When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods 4)

by Bruce Blake

  WHEN

  RAVENS

  CALL

  The Fourth Book of the Small Gods

  By

  Bruce Blake

  Comments? Contact Bruce at: bruce@bruceblake.net

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  Published by Bruce Blake and Best Bitts Productions

  Copyright 2021 Bruce Blake

  When Ravens Call (The Fourth Book of the Small Gods)

  Blood has been spilled on the altar of the Evenstar. As the prophecy forewarns, the return of the banished is nigh.

  The forgotten scroll spoke of unbelievable things: A man from across the sea, a barren mother, a living statue, and the return of the Small Gods. Unbelievable, and yet the pieces for the second coming of the Small Gods are drawn together by fate’s hand, destined to bring evil back to the world.

  Those who would stop them are spread far and wide without hope of coming together, leaving them no chance of fulfilling their destines. Captured, threatened, fleeing…the sister, the firstborn, the Mother can all only pray to escape with their lives.

  If they die, what hope is there for a kingdom?

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Flakes of gray snow fluttered out of the sky, covering everything with despair and hopelessness.

  Rak'bana gasped a breath into her singed lungs, inhaling the burnt world across the tip of her tongue and edging out from under the archway, head tilted back to watch them fall. Snow hadn't fallen on the land since the time of her youth.

  But the world didn't hold the crisp, fresh essence of snow, and the flakes were the wrong color. Instead of the invigorating scent of first season, the stink of fire and death filled her nostrils. A sigh escaped her lungs, releasing the rank air from her chest.

  The exertion and stress of their flight caused her muscles no discomfort; her flesh did not scream in agony from the flames that had devoured it. Only the ache of her heart registered. The kingdom she knew lay in ruins, changed beyond recognition, and her brother—her world—gone along with it. Nothing would be the same again.

  Not for her. Not for anyone.

  Hand held out, red and blistered palm facing the sky, she watched a large flake land on her burnt skin. But it didn't melt, for this wasn't snow. The chunk of ash fell to pieces the instant it touched her, becoming a darker shade of gray as it mixed with the dampness of her flesh.

  The kingdom is on fire.

  She'd seen this day in her dreams, but foresight couldn't prepare her for the reality lying before her. Despite the visions Goddess sent her, the direction and instructions given, the sight of her smoldering world shocked her. Not even the Mother of Mothers readied her for Ine'vesi's treachery. She curled her fingers, closing her hand into a fist and grinding the wet ash to paste. The angry response to the memory of his betrayal did nothing to quell her disappointment and rage.

  Rak'bana lowered her arm, let her gaze fall across the ruined courtyard. The Pillars of Life lay in pieces in an apt representation of the devastation laid upon the world; steam rose from the river as though a giant had boiled it to make his tea and it hadn't yet cooled. Stepping into the yard, her bare foot crunched in charred grass. Her ears heard the sound it made, her mind knew it should be sharp and painful on her scalded soles. She experienced nothing, her ability to decipher sensation left behind in the fire.

  She picked her way through the rubble, attempting to discern the Pillars: Faith, Love, Courage, Healing, and the rest of the nine. But they stood no more and, when the columns fell, they'd shattered into an unrecognizable mess. One chunk of fractured stone appeared no different from the next.

  Halfway across the courtyard, she stopped without knowing why. Nothing she spied caused her to halt, no sound gave her pause; a shiver, a vague sense of place. It started in her broken heart, forcing the ache aside, filling her with a sensation reminding her of—though it couldn't have been—hope. It prompted her onward, pushing her toward the river.

  Burnt debris bobbed along with the current—charred branches and heat-curled leaves, blackened chunks of wood torn from structures, shreds of things Rak'bana didn't want to recognize. The bits and pieces of ruined lives floated past, garnering an instant of her attention before flowing water ferried them on their journey to end up caught against the rusted metal grating or, if a piece passed through, making its way to the sea to be lost forever.

