The Innkeeper's Son

by Jeremy Brooks

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  Jerron nearly lost his breakfast and lunch. He was rubbing dung all over his arms and torso -- smelly red dung.

  He wretched again, violently enough to feel as though a rib might have cracked. “This plan had better work,” he pouted to himself.

  Summoning all of his will power, he forced himself to ignore the putrescence and finish the task. When he was sufficiently covered in shrael dung, he slung his bow and quiver over his body and checked to make sure his axe was ready in its belt loop. Then he took his position crouched behind a boulder, the length of rope tied to a nearby tree, ready in his hands.

  Was Cano honestly going to do this? That was a serious height to be diving from. He watched the old man crouching, far off, by the edge of the cliff. Cano was the most interesting person he had ever met. Morose, witty, and callously insightful, Cano may have been rough around the edges, but he was fascinating all the same.

  A man with gills! As if such a thing was even possible. He could see the gills with his own eyes, but he would have to see Cano swimming around underwater to believe that they were genuine. But then, he was about to find out, wasn’t he?

  Cano was going to dive off that cliff into the ocean below. If he managed to survive, he’d have to stay underwater to avoid the shraels. If he survived the dive.

  A dark shadow burst up into the sky over his head, then swooped out toward the ocean. The shraels were beginning their hunt. One by one, they appeared in the sky, their black feathered bodies with an unnaturally bare head and neck casting ominous shadows. The bare skin looked oily and flashed when it caught the sun’s dying light. There were seven in all. Pa said there were only five. Jerron hoped there weren’t any stragglers waiting in the cave.

  He peered over the edge of his rock and spied them perched on each of the three arches. His eyes drifted over to Cano and a jolt of horror rushed through him as he watched the old man leap from the cliff. A quick prayer cried out in his head. It was time to act.

  The shraels darted into flight. Jerron stood and watched them racing toward Cano. He took a deep breath and fought down every terror-filled thought that flashed across his mind. Taking a firm grip on the rope, Jerron ran to the cliff’s edge. He tossed the rope over the side, and as quickly as he was willing to risk, began his descent toward the cave.

  He kept an eye on the scene down the coast as he lowered himself down the rope. Seven shraels hovered in tight circles around the spot were Cano had fallen. At least they haven’t gotten him yet, Jerron thought optimistically.

  He was beginning to worry that he was taking too long, when his leg swung into an empty point on the cliff’s face. Jerron lowered himself into the cave and crouched down low. It didn’t make any sense. The cave should have been dark, but a soft white glow emanated from a point deep within. The ceiling gradually opened up a few steps in, and he was able to stand comfortably.

  He pulled out his bow and knocked an arrow. Trying to walk lightly, yet quickly at the same time, Jerron moved into the cave at a slow skip. The further in he moved the brighter the cave became. Soon the passage led into a huge underground cavern, with a shimmering pool of blue water surrounding a small mound of grass and a single tree.

  Jerron’s jaw dropped, and he stood in awe. The tree was magnificent. Never before had he seen such a thing of beauty. The thick brown trunk led into a complex array of branches, immersed in a sea of white leaves. The pure brightness of the leaves was creating the glow that had lit his walk into the cave. A yellow fruit, small and round, with a soft, smooth skin hung from many of the lower branches.

  His eyes lit up. He had found what they were looking for. He couldn’t imagine how it had managed to grow so full and healthy confined within a cave. There was no sunlight. Its very existence was an unfathomable anomaly. It had to be a mystery of creation, Jerron thought.

  He made a move toward the tree, but a shadowed figure moved along the wall to his right, stopping him in his tracks. He swung his bow around too late to fire a shot at the shrael that tackled him and pinned him to the floor.

  Its taloned feet held down his legs, stabbing into his flesh, ripping bloody gashes along his shins. It had clawed hands at the end of its wings, and it tried desperately to grab a hold of Jerron’s arms. But Jerron had managed to keep his right arm free, and his hand found the arrow he’d planned to shoot on the slick rocks beside him. Just trying his best to hurt the beast, Jerron jabbed the arrow, lashing out wildly and got lucky when his swing found the beast’s fleshy underbelly.

