Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  “Cliffs, just those smooth concave cliffs all the way to the headland and the open sea where they get taller and sharper. There is no way we could climb out of here eastward.”

  Illera sighed. “I thought as much. This bay is like a bowl, a safe enclosed harbor for those from the other dimensions. It’s almost like a trap some plants use to catch insects.”

  Raven looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “Well, I for one refuse to be the insect in the trap. We are going to get out of here.”

  He was still gazing at the surrounding rocks when his brother reached the fire.

  Lark said, “There is nothing that way for miles on miles. I feel sure I could walk all the way around the bay, and the walls would be the same height and the same slickness the whole circumference. Anyone have any ideas?”

  The group was silent, staring morosely at the dancing flames.

  Rubbing his chin, Raven rose and pointed to the cliff. “I have an idea, but I don’t know if it will work. We need to make a human ladder. I think the cliff is about four man heights, and we are fair sized men, so I think if we climb on each other’s shoulders, one of us should be able to reach the top.”

  “That won’t work.” Lark thrust his hands in front of him as if pushing away a foe. “The cliff curves in and away from the beach. If we stood on each other’s shoulders, we would still be twenty feet from the lip of the grasslands.”

  “No look,” Raven explained, “If I lie down and brace my feet on some rocks and you stand on my shoulders, but you are against the curve of the rock, then Ashera does the same, Illera should be able to crawl up our bodies and reach the top of the cliff.”

  “Let’s try it. Right now.” Ashera leapt to her feet. “I don’t want to spend the night on this spooky beach.”

  In the failing twilight, Raven carried out his plan, bracing his feet on a small boulder. Lark climbed over his back and braced his feet on his brother’s broad shoulders. With his hands braced against the slick rock by his face, he called for Ashera. Raven groaned as her weight was added to his brother’s. She shifted and moved until she felt secure against the portion of the rock she faced. Illera watched as Raven gritted his teeth and firmed his muscles to hold his position. At Ashera’s call, she grasped Raven’s sword belt and pulled herself over his body. She balanced a moment on his shoulders, grasped Lark’s sword belt and pulled herself upward. Ashera had her feet placed, so there was no room for Illera’s on Lark’s wide shoulders. She stretched herself, caught her toes on the top of his head and pulled herself up with Ashera’s sword belt. The woman’s body was easier to clamber over, and in moments she was standing on Ashera’s shoulders. Her fingers were still six inches from the lip of the cliff.

  “I can’t reach it,” she called.

  “Get higher,” commanded Raven with a grunt of pain.

  Feeling sorry for him, Illera wobbled up to Ashera’s head. Her hands were over the edge now, but she could not summon enough strength to pull her body upwards. She bent her knees and gave a little hop, throwing her elbows over. Her maneuver unbalanced the ladder and the three below tumbled to the beach. Grunting with effort Illera wriggled her way onto the grass, the sharp blades slashing at her hands and face. Panting, she flopped on her back staring at the darkening sky. A pale shape blotted out the clouds, and a warm nose blew grassy breath into her face.

  “Appolon,” she laughed catching hold of the great head with both hands.

  The stallion jerked upright and pulled her to her feet. She hugged the giant animal. A nudge at her back made her turn. Abbadon was dark against dark. She gave him a muscle-straining hug.

  Moving around to the saddles, she searched through the saddlebags, feeling vaguely uneasy as she stirred around the clothes and personal belongings stored inside. There was no rope. She contemplated tying the reins together, but there would not be enough length to be of any use to her companions still trapped on the beach.

  Illera spied a white blur in the distance. She moved towards it, realizing it was Ashera’s horse. The animal was feeling stubborn tonight, moving off when Illera approached. They played tag for long minutes until, she resorted to her song and the gelding stood while she came up to him. The first thing she saw was the length of stout rope secured to the front of his saddle. She loosened it quickly and hurried back to the edge of the cliff. She tied one end to the cantle of Appolon’s saddle and tossed the other over the edge.

  “Catch the rope.”

  Soon a yell drifted to the top. She led Appolon forward, and within seconds Ashera was gasping at the top. She released the rope and Illera coaxed the stallion back to the edge. Another yell and Lark joined them. They repeated the performance and Raven was back with them, to whickers of joy from Abbadon.