  One column had toppled toward the river and shattered against the edge. Half lay destroyed on the ground, jagged chunks of marble strewn across the courtyard, the rest of the monument gone in the depths of the running water.

  The debris' resting place suggested this to be the Pillar of Faith. She'd spent so many mornings kneeling at its base and sharing her thoughts with Goddess, her knees wore patches in the grass. Everyone in the castle of Draekfarren knew the prayer spot of the Priestess Rak'bana. She remembered most every instance when Ine'vesi joined her because they numbered so few; he preferred to indulge his faith alone in the chapel, closing a door on the world. At the time, she didn't understand her brother's preference but, given the way the kingdom met its end, she thought she now understood.

  He wasn't speaking with Goddess, and he didn't want me to know.

  The realization led to a question she neither wanted to ask nor answer.

  If not Goddess, with whom did he commune?

  She shivered and her burnt flesh prickled. With the sensation came pain; where she'd experienced no sensitivity, the priestess' body became clothed in a tight-fitting outfit fashioned of agony. Her step faltered, and she gasped sharp breaths, waiting for the torment to cease. It slithered across her shriveled skin, tightening her muscles, which made the torment more intense. Rak'bana went to one knee, breath rasping along her raw throat. An instant later, the gooseflesh passed but left a throbbing ache in its place.

  She took time to gather her energy, discovered it difficult to find. Her breathing calmed, and she became used to the irritation crawling across every bit of her flesh. She got to her feet and set out again, taking slow, deliberate paces toward the fallen Pillar. The hopeful sensation in her chest grew as the torment of her body subsided. Whatever attracted her in this direction, each step brought her closer to finding out. She skirted a deep depression in the blackened lawn left by one of the massive fireballs, then saw what drew her here.

  Although the fire had reduced the legs protruding from beneath the fallen pillar to nothing but charred bone, Rak'bana realized to whom they belonged. She crept toward them, sadness choking her, and fell to her knees when she reached the burnt corpse.

  "Vesi," she whispered, her dry throat throttling the word so it came out an indecipherable croak. It didn't matter; no one remained to hear her speak.

  Is this what brought hope to my heart? My brother's death?

  The thought disturbed her, but she realized the truth in it, and her disturbance turned to guilt.

  Why should her emotions betray her by being anything but sadness and remorse at the loss of Ine'vesi? He'd lived his life with her, for her, and she for him. Goddess meant more to her than he, no other. Their births came one after the other, they'd grown up together, become priest and priestess at the same time. They'd relied on each other in good and difficult times... always. Even over the last few turns of the season, when she recognized doubt growing in him, she'd stayed with him, believed in him. How could his death insti
ll in her any relief or hope?

  Because it means he didn't make it out of the castle.

  Despite the grief in her heart, she cast her gaze around the charred ground, searching for any vestige of the burnt parchment. She realized the impossibility of differentiating it from the ash fallen from the sky, the scorched grass and clothing, her brother's seared flesh, any surviving scrap carried away on the wind or deposited in the river. After a moment, she hung her head, her eyes unintentionally finding the reddened skin of her bare and scalded legs. Angry blisters covered her, many oozing fluid. She looked at her hands and arms enveloped with the same singed tissue, touched her fingers to her skull where once she'd have found hair. None of this distressed her, for Goddess willed it.

  Sorrow grew from her reaction to losing her twin. Surely Goddess' will did not make her experience happiness at the death of her brother.

  She let her head droop again, chin touching her tightening chest, throat knotting, but she didn't cry. The fires of Goddess' wrath had made steam of her tears.

  How she wished she and Ine'vesi had parted under different terms, but how could they unless he'd acted out of faith? She considered his defiance unforgivable. The larger scale malaise of the kingdom had caused this devastation, killed countless people. She'd warned everyone who took the time to listen something like this could happen, but few heeded her words.

  And now they're dead and gone.

