“Be at ease, Cano,” Yennit tried to reassure him. “It’s just a horse. He’s harmless.”
“Which one is bothering you?” Jerron asked.
“That one,” Cano pointed. The horse continued to watch him with the same unnerving blank stare. “Don’t ya see? He’s watching me. Shifty beast. He’s up to something.”
Jerron and Yennit watched the horse for a moment, then looked at each other and broke out in laughter. Cano didn’t care for being the butt of their jokes. He made a sour face and scowled.
“Come now, Cano. We don’t mean to jest. You need to ride to make it out there before sundown,” Yennit tried to reason with him.
“I’ll take that horse, Cano,” Jerron offered. “Let’s go.”
Cano folded his tan, bony arms and thought it over. He felt nauseous and weak. Fear gripped his old body, rooting his feet to the ground. Now that it was time to depart, time to climb his mount and ride, he could feel a paralyzing fear taking hold.
He made himself think of Maehril. The girl needed him. There was a family of shraels awaiting his arrival. If he couldn’t manage to overcome his fear of riding a horse, how could he expect to find the tree?
It was silly. He looked again at the horses and swallowed his apprehension. A bite on the ankles from a horse would seem a small nuisance compared with the sharp beak and talons he’d soon be facing.
Taking a deep breath, Cano followed Jerron to the horses, though he made sure to let the boy walk in front like a shield. Yennit watched from the doorway.
“Come back in one piece, men,” he called after them.
Jerron looked over his shoulder and smiled reassuringly. Cano just scowled. The boy seemed to think this was just some fun adventure. That was the way it worked for young people, with their muscles and their strong backs, sleeping through the night without having to wake up seven times to urinate. They all thought they were indestructible. Nothing seems impossible when you’re young and bursting with energy. He probably thinks they’ll just walk right into the cave, slay a few shraels with the same ease you’d have stepping on some ants, grab a handful of fruit and be back to the manor in time for supper.
Westin looked as though he might sick up when he handed his son the reins to his mount. The fat edges of his homely face were pale and worried, like a man who had dreamed of his own death and knew the moment had come.
Jerron spared a moment to slide the handle of his axe into a sheath in the saddle, before he met his father’s afflicted eyes. He put a reassuring hand of his father’s wide shoulder. Though they were even in height, Jerron appeared small and fragile standing before his father.
“Come back to me boy,” Westin managed to utter, fiercely blinking away the sudden rush of tears. He pulled Jerron into a tight embrace, squeezing his son as though the strength of his grip would bring his son back safely.
“You worry too much, Pa,” Jerron said when Westin finally released him. He climbed up on his mount and stroked the horse's neck. Despite his weight, the horse didn’t seem to notice he had a rider. Its black eyes just kept staring at Cano. “We’ll be home tomorrow. You’ll see. Everything is going to be just fine.”
Westin nodded unsurely, dabbing at his eyes with the same yellowish rag he used to wipe sweat from his forehead. He turned his attention to Cano who still stood a safe distance away from the horses.
“Well then. You going or not?” he asked, offering Cano the reins.
Cano swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He took a few small steps toward the horses, thinking that if he moved too quickly one might attack him. Though he moved toward the horse that had seemed gentler in nature, his eyes remained fixed on Jerron’s mount. Westin tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Cano to take the reins.
Finally Cano approached the horse. Westin placed the leather reins in his weathered, gnarly hands. As his fingers closed around the reins, Cano expected the horse to haul off suddenly and drag him around. Nothing happened. In fact the horse turned its head, bringing its wet nose to Cano’s shoulder, sniffing him curiously. For a fleeting moment, Cano was sure the horse intended bite him, but instead, once it determined that Cano’s scent was acceptable, it nuzzled his neck and encouraged him to mount.
“That’s enough of that,” Cano laughed, swatting the horse's wet, ticklish nose away from his neck and ears. He turned to Westin. “Alright. Give me a leg up, would ya.”
