Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  Disoriented she looked around. She could not see Lark, or Raven, or the rope. She could not tell which hump had been the one she came from. The reptile bumped her again. She struggled in the water, trying to see it. She tried to sing, but her lungs were too painful, and her blood starved for oxygen, making her voice a croak. Her arm was bleeding, forty or more large puncture holes making darker trails in the already black water. She called and told the reptile to go away, leave her alone. It bumped her again raising her body halfway from the swamp.

  The predator shoved her to an island with a semi-circular bay. Suddenly, many little reptiles, all croaking and singing with voices like bullfrogs surrounded her. An inch to three inches long, they were long-tailed, with glowing yellow eyes that protruded from their miniature heads. The long delicate snouts opened to jaws lined with fringes of fine needle teeth. They encircled her, nipping with their sharp fangs, bumping and pulling on her skin. The large one, she assumed to be the mother, guarded her way out. Illera paddled for the steeply wooded shore, but the babies were thick, impeding her progress. The adult roared, a stunning vibration through the water and the little ones attacked in earnest. Illera flipped positions, rotating to face the mother and the open water and roared herself using both voice and mind. The reptiles froze. The little ones slithered to the adult, a plethora of tiny vees in the water. The adult opened its mouth, and the babies hurried inside. With one baleful yellow glare, the beast dove from sight and glided away followed by an arrow of water.

  Illera struggled to the hump of land and catching a trailing vine, hauled herself from the water. She collapsed, gasping in pain and relief over an algae slimed root. Gathering her courage and strength, she rose and staggered inward. In the middle of the grass cloaking the center of the tussock, a pure blue flame flickered. She crouched down beside a twisted tree and watched the light; bleeding from a myriad of small punctures as well as the wounds down one arm. A strange fey feeling came over her, as if the consequence did not matter anymore. Her head spun crazily, and a wild giggle bubbled up from her throat. All the pain and fatigue vanished. Her body was miles away, and she was as tall as the surrounding trees as she rose and strode to the light. It hovered a foot above the ground and rose to a peak high over her head, about the height of Abbadon’s ears. She could hear the faintest of hissing noises. It was a mesmerizing sound, regular, soft and enticing. Stopping about two feet away, she watched as the light brightened and dimmed, beckoning, calling. It danced for her. Moving sideways in a circle around the light she inspected it from every angle.

  Her hand moved of its own volition, passing through the middle. It was not hot, rather it was colder than the air, and it brightened to a clear yellow where her hand passed. Looking down at her left hand, she noticed it glowed blue with clear yellow edges, the same colors as the flame, brightening and darkening as it did. Fascinated she watched her hand and the fire, lost in the radiant color and the drone of sound. Without willing it, her feet moved, and she stepped into the fire. The breath exhaled from her lungs, and distantly she knew she must move or die, but it was a far away notion, languid and unimportant. Exerting the power of her mind, she moved out of the phenomenon and gasped for air. She turned, but the light had vanished leaving only the drone and darkness, the pitch darkness of the middle of the night. Looking down, she could see that she glowed with the colors. She moved back to the spot where the flame had started, amused to note that her feet did not touch the ground, but now she floated above the surface as the flame had hovered a foot from the ground. Joy welled up in her, bursting over her in a fashion she had never felt before, taking her to dizzying heights. Serenity spread through her, and she thought, “Perhaps I am dead.”

  Inspecting the small grassy area, she grew restless, remembering Lark, Raven, and Ashera. She tried to find a trail with her feet, stepping down to the water, but her feet stopped above the surface. Daring, she bobbed out from the island, floating on the surface of the swamp water. She laughed inside herself and willed her presence forward. She went to the spot where she had crawled ashore and walked out from there, searching for the island where her companions were. She glided over the dark water, exhilarated by this new form of progress. The current had pushed her away from the island, so she took a shred of moss and tossed it on the water. It moved swiftly behind her, so she floated against the current, tossing the moss to determine the right direction.

  An hour’s gliding on the swamp brought her to a larger hump of land. Peering closer with the glow from herself, she could see gouges in the algae on the roots of one large tree. She hovered up over the roots and onto the land, willing herself in the direction that they had set up the camp. She heard the sound of horses cropping grass, the odd stamping of a hoof vibrated through the soil and her cocoon of light. Moving inward and around many of the looming trees she caught sight of a small fire in the middle of the grassy area, around which were Lark, Raven, and Ashera. Her heart was singing with joy as she approached them.

  Ashera was facing her, and her eyes widened, her face contorting into a mask of horror. A scream of utter terror ripped from her throat. Lark and Raven surged to their feet, drawing swords and whirling to face Illera. Illera smiled and held out a hand as Ashera scuttled backward, trying to hide beneath the saddles.

  “Begone demon of our Princess,” commanded Lark with a quaver in his voice.

  Their swords were pointed right at her heart.

  “No, you don’t understand.”

  Lark lunged at her. She skipped aside feeling the breeze of the sword passing through where she had been. Raven stood frozen staring at her. His face was pale and the blue eyes wide with fear, the first she had ever seen in him.

  “No,” commanded Illera, “don’t. There is nothing wrong with me. It’s just some kind of coating I picked up. I’m not dead.”

