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

by Bruce Blake

  The thought drained the last of the energy from his limbs, and his struggles ceased. He floated in the sea, letting the current take him where it may as the first of the air escaped his lungs in a crowd of bubbles. He watched them rush up and away toward a surface he’d never see again.

  Where will my body wash ashore? A ragged beach for someone to find me? Will my parents hear of my death? Trenan? Danya?

  More breath seeped between his lips; he fought his body’s natural urge to breathe in, replace what left. His head throbbed, his chest felt as though it might burst into flames. He let his lids slide closed, shutting out the dark nothingness of the sea.

  His foot touched something solid for an instant, but then it disappeared.

  It startled the last of the air out of him, leaving his lungs shrunken, depleted bags dangling inside him, longing for breath. The prince opened his eyes, jerked his head side to side. Had his sole brushed the bottom?

  The inky depths stretched out below him, an impenetrable void as far as his vision allowed him to see. His throat tightened, his skull felt empty and buoyant—light enough to aid with flotation. The urge to suck water into his lungs parted his lips.

  The solid thing under his foot returned, but this time, it stayed. It exerted upward pressure, bending his knee, then he sensed movement. Teryk forced his mouth shut again, swallowed the need to breathe. His chest screamed for air and darkness swirled at the edges of his vision threatening to take away his sight.

  He became a rag doll in the ocean, his limbs trailing out behind him while an unseen presence propelled him upward. The pressure in his ears eased, water leaked between his lips and into his mouth, salt touching his tongue. He wanted to cough it out.

  An instant later, his head broke the surface. Wind and sea roared around the prince, but he didn’t understand what it meant or what to do, then his natural instincts took over. His chest spasmed, drawing air and seawater, making him hack and spasm. The replenishing breath returned energy to his limbs, and he stroked with his aching arms, pulling to keep himself afloat. The pressure against his foot remained.

  Teryk finished clearing his lungs of water and drew a whooping inhalation. A new panic flooded through him and he flapped his hands, twisting to see what brought him back from the brink of death.

  A dark, indistinct shape loomed beneath him, too big for him to figure where it began or ended. His nanny’s story of the whale came to mind again, and he pushed off from whatever his foot rested on, propelling himself away.

  A sleek, gray hump slid across the surface of the sea and disappeared. A current rushed around Teryk, swirling him in a whirlpool. He glimpsed a wave looming over him, an unidentifiable chunk of debris carried upon it. The thing fell on top of him, pushing him under again and stealing his consciousness.

  ***

  The pain came first.

  It might have been easier to name the parts not causing him discomfort than to list all those involved. Salt and struggle left his throat raw, knots bound his muscles, his head throbbed.

  Sound returned next—the swirl and lap of water, the creak of boards, the cry of a gull. The sharp tang of the salty ocean stung his nostrils. Light shone red through his eyelids.

  Am I alive?

  He made the effort to open his eyes, but the lashes had stuck together, gummed shut. An attempt to raise his hand to his face resulted in more pain and no movement. Air sighed out of his mouth, the tiny gust brushing parched and chapped lips. Despite the added discomfort, he took delight in breathing; it wasn't so long ago he thought he'd drawn his last breath.

  Teryk allowed his mind to stray back to his time in the water, the numbness in his limbs, the struggle in his chest. Frigid, icy, he recalled. Although the sun now warmed him, his body shivered in response to the memory. Other memories followed: the solid mass beneath his foot lifting him to safety; the smooth, gray flesh breaking the surface of the sea; the shape sliding away into the depths.

  Where am I?

  The story of the sailor and the whale flashed through his mind again, panic close on its tail. With an effort, Teryk pried his eyelids open. A good part of him expected the darkness inside a great fish's belly to greet him despite the sunlight and warmth touching his cheek.

  How a whale's guts might appear, he didn't know, but this wasn't it.

