And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

no attention to the waves carryin’ him away or the sun creepin’ across the endless sky. His mind turned to Thorn and the two men what’d carried him off.
    He didn’t know what the big gray feller and the one what’d tried to drown him wanted with the Small God, but he s’pposed it might be easy to guess: he were a Small God from outta the Green, after all. That little man had magic in him and maybe they knew how to get it out.
    Should’ve found a way to stop them.
    The thought bounced around his head, but ev’rytime the guilt got its teeth into him, he recalled the tip o’ the big gray feller’s finger brushing his chest and endin’ him up floatin’ ‘round like a chunk o’ driftwood. Truly, he coudn’t’ve done nothin’ to stop them.
    Sorry, Thorn.
    His heart ached, his throat tightened, restrictin’ his breathin’—the only thing he were capable of. He wished to close his eyes and cease starin’ at the sky and the way it encouraged him into considerin’ there might be a way out o’ his predicament. But he were afraid that, if he closed them, he’d see Thorn’s face, or that o’ his son Rilum what Thorn’d turned into when they snuck up on the town o’ Haven. Other’n when it showed up as the Small God’s disguise, Horace hadn’t pictured Rilum’s face in a long, long while.
    Instead o’ blinkin’—which he couldn’t do—or thinkin’ o’ his son—which he didn’t want to do—Horace continued starin’ at the vast blue emptiness above him. If nothin’ else, doin’ so kept him from imagin’ what might be swimmin’ past in the green depths below. Wouldn’t be no God o’ the Deep—he were sure he hadn’t bobbed his way so far from the shore—but a lot o’ other creatures in the sea might wanna make a meal outta one gristly ol’ sailor.
    The sky o’erhead went misty and blurred, and Horace thought his eyes might’ve been stingin’ if he were able to feel anythin’. Might’ve been from the salty water splashin’ up into them, might’ve been tears what he didn’t even know he’d cried. Either way, nothin’ for him to do to clear the new, murky nature o’ his sight, so he continued starin’ at the smudgy heavens.
    A larger wave washed against him, tiltin’ him onto his side. Horace stopped his breathin’ to keep from suckin’ the ocean into his lungs. While doin’ so, he glimpsed a smear o’ another color off to his starboard, but then his floatin’ body righted itself and nothin’ but sky filled his vision again.
    The shore!
    His heart beat faster, hammerin’ against his ribs. One o’ them might’ve still hurt from when Thorn fell outta nowhere on top o’ him, but his current condition kept him from knowin’.
    I ain’t floated so far as I figured.
    Realizin’ it stirred remnants o’ hope in his chest, but it didn’t last. Didn’t matter how close he were to the shore if he couldn’t find his way onto the beach. And even if he did, what would he do when he arrived? Lay on the sand until seaweed attached itself to him, the sun bleached him white, and crabs made homes underneath him, just like all the other driftwood? No, the time’d come for the ol’ sailor to recognize his life were near its end. The only question left to answer were how long until his final demise.
    His view o’ the sky went even more blurry and this time Horace knew no waves was washin’ into his eyes. The blurriness came from regret.
    Salty tears sat on top o’ his unblinkin’ eyes. His ears heard the swish o’ water rinsin’ in and outta them; his nose sniffed the briny scent o’ the deep what he’d come to hate durin’ near thirty-five turns o’ the seasons knockin’ boot heels on one deck or another. When Dunal’d knocked him o’er the side o’ the Devil o’ the Deep, he’d conceded his life’d end in the ocean, but he came out alive somehow. Wouldn’t happen twice.
    Weren’t that much luck left in his world. If there were, Thorn’d still be with him.
    His