Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  The prisoners marched to the village. The biggest hut sported wide banners of red and yellow and was decorated with red and yellow circles and bars painted around the circumference. Yellow feathers lined the doorway. The trio was pushed through the leather flap that served as a door and into the warmth of the building. A stone vessel filled with grease shed light, heat and stink into the space. On a throne, opposite to the door sat a gigantic Shul, wearing solid metal armor with plumes of yellow feathers at each massive shoulder. The ridges of his crest were tremendous, large and a vibrant orange instead of the common brown. Ashera stood to one side, well within reach of the ripping talons on his fingers, as a dozen other Shul shifted about the edges of the space. Illera and the two men were shoved before the throne.

  “Is this the one you were telling me about?” The creature growled.

  “Indeed, mighty Targ, this is she.” Ashera bowed as she approached the throne.

  “It doesn’t look worth much. How much gold?”

  “A lot of gold your mightiness, probably more gold than you have ever seen.”

  “But if I send a messenger, he will be killed before he ever reaches the lowlands.”

  “Send me, your highness. I will deliver the message and return here with the gold for you.”

  The creature laughed. “You want me to trust you to do my business? You will run away.”

  “No, your mightiness. On my honor, I will return.”

  The creature laughed louder, stopping suddenly. “Here is what we will do. I will send my messenger, and he will go with you. Should anyone attack him, you will die, and I will kill these immediately he returns to me. So guard my servant well.”

  The ogre gave commands to his people. The prisoners were taken to another building, this one with solid stonewalls, roofed with skins. They saw Ashera mounting her horse. At her back were two ogres riding the small ponies with spears at the small of her back.

  They were pushed into the jail building, and the skin flap was tied down on the outside. This one was a quarter the size of Targ’s home and the rock walls held the chill. The grease lamp was small, and the three huddled around it, trying to get warm. Illera picked at the knots holding the men’s hands behind their back, managing to pick them apart just as the flap opened and a tiny ogre carrying a metal bucket stepped in.

  It wore a long woven bark garment and a fur cloak that rose over a huge hump on its back. The bucket contained scraps of meat, berries, and bark. It set the bucket in the middle of them and gestured for them to eat. Lark and Raven dug into the mess with numbed hands, but Illera stared at the female.

  Squalling sounds issued from the hump. Keeping her eyes on the prisoners, she reached around and pulled a baby forward. It was round, pink and human looking but for the eyes. Illera stepped forward with her hands outstretched. The female jumped back, alarm on her face. Illera talked to her in her sing-song voice, and the creature cocked her head. Illera moved forward, and the ogress showed her the baby.

  “He sick,” the ogress told her.

  “What’s the matter?” Illera made cooing sounds over the child.

  “A lung cough,” the mother stuttered.

  Illera told her, “Let me help.”

  “How you help Targ child?”

  Illera smiled at her and took the baby from her arms. “On my horse, the…the…mare, reddish colored,” at the mother’s nod she continued. “There is a bag full of plants. Bring it here to me with some boiling water, and I can help your son.”

  The female nodded, looking at Illera and her son. Then she went to the flap and scratched at it. It opened, and she left, leaving her baby in Illera’s arms. She sat next to the flames to keep the child warm. The ogress soon returned with Illera’s herbs and a pot of boiling water.

  Illera gave the child to its mother and placed the blue mushrooms in the pot of water. When it cooled, she took the infant from his mother and dripped the decoction into his mouth, rocking and singing to him. Lark and Raven fell asleep on one side of the room, and the mother sat on her heels; her eyes never leaving Illera’s face.

  Hours later, the child coughed, then coughed again. He gave a deep sigh and fell into a restful sleep. Illera placed him in his mother’s arms.

  “He will be fine now. All better.”

  The ogress peered at her with lowered brows. “All better? No sick?”

  Illera nodded. “No sick.”

  With a fearsome display of fangs, the mother smiled. She packed the baby onto her back and scratched until the guard opened the tent flap. With one last look, she vanished into the night. Illera stretched and curled herself around the lamp. Sleep was waiting.

  Babble outside the flap in the morning woke the prisoners. The ogress was back, bringing boiled grain and eggs; fare much improved over the night before. Before they finished eating, males and females were pushing into the little building asking for Illera’s help. She mended broken limbs, infections, and wounds from weapons until her supplies ran out. As the last patients shuffled out of the door, a voice like gravel made her turn.

  “I thought it could only be you. I know no other who heals the enemy.”

  Illera smiled up at the ugly visage of Frak Windsinger.

  “And how are you?” she inquired.

  “My health is excellent and has been since you healed my death blow. My mind, however, is sick with musing and speculation.”

  Lark slid between them.“Who is this Illera?”

  She moved him gently aside. “Just a friend.”

  The ogre laughed. “I move from patient to friend. You are remarkable for a human.”

  Illera smiled at him. “I have a wide circle of friends, most of them not human.”

