by Gail Gernat
She looked out over the restless waves and sighed, reaching behind with one toe for the footholds to lower her body down the face of the wall. There had been precious little privacy in the last week. Everyone wanted her attendance at banquets, dances, small parties and walks around the town. The sons of Uggarick never left her alone for a minute and now, when she finally had an hour to collect her thoughts, here was another interruption. Inch by slow inch she stretched down the rocks until she joined him on the flagstones. The bright morning sun gilded his hair giving him a golden halo. Illera smiled up at him.
“Don’t you realize you could fall to your death up there?” He raised one eyebrow his face stern.
Illera laughed. “After all, I have been through you are suddenly worried that I will fall off a perfectly secure wall that has stood for decades and plunge to my death in the ocean. I hardly think so. Besides, it is clean and beautiful up there, a good place to think.”
Lark’s smile was stunning. “And what was my Lady thinking of? Perhaps a suitable king for Madean?”
Illera groaned. “Not you too Lark. I’ve been accosted none stop for the last week by the four unmarried sons of Uggarick. They are courting me in case you wondered. Where have you and Raven been when I need protecting?”
Lark laughed. “Why taking notes of course. How else could we poor princes-by- default learn how to court a princess?”
Illera groaned again. “So why did you call me down and it better be something important?”
Lark sobered, a worried shadow in his eyes. “A ship from Madean has been sighted. It should have docked at the quay by now, and the officials have orders to bring any messengers straight to the king.”
Illera tossed him a glance and began to trot towards the castle. She could hear the beat of Lark’s feet in counterpoint to hers trailing behind. Servants toiled in the gardens as she jogged past, each looking up from his work to follow her with his eyes. She came through one of the side doors and slid around the corner and into a wide hallway. A pair of maids shook their heads at her hoyden behavior. Slowing to a swift walk, she moved straight to the Great Hall, interrupting a tension-filled tableau.
King Uggarick was poised to rise from his throne, a mighty frown on his broad face. A small brown man knelt before the red carpet his hands together in front of his breast in supplication. The courtiers and servants faced the pair, expressions of shock on their faces. Illera spied Raven standing in the back, his face drawn and grim.
“Ah, the princess Illera,” called Uggarick as he caught sight of her, “she is the one who needs to hear your news.”
The small brown man rose to his feet and faced her, entreaty alive on his brow. “Princess Illera? Is it really you? We had lost hope.”
She moved forward, halting directly in front of him. “Why? What is the matter with Madean?”
Stammering, he replied, “Well, my Lady, the country is still there, I would not say fine and good, but she is holding her own, but the troubles, my Lady, the troubles.”
Impatient Illera grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
“What troubles? Tell me, man!”
“Well, it’s like this, see, the king of Frain, he is coming, is on Madean soil right now and the people, well, they are resisting, but he has hundreds and hundreds of men. We never seen the like of his army before and armed to the teeth; they’s just brushing everything we can muster against them away and…”
“Get to the other part, about King Ian,” growled Uggarick.
Illera shot a wild glance at the king, and her fingers dug into the brown man’s arms until he winced.
“Yes, yes, of course, your majesty,” he replied trying to bob a knee, but Illera held him too firmly. “Yes, the king, our king that is, King Ian, he is fighting against the King of Frain, and he was in this battle, at Ocean Perch it was, right by the border. Tough goin’ it was, as all the knights from Frain had left, of course, they had to go, couldn’t expect them to fight against their own…”
“The king,” roared Uggarick, “tell her about her father!”
“He got hit. The king, good king Ian, he took an arrow in his shoulder. Right through the chain mail and all. The healers have been working on him day and night, but the green rot ‘s set in and like, well it don’t look good.”
Illera released the man, all her blood roaring in her ears, her muscles trembling. Strong hands behind her gripped hard around her shoulders and kept her from falling. She summoned strength and turned to King Uggarick.
