Suddenly it emerged, its bald black head breaking the surface several feet away from the rocks on which Jerron crouched. The shrael tried to get its wings out of the water, beating them desperately, as another wave rose up nearby. Then Cano came up beside the shrael, his terrallium dagger raised high above his head. Just as the wave folded over their heads, Cano drove the blade into the shrael’s back. Steam hissed from the wound before it became smothered under the wave of cool ocean water. Cano and the shrael disappeared, and Jerron searched the water anxiously for a sign that his friend was alright. Strangely he could make out a sudden glow of orange light deep in the water that pulsed and died in less than a minute. A few moments later Cano pulled himself up onto the rock beside Jerron and laid out on his back, his chest heaving from exertion.
“Is it dead?” Jerron asked.
Cano shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.
“Damn thing jest burst into flames. Right down there in the water. Never seen nothing like it.”
“What? You mean it caught fire down there?” Jerron asked disbelievingly. It explained the light he had seen. But flames in the water?
“Sure as we’re sitting on this here rock.” Cano replied. He brandished his dagger, holding it up for them both to inspect. The blade glowed softly in the growing darkness.
“You think it was the blade?” Jerron asked, his eyes searching the water for some sign of the blazing shrael. He saw nothing.
“Aye, lad. It was the blade.” Cano took one last long look at his weapon, before tucking it into its sheath. He looked at Jerron, his sky blue eyes making a quiet study of the large young man. “Ya saved my life, Jerron. Ya saved me again.”
Jerron smiled wearily and nodded.
“Someday I’ll have to find a way to repay my debt,” Cano said, with something close to reverence.
“You owe me nothing, Fishman,” Jerron said, putting a hand on Cano’s frail old shoulders. “Your friendship is all I ask.”
“Ya have it, Jerron,” Cano smiled.
For several minutes they sat on the rocks watching the waves in silence.
“So yer a fighter, then?” Cano asked after a time. The old man looked at some of the visible wounds Jerron had received in his battle with the shraels. “Got the scars to prove it, too.”
Jerron checked out his bare arms and chest. There were cuts all over his forearms. A piece of flesh was missing from his right shoulder. A long, deep bloody gash stretched across his stomach. He was aware of each wound, but the pain hardly bothered him. The warrior spirit that had possessed him was slowly beginning to diminish. Soon, he knew, it would fade away altogether, and the pain of his efforts would be crippling.
“What’d ya say we figure out a way back up that cliff?” Cano said, looking up as the last stubborn rays of sunlight held off the approaching darkness of night.
Jerron just smiled, took a deep breath, and sent a grateful prayer to the Creator for seeing them through this impossible ordeal.
Chapter Sixteen: The trouble with light
The two men exchanged several possible ideas for getting back up the cliff. Jerron suggested that Cano could help him swim to the point beneath the cave and climb the sheer cliff face until they could reach the rope, which hung about twenty feet above the water. Cano argued that with the force of the crashing waves, they’d have a difficult time beginning their climb if they could manage to climb at all. Instead, Cano suggested that Jerron sit tight while he swam down the coast in search of a sturdy piece of driftwood. Then Jerron could float down the coast until the land leveled out. With the darkness of night rapidly approaching, Jerron was worried it would take too long. They needed to get back to the horses.
After a contentious debate, Jerron’s idea won out, though Cano was redundant in pointing out that he felt his idea was superior.
It was a short swim to the area of the cliff below the cave. Cano was weak from his effort with the shraels, so he struggled to pull Jerron along. For his part, Jerron did his best to help, but other than feebly kicking his feet, there wasn't much he could do. The waves broke hard against the rocks making it hard for Cano, but he still managed to get them to the cliff face.
Cano wasn’t strong enough to make the climb. Time and again, he would reach for a crack on the wet, jagged cliff face and slip back down to the water, becoming aggravated and progressively more temperamental.
Fortunately, Jerron still had some of the extra strength from the fruit he had eaten. Despite the old man’s callous objections, Jerron managed to convince Cano to cling to his back and hold on while he pulled them both up. The extra weight was a burden, but Jerron knew that if they couldn’t get up the cliff, they would be in serious trouble. He wouldn’t be able to swim down the coastline in the darkness, and spending the night on one of the protruding rocks would simply be too dangerous.
Little by little, Jerron, by the sheer force of his will and determination, climbed the vertical face with Cano clinging to him like a child taking a piggy back ride. The mounting darkness made finding cracks to grip difficult, but he took his time, staying focused even as Cano shouted an unending litany of foolish criticisms in his ear.
“Grab there, boy. No there,” the old man shouted, trying to point with his long hawkish nose, as if it were a help to Jerron.
Jerron just grit his teeth and held his tongue. The rope was only several more feet away. Once he got to it, the rest of the way would be easy.
He reached out for the next crack, and as he began to pull, the rock gave way. They nearly fell, but Jerron managed to hold on with his other hand, preventing disaster.
“Fer the light of heaven, would ya be careful,” Cano cried out, the grip he had on Jerron’s neck tightening to the point of choking. “Clumsy oaf,” he muttered.
