Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  Illera paused; staring at the foam-flecked sea. “I…uh…I can’t.”

  “Did the storm scare you?” The concern in his voice made her throat ache.

  “No, I was sleeping, but…”

  “What?”

  She turned to face him. “Just silly stuff, like bad dreams.”

  He looked at her seriously. “Sometimes dreams are not silly. They tell us what is inside of us and sometimes that can tell us the way to go.”

  “I wish someone could tell me the way to go?” She turned back to the sea.

  Raven burst into loud guffaws of laughter.

  “What?” Illera drew herself to her full height and stiffened her spine, insulted by his hilarity.

  “My dear Princess,” he gasped between chuckles, “that is exactly what you told us was the problem this morning. I would think you have too many people telling you what to do?”

  Illera chuckled, realizing the absurdity of her comment. “Sorry, you’re right. Too many people are telling me what to do, but I can’t see the right path to follow.”

  Raven smiled and leaned over the railing, watching the animals playing in the waves. “You just need to relax. You’ll figure out what you need to do. Give yourself some time. We haven’t had too much leisure for quiet reflection since we left Seven Spires.”

  The name of her home gave her a pang, and she moaned at its mention.

  “So you’re not angry that I didn’t choose you this morning.”

  Raven smiled, his profile rueful. “No, not at all. I figured you would choose Lark anyway. Lark was born to be a leader; he is strong and always takes charge of everything. So, I just figured that it would be him you would pick, he is the logical choice. Hey, the longer the decision is put off, the longer I go without my dreams being crushed.”

  “Your dreams being crushed?”

  Raven turned at the flapping of canvas, and with a brief wave, he hurried away to help the sailors draw in the line. Illera knew he wasn’t going to answer, so clutching his cloak tightly about her shoulders and trying not to trip on its length she descended the stairs. Going to the galley, she implored a bucket of water and a mop from the cook. Cleaning the floor of their cabin was a dreadful chore in her inexperienced hands, so Ashera finally took pity on her and finished the job.

  Illera went to the cabin of the female acolytes and asked if she could bathe. After the girls checked with the priestesses, Ashera and Illera were taken to the bow. The tubs were prepared, and Illera washed the stink of vomit from herself and her garments. Once she and her cabin were clean, she was finally able to sink into a restful slumber.

  The morning dawned clear and cold with the Waiting still running before the wind. The gray sea was dotted with foam and flotsam from the storm. With Lark on one side and Raven on the other, Illera stood at the bow, watching for the first sight of the island of Carnuvon. She knew from her lessons that it pointed its narrow end in the direction of Madean, like an arrow shot from a bow and speeding toward the target. That was the way she had always thought of it.

  The smudge on the horizon thickened. As the sun crept higher, rising in front of them, the line grew and developed a shape, sharp and angular against the cerulean sky and dark sea.

  Ashera joined them to watch her home rise out of the sea to tower over the Waiting. The ship glided closer, and the land grew taller, rising far above the puny masts of the vessel.

  “This somehow feels familiar.” The giantess twirled about. “I must have some memory of this place buried inside.”

  Illera placed her hand over the other woman’s.

  “I’m sure you do. I don’t remember much about my youngest years, but sometimes when the sun hits something just right, I know I’ve been there before and have seen exactly the same thing. You will probably find a lot of Carnuvon like that.”

  Ashera turned to her with an eager grin.

  “Do you really think so? I’ve been different and a stranger for so long, I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have someplace where I belong.”

  “I believe Illera’s right,” Raven told her. “Our earliest memories make us who we are. Myself, I grew up on the back of a horse, and there is nowhere I feel more at home, no matter where the horse goes.”

  Lark laughed and commented, “My brother, the gypsy.”

  Ashera sighed, a breath from the depths of her soul. “If only you were right. It would be worth everything I’ve suffered at Korul’s hands to have a real home. I hope you are right.”

  Illera smiled up at her and put an arm around her waist. “Of course we’re right. Have you ever known us to be wrong?”