  Water stretched on to a distant horizon, as smooth as he imagined possible for the ocean to ever be. He lay on his side, one arm kinked beneath him, the other stretched out in front. The tips of his fingers dangled over the edge, brushing the surface of each small wave. He gulped the few drops of saliva his dry mouth created, thankful to be safer than when currents and waves tossed and tugged him around the God of the Deep's home.

  Teryk shifted his weight, rolled onto his chest so his cheek pressed against what turned out to be a slab of wood keeping him afloat. Its edge lay a mere finger's width from the tip of his nose, the act of rolling having dunked his protruding arm into the water. A movement tickled his fingertips, so he found the energy to lift his head and peer into the sea.

  Of course, the prince had seen many fish before, most arrayed on a fishmonger's cart or beheaded, flayed, and cooked on his plate. Because of this, the small creature toothlessly nibbling at his fingers surprised him with its color. The bulk of its scales were yellow, but two thin blue stripes—one behind its gills and another before its tail—provided a striking contrast. Part of Teryk realized he should take his hand away, take away its chance to cause him harm. But its colors brought him a joy and comfort of a kind he hadn't experienced in a long time.

  He raised his eyes and looked at the sea stretching on to a distant horizon with nothing between. No ship, no land, not a single object to break the ocean's near-smooth surface. The nothingness should have caused panic and fear, but the relief of being alive usurped fright's power.

  Teryk returned his gaze to his hand dangling in the water and the colorful fish nibbling his fingertips, found a second joining the first. The green of this one's scales made it one shade from invisible against the ocean's depths. He wouldn't have noticed it but for the red dot atop its head.

  With a smile on his face, Teryk wiggled his fingers and watched them skitter away before returning to reapply their fishy lips to his flesh. He chuckled at their persistence and let them continue their nibbling as fatigue weighed on him. He allowed his eyelids to slide closed but popped them open again, repeated the action.

  The second time he opened his eyes, a glimmer of light caught his attention. Normally, he'd have written it off as the reflection of sun on water, but it winked back to life again a few heartbeats later and he realized it shone from below the surface. It came closer, moving in a zig-zag pattern, mesmerizing Teryk. Colors flickered in the curious glow, though he couldn't tell if the luminescence itself caused the spectacle or if the waves flowing over it created the effect.

  It caught the finger-nibblers' attention, too, and they ceased their attempts at dining on his fingers. They maneuvered themselves around, tails lashing back and forth to hold their place against the ocean's current. The hypnotic light moved side to side, inching closer, and Teryk readjusted himself, leaning nearer to the water. At first, it appeared to be floating of its own accord, a lost star fallen from the sky and unable to navigate its way home from beneath the sea. The prince found himself able to identify with the sentiment. The two fish watched, entranced along with him.

  When the bewitching glow came within an arm's length, he discerned a vague shape below it, nothing more than a darker patch on a dark background. The light didn't illuminate whatever hid below it, making the outline too dim for him to recognize. He leaned closer, close enough a large ripple kissed his chin.

  The light's forward motion ceased, and it bobbed and swayed in place with the ebb and flow of the waves. The two fish edged toward it, moving in a quick, darting way a short distance at a time; curiosity tempered by caution.

  A sudden dread insinuated itself in Teryk's chest, the innocence of the di
sembodied light countered by the ominous shape lurking below it. The desire to warn the fingertip-nibblers overcame him and he shifted again, freeing his arm from beneath himself. His hand and forearm prickled with the touch of a thousand pins unfelt by his numb fingers. The muscles in his shoulder seized and, before he moved to slap the water and scare the predator off, the thing attached to the glow darted forward.

  It swam fast for a creature of its size. A horn jutted off its head; the luminescence affixed to it winked out, and a mouth lined with spiky teeth gaped. It took both fish into its gaping maw at once as it broke the surface, the saw-like fin on its spine narrowly missing Teryk's outstretched hand.

  The prince gasped a surprised breath into his lungs and jumped away, setting the wood he floated on rocking and pain shooting through his body.

  "Settle, boy, or you'll send us tumbling back into the sea."

