“The sound of the horse's hooves echoed between the buildings, a solemn metronome that kept time for the army’s steps. The streets were unnaturally quiet. She was used to hearing perverse creatures uttering supplications to the art of pain. Something wasn't right. She didn't like it. She heard footsteps going out of time with the horse's hooves, running. Moments later, Barrabas appeared beside her. “Where is everyone?” he asked. “Where are all the bengikano? The devils?” Melantha reined her hors...e in and surveyed the streets. “I don’t know,” she said. What trick were they playing now? She looked at the towering lighthouse, its intermittent beam like a vast, winking eye. The gabled houses lining the street leaned forward as if in expectation. She looked up at the caravan's façade and saw the hidden faces staring back, ghostly ancestors captured in the knots of wood, the hint of an eye, the sardonic slash of lips; features she recognised drawn in blood. Expectant faces that demanded retribution.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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