  They all laughed at Illera’s remark. A pleased smile on his face, Captain Rivard joined them.

  “I am pleased to see you are all happy to be home,” he said.

  “Yes,” replied Ashera, “I feel I am going to be very happy here.”

  “Good.” The sea Captain made a satisfied grunt. “I am going to be very happy myself.”

  The crew skittered about, reefing in sails and reducing the speed of the ship. A long tee shaped dock protruded from the steep cliff face like the tongue of a rude child. The Waiting swept smoothly alongside of the thick dark planks and one the sailors leapt agilely to the edge, trailing a length of rope. The companions watched as he snubbed the line around two of the bollards whipping it in and out in a figure eight. The Waiting drifted to a stop with a faint ripple through the deck, under their feet. The gangplank was lowered, and the Captain strode to the rail.

  A tall, cadaverous-looking man stalked up the boards, bouncing a little with every step of his thin insect legs. He wore a heavy black uniform liberally decorated with gold braid and buttons that flapped around his body much the same as the sails had flapped on the masts. His long, narrow, hollow-cheeked face was grim with a thin line of mouth pulled back and down. There was a mighty frown between his narrow set hazel eyes as he peered around the ship, inspecting every visible rope, bolt, and board.

  “Permission to come aboard,” he asked in a high-pitched voice, incongruous in one so tall.

  “Permission granted,” returned the Captain.

  “And you are?” the stranger continued as he stepped onto the deck.

  “I am Captain Rivard of The Waiting.”

  A sharp intake of breath from the stranger surprised Illera.

  “The Waiting? What do you do at Carnuvon Town’s dock?”

  Captain Rivard smiled, turning his face into a mass of wrinkles. “I bring you the lost.”

  The official started, “Surely, you don’t mean…”

  “I do indeed,” the Captain said as he grinned away, “I bring the lost Princess of Carnuvon, Ashera, daughter of Uggarick and his first wife, Mae.”

  The Captain waved his arm for the four still standing at the bow to come forward. Ashera hung back until Illera grabbed one arm and Lark the other and pulled her to the Captain between them. The stranger’s eyes fixed on Illera.

  He demanded, “What sort of joke is this? Such a tiny child could not belong to Uggarick.”

  Lark laughed, “No, that is Illera, Princess of Madean. This,” he said propelling Ashera forward with a hand behind her back, “ is Ashera, daughter of Uggarick, so we have been told by the Darkliete.”

  “Darkliete,” the man snapped as he looked Ashera over from head to toe, “You know the Darkliete do not have any influence in Carnuvon.”

  Captain Rivard bowed his head, “You know The Waiting is a Darkliete ship, so don’t act surprised now. And the Darkliete are the ones that discovered your Princess.”

  “This will have to be verified by our own priests?” the stranger said as if uncertain.

  “Nacherly,” agreed the Captain, stiffening his spine. “Now are you goin’ to take the Lady or do I sail away with her again.”

  The tall man bowed his head, “Very well then, come; I will take you to Uggarick.”

  He whipped around and bounced back down the gangplank. Ashera grasped Illera’s hand a
nd held it so tight that she soon had pins and needles coursing through her arm. She loosened the other woman’s fingers but did not withdraw the hand. The Captain, Lark, and Raven followed, while Maggie circled overhead.

  They passed the dockworkers, swarming about different vessels tied to the docks, threading their way between bales and crates, dodging men while jogging to keep pace with the official. The yells and curses of the sailors and chandlers accompanied by the loud noises of the tools and thumps of crates made conversations impossible. The docks widened as they progressed inward, becoming busier and more crowded. The official had to stop more than once to allow them to catch up. His face grew angrier and angrier.

  A shallow stone platform, of thirty or so feet, supported the docks. Rough storage caves had been chiseled out of the rock face, their mouths still bearing the marks of tools. To the right a switchback began, stitching up the sheer face of the cliff. The official headed for this and started up, his long legs making short work of the steep incline. Ashera and Illera were soon puffing behind him as the pace had quickened even more. Illera felt the strain in her thighs and calves as she boosted herself higher with every step, always a little nervous of the sheer drop over the edge to the dock or sea far below. Grunts of effort came from behind them as the men struggled to keep up.