Cano managed to get a foot in the stirrup, and then Westin hoisted him up into the saddle. At first he swayed about trying to control his balance. Sitting up high in the saddle was an unfamiliar feeling, and it threw off his equilibrium. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, holding onto the pommel with both hands, fighting to remain on the horse. Westin reached up and steadied him with a wide, thick hand.
“Relax, Cano. You’re doing fine,” Jerron tried to encourage him. “Think of Maehril. Remember why you’re doing this.”
Cano kept his eyes closed tight. He felt that if he opened them and saw how high he was sitting, he would surely pass out and fall. Jerron’s words filled his mind. He thought of Maehril, asleep in a room that Yennit had prepared for her. If he hoped to master his irrational fear of riding, he needed to find the right perspective. He needed to constantly hold onto his motivations, keeping all other thoughts out of his head. Maehril’s plight had to become his sole focus, the source of his concentration.
Breathing deeply, with the memory of her worried face as he dove back into the ocean to explore that cave so many days ago implanted in his consciousness, Cano mastered himself and opened his eyes. Jerron and Westin regarded him with deep frowns of concern. He ignored them. His feet found the stirrups, and his hands took the reins. He sat up straight.
“Which way?” he asked Westin, with a voice thick with resolve.
“Follow the road through the beech trees. When it runs into the coast, ride north. According to Yennit, if you set a good pace, you’ll see those arches by sundown,” Westin told him. “I’m told shrael’s hunt in the evening,” Westin continued, this time speaking warningly to his son. “Find a copse of trees to camp under, and don’t use a fire. The smoke would be as good as a beacon.”
Jerron nodded, his face betraying fear which he was trying very hard to disguise. “Tell Ma I love her.”
Cano kicked his mount into a trot following the road they had ridden that morning. Jerron quickly led his gelding up beside him.
It was still only mid-morning. Cano was worried about time. Yennit was certain they would make it well before sundown, but Cano wasn’t so sure. He was an unskilled rider, and neither he nor Jerron actually knew where they were going. Out on the ocean, he could read the sun and wind, check his compass, and point his boat to find his destination. Here on land, all he knew for sure was that he needed to find the coast and follow it north. He could only hope that everything would work out right in the end.
They rode in silence past the long, endless rows of vegetables. Workers stood to watch them pass, like the solemn spectators of a funeral procession. Word of their mission must have spread quickly. Two men riding to face the very beasts that had savagely taken one of their co-workers would create quite a buzz.
Cano kept his eyes forward, and tried to ignore them. Doubtless they looked at him and Jerron as two fools off to meet their end. If things went as he hoped, they would slip into that cave and make off with the fruit without ever having to lay eyes on one of those awful creatures. The whole point was to survive. If he and Jerron had to battle the shraels, their story would not be told as anything but a tragedy.
Beyond the field they crested a few low hills and saw the Shanlee’s home lying to the left, a short distance ahead. Cano expected Jerron to stop at his home and say a few parting words to his mother, but as they approached the fork that led off toward the forest of beech trees, Jerron turned his mount away from his home. Cano studied the young man’s round, unsightly face. Jerron simply looked ahead, stark determination plain in the set corners of his wide lips
and furrowed brow.
It was nearing noon as they entered the forest. The air was warm and humid beneath a clear blue sky and bright yellow sun. The forest smelled of dampness and pollen. The branches of the beech trees, bursting with dark green leaves, made the whole area feel vibrant and alive. The day before, with Maehril slung over his shoulder and the impending feel of unseen eyes, Cano hadn’t been able to appreciate the forest's intrinsic beauty.
At one time he had lived in a place much like this on the southeastern coast of Perth. His home with Ahtarah and Analie had been on the edge of a small growth of beech trees. While he fished for Phemeraks in the waters of the Southern Ocean, Ahtarah tended to a small field of vegetables and a modest stable of pigs, cows, and chickens. At night he would sit with his wife beneath the starry skies of southern Perth and smoke tobacco which they grew in their fields. He loved that his wife smoked a pipe. Not many women were known to enjoy the habit. That was one of the things he had loved most about his wife. While he was a man of simple needs and pleasures, she was one to always defy convention. She never felt comfortable in the traditional roles expected of a good housewife. She smoked a pipe, she wore trousers in the fields, and she always spoke her mind.