  Raven’s sword wavered.

  “Raven,” yelled Lark, “It’s a trick. The demon is trying to trick you.”

  Illera held out a beseeching hand. The fire glowed and writhed down her fingers, dancing and flickering with a hypnotic rhythm. Raven sheathed his sword.

  “Raven, don’t!” yelled Lark.

  Turning to his brother, Raven said, “I don’t care Lark. What have I got except my service to the Princess now? I would rather be with her in death than by myself in Korul’s kingdom.”

  He stepped forward and clasped her hand. Illera felt the light draining from her into him. She settled gently to the grass. The ground was hard under her feet again. Raven glowed with a pale, pale blue, faded from the brighter hue she had worn. His feet floated six inches above the grass. He laughed.

  “Hey Lark, it doesn’t hurt.”

  Lark glared at Illera, suspicious, gradually lowering his sword.

  Raven approached him. “Try,” He held out a hand.

  Lark clasped the hand, and the color flowed to him, diminishing even more in intensity. Raven turned to Illera, grinning. She smiled, wanting to participate in this new game but the serenity and joy had flowed from her to the flame. Her knees shook, and her lungs wearied from drawing breath. Exhaustion felled her like a blow to the head and Illera collapsed into a trembling heap. The brothers carried her to the fire and wrapped her in her cloak. They exchanged the glow again, and the radiance faded to barely discernable.

  Something was nudging her back; a rhythmic shove, shove, shove, forcing her from slumber and pulling her mind from the depths of darkness. She forced her sticky eyelids to open a crack, perceiving the pearly light of early morning. A deep thrumming sound vibrated from behind her. Her eyes were so heavy; it was as if rocks were weighing down her lashes. Somewhere below, in the deep recesses of her mind, an alarm was shrilling, but she was tired. She wanted only to sleep. She felt so heavy, heavier than the war-horses, heavier than a castle, heavier than the world.

  Sharp prickles now accompanied the shoving, piercing through her clothing and the cloying somnolence. Illera rolled over onto her back, peering into the golden eyes of the bo
bcat. Each limb felt as if it weighed as much as Copper and it took all her strength to lift one heavy hand and look at it. It looked odd to her weary eyes. It was her hand but covered with an ashy gray substance that flaked away when she rubbed her fingers together. The bobcat yowled at her as she let her hand collapse to her side, too heavy to hold aloft. Maggie winged down from the sky and sat on her chest, poking her in the chin, urging her to rise.

  “Can’t Maggie. Too tired.”

  A sharp beak thrust coupled with a claws-extended swat from the feline brought her bolt upright with pain.

  “Hey, leave me alone,” she yelled, her patience as short as her energy.

  The bobcat backed away a few paces, but Maggie insolently squawked at her, urging some action. Illera tried to concentrate, but her mind was full of cobwebs. She looked around the campsite. The fire was dead; Lark and Raven sound asleep to one side. On the other side, Ashera stared at her with vacant eyes, and a thin runnel of drool coursing from her gaping mouth down over her chin. The sun was high overhead. That did not seem right, seconds ago, it was early morning, and Lark and Raven were always up early setting the camp in order so they could leave. Everything was wrong.

  Illera forced herself to hands and knees, unable to summon the ability to rise. She crawled to Raven and collapsed beside him gasping for breath. She closed her eyes for a second, but Maggie was insistent, chattering in her ear and poking with her beak in all the tender places. The cat circled and yowled at her, dashing in for a slap every few circuits. Illera forced her eyes open. The short shadows of noon startled her mind, making a bounding panic underlie the irresistible waves of exhaustion.

  Requiring her body to obey her mind, she got to her knees and shook Raven as hard as she could. He too was covered with the fine ashy residue that puffed away as she touched him. An incoherent groan was all she could elicit from him. She drew her hand back and struck him as hard as she was able across the face, his dark stubble scratching her palm. The deep blue eyes opened momentarily, unfocused. As the lids drooped again, Illera screamed at him. Briefly, consciousness flickered, then dimmed as his eyes sagged shut. She turned to Ashera.

  “Come here,” she commanded, fighting against the tide of sleep that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Ashera rose and stumbled over.

  “Don’t let me go to sleep. Hit me if you have too, but don’t let me sleep. Do you understand?”

  Ashera stared at her vaguely. Illera tried to force her mind to think clearly. The bobcat prowled around them tense and nervous, and Maggie was gurgling and chattering, trying to convey some message. Illera stared and tried to concentrate. What had she asked the bird to find out? The answer rose in her brain like fish to bait.

  “Is Korul in the swamp?”

  Maggie gurgled and hopped up and down.

  “Is he close to us?”

  Now the bird became frantic, launching herself into the air and swooping in circles around Illera’s head.

  Fear blossomed in her, temporarily drowning out the fatigue. She rose to her feet and staggered to the horses, saddling and bridling the four of them. Hastily, with no organization, she threw their supplies into saddlebags and tied them to the saddles. She tottered to Lark, pushing him and shoving him to try to wake him. He refused to budge. She was frantic; her panic was beginning to break through. She used it to fuel her motions, fed it, thinking of the tortures Korul would inflict on her and her companions. She took a kettle from the pack and staggered, half crawling to the closest edge of the water. There she filled it with swamp water. Returning, she dumped it over Lark and Raven. Lark spluttered and sat up suddenly. Raven rolled away from her and closed his eyes again. Illera shook Lark’s shoulders.