  When she thought she could not go another step, and her knees were about to collapse, the stranger stopped and turned to them with a tight smile.

  “Stick close to me once we are in the city. We have a few…uh…unsavory characters there, and I wouldn’t want to lose you until we have proven you are imposters.”

  Breathe heaving, Ashera looked at Illera, who shrugged. Ten feet of flat and level rock led them to imposing wooden doors heavily banded with iron. The official pounded on the surface. A small wooden window slid aside a foot above Illera’s head. Two eyes examined them. Minutes later a small invisible door, set into the larger ones opened. The official ducked through it, followed by the others. Illera was the only one who did not have to stoop to enter. Illera noted that the walls of the town were six feet thick as they moved single file through a narrow stone lined and roofed corridor to another small door at the end. They sidled past a dozen guards all dressed in black uniforms with drawn weapons. Around the corner, the noise of the town hit them, a boisterous roar of hawkers selling their products and people conversing, all at the top of their lungs. Clusters of stone houses and market stalls lined the narrow cobbled streets. Cattle and sheep bawled, and chickens crowed from cages and ran loose in the streets. Scrawny dogs darted everywhere, chased by laughing, yelling children. Forges spat smoke and the reek of hot metal into the already thick and cloying air. Hands reached out on either side to pull the unwary traveler aside to the nearest vendor of vegetables, meat, livestock, jewelry, gold coins, fabric, tools, chests, woods, or clothing, new and used; more items than she had ever seen gathered in one place. Illera jammed herself tight to the official, walking on his heels and Ashera was tight to hers. The babble increased, making Illera nervous and jumpy, but still, the official forced his way through the churning multitude.

  The shoving crowd thinned as they came to another set of tall gates, guarded by black-uniformed soldiers standing two deep in front of the entrance, blocking it completely. One of the men, with a tall black plume on his helmet, stopped the official, checking his face closely. From under his clothing, dangling from a long cord on his neck, the official produced a signet. The plumed guard inspected it. A whispered conversation between the two men ensued in tones so low Illera could not pick up a single word. The guard continued glancing up at her and the others standing behind.

  He barked an order, and the soldiers parted, making a human corridor to the heavy wooden door. The official proceeded, and Illera followed, trailing Ashera and the others. It was a short, claustrophobic passage, hemmed in by tall bodies before, behind and on either side. Feeling the beginnings of panic, she breathed deeply to quell her uneasiness. Around one side of the official’s black shoulder, she could see a tall, wide copper-bound door. Two guards leaned their weight against the bars of copper stretching from the middle to a foot from the ground. Slowly, slowly with protesting groans, the heavy leaves parted. Illera and her companions trotted after the official as he strode through the doors. Grunts of effort echoed behind them as the guards struggled to close the massive doors.

  They walked down a flagstone path winding through smooth green turf. Short, twisted trees dotted the lawn, every second one ringed by red or yellow flowers that nodded in the breeze. The mansion ahead soared into the sky with copper-topped minarets on round towers. A myriad of mullioned windows with arching tops faced them, punctuated by copper-bound doors at the ground level. It sprawled over much of the lawn; five stories high in the main area with its towers rising double that. Around the doors, servants hurried about their business, and six gardeners tended the wide beds of red and yellow blooms ringing the palace.

  The official strode straight ahead moving without pause from the path to the wide flagstone paving separating the lawn from the flowerbed. He passed through the nearest door without a break in his stride, and they followed behind him like ducklings after their mother.

