The Innkeeper's Son

by Jeremy Brooks

  “Did you see that?” Sim asked Farrus in disbelief.

  Farrus nodded. “Look behind you.”

  Sim turned and looked back down the alley. All of the bodies had disappeared as well. The blood that had stained the paved stones of the alley was gone as though none of it had happened.

  “Was it real then, Farrus? Did we share some kind of sick nightmare?” Sim wasn’t sure if he was in his right mind.

  “It was real enough to me,” Farrus answered, spitting distastefully. “He must have been a trival that can travel.”

  “We need to get away from this city,” Sim said.

  “Quickly. We’ve drawn too much attention to ourselves,” Farrus agreed.

  “Should we tell Enaya about this?” Sim dreaded the smug admonishment he was certain they would get.

  “I’d rather not listen to her go on about how foolish and useless men are, but I don’t think we have a choice. They need to know.”

  “Heaven help us,” Sim said, hanging his head. He could already hear her preaching the stupidity of men.

  “Heaven help all men who travel with women,” Farrus said with a laugh. “Come. Let’s get back to the inn.”

  Sim followed him, looking back at the alley one more time, in bewilderment. The men he had killed had seemed so real. Even the blood had smelled real. As they walked back to the inn he wondered if he needed to carry their deaths with him. Could he hold himself responsible for illusions? Were they illusions, or had the Turk transported the bodies with him when he had vanished?

  It was late afternoon when they entered the common room of the Blue Trellis. The girls were still out, so Farrus suggested they get cleaned up before they returned. They took baths, then dressed and went to see if the women had returned to their rooms. When no-one answered the door, they went down to the common room to have a drink and wait for their companions to return. It was some time later, long after they had eaten and watched countless people come and go with the dinner service, that Sim began to worry. When the women hadn’t returned by morning that worry turned to outright fear.

  Chapter Fourteen: Thalson’s Dagger

  The sight of land steadily growing on the horizon was a great boon to Cano Ash’amar’s dwindling spirits. Three days at sea and still the girl slept. Cano was nervous. He knew she was special, her gifts were proven and undeniable. Why wouldn’t she wake up?

  He had been able to get fresh water into her and made a paste of fish he had caught at sea to force down her throat, yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t rouse her from the unnatural slumber that held her. And worse still, the light that periodically glowed from her like a spectral aura had vanished. Not once since she had fallen unconscious on the deck of his skiff, had the light shone. It worried him, consumed his every waking thought. He would never find rest until he had her back, good as new. That’s why he sought out Yennit.

  Yennit was a wealthy man who had a taste for rare objects. Cano had met him by chance years earlier, trading his deep sea treasures at a small fishing village in the south of Fandrall. Yennit had been entranced with many of the objects Cano had salvaged from the ocean’s depths. He not only purchased most of Cano’s wares that day, he gave Cano specific directions to his estate near the shores of Merrame Bay. Over the years Cano had made several trips to visit the eccentric old man, and a friendship had developed. To the rest of the world Yennit made his fortune in salt, but Cano knew that he was a lover of history who craved objects that spoke of a forgotten past. Yennit was smart and worldly. Cano hoped he could help Maehril. It was the only idea he could come up with.

  Merrame Bay was known for its shipping traffic, so Cano had chosen to aim his skiff for a secluded beach on the outer side of the Merrame Peninsula. The outer side of the peninsula was rocky and difficult to traverse. Cano hoped choosing to dock amongst the shallow rocky shoals would help him avoid notice. He planned to be away from his skiff for a few days while he sought Yennit’s aid. Leaving a boat unattended was always an invitation to thieves who might make off with his skiff. When he had visited Yennit in the past, he had always chosen to drop anchor in the same area, and thus far his luck had been good. To his knowledge, the Analie had never been tampered with. By the grace of God, his luck would stay true once again.

