The Innkeeper's Son

by Jeremy Brooks

  “Ol’ Yennit said we had to follow the road to the coast, then turn north,” Jerron said. “I don’t see the coast.” He pointed up the road. “Maybe it runs into the coast further up that way.”

  Cano knew that if they kept going east, they would reach the coast eventually. The road might intersect with the coast further up, but there was no guarantee.

  “What should we do, Fishman?” Jerron asked.

  Cano wondered how long the area had been hunting grounds for the shraels. It was possible that the road had changed over time to take travelers a safer distance around the nest. If they took the road and it led somewhere inland, they might become lost and lose a great deal of precious time.

  “Let’s keep going east,” Cano answered, unsurely.

  Jerron raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “Not at all. I’ve got nothing to go on but my gut.”

  “Good enough for me,” Jerron chuckled.

  They kicked their mounts back into a slow trot. The tall grass made the travel more difficult. They had to be careful not to push the horses too quickly and risk a hoof getting tangled in the grass. A horse with a broken ankle would mean that one of them would have to walk. Then time would really be against them.

  The tall grass soon gave way to an endless stretch of golden sand running north and south along the calm blue ocean. For the first time since he’d thrown Maehril over his shoulder and made his way inland, Cano felt a glimmer of peace. Through his long hooked nose, he deeply inhaled the sweet, salty aroma that always gave him a feeling of home. He looked out at the gentle swells, tenderly licking the golden coastline, and longed to feel the familiar rocking of his skiff beneath his bare feet. With the Creator’s blessing, he would survive this quest and swim in the warm ocean water once more.

  “What’s it like to swim?” Jerron asked, as they followed a thin trail that ran just beyond the sandy beach to their right.

  “What’s that, now?” Cano wasn’t sure he’d heard the boy right. Never swam before?

  “Swimming!” Jerron called out. He must have thought Cano couldn’t hear him over the constant ocean breeze. “What’s it like!?”

  “No need to shout, now. I heard ya jest fine. Jest couldn’t believe what I heard, is all.”

  It was a funny thing that Cano had just noticed. He was hearing things much better, lately. Before Maehril had come stumbling up to his camp so many days ago, he’d been half deaf. Years of listening to the roar of the ocean had taken its toll on his hearing. But now things were different. He had only realized how clearly he could hear because Jerron had yelled at him like he was deaf. Even with the wind and the clatter of the horse's hooves, Cano had heard Jerron with perfect clarity. Did it have something to do with Maehril? Had she cured him somehow? Was there no end to her miracles?

  “Is that weird? Does everyone know how to swim?” Jerron asked.

  “Oh I don’t know about everyone…but most know how, I would say,” Cano answered, thoughtfully rubbing the perpetual gray stubble on his bony chin.

  “So I am weird,” Jerron said as his shoulders sagged.

  “Oh, come on now, boy. There’s nothing weird bout it. There’s people everywhere that can’t do things I’d bet ya take fer granted.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. What are ya good at?”

  Jerron frowned and thought hard. After a several moments he threw his hands up in frustration.

  “I’m not good at anything. All I know how to do is farm.”

  “Don’t sell yerself short, lad. We’ll find ya something that ya do better than most,” Cano told him calmly. “Yer young yet. Sure. Ya can’t find out what ya can really do, until the world challenges ya. Do ya see?” Jerron smiled at him. “Take today. Today we’re going to find out how good ya are at killing shraels.”

  “For both our sake, I sure hope I’m great at it,” Jerron joked, getting a long hearty laugh from Cano.

  “Tell ya what,” Cano said. “If we make it through this here and get that girl to open her eyes, I’ll take ya swimming. Teach ya everything there is to know.”

  “I’d like that, Fishman,” Jerron smiled earnestly.

  Hours passed as they traveled up the coast, sharing stories and laughs. Perhaps it was the gloom that awaited them on the trail ahead that caused them to seek out reasons to laugh. For all their mirth and amusement, a pit of nerves sat in the depths of each man’s stomach, taunting them with the dire hopelessness of their mission. A fisherman and a farm boy, riding to battle against a family of shraels. Impossible odds. A fool’s errand.