  The shrael cried out and fell back, giving Jerron time to get to his feet. He pulled free his ax and took aim at the beast’s head. The shrael managed to dodge and his blade crashed against the stone floor, sending sparks dancing into the air. Jerron pulled back and faced the beast, which had retreated several steps to rethink its strategy. Its heavy green eyes studied him over a sharp black beak. It probably wasn’t used to fighting in such a confined space where it couldn’t take advantage of its wings. Realizing the beast’s weakness, Jerron rushed the shrael, driving it back against the wall. He took a hard uppercut swing with his axe and felt his blade stick into the shrael’s leg. The beast went down in a heap, and Jerron followed up by bringing his axe down on its head, taking it at the neck. Thick black blood poured out onto the rocks like oil bubbling up from the ground.

  Jerron knelt over the body of his slain foe and fought to regain his breath. The strain of the fight, as well as the river of adrenaline that pounded in his veins, had left him nearly spent. He stood and scanned the rest of the cave. In the very back corner, on a small bed of dried grass, two baby chicks, awoken from a late day nap by the noise of the fight, began to squeak and cry for their mother. A sick feeling of guilt and shame threatened to divert Jerron from the task at hand, but he ignored their cries and rushed to grab some fruit from the tree. He stepped into the shallow water and reached to grab several of the bright yellow fruits to fill the linen shoulder bag, Cano had given him to bring. A sweet aroma filled his senses, a scent both familiar and unique, as he plucked each treasure from the branches. His eyes were drawn to the soft ethereal light that seemed to reach toward him from every one of the pure white leaves. If there had been time, Jerron might have chosen to stay for hours, basking in the rich, affecting peace that emanated from the tree. Time, however, wasn’t afforded him for now.

  His legs ached as he turned to leave the cave, and the wet feeling he was getting in his boots reminded him that his legs were bleeding. He picked up his bow and arrow and put his axe back in the loop, trying to ignore the searing pain the shrael’s talons had left in his legs.

  A thought occurred to him. The reason they were getting the fruit was that Yennit had said it could cure any ailment. With a full sack over his shoulder, he certainly had more than enough to bring back to Maehril. Perhaps he could try one. At least he would know if they actually worked.

  He pulled one bright yellow fruit out of the bag. The perfectly unblemished skin seemed to shimmer in his hand. He had never seen a fruit that had looked so ripe and pristine. Jerron brought it to his lips and took a bite. The flesh was wonderfully sweet, and juicy, unlike anything he had ever tasted. It took only three bites to finish, and Jerron wondered momentarily if he had eaten the pit. But there had been no pit, nor seeds.

  Suddenly he felt a rapturous swell of energy ignite within his body, dropping him to his knees. The pain disappeared from his legs as though it had never been there at all. In fact his whole body felt amazing. The surge of energy coursed throughout his arms and legs, emboldening and empowering. He felt rested and reassured, strong and invincible. Nothing felt impossible, nor beyond his reach. Confidence flowed like ocean currents within his veins.

  He ran for the entrance and grabbed the rope. Something was happening down at the water. He hoped Cano was alright.

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  As the minutes passed,
the shraels were becoming more difficult to bait. Each time he poked an arm out of the water, they would desperately try to grab him, but the time they spent hovering above the surface was lessening with every effort of enticement.

  Cano had another problem as well. He had swum around in the deep pool looking for a good path to exit, but he was penned in. The pool was formed within a round crater of rock that was barely a foot from the surface at its edges. It had been a good spot for a dive, but a horrible choice for an escape. If he swam over the edge of the rocks, the shraels would easily be able to grab him. In the end, his only hope was to wait them out.

  The shraels began to change their strategy. From the safety of his position beneath the surface, he watched the shraels begin to spread out around the water. Three of the large black birds found shelves along the cliff face and took a seat, watching Cano with their large green eyes. There was something sick and unnatural about the way those eyes looked. Cano had always had the feeling that these beasts were something beyond the Creator’s hand. They contained an iniquitous darkness, and their gaze was unsettling.

