by Gail Gernat
“You think differently from a human, but you don’t think like an elf. It was my great privilege, many years ago, to assist one of the elven who had fallen on hard times. He gave me access to his thoughts through the Darkliete. It was an experience I will always treasure.”
“But, what about me?”
“You are something different, neither human nor elf. I will treasure the taste of your thoughts also, for many years yet. However, I cannot categorize them, you are unique and must discover yourself for yourself. I envy you that voyage.”
“So my ability to heal and to talk to animals doesn’t spring from my elven blood?”
“Yes and no. I have never heard of your connection to the wild things from any other source. It is unusual. But the healing; that could be elven. The elves are divided into clans, and each clan has its own special talents. One of the clans has the ability to heal, the racial memory of healing plants and potions. If you are descended from those, then your abilities are natural, from your mother.”
“But not the ability to communicate with birds and animals?”
“No, not that.”
Illera watched the sea, thrusting away the question that had nagged her since first knowing the Darkliete priestess was Raven’s mother. The pause in conversation widened, silence punctuated by wave and wind.
She blurted out, “Rejoicing, what happened between you and Korul? How did he enslave you?”
The priestess’s face hardened, the corners of her mouth pulling down. She stared out to the horizon, and for once Illera could believe she was old enough to be Raven’s mother.
“I have put those memories far from my mind, but I suppose since…Bifbats moana shifticmat orbicans…”
“Priestess, are you all right? Forget my question if it disturbs you.”
“No, I will tell. My sister and I were raised to belong to the Darkliete. We studied hard and were inaugurated at a young age, only twenty-three. We served our people, the Sorwelk, well and attained mastery of the flame and girdle. But the king of Frain attacked; greedy for power and wealth. Our country was peaceful, just simple peasants growing their gardens and tending their flocks. But we had gold in the mountains, mined and shaped by the hands of our craftsmen into shapes and devices to please the mind and decorate the body. Korul feigned interest in the Darkliete and was invited to observe a ceremony. He broke the circle, and his men took my sister and myself captive and dragged us to their ship. He attacked the city and took hostages from every royal house and merchant’s shop.
“When the people of Sorwelk were slow to pay tribute, he killed the hostages. We watched, Laughter and I, we watched the slaughter until the sands ran red and bled into the sea. Korul laughed the whole time. If I live to be two thousand, I will never see such glee on the face of another human. My sister and I he raped; over and over, like an animal, for many months. Then she got pregnant. He left her alone after that and concentrated on me. He wanted to disgrace us. You see, the Darkliete do not usually bear children. There is no law against it, just the tradition that one devotes oneself totally to the care and healing of others. A month later, I, myself, was pregnant.
“Raven was but a few weeks old when Korul drove us away. His new bride would tolerate no rivals to her offspring to be. Korul said our children had to die. We went back to Sorwelk in mourning, and we have mourned for twenty-four years, until you brought our sons back to us.”
“Why did you never seek to come back, to look for them?”
Rejoicing sighed. “Fear. Fear of what Korul would do to us if he found us. Fear that the boys were already dead. Fear he would ravage Sorwelk again. Fear the curse we placed upon him would fall upon us.”
Illera placed a hand on the taller woman’s arm. The priestess dark turned to her and hugged her tight.
“I’m so sorry that you had such a bad life,” Illera murmured.
Rejoicing laughed and released her. “No, it was not all miserable. There has been much joy, the strongest when we discovered our sons returned to us. Now Torul is dead, one of them must be made king of Frain, when Korul has been executed. That is what I needed to tell you. You are betrothed to a son of Korul, to unite Madean and Frain. We must destroy Korul and all his evil, and you must choose one of the sons of the Darkliete. It will balance the world again.”
“Have you spoken to them about this?”
“My sister made the way plain before them this morning.”
Drawing herself to her full height, Illera shook her head. “Much as I respect your opinion Priestess, I will not, absolutely will not, be forced into another betrothal that is not my own free and clear choice. You need to inform your sister, Lark, and Raven of that fact. They are honorable men, and I do not impugn that, but when I decide to marry it will be my choice and no other’s.”
Rejoicing looked as if she had been struck in the face.
“Princess,” she began, “the Darkliete says this must be so, to restore the balance.”
“You told me yourself that I don’t think like a human or an elf. You cannot expect me to follow your belief or your political will. I will do as I see fit. I was coerced once. I will not be party to it a second time.”
“Very well. I am not Korul to force an unwilling maiden against her will. But the world loves balance, and it will be achieved one way or another, whether you cooperate or not.”
Illera smiled, a hand indicating the tossing waves. “The world loves chaos. At least that has been my experience. I would appreciate you for an ally, even if we disagree in this regard.”
Rejoicing gave her a strange look, her brows furrowed and eyes opened wide.
“You still wish to be allies, even if you won’t join with Lark or Raven.”
“Of course, it is to both our benefits. Why would I not wish for peace between all our peoples?”
Rejoicing laughed. “I told you, you do not think like a human, or an elf. Illera, you are truly different.”