  Eventually the terrain began to rise. The golden sandy beach gave way to dark boulders and rocks bespeckled like the night skies with scores of light shelled periwinkles. Soon the coastline became a cliff, rising higher and higher above the sea as they rode north, until the water lay a few hundred feet or more below.

  Well off ahead of them, Cano finally saw the arches that Yennit had described. They were three tall towers of rock, cut through the middle by the erosive ocean water. The first thing Cano noticed with an eerie chill was the quiet stillness in the grassy knolls that topped each towering arch. Anywhere else in the world, such a spot would be teeming with coastal birds making their nests in the grass perched high above the ocean. He should have seen gulls, or pelicans circling the waters, but the scene around the arches was strangely moribund.

  Then he saw the dark red patches dotting the ground around them, at first sparse, then with each step north, becoming more clustered and frequent. It was shrael dung, and it was everywhere.

  He forced his mount to a halt. Through his thin legs, he could feel the animal beginning to stir. Horses had that innate ability to sense something foreboding. The horse knew there were predators about, and it was starting to become restless.

  “Those are the arches,” Jerron whispered. Cano merely nodded. “What’s that smell? Is that the shraels?”

  “The ground is covered in their dung,” Cano said, pointing to the red mounds all around them.

  “Disgusting,” Jerron muttered, covering his face with the crook of his arm.

  Cano scanned their surroundings. The sun was less than two hours from setting. That was good. It gave them time to get ready. To the west, a short ride from the coast, the terrain descended to a forest of trees that blocked the path inland. They would have to set up their camp in that forest. Shrael’s had a very long wingspan. They wouldn’t be able to fly within the forest’s canopy.

  He lumbered down off his horse, teetering as he searched for balance after hours on horseback. With weak legs, Cano walked over to the cliff’s edge and looked up the coast. His eyes followed a line directly across from the arches and found the cave mouth.

  In spite of his bulk, Jerron hopped off his horse with ease. He came to Cano’s side and looked for the cave face.

  “That’s got to be it,” he said, speaking in low tones.

  Cano searched the ground above the cave. There were a few dead trees spread out at random and the occasional large boulder poking out of the tall coastal grass. Not much else.

  “Well…” Cano frowned. He wasn’t one for planning and strategy. “I suppose we could tie our rope off to one of them trees out there. Then I’ll climb down to the cave and get the fruit.”

  Jerron raised a curious brow. “That’s it? You’re just going to walk right into that cave and climb back out?”

  “Ya got a better idea?” Cano asked.

  “What about the shraels?”

  “I told ya before. They hunt in the evening. We’ll wait for them to leave and climb down.”

  “Aren’t they going to see us when they leave the nest?”

  Cano hadn’t put much thought into his plan. The shraels weren’t guaranteed to just fly off over the ocean, out of sight. They’d get picked off as soon as those things left the cave. He rubbed his eyes and thought hard. What did he know about shraels? They hunted in the evening. They loved to eat humans. And they had
a great sense of smell. That was probably going to work against him and Jerron. The shraels would smell them a mile away. Then the thought occurred to him that they might already be able to smell them. The wind was blowing inland, but he it was still something he needed to consider.

  “Alright, listen up. Here’s what we’re going to do,” Cano started. Jerron seemed hopeful. Cano pointed down to the tree line at the bottom of the hill. “First we take the horses down to those trees and tie em up. Then we’re going to head back up and tie the rope off to one of those trees above the cave. Yer going to cover yerself with this here dung.” Jerron immediately reacted in protest, but Cano cut him short. “I’ll hear none of that. Them things can smell like ya wouldn’t believe. If ya cover yerself in this dung they won’t be able to smell ya.”

  “There has to be another way, Fishman,” Jerron begged. He looked down at the red patches of dung littered on the ground around them and looked ready to sick up.

  “I’m sorry, lad, but I think this has to be the way.”

