Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  Illera stretched out her hand in entreaty. “I am being sold to Frain so that you and the rest of the kingdom might have food in their bellies and you refuse to tell me what you know that might help me there. Sar, that is unfair. Remember how I braved my father’s wrath when your little dog went missing? Do you remember how we searched together, in the pouring rain for hours until I found him in the poacher’s snare? Do you remember how I defied my father and your King to stay with you until we knew he would survive and the wound of his that I healed? Sar, if you have any fondness for me at all, please tell me what you know.”

  Sar tiptoed to the door, checked both ways and then locked it. She came to the bed and sat beside her mistress. Illera held her hand in her own icy ones.

  “Well, my lady, I made th’quaintance of one of the gen’lmen sent ‘ere to ‘elp with t’ pirates and t’Shul. An’ I know you is a fair raised lady, but when a man and woman a been t’gether, sometime t’man, well ‘e’s like to talk after. Well, this ‘ere gen’lmen, ‘e is tellin’ me ‘bout Frain and Korul and Torul. Seems a dreadful place t’me. They says as ‘ow Korul, the King ‘ad a beautiful bride an ‘e beat ‘er so ‘er’s a ‘alfwit now. An’ still ‘e made ‘er bear ‘is ‘eir, an’ that almost killed ‘er. An’ ‘e said Torul was worse than th’father, ‘a cruel, selfish, spoiled brat’ was th’words ‘e used. I remember ‘um.”

  Illera swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the thought of such a marriage.

  “Oh Sar, how am I going to endure it?”

  “Well my Lady, th’gen’lmen said as how your escorts is fine soldiers, good men, ‘onest an’ true. Maybe they can ‘elp you?”

  Illera sighed. “No, I already asked Raven. He said that they would win their spurs for bringing me to Torul. It seems to be very important to him, and his brother.”

  “Well, my Lady, I wouldna’ give up. Try the brother. I be thinkin’ ‘e took a shine t’you. I seen ‘im lookin’ when you weren’t.”

  Illera ventured a feeble smile. “I think I’ll try my father one last time. He’s got to understand reason and if I tell him what you told me, maybe he will change his mind.”

  Sar lept from the bed, “My Lady, you must’nt tell ‘im ‘ow you know. If th’gen’lmen learns I been talkin’ who knows what’ll ‘appen t’me.”

  “Trust me, Sar; I won’t let on how I know. You’re safe.”

  Illera rose and dressed quickly, choosing from the few gowns left unpacked. Then she hurried off, to find her father. She wandered around the castle, asking the servants and finally tracked him down in the library. Lark and Raven were with him. She hesitated and then entered.

  “Father, I need to talk to you.”

  Ian lifted his head, and a gusty sigh ruffled the fringes of his beard. “If this is about not going to Frain, I don’t want to discuss it anymore. That’s final.”

  “But father,” she continued as Lark and Raven stood at her approach. “I have information that will change your mind. I know it will. If you love me, you will listen.”

  Ian shook his head. “Illera nothing can change this. Nothing.”

  Illera stood before him, just the width of his desk separating them, “Please listen, if only you knew what kind of people you are selling me to, you can’t know and still send me there. I’ve heard that Torul is a selfish, spoiled brat and Korul is so cruel he beat his wife until she became an idiot.”

  King Ian looked at the messengers from Frain. Lark and Raven refused to meet his eyes.

  “Is this true?” he asked them.

  “Your majesty, as lowly squires it ill befits us to criticize our betters,” replied Lark.

  “But is what my daughter said true?” he insisted.

  Raven looked at him and then Illera. “It is true that many of the serfs speak ill of the King and his son. For myself, I have not had a lot of contact with either of them, only the knights of the castle during training.”

  “What about Korul’s wife?” persisted the king.

  Lark shuffled his feet. “It is true she has lost her mental faculties, but I heard it was due to a fall.”

  “Father!” Illera insisted.

  The king rose. “What would you have me do?” He paced back and forth before the tall windows behind the desk. “Most of the grain and other food supplies have already been distributed. Would you ask me to force starving people to watch their children die while I retrieve the food from their mouths to save you from a spoiled child of a husband?”