“You’re getting comfortable on that horse,” Jerron said, snapping Cano out of the daydream he was having about his wife.
“I suppose he’s not so bad,” Cano answered, scratching his hawkish nose. The horse walked at a very brisk pace, set by Jerron. So far, the fears he’d held of getting thrown off, bitten, or urinated upon, had proven unfounded. Just to prove to himself that he was well on his way to completely overcoming his fear of horses, Cano reached out and stroked his mount on its neck.
“I think this is where we found you,” Jerron pointed out.
Cano looked around. Jerron may have been right, but Cano saw nothing that he recognized. In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t bothered to memorize the details around him. Then he saw several streaks of dried blood marking the tan dirt. Jerron noticed as well, and nodded grimly. Suddenly Cano became aware of the mild soreness he still felt from the many wounds he’d received the day before. It was remarkable what Hollise had been able to accomplish. There had been a deep gash on his left arm. Now that gash was practically healed with a raw batch of new skin already growing in. He should have been unable to get out of bed. The fact that he was moving about nearly as good as new, only a day later, was an incredible blessing. He owed the Shanlee’s much. He would repay them by making certain Jerron returned home alive.
“What was she like?” Jerron asked.
“Who?”
“Maehril. I know you said she can’t talk, but what was she like?”
Cano thought about it a moment. How do you describe the personality of a mute girl you’d only known for a day?
“Well it’s hard to say.” He scratched his scalp. “I think she’s sweet. And I think she thinks I’m funny.” Jerron listened to him intently. He knew he’d have to give the boy more. “The thing bout her is, she cared bout me, right off, as if she knew…it was as if she knew that I needed someone to care bout me.” A sad, sympathetic look came across Jerron’s face. “I lost my wife and daughter many years ago. I always blamed myself, these gills. Somehow she eased that pain. The only way I think I’ll ever be able to fergive myself is by helping her. Is that something ya can understand?”
“I can understand that,” Jerron smiled. After a quiet moment he said, “I think I’d like to see this white light you talked about.”
“It’s the light of heaven, my boy. Mark me on that. The girl is special. She has a purpose. Something divine. That’s why I’m riding out here to risk my neck.”
“I believe you Fishman. That’s why I’m here,” Jerron said.
“Well the truth of it is boy that I’m glad fer the help, but I don’t think ya know what ya got into here.”
“I saw that thing take Thierry,” Jerron said as a dark cast came over his face. “I was there, not twenty feet away. It could’ve been me that day. It could’ve been. Poor Thierry screamed for help. Then it ripped him in half.” Jerron's eyes grew wide, haunted. “Right there in the sky above us. Ripped him right in half.”
“And still ya came,” Cano said.
Jerron looked at him with a fierceness that Cano didn’t believe he was capable of expressing. For all the boy’s blue-eyed innocence and kindly demeanor, there was apparently a puissant ferocity hidden beneath the surface.
“I may be young, Fishman, but I can fight.” Each word was spoken as its own iron clad promise.
Cano was glad that Jerron was so passionate. He didn’t need some doe-eyed farm boy swinging an axe beside him. He wondered suddenly if the young man had ever been away from the farm.
“Have ya lived here yer whole life?” he asked.
Jerron shook his head. There was something sad about the way he spoke. “We came here ten years ago. My people were destroyed by Desirmor’s armies. Pa thinks we might be the only Massoniel left.”
Cano had never heard of Massoniel. He had traveled extensively, but there were many places he had never been.
“Massoniel? Where is that?” he asked.
“Massonia is in the Northern Mountains of Altrega,” Jerron replied. Then he added glumly, “It used to be.”
“Why did Desirmor come after Massonia?”
“Desirmor’s Law. A captain in his army wanted to marry one of our women. She was already pledged to another. My people are stubborn and proud. When she said she wouldn’t marry the captain, well that was good enough for us. Desirmor threatened war if we disobeyed one of his nine laws. He came with his armies and swept through our lands. They left no-one alive.”
