The Innkeeper's Son

by Jeremy Brooks

  “What about the girl?” Jerron’s mother asked, setting her knitting aside. “I’ve some skill in healing, yet I could find nothing wrong with her.”

  Cano shifted uncomfortably. He had a hard choice to make. The events that had caused Maehril’s sleep would be difficult to explain. Who would believe such an outlandish tale? If he hadn’t seen it all with his own eyes, he would never have believed it himself. To get Maehril the help she needed, he was going to have to put his trust in someone. These kind folk had saved his life. They had saved Maehril as well. He owed them a debt of gratitude and for that he would offer them his allegiance.

  He took a seat by the fire and began his tale. The Shanlee’s listened with rapt attention as he recounted the girl he found wandering up the beach starving and alone. He told them about her inability to speak and the halcyon, white light that had, at times, emanated from her body. Their eyes lit with wonder when he spoke of the underwater ship graveyard and the cave that had beckoned him with its austere, green glow. He finished by telling them about her battle with the wall of blackness and his race to get her to Yennit, the only person he could think of who might be able to help him.

  “And so I sit before ya. Poor Maehril sleeps still. I need to find a way to help her.” He finished his story looking them each in the eye.

  “We have to help her pa,” Jerron said.

  “We will, son. We will,” Jerron’s father said, exhaling from his pipe. “They call me Westin, and this here is Hollise.”

  “Cano, Cano Ash’amar.”

  “Well Cano, I don’t know what you think Yennit can do for you, but Jerron and I will take you to him in the morning if you like.”

  “Is he close?” Cano asked.

  “Sure is, Cano. Ol’ Yennit’s manor house is just beyond the tomato fields. I’m the foreman of his farm.” Westin’s voice contained a swell of pride.

  Cano wondered how such a grossly overweight man could possibly work the farms of Yennit’s manor. Did they have horses that could hold him? He kept his amused thoughts to himself and thanked them for the help.

  “If ya don’t mind, I’d like to turn in fer the night,” Cano said, standing up and yawning deeply. Then with a wink he added, “I’m so tired, I feel like I jest tangled with a Rover.”

  The Shanlee’s all grinned warmly. Cano started toward his room when a thought struck him. Turning to face the family he asked, “One more thing before I call it a night. The dagger I carry. Ya know what that’s made of, don’t ya?”

  The smile on Westin’s face slipped away. “Terrallium. More than I’ve ever seen.” Cano nodded and looked at his feet feeling embarrassed for having spoken of the dagger. “We’re honest folk, Cano. A man’s belongings are his own. I’ve no right to something so valuable and truth be told, I’ve no need for it either. We’re very content with the way things are. We have a good life here.”

  Cano nodded. “Yer good people. A man like me doesn’t receive such kindness very often. Thank ya fer saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome, friend,” Westin said with genuine sincerity.

  Cano went back to his room and lay down on the feather mattress. For some time he lay awake staring at Maehril, hoping that he’d catch a glimpse of that white glow if even for a moment. He thought of his new friends. It had been so long since he had shared the company of strangers. For years now he had spent nearly every night alone, either camped on a beach or asleep on the deck of his skiff, with only the stars for company.

  Since the day his wife and daughter had died, he had embraced his loneliness as a sort of purgatory. Loneliness was his punishment for the countless failings of his life, whether true or self-imposed. Now, for reasons he couldn’t grasp, the Creator was giving him a chance to prove himself worthy of her mercy. In caring for Maehril, for protecting her as he should have done for Analie and Ahtarah, Cano had a chance to forgive himself at last, to put his burdened soul to rest.

  The rover could have killed him. In fact it should have killed him. Yet still he endured. He began to think of fate as an ocean, with currents and winds pushing him to uncharted destinations. He was no philosopher, but the idea that it had all happened for a reason -- his gills, his losses, Maehril -- took hold in his mind and gave him comfort. For a man tortured by the failures of his past, the hope of redemption was the only thing he had left.