  Ashera gathered underbrush and grass twists and soon had a fire roaring on the cliff top. Picketing the horses in a hollow some distance away, they used the saddles for pillows; resting from their ordeal.

  “How did you find me?” Illera watched the dancing pictures in the coals as her fingers twisted plaits of grass. “I thought I covered my trail pretty well.”

  Raven laughed. “We almost didn’t. Your father had us searching through all these dusty passageways hidden in the castle walls for a day. He seemed certain that you would have hidden there.”

  “It was me, your Ladyship,” cut in Ashera. “I didn’t think you’d go back to a place you’d been tossed out of. So I went around and asked all the village people if they’d seen you. Found a crofter who was resting from cutting down a tree when he saw you dash over First bridge. I knew then you were heading south. So, I got the squires, and we followed you. Picked up your track where you left the forest, and then I met up with Kest and Ades. Good kids, knew ‘em when I was in Southern Reach. Got real nice parents them two, and they confirmed it was you we were chasing.”

  Illera sighed. “I thought I was very clever.”

  Lark laughed. “And so you were. You had that forest back to Seven Spires so confused with tracks I don’t think anyone could have followed you there. We just went straight back to the castle because we thought that’s where you would head.”

  In the hollow Appolon and Abbadon snorted, one of them stamping his huge feet, making echoes through the turf.

  “I think you were just naïve. You should have given the boys a false name, that would have confused us for awhile.” Raven glanced at her from lowered eyes.

  Abbadon neighed, a loud ringing sound.

  “See, even my horse agrees with me,” Raven told her laughing.

  Appolon answered the other stallion’s call with one of his own adding a lot of snorting. Illera bolted upright.

  “The horses are restless; I’ll go see what’s wrong.”

  She retreated into the dark, looking back at the trio talking in low tones around the fire. Reaching Abbadon first, she stroked his heated side and spoke to quiet him. He nodded his head up and down then pushed his nose at her, snorting. Raven materialized out of the dark to join her and the horse.

  “What’s the matter, big boy?” He rubbed the dark nose.

  Illera ducked under the horse’s neck and next to Appolon. His eyes were wild, and he half reared, narrowly missing her feet when he returned to the turf. He turned his head and nudged her as Abbadon had done.

  “Something has these horses very upset.” Illera stroked the golden neck with a firm hand.

  A loud ululating cry burst split the night. Before Illera could gather her senses, Raven was at her side and tossed her to Appolon’s bare back, throwing her the reins. He swung up on his horse, and they raced for the campfire. Ashera and Lark were swinging their swords against a band of thirty or more swarthy men. The firelight danced on their barbaric garb flashing on gold rings in ears and noses and long gold chains dangling from their necks. Dark, baggy clothing obscured their outlines making it difficult to judge just where to strike. Yelling and laughing, they attacked. Raven swung his war-horse into the fray without hesitation. Illera watched him lean o
ver and snatch his sword from its scabbard on the ground. Whooping he straightened up, urging Abbadon on. The horse fought as fiercely as the rider, kicking back with both back feet and disabling his opponents. His front feet smashed with deadly results, crashing into the pirates and cleaving them into pieces. When his legs were impeded, he shoved them down and trampled them under churning hooves.

  Raven fought like a demon, swinging his sword overhead so fast it was a blur. Lark and Ashera fought back to back; a growing pile of bodies circling them as testimony to their prowess with the sword. Illera knew Appolon was as trained as Abbadon, so she let him move into the conflict. More and more raiders came out of the darkness to swell the ranks of the attackers. Appolon moved forward, Illera guiding him to the area with the fewest pirates. He struck and one of the men vanished beneath his mighty hooves. She urged him forward with her knees, and he entered the fighting with flailing feet. She simply hung on and let him respond to his training.

  “Illera, get out, get away,” screamed Raven his face a mask of fury.

  Her concentration slipped just as the huge stallion lashed out with both hind feet. Illera slid from his back to her backside on the bloody ground. She jumped up and tried to regain his back, but he moved away from her; fighting his way to Lark’s side. A man grabbed her from behind. She twisted in his hands, staring up into a dirty grinning face.

