Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  Raven tottered over. “By the gods Illera, if you hadn’t yelled I would have killed my own horse. What was he doing?”

  Illera paused in soothing the war-horse. “I think he was trying to get our attention. Perhaps the elk made him nervous, and he didn’t think he could approach us? Is that possible?”

  Raven shrugged. “I don’t know? Abbadon usually just thunders through everything. Why not elk?”

  “He’s had a hard time, poor baby. Look at the sweat caked all over him.” Illera rubbed a hand over his dirty shoulder.

  Raven sheathed his sword and gathered twists of grass to groom the stallion. When Abbadon was rubbed down, he rifled through his saddlebags and found some jerky. The elk refused to leave the covering forest, so Illera thanked them with a song and watched as they faded into the night. Chewing the leathery meat, they continued north, Abbadon trailing behind them.

  The character of the forest began to change. Towering stands of pine and spruce shrank into scrubby second growth, interspersed with large aspen. The open spaces between the trees snarled with shrubs, and tall bushes caught their feet and legs. It required such effort to push the face level branches aside and to avoid being slapped by the person in front’s passage that their arms soon became as weary as their legs. Second moon sank behind the trees. The hills seemed steeper and the gullies deeper than the gently contoured deep forest. Illera stumbled more and more often, going to her knees only to be hauled back to her feet by one of the brothers. When they came to a fast, narrow river twinkling with rapids in the starlight, Illera plumped herself on a rock and refused to move. The shoreline of pebbles interspersed with large and small boulders offered patches of sharp poverty grass for Abbadon. Several feet back from the rocky shore were clusters of willows and other shrubs.

  Unable to budge her, Lark and Raven made a small fire and stewed some of the meat. The warm broth slipped down her throat and warmed her from the inside. She sipped and listened to the busy rush of the river.

  “I wonder how Ashera is?” she murmured aloud to no one in particular.

  Raven sat beside her drinking his broth. “I wish I knew. I have a bad feeling about her.”

  “Ashera’s tough.” Lark joined them. “Some of the stories she told me; well let’s just say the woman is a survivor.”

  “Like what?” enquired Illera sleepily, stretching back to lie against Abbadon’s saddle.

  “Let’s see,” mused Lark, “well, your father found her wandering alone on the southern coast of Madean. There was a burned Sorwelk ship not far away. He said he found a few bodies, they looked like Sorwelk traders, but no trade goods nor any other living soul. He said she was about five then, so he took her on his horse to Southern Reach. As he approached this Valkyrie woman comes screaming out at him, yelling in a language he doesn’t understand. It was Ashera’s mother, who had gone to the village to trade. When she went back to the boat to get the trade goods, here was the crew dead and the ship burnt. She said she searched for two days but couldn’t find a trace of her daughter, so she returned to the village in mourning. Then King Ian rides up with the child, and she had thought he had done the killing and burning and was calling him out to a duel. When they got that straightened up, the King placed her under his special protection and gave them money for a house and to start up a smithy and an armory business.

  I think the king and his troops were the mother’s best customers and they prospered in Southern Reach. Poor Ashera, it seemed as nothing would go right for the girl and three years after that they settled there her mother died of the spotted fever. Now she was an orphan, and the town took care of her, but she was never happy. She wanted to be a warrior like her father or a smith like her mother. Since there was no one to teach her how to smith, she became a fighter. By the time she was thirteen, she had said she had killed twenty-one Shul during their raids on Southern Reach. She said they always tried to divert her before they came into the town to loot and she was catching on to their tricks. At least that’s the story she told me.”

  “It’s so sad, being without a mother,” whispered Illera. “I wish I had known before; I might have tried to be nicer to her.”

  “Yeah,” Lark agreed, “I think she is so, so pushy because she is afraid if she isn’t people will just ignore her.”

  Raven grinned. “She’s about as easy to ignore as a barleycorn in your shorts.” Flushing red, he glanced at Illera. “Your pardon my Lady. I just never got on well with Ashera.”