  Teryk twisted toward the voice, startled again. While watching the fish, he'd heard nothing to suggest he wasn't alone floating atop the ocean.

  He stared at the master of the Whalebone across the chunk of wet deck once a part of his ship. The man sat with his legs stretched out, the block of wood where once a foot lived twisted at an odd angle. Beside him lay a second sailor facing away from Teryk so he couldn't see who.

  "C... Captain. What...?" He paused, eyes scanning the makeshift raft, then the endless sea before settling back on Bryder. "What happened?"

  "The storm took us," he said, voice quiet and regretful. "Worst squall I ever seen. Too much for the Whalebone."

  He sighed, breath catching in his chest.

  "Me and Rilum Seaman are the last two left, and I'm surprised to find you alive."

  Teryk wiped a hand across his face and glanced at his white shirt, wet and stuck to his skin. He felt the urge to run his hands over his body, to search for injuries, but the pain he experienced came from knots and aches, not broken bones. No blood stained the fabric of his clothing.

  He closed his eyes, remembering the rain and wind, the waves towering over the ship, the monster he'd seen jutting out of the sea. He opened his lids again, fixed his gaze on the captain.

  "It wasn't the storm. It was the God of the Deep."

  "That thing ain't nothing but a story to scare those who shouldn't find themselves sailing on this harsh mistress."

  Teryk shook his head. "I saw it," he said then swallowed hard. "It saved me."

  The captain's expression turned stern. "I saved you. Waves threw your noggin against this chunk of ship. I grabbed you and yanked you aboard before you sank."

  The prince opened his mouth to relate the firmness under his foot responsible for pushing him up out of the depths and the gray flesh sliding across the ocean's surface. The look on the captain's face stopped him. His taut-pulled lips, his forehead and the corners of his eyes creased—a man who wanted to hear nothing of gods and monsters. "Th... thank you."

  Captain Bryder nodded and diverted his gaze toward the distant horizon, his expression remaining unchanged. Teryk did the same, taking in the expanse of ocean.

  "I never expected it to be so huge," he said.

  "It goes on until it touches the sky in every direction around our home."

  "But what of the land across the sea?"

  "Hmph. As much legend as your God of the Deep." He faced the prince, intensity written on his brow. "What you know of the sea you learned from tall tales and bedtime stories."

  A blush rose in the prince's cheeks as he again recalled the story of the sailor, his cat, and the whale. Might such tales, the God of the Deep, and the land across the sea, be merely fancy? Didn't stories have their genesis in truth?

  If the land across the sea doesn't exist, neither does the man from across the sea. If the man doesn't exist, the prophecy is another fable.

  The prince opened his mouth to argue the point, but Bryder continued before he spoke.

  "This water be a dangerous beast without the help of stories and lies. You experienced it yourself; it devoured every soul aboard the Whalebone except for the three of us."

  Teryk sensed the captain's intent to disguise the sadness and guilt in his voice, but it spilled over despite his best effort. He dropped his gaze from the prince's, choosing to stare at his off-kilter wooden foot instead of looking him in the eye. The prince glanced from Bryder to Rilum Seaman's back where he lay on the makeshift raft.

  "Is he all right?"

  The captain pivoted to glance over his shoulder at the other man. "As good as anyone who's lost his father on the Devil and his son on the Whalebone. He's been lying there since the sea calmed. Best not to expect more of him."

  Teryk nodded. "And how are you?"

  "My foot's crooked." He tilted his head toward the wooden block. "Otherwise, I made it through."

  "I didn't mean—"

  "I know what you meant," the captain snapped. "But you don't want to be asking the ship's master how he feels after losing his crew."

  Bryder glared, but the prince refused to divert his gaze this time. He nodded once so he knew they understood each other, then allowed the subject to fade into the still ocean air. They continued looking at each other, the day suddenly heavy with the captain's mood.

  "I know who you are. I recognized you the first time I saw you."