  “How nice of you to invite us to your little party.” A spray of spittle bathed her face. “That bonfire was a lovely touch to call us in.”

  Abbadon appeared out of the night. He drove his teeth into the man’s shoulder and lifted him high into the air. His mighty head tossed and the pirate sailed through the air. A sharp swang sound and the man’s head left his body; Raven’s sword flashed red in the firelight. He kneed the horse closer to her, reached down and swung her up behind him. She fastened her arms around his waist in a frantic grip, and her legs clamped to the horse.

  Raven battled his way to Lark and Ashera. Appolon was almost there, fighting as well as three men. A fresh wave of pirates rushed upon them, cutting off Raven. Illera could hear him cursing under his breath. She closed her eyes, shutting out the sights and sounds of the slaughter.

  She heard a voice, below the threshold of normal hearing, a voice like gravel rolling down an incline, but singing. It reminded her of the wind in the trees rising until it resembled a howling blizzard in the winter. Then it faded away.

  She opened her eyes and looked around trying to locate the singer, but only the sounds of battle roared in her ears. The fighting reached a fever pitch. Raven was pushed further and further from his brother and Ashera. Appolon went down, pulled and pushed by more bodies than he could resist. A pirate leapt to Abbadon’s back, slashing down Raven’s right arm with a knife. Without thinking, Illera whipped Raven’s belt knife from the scabbard and stabbed the man. He slid from the black’s back with a whimpering cry. Abbadon thrust backward and the pirate vanished into the night. Raven’s blood poured over them and the horse as he switched the sword to his other hand. Illera tried to hold on to the wound, but he was moving too much, spraying his life’s fluid all over the muddy battlefield.

  The wind was picking up, driving before it a wall of fog. Thin and wispy at first the fog thickened to the point that Illera could no longer see Abbadon’s ears just an arm’s length away.

  “Lark?” called Raven, hearing only the sounds of confusion and the clang of sword on sword.

  With a fierce squawk, a magpie dove upon them. Raven raised his left hand to bat it away. Illera dug her fingers into him.

  “”Don’t,” she cried in his ear, “that’s Maggie. She’ll show us the way out of here.”

  “Not without my brother.” Raven ground his teeth.

  “Maggie.” The bird alighted on Raven’s head her head cocked towards Illera. “Find Lark and Ashera. Take us to Lark and Ashera.”

  With a squawk, she fluttered ahead, flapping madly to allow the horse to keep up. As they moved through the fog, Lark materialized off Abbadon’s right shoulder.

  Raven leaned down. “Lark, are you all right?”

  Lark laughed at him. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be with just a little scuffle like this?”

  They heard Maggie’s gurgle as she reappeared out of the mist, tugging Appolon by his forelock. Lark saluted her and leapt to his mount’s back. A few steps further they found Ashera, driving a sword through a pirate who lay spread-eagled on the ground. She seized Lark’s hand and swung up behind him. Maggie next took them to the untidy scatter of their belongings. They grabbed their saddles, saddlebags and most of their armor. Maggie chattered at a frantic pace, and they followed her to Ashera’s white stallion still tied securely in the dip. The warrior woman slid from Appolon, saddled the white and mounted. They followed the magpie once more.

  Illera clamped both hands over the deep slice in Raven’s arm, concentrating on getting the bleeding to stop. It lessened by degrees and ceased as they traveled through a gray world with no sense of where they were. An hour passed before the veil thinned, and thinned again becoming wispy tendrils. Silvery trees surrounded them, a gentle, open forest of beech, ash, and birch. Maggie lit on Raven’s head again. She gurgled an incomprehensible message to Illera and looked longingly to the north and Seven Spires.

  “Go Maggie. Go back to your family and my thanks for this night’s work.”

  With a final burble, the magpie launched herself and arrowed home. Lark led them to a towering rock, thrusting to the stars from the sandy loam of the forest floor. Wearily they dismounted, keeping the horses close and making a semi-circle with their gear on the landward side of the rock.

  “Can someone make a small, very small fire? I just need enough to boil a kettle of water for tea,” asked Illera.