  Cano cut his speed as he entered the shoals. His goal was to drop anchor just outside of a sandbar that ran all the way to an outpost of rocks that served as a natural pier. The sandbar ran right past two tall jagged rocks. Cano could drop anchor right between them. The rocks would keep his boat relatively hidden from the shoreline. The only risk was that a storm might cause swells that could send his skiff crashing against one of the rocks. Fortunately, Merrame was known for its mild weather. Harsh storms were rare on the southeastern coast of Fandrall. That would work in his favor.

  Drifting in amongst shallow waters pocked with rocky outcroppings, Cano carefully maneuvered his boat until he found the spot he was looking for. The two rock towers rose from the depths of the ocean like spear points thrusting at the sky. Pelicans and Gulls lined the flat surfaces and clefts of the rocks watching his arrival like solemn guardians tolerating his intrusion on their shore. Their quiet stares made him uneasy, as though he were being condemned for a crime of morality. Perhaps, he thought with bitter self-effusion, they were blaming him for Maehril’s condition. He had to fix her, somehow.

  Taking the anchor, Cano dove down into the water. He swam to the bottom, a mere ten feet, and wedged the anchor into a fissure in the rocky ocean floor; then he returned to the boat. He gathered a few useful items along with several trinkets for Yennit into his linen sack, then went to get Maehril. She was still sleeping peacefully below the deck, her face a mask of serenity.

  Lucky for him, Maehril was a tiny girl and light enough for him to carry. He carefully cradled her in his arms and carried her topside. It was just past noontime. If he hurried, he could reach Yennit’s manor before the sun fell.

  Getting across the deeper water to the sandbar with Maehril in tow was difficult for Cano’s old body, but he managed. Soon he was walking across the sandbar to the shore with Maehril slung over his shoulder. He didn’t want to hurt her, but it was the easiest way for him to carry her.

  The shoreline was rocky, and he had to step carefully until he made it to the sparse field of beechwood trees that lay beyond. There was a thin road that ran through the center of the field. Yennit’s manor was about three hours walk once you found the road.

  “It won’t be long now, sure,” he said aloud to Maehril, when he found the road. “Yennit’ll help ya. He’ll know what to do, sure.”

  Days at sea left his legs shaky. The hard even ground, stiff and unmoving, proved challenging. Walking on dry land always took some adjusting for him, but he didn’t have the time now to sit down and master the impending nausea. He just forged ahead, trying to walk as quickly as he could manage until his stomach decided otherwise. When he could contain it no longer, Cano gently placed Maehril down beside the road on a patch of thick pale green grass and relieved himself of everything he’d eaten since the night before. He took a few moments to regain his breath and compose himself before laying Maehril back over his shoulder and continuing down the road to Yennit’s manor.

  The further inland he walked, the thicker the trees grew around the road. The tall gray beech trees, branches full of dark green leaves, loomed over the road, creating heavy shadows with long slivers of sunlight.

  It was silent. Far too silent for a wooded area. Cano began to feel increasingly anxious. His eyes darted back and forth to either side of the road scanning the underbrush for signs of movement. There was the possibility that the stress of his current situation was causing an irrational paranoia, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being stalked by a silent predator concealed amongst the small leafy shrubs that dominated the ground beneath the trees.

  He reached into his linen sack with his free hand and rooted around until he found what he was looking for: the
terralium dagger. He had brought it along as an item he might sell to Yennit, but for now it would serve as protection in the event of an attack.

  He quickened his pace as much as his weary legs would allow. As light as Maehril was, carrying her was taking its toll. Pretty soon he would have to put her down and take a breather. The thought frightened him. His right hand reflexively gripped the dagger, tightening until the blood began to drain from his fingers, making his hand numb.

  The snapping of a stick to his right made him spin and face the woods. Nothing moved. A soft breezed passed through, barely affecting the leaves and branches. His own rapidly beating heart was the only sound, echoing in his ears like thunder claps over a stormy sea. He was sweating profusely.

  Cano turned back to the road and began to jog. Fear consumed him, dominated his thinking, and stoked his resolve. It's only in your mind, he kept telling himself, repeating the mantra like a chant of futile reassurance.