  “Covering myself in dung is the only way?” Jerron cried out incredulously.

  “Fer this plan it is.”

  “What else do I have to do?” Jerron asked begrudgingly.

  “Yer going to stay low and hide behind one of them rocks. I’m going to draw em off ya. When they take off after me, yer going to climb down there, fast as ya can, and get that fruit. Then ya climb back up and run yer backside off getting back to the horses. Them things won’t follow ya into the woods. Their wings are too long.”

  “How are you going to draw them off?” Jerron seemed unconvinced of the plan. Skepticism dripped from his face.

  “I’m going to jump off the cliff,” Cano announced plainly, as though he were saying the most rational, obvious thing in the world.

  “You’re going to what?!” Jerron exclaimed, his baby blue eyes nearly popping out of his head.

  “Ya heard me, boy. I’m going to jump off the cliff.”

  Jerron took a few steps toward the cliff’s edge and looked down. The strong ocean breeze whipped his honey-brown hair around in various directions. The look of disbelief increased invariably, as he measured the distance to the water below.

  “No way, Fishman. We have to think of something else.” He shook his head incredulously.

  Cano walked back to his horse and struggled up into the saddle. Jerron stood and watched him, waiting for Cano to come up with some miracle solution to their problems. Cano had made up his mind.

  “We’re wasting time. We need to get in position before them things come out of the nest.”

  Jerron grimaced visibly. He climbed up on his mount and followed Cano off the thin trail and down the hill toward the tree line.

  “That cliff’s too high, Cano,” Jerron pleaded, trying his best to impart his logic. “Even if you survive the jump, what will you do then?”

  “Ya jest get yerself in place and ready to act fast. We won’t have a lot of time once them things come after me. If I don’t make it, ya know what ya have to do. The girl is all that matters.” Cano spoke with the bitter stubbornness of an old man, devoid of patience, explaining simple facts to an impetuous child.

  “That’s no way to talk,” Jerron said sorely. “I won’t sit here and accept that you just came all this way to die. Won’t you at least put up a fight?”

  Cano shook his head. The boy was young and full of vigor. Though he had to admit that he enjoyed the boy’s company, it had been a mistake to let a fondness develop between them.

  “We all die sometime, Jerron. I should have died years ago. Sometimes I wish I had.”

  “Fine!” Jerron practically shouted. His voice cracked with emotion. “You jump off the cliff and then what? Those things will rip you apart and bring you back to the nest. How does that buy me any time?”

  “Look. I’ll start back a ways, where the cliff is lower. Once they leave the nest, I’ll try to get their attention. I did a fair amount of cliff-diving in my younger days. If I survive the dive, and God willing I will, then I’ll jest hover beneath the water teasing em. That’ll keep em busy long enough fer ya to take care of yer end.”

  Jerron quietly mulled over Cano’s idea. His face still carried the same sour expression, but something that might have been hope lit up in his eyes.

  “That might work,” he said at last. “But you better survive the jump.”

  “I sure hope I do.” Cano tried to smile.

  When they reached the tree line, they both dismounted and led their geldings by the reins into the woods. The trees were thick, casting long shadows making the forest feel like the night was closing in. The ground was overrun with broad roots, springing from the soft underbrush, making it difficult to lead the horses.

  They didn’t search for long. Just a short ways in, they found a small round clearing, with an excellent canopy, which would give them the coverage they needed from predators above. Jerron tied the horses to a tree and pulled the rope out of his saddle bag. He and Cano paused to take a few long pulls from their waterskins before setting off for the cliff.

  Jerron carried his axe on a belt holster, his bow slung over his shoulder with the rope, his quiver of arrows, and a belt knife. Cano took only the terralium dagger, tucked into a sheath on his belt, given to him by Yennit before they had departed.

  “Take care of yerself, boy,” Cano told him as they prepared to head off to their starting places.

  “I’ll get that fruit, Fishman. I swear I will,” Jerron said intensely. His eyes were aflame with nerves and excitement.