  Illera waved his apology away. “We all have trouble with certain people. I think I was so focused on myself; I didn’t see her. I hope I can make it up to her when we get to Korul’s castle. How much farther do we have to go?”

  Raven peered at Lark who looked around at the speeding water and the thick trees.

  “I think, mind you this is only a guess, that we are about two days ride from the Bay of Hostages. That should be the Fear River. Of course, it could be a tributary. We should stay on this side of the river and head east soon. If we go too far north, we’ll run into the swamp of ghosts and have to travel south again, so this is probably a good time to swing east. Then I think about six or seven days to Korul’s castle, if no one or thing gets in the way.

  Abbadon raised his head from the stubby grass he was grazing. His whicker rang through the forest. Raven jumped to his feet.

  Raising up on one elbow Illera said, “Don’t worry, it’s just Copper.”

  Raven looked down at her, one eyebrow quirked. “How do you do that?”

  Illera pointed. Four white stockings and a blaze low to the ground came limping towards them.

  “Copper’s markings are rather visible in the dark.” She gave a low chuckle.

  The mare limped over. A twisted piece of wire was embedded around her off front pastern. Illera rose and went to the injured animal.

  “Lark, make tea,” she commanded.

  Raven bent over the injury. “A snare? Is she going to lose the foot?”

  Illera examined the wound as best she could in the feeble firelight.

  “I don’t think so. I brought my herbs.” She detached the bag from her belt.

  Raven worked the wire loose and flung it into the night. Illera listened to him cursing under his breath as she washed and packed the ravaged foot with moss. The mare lay down beside Illera and Lark carried an armful of grass for the mare. Illera flung an arm around the mare’s barrel and closed her eyes, instantly asleep.

  Sharp pains in her bladder woke her, and she stuck her head out of the cloak covering her from head to foot. The cold air stung her nostrils. Shivering she rose wrapping the warmed leather around her. The fire had burnt out and the night was quiet, and still, the only sounds were Abbadon’s slow movements and the sound of his teeth as he cropped the rough grass. The sky faded to gray on the eastern horizon, presaging the coming sunrise.

  As Illera moved from the camp to the bushes, Raven materialized from the dark. She jumped. He grinned at her and returned to his post as she hurried behind a screening of thick bushes. Just as she finished her business and refastened all her clothes a gentle bump on her shoulder made her start and whirl around ready to yell at Raven for spying on her. Appolon’s long face thrust into hers. She grabbed his bridle and scratched him behind his ears as her heart slowed.

  She was about to step from behind the brush when a blood-curdling scream split the predawn air. Illera hunkered down, spreading the vegetation apart with her hand. A party of seven Shul descended upon the camp. Three of them were upon Lark, who was sleeping next to the fire. The other four were battling with Raven at the border of the trees. Appolon snorted and surged forward. Illera held tight to the reins and pulled him back.

  “Down,” she commanded him pulling earthward on the bridle.

  Appolon shook his head. She pulled over and over until the giant war-horse went to his knees. She slipped her foot into the stirrup and swung up on his back. Appolon scrambled to his feet. He understood now and eased silently through the darkne
ss heading for Raven. Raven was fighting for his life with a sword in one hand and dagger in the other, his back against a huge aspen tree. Illera saw his eyes widen as she and Appolon lunged out of the darkness. The horse clamped his teeth on one burly ogre’s shoulder and lifted the howling creature high into the air, flinging it to the dirt. The powerful hooves trampled it. Illera winced at the crack of breaking bones and splat of rending flesh. Another tried to come at them from behind but Appolon lashed out with both hind feet, and the Shul went flying, landing back broken against a boulder. Appolon spun around, and Illera saw Raven run the point of his sword through one of the attackers and impale the other in the heart with his dagger. The one with the dagger ran off, heading back into the dark woods. The other collapsed and lay still as Raven pulled his sword out.

  Turning, they saw Lark, trussed like a calf for slaughter over a Shul’s back, being carried into the night.

  “Stay here!” Raven, yelling a war cry chased the creatures.

