Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  Illera laughed. “Raven, and you too Lark, I give you both permission to use my given name. In fact, I request that you use it. My lady and princess and all those titles are suffocating.”

  She held up her arms so Raven could lift her to Copper’s back as Lark trotted Appolon after Ashera.

  When settled, Illera bent down from Copper’s back and told Raven “Did you see the ogres when you were fighting? They watched with fascination and something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, surprise maybe. Do you think ogres quarrel between themselves?”

  She straightened and sent Copper after the pale tail of Appolon, hearing Raven right behind her. They caught up with Ashera and the ogres around a couple of the bends. Moving steadily along until the light began to fail, the ogres showed them to a round cave with enough room for horses and people. Over a small round hole in the floor, one beast struck his flint. It immediately burst into bright yellow flames. He shared what grain he had in his saddlebags between the animals and Raven made a stew of the jerked meat, boiling it until it was only the toughness of shoe leather. After eating, Illera rolled in her cloak and was asleep almost before her head touched the stone.

  Lark shook her awake. “My Lady, I mean Illera, the ogres have run off. They knew we were the prisoners for ransom and knew we had escaped somehow. I think they will run back to their people and tell them and we can expect pursuit. We must hurry back to human territories.”

  Illera moved stiffly to Copper’s side and followed Raven from the cave to the trail. They moved downwards, trotting the horses on all except the steepest slopes.

  The noise of the Swift River was audible long before they came to the bridge. It foamed down the side of the mountains in a series of rapids and small cascades, roaring, and spraying. The bridge, composed of knotted rope, barely wide enough for a horse to pass, over the wild river made Illera’s stomach clench. A series of rough driftwood boards comprised the floor, uneven and tippy.

  Raven dismounted and examined the rickety structure. “You have to lead your horse across. It is too difficult for him to balance, especially with a rider on his back.”

  He led Abbadon out onto the span, moving with confidence. The black clopped along behind him as if he were walking to his stall. Illera, gulped, releasing a breath she did not know she was holding when he safely reached the other side. Then she moved onto the span. It was wet, slippery from the spray leaping from the river. That same spray dampened the bottom of her riding skirt, making it swirl heavily around her legs. Copper picked up her nervousness and skittered uncertainly behind her, tugging on the reins at the wrong time, making her footing more insecure.

  One of the boards was missing from the middle of the bridge. Illera looked down to the waters below, mesmerized by the power of the river. Raven yelled at her, so she moved, jumping over the opening, just as Copper threw up her head. The reins slipped from her fingers, and she felt a sharp impact on the side of her head. The largest fish she had ever seen breached and hit her. Instinctively, grabbing the slippery creature, she tottered on the edge of the board, flailing for the rope sides with one hand, but the fish fought and forced her over the side into the foaming waters. As she fell, she saw Raven halfway across the span, coming to help her and many more of the rainbow fish jumping over the bridge then the water took her.

  It was cold, fearsomely cold. She was buffeted and twirled, tossed from one rock to the next. She would be forced down, down to where the water was still colder then hurled up into the air to gasp what breath she could before it sucked her down again. A rock impacted her shoulder. She tried to grab on to it, but it was slick with green slime, and her numb fingers slid off. Upright she sailed over a small cascade, throwing her arms high in the air, in case someone could see her. At the bottom, the current inhaled her, dragging her along the smooth rocks of the bottom. Illera held her breath until she was ready to burst. In a spray of foam, the water tossed her up again, lifting her body half out of the water. She panted, drawing in spray and water with the air. Down she went again, striking her knee against a curving rock and tearing a wide gash in her skirt. A series of cascades alternately forced her up and sucked her down, the last time, purling along the bottom, she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, and felt the blackness creeping in. Finished with her, the river tossed her aside as it curved around in a wide oxbow.

  Rough hands pounded on her back. Pain ripped her in two; she could not breathe. She coughed, coughed and gagged. The pounding continued, and someone was holding her and shaking her. She continued to cough, deep racking explosions, tearing her apart. Her stomach turned, and she vomited all over the legs in front of her face.

  “Oh shit!”