  Three more shraels found spots on rocks protruding from the water behind him. They’re surrounding me, Cano thought nervously. He didn’t like to see them acting so organized. In his experience, shraels hunted selfishly though they were known to share the kill with the rest of the family.

  One shrael continued to hover above the water, watching him closely. Just to test it, Cano poked his arm out of the water, waving his hand around. The shrael didn’t make an effort to grab him. Instead, it began to rise into the air, flying high up, above the cliff. It slowly started to circle, starting in wide loops, then building speed as its arcs tightened.

  Cano was perplexed. He had dealt with shraels several times in his life and never before had he seen them act like this. Suddenly the single shrael pulled its wings tightly against its body and dove at the pool where Cano swam. Its large, black feathered body looked like an arrow, with green eyes fixed hungrily on its target.

  Cano had no time to react or move. He was stunned. Shraels were terrified of water, yet this one intended to dive in after him. It blasted through the surface crashing roughly into him. Large taloned feet latched on to him, taking him around the waist. The shrael adjusted its arc back up to the surface, using the momentum of the dive to drive it back out of the water, with Cano securely snug in its grip. Fresh air filled his lungs as the beast carried him up into the late evening sky. The shrael’s talons dug into his flesh sending searing pain into his body.

  This is impossible, Cano screamed in his mind. Terror consumed him. His mouth issued weak, guttural cries of protest, but they were nothing more than soft futile shouts for mercy, desperate pleas for help. He was going to die, eaten alive, as horrible a death as he could imagine. His only hope was that Jerron had succeeded and made it safely to the forest. If nothing else, perhaps in the end he would not die in vain.

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  Jerron pulled himself up onto the cliff, distantly aware of the strange ease with which he had climbed the rope. He stood and looked down the coast to the spot where seven shraels hovered above the ocean water. The scene was remarkably clear despite the distance. He could clearly make out the lines of feathers on each shrael’s large black bodies. Had the fruit improved his eyesight too?

  The shraels began to spread out in a circle around the spot where Cano had dove. Three took perches on the cliff face, three more on a series of protruding rocks, high enough that the waves couldn‘t touch the tops. One shrael, the largest of the brood, remained hovering above the water. Jerron spotted Cano’s arm reaching out of the ocean and waving around in an effort to lure the shraels. None were enticed. The single shrael began to rise, beating its wings furiously as it climbed up into the sky.

  A sick feeling swept over Jerron when the shrael started to circle around in the sky above Cano. It was going to dive. Jerron had seen cranes hunt for fish this way over Dunshire Lake. They circled high, dove into the water, and came out with fish in their beaks. Cano was in trouble.

  Jerron simply reacted. All thought and emotion melted away from his mind. Instinct took control. An ineffable puissance, a warrior’s mentality powered by the fruit he had consumed, forced his actions. His consciousness watched in awe from the background of his mind as his physical body burst into action. The shraels meant to devour his friend. He would not let it happen.

  He exploded into a sprint, faster than he had ever believed he could run, barreling down the coast toward his friend. As the single shrael began its dive, his hand pulled free an arrow from his quiver. He nocked it in one fluid motion, and fired at one of the shraels perched on a protruding rock. Around Yennit's estate Jerron had long been known to be an average shot at best, but today he was something else -- a warrior spirit made flesh.

  The arrow found its mark, driving the shrael off its seat into the water at its back, just as the diving shrael splashed into the ocean. Without hesitation he nocked and fired a second arrow, never breaking stride as he continued his charge down the coastline. Another shrael flopped back off its rocky seat with an arrow buried in its chest. He fired off a third shot at the last shrael on the outcropping, just as it attempted to take flight. His arrow found its mark, and three shraels were now out of the way.

  Out of the ocean the shrael burst free with Cano held tightly within its taloned feet. It soared up into the sky, and Jerron watched as his friend cried out desperately for help. He aimed an arrow, but hesitated for fear that he might catch Cano by accident. The large black bird must have sensed the danger because it pulled Cano up into its body and used him as a shield, flying sideways with its back facing the ocean.

  Three shraels, the ones that had been perched along the cliff face, flew up and attacked Jerron. Instinctively, he dropped his bow and pulled his axe free from his belt loop. The first shrael swooped down, crashing into him before he could finish a defensive swing, and they fell to the ground fighting for position.

