Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  Abbadon was cut around the legs, and she needed a long time to wash and pack his wounds, but Appolon was roughly hacked on his legs, flank, and belly. It took her several hours to clean and bandage his wounds. The sky was beginning to pale by the time Illera finished.

  Stirring up the fire, she put some fresh wood on the coals. Following Ashera’s path from the night before, kettle in hand, she found a rill of water where she washed the kettle and refilled it, returning to the campsite. She put the water on to boil and checked her patients. Raven woke as she moved the moss to check the wound. He looked at the thin pink line that remained and flexed his hand.

  “My Lady,” he began, “Illera,” She looked at him, noting the dancing blue motes deep within his eyes. “Princess, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Forget it, Raven; you were hurt defending me.”

  “No, that was my job, and knights get hurt all the time doing their job. But, nobody I have ever heard of has been given a second chance as I have. I don’t have the words to tell you, my Lady.”

  Illera put a finger to his lips to stop him. She shook her head.

  He moved her finger aside and held her hand, “Lady, I pledge you my sword. Next to my liege, the king, you have my service and my loyalty. And I swear, by the mother that bore me that I will protect your life and happiness should it cost my own in return.”

  As thunder rumbled from the sea, vibrating the land with its power Illera pulled her hand from his and stood. She smiled down at him, embarrassed.

  “Thank you, Raven. I seem to be collecting loyalty these days.” She moved to the fire. “The tea should be hot, come and have breakfast with me.”

  “Gladly my Lady,” he replied, springing to his feet.

  The others joined them, chewing on tough jerked meat washed down with the delicate mint tea Illera had made. They stomped out the fire, packed their gear and mounted the horses.

  “The Lady rides with me.” Ashera thrust out her chest.

  Illera looked at Abbadon and Appolon but approached the ill-tempered white gelding. Ashera reached down a hand, but Lark lifted her to ride pillion behind the warrior woman. They headed away from the rising sun, determined to put miles between themselves and the pirate-filled sea. Lulled by the rhythm of the horse, Illera soon nodded off, her head against Ashera’s broad back.

  She woke with a thump and a whoosh as the air escaped from her lungs. She lay gasping, staring at the bright blue of the sky overhead. Two heads obscured her vision.

  “My Lady, are you all right?” they chorused.

  Unable to reply, Illera twisted on the hard ground as she struggled for breath. A welcoming draught blessed her lungs, and she panted in soft grass. Lark lifted her to her feet, his face anxious. Ashera joined the group still mounted on her horse.

  “He spooked at a rabbit and jumped. I felt you slide but couldn’t do anything ‘cause he tried to bolt.” Ashera smacked the prancing beast roughly on the neck.

  “Why do you ride such a creature?” Raven’s voice dripped sarcasm. “The Lady could have broken her neck, then where would we all be? Probably have to be outlaws for the rest of our days with King Korul and King Ian both after our heads.”

  “Sorry my Lady, not all of us can afford fancy war-horses. Some of us take what we can get,” snapped Ashera.

  Illera waved a hand at her in dismissal. “My fault for falling asleep.”

  “But you wouldn’t have fallen asleep if you hadn’t been up all night tending our wounds.” Raven glared at Ashera with a half snarl.

  “Peace, peace,” cried Lark. “We have enough enemies to fight without going at each other. However, I do think Illera would fare better on a well-trained animal. She can ride with me on Appolon. He’s not likely to spook.”

  “Abbadon is smitten by her. I think she should ride with me.” Raven thrust out his chin.

  “A Lady should ride with a woman, not a man,” Ashera insisted.

  Lark opened his mouth to reply, but Illera cut him off. “I know Appolon is wounded, and so is Raven, so it would be better if I stayed with Ashera for now, until we are sure that both are completely recovered.”

  Ashera smiled in triumph as Lark and Raven glared at each other. Lark lifted her to the white’s back, and they set off again. Many slow miles passed beneath the hooves before Illera fell asleep again.