  Another twig snapped to his right, and the black visage of a lunging creature caught his peripheral. With no time to turn and face his attacker, Cano dropped to the ground, twisting Maehril beneath him. A claw ripped across his back as the creature overshot its mark.

  Cano quickly got to his feet, placing himself between Maehril and the four legged creature which faced him from only a few paces away. He held the dagger out, waving it threateningly at the beast, hoping desperately that the sight of his weapon would be enough to drive the thing away. It crouched on four legs with sharp claws diggin at the dirt. Its round earless head was split in half by a massive jaw, lined with flesh-rending teeth. Short black bristles covered its body, and its large black eyes looked hungry. Cano looked deep into those eyes and knew his only hope of escape was to kill the creature.

  The beast made a quick move toward him, a test of will -- its desire to feed against Cano’s desire to live. Cano shuffled back defensively but jabbed his weapon, missing badly. The creature made a feint to the right then lunged at Cano’s legs, trying to take him down to the ground. It missed with it jaws but swiped at Cano’s foot with its large claws before it jumped back. Cano buckled under the pain as the animal's claws ripped two large gashes in his shin. He fell to the ground, and the beast leapt for his throat. Cano got his hands up, grabbing at its neck, and catching the creature in its front leg with a swipe from his dagger. The beast howled in pain and retreated momentarily. Several fresh wounds marked Cano across his chest and arms from the defense. He could feel the blood wetting his flesh, the smell stoking the creature’s hunger. The pain was severe, but his will to defend Maehril was all he would allow himself to feel. It gave him strength.

  Apparently, the dagger had some kind of hidden theurgy as steam rose from the beast’s wounded leg. A smell like charred meat filled the air. The creature eyed the terrallium blade warily, but its hunger drove it to continue its assault. Cano decided to take advantage of its hesitation. He charged at the beast, stabbing wildly with the dagger. The creature tried to retreat, but Cano’s sudden aggression caught it by surprise, and it took another wound across its neck before it could get away. It ran off into the woods howling in pain. Smoke marked its path into the woods, wafting up in a line through the underbrush in the direction it had run.

  Cano fell to his knees. Exhaustion and relief overwhelmed him. Tears forced their way free from his eyes, an involuntary reaction to the crushing fear and stress he had just endured. He dragged himself weakly to Maehril and rested beside her. Blood spilled from the numerous wounds he’d sustained. For several moments he lay there deeply breathing.

  Desperation began to assail his senses. His body was too old. The strain of carrying Maehril, coupled with the loss of blood had rendered him too weak to make it to Yennit’s. He felt faint, and lightheaded. Lying on his back, his eyes focused on the soft white clouds floating lazily amongst a light blue sky. The longer he stared, the faster they seemed to move, swirling in circles like a foaming whirlpool in the ocean. His consciousness was slipping.

  Another branch broke off the side of the road. He lifted his head just enough to see two more of the beasts standing just several paces away. A final tear slipped from his eye as he took Maehril’s hand in his. He thought of his daughter Analie, and his wife Ahtarah. He had been unable to protect them. Now his failure was complete. He had promised himself that he would protect Maehril, and in the end he had only brought her to her death.

  A whizzing hum followed by a wet thud, cut through the sound of his quiet sobs. He heard one of the beasts howl in pain and looked up in time to see the second creature take an arrow through its sickly black eye. Footsteps raced toward him, growing louder and louder as his mind began to slip away. Before his consciousness turned to black, the face of a chubby young man blocked out his view of the swirling clouds.

  *******************************************************************

  Cano awoke in a dark room, dimly lit by a single candle on a small table beside him. He sat up, wincing at the stinging pain that emanated from the multiple cuts he received from the beast on the road. A quick inspection showed a hard, muddy paste covering several areas of his body. Someone had given him healing.

  He looked around and saw Maehril sleeping peacefully on a feather mattress in the corner of the opposite end of the room. His linen bag lay at the foot of his own feather mattress. He quickly rifled through its contents and was pleased to find that all of his belongings were accounted for.

  He even saw the terrallium dagger. That made him pause. The dagger was worth a fortune. Even the most honest man in the world would be tempted to take an object that valuable.