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

  Sunlight spilled into the single window frame filling the small room with light and pulling Cano from his peaceful slumber. He slowly got to his feet, old age and sore wounds turning the simple act of standing into a battle of will.

  He reached his arms out and stretched, reveling in the tonic ache that passed throughout his muscles and joints. The older he got, the better a good morning stretch felt.

  The Shanlee’s were all sitting around a small square table in the main room of the modest house. Cano could smell eggs and bacon, and fresh biscuits. How long had it been since he had last eaten eggs, he wondered? His mouth started to salivate.

  “Have a seat, Cano,” Hollise invited. She wore a stained apron and a warm smile.

  “Got a plate made up for you,” Jerron added, patting the wooden chair next to him.

  Cano hobbled over and took a seat. The plate in front of him had more food than he could have eaten in an entire day. He picked up his knife and fork and looked around at his new friends. Their smiling faces enticed him to feel at home.

  The eggs were delicious, the bacon, even better. It had been so long since he had eaten a proper home cooked breakfast that he’d forgotten the wholesome magnificence of the flavors. His voice sung out a chorus of ‘mmms’ and ‘ahhhs’ as he savored every wonderful bite. The Shanlee’s laughed heartily as they watched him devour his meal, happy hosts pleased to see the effects of their hospitality. When he couldn’t finish another bite, Hollise insisted he eat more, practically forcing a forkful of eggs at his mouth. Jerron nearly fell out of his chair laughing, as he watched Cano squirm away from his mother's attempts to put more food into his belly.

  “I can’t thank ya enough, Hollise, but there isn’t room left in my stomach,” Cano said, blocking her attempts to feed him more bacon.

  “Oh come now. There’s no need to be shy. You’re amongst friends. Have some more,” she insisted.

  “Leave him be, woman. He’s had enough,” Westin playfully admonished his wife, preparing his pipe with tobacco.

  “He barely ate half of what I gave him,” she told her husband, pointing to Cano’s plate. She looked Cano right in the eye, inspecting him, as though she thought he was sick. “Was the food alright? You can tell me.”

  “Hollise, yer cooking was delicious,” Cano said earnestly. “I’m a small man. I ate as much as I could.”

  “You see woman. He’s had enough. He’s not a Massoniel you know,” Westin put in defensively.

  Hollise eyed him doubtfully. “Alright, alright,” she said, conceding at last. She picked up the plate and took it away.

  “How about it, pa?” Jerron asked, standing up and fidgeting excitedly. “Can we get on to Yennit’s now?”

  Westin took a few puffs of his pipe. The smoke smelled sweet, with accents of cinnamon and apple. Watching Westin puff happily gave Cano a craving for his own pipe.

  “You ready, Cano?” Westin asked.

  “Sure. Shall we bring the girl?”

  “I think so. Yennit’s manor will have more comfortable beds for her to lie in. Jerron, why don’t you grab the girl and bring her out to the carriage.”

  Jerron nodded eagerly and headed off to get Maehril.

  “Would ya get my bag as well?” Cano called after him.

  Jerron agreed and returned a moment later with the linen bag slung over his shoulder and Maehril cradled gently in his thick arms. Westin got up and Cano and Jerron followed him outside. The morning air was crisp, not terribly cold but a bit cooler than Cano was dressed for. Dew covered the green grass that surrounded the mo
dest square house. Cano could see the forest of beech trees a few hundred yards to the south. The house seemed to sit in the middle of a meadow that rose into a hill to the north. A thin dirt road led from the house off to the west where the field was cut off by the horizon. A gray barn lay just beyond the house with chickens milling about aimlessly, occasionally breaking off their wandering to peck at something on the ground. There was a carriage linked to two sturdy brown horses waiting for them next to the barn’s entrance.

  Westin's hefty bulk made walking a chore. He shifted considerably from side to side as he waddled his way to the carriage. Jerron carefully laid Maehril on the back bench of the carriage and squeezed into the sliver of bench next to her feet. Cano slid up into the front bench and watched as Westin hoisted himself up next to him. It took Westin a great deal of effort to climb up, and Cano had to wonder how the man managed to handle the duties of a farm foreman. Westin had sweat beading on his great sloping forehead as he adjusted his girth on the bench.