  The main hallway was wide and magnificent, wooden paneled walls trimmed lavishly in gold. Dodging in and out among the many black liveried servants, they passed quickly to the great room. Here Illera stopped, astonished by the opulence, frozen until Ashera banged into the back of her. She scurried to follow the official, gazing around at the barbarous splendor. Cut crystal chandeliers filled with thousands of candles illuminated tables covered with gold worked into designs of animals and people. The chairs were glowing wood, upholstered with plush red velvet. Gigantic tapestries in glowing colors covered most of the walls, and the floor underfoot was polished marble. Twin thrones occupied the place of honor, gilded with gold and encrusted with red, blue and green gemstones the size of Illera’s fist. The official halted just beyond the ruby colored carpet surrounding the thrones. Above the thrones, in a musician’s galley, the players were providing soft music to the workers who scurried below.

  A balding man, his head like a wrinkled peach approached the official, and another whispered conversation took place. With a quick glance at the travelers, the bald man hurried from the room. Before Illera had time to look around, a bevy of giants entered the hall.

  The first man wore a crown, just slightly askew on his graying yellow curls. He was a bear of a man, thick and huge. A red face with small eyes and a large, thick-lipped mouth was supported on a neck that could have graced a bull without shame. He lumbered over to them and stared. His robes of royal purple proclaimed his status. The official went down on one knee. Captain Rivard followed, but Illera remained standing, staring at the giant. Behind him, she could see a woman almost as large. Her once reddish hair was graying, and her wide, flat face was deeply lined with wrinkles. Seven giant young men spread out behind the two older people, all bearing an uncanny resemblance to the king. Three young women hovered behind them, dwarfed by the massive size of the family.

  “And who are you to look me so boldly in the face without bending the knee?” demanded the King.

  Illera stepped around the kneeling official and trod upon the carpet to approach.

  “I presume you are King Uggarick of Carnuvon?” she asked.

  The room became still behind her, sounds of industry halted as if everyone and everything held its breath. The king’s face grew redder as indecision hovered in his eyes.

  “You cannot be my daughter. I would never have whelped such a puny offspring,” he grumbled.

  “No,” she replied, holding out her hand, “I am Illera, daughter of King Ian of Madean. Until recently, your daughter was my guardian and maidservant.”

  A sharp intake of breath greeted her statement. Illera turned and gestured Ashera to come forward. Ashera tiptoed to her side.

  “This is Ashera, your daughter,” Illera introduced.

  The king’s b
urning gaze turned upon the giantess. Illera could see how she would fit into this family; there was no denying the resemblance. The king studied his daughter a long time.

  “This one is possible. I can see that this could be her. Who claims reward if she is verified?”

  Startled, Illera looked back as Captain Rivard jumped to his feet.

  “I do,” he exclaimed.

  “Very well,” continued the king, “see to the comfort of our visitors. The priests shall assemble this evening after the meal, and we shall determine if this Ashera is indeed my own blood.”

  The king spun on his heel and left through the door by which he entered. His family followed, turning to give the travelers long looks before departing. A small, black-clothed woman approached from behind and leaning forward so as not to step on the carpet; she tweaked Illera’s sleeve. Illera turned and followed the woman, trailed by her companions. Mounting wide marble stairs, balustraded by gilded railings, they climbed to the third level and down a wide corridor as luxurious as the rest of the palace. At the first door, the servant opened it and gestured Illera inside. The door closed behind her and her companions separated from her. She gazed around the large open room. Two pale blue couches with gilded arms and legs occupied one corner. A solid gold circular table occupied the dark blue carpet between the couches. A massive canopied bed filled the opposite corner, gold accenting the blue patterned bedding. A wide door opened into a bathing room, tiled in blue and white with a deep tub, sunken into the floor, and golden fixtures gleaming in the bright candlelight. A wide mullioned window draped in dark blue looked down upon a circle of garden blooming far below. A blue and white window seat provided a comfortable resting-place for gazing from the window. Beside the window was a solid gold dressing table and chair with all the fripperies any woman could want. Illera moved restlessly from item to item around the room.

  A timid tap came at the door. Illera opened it to see a young girl holding a length of midnight blue material over both arms. The child tiptoed into the room and draped the item over the nearest couch.