cloth around her wrist, binding it tight, then climbed from Myriam's still, lifeless body. She moved to Tash, and placed her hand on the Soul Stealer's shoulder. They waited, motionless, watching Myriam with interest.

"Did it work?" said Shanna, finally.

"If they do not bind, she will soon fall apart," said Tashmaniok without emotion. "Like succulent cooked meat pared from the bone. Like a desecration of all that is human." Then she turned, and stared up the mountain flanks to Wolfspine. Her eyes narrowed, still remembering the pain of Ilanna's song piercing her skull. It had skewered her brain like a spear. Her soul. Even now, she was shivering.

We will find you soon enough, old man, she thought.

We will see how long the magick lasts in your axe!

All pain fled. It happened in an instant. Myriam sighed, and breathed out. She felt, ultimately, at peace. Devoid of the agonies which had wracked her for so long, the cancers which had eaten her and supplied constant pain. She had suffered an eternity, the pains fading to a background agony, a persistent throb which just became normal to everyday existence. Only in sleep did the fire sometimes abate; and there was always a vast disappointment in the morning when Myriam awoke to find she still suffered.

But… Not now.

She felt it, as an emotion, as injected knowledge. The clockwork had moved through her body, combining with blood-oil, combining with the virus of the vampire, and all three had worked in harmony. Cancers were obliterated in a moment. The arrow wound in her throat had bubbled, and slowly healed as she slept. Her pain had gone, all pain had gone, and she floated in a warm secure place not unlike a womb.

Her eyes opened. It was dark. They were in a small, warm cave. Shanna and Tash sat on rocks by the fire, watching her.

Slowly, Myriam sat up. She was wary. These were the enemy.

Then she looked down at her hands, and a thrill of fear and excitement flooded her. Her fingers ended in claws. She blinked. She reached up to her throat, remembering the savage arrow-wound which had, effectively, punched her from the summit of the ridge. The flesh was smooth, uninterrupted by wound or scar.

Then her hands moved to her teeth, and touched gently at the fangs there.

She looked at the Soul Stealers.

"You have made me vachine?" she said, softly.

Shanna nodded.

"You have removed the cancer from my body?"

Tash stood, and crossed to her. She held a shard of mirror, which Myriam took and stared into. She sank into that mirror, then, sank into the silvered glass as if being sucked down into a lake of beautiful mercury.

Myriam stared at her own face. Her flesh had filled out, and although she was pale, she was radiant with health. No longer did gaunt eye-sockets dominate her face with purple rings. Her eyes sparkled like fine-cut gems. When she smiled, her teeth were white and strong, not knuckle-dice wobbling in a corrupt jaw.

Myriam looked down at herself. Her clothing was battered and tattered and torn, as befitted somebody who had slid down the mountainside. But her hips were full, legs powerful, her fingers strong, the flesh filled out and defined by muscle.

"There is one more thing you must do," said Tashmaniok, kneeling beside Myriam.

"Anything," she wept, "anything at all."

"You must swear your soul to us," she said, voice gentle. "You must swear it by the blood-oil that flows in your veins, by the blood-oil that lubricates your clockwork."

"I will swear with all my heart!" cried Myriam, and put her face in the palms of her hands as she thanked the vachine for giving her health, strength, and ultimately, her life.

"Good," said Shanna, also leaning in close. "Now, my little virgin vachine, we have a job for you."

They walked through the darkness, down a narrow rock trail.

"This is insane," said Saark, for the tenth time.

"Shut up," growled Kell, for the tenth time.

"We'll break our bloody ankles, man!"

"What, so you'd wait here for those vampire bitches to hunt you down, would you?" snapped Kell. "Stop being such a court jester, and get on with the job, lad."

Saark shrugged, and moved on. In truth, the dark held no problem for him. Not now. Since Shanna bit him, his eyesight, and especially night vision, had increased tenfold. Now, the night was like a green-tinted summer's day. No longer would he have trouble falling over things drunk in the night. Now, there was no night.

However, despite increased strength and vision and stamina and healing, Saark was having other problems. Like the stench of blood. Here, and now, walking the mountain trails in snow and ice and whipping, freezing wind, he could smell Kell's blood more than anything. But Nienna's was also there, a more subtle, more gentle sweet fragrance; like the scent of roses, when compared to nettles. But with great force of will Saark was learning to master this weakness, or what he saw as a flaw in his new-found gift – or maybe curse? – and was able with great strength of mind to suppress the urges to extrude his still-growing vampire fangs and leap on Kell, devouring his throat and heart-blood.

The only problem had come when Kell killed the canker, lifting the beast up on the end of his axe and shaking it over his head, emptying its blood and bloodoil and guts over himself in a carnage orgy of gore. The sheer stench hit Saark like a wall, rolled over him like an explosion of rampant forest fire, and it was all he could do to hide his crazy rolling eyes, his extending claws, and not jump on Nienna's back and tear out her spine. In that moment, he wanted Nienna more than anything on earth, with a feeling of emotion and raw need greater than anything he had ever had to endure. Forget sex; sex was as rancid milk to thick clotted cream. This desire for blood, this urge this lust this mockery was more powerful than the sun and the moon. Brighter than the stars.

Nienna had turned, seen him advancing on her, and smiled weakly, meeting his crazed eyes. It was the smile that did it; broke the spell and caged the savage beast growing inside Saark. Without that connection of love and trust, he would have leapt on her and chewed out her soul.

Now, Saark fought himself.

He fought the new urges which drove him, using internal logic to battle the growing needs of a blossoming half-infected vampire. All he needed was clockwork integration to make him whole, and he would be a changed person, he realised. All he needed was a Watchmaker, and he would no longer be Saark. Saark would be dead. A stranger would stand in his shell. He would be corrupt. He would be lost.

"Damn it," muttered Saark, clawing himself, a thrashing of internal turmoil.

"What's it now, dandy?" snapped Kell, turning and scowling. Saark could see him as clearly as in daylight. He could see the pulse of blood at Kell's throat. It made his mouth go dry with longing.