  The ache in her chest expanded, filled her. She hoped for it to end soon, for death to claim her and resolve this life's suffering without ceremony. Then she'd walk with Goddess. Once, the thought might have dispelled her despair, but she doubted it could be enough after what she'd seen, after what she'd endured. And she wouldn't be with her dear Ine'vesi. Wherever he'd ended up, it wouldn't be with Goddess.

  Weariness overtook the priestess. Her shoulders sagged, her hands fell onto her thighs and a jolt of pain shot through her, catching her off guard and startling a gasp from her lips. She pulled her palms away, but the hurt spread, crawling up her arms, digging itself under her reddened skin with the care and sensation of shards of wood jammed beneath a fingernail.

  Rak'bana threw her head back and cried out toward the sky. Never in her life had she wished for death.

  Until now.

  "Priestess."

  The word cut through her pained howl as though someone spoke it with lips pressed to her ear. It brought a prickle across the top of her flesh like a thousand insects crawling along her blistered skin. The sensation balanced on the edge between tickling and torment, flirted with making her forget the anguish in her heart.

  She stopped screaming, pulled her gaze from the sky.

  Two figures stood on the far bank of the river, their features disguised by a rolling mist and smoke drifting from fires not yet extinguished. Her pain didn't disappear when she saw them, but it ceased to have meaning in her life. She unfolded herself one piece at a time, mimicking an awkward plant striving to reach the sun. The agony in her limbs and torso should have been unbearable, but she made her way to wobbling legs, knees waiting for an excuse to fail.

  "G... Goddess?"

  "You have served me well, Rak'bana." The voice emanated from everywhere, not from the misty figures. Rather than hear the words, they sank into her, a salve absorbed by her seared flesh.

  The priestess diverted her eyes from the figure, feeling as though she shouldn't gaze upon Goddess. A body floated past, carried on the river's current, and she tried to shut her lids but they refused to close. Did she still have eyelids?

  "I failed you. Look at what my failure forced you to do."

  "The cleansing became necessary with or without you, Rak'bana. Your role never meant for you to prevent it. Your part was to plant seeds to keep it from happening again."

  The priestess raised her eyes to the base of the swirling mist, thought she saw the shapes of bare feet disguised within.

  "The scroll," she whispered, a hiss of breath so quiet she hardly understood the words herself.

  "Yes."

  "But my brother. He defied you, took part of the holy parchment for his own purpose."

  "As I knew he would. As I needed him to."

  Rak'bana leaned back, teetering, struggled to her feet with the last of her energy. Her gaze trailed up the silhouette hidden in the mist. She opened her mouth but found it dry and useless.

  "Balance must exist, Priestess. They have insured the world's safety for the foreseeable future. I won't step in to this degree again. What will pass will pass."

  Rak'bana's breath shortened and pain filled her chest, making it difficult to draw air into her lungs. Her heartbeat sped, hammering against her insides, and her gaze moved to the indistinct shape at Goddess' side.

  "H... h... who...?"

  "This." The deity gestured to the silhouette beside her. "Many turns of the seasons hence, this one will save the world. Because of you."

  "The firstborn child of the rightful king."

  The mist dissolved, and the figure became more distinct: a youth who'd seen the seasons turn twenty times, give or take. Clothed in the garb of a fighter, the person stood with an air of confidence, legs spread and arms crossed. The last of the haze faded from the unknown figure's face when a seizure quaked through Rak'bana. Her head flew back and her knees failed. She hit the ground, her body exploding with torment: the pain of her wounds, grief over the loss of her brother, despair at what had happened to her world. Unseen fingers wrapped themselves around her heart, squeezed it, prevented it from beating. A fat drop of rain struck her cheek, its coolness too late to offer respite. More raindrops fell, pattering against the charred earth, hissing in still-burning fires.