  Hands lifted her from the horse’s back and her second awakening was better than the first. When she regained her feet, she looked around the town of Southern Reach. It was a dilapidated, sleepy town; the main street of packed sand lofted clouds of dust into the warm wind as the horses plodded behind a servant to the large stable. A double row of wooden houses lined the way, and through the gaps between the buildings, she could see more houses of the same sort. The short, local people, in brown or cream colored clothing, ambled about their business, often turning to stare at the strangers. They looked like the typical people of Madean, but their normally sturdy bodies were thin and their faces pinched and hollow.

  The travelers stood in front of the only stone building, a two-story structure, towering over its single-level neighbors. A series of three shallow stone stairs led to the double, wooden plank doors decorated with heavy wrought iron latches and hinges. Leading the way to the doors, Ashera banged on the surface. A hollow echo reverberated. She knocked again.

  Illera jumped when the doors swung open, and Raven caught her before she could tumble down the steps. A white-haired couple dressed in creamy, pale robes bowed low over their hands. When he raised his head, Illera noticed the old man had piercing green eyes that bore through her, giving her the feeling he was reading her innermost thoughts.

  “Welcome Lady Illera, our princess. We are so happy that you have been found. How may the humble town of Southern Reach serve you?”

  Baffled, Illera turned to Lark. He replied, “We need only lodging, food and a good bath would be most welcome Headmaster Dela.”

  “Certainly, squire. Please enter. I will send and make sure your horses are properly cared for. The chestnut mare is most well. There are some who will be sorry to see her leave.”

  The old couple warmly welcomed Ashera, inquiring about every detail of her adventures as they followed Dela into the town hall. He led them to a back room where the community kitchen was busy, and Illera detected the savory odors of roast and bread. The others sniffed the appetizing scents.

  The headwoman told them to be seated at a long trestle table, and soon a trencher was set before each one of them. Filled with sliced meat, potatoes, vegetables and three large slices of bread, the long tray was dripping with gravy.

  “We are so grateful to your father for the provisions he sent,” the woman told Illera. “Without them, we would be unable to feed ourselves, let alone you. And your squires, why they saved our barley harvest from the Shul.”

  “Please, tell me about it?” requested Illera.

  The woman sat down across from her as she continued eating. “For the last few years, since I was a girl, the Shul have been coming into our land and raiding our ripe fields and granaries. They steal the best of our herds and flocks. And it has been getting worse. For years they left us enough to live on, if just to assure themselves a steady supply, but lately, with their new leader, they have been taking everything and burning the fields, barns, and farms whenever they can. It has been a long hungry time. But now your father has sent us supplies, and we are so grateful.”

  Illera swallowed around a large lump in her throat.

  The woman continued, “This year, when the barley harvest came in, the Shul came as usual. But your father, bless his wisdom, had prepared signal fires for when the enemy came, and we lighted them. He was here so quickly, and he brought these fine squires with him. Of course, we had our own Ashera then, but it is hard for a single fighter to repel a horde of Shul. They drove the ogres away. Targ’s clan actually fled rather than try to fight against the band your father led.”

  “I have been impressed with them too,�
�� Illera said softly, “Why just last night…”

  A strong hand drove fingers into her thigh and stopped her. She glared up at Ashera.

  “Tis bad luck to speak so, my Lady. I would respectfully ask you to refrain.”

  Illera nodded, and Ashera removed her claws. Illera rubbed her leg and nodded ruefully at the Headmistress.

  “I’d best be busy anyhow.” The woman rose and bustled off into the kitchen.

  “Why did you do that?” Illera asked. “I was only going to tell her how well you fought.”

  Ashera shook her head bottom lip outthrust. “You have your ways and we fighters, ours. I do not insist you do your things our way, allow us to have our own traditions.”

  “Of course,” Illera agreed, “But I don’t see…”

  “No, Princess, you do not see.”

  Illera closed her mouth not speaking a word, while they finished eating. A small girl came and timidly showed them to the bathing room. Illera was impressed that the small dusty town would boast such an amenity. There was a wide sunken pool where heated water lifted languorous fingers of steam into the air. The area around the bath, cobbled with large flat stones, had a series of benches circling the walls. The girl left them towels, washing cloths, and lavender scented soap. Ashera stripped and jumped into the pool while Illera was gazing around.

  “Come on,” she called.

