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

by Bruce Blake

  The raft tilted, his palm reached the edge, slipped off it, and Teryk tumbled into the deadly sea.

  V Horace – Alone

  More o' the streaks o' light shot across the nighttime sky. It might've been pretty to get a peek at if it weren't for the fact they was ancient baddies fallin' to the earth.

  Horace did his best to keep pace with Ivy but even her short, little legs carried her faster than his ol', tired ones. It seemed like ev'ry step he stumbled o'er a bit o' branch fallen from a tree or a rock what found his toe. None of 'em made him hit the ground, but they sure as hell did a fine job o' slowin' him down.

  "Ivy," he called after her, but the wind whippin' through the trees took his voice and tossed it away.

  They was closer to the glowin' green o' the veilish barrier and he began wonderin' what they'd do when they arrived. Ivy must've had a plan o' some sort, 'cause this'd been where they was headed, windstorm or no.

  But why did she call out the name o' her brother?

  Maybe she thought he'd summoned the sudden breeze. Horace'd seen the little feller do some unusual stuff when they was travelin' together, but he hadn't a recollection about no wind caused by him. Didn't make it impossible, and he figured she must know her own kin better'n him, but he still didn't think it proved nothin'.

  The ol' sailor struggled o'er a log and paused on the other side. He leaned against the fallen piece o' tree, hand restin' in a cool, soft patch o' moss as he stopped to catch his air. He watched Ivy continue on ahead o' him, the muscles in her bare, gray buttocks flexing with ev'ry step she took.

  Why don't them little folk use their magic to make themselves some breeches?

  He sucked in a heavy breath, hopin' it'd bring energy to his legs the way the girl's touch did, then started out after her again, cursin' to himself. His limbs gave him immediate grief, knots startin' in his calves and workin' their way up; he pushed on anyway, forcin' one foot in front o' the other though he knew Ivy took three steps or more for ev'ry one he did. He begged them to move quicker lest the small one get too far ahead, but it seemed all the stress and strain o' the time what'd passed since the dunce Dunal put him o'er the side o' the Devil filled him with rocks now.

  His gut flipped at the memory o' what he'd done to the poor feller in the name o' savin' his own skin. And look where it'd got him. He hated his life upon the sea, but at least he'd known what it were and what people expected o' him. Now, he didn't know if he'd survive from sunrise to sunset and back.

  The brush grew thick as he neared the veil o' green and his feet became tangled in the runners and creepers, the branches and twigs. At first they slowed him, but then they stopped him, as though the forest itself made a grab for him, not wantin' him to go on. He did his best to pull free, but the tight grip o' the plants got the better o' him and he tumbled to the ground.

  Horace landed with a whoof o' breath what might've come outta some dog's mouth. Weren't no dog around, though—least he hoped not—so he knew the sound must've been his own. He followed up the realization by tryin' to breathe in but didn't have no success with doin' so. The rocks what'd been weighin' down his limbs seemed like they spilled into his chest, cloggin' it to keep air from findin' it's way in.

  Panic surged through the ol' sailor, settin' the hairs on his arms and the back o' his neck on their ends, makin' his skin all prickly. The thought o' gettin' to his feet passed through his mind without a second look as he concentrated on breathin' again instead. He lay on his front, elbows pressed into deep loam, its moisture soaking through his sleeves, as he wheezed and hacked. If anyone'd come across him, they'd like have assumed he'd eaten a big chunk o' pork what'd got stuck in his throat. He felt his eyes bulgin' and his cheeks goin' hot and worried this might be the end and he'd never draw another breath again.

  But such weren't the case. It took a while, but some air squeaked through his windpipe and into his chest. The little gasp of it offered the tiniest bit o' relief from the terror o' death takin' him away from the world. He gulped more air down his throat, lungs thankful he did so and its presence forcin' them exhaustion rocks out and back into his arms and legs. Didn't so much like them there, either, but at least havin' limbs full o' that weighty feelin' weren't goin' to kill him.

