‘He walks up from the sea.’ Kalam started. An unknown language, yet he understood it. A glance back—and the depression he had just crossed was filled with shimmering water. Five ships rode low in the waters a hundred sweeps of the oar offshore, three of them in flames, shedding ashes and wreckage as they drifted. Of the remaining two, one was fast sinking, whilst the last seemed lifeless, bodies visible on its deck and in the rigging. ‘A soldier.’ ‘A killer.’ ‘Too many spectres on this road, friends. Are we not haunted enough?’