“Sire, I beg you, give me leave to go. If you can offer support I would be most grateful and in your debt, but I pray you, speed me on my way.”
“Make ready your ship. The Waiting is faster than any of mine, and it will sail you to your home. Ashera will go with you and any who wish to aid you in this war. I will prepare my ships and send men at less haste, but now, go to your father.”
Illera turned and fled from the palace, running through the hallways to the front entrance and out into the gardens. Pairs of feet thudded behind her. Fear clutched her heart with an icy fist, sending shards of pain flowing through her blood. The castle doors stood open and guarded by troops who parted to allow her through. The townspeople took one look at her face and fell back from her path as she loped along the rock-paved streets. Raven sped past her to the outer gates, and they were waiting, opened as she dashed through. The switchback path was too steep to run down, but she hurried at her fastest walk, often stumbling and in danger of falling down the steep banks. With Raven in front and Lark behind, they threaded their way through the docks where sailors stood silent, watching their progress, the work frozen, paused for the rush of her passage. They thundered up the gangplank of The Waiting, and Captain Rivard tipped his head to her. Maggie sailed out of the sun to land in the rigging. Rejoicing and Laughter encircled her, one on either side and led her below. Others boarded behind her.
The lines were shaken out, and the Waiting eased from the dock, swinging her high prow to the open ocean. Facing the wind, they tacked forward, progress slow as the wind and current fought against them. Illera paced her cabin, the same one she had occupied before, while Rejoicing, Laughter, Lark, and Raven sat at the table and watched her.
Laughter sighed. “Enough, Princess. Rest. Your father will need you when you get there. You can’t pace the cabin for the whole three days of crossing; the floor would be worn through.”
“Three days?” wailed Illera. “I need to be there now, right now. I can’t wait three days.”
“Nevertheless,” Rejoicing’s voice was cool and logical. “It will take three days for The Waiting to make it to Ocean Perch. That’s the closest port, and The Waiting is the fastest ship. If you went on one of Uggarick’s barges, it would take you a week.”
Illera buried her face in her hands. Unshed tears shone in her eyes when she raised her head.
“I should have demanded to leave as soon as Ashera was confirmed to be his daughter. I should have left that very night.”
“Illera, I don’t think you could have predicted what Korul would do…” Raven rose and lifted one hand.
Lark broke in. “No, we thought he would chase you until he caught you before he invaded Madean. That makes much more sense than just invading. What can he hope to accomplish?”
“What he always wanted to accomplish,” Illera snarled, “to rule over my land and people.”
Lark’s head snapped back, and the others in the room stared at her. Illera let out a long moan and collapsed into a chair.
“Look at me,” she cried, “I’m falling to pieces. How am I going to lead Madean against
Korul and help my father if I can’t control myself?”
Raven placed an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll help you Illera.”
“And I,” chorused Lark.
The door to the room swung open, and Ashera stood in the doorway dwarfed by her brothers Dorian and Aelfred.
“We’ll help you too Illera.” Ashera nodded her chin with a sharp m
otion. “Don’t forget, I have the right to extract vengeance on Korul. You’ve stood by me; now I’ll stand by you.”
Illera rose and went to the other woman, putting her arm around her. She sobbed on her breast until the material was wet and clinging. Ashera led her to the bunk, and they sat down. The Waiting staggered west against the wind.
The cliffs narrowed on either side, looming tall and dark out of the very early morning mist. Illera shivered by the rail, Copper’s reins clenched in one hand. The mare had been saddled for hours as The Waiting glided up Sea Reach bay. The landward rushing wind was, at last, pushing them toward their goal, but not fast enough for Illera. The last three days had been an agony of waiting. There was not enough work, nor food, nor bathing in all the world to keep her mind from her father and the plight of her people. Raven, Lark, and Ashera tried to occupy her, but it was in vain, for her brain held room for a single thing: her father. Dorian and Aelfred who thought to continue courting her, each competing to win her favor, strained her patience further. She had none to bestow right now, only grief, fear and a burning need to get home.