  The priestess Rak'bana gasped a final breath, tasted ash and burnt grass on her tongue. Then Goddess stood at her side, holding her hand, stroking her forehead. Relief flowed into her, inserting itself between her and the pains and regrets. A new feeling replaced them, an invigoration, a suspicion of things to come. It was early, but she knew the time to begin preparations was already nigh.

  The other figure accompanying Goddess had disappeared, leaving her alone with the Mother of Mothers. Peace filled her and life faded away.

  For now.

  I Teryk - Saved

  Water splashed over his head, filled his mouth and eyes, nose and ears. The waves tossed Teryk around, the current tugged, the combination turning him over and over so he lost the ability to discern up from down. He worried he'd never surface and draw breath again.

  The tight panic growing in his chest took him back to the river under the castle and being trapped under the bars intended to keep people out. How long since that happened? As he struggled in the freezing ocean, the finding of a scroll written an eternity past for someone who may not have been him seemed an age ago.

  The more seawater entering his throat, the less likely it became he'd fulfill the prophecy.

  The prince's head broke the surface, thrusting him from the bitter sea into the driving rain. He coughed and gasped, drew a partial breath to relieve the burning in his lungs before the next wave washed over him and the current dragged him under again.

  Briny water stung his eyes, but he refused to close them. A beast lurked in the depths; he'd seen the flat skull topping a long, curving neck rise above the ocean, its gaping mouth lined with ferocious teeth. Seeing it coming wouldn't prevent the inevitable outcome, but knowing the end approached might be better than having it come upon him unsuspected.

  His head bobbed above the surface again. The storm roared in his ears, water splashed in his face, but he kept himself from going under again. Driving rain and sea foam swirled around him, twisting his body and forming shapes that shouldn't resemble anything, but did. Amongst them he spied his father's likeness, the firm resolution of his brow. Had he listened to him, heeded his words, he'd not be waiting to discover if he'd die by drowning or between the teeth of a god.

  Teryk drew another breath, then another. Were the waves abating? In response, a sw
ell pushed him up toward the sky, holding him above the world to peer into a trough between it and the next. The sight convinced him the size of the undulations hadn't decreased, but the opposite. He breathed again while the opportunity existed.

  Before he crested the surge and descended into the furrow, a shape at the bottom caught his eye. At first he thought it the God of the Deep on its way to devour him in one bite like in the story of the sailor and his cat Nanny told them in their youth—Danya's favorite, but not his. It gave him a fear of the ocean until he'd seen the seasons turn for the tenth time.

  In the tall tale, both seaman and feline survived. The cat rode a stream of water out the whale's blowhole while the sailor crawled between teeth the size of boulders while the whale napped. He didn't know if whales slept—or if they were more than mythical beasts—but he doubted his survival should a monster of the sea ingest him.

  As he slipped down the swell, the wave buoyed the thing he’d spied up the other side. It wasn’t a creature swimming in the roiling ocean but a chunk of debris. Teryk stroked hard to keep himself above the surface, to get closer to the unidentified object, but briny water washed over his head and the current took him under again. This time, instead of allowing the sea to have its way with him and leaving him hoping to find respite before his air ran out, he thrashed with his legs, pulled against the tide with his arms. His numb limbs fought the ocean’s drag, and he concentrated on what floated above him, not what might lurk below.

  If his efforts had any effect, he couldn’t tell.

  His muscles took on the characteristics of waterlogged wood as he struggled to find his way back to the surface. His chest swelled with the strain of keeping his air. If he released it, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from drawing another breath and filling his lungs with salty water.

  How did this happen?

  He thought of his mother, of Trenan, and of his sister. So much living yet undone, multitudes of things to see, places to go, and none of it to be, his future given up for a scroll filled with unintelligible words. For all he knew, Danya might have planted it, the prophecy made up from whole cloth, a lark for them to have fun. A joke on him gone too far. Why hadn’t the possibility already occurred to him? The end of his life approached because she considered it funny for him to believe himself the savior of the world.