  Jerron was an unstoppable force. Ten shraels wouldn’t have been enough to subdue him. He grappled and fought his way on top of the giant bird, grabbing it by its long featherless neck. Its talons clawed at him, but he felt no pain. Getting his feet under him, he launched the beast into the air, throwing it at one of its brother’s. The two birds collided, feathers spraying into the sky, and crashed to the ground near the cliff’s edge. Jerron picked up his axe, and lunged after them, bringing the weapon down with all of his force. The sharp iron blade cleaved through two wings, instantly deforming both birds. Their shrill cries of pain echoed across the expansive coastline, a beacon of alarm to any who might stand in Jerron’s path.

  The third shrael crashed into Jerron from behind, driving him to the ground beside its brethren. Its beak took a piece of Jerron’s shoulder, sending a hot flash of pain that might have broken a lesser version of himself. But he was a warrior -- an indestructible force of creation. Pain only fueled his rage, making him stronger, more dangerous. He twisted beneath the beast, getting his feet up into its midsection and roughly thrust the shrael off of him. It flipped awkwardly into the air, falling over the cliff, and into the ocean below.

  Jerron stood and gripped his axe tightly. His consciousness, hidden within the depths of his mind, watched like a voyeur, feeling everything. Every jolting shock of pain, every impossible feat of strength, and each inescapable emotion was experienced in vivid detail by the part of him that was still the simple farm boy.

  The shrael that held Cano hovered and watched as its brethren were destroyed one by one. Jerron faced it, his blue eyes aflame with death and retribution. The shrael cried out, screaming at its foe, threatening Jerron with Cano’s helpless old body.

  “Put him down!” Jerron roared, shaking his axe to intimidate his challenger. Cano’s soft blue eyes, filled with terror, pleaded to him for help.

  The two shraels he had deformed were trying to stand and face him. Jerron calmly wa
lked up to them and kicked them, each in turn, over the edge of cliff, where they would surely drown in the ocean below. The shrael that he’d thrown over the edge several moments earlier, suddenly flew up into the air beside the one holding Cano. Not willing to take their fight any further, the two beasts, began to fly for the presumed safety of their cave.

  Jerron gave chase, still empowered by the unfathomable strength given by the wonderful fruit he had eaten. He sprinted along the cliff’s edge, keeping pace with the two beasts. If they made it to the cave, Cano would be as good as dead. He couldn’t let that happen. Never breaking stride, he flung his axe at the second shrael. The weapon found its target, burying deep into the base of the shrael’s neck. As it fell lifelessly to the ocean below, Jerron launched himself off the cliff at the shrael holding Cano. In an effort to avoid him, the shrael moved slightly to the side, but Jerron caught it at the legs, crashing into Cano. He managed to get a hold of the beast’s foot, and held on as the shrael, burdened by the extra weight, began to drift down toward the crashing waves.

  To save itself, the shrael needed to shed weight, so it let Cano drop into the ocean. Jerron could have let go and dropped in after Cano, but the embers of his wrath had been stoked to unquenchable flames. The shrael had to die.

  As the beast beat it’s wings trying to climb higher into the air, Jerron reached out and caught one, releasing the leg altogether and putting all of his weight on the wing. The shrael immediately began to fall, barreling end over end toward the ocean. Jerron went down with it and got lucky when he came out on top of the shrael as it crashed into the water.

  Jerron held onto the wing, refusing to give in even as the shrael thrashed about violently trying to find the surface. One of its taloned feet lashed out and caught Jerron in the stomach, ripping a large gash that caused him to lose his grip. As he tried to find the surface, a large wave rolled over, forcing him back down, taking his equilibrium. A hand took him by the arm and pulled him. He knew it was Cano and kicked his feet to follow him. It took only a moment before his lungs were filling with fresh air. He took several deep grateful breaths, letting Cano tow him to a nearby outcropping of rocks. He pulled himself up and turned to look for the shrael. For several moments he searched the water for a sign of the large black bird. Cano dove back down, presumably to search under the water.