Sections of the town hovered above the fog in these predawn hours; the tallest steeple-roofed house of the gods and the square façade of the town hall. Individual houses clung to the steep hillside, blending into the background of mist with their silvered wooden walls and shake roofs. The mournful sound of the crying seabirds blended with the creak of sail and flap of canvas. The Waiting slid in beside the docks, sails dropping with a muffled thud. They snubbed the ship tight and ran the gangplank down. Copper’s feet were on the board before the dock end was secure. Skittering down the board, Illera pulled her up to a sleepy worker.
“Where is the king being kept?” she demanded, her voice imperious.
“Princess Illera?” The man goggled. “Thank all the gods ye have returned.”
“The King,” she demanded, “Where is the king?”
“Why, my Lady, they took him on to Seven Spires. They said he said he wanted to die at home where his memories were.”
Without a thank you or a pause, Illera jammed her heels into the mare who broke into a wild career up the steep streets of Ocean Perch. She could hear the sound of hoof beats behind her, but Copper was born to run and run she would. None of the other horses would be able to keep her pace and Illera intended to force all the speed she could from her steed.
They clattered through the stone and dirt streets and out into the wilderness. The road ran straight here, straight until it intersected with the wide main road. Copper flew up and down the hills; soon dripping with sweat and bits of foam that flew back and spattered unheeded on Illera’s cloak. She bent low over the mare’s neck, her weight well forward and her knees urging the palfrey on with every stride. They ducked into the forest, and up the rocky hills and into the sunshine, then down again into the cool trees. When the mare’s breathing became labored, Illera slowed her to a walk. A couple miles further, she lifted the horse into a gallop again. The sun was straight overhead when they reached the wide main road. She pulled Copper’s head to the left and let her walk the next two miles. At a small creek running parallel to the road, she paused to allow the mare to drink when she was cooled. Pulling the horse’s head around, she tackled the road again, urging the mare to greater and greater speed. The sun burned hot on their backs, making the mare sweat more. Illera ignored the sweat soaking her clothing and the foam that spattered her clothing. They dashed through small villages and past single family dwellings. The people ran to see her, but she cantered past without pause or greeting, hearing the sound of her name and cheers blowing to her on the wind. The day died around them in splendid colors of fuchsia and peach, fading into cobalt blue and black laced with stars. The mare needed a slower pace more often now, walking half the time and galloping the other half. First moon rose, bathing the road in light and making the footing surer. It was nearly set when second moon arose, and Illera thanked the powers that were watching over her that she would not have to contend with the tricky shifting shadows caused when both moons rode the night sky together. Her weary mind would have trouble comprehending what she saw. Copper plodded now, managing a slow canter from time to time, but lapsing into a heavy trot whenever Illera slackened the reins in the slightest. The mare’s head was low, and she started to shiver when she walked for too long.
Feeling the pain in the mare’s legs and her own bottom, Illera slid from the saddle. Her legs rebelled and refused to hold her. Thinking of her father, she forced strength into them, pulling Copper along behind. Second moon was sliding to its bed when Illera mounted again. In the pitch darkness, they wove their way towards Seven Spires, feet often leaving the road to stumble through the grass. Illera’s sense of urgency was growing, dread rising up to smother her mind.
Pale pink fingers of dawn were streaking the sky when she caught sight of the tallest towers of the castle. Brutally she forced Copper into a gallop. The brave mare lifted her legs and ran, giving everything to her rider. They thundered up the approach to the drawbridge just as the sun lifted itself above the horizon. Illera pounded on the door that opened far too slowly for her. Scraping her knees and the mare’s sides, she forced Copper through before the gates were opened fully. The horse staggered over the outer bailey to the inner gate, collapsing to her knees before the doors, her breaths coming with loud gulps and coughing. Copper collapsed. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Illera pounded until the gatekeeper opened to her. Tearing across the inner bailey, she dashed to the castle doors and threw them open. Weaving on unsteady legs, she raced up the stairs to her father’s quarters and threw open the doors.