  Down near the ground, the air tasted o' moss and dirt, held the flavor o' long decayed needles and leaves, a hint o' death what hid from his eyes. Some part of it he liked more'n he'd ever liked the scent o' the briny sea, but somethin' else in it made his toes curl and his nostrils flare. Couldn't place a finger on exactly what it were, but didn't really want to, neither.

  When his breathin' returned to a reasonable approximation o' normalcy, Horace got himself up and outta the brush, pushin' himself to stand on wobbly legs. His heart beat hard in his chest, knockin' against his ribs with a desperate rhythm like it tried to find its way out. Bendin' at his waist, he rested his hands on his knees and stared down at his feet while he sucked in the forest air and did his best to convince the fast-beatin' thing not to bust out. To him, it seemed to take about as much time to calm the racin' muscle as it had for him to regain his breath after the fall. The two might've been related, he guessed, but it weren't important.

  He straightened up and sighed, happy to be breathin' and possessin' what might pass for a regular heartbeat. The relief lasted for the brief time it took his eyes to scan the forest ahead o' him and find it empty o' his gray-skinned companion.

  "Ivy?"

  He took one step then stopped, unsure if he'd picked the right direction. The ol' sailor cocked his head back, searchin' through the leaves and boughs hangin' o'er him, seekin' the sun to give a little help. It stayed hidden, and the shimmery green curtain what kept him trapped in this place appeared to be in a different spot than it'd been when he fell.

  Did I get turned about when I stumbled?

  He spun a tight circle, one foot firm on the ground while the other propelled him around. Trees, leaves, bushes, the veil to his right instead of the left where he expected to find it. Nowhere did he spy a gray derriere in need o' a pair o' breeches. A shiver shook his spine and chattered his teeth.

  "Ivy?"

  He spoke her name louder, but the word fell off the end o' his tongue and tumbled to the forest floor, floppin' once or twice before dyin' amongst the ferns. No answer from Thorn's sister, nor from the trunks o' the trees surroundin' him or the sky hangin' somewhere up above. He sighed and did his best to suppress the tremor seekin' to make its way into his arms and shoulders. He'd already spent enough time alone in this place, waitin' for some animal to devour him or them faceless things to find him and grind his flesh against their fleshy mouths. Neither appealed to him, and he hadn't worried about them when he walked with Ivy beside him.

  With no other option, he positioned himself to put the translucent green wall to his port side, where he thought it oughta be, and set himself to trekkin' again. He hoped for the little gray one to eventually realize she'd left him behind and come back for him. Accordin' to her, he were part o' some prophecy; she couldn't let him die.

  Could she?

  Horace shuddered and wished the God o' the Deep'd decided to eat him instead of draggin' him ashore.

  VI Teryk - Swimming

  Teryk sat in the center of the raft, knees pulled up to his chest, uncontrollable shivers shaking his spine and rattling his teeth at irregular intervals. He stared at the spot where the creature took Bryder, at the disembodied limb lying near the edge of the chunk of the Whalebone's deck—the last remains of the captain perched on the final remnant of his ship. Rilum had been quick to pull the prince from the sea when he fell in, but neither of them hurried to venture back to the raft's edge, or to touch Bryder's arm.

  Though he'd been concentrating on saving the captain and hadn't seen the beast's teeth sink into the man's flesh, Teryk couldn't help imagining it. The ragged end of the captain's arm and a splash of red soiling the deck painted a picture in his mind of dagger-like fangs flashing in the sun, blood spurting,
shimmering as if streams of liquid rubies. The ocean had long absorbed any trace of him, and neither he nor Rilum spoke in the time since, except when the prince thanked him for pulling him out of the sea. His last remaining companion didn't respond and the silence between them reigned so complete, he wondered if the sailor might have slipped over the edge when he wasn't watching.

  Worried, Teryk suppressed the latest quake threatening to jar his bones and diverted his eyes from the empty sea and to his right.

  Rilum Seaman knelt in the spot where he'd plucked the prince from the ocean, but he didn't gaze where Teryk had been. Instead of staring at the macabre remnant of their captain or scanning the water for signs of the thing that killed Bryder, he peered over his shoulder, looking toward the land across the sea. He wore an expression so intense it compelled the prince to do the same.