  “Do you mean together?” Illera’s jaw was slack.

  “Of course.”

  Illera turned her back and removed her clothes, holding her dress in front of her until she could slip into the water. Ashera laughed at her and splashed. The little girl came back and took their soiled clothing, leaving soft cotton robes for them to put on. Illera washed quickly and got out, dressing with her back to Ashera. When they finished, they moved to a cozy room with a large bed. Illera crawled under the covers and was soon asleep.

  After a hearty breakfast the next morning, they packed their things and saddled the horses. Illera was pleased to meet Copper again, although Abbadon refused to let either of them alone, lipping Illera’s clothing and nipping at the mare. Lark took the lead as they left Southern Reach, leading them parallel to the mountains. Illera remembered her flight through here and vaguely wished she could be alone to travel the length and width of Madean. When the day waned, they found a sheltered copse of trees with a stream nearby and bedded down for the night.

  It was a bone-chilling scream, a shriek that went up and up in pitch and volume until Illera could feel it vibrating in the marrow of her bones that woke her shortly before midnight. The horses snorted and plunged trying to break free and fight the noise. Lark and Raven scrambled into armor as Ashera dragged Illera to the horses before she was even awake.

  She threw her on Copper’s bare back and yelled, “Run, get to your father. He’ll see that you make it to Frain.”

  Heading Copper in the right direction and slapping her smartly on the rump, Ashera turned back to Lark and Raven. Illera could hear more screams, and then the clash of weapons before Copper’s swift strides took her too far from the fray to hear. Copper was born and bred to run, and Illera wrapped her legs around the mare’s barrel and urged her on, anxiety for her companions chewing at her nerves like wolves with a carcass. It became too much; she slowed the chestnut to a trot, then a walk. The mare stood still, blowing and huffing while Illera strained her ears for the sound of other hoof beats. She circled the mare, trying to pick up the sounds of battle. She heard a scuff, a small animal moving through the grass.

  Copper reared up, and Illera grabbed at her mane to stay on her back, but horny, callused hands grabbed her and ripped her from the mare’s back. Bundled into a stinking sack, she was slung over the back of her captor. It moved off, jiggling and bouncing Illera on its broad back. She squirmed around until her head was upright, hearing the clomp of Copper’s hooves behind her.

  The horse scrambled several times as though she was slipping on rock and Illera was unmercifully jounced around before the creature that was carrying her dumped the bag on the ground. She fell out on her side.

  “Lark! Raven!” She stretched her hands towards them as she spied them sitting bound and gagged against a wall of rock.

  The brothers hung their heads. She could see the rise and fall of Lark’s chest as he sighed and Raven shook his head. Ashera was nowhere to be seen. One of the Shul guarding the men walked over and kicked the two of them several times. Raven wriggled upright again while Lark lay where he had fallen. Illera tried to go to him, but her captor seized her wrists and lifted her into the air. The other Shul chortled with laughter. Angry, Illera attempted to kick the beast while swinging and engendered even more merriment. It tired of its sport and dropped her on the ground. When it turned its back, she crept over to the men, shoving Lark into a sitting position again.

  She started to speak, but a quick shake of Raven’s head told her to be silent, so she tucked her back against the rock and hunched between them, feeling very small and vulnerable.

  The Shul brought their spears and prodded the captives to their feet. The path wound steeply upwards, sheer rock on one side and a murderous drop on the other. Without room for resistance should they have an opportunity to fight, they had no avenue of escape.

  Climbing through the night, dawn’s rays illuminated the tallest peaks as they came to a high pass. There was snow on the ground, and the terrain was icy. A sharp wind prowled the pass, freezing exposed skin with its breath. Illera slipped several times, twice going to her knees. The ogres laughed and prodded her with spears. She struggled to keep up. In front, she could see Lark’s hands getting white and knew Raven’s would be the same. The next time she slipped, she tore the legs off her bloomers. Struggling ahead through the progressively deepening snow, she wrapped Lark’s hands in the thick material. Dropping back, she did the same for Raven. He smiled at her with his eyes, which was reward enough. The guard roared at her and struck her with the butt of his spear, sending her tumbling through the snow perilously close to the edge. With loud cursing, another trudged through the snow and pulled her back to the trail. A grunt and a buffet smote her as he set her between the two men. Illera forced her legs back into the rhythm of the march.

