for philosophy at this point. How do we get to the others?’
‘Others?’
‘Kataria . . . the others—’
‘Ah. That remains a problem.’
Lenk looked upwards. The stone slab loomed, impassable as ever despite the deep gash that had been rent in its face. A tiny fragment of grey broke off, tumbling down the depression to bounce off the ledge and strike Lenk’s forehead.
‘It’s mocking me,’ he growled.
‘It’s stone.’
‘Have you any idea how to get out?’
‘I do.’
Lenk waited a moment.
‘Well?’
The voice made no reply.
Water lapped against water, against stone. Fire that had shifted from unnatural emerald to vibrant, hissing orange sputtered and growled in the wall sconces. The waves made lonely mutters against the stone wall. Something heavy bumped against the outcropping.
Wait . . .
He rolled over and stared into the water, into the golden eyes staring back up at him. He froze momentarily before realising the eyes did not blink, the mouth lay pursed, the golden hair wafted in the waters as the head bobbed up and down with the rhythm of the churning gloom.
Lenk grimaced. He was a moment from turning his gaze away when a hint of movement caught his eye. He leaned over, staring intently at the severed head. The eyes twitched, he felt his heart stop.
Is . . . he thought to himself, is that thing . . . still alive?
Fingers trembling, he reached down and poked it. It bobbed beneath the waves, then rose again, still staring. Swallowing his fear and his vomit, he seized it by its hair and pulled it out of the water. The eyes twitched, glanced every which way, as if seeking the shark it had been attached to. Its lips quivered, mouthing wordless threats to empty air.
‘Disgusting,’ he said, blanching. He caught an errant glance of himself in the void-like waters, then raised a brow. ‘That’s . . . unusual. I don’t really ever recall having—’
‘Time is limited,’ the voice interrupted. ‘We must focus on this newfound gift the Deepshriek left us.’
‘I beg to differ.’
He was prepared to throw it back into the gloom, regardless of the answer, when he heard it. A faint, barely audible sound, as though someone whistled from miles away. Against all wisdom, he drew it closer to his ear.
Wordlessly, an almost-silent breath hissed between its teeth. He turned it over, glancing where its stalk-like neck had been attached. A blackened, bloodied hole stretched from hair to jaw beneath. Air murmured through it, emerging from the creature’s fanged mouth.
‘Sweet Khetashe,’ he fought bile to speak, ‘it is alive.’
‘It has a new duty now,’ the voice replied.
Lenk turned to the stone slab, watching another shard crumble and slide down like a drop of stone sweat. He smiled, rose to his feet, sheathed his sword and slung the tome’s satchel about his shoulder.
‘We have but to give it that duty,’ the voice said, and - how, he had not the faintest idea - Lenk knew what it meant.
He walked before the slab, dangled the decapitated head by its golden tresses and whispered a word.
‘Scream.’
Even over the explosion, the stone shattering and the hail of rock chips, Kataria could hear the shrieking. In fragments of sound, it had been painful, uncomfortable, but tolerable. Bared to its full vocal fury, it was agonising. And in response, she became a creature of folds: folding her ears over themselves, folding her hands over her ears and folding her body over itself.
Shards of grey bit at her bare back, the earth settled ominously under her feet, dust poured into her nostrils. None of that mattered, none of that pain needed to be felt. All she thought of was the hideous wail that defiled the air, and keeping it from turning her ears into flayed pieces of glistening bacon hanging from her head.
How long it lasted, Kataria did not know, and she did not care. When it finally ceased, it still echoed in the hall, reverberating off stones and ripples and breaths she took. After an eternity of darting eyes and nervous twitching, she took her hands away from her ears, breathed a word of thanks mingled with a curse, and turned around.
And then, the screaming suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
Two thin pinpricks of light, cold and blue, stared at her from behind a cloud of dust that, mercifully, showed no signs of dissipating. She swallowed hard, clenched her teeth.
‘Lenk,’ she said, rather than asked. There was no mistaking him or his stare.
The two tiny spheres flickered, a shadow moved behind the dust cloud. It shifted