The ship listed further. Men stepped backwards, caught between the struggle to get away from the railing and to stay on their shifting feet.
And then, all were still; no sound, no movement. Only the groan of wood and the death of wind.
Screams were frozen in throats, hands quaking about weapons, unblinking eyes forced to the edge of the ship. From over the side, an immense, webbed appendage dotted with curling claws and wrapped in skin the colour of shadow reached up to cling to the railing. The wood splintered with the force of the grip, threatening to be crushed as the arm, emaciated and clad in painfully stretched flesh, tensed.
‘Sweet Khetashe,’ Lenk whispered breathlessly.
With one great effort, the clawed limb pulled the rest of the creature up from the hull and turned the sailors’ anxious terror to panic as a great monstrosity landed upon the deck with enough force to crack wood beneath two massive webbed feet.
It stood more than ten feet tall, dwarfing any creature present with its emaciated, ebon-skinned splendour. Attached to a torso of flesh drawn cruelly tight over a long ribcage were two arms and legs, both longer than spears, jointed in four places and ending in great, webbed claws.
All its thin, underfed horror was nothing compared to the monument atop its long neck. Massive, almost the size of its painfully visible ribcage, resembling the head of a rotted fish, the thing regarded the crew through vast, unblinking eyes: frigid white pools dominated by great blots of darkness. Its wide, toothy maw stretched its entire face to the point of agony, its lower jaw hanging slack. More than one man present retched, cringed or added a distinct yellow tinge to the grisly paint upon the deck as the creature’s mouth swung open to speak.
‘Where does the salvation lie?’ Its voice was lilting, gurgling, the sounds of drowning men. ‘Where can it be?
‘There, Shepherd.’
Lenk saw their fingers, pale little digits pointed to the deck right at his feet. He glanced down at the tome for only a moment as it lay in a dry space with nothing but wet about it. His attention was then torn upwards once more as he felt the timbers quake beneath his feet.
The thing walked towards him in a loping, unhurried gait. He could see every webbed claw settle into the wood as it set a foot down, see the water cling to its black soles as it raised a foot up.
Was it aware of the fear it inspired? Lenk wondered. Was it aware that there had been so much blood spilled and so many bodies falling just moments ago? Was anyone else still aware? He could feel their frozen presence behind him, feel the ripple of air as they quivered, feel the breath of whimpered prayers.
Were they aware of him, he wondered, or did they merely see a tiny silver shadow before a looming tower of gloom?
‘The tome!’ Miron’s shout was fading, softened by the terrified silence. ‘Get the tome!’
By the time Lenk realised there was a world beyond the creature looming before him, the tome was ensconced in webbed claws, examined by empty eyes. It did not blink, did not so much as scowl; whatever it saw in Lenk, Lenk could not see in it.
‘Is it tempting? Is it envious?’ The abomination’s voice was incapable of softness, boiling up in its flabby throat like vocal bile. ‘Curious. . and envious, both. The temptation is great to look within and muse on the salvation that lies beneath man-wrought covers.’
‘Temptation is strong.’ The rotund, feathered creatures chanted in horrifying unison. ‘Flesh is weak. Shelter in salvation. Salvation in the Shepherd.’
The black monstrosity leaned down, looking Lenk squarely in the eyes.
‘And yet. . is it more faithful to keep eyes chaste, minds pure?’
‘Chastity leads to the endless blue,’ the chorus above chanted. ‘Blessed is the pure mind.’
Its arm extended, reached out to touch the deck as the thing remained unbent and Lenk remained unmoving. It reached over him and he heard its joints pop into place with greasy ease. The warning cries that had been at his back were quiet; all was quiet save for the shifting of the creature as it plucked the book’s silk covering from the water.
‘It is,’ it continued, drawing its great arm back, ‘for there is nothing without faith, no hope without chastity.’ Like a great, bony crane, the thing dipped its hand, replacing the book into the silk pouch. ‘And such great beauty must be kept only for eyes as beautiful.’
Lenk hadn’t even noticed the pale creature scurrying up beside the abomination, now accepting the tome with eager hands.
‘Is it not so?’ The creature did not wait for answer from itself, Lenk or its aide. Without another movement, it gurgled to the pale invader beside it. ‘Go.’
‘Fools!’ Miron cried, though no one seemed to hear him. No one noticed the frogmen retreating, ambling from their prostrate circle and over the railing of the ship, to land in the salt with muted splashes.
No one could see anything beyond the stake of darkness that had impaled the heart of the deck.
‘There is no escape from envy,’ the creature gurgled, staring down at Lenk, ‘however base a sensation it may feel. But to tolerate it. . feel it and let it live, that is inexcusable in the eyes of Mother.’
‘Move.’
He wished he could; the voice was so distant, drowned in the echo of the abomination’s gurgle. Between them, the frost and the shadow, he was smothered, frozen, unaware of the glistening black claw reaching down as though it intended to pluck a flower.
‘MOVE!’
‘Understand,’ the thing gurgled, ‘this is simply how it must be.’
‘How it must end,’ the chorus agreed with bobbing heads.
When the blackness of the thing’s hand had completely engulfed his sight, he felt it. A roar tore the sky apart, ripping through the air as it ripped through Lenk. The creature’s hand wavered for a moment, the field of black broken by a sudden flash of angry red, the smothering echo of its voice shattered by thunder.
Gariath struck the creature with all the force of a battering ram, leathery wings flapping to propel his horned head into its ribcage. The abomination staggered, but did not fall. It gurgled, but did not scream. Gashes formed in its chest as it took a great step backwards … but it did not bleed.
It doesn’t bleed.
He was reminded, however, that he did, as the dragonman’s knuckles cracked against his cheek. Whatever else had lingered inside him was banished in a fit of bloody-nosed rage as he turned a scowl upon his companion.
‘What was that for?’
‘Just checking,’ the dragonman grunted back.
Lenk blinked as a glob of red-tinged phlegm dripped down his face.
‘For what?’
‘Huh.’ Gariath shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I’d have to follow that up with a reason.’ He held up a scarred hand to prevent protest. ‘If it makes you feel better, say I was checking if you were too busy soiling yourself to fight.’
‘I wasn’t-’
‘Then what were you doing?’
Lenk opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He was muted, blinded, deafened all at once as the images flashed through his head again, the words echoing in his ears: the portraits in the book’s pages, the smile across the parchment, ‘salvation’, ‘MOVE!’ He found himself dizzy suddenly, but dared not sway, lest he find Gariath performing another check-up.
‘Never mind,’ Lenk grunted. ‘Whatever it was, it doesn’t warrant you punching your leader in the face.’
‘Leaders lead, they don’t stand around and wait to die.’ Gariath snorted at that, raising a claw to one black eye. ‘Cry later. Kill now.’
Whatever fear and frustration had been boiling within left him in one great resigned sigh. He glanced over at Gariath; even in the face of such a horror as the black-skinned foe, even against such walking foulness, he was still tensed for the fight, his wounds and cuts threatening to reopen over the bulge of his muscle. His posture, the eager twitch of wings, the flicking of moistened claws, told Lenk that the dragonman had already prepared to throw himself into a gaping, saw-toothed mouth of death. The sole question that lingered between their gazes was who was going to follow him into the afterlife.