His breathing was audible from where she stood. The stench of rotting flesh smote her like a blow. Face pale and shrunken, he opened bright fever eyes and looked at her. The doctor standing beside his bed stared, mouth open. Maidservants scurried forward and led her to her father’s side.
“Father, I’m here,” she spoke softly. To the maids, she said, “Quick, go to my old room and bring me a bag with my herbs in it.”
The women rushed to obey.
“Illera,” Ian whispered, “Is it really you?”
She grasped his hand, cradling it to her face.“Yes, father, it is really me.”
King Ian waved his other hand feebly in the air.
“Have the scribe, the law keeper and Sir Garth come in here.”
The doctor nodded and left.
“I’m here now father. I will make you well. Just hang on a little, and I’ll soon have you back to your old self.”
The withered, old white head shook from side to side.
“No, I’m sorry Illera. Not this time. I’m afraid you’re just too late.”
“Don’t say that, I can’t make it without you.”
King Ian’s fever cracked lips lifted at the corners. “Yes, you can. You always could, my precious, precious girl. Of all the good things in my life you were the best.”
“No father, say I am the best.”
“How I missed your sweet face.”
“I missed you too, father, more than I can tell you.”
A commotion at the door drew her attention. The maids were back with her herbs and the doctor with the scribe, law keeper, and Sir Garth. The scribe was a wizened brown man who had been a fixture in the castle so long his given name was lost. A stalking heron of a man, the law keeper, pranced to the bed with books and sheaves of paper tucked under the wing of one arm, held in place by thin insect fingers. Sir Garth was as always, dark, bearded and formidable. The scowl on his square dark face boded ill for any who crossed his will, while the powerful, heavily muscled hands and arms moved restlessly seeking an enemy to destroy. The doctor lifted the king higher on the bed.
“As you know, I appointed Sir Garth in charge of Madean when Illera was not here,” the king began in a frail voice. “Now my daughter has returned, of course, the kingdom is to succeed to her and her chosen consort. Write that and publish it across the land.”
Sir G
arth’s face darkened and with a mighty frown at Illera, he swept from the room.
“Beware Garth, daughter; he thought to gain where he had no blood right.” Her father coughed.
“I’ll see to it your majesty, now rest,” the doctor told him.
“I’ll rest for eternity when I’m done here, let me speak to my girl.”
Sorting through her bag, Illera selected some blue mushrooms, now dried and shriveled. She tried to thrust them through her father’s lips. The healing moss was dry and crumbly, but she gathered the bits with her hands and tried to insert them under the bandages to his wound. He slapped weakly at her hands.
“You must chew on these. I haven’t got time to make tea, just chew on them,” she begged.
He shook his head. “I’m tired Illera, too tired.”
“Father you must try. I need you.”
“Should the kingdom be lost, go to Faerie. They will always take you in, your mother’s people.”
“No!”
Raising both trembling hands, he clasped her face and looked long into her eyes.
“I’m sorry, my child. Sorry I have made such bad decisions for you. I pray you will forgive me.”
Sobbing, Illera clasped his hands to her face. “There is nothing to forgive, nothing at all, Father please, don’t leave me alone.”
“I love you, my child. I love you as I loved your mother, more than my own heart,” he whispered, his voice shaking with weariness.
As the first bright rays of sun lightened the window, a soft breath sighed from his lips, the light fading from his eyes. In horror, Illera released his hands, and they collapsed back to the bed. Shivers racked her body, and her teeth chattered as she backed away from the corpse of her father. She stared around. From the corner, the doctor was gazing at her with sympathy. The maidservants skittered to the bed, one closing the pale veined lids over the sightless eyes and the other lifting the sheet to cover his face.
A single sob forced its way past her lips and her eyes burned. She turned from the bed. On one knee, the scribe and the law keeper stared up at her. The doctor joined them.