The older woman put an arm around her shoulders and led her from the windy deck. They descended the ladder-like stairs to below deck. The absence of the wind was like a slap and Illera realized how much effort she exerted to maintain her position in the face of its strength. Rejoicing fluttered a hand in her direction and vanished into the quarters she shared with her sister. Illera assumed she wanted to discuss the prospects of peace between their countries further and felt astonished that she would just leave that way.
Deciding to check on Ashera now she was below; she opened the door to their room. Ashera moaned on her bunk, while Lark stood at the porthole and stared out at the furious sea. Raven was poised between sitting on a chair and standing. He rose as she closed the door. Lark turned and stared at her with a feral light in his eyes. Raven moved hastily to his side. Illera realized the trap the priestess had set for her.
“She told you her plan?”
Raven cleared his throat. “What plan?”
Lark laughed aloud, slapping his brother on the shoulder.
“What’s the matter brother, afraid that she’ll choose the better man?”
Suddenly they were both talking at once, their words mixing together and confusing her so that she couldn’t understand either of them.
“I am the oldest…” Lark began.
“I am far more capable…” Raven cut him off.
“So the kingship should…”
“and you and I share…”
“By birthright be mine…”
“This love of horses…”
“So it is proper…”
“And I can protect you…”
“For Madean…”
“And I will always…”
“And Frain…”
“Enough!” snapped Illera. “I think you need to hear what I told the Priestess dark.”
Raven and Lark were silent. Raven staring at her with entreaty and Lark with a confident certitude. Even Ashera was quiet, rising green-faced to one elbow to watch the scene.
“I told Rejoicing plainly
that I have no intention of becoming betrothed to either one of you to further anyone’s political aim. When, and if I marry, it will be my choice for my own reasons.”
“But Illera,” began Lark, “we’ve been through so much, for the sole purpose of uniting Frain and Madean. We are Korul’s only living sons. I don’t dispute your right to choose, but you must choose one of us.”
Raven smiled and looked at her with the corners of his mouth pulling down. “You said from the beginning it was wrong to force you to marry a prince of Frain. I understand why you don’t want either of us and I don’t blame you. It was a vain hope you would choose me anyway.”
He walked past her and out of the room his arm trailing across her shoulder.
“Wait,” Illera called as she stamped her foot. “I want to discuss this right now and get it out of the way.”
Raven paused in the corridor, turning inch by slow inch to face her. His face was tight, but he nodded and returned to the room, seating himself at the table. Lark sat beside him. Collapsing with weariness of the mind and heart, Illera joined them.
“I’m sorry.” She paused, at a loss for words. “I think you both need to know how much I value all you have done for me. As I told your mother, I think you are both noble, valiant men. Men any woman would be proud to call husband, but I am not any woman. When my father dies, gods forbid, I will be the ruler of my country and I must choose my consort wisely, for the entire country of Madean depends upon it. I agree that it would be politically astute to link Frain and Madean by marriage, but right now, this werwinstans thing has all my wits scrambled, and I know I could never make as good a decision as I will when I return home. I have great affection for both of you, but I am not willing to commit my country or myself yet, until we see how things turn out with Korul and his invasion. Whatever happens in the future, I hope that the one of you that ascends to the throne will be willing to work with Madean at forging a reliable peace.” Illera smiled at the two serious faces in front of her. “I know you will, for you will have the welfare of your people to care about and I don’t think either of you has of the personality of your father.”
Raven grinned and looked at his hands.
“Thank you, my Lady,” he said sarcastically. “Does that mean that you are not rejecting us outright?”
Illera stretched her dainty hand across the table and settled it over his big one. “I’m not rejecting you in any fashion. You are my friend and whether we will ever be more than that remains for the future. I’m saying that I need to get home and take care of Korul before I make any decision regarding my future.”
“Well, I am the oldest.” Lark, face split into a wide grin.
Raven stared at her hand on his lying on the table. A strange chill worked its way from her hand down her spine, and she removed her hand, rubbing it down her skirt under the table.
“You’re a fool, my Lady,” grumbled Ashera. “Once the maidens of Carnuvon catch sight of these two, you won’t stand a chance.”
They all burst out laughing.
“I’ll have to take my chances.”
The door creaked open, and one of the sailors popped his head around the corner.
He spoke quickly with an edge of excitement in his voice. “The cap’n said to warn ye that we’s fixin’ to run b’fore a storm. An’ a terrible one it looks like to be. Ye are all to go to yer quarters and batten down all yer gear. Don’ know how long it’ll be, but if the forecaster’s right, should blow us all’a way to Carnuvon. No lamps, nor any kind’a fire, no cooking, no water, ‘cept what blows over the rails. So hang on lubbers and brace yer bodies in yer bunks.”
The sailor closed the door accompanied by a low moan from Ashera. Illera moved to her and put her arm around the larger woman. Rushing to tidy their own cabin, Lark and Raven hurried out. Illera scurried around making sure their few possessions were securely stowed. She returned and held Ashera in her arms, rubbing her back and giving her all the silent reassurance she could.