  “You have to wake up. Something has happened to us and sucked away all our energy. I think it might have been the blue flame because Ashera is fine, but we have to get moving. It’s afternoon and Korul is in the swamp and Maggie says he is close.”

  Lark looked at her vaguely, and Illera was not sure her message got through to him.

  “Help me wake up Raven.”

  Lark rose, shaky on his feet and stumbled to his brother. Illera went to fetch another kettle of water. Staring at her reflection in the swamp, she noticed she was covered with the gray flakes. Setting the kettle aside, she washed her face. Immediately she noticed a difference. The fatigue, while still present faded somewhat. With that, she scrubbed herself earnestly, making sure every crevasse and fold of her skin was clean. The ashy and oily residue floated away, making a thick scum on the surface of the water. By the time she was done, her mind was clear, and although her body still longed to rest, it would obey her orders. She filled the kettle and returned to the camp. Lark was sleeping again.

  Getting a rag from the saddlebags she washed, first Raven then Lark, clearing their exposed skin of the residue. Raven woke as she finished and sat up holding his head in his hands.

  As she was cleaning his brother, she spoke. “I think we have to hurry and leave. Something happened to us last night, and we have slept the day away. That flame left some kind of ash on us that is draining our energy, and Korul is in the swamp, and he is close. We have to get moving. Shit man, move it.”

  He staggered to his feet without replying and made it to the horses. Hanging onto Abbadon’s saddle he vomited into the short grass, spewing bile about the horses’ hooves. The animal skittered aside.

  Lark opened his eyes and focused on Illera’s face. Sitting up, he too was sick, hurling the contents of his stomach towards her. Illera jumped aside just in time. She led Ashera to her horse and got her mounted. Raven seemed unable to get a foot in the stirrup, so she guided him, boosting him from behind to the best of her strength. He clenched the pommel and reins with both hands and bent over, holding his stomach. Illera got Lark on his feet, and together they staggered to his horse. She made Appolon kneel and guided Lark to his back. Copper was stubborn and refused to let Illera grab the bridle. Maggie was growing more agitated, insisting that they hurry. Finally, Illera, not up to chasing the skittering mare, told the bobcat to go and she followed him, splashing through the cold water. The chill in her feet seemed to drain what little energy she had. Her body was sluggish, and she concentrated on placing one foot ahead of the other as she followed behind their guide. The riders trailed after her.

  The bobcat suddenly bounded ahead, forcing Illera to run or lose him. She forced her legs to a heavy trot, slipping from edge to narrow edge of the sunken trail. The feline was quickly disappearing into the tall grass and trees ahead. She broke into an all-out run, the horses trotting behind her. They ducked behind some tall screening grass just as the sounds of many horses, with riders talking in loud voices and cursing assaulted their ears. They churned the dark water to a gray froth as they splashed along Illera’s trail. The cat had vanished, and Illera dare not try the swamp without a reliable guide. She stood panting, trying to keep the sound of her breath quiet. Lark and Raven were asleep, stooped over in their saddles, riding by instinct. Ashera regarded her with wide, frightened eyes, her mouth open in a silent scream. Copper nudged her from behind, and Illera pulled herself into the saddle. Holding her body at the ready for a sudden dash into the depths, she waited, tension singing through every fiber of her being.

  Korul and his men paused, the leader of the group leaning far over his horse’s shoulder, peering into the water. He straightened and turned to the king.

  “They are just ahead. The water is still muddy from large animals passing.”

  Korul grunted. “Then hurry. I’ll have that bitch in irons before the sun sets and I can just feel the pleasure I’m going to get from drawing and quartering those bastards of mine.”

  Maggie vaulted from Illera’s shoulder and zipped past the king’s nose squawking her most insulting call. The dozen or more knights behind him pressed forward as the leader slapped his steed into a canter, splashing past the place where Illera and her companions were hiding. The tall plumes of grass rippled in the speed of th
eir passage, but did not part to reveal them. She waited until their noise faded between the boles of the trees and the birds and insects began to sing again. She softly called the bobcat.

  He reappeared out of the dense grass and sat down, washing his face. He turned with great aplomb and trod daintily in the opposite direction to the king’s party. They circled through the morass as the day declined and utter darkness gripped the lowland. Illera pressed on, unwilling to rest or eat, her nerves frayed by this dismal place and longing for wide-open spaces and sunshine. As the first moon rose, they came at last to longer stretches of dryer ground, interspersed with serpentine fingers of water. The bobcat trotted now, and the hooves of the exhausted horses echoed on turf. The water gave way to mud bogs and soon they were traveling through a damp and mossy forest. At second moonrise, the bobcat stopped and sat in front of the horses. Illera dismounted and stroked his head and tufted ears as she sang him a low song of thanks. He rubbed his head on her arm and leapt away, bounding back into his home.