Jerron rode with his head down, his shoulders slumped. Cano could have wept. He knew a great deal about loss. He could understand the young man’s pain. Desirmor was ruthless, Cano knew that much, but to completely destroy an entire race? Cano couldn’t even begin to comprehend the darkness that must infest that man’s heart.
“How did ya survive?” he asked, sending sympathy drifting through the air like a warm pat on the back.
“We were away in the south. Pa was trading with one of Yennit’s men. My sister Ansoni had stayed behind with my grandparents. She was killed along with everyone else.”
“I’m sorry fer ya,” Cano said sadly.
Jerron let out a long sigh. Cano thought he might be holding back his emotions. “I was young. I hardly remember the others. Still, I feel this emptiness inside of me that’s hard to explain. Like I’ve lost something that can never be replaced. My parents try very hard to raise me to believe that a man can find happiness in the simple pleasures of life, but I’m not sure they still feel that way. I see them weeping, sometimes, when they believe they’re alone. At least they have each other.”
Cano pulled the reins, forcing his mount to a halt. Jerron stopped his own horse and looked at him with his sad blue eyes.
“Let me tell ya something, son,” Cano spoke intensely. He was about to give the young man a lesson he had learned through years of loneliness and pain. Jerron gave him his full attention, his moist, blue eyes shimmering in the noontime sun. “Happiness is the simple pleasure of life. Happiness is whatever ya want it to be. Maybe it’s a quiet smoke under the stars at the end of a long day. Maybe it’s a swim in the warm blue waters of the tropical ocean. Maybe it's counting all the colors in the sky as the sun sets behind the mountains. Whatever it is, whatever makes ya stop fer even a brief moment during the day to appreciate that yer still walking and breathing, that’s happiness.
“What happened to yer people…well that’s tragic. It’s downright evil. But ya don’t need them to be happy. Find yerself a nice girl. Some girl that makes the earth turn fer ya. Find a girl that helps ya understand what we’re all doing here in the first place. Love. That’s it. Love. That’s why the Creator put all this together. It’s what gives our lives a purpose. Find a girl to love and all of it will make sense to ya. That’s what keeps yer par
ents going. They love each other. They love their son. Ya never get over what ya lost, but if ya have something to love, at least ya can be glad fer the things ya have.”
Jerron’s round face, so unsightly with its acne, the crooked nose, the missing teeth, had listened to Cano’s impassioned speech with a solely intensive focus. His eyes still glistened with the effort to forestall an outpouring of emotion, but he didn’t cry. His wide mouth slowly curved into a grateful smile, and he nodded appreciatively.
“Thank you, Fishman.” he said. “Do you think I can find love?”
Cano kicked his gelding back into a trot.
“Sure. Sure. Love is out there fer all of us. Why wouldn’t ya think ya can find love?”
“Well…,”Jerron seemed embarrassed to say it, “I’m not exactly what people would call handsome.”
Cano nearly fell off his horse in laughter. He threw his head back and roared. When he had finally calmed down, he looked at the boy with a newly discovered affection.
“Jerron, my lad, ya aren’t pretty, there’s no denying that. But look at me. Do I look like I was ever a pretty man? Phah. Haven’t ya ever heard that love is blind?” Jerron seemed embarrassed, but he smiled and snickered and took the ribbing with good humor. “There’s a girl out there fer ya, my boy. Don’t ya worry bout that.”
Jerron smiled and sat up straighter. They continued to make their way through the forest of beech trees, laughing and exchanging friendly barbs as they rode. Cano was really starting to like the young man. It had been so long since he had been around people, he’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone around to laugh with.
The road led them out of the forest and into a field of tall grass, then turned sharply north through the field. Jerron brought his gelding to a halt when they reached the turn in the road. Cano scanned the horizon for any sign of the coastline, but saw nothing.
“I don’t see the coast,” he said.
Jerron nodded in agreement. He sat up high in his saddle and craned his neck uselessly.
The Innkeeper's Son Page 33