  Illera reigned Appolon to a standstill watching as Raven charged the fleeing ogres. The biggest turned, scooped up a massive boulder and hurled it at him. It caught him in the center of the chest and Raven was borne to the hard ground. The Shul escaped into the darkness. Illera kneed the horse forward until she reached Raven, pinned beneath the rock.

  She slid down from the tall animal and tried pushing against the rock, Raven groaned with the pain, but she could not shift it. She ran back to the camp and snatched the reins from Abbadon’s bridle, knotting them together as she ran. Raven’s face was ashen in the strengthening light. She looped the lines around the rock and the pommel of Appolon’s saddle. Seizing his reins, she urged him forward. He started then halted when the weight came on the saddle. Illera coaxed him, and he bent his head, dug in his toes and pulled. Leather creaking ominously, the boulder shifted, and Raven was free. Dropping the reins, Illera dashed to him.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Lie still.” She ran her hands gently over his body.

  She removed the chain mail armor and the leather shirt underneath it. His chest was red and purple; the developing bruises beginning to rise. Her questing fingers told her that two of his ribs were broken.

  “Your ribs are broken, but everything else looks good.”

  “Is that all.” he tried to sit up.

  “I think so, but then I don’t know much about people. I’ve just healed animals remember. Can you make it to the camp?”

  “I can try.”

  Illera did her best to hoist him to his feet and prop him up as he hobbled to camp. Appolon walked along beside them with Raven hanging to the saddle with his good arm. Illera deposited him on Lark’s bedroll and hastily restarted the fire. She made tea and antiseptic, washing his wounds and packing them with moss and large, fuzzy, picky leaves.

  “That’s quite uncomfortable,” Raven informed her.

  “It’s called knitbone and uncomfortable or not; it will heal you much faster than if you don’t put up with it.”

  With a sigh, he lay his head down and allowed her to fix his injuries. She placed her hands on the broken ribs and concentrated. When she was sure they were going to be alright, she took her dagger and cut a large band of bark from the largest aspen. She trimmed it to the correct size and placed it on Raven’s chest, lacing it together in the back with leather thongs from his saddlebags. She fed him the restorative tea.

  “Rest,” she told him. “In two or three days you will be as good as new, but right now, if you move around one of the bone fragments could puncture your lung. I couldn’t help you then, so you must lie still for a little while.”

  “Lark?” he asked.

  “It’s okay. I’ll find Lark.”

  “No, my Lady. You are the one they want the most. They must have thought that Lark was you, lying by the fire and that’s why they took him. You must stay here.”

  Illera smiled. “I’ve left you firewood and water within easy reach, and there is food in the saddlebag at your right hand. Make sure you take it easy and drink the rest of this tea. It will help you heal.”

  She commanded Appolon to kneel and scrambled to his back.

  She smiled and waved as Raven called, “No, my Lady. It’s not safe. Illera, please stay here.”

  Illera followed the trail of blood leading back into the scrubby forest. Following the trampled bushes, Appolon seemed to know where to go and moved at a brisk trot. Not more than a couple of miles from the river, Illera found the Shul with Raven’s dagger embedded in its chest. It hissed and spat at her when she dismounted.

  “Let me help you. I can heal that wound.”

  “Get away. If you come close to me, I’ll kill you,” the creature snarled.

  “I know you are in a lot of pain, but from the looks of things you will die unless you let me treat your injury.”

  The ogre laughed. “As if a human would save a Shul.”

  “I’ve already saved many Shul. After all, you are people too, why shouldn’t I help you.”

  The beast returned her stare, its face a mask of perplexity.

  “Then try, but I warn you, if you attempt to finish me off, it will mean your life.”

  Illera pulled out her bag of herbs and approached the creature. Its fear was a fetid stench in the clean morning. She pulled the dagger with one swift motion, placing her hands over the wound. Concentrating, she felt the blood flow slow and stop. She packed the wound with moss and gave the creature the blue mushrooms.

  “You’ll be fine. Just rest for a few hours. I would stay with you until you are completely well, but I must find my other companion.”

  The creature grinned, an awesome display of fangs. “I thank you Lady, but your companion will be used to trap you.”

