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) 📕

wide, flat head. A mouth split it from one side to the other, rows of sharp teeth lining both the top and bottom jaws. A menacing thing, but not the God of the Deep he'd seen tear the Whalebone apart; this thing appeared a worm in comparison, but big enough to pose a mortal threat.

Bryder closed on the raft as the creature edged closer to him, the two of them locked in a race for their goals. Rilum shouted at his captain, exhorting to go faster, to swim harder. Teryk watched, transfixed by the captain's struggle as compared to the smooth ease with which the animal cut through the ocean. Despite the many turns of the seasons he'd spent commanding ships floating on the turquoise brine, he was no more made to be in it than a bird or a horse. His arms splashed, the shape of his body slowed his progress, he fought to draw air into his lungs. Behind him, closing fast, the sea creature opened its mouth. Streaming water cascaded past sharp teeth, over a pointed tongue.

The length of three men separated the captain from the raft. Teryk shook himself from the beastly distraction and leaned over the edge, held out a hand for Bryder to grab. The fingertips of his other scraped against the wood, digging for purchase to keep him from tumbling into the sea.

The tips of their fingers brushed, and the captain ceased swimming, concentrating instead on grabbing one of his rescuers' hands. The sudden stoppage pushed his head under the surface and he swallowed a mouthful of the briny water, then resurfacing, sputtering and coughing. He waved his arms, reaching out, desperate for someone to save him.

Teryk caught hold of his left hand as Rilum nabbed the other. The prince leaned back, eyes closed, pulling as hard as his position allowed without slipping off the chunk of wood, but the water-logged sailor weighed as much as a war horse. The sounds of thrashing and splashing assaulted Teryk's ears. He bit down, the muscles in his jaw knotting. A grunt escaped his throat as the captain cried out; Rilum called out his name, an unsettling tone in his voice making Teryk not want to open his lids.

Somehow, the skipper jerked back as though trying to escape their grasp. The action threatened to pull the prince off balance, but he held on and kept from being yanked off the raft. He dug his heels in, pulled harder. This time, Bryder slid so easily from the sea, Teryk fell over backward still holding onto the captain's hand. He lay on his back listening as the turmoil of churned water dissipated, his own heavy breath loud in his ears. He opened his eyes, sat up, parted his lips to ask the captain if he was all right.

The words died on his tongue. Nothing but a pink streak in the sea and the arm attached to the hand Teryk held remained of Captain Bryder. He stared at it for an instant before panic seized him. With a jerk of his wrist, he cast the disembodied limb away and scuffled backward from it, desperate to distance himself from the appendage.

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