  The declaration startled Teryk, and his eyes widened before he got his surprise under control. He looked away to prevent his expression from confirming the other man's suspicions.

  "What are you talking about? My name is Taylor. I fell asleep in a crate and—"

  "You're the prince of the Windward Kingdom, next in line for the throne. I met you once on the Devil before your father decided I'd become too old to command his precious flagship. Don't you remember so many turns of the seasons in the past?"

  For a time, Teryk debated in his head whether to admit the truth or continue on with the ruse. He glanced out across the vast sea. Did it matter anymore?

  "I remember," he whispered before looking to the captain. "If you knew, why didn't you take me back?"

  Regret twinged in his gut; if Bryder had returned him to Draekfarren, he'd be home instead of floating in the middle of the ocean accompanied by two sailors and no hope.

  And my quest to fulfill my destiny would have ended.

  Bryder shrugged. "Maybe the king sent you to keep your eye on me, to make sure I could handle captaining the Whalebone." His gaze slid to his hands resting in his lap. "I guess I proved I wasn't worthy."

  "We could do nothing. The storm was too much. The..." His lips shaped to say God of the Deep, but good sense prevailed. "The waves. Besides, that's not why I found myself on your ship."

  "Then why did you?"

  "My story isn't far from truth. I had no intention of being on the Whalebone."

  "Aye, you didn't appear a man who got aboard out of a want to sail."

  Teryk huffed a staccato laugh. "Nor did I intend to end up in a crate. And I never got my sea legs; not much of a sailor, I'm afraid."

  "That be truthful."

  "I'm sorry for what happened to your crew. If you'd taken me back—"

  "No point thinking what might've been. Only thing matters is what is—them being gone. It's on me, not you. If you weren't aboard, we'd have ended in the same place."

  "I guess we both wish things turned out different."

  "That be the truth, too."

  Beside the captain, Rilum Seaman stirred, pushed himself to a sitting position. His concentration on Bryder, the prince had nearly forgotten the other man.

  The sailor raised his arm, extended a shaking finger to point across the calm sea. Teryk squinted against the glare of the sun, shielded his eyes with a flattened hand. The ocean stretched on, the same as in every other direction, but with one difference: the horizon appeared closer.

  He leaned forward, staring hard at the dark spot jutting out of the water.

  "Land," he whispered. "We're saved."

  II Danya – Merchant Road

  The sun craw
led its way across the sky, not yet high enough to mark midday. Droplets of sweat ran along Danya's back and chest, prompted by the thick wool of the red tunic heated by the day's warmth. More than once she'd suggested removing the garment, but Evalal disagreed. Though they'd seen no traffic all morning—wagon, horse, or pedestrian—the girl remained cautious.

  Why should I listen to her? She's but a child.

  Not many turns of the seasons ago, people might have said the same of her. If they swapped their current ages, she'd likely not be half as responsible as Evalal or worthy of such trust. For this reason, she followed her instruction; the Mother of Death put her faith in this girl to lead Danya and her precious cargo to wherever they needed to go. Who was she to question a woman through whom the Goddess spoke? Though her parents raised her with other views, things she'd seen in the past days went a long way toward convincing her of the veracity of these women's beliefs.

  "Where are we going?" She wiped a line of perspiration from her forehead.

  Evalal shrugged. "Pay attention to the Seed of Life. It will guide you."

  Danya frowned and rested her palm against the pouch hanging at her waist. The hard egg-shape pressed against her, separated from her by soft deerskin. If she didn't know better, it might have been a rock she carried. It offered no guidance and no suggestion of possessing the ability to do so. The princess sighed and let her hand fall back to her side.

  "It does nothing."

  "Be patient."

  "But how will I know?"

  "You just will."

  "How will I understand what it wants me to do?"

  As soon as the question left her mouth, she realized how ridiculous it sounded. She carried a seed, an inanimate object. She'd seen it change colors—unusual, to be sure—but shifting its appearance didn't give the thing the power of communication.