unheard shout from his compatriots; Lenk saw the reflection of his steel in the creature’s dark eyes.
Then, in a glittering arc, the world returned.
The thief collapsed unceremoniously. Something square and black tumbled out of its satchel, bouncing once upon the deck, then sliding gently to rest in a particularly moist, sticky spot. Even as life leaked out of him, the invader gasped and reached out a trembling, webbed hand for the object.
‘Tome . . .’ he gasped, ‘Shepherd . . . take—’
Lenk twisted his sword and the creature went rigid, laying its quivering head down in a red pool as though it were a pillow. His blade still glistening, Lenk raised his weapon warily, warning off the small press of pale creatures that took a collective menacing step forwards. They retreated from the weapon, he noted, but with hardly the fear or haste he had hoped. Their eyes were still appraising, their bone daggers still clenched tightly.
‘Lenk!’ He didn’t have to turn around to recognise Miron’s booming voice. ‘The book! Return it to me!’
A book.
He wasn’t exactly sure what he thought the thing should be. It was a broad, black square, only a little bigger than his journal. High quality leather of crimson and ebon bound its pristine white pages; it certainly looked like a book.
And yet, as it slid out of its silk pouch with the rocking of the ship, it somehow didn’t seem to be a book.
It was unadorned. No title, no author, no symbol of any faith or people. The pale creatures lurched backwards, regarding it carefully, warily, anxiously. Yet even their reaction went unnoticed beside a fact that hit Lenk as he felt the warmth of the sun on his back.
It doesn’t glisten.
Leather of such high quality should shimmer. It should reflect the sunlight in its onyx face. Yet this leather did not glisten, nor shine, nor even flicker in the sunlight.
‘Quickly, you fool!’ Miron roared. ‘Take the book!’
With a swift glance over his shoulder, the young man nodded and moved forwards. Quickly, he reached down to scoop up the item.
‘NO! Not with your hands!’
He thought it slightly odd that Miron’s voice should seem distant, so distant as to render whatever he had just shouted silent. Truly, all the sounds fell silent as Lenk plucked up the book. No seawater, nor blood, though both flooded the deck in excess, clung to the leather cover. He thought that odd for only a moment before he felt a twinge in his palm.
Did . . . did it just move?
The book quivered at his thoughts and, in the blink of an eye, responded.
The black cover flipped open, baring the pages to his eyes and, spurred by some unseen, unfelt breeze, began to turn. They went slowly at first, blinding him with hymns, invocations, prayers to things he had never heard of, pleas for things he would never have thought to ask for. An eternity seemed to pass as the words scarred themselves onto his eyes.
He was scarcely aware of the fact that he wasn’t breathing any more.
The leaves continued to turn, to flip. Words vanished, blending into images, symbols, pictures that were discernible at first: people in torment, things with horns, claws, feathery wings. Then those too vanished and blended into nothing more than black lines scrawled in shapes that reached out and clawed at him, trying to pull his eyes from his skull with inky fingers.
Someone behind him screamed, told him to put the book down, but he could not will his hand to do so. Even as they made less and less sense, flipping viciously through his mind, the lines began to take a shape. He blinked, and with each passing moment, they continued to form a shape. It was horrible, yet he could not turn his head away, could not shut his eyes. He was forced to stare.
The book looked back at him.
The book smiled.
‘NO!’
The book snapped shut. His fingers tensed involuntarily around it as the frigid howl reverberated through his head, coating his skull with a vocal rime. He dropped it then, watching it splash in a pink puddle. The liquid did not pool beneath it.
‘Something,’ the voice uttered, ‘is coming.’
Before Lenk could think, a howl filled the air. His eyes rose at the noise, spying the pale creatures as they clustered together at the railing. Standing above them, perched on the ship’s edge and clinging to the railing, the tallest of the invaders pressed a conch shell to its lips. Its chest expanded with