  The trail peaked and tended downward; the snow shallower and the wind, although strong, lacking the fangs it had at the higher level. They marched on until dark and then kept moving through the blackness of the night. Second moon was three-quarters and first moon only a memory, so the stars were out, sharp, clear and indifferent.

  As they traveled through the night, Illera was prodded more and more often. Even Lark and Raven were stumbling. The ogres finally called a halt at a deep cave. The humans were pushed to the back, and a roaring blaze was soon going at the front of the cave. Curious as to what they used for fuel, Illera crept to the front. The creatures were roasting game over the flames, and her mouth began to water. One of them noticed her and gestured for her to go to the back. Illera stood up her full height.

  “I’m hungry, and so are my friends. We can’t walk anymore unless you feed us.” Her posture was tall and her face composed although she shivered with cold and fear.

  The ogres began to laugh. They seemed to find everything she did hilarious, so she stomped closer and pointed to the rabbit in the middle of the flames. They laughed harder, but one removed the carcass and tossed it to her. She bowed and thanked them, moving to the rear of the cave to the sounds of laughter.

  She removed the gags from the men, but when she tried to untie their hands, the guards moved in and stopped her. Tearing the rabbit in pieces, she held a piece in each hand in front of Lark and Raven and let them tear the meat off with their teeth.

  “How did you get this food?” whispered Raven between bites.

  “They seem to think I’m amusing. They laugh at everything I do, so I just asked.”

  Lark snorted, “Well I’m glad you’re funny, although from what I’ve heard that’s very unusual.”

  Illera shrugged. “W
here’s Ashera?”

  “They took her somewhere first, when we were held there in those rocks waiting,” Lark tried to wipe his greasy lips on his shoulder.

  “Is she all right?”

  Raven shrugged. “I don’t know. Are we?”

  Illera pondered for a long moment. “Yes.”

  “What?” hissed Lark. “What do you mean we are all right? We are captives of the Shul, in the mountains, freezing, starving, and half dead from walking and you say we are all right.”

  Illera looked at him, a deep wash of serenity flowing through her, “We will be. We will be fine.”

  “How do you know?” asked Raven.

  Illera shrugged, staring at the cave floor. “I don’t know, I feel.”

  He smiled, streaks of rabbit grease shining in the firelight. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I think I feel it too. Search for it Lark, feel around in that heartless old chest of yours and see what you come up with.”

  “Nothing,” he whispered back.

  When the men had eaten their portions, Illera tore into hers. The grease ran down her fingers and stained the sleeves of her garment. When only the bones remained, she took them to the fire and threw them in. She could see the flames, but the fire was burning on nothing at all, a magic flame.

  She returned to her corner and was soon fast asleep, her head pillowed on Raven’s lap and her feet on Lark’s. It seemed she had no more than laid her head down when the ogres were prodding them up again. She lurched to her feet with groans for her sore and aching muscles. For a few seconds, her ankles wobbled, and her feet would not hold her, but exerting her will and she made them take her weight.

  Leaving the cave, they traveled upwards again and back into the snow. By noon, they were descending again, and that was the pattern repeated over and over until she lost track of the way they had come. When for a longer time they had been spiraling down, the path widened enough for two to walk safely abreast, but they stayed in their single file, while the Shul went in pairs. The land flattened, and Illera gazed at the blue and purple mountains enclosing a wide plateau. Shrubby gray-green vegetation became common, and she noticed unripe berries on most of the bushes. The soil was thin and stony, caught in hollows, folds, and dips. Many dwarf pines struggled to grow in some of the deeper crevasses. In the middle of the plateau was a village of low, round dwellings, composed of two-foot-high rock walls with animal hide rising from it to form a circular tent. They sported intense colors in with feathers and strips of bright cloth. A roaring bonfire in the center of the town burned on nothing at all, like the one in the cave and many Shul milled about the flames. To one side Illera could see a corral, with Abbadon, Appolon, Copper, Ashera’s white gelding and three short, spotted ponies.