When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📕

"He's no more to blame than you or me, Rilum. Leave him be."

Teryk watched the seaman's glare slip from him to the captain. The prince had become accustomed to reading angry expressions after dealing with his own father for so long, and he saw more reflected in the sailor's eyes: the grief of losing his son, his friends.

"If it's not his fault for being bad luck, who else is to blame?" His words carried the sting of a whip, emotion dripping from each syllable.

"What are you saying?"

Rilum's lip curled. "You know what I'm saying. If you can't blame luck, blame the skipper."

Bryder's sudden, explosive anger pushed him to his feet, a movement made more difficult than expected by the listing of the raft and his wooden foot left askew, its support not in the location he'd anticipated. Rilum Seaman jumped up in response, too, sending the raft's delicate balance out of true. The chunk of deck tilted and Teryk lunged to his right, pressed himself against the wood, as the other men lurched over the side.

Frigid water splashed against the prince's skin, his muscles going taut as he prepared to plunge into the sea again. Instead of flipping, the sudden displacement of the other men's weight sent the raft slapping back against the ocean, jerking a shock through Teryk's cheek where it contacted the wood and jarred his head. It stunned him for an instant and he lay chest down until the chunk of deck settled.

Behind him, splashing and shouts boiled up out of the sea. The prince blinked, stared at the spot where his face rested, taking in its grain, jagged splinters protruding in places, a black mark where flame had burned its surface. He released his frightened breath from his chest and pushed himself up on his elbows.

As the noise suggested, the other two survivors of the Whalebone grappled in the water. Whether out of anger or in an attempt to help each other out of the sea, Teryk didn't know. He dragged himself across the chunk of deck toward the edge nearest them, careful not to upset his haven's balance. A sliver inserted itself into his right hand. He jerked away, breaking the embedded piece of wood off, breath hissing between his teeth. A drop of blood welled up around it and he resisted the urge to put the tip of his finger in his mouth.

"Stop it, both of you."

He moved toward the side closest to the men, but without their weight to counterbalance his, the raft lurched again. Teryk flattened himself against the chunk of wood once more, legs spread behind him, arms thrown wide before him. His hands extended right to the edge of the deck, fingers wrapping around it as the ripples and waves created by Bryder and Rilum Seaman splashed against them. Brine stung the small wound where the sliver remained lodged in his finger.

The other survivors continued their struggle, each grabbing the other by their shirt front. They pulled and pushed, each one occasionally dunking the other under the water to come out sputtering a few heartbeats later. Teryk thought he might have found the scene humorous if it weren't for the fact they represented his best chance of surviving. If they brought about each other's demise, he'd float alone on the sea with no way to make shore and no hope of fulfilling the destiny laid out for him in the ancient scroll. He inched himself closer to the edge, the muscles in his jaw clenching as the raft listed farther.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the green strip on the horizon. Bryder and Rilum thought it the land across the sea—and who was he to dispute their navigation skills? They'd spent their lives using the sky to find their way while the prince sometimes got lost in the castle he'd lived in since the day of his birth—then fate pointed him in the right direction. He'd learned the prophecy possessed its own plans for how things should occur, despite what he may think he should do.

Teryk turned back toward the others, pulled himself closer to the edge, muscles tensing, knotting as the chunk of deck tilted a little more. Bryder shouted sailorly obscenities at Rilum, and the sailor responded, words garbled by seawater splashing into his mouth. He coughed, spat, dunked his captain's head beneath the surface and held him under.

"My only son," Rilum said. The captain's arms thrashed, fighting to emerge. "First the sea took my father, and now my only son."

Panic tied Teryk's gut into a tight knot. His mind flashed back to the day he and Danya found the scroll, when he'd gotten caught under the grate at the bottom of the river beneath the castle. His body recalled the alarm of needing to draw a breath but knowing doing so meant his death. Did Bryder experience the same distress? The prince's air grew short, as though it was him unable to breathe; anxiety burned in his limbs and chest. He pulled himself closer to the edge, the raft tilting enough his arms slid into the water halfway to his elbows.

The tilt of the piece of deck redirected his gaze away from his fellow survivors and toward the sea. A flash of color near his hands caught his attention.

Fish.

Half a dozen finger-sized ocean dwellers maneuvered around him, fighting to find space. Fascinated by the reds, blues, yellows, and greens of their scales, the swishing movement of their fins and tails, Teryk forgot the two men struggling in the water. He wondered if the shape of the raft floating above their home drew these types of fish out of hiding. In response to his thoughts, he felt a smooth, toothless mouth brush against his fingertip. Such a gentle touch shouldn't