  He craned his neck, tight muscles threatening to cramp. The pain disappeared when he realized what so captured his companion's attention.

  The prince gaped. How had they come so much closer than before?

  It must have happened when the sea creature took the captain. Its emergence and subsequent disappearance created the largest wave they'd seen since the end of the storm, pushing them nearer to shore as they mourned their friend. The lush green shoreline stood tantalizingly close yet, with a deadly monster lurking in the depths, the space seemed as insurmountable as if it remained a mere dot on the horizon. Short of washing up on the beach, any distance requiring they enter the water where the ravenous beast lurked was too far away by Teryk's estimation.

  As if he'd heard the prince's thoughts, Rilum shifted himself around to face the land perched on the near horizon, mocking them with its proximity. He struggled to his feet, listing and leaning, setting the chunk of deck rocking under his shifting weight. The movement forced the prince to place his palms against the wood to steady himself. Bryder's severed arm rolled nearer to the edge.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Fuck this," Rilum spat. "I'd rather die in the sea than stay floatin' here until I wither away to nothin'."

  He shuffled a half-step closer to the brink and drew a deep breath.

  "Rilum—"

  Before Teryk spoke further, the sailor lunged forward, belly-flopping into the ocean. Water splashed, and the chunk of deck tilted without Rilum's weight for counterbalance. The prince collapsed, spreading himself flat against the rough wood. The raft lurched, and he pressed himself flatter until the tilting diminished. He remained stationary, not wanting to raise his head and find a toothy creature making a meal out of the last man he might ever see alive.

  The rhythmic splashes of a swimmer floated through the afternoon air. Teryk steeled himself, awaiting Rilum's scream as dagger teeth tore into his flesh. He waited. And waited.

  The screams didn't come.

  By the time the prince raised his head, his shipmate had covered more than half the distance to the shore. Incredulous, Teryk propped himself up on his elbows to watch.

  Droplets splashed and sparkled in the sunlight; Rilum's kicking churned the ocean white in his wake, spreading ripples out across the water behind him. Teryk's gaze strayed from the man, following along the line of waves he produced. They reminded him of the creature and the captain's screams; he shuddered.

  Other than the shallow swells created by the sailor's escape from the raft, the surface remained smooth and peaceful.

  Is the sea ever this calm?

  Nowhere did he spy the hump of water pushed ahead of an onrushing serpent. No fish leapt, no gulls wheeled. Everything appeared as though the entire world ignored the sailor swimming toward the shore. Teryk gulped a mouthful of saliva. Left alone on the raft. Survive or die, his choice.

  If his future included surviving to fulfill his destiny predicted by the scroll, he must follow Rilum's lead.

  He inhaled, tasting salt on the air as he continued watching his companion's progress. His mind knew he should stand, dive in, and follow Rilum to safety, but his limbs disagreed. He remained in place, picturing himself standing, preparing, launching himself from the chunk of deck into the sea. During his life, he'd only swam in the river under the castle and lakes near his home until he found himself submerged during the storm. The thought of it returned the salty taste of brine to his tongue, and his throat closed. His last two times in the water had both come close to costing him everything.

  "I'll die if I stay here." I may die if I leave.

  He scanned the ocean around Rilum, between him and the shore, but spied nothing unusual. Teryk shut his eyes, pictured himself swimming, sun sparkling on droplets thrown up by his hard-working arms. He imagined himself trudging onto land, water streaming from his clothes. Trenan had spent many sessions teaching him the visualization technique, but he rarely remembered to use it. Perhaps this time it might prove its usefulness.

  He sighed again, filling his lungs to capacity before letting his breath go all at once. He repeated this over and over, searching for courage in the salty air, but his search proved fruitless. One did not find the virtue of bravery externally, but within, and it pained him to realize he lacked this ideal at the most important times.

  Rilum continued splashing shoreward, his strokes as strong now as when he'd first plunged in. Teryk wondered if he'd have the same stamina to make it to land. Pondering it made the shore appear farther away, and doubt crept into his mind. The choice belonged to him: did he prefer to die on the raft or in the sea?

