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) 📕

When he saw the mist forming on the far riverbank, he forgot she'd spoken.

White as summer cloud, the fog roiled and moved in and around itself without progressing or receding, the billows of gray smoke nearby staying clear of it as though repelled by fear or some other unseen force. Teryk took two steps away from the kneeling priestess, his ears noticing she'd uttered more words, but his brain didn't perceive what she said. A rustle of sound behind him made him think Rak'bana may have found her way to her feet.

As if responding to his movement, the mist expanded along the river's edge, moving and twisting, taking shapes only to dissipate as fast as they formed.

Teryk continued toward it, the world around him forgotten. The crunch of his footsteps on burnt grass came to his ears from a long distance. The charred remains of the courtyard became nothing but blurs of darkness to either side of him. The mist mimicked him, moving closer. The prince hurried his pace, driven by a need to get nearer the fog, to see what hid within it.

The vapor boiled to a stop, several tendrils of white swirling together at the front of it, forming shapes. They became arms, legs, torsos—two wispy forms materializing out of nothing. Teryk gasped and went faster. One shape would rectify itself into the woman he'd seen before, with the ever-changing face. But what of the other? The Priestess Rak'bana taken from this world to the next?

A form solidified as the prince expected; he was too far away to see the woman's features, but it didn't remain static. He turned his gaze to the second misty silhouette, the swirls of vapor beginning to solidify like the first. Arms formed, flesh the color of the inside of a seashell, not the red, peeling skin he'd seen on the priestess. Legs came into view next, then a torso encased in leather armor. Finally, the mist forming the head began to darken.

Though they remained too far away, Teryk reached out toward the shapes, as if being closer to them would... what?

The thought fled him as his foot went over the edge of the riverbank. He plummeted into the steaming river he'd forgotten lay between him and the misty figures. The water scalded his skin. He thrashed and struggled, panic filling him, and his mind recalled his time in the sea, the monsters lurking within it.

And then he sank.

XXII  Rilum – A Long Time Ago

Sunlight forced its way through the crack between the fallen log and the ground on which it lay, found Rilum's face like a thief creeping into his space.

The sailor groaned, rolled onto his back. His joints creaked and protested. His clothes stuck to him, pasted to his skin by moisture as easily his own sweat as it might have been dew. He inhaled through his nose, scenting the half-rotten odor of the log he slept under, the staleness of his own body. None of it made him want to open his eyes or climb out from beneath his hiding place, but he knew he couldn't avoid it for long. He felt a sense of duty toward the lad, prince or not.

As the sleep cleared from his head and the reality—or unreality—of where he was and what had happened returned, Rilum Seaman noticed the dryness of his throat. He attempted to part his lips, found them gummed together, tried to use his tongue to force them apart, except it was glued to the roof of his mouth. Next, he went to crack open his lids but they were stuck, too.

A bolt of panic lanced through his chest.

What has this gods-forsaken place done to me?

Forgetting himself, he jerked his upper torso forward and cracked his head against the log's rough bark. He groaned from behind his affixed lips, raised his hand to his forehead. His fingertips found the scrape with ease, but he couldn't tell if blood welled up within it or not as a sheen of moisture covered his entire body. He lowered his hands to his eyes, dug a knuckle into each to coax his eyelids open.

A sliver of light squeezed its way through and he almost cried out, in both pain and relief. He resolved to prise them free a little at a time to keep from being blinded. When he regained the ability to see, he levered himself out from under the fallen tree.

His spine protested as he stood, his knees popped, his shoulders ached. The thing he despised most about getting older was the way his body betrayed him bit by bit, each joint and muscle reminding him of his youth gradually left behind.

He stretched, raised his eyes skyward, regarded the limbs and branches hanging over him. Most belonged to conifers with their various verdant needles, but a few leafy trees stood amongst them, the broad flat leaves shades of red and yellow. Rilum frowned—with it being second season, why wouldn't their foliage be green as well?

The sailor lowered his chin, setting the mystery aside in favor of ungumming his lip. His first try, he used only the muscles of his jaw. When that proved unsuccessful, he jammed his fingers between his lips the way one might force a board beneath a rock and use it as a lever. They came apart bit by bit. Part of him expected to hear a sound like tearing parchment, experience pain as though someone ripped flesh from his body, but neither happened. Instead, his mouth opened, and he sucked a breath tasting of dirt and loam. His throat rattled with the passing air.

I have to find me some water.

With the orifices in his face properly dealt with, he remembered his predicament. He pivoted on his heels, observing his surroundings, a crick in his neck shooting pain along his spine. As expected,