  Illera drew back, shocked to the core of her being at his answer. “But you love me?”

  Ian stopped, spread his hands on the desk and looked at her. “Yes, child I love you. If I could take your place, I would. But I love Madean too, and I love its people. I could not sacrifice them for your happiness if I wanted too. Besides what of the warriors from Frain bedded inside our very walls? They would make sure that you go to Torul as agreed.”

  Illera shook her head. “I never agreed.”

  “I agreed for you!” roared the king like a wounded mountain lion.

  Illera took a quick step back and stumbled into Raven. He put a warm hand on her shoulder to steady her. The clang of running footsteps interrupted the conversation. A page burst into the room.

  “Sire, sire,” he gasped, “the signal fires have been lighted.”

  “Where,” demanded king Ian, obviously relieved to have a problem he knew how to handle.

  “Southward, from Southern Reach,” the boy replied.

  “Tell Sir Garth to ready the men at arms and the grooms to prepare the horses,” Ian commanded.

  The boy dashed from the room.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, I must don my armor.”

  Raven interjected, “Sire, I request that Lark and I be allowed to join with you in repelling these invaders.”

  Ian gave him a long look and nodded. The three men strode rapidly from the room.

  Illera watched from the south tower of the barbican. Her father, Raven, Lark and most of the men galloped over Third Bridge and through the waving fields of young grain. She watched until her eyes strained to discover the dust rising in the distance. She felt hollow inside, almost as if she had died and part of her was missing. Her father loved her, but not as much as he loved Madean. The whole universe had been shaken and rearranged into a different pattern, and she just didn’t know how it functioned anymore. All her certainties had vanished.

  The next day she wandered like a ghost from place to place, visiting the special people, animals and places that she had loved to go: Shani and her tribe of pigs, Jorul the shepherd boy with the flocks and droves, Meigid, the ancient withered man in charge of the cattle, and the old groom Stave and the few horses that remained. She walked through the little villages clustered close to the castle; spoke a farewell to the tearful people there.

  On the second day, she walked to the forest and drifted through the soothing verdure that had once been a place she valued above her life. The birds and small animals came to her and climbed about her head and shoulders. The deer brought her fawn to eat from her hand, and the lion lay purring at her feet for hours while she scratched him.

  On the third day, Illera visited all the bridges over the Royal River, gazing for hours into the foaming depths and listening to the hidden messages in the song of the water. Distorting it all was the gray fog that settled over her life when her father refused to protect her. Her spark was gone and her energy low as she dragged herself from place to place awaiting the inevitable.

  Illera was dawdling her way back to the castle when the war party returned. She didn’t even lift her head to see them trot by. Her father in the lead, sat proud and strong, followed by Lark and Raven, their huge mounts dwarfing his. The rest of the men trailed behind, but seemed cheerful and uninjured. Illera shuffled along in their dust when they passed.

  Her father met her at the steps to the keep. “Illera, I want you to dress well tonight and attend the banquet. We are honoring the brave men who defended Southern R
each tonight in addition to having your farewell supper. I need you to be there.”

  Illera nodded dully and brushed past him taking note of the order of importance in his words. She was oblivious to his stare of perplexity that followed her into the castle. In her rooms, she prepared herself with difficulty. Most of her things were packed, ready for the journey tomorrow. She couldn’t make herself care, for nothing mattered anymore. Sar helped, doing more to prepare her for the banquet than she did herself. One of the maids brought a new gown, a shimmering periwinkle blue, and they dressed her, piling only the front of her hair up, leaving the back long and rippling down her back. Illera barely glanced in the mirror and absently thanked them for their help. With dragging steps, she descended the wide stone staircase to the meal.

  All the knights rose in deference to her entrance, but she didn’t even nod to them or smile as she usually did. Even the clatter they made when they sat could not pierce the gloom that enveloped her.

  “My Lady, you look especially beautiful tonight,” Lark complimented her.

  “But sad?” questioned Raven.

  Illera looked vaguely at them.

