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) 📕

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