  She heard vaguely. She could not concentrate, hacking up her essence until at last her lungs cleared enough for a few deep draughts of air. Between coughing and vomiting, she started to shiver, her teeth chattering and body shaking wildly. She was dragged across the damp surface of the rocks and up into a cluster of shrubby bushes. The pounding stopped, and she was laid down on the mossy ground, shaking and coughing. She heard dry snapping sounds and a few snorts. A stained and disheveled Raven came into view; his arms were loaded with sticks. He piled them in front of her and started a tiny fire. Illera tried stretching out her hands to the heat, but the shaking of her body made it impossible.

  “Take off your wet clothes,” Raven told her.

  Illera shook her head, feeling the movement was lost in the trembling of her body she whispered, “No,” in a voice that cracked and made her cough again.

  He brushed the hair back from her face. “Illera, you have to get out of those wet things. Otherwise, the chill will kill you. I can see your lips and hands are already blue.”

  “Can’t,” she croaked back, retaken in a fit of coughing.

  Raven sighed. “Forgive me, Lady.”

  He stripped her soaking outer garments and boots from her body, tossing them in a muddy pile beside the reluctant fire. When she protested, he left her soaked undergarments on her. With Abbadon’s saddle blanket, he rubbed her down until her skin was tingling and she smelled of horse. He took his spare shirt from the saddlebags and put it on her. It hung to her knees, but the warmth of the dry cloth was the most incredible luxury she had ever felt. Then he wrapped her in his cloak and placed her next to the fire.

  “I have to get more wood. Stay right here,” Raven commanded.

  Illera nodded, not trusting her voice to say anything. Abbadon nudged her from behind, but she could not summon enough energy to stroke him. Then she felt a sudden warmth as the great war-horse lay down at her back. She snuggled into his cozy heat with her head pillowed on his belly. The shivering slowed and gradually stopped. Raven returned and built the fire higher. He spread her soaked and tattered garments on sticks beside the heat to dry.

  Illera heard a loud “Hallo” from across the river. Lark and Ashera stood there, Copper trailing behind Ashera’s war-horse. She could see them gesticulating and arguing. Finally, Lark turned Appolon plunged him into the water. The current swept them downstream. Ashera gave her a long look and continued riding down the river. Illera closed her eyes for a moment and opened them to see the dark blue gaze of Lark right in front of her nose. She started, eliciting a loud snort from Abbadon.

  “My lady, are you all right?” Lark asked, his voice anxious.

  She nodded. “I told you to call me Illera. That’s what friends do.”

  Lark laughed. “Of course, Illera. Is anything broken?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t think so, just lots of bruises.”

  His hand was warm and comforting on her forehead. “Then sleep. When you wake, we’ll take the time to see how you are. Everything’s going to be all right now.”

  Illera closed her eyes, listening to the soft sound of the brother’s voices.

  “Yeah, there must have been two hundred of them, all hidden in the bushes and behind trees, just waiting.”

  “You think she was leading us into a trap?�
�� Lark inquired.

  Raven chuckled. “I was leading brother. I don’t know what to think. They know their mountains better than we do, so possibly, that ogre sent with Ashera fetched them for the ambush. I just don’t know.”

  “Well, I know that we have to get her out of here as soon as possible. Once a Shul gets an idea in its mind, it doesn’t quit until it’s got what it wants or it’s dead.”

  “Yeah,” Raven returned, “And they want gold for Illera. By all the gods Lark, when I saw her in the mud, I was sure she was dead.”

  Lark laughed. “Never seen so tough a princess.”

  Raven agreed. “She’s not what you’d expect.”

  Double hoofbeats drummed as Ashera and Copper joined the party.

  “See, I told you there had to be another bridge,” the warrior woman said in triumph.

  “Yes, Ashera, you were right. But Appolon got me here anyway.”

  The warrior woman snorted. “Stupid squires, haven’t got the brains of a squirrel between you. Raven, you could have been killed racing your horse through the rough brush and rock like that.”

  “Could have been, wasn’t Ashera.”

