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) 📗

XXIV  Rilum – A Long Time Ago

A breeze stirred the foliage hanging in front of Rilum Seaman's face, some of them brushing his cheek and nose. He held his place, motionless, watching the little gray people as they scuttled back and forth.

He'd seen them before, more than once. In his wanderings to find sustenance—leaves and berries and the odd slow-moving insect he got his hands on—he'd come across them on three or four occasions. He lacked the ability to remember how many times, but he'd turned tail and fled when he did. This time, it occurred to him they may lead him to food or water.

A vague memory tickled the back of his mind, a recollection of many of the gray-skinned fellows gathered together, of men on horses, and of a green wall, but a haze obscured the remembrance. He failed to place when or where it happened, if it did at all. As he observed them going with their business, the vision of the past faded, forgotten moments later.

They wore no clothes, their hairless bodies lithe and sinewy. To Rilum, they appeared threatening and dangerous. If they produced a lamb shank and a wine skin brimming full, he doubted he'd leave his covering of brush to partake if they invited him. He remained unmoving, watchful, tensed to flee.

The point of a leaf rubbed against his cheek, the sensation a mix of tickle and itch. He raised a hand to sweep it away. As he did, his elbow contacted a heavily laden branch, the impact shaking it outside the cadence and rhythm of the breeze. The group of the gray skins closest to him halted their seemingly pointless meanderings and diverted their gazes in his direction. Rilum froze, breath caught in his throat, fingertips resting on his face.

They stared at his patch of brush for what seemed an eternity. A drop of sweat rolled from his forehead and into his eye, its saltiness stinging, but he fought the urge to wipe it. Tension knotted his muscles. The small men continued their long-distance scrutiny but made no move toward him. His always-dry mouth became arid, and any attempt to swallow proved fruitless.

Finally, the closest gray skin looked away, returned to the activities with which they occupied themselves. The sailor parted his lips and allowed the air to escape from his lungs a bit at a time, controlled so as not to make any sound. When he'd begun breathing again and the odd creatures re-engaged in their own doings, he inched backward from his brush cover. He cringed with each movement, progressing with such care and delicateness he expected his tendons might snap with the effort and leave him writhing on the ground at the mercy of the little ones.

Will they eat me?

A pathetic drop of saliva squirted into his mouth at the thought of food and eating. He swallowed it as quickly as it appeared, his throat thankful for the tiny watery respite. When he cleared himself of the hanging branches and fluttering leaves, he stood, knees creaking, backed away a few more steps, then turned and ran.

***

He didn't remember seeing animals before his latest encounter with the gray skins, but now they appeared to be everywhere.

Somehow, his nose recognized their proximity to the beasts before he came upon them and he avoided direct contact. He'd amend his course, choosing another direction to take him away from them. One time, their odors surrounded him. Not knowing what else to do, he scaled a wide-trunked tree with low-hanging branches. It occurred to him that, if his aching and atrophied muscles could help him make his way into the higher limbs, then he wouldn't find safety up high from any creature possessed with the ability to climb.

He settled onto a limb, back leaning against the tree's trunk as a knot pressed into him. Not much time passed before satisfaction for his decision to force his poor self to scale the heights of the tree swept into him.

The first animal sauntered into view a few moments later. It walked on four feet, its body squat and wide, coarse hair bristling along its spine. Two chipped tusks protruded from its short, flat snout, and each breath came out a snort.

As it approached the base of Rilum's hiding place, more of its scent wafted up to the sailor. It reeked of dirt and feces, but he detected another odor beneath he realized was the animal's flesh. His stomach rumbled.

The next beast made a much more dramatic entrance to the scene below him. Its long, sleek body shot out of the brush, startling the first creature. It turned to escape, but the new arrival pounced before it got three strides as its hoofed feet slipped in the blanket of needles on the forest floor. The second beast's sharp claws sank into the first's flesh, pulling itself up its back to plunge pointed incisors into its victim's neck.

The squat animal squealed and Rilum pressed his hands to his ears to block out the sound, but he didn't stop watching.

An instant later, the fight ended. The tusked creature thrashed and struggled, but the larger, stronger beast prevailed. The skirmish finished and the pungent aroma of blood blossomed in the air.

Rilum's mouth watered.

***

Darkness fell by the time the long and sleek animal satisfied its appetite. It ate until its stomach refused more, then laid down to sleep and allow its meal to settle. The sailor squatted on the wide limb, licking his lips and swallowing the saliva flooding his gob whenever he inhaled the coppery scent of the animal's blood.

After the predator took its leave, Rilum knew to resist the urge to rush to the carcass, take some time before descending from his sanctuary. The beast may come back itself, or the whiff of freshly killed flesh might attract other hungry denizens.