“You want to take over, Fishman?” Jerron shot back, finding a new crack to hold with his free hand. “I’ll gladly hang on to your back, if you like.”
“No. No. That won’t be necessary. Yer doing alright. Jest watch it, that’s all,” Cano answered with barely a hint of humility.
“Great, then how about you pipe down and let me climb so that we won’t have to spend the whole night out here.”
“Jest keep climbing, lad. The sooner I get off of yer stinking back the better. Ya smell like ya rolled around in shrael dung.”
“What!” Jerron shouted disbelievingly. “I did roll around in shrael dung, remember? It was your idea.”
“Well, ya didn’t have to do such a good job, now did ya?” Cano heckled him.
Jerron couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead he broke out into laughter, as Cano chuckled lightly in his ear.
Gathering himself, Jerron climbed the last few feet to the rope. He got a hold of it and started pulling them up, hand over hand, at a much quicker pace than he had climbed the cliff face. It was a relief to feel the security of the rope in his hands rather than the sharp cracks he had relied upon climbing the cliff face. After a time, they came even with the cave entrance, and Jerron decided to take advantage of the moment with a quick break. His right shoulder was starting to burn. As the potency of the fruit wore off, the pain of his wounds was intensifying. It was becoming so severe that he wasn’t sure if he could have climbed all the way to the top.
He knelt down in the cave entrance, hissing and wincing as he tried to handle his hurts. Cano raised a concerned brow and rubbed the young man’s back.
“Will ya be able to finish the climb?” he asked, gingerly.
“Yes,” Jerron replied through gnashed teeth. “But I’ll need some of the fruit.”
The incessant call of the baby shraels Jerron had left behind echoed in the mouth of the chamber.
"What's all that noise?" Cano asked peering into the tunnel.
"There were a couple of chicks in the nest."
“What’s that light, down there?” Cano asked, pointing toward the cave’s interior.
“That’s the tree,” Jerron replied, wincing. H
is shoulder was nearly unbearable, now. He stood up, holding his right arm with his left. “Follow me.”
Jerron led the way into the cave with Cano following at his heels. Having been here before, Jerron knew what to expect, but Cano stayed close for fear of the unknown. When they entered the main cavern where the tree stood bright and wonderful, he heard Cano gasp.
“It’s beautiful,” Cano whispered, reverently.
Jerron went right up to the tree, splashing through the small pool of surrounding water, and quickly picked one of the small yellow fruits.
“Are ya sure ya should be eating that?” Cano asked uncertainly.
“I’ve already tried some,” Jerron answered.
Without waiting for any more objections from Cano, Jerron abruptly ate the fruit, barely taking the time to properly chew before swallowing it all down. When he finished, he knelt on the soft grass and waited for the healing to take effect. The heavy breaths he took seemed to create a thrum that echoed in rising waves of octaves across the small cavern. His mind was clear and open, waiting for the feeling to surge as it had before. When it lit within him, at first as simple as a gently flickering candle flame that quickly turned into a raging bonfire, igniting his senses, throwing his consciousness into unquenchable euphoria, he pitched forward convulsing on the ground. It may have lasted for minutes or days, Jerron didn’t know. He was lost in the intensity of the feeling.
He opened his eyes as it released him at last and saw the alarmed expression on Cano’s thin tan face. His friend held his head in the cradle of his aged arms, blue eyes aghast and frantic.
“What in heaven’s name happened to ya, boy?” His voice cracked in a slightly hysterical way.
“The fruit… it healed me,” Jerron coughed as he sat up. He rubbed his eyes and waited for his head to clear. “Try one. It’ll help with those wounds.”
Cano looked as though ten shraels had coming bursting into the cave.
“I’m fine,” he stuttered, his words stretching with terror.
Jerron stood up and picked a fruit off of the tree. His limbs were already beginning to feel the building puissance. He reached his hand down to Cano who still knelt on the ground, looking desperate and afraid.
“Cano, look at this tree,” Jerron said with a wave of his hand toward the pure white splendor of the leaves above him. “You talk about your faith. How can this tree be any less than the bounty of creation? It radiates life and purity and hope. Look at it.” He waved his arms to emphasize his sincerity. Cano’s face was gradually softening as he listened attentively. “Do you believe I was able to defeat all of those shraels on my own? That I’m strong enough or skilled enough to have survived?” Jerron pointed to the body of the shrael he had first fought earlier in the cave. “I got lucky with that one. After the fight I ate one of these fruits.” He shook the one he held in his hand at Cano’s doubtful face. “My wounds all healed, and I was given some strange gift of extra-ordinary strength. Look at my shoulder.” Cano’s eyes widened with awe as he gazed upon the spot where a large chunk of flesh should have been missing. Jerron’s shoulder was completely healed. “Eat this fruit and trust in my words. You have nothing to fear, my friend.”
Cano still seemed hesitant, but he accepted the fruit from Jerron’s outstretched hand. He sniffed it once skeptically. Using the utmost level of exaggerated caution he could display, Cano took a small bite, barely breaking the fruits skin. He tested the ensuing drips of juice with his tongue, before he bravely took a larger bite. Jerron watched him with an amused smile as he finished the fruit, shamefully licking his fingers clean. A moment later he fell back on the grass, his eyes rolling up slightly into his head as his body spasmed three times. When the effect washed away, Cano sat up and rubbed his eyes trying to regain control of his senses, just as Jerron had a short time before.