  There was a tray next to his bed with a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread. As hungry as he was, Cano didn’t feel right about accepting hospitality from someone he didn’t know. First, he would properly introduce himself, express his gratitude, and then he’d take care of his hunger.

  A young man appeared in the door. He was short and fat -- not corpulent, but a shade more than stout. He had spots of acne on his young face to go with a stubby nose that crooked in the middle as though it had been broken a few times. His brown hair fell about his face and ears like the wiry strands of a broom, and he looked to be sweating mildly. The young man was ugly. There was no other way Cano could have described him. Still, there was something about his big blue eyes -- kindness. Those innocent blue eyes spoke of an undeniably gentle spirit. Cano knew right away that this man was a friend.

  “I wasn’t sure if you would make it,” the young man said stepping into the room. His face drew in the light, and Cano realized that ugly wasn’t quite serious enough to describe the young man’s affliction. Cano actually felt bad for him.

  “I thought hope was lost back there, as well,” Cano said reaching out to shake the young man’s hand. “I owe ya my life, I think.”

  The young man smiled and nodded. He looked over at Maehril, concern streaked his face. “What happened to her? Ma had a look. She didn’t find a thing wrong. She hit her head?”

  “Something like that. She’s been asleep fer a few days now. I was taking her to see a friend I hoped could help.”

  “Ol’ Yennit?” the young man asked, never looking away from Maehril.

  Cano smiled and nodded. “Yep. Ol’ Yennit.” The boy had a quiet, shy way about him. “Name’s Cano, Cano Ash’amar.”

  “Jerron,” he said with a wide smile that showed two rows of very imperfect teeth. “Jerron Shanlee.” He looked again at Maehril, then back at Cano. “Eat. It’ll get stale.”

  Cano smiled again and thanked him. He poured himself a glass of the water and drank it down gratefully. “What were those things back there?” he asked, tearing into the bread.

  “Rovers. Nasty things,” Jerron said with distaste. “Lucky for you, me and Pa was out hunting conies. Rovers love eating people. Have to be careful around here. A good sword usually keeps them back. They hunt alone. They watch you. If you look weak, easy you know? Then they jump you. You’re real lucky we saw you when we did
.”

  Cano nodded in agreement as he stuffed his face with the hard bread. Jerron sat down on a stool in the corner of the room and watched him eat with a broad smile on his pimply face.

  “How old are ya, Jerron? If ya don’t mind me asking?” Cano asked between bites.

  “Just turned eighteen a few weeks back. Pa says I’m a man now.” Jerron shook his head. “I don’t feel different, though.” He paused in thought. “Should I?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cano said with a laugh. He finished the last bite of his bread.

  “If you feel up to it, how about you come and meet Ma and Pa?” Jerron asked, hopefully.

  Cano nodded and reached out his hand. Jerron took it and pulled him to his feet. A sudden look of wonder crossed his big blue eyes. Cano realized that Jerron was looking at his ears. Normally he would have felt self-conscious about having his mutation discovered, but Jerron’s almost child-like innocence made him feel at ease.

  “Are those gills?” Jerron asked as though the discovery were akin to meeting the Creator in the flesh.

  “Aye, lad. I have gills.” Jerron made a move to touch them, but Cano caught his arm.

  “Sorry,” Jerron said shamefully, putting his arm down at his side. “I’ve never seen a man with gills before. Can you breathe like a fish in the ocean?”

  “Aye, lad. Same as a fish.”

  Jerron smiled again, a wide infectious grin. “Sure am glad I met you, Cano.”

  “Not nearly as glad as I am to have met ya.”

  Jerron led him into a thin hallway that opened into a fair-sized square room. Jerron’s father sat in a chair by a window, puffing contentedly on a crude wooden pipe. His mother rocked in a chair by the small fireplace, working on some knitting. They were both terribly obese.

  “He lives,” Jerron’s father said with a hearty smile.

  “Thanks to ya and yer family, my friend,” Cano replied. His wounds were sore, but he was alive.