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) 📕

full of gardens and lush grass, statues and the lone base of one ruined Pillar of Life. In this courtyard, two of the fabled monuments still stood while the others lay in ruins. Deep scars cut into the ground, churned the earth leaving no grass or gardens discernible, fires burned and smoke billowed. Amongst the crackle of wood consumed by fire, a screech filled the prince's ears, distracting him as it grew louder until he realized it was the fireball hurtling toward him making the sound.

His legs sprang to action before his mind thought to tell them to do so. Two paces and his feet caught. He stumbled, shuffled forward three more steps on hands and knees before finding his footing again, rushed headlong only to skid to a halt six more farther, his escape cut off by the river.

Steam rose from the rushing water and he noticed the heat surrounding him, pressing on his flesh. Sweat sprang to his forehead, dampened his clothes. Bits of debris floated past—chunks of wood, pieces of cloth, what might have been a detached limb. Teryk tore his gaze away, directed it back toward the fireball hurtling groundward, its swirling glow now too close and too bright for him to look at directly. He raised his arm, closed his eyes, and clamped his jaw tight, awaiting the impact meant to take his life and end the quest to fulfill his destiny.

It hit with a thump severe enough to shake the ground beneath his feet and fill his head with a roar. A wave of heat washed over him, threatening to push him back, send him over the edge of the bank into the near-boiling river, but he held his place. The sound of fire increased until another noise added to the tumult, one Teryk recognized as the scrape of rock rubbing against rock. He lowered his arm, lifted his chin.

The fireball had struck the base of a pillar, knocking a chunk free and impinging the integrity of the massive column. The remaining marble wasn't enough to hold the weight and it crumbled beneath the monument's mass. It tilted toward the river, falling like a tree, and Teryk followed its path, watching with an interest he couldn't have explained. Not until it neared hitting the ground did he notice the figure standing near it. He stared up at the chunks tumbling his way but made no move to avoid them, as though frozen in place. The prince opened his mouth to holler a warning but the crunch of the collapsing stone drowned him out, if his throat formed a sound.

At the last second, the man raised his arms in defense—a useless gesture under the weight of the marble pillar. He folded beneath it like paper. Teryk attempted to leave his place and run toward him, though he realized he'd be beyond help, but he couldn't move. The steam rolling off the river and smoke from the multitude of fires burning across the courtyard swirled around him, held him back.

A shape formed, the arms, legs, and torso appearing vaporous, and Teryk gasped.

How did he get out from under the pillar?

He held his breath, waiting for the man to come into view, expecting to find him hobbling, twisted, broken. His hands curled into fists, tightened until his fingernails dug into his palm.

But no figure emerged. The steam and smoke continued swirling together, taking the vague outline of a woman's silhouette striding toward him. Teryk blinked hard, licked his lips and tasted the salt of his perspiration on them. Might this be a waking dream of his mother or Danya? No, not a dream—an energy he'd never experienced emanated from the shape, pressing against him like a physical thing demanding his attention. Sweat rolled down his forehead, collected on his brow, perspiration dampening flesh and clothing alike. He blinked again, wiped his arm across his head to remove the moisture and hoped for the vision to disappear along with it.

It didn't.

Instead, the silhouette moved closer, floating above the charred ground of the courtyard until a woman stepped out of the smoke as though she'd been present the entire time.

Her hair fell past her shoulders, disappearing down her back. One heartbeat it appeared black as the night itself, the next a flash hinted at a flaxen hue. Her skin first shone smooth and pale, then became the color of singed sugar. As the prince watched, her features skipped from one appearance to another until he understood he didn't look upon a single woman, but all women.

"What are you doing here?"

He heard her words, understood their meaning, but it didn't seem she'd direct them at him.

"Who... who are you? Are you real?"

"Nothing is real and everything is." She stared at him, her gaze so penetrating it nudged the back of his skull. "There is what you perceive and what you believe. How did you get here?"

"I... I don't know."

Her face, hair, height, and body shape continued to shift as she stood before him. One moment short, pale, round, the next tall, dark, slender. Mane brushing her shoulder tops, hanging down her back, then her scalp shimmered smooth and bald before locks returned. Sometimes a countenance he recognized flashed by—his nanny, or a servant he'd seen in the halls of Draekfarren—but each disappeared before he knew for sure.

Without appearing to take a step, she stood in front of him, standing too close. She raised her arm, laid a hand no him that at first had short, stubby fingers, then long narrow ones against his cheek. Instinct told him to pull away, but he couldn't. Didn't want to.

"The beach," she said, eyelids sliding closed. "The meadow. The forest."

She inhaled, and he involuntarily breathed with her. Acrid smoke singed his nostrils, burning wood and charred flesh. His stomach lurched.

"They sent you."

Her eyes snapped open and her hand dropped from his