The rising and dipping of the ship increased. Water streamed over the porthole, blotting out their exterior view. The ship lurched from side to side and front to back, shaking its passengers mercilessly. The howl of the wind rose and rose until it penetrated into their cabin, vibrating their very bones. Ashera was sick. As Illera held the bucket for her, closing her mind to rising stench of vomit, her mind wandered back, reliving the interview just past. She wondered what she should have said to make them understand. The bucket jumped and sloshed its contents in an uncomfortable fashion. Rising, Illera slipped and staggered to the door, hoping to empty the puke over the rail topside. She managed to make it to the ladder unsoiled, but the ship was moving too much for her to climb to the deck. She could see fierce blue and purple lightning bolts striking downward from the sky. The Thunderer rode the clouds, drowning all sounds under his drums. A wild toss with a twist knocked her feet from under her. The barf bucket went one way and she another, rolling down the slanting deck to land with her feet against the Priestess’s door. It opened, and Laughter helped her to her feet.
“You must stay in your cabin.” She yelled to be heard over the voice of the storm.
“Ashera was sick, and I had to empty the bucket,” Illera screamed back.
“Go to your room,” commanded Rejoicing from her corner.
Laughter took her by the elbow and assisted her back down the hallway to her own quarters. She pushed open the door and shoved Illera inside.
“Stay!”
Illera tried to make it to her bunk, but the floor tipped from under her, becoming a wall for a few seconds. She rolled to the table. The sounds of retching echoed through the gloom, and the sickening smell of bile rose around her in clouds. In the moment while the ship was almost level, Illera dashed for her bunk, diving for it and barking her shins painfully on the wooden frame. She braced herself on the headboard and footboard and gave herself to the storm and stink of their dancing cabin.
The tossing continued interminably; the whole world narrowed to the microcosm of the cabin. The walls were her horizon, the ceiling, her sky. Her boundaries narrowed, and her body was the enemy. The narrow world was trying to destroy her, shaking and bouncing her. She held on tight, concentrating on the thunder and pounding of the waves on the hull, trying to ignore Ashera’s moans and sickness. Her mind revolved around the last weeks since her father sent her away. She felt young and uncertain. The priestesses seemed so certain of what she needed to do. Lark and Raven reached the same conclusions. Even Ashera supported their views. Who was she to swim against the current and defy the wishes of everyone she knew? However, it still did not seem right to go against her own mind and intuition. How could she choose between brothers? No matter whom she chose, someone would be rejected, and that could make them enemies. She would never want to be the cause of dividing them. Honestly, who else could she choose? She knew no other men of the right age, and she knew they were people of integrity. They had proven it time and again, but still, now was not the time to be making any decisions. She wondered: why did life have to be so baffling and so hard? The sea and wind concurred with her conclusion by heaving her halfway to the ceiling and dropping her back to the bunk.
After an eternity, the storm eased, the violent persecution of the waves had worn them out. The Waiting still battered from side to side and front to back, but without the ire of the preceding hours. Exhausted, Ashera and Illera fell asleep.
Illera dreamed. The sky was a lowering yellow, a color that should be cheery, but instead was menacing and evil. Wide plains rolled gently away in folds of gray, ashy and sere. She stooped to pick up some soil, but as far as she dug in the hard ground, only ash met her questing hand. She plucked a worm, limp and blue from the compacted dirt. It turned its face to the yellow sky and then to her. The worm wore the face of her father. Her heart lurched and sped within her chest.
“It is come, it is come!” The high piping voice issued from the worm, putting her in mind of Maggie.
“Maggie?
”
“No, the doom blows from the north upon Madean.”
“Who are you?” Illera cried.
The worm twisted on her palm and disintegrated into ash. Illera turned in a circle, but could not see the way to go. In all directions, the land looked the same, folded and gray. Not a single distinguishing feature was visible, no tree or dwelling or animal. There were no footprints to follow, no wind to scent direction from, just the small hole from which she had dug a worm. She tried to run, her feet heavy as though encased in mud. She looked down and saw huge and heavy boots on her feet, but they had no fastenings so that she could remove them. So she ran with them, tripping and falling down into the ash, which parted to let her through, and she fell and fell down an ash-coated tunnel.
With a start, she woke, drenched with perspiration. She stumbled from her bunk and slipped on the vomit coated floor. In disgust, she uttered an oath as she lurched towards the door. The ship was still rolling, but far less than before. Illera wandered into the hallway and up the stairs to the darkened deck. The sailors were busy, tending sail and minding the wheel. They ignored her.
A clean cold wind was propelling the ship forward at a wonderful rate of speed. She tottered to the bow and looked over. Below, riding the bow wave were a pair of seals, briefly lighted by one moon or the other as the wind, with heavy clouds, veiled and revealed the sky. The cold felt good after the funk in the cabin, and Illera wondered if she could sleep on the deck tonight instead of inside. The pounding of her heart quieted as the sweat dried from her skin. She shivered.
She jumped as a warm and heavy cloak settled around her shoulders, and strong arms encircled her.
“You shouldn’t be on deck and not properly dressed, my Lady,” Raven spoke from over her head.
Illera laughed. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”
“Sorry. You looked lost in thought and then I saw you shivering.”
“Thanks.”
“Why aren’t you below sleeping? Captain Rivard thinks we might make port tomorrow afternoon if this wind keeps up. You should be ready.”