  “You are not becoming ill, I hope?” Lark ventured again.

  Raven laughed. “Torul would think ill of an ailing bride.”

  Her father raised his goblet in a toast. “My dear, to you, and your journey. I have no more fears of your safety.”

  The rest of the people in the hall followed the king’s lead and toasted her.

  The king continued, “Why my child, you should have seen these men fight. Why if I had five of them I would have no fear for my kingdom at all. We repelled the Shul without a single casualty. That warhorse, how magnificent. He fights like seven men. Did you know Illera, that Raven has promised me one of his get?”

  Illera shook her head in answer to her father’s question.

  He continued, “And I have a special surprise for you. In Southern Reach, I found a warrior maiden, a fine fighter, and a splendid woman. She is descended from some warriors of Sorwelk, trapped here when their boat was burned. She has agreed to be your companion on your trip to Frain, and perhaps, if you get along well, she will stay with you there.”

  The king beamed his pleasure at her. Rising to his feet, he gestured to the lower tables. An enormous woman rose to her feet. Illera would not have believed it was a woman except for the small, flat breasts accented by the curve of her armor. Her blonde braids were worn in a circle at the crest of her head. A tall forehead led down to small, round eyes and a puckish upturned nose. Full red lips were the most feminine thing about her. Her clothing was similar to what the fighting men wore, leather and metal. A short skirt left muscular thighs and calves corded with muscle exposed.

  King Ian waved a hand, “Ashera come up here and meet my daughter.”

  The gigantic woman made her way through the throng and curtseyed clumsily before Illera. She watched, knowing if she was herself she would be astonished, but not feeling much of anything. She nodded at her.

  Ashera said, “I am most pleased to meet you Princess Illera.”

  Again Illera nodded. The giantess curtseyed again and returned to her seat.

  “So my dear, what do you think?”

  Illera regarded him wearily and shrugged. Ian glared at her a moment and turned his conversation back to Raven and his war-horse. Illera pushed around the food on her plate and let the rest of the meal swirl around her, taking less meaning from the babel of the words than she had from the noise of the rushing river. She noticed that all the foods were her favorites, perfectly prepared and served, yet each course tasted like straw to her tonight and she only picked at the offerings. The banquet seemed interminable, and she longed for the quiet of her own bare rooms.

  “Illera!” snapped her father.

  Illera looked up, vaguely registering the anger on his face.

  “If you cannot be civil enough to answer a polite question, perhaps you should leave the table.”

  Lark stammered, “It’s alright…I…”

  “No!” the king cut him off. “I raised my daughter to be a lady, not some common milkmaid who knows no better. Illera…”

  Illera jumped to her feet, the gray around her sundering and falling away in brittle pieces. A fury and pain flowed over her, stealing her breath and trembling her muscles.

  “Shut up, you hateful old man,” she screamed.

  Ian’s face sagged, and his jaw hung open.

  “You raised me to be a whore, to be sold to the highest bidder who can take care of your country when you can’t. How dare you lecture me on courtesy? You haven’t even the courtesy to listen to the voice of your own daughter. How I despise you,” Turning to the room she looked at all the shocked faces. “I despise all of you, using me to save yourselves.”

  She threw down the napkin and tore from the room, closely pursued by tears that threatened to scald her. She ran aimlessly until her breath was short and she was gasping. Coming to herself, she realized she was at the top of the tower. She paused and the enormity of what she had said hit her in the stomach like a powerful kick from one of the war-horses. She staggered to the edge, peering out through the crenellations. A chilly bracing wind caressed her face, drying the sweat and tears. As if the wind was a signal, the gray enveloped her again, leaving her devoid of feeling, wrapped in thick bands of uncaring. Her life was remote, distant from her hollow self. It was better than that pain, the one that made her mouth open and spew hurtful things; far better not to care. Perhaps a permanent uncaring would be the best.