“How do you feel?” Jerron asked.
Cano stood up and stretched his arms, a wide smile breaking across his leathery old face.
“Good heaven’s boy, I feel wonderful. I feel like a teenager working the nets on my first boat.” Cano searched his body for any signs of trauma. He lifted the loose fitting linen shirt that hung like a sack from his thin old body and shook his head in amazement that there were no marks left from the shrael’s sharp talons.
“It’s incredible,” Jerron said, stating the word caught in Cano’s stuttering mouth.
Cano nodded his agreement absently.
“How do you suppose this tree got here?” Jerron asked.
“A miracle of creation,” Cano replied.
They stood for a moment silently ingesting the raw beauty of the tree.
“We’d better head back to the camp,” Jerron told him.
“It’s too dark by now,” Cano replied, rubbing the coarse stubble on his chin. “Might as well camp right here.”
“We can’t,” Jerron said, shaking his head. “The horses are tied up out there. They’ll be totally defenseless if a predator comes sniffing around. I won’t leave them unattended.”
"What should we do bout them chicks over there?" Cano asked, pointing to the squawking baby shraels.
"I suppose they'll just starve," Jerron said, feeling conflicted. He hated to leave two defenseless creatures alone to starve to death.
"Maybe it would be merciful if we ended it fer em," Cano said.
Jerron didn't have his axe anymore. "You're the one with the weapon, Cano."
Cano pulled out his dagger and sighed sadly. "I suppose it's the kindest way."
Jerron looked away as Cano went to take care of the baby shraels. The sudden silence in the cave told him the task was finished.
"You did the right thing, Cano," he said when the old sailor walked up beside him. Jerron could see the grief in the old man's eyes. "Come on, let’s get to the camp."
Cano nodded his reluctant agreement, and they headed back to the rope. The night sky was fully dark now, gaining an insignificant measure of light from the half-moon that hung out over the ocean. Jerron gestured for Cano to climb up on his back.
“That won’t be necessary. I feel like I could climb a mountain right now.”
Jerron smiled knowingly at the shared feeling of vigor. Cano climbed first and Jerron followed. The fruits intrinsic gifts charged them easily up to the ground. Jerron quickly found the linen bag he’d left behind earlier, and the two men trotted down the sloping hillside to the treeline below.
The short scraggly trees lining the way ahead looked like gray specters guarding the countryside. The wind gave the impression of hushed conversations and passing secrets as it brushed the leaves and limbs on its way inland. Jerron led them once they reached the forest’s edge. There had been a small opening between two thick protruding roots that he had remembered as a marker to their camp. It took several minutes during which he endured a number of second guessing from his impatient old companion, but eventually he found it. They walked cautiously into the forest, careful to mind their steps. The forest floor was covered with roots and rocks, obstacles that would break an ankle if not properly accounted for in the night.
They found the horses tied off to a tree at the edge of the small clearing they had chosen. With the canopy of leaves closing over them like a natural roof, their camp was nearly pitch dark. The blindness of their situation made everything difficult.
First they went about taking care of the horses. Jerron had played a part in packing the horses for the trip, so he sought out the feedbags, already brimmed with oats, and handed them to Cano to fasten to the horse's heads. The old man grumbled something about the horses being shifty, his muttered curses sounding comical coming from the unseen darkness, as he clumsily fumbled with the harness straps. Jerron remembered that he was leery of horses altogether and decided to take over. Cano took over searching the packs for the blankets and food. When the horses were finally tended, they laid their blankets out on a soft patch of ground and started working on dinner. Westin had packed them each a supper of dried pork, cheese, and a sm
all crust of bread. It wasn’t much, and neither man’s appetite was truly satisfied, but soon enough they were lying back on their blankets talking about everything they had experienced that evening.
“I’ll tell ya lad,” Cano said with a laugh. He was contentedly relaxing on his back, puffing away on a sweet scented pipe. “I was scared witless back there when that shrael was carrying me off fer his dinner. But then I see ya come flying off that cliff at us. Dear God, I thought, this boy’s gonna kill himself. If it isn’t the shrael that gets him, it’ll be the water.”
Jerron chuckled softly, as he remembered his brazen, thoughtless act. “I wasn’t even thinking about the water. All I knew was that those scrawny bones of yours weren’t going to fill that blasted thing. One way or another it was going to come for me.”
“What, ya don’t think I’d make a very good meal?” Cano joked as though Jerron’s jest had injured him.
“I’m just saying there’s no meat on those old bones. You look like a dried up old sack filled with dust.”
“Now see here, lad. I may not get around like I used to, but I’ve still got a few muscles.”
“Your biceps look like a few threads of yarn under an old cheese cloth,” Jerron snickered.
“And ya should talk, ya great big buffoon?” Cano teased back. “When was the last time ya turned down extra helpings of ya dear mother’s bacon?”
“You’ve had Ma’s bacon. Only a fool would turn down seconds,” Jerron laughed.
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