  “I figured as much, but I can’t just leave him there. I wish I knew what Shul feared.”

  The ogre looked at the brightening sky and back to Illera. He coughed.

  “I will pay the debt incurred for the return of my life. There is no way you could use the information, so I will tell you. The Shul fear nothing on land or water, everything is for our gratification, but one creature alone brings terror upon us. The flying mouse that wings its way through the darkness. That is why we hunt mainly where there are none of them around or hide by night, if at all possible. My life debt is paid.” The Shul turned his face from her.

  “Thank you.”

  Mounting Appolon, she urged him down the trail, quickening his pace. They cantered through the woods for several miles. Topping a hill, Illera looked down into a small clearing. At the far end, Lark, bound, gagged and tied to a thick tree was watching her. Thick brush lined the open space, obscuring vision. Her ears picked up a slight rustle behind the shrubs and the breathing of a score of creatures.

  Glancing at the sun, now clear of the horizon but not yet over the trees, she wondered if her plan had any hope of success. She closed her eyes and called with all her might. For long minutes, the tableau held unbroken in the strengthening light. She called until she was dizzy. And they came. A twisting spiral, like smoke, fluttered out of the trees to the south and west and north, converging on her. She raised her arm and circled the edges of the clearing and the bats dove upon the Shul hiding there.

  Illera could not repress a smile at the screams of horror issuing from the bushes. A stampede of ogres crashed through the forest, all heading west. The bats pursued. Illera rode at a leisurely pace to Lark and untied him. Barely had the gag been removed, when he burst out laughing. Apart from a few bruises, he was fine.

  “My Lady, that was superb. I’ve never witnessed anything so funny in all my days. They planned this trap for you so carefully, and bats? Who would have ever thought ogres were afraid of bats?”

  “No one, I’m sure. I healed the one Raven stabbed and he told me to pay his life debt.” Illera untied his hands and feet.

  They mounted Appolon and cantered back to the river.

  Raven was on his feet, struggling to lift Abbadon’s heavy saddle
to his back. The black stallion sent a ringing greeting to them as they approached. Raven turned, clutching his ribs and grimacing with pain.

  Illera slid over Appolon’s rump as he slowed and trotted to Raven.

  “I told you to remain still. Why aren’t you lying down,” she scolded as she helped him back to the fire.

  “I had to go and help you. I was sure you would be killed.” He grunted with pain and effort.

  Lark dismounted and unsaddled Appolon, turning him loose with Abbadon and Copper.

  “You need to learn to trust me,” Illera told him, smiling as she settled him back on the bedroll. “As you can see, Lark is back, unharmed and the Shul have gone back to their own land.”

  “How many did you have to kill?” Raven squinted up at her.

  She laughed. “I healed one, and that’s all it took.”

  She tossed his dagger to him, the blade dark with dried blood.

  Raven rose on one elbow. “That creature almost killed me, and you healed it? I can’t believe you!”

  She sat beside him and pushed him back gently.

  “Healing that ‘creature’ gave me the key I needed to free Lark. Isn’t it worth it to have your brother back?”

  Lark strode up. “Yeah brother, what’s the matter with you? I think I’m not worth the life of one of the Shul?”

  He squatted down on his heels and brushed the hair back from Raven’s forehead. Turning to Illera, he asked, “How bad is he and how soon will he be able to ride?”

  “A couple of broken ribs. They would heal quicker if he would stay in one spot, but there’s not much I can do if he won’t remain still. If he stays quiet today, he could ride tomorrow morning and should be healed in, ah, about two more days.”

  Lark frowned at his brother. “Hear that. Stay still.”

  Illera scrambled to her feet and wandered through the edges of the forest and downstream beside the river collecting roots and leaves. When she returned she washed them and put them in the kettle with some of the jerky and left it to stew in the coals. Lark gathered firewood and water, ambling off to give the horses a good grooming. Illera checked Copper’s foot and repacked it in moss. She sat beside Raven, her hand over the bark encasing his ribs and concentrated. He soon fell asleep.