  "I haven't died yet."

  He shook his head, attempting to dislodge his fear. After being stabbed, left for dead in a crate at the docks, threatened with being thrown overboard as a stowaway, and surviving the raging storm when everyone else perished, how could he imagine himself not protected by an unseen source? It had been so his entire life if he took time to reflect. Like any other youth, he'd placed himself in many precarious situations, maybe more than most, given the adventurous nature of his sister. He'd survived with nary a scratch, and the same held true now.

  Did his presence in the prophecy ensure his survival? Whatever hand inscribed those archaic words also plucked him from danger when required and set him on his necessary path.

  I have courage in me.

  He gritted his teeth, glanced back over his shoulder to make sure the sea behind him remained as free of deadly serpents as the water ahead of him appeared, and gasped a shocked breath into his lungs. In his concern for Rilum and his own life, he hadn't noticed his foot touching the captain's severed arm.

  Without consideration, Teryk kicked at it, sending the limb spinning across the piece of deck and over the edge into the sea. He scrabbled to his feet, took a quick step forward, and jumped. He slipped on the wet wood, and he entered the water ungracefully, the surface slapping his face with the force and shock of the open hand of a jealous lover. The cold penetrated him at once, forced the sting from his flesh.

  With his head underwater, panic flashed through the prince, his body recalling the struggle in the stormy sea. It held on a few extra heartbeats after he resurfaced an instant later, gasping for air with the voracity of a man deprived for far longer than he had been. Satisfied with his ability to breathe without having to fight to fill his lungs, his racing heart slowed, and he set himself to stroking toward shore.

  In his youth, both Trenan and Danya—who'd learned to swim at a much earlier age than he—attempted to teach him the proper method to ensure the most efficient use of one's energy while swimming. It involved keeping your face in the water and exposing it to draw breath every few strokes. Try as he might, Teryk had never mastered the technique. His lungs despised any attempt at holding his air. He found it easy when diving under the surface, or with his face out of the sea, but not how it suited his present needs best. For whatever reason, attempting to do so brought on extreme agitation.

  So Teryk swam, head tilted back, and noticed he no longer saw Rilum Seaman as he had when standing on their raft. He thought he detected the wake left by his passing, but couldn't be s
ure. Now submerged in the sea, it didn't seem so calm as before.

  The prince stretched his neck to peer over his shoulder, scanning the watery expanse behind him for the piece of deck which saved their lives. A gentle roll of waves had developed, alternately hiding the chunk of wood from him the same way it kept Rilum from his line of sight, then heaving it into view. He noted something else in the water beside it. At first, this presence concerned him, but he soon realized what it must be: Captain Bryder's arm.

  Seeing it again caused a twinge in his chest. Grief? Regret? He hadn't known him well, but he must have been a good man to rise to the rank he did. As he stroked and thought about it, Teryk understood it wasn't a sense of loss causing the feeling behind his ribs. A memory floated into his head, mimicking the limb floating on the sea, and he recalled the sliver in his finger, blood in the water, the way it attracted fish.

  Teryk's eyes widened. His strokes faltered.

  Where did these waves come from?

  He returned his attention to the shore ahead and the task of reaching it. His breaths came in short bursts as his arms plunged into the increasing swells. The nature of the sea remained mysterious to him, but he guessed sudden and unpredictable changes might be the norm. The thought did nothing to quell the sliver of panic inserting itself in his chest.

  The shore—more accurately, the line of trees beginning after the ocean ended—appeared no closer than before. To keep from losing heart, he diverted his focus away from his goal and the creatures potentially finding their way to dine on Bryder's arm, instead counting his strokes. He decided on forty as the right number to complete before directing his gaze landward again.

  He concentrated on the count, resisting the compulsion to gauge his progress or look back. The effort of swimming returned the pain and tightness to his shoulders, and doubt about his ability to make it to shore crept into him. He knew the shortness of his breathing contributed to this fatigue, but struggled to slow his inhalations.