  Lark groaned. “Surely you can’t insist on a cup of tea now. We are too tired to gather wood and make you a cup of tea.”

  Illera pointed to Raven, slumped on the ground. “It’s not for me. It’s to make medicine for Raven.”

  Lark looked at his brother and moved to his side. Looking up he said, “My apologies Lady. I am tired from this day’s work and have wronged you in my thoughts and speech.”

  Illera smiled at him. “Forget it, Lark. There is no need. We are all tired, but Raven needs attention. I’m going to gather some supplies.”

  Ashera trailed Illera as she picked the needed medicine from the forest. They returned, Illera, her skirt full to overflowing with moss, leaves and mushrooms and Ashera, her arms loaded with wood. Lark shaved the wood into kindling and started a small fire while Ashera took the kettle and went to search for water. Illera examined Raven’s arm in the flickering light.

  The cut started in the middle of the bicep and traveled in a straight line to the wrist becoming shallower. It was deepest at the elbow, and Illera was alarmed to notice the tendon had been sliced and was just hanging together. She blew out her breath and shook Raven’s opposite shoulder.

  “Raven?” She shook him again. “Raven, I have a problem.”

  Blearily he opened his eyes. “What can I do for you, my Lady?”

  “When the pirate cut your arm he almost severed the tendon. I can try to fix it, maybe, but it is going to hurt, a lot. But, if I don’t try, you could lose the use of your arm altogether. What do you want me to do? I warn you, I’ve only worked on animals, never humans.”

  Raven sat up in alarm.

  “Don’t move,” Illera told him. “The more you move around, the greater the likelihood of the tendon parting and if it does that there is nothing I can do to fix it.”

  “My Lady, please, if you can do anything, do it. I don’t care how much it hurts, if I lose the use of my arm, I stand no chance of ever becoming a knight, and I must become a knight.”

  Illera could hear the panic starting in his voice. “It’s going to be okay, just don’t move until I can repair it.”

  Raven froze into immobility as Illera rose and approached Lark.

  “Raven’s arm is b
ad, and if I’m going to fix it, I need a sewing needle and fiber. Do either you or Raven have such an item.”

  Lark shook his head. “Neither of us carry woman’s tools.”

  Ashera loomed out of the dark with the pot of water. “Neither do I, but I do carry an awl to mend harness and such.”

  Taking the water Illera divided it into two portions, adding leaves to one and mushrooms to the other, and setting them beside the fire to boil.

  “Watch the medicine Lark. Let the leaves boil until the water turns dark. Take the mushrooms off as soon as the water boils and bring it to Raven to drink.”

  She went with Ashera to her saddlebags and received the awl. It was very sharp, but too large for her purpose. She returned to the fire and thought. Seeing the slivers from the kindling, she picked one up. Borrowing Ashera’s knife, she made it smaller, with a tiny hole in one end. Then she put it in the tea of leaves boiling on the fire. She went to Abbadon and plucked a hair from his mane and tossed that in the pot as well.

  Ready, she approached Raven. “Can you and Ashera come here and hold Raven down? It’s crucial that he not move at all.”

  The others complied, Lark holding him tight across his chest and other arm as Ashera steadied the injured arm and wrist. Illera threaded the sliver with the horsehair and bent to her work. She firmly fastened the two ends of the tendon together, heaving a sigh of relief when the last knot was tied. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled at the others.

  “It’s okay; I got it.” A grin split her weary face.

  They released Raven, and he sat up looking ill.

  “I’m sorry I had to hurt you,” she placed a shaking hand on his shoulder, “But I mended the tendon and once your arm heals it will be fine.”

  Raven smiled at her. “It didn’t hurt my Lady. You have a fine touch.”

  Illera laughed. “I know it hurt; I felt you flinching.”

  Raven grinned, “Not as much as losing my arm would have.”

  Illera poured the cooled leaf tea into the wound and packed it with moss. She gave Raven a drink of the mushroom tea, and he was soon asleep. Moving to Ashera, she treated her small cuts and slices. Lark had only a small gash on the back of his hand, but Illera packed it in moss. They joined Raven in slumber.