  When he was properly settled, Westin took the leather reins and gave them a tug. The horses began a slow walk as Westin steered them to the road. The road led up to a larger one that they turned onto. Once the carriage found the smooth surface of the wide road, he pushed the horses into a slow, even trot. The Shanlee house quickly faded into the distance behind them. The carriage crossed several small rises and the vegetable fields opened up in front of them. Long parallel rows of tomatoes, cabbage, carrots, turnips, and dozens of other vegetables stretched out as far as the eye could see.

  “These are the fields I work,” Jerron explained to Cano as they passed by the rows. “Most days I start at dawn pushing a plow or picking baskets.”

  Cano listened politely. He found Jerron’s unabashed excitement endearing. As the carriage continued on, Jerron spoke at length about his day to day chores and how much he liked tending the fields for Ol’ Yennit.

  “How bout ya, Westin?” Cano asked when Jerron stopped speaking to catch his breath. “What are yer days like?”

  “Oh I don’t do too much these days,” Westin replied. “Jerron takes care of most things. Mainly, I ride around in this carriage and look in on the help from time to time. Make sure everyone’s doing their share.”

  It wasn’t long before Yennit’s manor house appeared at the end of the road. Cano had been to Yennit’s a few times in the past, though it had been several years since his last visit, but he’d never come from this direction. The road he had taken through the beech trees came out near the front of the house. This track would lead them to the back side of Yennit’s manor.

  The house was extravagant. It was constructed of brick and stood three floors high. Windows with circular tops lined the building in rows marking the various rooms and floors. Several chimneys poked out from the roof, gently spitting out thin wisps of smoke. There were two separate buildings, both enormous in size, set back from the main construct. One was a great barn, where Cano knew the cows and pigs were housed. The second was a stable, where Yennit kept his vast number of high bred horses. A hen house, bustling with hundreds of chickens, sat just to the side of the barn.

  As the carriage neared the house, Cano could make out people. Some stopped their work amongst the rows of vegetables to watch their arrival. There seemed to be a steady line of workers carrying pails back and forth from the barn to an extension on the back of the house. Cano knew that Yennit’s cows produced a vast quantity of milk which Yennit sold to villagers in the towns along Merrame Bay.

  Westin brought the carriage to a halt in a clearing just outside the house. They all climbed down, Jerron carrying Maehril as though she were a priceless crystal who might shatter if she was dropped, and made their way through a door in the back of the house.

  The first room they entered looked to be a secondary kitchen where food was prepped for meals. Servants waved friendly hello’s to Westin and Jerron, and curiously eyed Cano as he passed. Cano kept a friendly smile on his face, nodding politely to each person as he followed the Shanlee’s deeper into the manor. After navigating several hallways, Westin led them into the library and then left them in search of Yennit.

  The library was impressive. Cano had seen it a time or two in the past, and still it left an impression on him. The height of the room encompassed all three floors of the house, with books lining shelves the entire length of each wall. Hand crafted tables and embroidered chairs were set about the room, staged to face a large brick fireplace built into the far wall. The roof of the space was constructed of glass that looked out at the sky above. Cano had never been in the library at night, but he imagined the serenity one might feel reading a good book by the fire beneath a star filled night sky.

  Jerron carefully laid Maehril on a velvet cushioned sofa and took a seat nearby, watching her with an almost reverent glow in his big, blue eyes. Cano paced the room while they waited for Westin to return. Maehril had been asleep four days now. After days of racing across the ocean, he had finally reached his destination, and his need to revive her caused his hands to shake with anticipation. He simply couldn’t sit still. If Yennit said there was nothing he could do, Cano was afraid he would come undone.