  “But…”

  “Ashera, I don’t want to fight with you,” snapped Raven in a louder voice. “And there is still the matter of an apology you owe me.”

  “Shhhhh,” commanded Lark, “The princess needs to rest.”

  The conversation died, and all she could hear were the cries of the night birds and the snapping of the campfire.

  Chapter 5

  Abbadon shifted, moving away from her. Illera flung one arm from under the covering and tried to hold him in place, but the giant war-horse eased away from her and scrambled to his feet. Her eyes felt too heavy to open, so she lay her head on the ground, still warm from the horse’s body, and drifted between sleep and waking. Sounds rustled around her: voices too low to hear without concentrating, the crackle of the fire, water being poured from one container to another, the clink of equipment being packed, leather straps being tightened, the snort and stamp of the horses, the tramp of feet, birds chorusing in the background.

  A warm hand brushed the hair back from her face, and a soft voice called, “Illera, Illera.”

  She tried to open her eyes. The bottom one obliged, but the top eyelid merely pained without moving or giving her sight. Tiny rocks and bits of leaf were all she could see without moving, so she twitched her head to one side. Lark bent over her. He slipped an arm behind her shoulders and helped her to sit up. She heard a loud groan but could not place its origin.

  “Yes,” he crooned, “I know it hurts, but it’s not safe here. The Shul could find us at any moment. We have to be moving, now.”

  Trying to move her stiff and unyielding limbs was beyond her ability.

  “Can’t move,” she whispered in a voice she did not recognize.

  Raven hunkered down in front of her; his face shadowed in the misty light of early dawn.

  “Hey, princess, I need my shirt.” His grin was infectious, and she tried to respond.

  Illera looked down; noticing the only thing she had on beneath the cloaks that covered her was a man’s shirt and her underwear. She could feel her cheeks growing warm. Leaning away from Lark’s support, she struggled to bear her own weight. Shaking she rose, wincing at the pain in her muscles and bones. Her hip was the worst, aching with horrible intensity. Lark and Raven hovered beside her, ready to catch her. Tottering the few steps to the fire, she took her ripped and frayed skirt from the stick holding it over the heat. She slipped it over her feet and pulled it up to fasten, but when she touched her hip, she collapsed in a heap on the ground. She looked at the injury. A large chunk of flesh had been scraped from the hipbone down her leg. The injury was a hot red with purple and blue blotches surrounding it. Lark bent closer to look.

  “My lady, that doesn’t look good. Can’t you put some of your healing plants on it?”

  Illera tried to smile, but it hurt too much. “Yes, Lark I could, if I had any. I used all my supplies on the Shul.”

  “Could we pick some for you?” Raven sounded anxious.

  Illera gazed around at the scrubby forest and shook her head.

  “I need a birch forest. That’s where the moss grows, but sometimes I can find other things in a pine or spruce woods. There’s nothing here though that I can use.”

  “Here now, you two shouldn’t be bothering the princess when she needs to get dressed,” called Ashera. “Go away and afford the Lady some dignity.”

  Raven snorted. “We were concerned that she might fall. The river gave her a sound beating yesterday.”

  “If care needs to be given, I’m the one to do it,” Ashera made shooing motions with her hands.

  The brothers moved away to attend to the horses and Ashera seized Illera’s blouse from the stick, tearing another long run in the fabric. Sighing Illera shrugged out of Raven’s shirt, the chill of the mountains and early morning seeping into her aching bones. She hurried as fast as her reluctant body allowed, buttoning up her blouse and jacket and throwing the cloak around her shoulders. Ashera smiled a triumphant grin at her.

  “See, my Lady, it’s not so bad once you get moving.”

  Illera nodded her head and hobbled to Copper. The mare dropped her head and rubbed her face on Illera, knocking her down. Lark was there in an instant, lifting her to her feet.

  “My Lady, can you ride?”

  “I have to, don’t I Lark? And aren’t you supposed to use my name?”

  Lark grinned, lifting her to Copper’s back. The bruised hip made her hiss with pain. Doubled over, she caught the reins and urged the chestnut forward. Illera bit her lip to keep from crying out at every step the mare took. Raven seized the horse by the bridle.