  Jerron ran off at a sprint, his raw speed impressing Cano. For all his bulk, with his wide shoulders and barrel chest, he moved with amazing grace and natural speed.

  Cano wasn’t quite as fast. He was an old man, and he was not accustomed to running. His body was lanky, with muscles knotted and toned from years of swimming. Running didn’t feel natural. He lumbered along doing the best he could to get down to the coast. When he found the cliff’s edge, he began walking south, carefully searching the water below for a spot that looked deep and safe enough for a long dive. There were several spots where the water didn’t break hard against the rock wall that he considered, but none of them inspired confidence that he could survive the drop.

  Then he found his place.

  There was a formation of rock a short span out to sea that caused a break in the tide, which created a tranquil pool at the base of the cliff below. In other spots where the tide was calmer, Cano had been able to see the ocean floor, but in this spot the blue water looked darker. Was it deep enough? It would be a leap of faith. If he was meant to survive this day, the dive would take place here.

  He knelt at the edge of the cliff and waited. His eyes held onto the dark opening in the face of the cliff, waiting with a mix of dread and anticipation for the first of the shraels to emerge.

  His pulse raced, yet he felt oddly calm. Jerron knelt beside the tree he had tied his rope to, rubbing dark red dung along his arms and legs. Cano couldn’t see the young man’s face, but he suspected Jerron was utterly repulsed by his task.

  It was a good plan. Cano was sure of it. That was the reason he felt calm. Looking out at the horizon, a painted canvas of pink, orange, and blue, Cano felt reassured. Seeing the magnificence of God’s creation, personified in a sky at sunset, gave him the feeling that the hand of heaven was guiding his way.

  A dark form materialized in the mouth of the cave. It leapt out into the evening air, wings impossibly long, spreading out and riding the wind in an arc toward the ocean water, then sweeping up into the sky toward the three rock arches. One by one, they came, seven in all. Each followed the same path as the first, dipping low to the water then soaring back up to the rock arches, circling several times, and then landing on the grass capped top. They crouched like statues, wings tucked tight around their dark bodies. Their thin heads, topped with a curved spike that reached back like the rudder of a ship, searched the horizon spying for prey.

  Cano closed hi
s eyes and took a deep breath. The time had come. In his mind he held onto the images of his wife and daughter, lost to him so long ago. Though his heart ached to be with them once more, he sent a prayer up to the Creator asking that she see him through this peril and safely back to Maehril’s side. A single tear broke free from his sky blue eyes, sending a trail of hope and regret sliding down his tan, leathery cheek.

  He stood and watched the perched predators react. All seven broke into the air nearly simultaneously. Their long feathered wings, black and ominous, carried them on a line toward him at a speed that needed to be seen to be believed.

  He didn’t hesitate; his courage replaced by his resolve. Cano leapt from the cliff, spreading out his arms, letting his body fall parallel to the water. Halfway down, he brought his knees up. His hands fell over his head, coming together in a point, as he pushed his legs out straight, bringing his body into a perfect vertical dive. He slammed through the surface of the water, the impact sending waves of sharp pain throughout every nerve ending in his tired, old body. Instinctively, he forced himself to ignore the soreness and spread out his arms and legs, trying to slow his descent. He managed to stop himself just as his feet touched rock. Immediately, his gills took over, and for the first time in days, Cano enjoyed a breath of cool ocean water.

  Up at the surface, the shraels hovered. Cano could make out all seven. That was good, he thought. He hadn’t really been certain they would all follow him. An occasional foot, with four menacing talons, tested the water, but they would not come in after him. Shraels hated to get wet. Now he just had to keep them interested.

  Cano swam up, keeping himself positioned a few feet below the surface. Just enough to make them think they had a chance of catching him. After a few minutes one or two began to drift back up, quitting on the hunt. To keep them interested, he would quickly pop an arm up out of the water, baiting them, before yanking it back down to safety. The shraels were fairly stupid animals, but they were also impatient. This tactic would only work for so long before they would give up. He hoped Jerron was moving fast.