  After a stretch of time that felt like an eternity, Westin returned with Yennit. Yennit was an elderly man, average in height, though bent forward by age. He walked with a lacquered, wooden cane, topped with a crystalline knob that he leaned heavily upon. His hair was all but gone, his scalp pocked with liver spots, and the skin on his face hung loosely as though it were slowly melting away. He had aged considerably since Cano had last seen him. Though it was a dire thought, Cano was certain that Yennit’s time was nearing an end.

  Yennit smiled when he saw Cano and ambled up to shake his hand. They regarded each other with a certain unspoken respect held by two men from entirely different backgrounds who shared a common bond. They each had a passionate love for the world in which they existed: Cano for the sea and Yennit for the land’s many histories. In the past they had engaged in compelling conversations, sharing accrued knowledge and tales. Cano was sad to see his friend's condition, but his sorrow would have to wait.

  “Westin tells me you have a problem, old friend,” Yennit said, looking in Maehril’s direction. “Let’s see if I can help.”

  Yennit took a seat and listened attentively as Cano explained all that had happened to him since Maehril had wandered into his life. For most of the tale, his expression didn’t change, but his eyes seemed to widen when he mentioned the underwater cave and again when Cano spoke of the rover and his defense with the terrallium dagger. When Cano finished his tale, all eyes fell on Yennit, who quietly thought it all over for several moments.

  When Yennit spoke at last, his voice took on a grave tone.

  “As far as the girl’s condition, I’m afraid I don’t have many answers.” Cano immediately felt his spirits drop. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be of some help. First though, I’d like to ask you if I might have a look at that dagger.”

  Cano’s stomach was twisted into knots. He spared a regretful look at Maehril, then fished into his bag and pulled out the dagger. The blade was six inches long and made entirely of terrallium. It glittered a faint blue when Cano held it up to the sunlight, spilling in from the glass ceiling. The sudden glow captivated him and everyone in the room. The sheen grew as he kept it bathed in the sun’s warm rays. In moments its light was brilliant, a radiant blue glow that flooded the entire library, casting away shadows from even the darkest corners of the room. Even the shadows beneath chairs and tables disappeared, an occurrence that struck Cano as unnatural. He turned the blade over in his hands, studying the handle which was inscribed with an unfamiliar crest: two swords crossed against an image of the sun rising over a mountain peak.

  Cano reached to hand the dagger to Yennit, moving it away from the direct rays of sun. The instant the dagger left the sun’s light, the blue glow diminished, not fading entirely, but receding to a soft emanation.

  Yennit held the dagger in
both hands, staring down at it in silence. When he raised his head to look at Cano, tears were falling from his eyes.

  “Do you know what this is, old friend?” he asked Cano in a choked up voice.

  Cano merely shook his head too bewildered to speak. He had seen Yennit react passionately to several items he had discovered over the years, but never like this. Reverence shone in Yennit’s eyes as though he were looking upon his own child for the very first time.

  “Have you ever heard of the Harvens?”

  Again Cano had to answer, no.

  Yennit implored him to have a seat. Jerron and Westin pulled chairs over as well, forming a circle around the old man.

  “Long before Desirmor came to power, at the end of the Age of Queens, our Creator made her final creation. She made a race of men who she would favor above all others -- the Harvens. To ensure their strength, she endowed their race with many gifts. She gave them unparalleled strength in battle, an unnatural tolerance for pain, a mind bent on the search for reason and logic, and most of all she gave them theurgy. Harvens were once the strongest trivals in all the world.

  “The Creator knew that for this race to evolve after creation into a people worthy of their gifts they would need to live in an environment that pushed the limits of survival. She chose the Harven Mountains, a place of nearly unbearable winters. The rocky soil would make farming an act of patience and endurance, and animals to prey upon for sustenance would be few and difficult to hunt. She placed them in this land of hardships to mold them into a force so mentally and physically powerful that they could inherit their destiny as defenders of light and life; soldiers serving the will of the Earth.

  “That is why Desirmor destroyed them -- to purge the world of opposition to the darkness that controls his soul. Where the Harvens were the embodiment of light on Earth, Desirmor became the incarnation of darkness. In eradicating the Harven race, the balance of light and dark was thrown into flux.