  “No, Illera, you ride with me on Abbadon.”

  Illera smiled, an anemic thing. “I hardly think Abbadon’s stride is any better than Copper’s.”

  Raven lifted her down, tossing the reins to Ashera.

  “Maybe not, but my arms can cushion you a little, and you won’t have to hang on.”

  Raven mounted the black and Lark passed Illera up like a parcel. Raven cradled her in front of him and moved off, Abbadon moving slowly, with great care. Lark and Ashera followed. Illera soon relaxed against the motion of the horse, her sore hip outside away from any pressure. She watched the scenery glide by, alert for any trees that might shelter useful medicine. As Raven’s arms grew weary, Illera rode with Lark and then Raven again.

  They traveled down the southern bank of the Swift River at a gentle walk until they came to the main road to the north. A mean village perched on the bank of the river, a matter of a few straw huts on either side of the dusty road. A scattering of scabrous children watched from the doors of the buildings until fearful parents hustled them inside.

  The bridge was wide and secure, resting on stone pillars embedded on either bank and in the middle of the river. The horses crossed, and Illera had a flashback to the last time she tried to cross the Swift River. She squirmed in Raven’s arms.

  On the other side, they decided to switch again. Lark lifted Illera down, and Raven dismounted to stretch. Illera peered into the distance, noticing a pale grove some miles from the road.

  She pointed to the trees. “I need to go there.”

  Lark and Raven turned to look.

  “It’s too far from the road, My Lady,” Ashera told her. “We need to get you to King Korul as quickly as possible before anything else goes wrong.”

  Illera smiled at her sweetly. “But if I am better and can ride then we will make much better time.”

  “And I say we keep on going. The gods know what could be hiding in that vale. It could be a horde of ogres or pirates. No, we have to keep to the main road. If we’d stuck with that, we wouldn’t have had any of this trouble.” Ashera stuck out her bottom lip.

  Raven gave Ashera a smile that was half snarl. “If the Lady needs medicine then we have to go to that grove of trees. Being in
pain is no joke and speed is not as important as getting there.”

  Before Ashera could reply, he mounted and turned Abbadon’s head towards the trees. Lark and Illera mounted and quickly followed him. Ashera stubbornly reined her gelding to a standstill, fighting with Copper who tried to follow Illera. Arms crossed over her breast; she watched them gallop towards the woods.

  Between the pale trunks of the trees, Lark lowered Illera to the ground. Moving stiffly, she examined the undergrowth, picking various leaves and placing them in her skirt. She shuffled back to the squires who had started a tiny fire and had a kettle of water boiling. Illera smiled as she made her various teas. Retreating behind a dense bush, she treated herself, packing the wound on her hip with moss and washing the various bruises and swellings. She packed her eye with the moss as well and dressing once more; she returned to the brothers. The fire was out, and Lark mounted, ready to continue. Illera handed some thick, furry leaves to him and Raven, keeping a handful for herself.

  “Chew on these. They are a bit bitter, but they will invigorate you and give you energy,” she instructed.

  Riding back to the road, Illera began to feel better. In the same position when they returned, Ashera glared at them with anger in every line of her face. Illera mounted Copper and Ashera spurred her mount down the road. The others galloped to catch up. As the miles passed beneath them, Ashera gradually slowed the pace and rode abreast of Illera with the squires behind them. Wide golden plains on their right and rolling hills leading to sharp bluish mountains on their left hemmed them in and only the gently rolling dusty road led endlessly on, heading for the cold north. The days blurred together into a seamless haze as they moved over the land.

  They stopped for the night at a traveler’s hut, a small wooden building on the side of the road. King Ian had built many like it, a simple affair of boards and flat roof with four bunks, a table and half a dozen chairs in front of a small fireplace. The local people kept it stocked with firewood in a crib out back, in exchange for a reduction of their taxes. Raven rode to a village they could see nestled in the hills in the distance. Lark insisted Illera lay down on the hard, narrow bunk while he and Ashera made the fire and fetched water. She listened to the warrior woman’s grumbling on the way to the well and the return.