  “Ah, then, I suppose I fit,” Frak replied. “I must go, I just needed to be sure it was you. Targ is going to ransom you for a pile of gold. Just be patient, you will not be killed, just the two men. Once the messenger returns with the ransom, you will be escorted to your father.”

  “No, Frak, you cannot kill my companions?”

  “Why not? They are the enemy.”

  “They are my friends. As I told you, I don’t have many human friends, probably just these. Isn’t there some way you could talk to Targ, so they are set free?”

  Frak laughed, then stopped seeing her anxious face.

  “Ah, I perceive you were not joking. I will try to do what I can, but I am only a Windsinger, not a leader. I doubt he will listen to me.”

  Illera placed both her hands on the massive forearm. “But you will try, won’t you?”

  Frak nodded and left the tent.

  Raven and Lark looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses.

  “You’re asking a favor of a Shul.” Raven shook his head disgust written large across his features.

  “We kill Shul; we don’t bargain with them.” Lark straightened and made stabbing motions with his arm.

  Illera looked at them, wondering why they hated their captors so much. “They are people too, Lark, Raven. They just want to survive and raise their children and be happy. Why do you think they are so evil?”

  “Well, because, well….they are, that’s all,” stammered Lark.

  “They kill us all the time.” Raven nodded his head.

  “But I wonder who started the killing?” Illera asked them. “Those answers are so far back in history we will never have them. When all the races came here first, we all got along, but now, war with everyone all the time. Someone has to stop.”

  The men looked at her astonished. She held their eyes. Long moments passed until Raven smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  He said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Illera laughed. “That’s just about what Frak said when I spoke to him.”

  Raven and Lark looked at each other and retreated to their side of the lamp.

  That night’s supper was of far better quality, though served in the same container. The ogress left as soon as they finished eating and pausing at the entrance,
one eyelid closed in a solemn wink and she was gone.

  Illera looked at Lark and Raven and cocked her head to one side. Before sleep overtook them, Illera heard singing. Rising she went to the door flap. It was a voice of gravel, grating and rough, yet with the wild wind and weather in it, somehow familiar.

  “See, humans sing and Shul sing. There’s not that much difference.”

  Raven smiled, looking down, refusing to continue the argument. Lark looked ready to start over again when the door whisked aside and a small male entered.

  “Come,” he commanded.

  Raven scrambled to his feet, following Illera and Lark out of the hut.

  A thick fog surrounded them, making visibility nil. Illera held onto the boy in front and Lark held onto her and Raven to him. They stumbled across the village realizing when they passed the fire only by the warmth of the fog.

  They moved to the coral, where Abbadon and Appolon greeted them with snorts of pleasure. Copper made for Illera and pushed Abbadon out of the way. The mounts were saddled, and their belongings were strapped behind the saddles.

  “Has my ransom been paid already?” asked Illera surprised.

  The boy lifted one coarse finger to his lips and gestured for them to mount and follow. They stayed tight together, fearful of losing each other in the mist. Traveling slowly, even the sounds of horse’s feet were muffled by the dense moisture surrounding them; they ascended into the hills. Gradually, the land rose curving to meet surrounding mountains. The boy halted. The fog was lighter up here, but still thick enough to obscure all but ten feet in any direction.

  The boy pointed ahead. “Go this trail, stay this trail. Long, long, keep go. Come Swift River; you know way.” Bobbing his head, he vanished back into the fog.

  “Thank you Frak Windsinger,” called Illera gently into the mist. She thought she heard a low chuckle.

  “You think that old ogre did this?” whispered Lark to her as she started down the trail.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t believe that he could call the fog,” argued Lark.

  “Why not? Ogres didn’t believe that I could heal them, but they do now.”

  Nonplussed, Lark had nothing to say. Abbadon surged into the lead, eager to be away from the ogres. Illera hurried after him, afraid of separation in this weather. The trail was sufficiently wide for a single horse and rider, but there was no passing room. It wound downwards in a series of sharp switchbacks and Illera watched to make sure she missed no turning to sail off into the fog-filled void. The horses inched downward with stiffened forelegs. The path leveled out, and the incline was reduced as the mist grew lighter, feathering away into the darkness of a moonless night. They picked up the pace a little, moving at a normal walk.

  It seemed an endless journey, moving in blackness and hearing small, dislodged rocks tumbled down to unseen depths with a fading rattle. On and on they traveled. Illera’s eyes grew weary of trying to focus on the midnight dark horse against the blackened sky and landscape. Only the occasional flash of starlight on Raven’s chainmail and the hollow clomp of Abbadon’s hoofs reassured her that he was still ahead.

  Despite the chill of the air, Copper was sweating. When they reached a wider spot on the trail, a cove surrounded on three sides by sheer gray rock, Illera stopped the mare.

  “I think we need to rest the horses,” she called to Raven, keeping her voice low.

  Abbadon backed up to the wide spot. Raven nodded and dismounted. Lark rode up next to them.

  “We should keep moving. What if the Shul are following us?” Lark leaned over from his tall saddle.

  Raven dismounted. “Then we stand a better chance of escaping them if the horses are rested. Those switchbacks were steep, and it took a lot out of them. I think an hour’s rest will do us all good.”

