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rotting fish or seaweed. One mate declared that it reminded him of the ancient sewers of the abandoned
city of Vra-Thet, whose people had been dead for thousands of years but whose decrepit essence still
lingered in its multifarious catacombed depths. Another contended that the stench must have been carried
hence on the wind from some great far-off battle in which tens of thousands had perished.
Ahlitah, whose sense of smell was infinitely more sensitive than that of any man aboard, wrinkled his
nose so tightly it threatened to curl up and hide beneath his upper lip.
 What is it, cat? Simna warily eyed the darkness that had swallowed the ship.
 Don t know. Decay, putrefaction, rot. But of what I can t tell.
The swordsman turned to the tall southerner, who was staring out across the bow, one hand holding on
to a trembling stay fashioned of finely corded rope.
 How about it, Etjole? As a herder of cattle you should be intimately acquainted with stinks. Any ideas?
The other man did not look back.  Etjole? Taking a step forward, Simna grabbed his friend by the arm.
 What? Blinking, Ehomba looked back at his companions.  I am sorry, Simna. Yes, I know what it is.
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 Then tell us, Ahlitah prompted him.  I m not familiar with the smells of the sea, but I know storms, and
this reeks like no storm I have ever encountered.
The herdsman s mouth was set in a thin, tight line.  That is because this is not a storm.
Cat and swordsman exchanged a glance.  It s clouds, Etjole, Simna avowed gently.  Racing black
clouds usually herald the coming of a storm.
 These are not clouds, either. They are the substance of what has engulfed this ship.
Simna ibn Sind did not like the sound of that. Especially Ehomba s use of the word  engulfed.  Then if
not a storm, what?
Tilting back his head slightly, the herdsman looked upward, scanning the sky from side to side like
someone standing at the bottom of a deep well searching for a ray of light. Having overheard, several
sailors had left their posts and were hovering nearby, watching the rangy foreigner intently.
 It has been following me for a long time, gathering strength. I first saw it when I helped the People of
the Trees defeat the slelves.
Simna s expression twisted in confusion.  The what?
 It was before you and I met. You may have seen this also, friend Simna, when we fought Corruption. It
gyred through the winds that helped to propel the Dunawake, and its essence was everywhere in the
shattered lands of the Queppa. Especially in the Wall. He was silent for a moment as he considered the
lowing sky.  Ever since the time when I was with the People of the Trees it has been tracking me, waiting
for the right moment.
 The right moment? Staring at the sky, Simna tried to peer through the raven clouds, to see something
else where to the naked eye there appeared to be only arching blackness.  The right moment for what?
Ehomba was as somber and serious as the swordsman had ever seen him.  To swallow.
That conjured up an image even less palatable than the one that had been induced by the herdsman s use
of the word  engulfed.  You mean this whatever-it-is is going to try and eat us?
 It already has. With unshakable calm, Ehomba studied the ominous dark.  We are inside it now. But it
has not begun to swallow. It must be stopped before it can.
 Hoy, right, I am in agreement with you there, bruther. Wide-eyed but undaunted, the swordsman
beheld their surroundings anew. Had anything changed since the black clouds had first enveloped them?
Yes, everything had grown even darker, black as the inside of a chunk of coal. And it was pressing tight
upon them, congealing like oil, a cloying, oleaginous mass that was acquiring more weight and substance
than was natural for an honest cloud even as they spoke.
A sailor struck out at a limb of murk as it threatened to crawl up his arm. At the blow the gloom broke
apart, but the pieces hung in the air, ebony wisps floating in a sable duskiness. Around the ship, a
deathless night was descending, threatening to overwhelm and suffocate everyone on board. Sailors
brushed at themselves, and cursed in frustration, but their efforts were proving increasingly futile. It was
like trying to fight a cloud, a shadow, and that shadow was growing stronger by the minute. Stronger, and
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all-consuming.
Simna flailed at the deepening gloom as if assailed by giant, ephemeral black bugs. It was midmorning,
but not a splinter of sunshine penetrated the ambient obscurity that had enveloped them. Ahlitah snapped
at the lazily coiling lengths of deeper blackness that curled around his muscular form like indigo snakes.
They broke apart, re-formed, and drew strength and sustenance from the deepening shadow all around
them.
 What is it? Like the rapidly panicking crew, Simna was brushing and slapping furiously at the terrifying
blackness.  By Gidan s eyeteeth, what is it? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]