  She placed her elbows on the battlement and drew herself up; standing looking down, down the moon touched face of the outer wall. The moat glimmered far below, its muddy water painted silver now, hiding its green scum and unwholesome appearance. If she jumped outward as she fell she should hit the rocky soil around the moat and not the dirty water itself. She spread her arms, a giddy feeling of exhilaration beginning to well up inside her. She would know how Maggie felt to fly.

  “Illera,” a voice behind her almost made her lose her balance.

  “Go away,” she replied her voice soft and distant as the gentle wind.

  Lark spoke again, “Illera, you can’t do this. It will plunge Madean into war with Frain.”

  “I don’t care. They don’t care about me, not even my father.”

  “Can’t you see this was the hardest thing he has ever had to do. Harder even than losing your mother.”

  “No, I only see that I am being sold for peasants. Go away! I want my last moment to be peaceful.”

  Lark was moving slowly closer. “Illera you can’t do this.”

  She turned her head to regard him. “Yes, I can. It is my life, and if I don’t wish to sacrifice it to a spoiled, selfish brat, I shouldn’t have to. So, yes I can.”

  With a furious squawk, Maggie flew out of the dark into Illera’s face. Lark used the distraction to cover the two remaining steps to her. Maggie fluttered and scolded while Illera batted at her with her hands.

  “Let me fly with you Maggie,” she cried as she bent her knees and shifted her weight forward.

  Lark seized her by the waist and lifted her from the edge holding her close to his massive chest. She battered him with her fists and kicked at him with her legs.

  “Release me, you have no right,” she screamed through clenched teeth.

  He placed her on her feet and grabbed both her hands in one fist and held them tight.

  Bending his head, he spoke close to her ear, “Illera, I know you don’t want this, and I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want it either. But I promise you, by the mother, I was born to that if you are unhappy, or if Torul mistreats you in any way, I will rescue you from him and bring you back to your father and Madean, even if I have to kill him.”

  An earth shudder rippled through the stones of the tower. Illera clutched tight to Lark. She thought about his words. Pushing away from him she stared into his eyes.

  “You swear?” she asked.

&nbs
p; “Yes Illera, I swear.”

  Chapter 3

  Illera awoke in the pearl gray light of a day just beginning. The sky outside her window was painted in delicate pastel shades of yellow and peach and the morning chorus of birds was tuning up to burst into vibrant song at the sun’s first peek over the horizon. She lay in her bed, eyes wandering around the barren room, noting the absence of anything that would make it personal to her, except for her mother’s large, glass mirror.

  If only her mother were here, she wouldn’t be making her go to a life of misery. Illera was as certain of her fate as she was her knowledge that the sky was blue, but her father wouldn’t listen. Her mother would understand. Hadn’t she left her own land and lived with her father for long years, always grieving for the place of her birth? Hadn’t she finally forsaken the man she loved in order to return to the place she belonged? Yes, her mother would know how she felt. At least she had loved her father, not been forced to marry a cruel, selfish, spoiled brat. She needed her mother.

  Slowly a plan coalesced in Illera’s mind, firming as the details began to stand out sharp and clear. She bounced from her bed and began rummaging through the empty drawers and chests remaining in her room. She found a good-sized hemp bag in which the maids had carried the lavender. She dumped the remaining flakes of the flowers onto the floor, wiping the inside of the bag clean. She took the flint and tinder from the fireplace and located her hoof knife and pick in a chest of things to be given to the poor. They were together in the sheath, so she placed them in the bag as well. The remainder of a spool of sturdy cord followed them.

  Then Illera dressed in the clothing she had selected yesterday. She blessed whatever whim or depression made her choose the olive and brown tweed divided skirt and jacket. The orange blouse was too bright so she exchanged it for a dull brown one from the discard chest, leaving her own intense one in its place. She plaited her hair in a single long braid down her back, took her long black leather riding cloak and descended the stairs with her bag in hand.

  Only a few servants were stirring this early. She slipped out of the back door and made her way to the chicken yard where the goose girl was feeding her charges. Illera smiled and waved to her in answer to her greeting. She went to the granary and filled the bag she carried from the oat bin. With a grin, she twisted the mouth of the bag closed and fastened it with a bit of twine. She secured it to her belt and returned to the castle.