When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (books under 200 pages txt) 📗

water washed over his head and the current took him under again. This time, instead of allowing the sea to have its way with him and leaving him hoping to find respite before his air ran out, he thrashed with his legs, pulled against the tide with his arms. His numb limbs fought the ocean’s drag, and he concentrated on what floated above him, not what might lurk below.

If his efforts had any effect, he couldn’t tell.

His muscles took on the characteristics of waterlogged wood as he struggled to find his way back to the surface. His chest swelled with the strain of keeping his air. If he released it, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from drawing another breath and filling his lungs with salty water.

How did this happen?

He thought of his mother, of Trenan, and of his sister. So much living yet undone, multitudes of things to see, places to go, and none of it to be, his future given up for a scroll filled with unintelligible words. For all he knew, Danya might have planted it, the prophecy made up from whole cloth, a lark for them to have fun. A joke on him gone too far. Why hadn’t the possibility already occurred to him? The end of his life approached because she considered it funny for him to believe himself the savior of the world.

The thought drained the last of the energy from his limbs, and his struggles ceased. He floated in the sea, letting the current take him where it may as the first of the air escaped his lungs in a crowd of bubbles. He watched them rush up and away toward a surface he’d never see again.

Where will my body wash ashore? A ragged beach for someone to find me? Will my parents hear of my death? Trenan? Danya?

More breath seeped between his lips; he fought his body’s natural urge to breathe in, replace what left. His head throbbed, his chest felt as though it might burst into flames. He let his lids slide closed, shutting out the dark nothingness of the sea.

His foot touched something solid for an instant, but then it disappeared.

It startled the last of the air out of him, leaving his lungs shrunken, depleted bags dangling inside him, longing for breath. The prince opened his eyes, jerked his head side to side. Had his sole brushed the bottom?

The inky depths stretched out below him, an impenetrable void as far as his vision allowed him to see. His throat tightened, his skull felt empty and buoyant—light enough to aid with flotation. The urge to suck water into his lungs parted his lips.

The solid thing under his foot returned, but this time, it stayed. It exerted upward pressure, bending his knee, then he sensed movement. Teryk forced his mouth shut again, swallowed the need to breathe. His chest screamed for air and darkness swirled at the edges of his vision threatening to take away his sight.

He became a rag doll in the ocean, his limbs trailing out behind him while an unseen presence propelled him upward. The pressure in his ears eased, water leaked between his lips and into his mouth, salt touching his tongue. He wanted to cough it out.

An instant later, his head broke the surface. Wind and sea roared around the prince, but he didn’t understand what it meant or what to do, then his natural instincts took over. His chest spasmed, drawing air and seawater, making him hack and spasm. The replenishing breath returned energy to his limbs, and he stroked with his aching arms, pulling to keep himself afloat. The pressure against his foot remained.

Teryk finished clearing his lungs of water and drew a whooping inhalation. A new panic flooded through him and he flapped his hands, twisting to see what brought him back from the brink of death.

A dark, indistinct shape loomed beneath him, too big for him to figure where it began or ended. His nanny’s story of the whale came to mind again, and he pushed off from whatever his foot rested on, propelling himself away.

A sleek, gray hump slid across the surface of the sea and disappeared. A current rushed around Teryk, swirling him in a whirlpool. He glimpsed a wave looming over him, an unidentifiable chunk of debris carried upon it. The thing fell on top of him, pushing him under again and stealing his consciousness.

***

The pain came first.

It might have been easier to name the parts not causing him discomfort than to list all those involved. Salt and struggle left his throat raw, knots bound his muscles, his head throbbed.

Sound returned next—the swirl and lap of water, the creak of boards, the cry of a gull. The sharp tang of the salty ocean stung his nostrils. Light shone red through his eyelids.

Am I alive?

He made the effort to open his eyes, but the lashes had stuck together, gummed shut. An attempt to raise his hand to his face resulted in more pain and no movement. Air sighed out of his mouth, the tiny gust brushing parched and chapped lips. Despite the added discomfort, he took delight in breathing; it wasn't so long ago he thought he'd drawn his last breath.

Teryk allowed his mind to stray back to his time in the water, the numbness in his limbs, the struggle in his chest. Frigid, icy, he recalled. Although the sun now warmed him, his body shivered in response to the memory. Other memories followed: the solid mass beneath his foot lifting him to safety; the smooth, gray flesh breaking the surface of the sea; the shape sliding away into the depths.

Where am I?

The story of the sailor and the whale flashed through his mind again, panic close on its tail. With an effort, Teryk pried his eyelids open. A good part of him