  Illera slid down from her horse, found the brush in the saddlebags and scraped the mare off. She pulled her as close to the rock at the back as she could get and huddled between the mare’s legs wrapping her cloak tightly against herself. The wind seemed alive, prying into every nook and fold, working its way inside to chill the flesh. In too short a time, Raven told her to mount again. Illera stood, but was unable to reach the sidesaddle stirrup on the tall mare. Lark lifted her to the animal’s back, and she followed Raven back to the trail.

  The horses were fresher now, walking eagerly. The trail was beginning to rise again, and soon they had climbed into the snow. As the sky lightened ahead of them, they crested the pass. Shuffling through belly-deep snow, they watched the sun peek through the jagged peaks ahead. The trail angled steeply downward again, plunging them back into night. They kept moving, chewing the tough jerked meat for their breakfast.

  The trail inclined downward still and they trotted, able to make better time in the daylight. The sharp drop made Illera nervous, and when Copper’s feet slipped, she threw herself to the cliffside of the animal. The mare caught her footing again, and they continued more slowly.

  As they were rounding a sharp bend and the incline narrowed to the point where a rider could just barely stay on the horse with one foot squeezed against the mountainside and the other hanging over open air, Illera heard cursing ahead of them. She turned to look at Lark who shrugged. Rounding the curve Abbadon stopped. Illera raised herself as tall as she could to peer around him.

  Ashera’s bad-tempered gelding blocked the way, his feet braced wide. Ashera, dismounted, was trying to tug him over a cleft in the trail, the matter of a single foot’s width, but the war-horse would not budge. The ogre sat his small pinto patiently ahead of her. Ashera cursed again, bringing a snort of amusement from behind Illera. She slapped him on the shoulder, but he leaned back further and managed to take a step backward.

  Raven kneed Abbadon forward. The white laid back his ears. Abbadon moved closer, crowding up against the gelding’s tail. He tried to turn his head, but Ashera had a firm grip and was pulling him forward. He lashed out with one rear foot, unbalancing himself and Ashera hauled him ahead. One foreleg slipped into the crevasse and the other planted on the other side. He whinnied. Ashera yanked on the reins, and he pulled the foot from the rock and hobbled forward, the back legs joining the front one on the other side. Illera could see the blood running down the leg from the knee to the pastern.

  Abbadon stepped delicately across the gap, followed by Copper and Appolon. They moved smartly until they reached a wider section of the trail. Raven dismounted and went to Ashera. Illera followed, joined by Lark.

  “…betray us for money?” Raven was saying as Illera approached.

  “I was trying to save your lives!” Ashera sneered, drawing herself to her full height.

  The ogres watched them curiously. Illera kept one eye on them and one on the cliff edge while listening to Raven and Ashera argue.

  “No, you found some way to get to Targ and thereby save your own skin.”

  “I thought she would be gone to her father. That’s where I sent her,” yelled Ashera pointing at Illera.

  “You didn’t even know she was captured when you went to make your bargain with the Shul?” Raven yelled back.

  “No, but I was claiming to be her servant. I knew she would ransom me.”

  Raven turned his back and threw his hands into the air. “I’ve never seen a worse bodyguard. You should have gone with her, then, you could have fought off the Shul when they attacked her.”

  Ashera’s face grew red. “Yes, I should have, but instead I stayed behind to save your miserable hides. Grateful aren’t you?”

  “Grateful? Grateful for what? That you led us into a trap?” Raven had his fist clenched now.

  “If I hadn’t asked for an audience with Targ, they would have killed you on sight never mind drag your sorry ass all the way to his den. Yeah, I saved your lives!”

  “Raven,” Lark grabbed his brother by the shoulder.

  “You didn’t protect Illera!”

  “Who are you to be calling a princess by her first name? You forget who you are squir
e.” Ashera’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You should be herding pigs or whatever it is your mother does. You don’t deserve the rank of even a squire.”

  Raven lunged for Ashera, and she backed against the rock face drawing her sword. Lark grabbed Raven by both arms and Illera hurled herself between the two of them. Ashera and Raven were both panting with rage.

  “Stop!” Illera commanded. “Ashera, did you do the best you knew how to do under the circumstances?”

  “Yes!” Ashera snarled, staring at Raven past her blade.

  “Then fine, but you owe Raven an apology for the slur on his mother.” Turning to Raven, she said, “And you owe Ashera an apology for questioning her motives.”

  The combatants stared at each other. Raven shook his brother off and approached Ashera.

  “I am sorry Ashera, I should not have questioned your motives, but should have ascertained the facts before I spoke. My sorrow that your honor was impugned.” Raven’s face was white and calm.

  Ashera snarled and rammed her sword into its sheath and mounted her reluctant horse. She kicked him hard in the belly and trotted off down the trail, the ogres behind her.

  Illera sighed and felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Ashera was right about one thing, my Lady,” Raven told her, “I should not call you by your familiar name. My apologies, Lady.”