Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  Raven smiled, loosened the fine wool shirt he wore from about his throat and pulled it over his head. He knelt in front of Illera, scarred shoulder next to her. She reached out her fingers and traced the thick white line that ran from the top of one muscular shoulder and down across his chest to just above the sternum. It faded from a finger-wide welt to the size of a fine thread as it crossed his body.

  She looked into his eyes and asked, “But how? Even my best herbs don’t cure that fast.”

  Rising, he shrugged, slipping the shirt over his head and fastening it again.

  “I only know that when I woke, it was healed but sore. By the time I found out where you had gone, the soreness was fading and by the time I arrived here it was as you see it now. I thought you could tell me what you did?”

  Illera shook her head.

  “Are you well?” demanded Frak. “Can you come with me?”

  She rose and followed the King of the Shul outside into the uproar of the camp, trailing Raven and Min behind. The day was gloomy and dark with heavy, ominous clouds obscuring the sun and threatening to rain. Even the wind was still, as though oppressed by the dullness of the day. A sudden hush fell over the assembled ogres as they noticed her presence. One of the collared warriors lumbered forward and made a gesture as if the seize her arm. Raven blocked his grab with his own forearm.

  “Treat the Princess with respect,” growled Frak.

  The warrior backed away bowing and gesturing for Illera to take the center of the circle. With low murmuring, the ring closed behind her. Lark pushed through the crowded bodies and into the center with them. An ogre whose crest was also beginning to swell and showed a pale yellow blush along the base stepped into the circle with them.

  “It is not for a foreign creature to decide who will rule the Shul. I am Lort, and I slew Targ. The Kingship is mine!” he yelled in a deafening voice.

  Comments both for and against ran around the ring of bodies.

  Illera stamped her foot. “Wait!”

  The crowds grew silent and unnumbered eyes fastened on her.

  “This Lort claims kingship?”

  “Yes, I shall be king for I slew Targ,” Lort’s voice was so loud she had to step back.

  Illera turned to face him and raised her arm pointing her finger. “Then you deserve to die.”

  The ogre’s jaw dropped open, and he took a step back from her. A loud murmur erupted from the watchers.

  “You committed regicide at the order of a female, and a human woman at that. You interfered with the challenge when to do so means certain death, and yet you claim to be King. You are pathetic. A weak child of a creature with not even the strength of character to face challenges as it should be, hand to hand. You are a disgrace to your people.”

  Loud cries of agreement burst from the mob. Fists were shaken in his direction.

  “But, but,” the shaken ogre stammered, “you are the one who told me to do it.”

  “Yes, yes I did,” agreed Illera, “and I also told you that Frak was to be your King. If you use me as an excuse for your deed, then how can you ignore my will for a successor.”

  Illera could see his crest deflating and the color fading. Lort turned to the crowd.

  “The female is right. I withdraw my right to the throne.”

  He scuttled back into the crowd of villagers. Frak stepped forward. Before he could speak, Illera stepped beside him.

  “You have never had a wise man to lead you before. I must tell all of you that I support Frak’s rule one hundred percent. As long as Frak is your king and willing to deal peaceably with Madean, I will supply you with teachers and healers and trade. I will give you animals and grain to get started, and ogres will be welcomed as honored guests in my land at all times. The penalty for harming one of you will be the same as for harming another human.”

  Lark stepped between Frak and Illera.

  In a ringing voice, he proclaimed, “And same shall be true of Frain. As long as Frak rules this people we will be friends and trading partners in peace.”

  Illera continued, “Should you decide on another ruler, then I shall take my sheep and my companions and go. Things will be as they were before. Remember you are making this decision for your children and the future.”

  Ogres turned to each other, and the babble of conversation grew. For long minutes they discussed and argued. As a body, they turned back to those in the middle. A dozen of the collared ogres stepped into the center with them, and one of them walked to stand just in front of Frak. Slowly, with massive dignity, the great creature lowered himself to one knee. Behind him, the other eleven followed suite.

  In unison, they chorused, “We pledge allegiance to Frak Windsinger, King of the Shul. You are our liege and we your servants from now until your death or defeat in challenge.”

  Frak spread his hands out accepting their fealty. He began to sing, and the clouds parted, bathing him in a spear of brilliant golden light. Illera stepped back, bringing Lark, Raven, and Min with her until they melted into the cheering crowds.

  The horses were fresh and eager to be away, skittering down the steep inclines at a pace far too brisk for Illera. Lark rode first, and she followed him with Raven and his new shadow bringing up the rear. Maggie scouted ahead, returning to scold often, as if she wanted them all to fly. The journey home was uneventful, long days of riding down, down and up, then down again. The stunted forest appeared, grew taller, thicker and denser and then dwindled again into open birch and aspen groves. Thinning trees signaled the end of the woodlands and the beginning of the hills and farms. They cut across the countryside so as to be nearer to Seven Spires.

  On their last night, as they gathered around the fire, replete with a fine supper that Min had cooked, the conversation wandered again to the future.

  “I want to increase the trade between Madean and Frain,” Lark was saying.

  Illera nodded her head in agreement while staring into the flames. He took a deep breath.

  “Do you remember what the Darkliete said?”

  Illera looked up, noticing the dance of flames in his eyes.

  “The Darkliete said a lot of things.”

  “They said it would be best for the world if you married me. United, Frain and Madean could be such a force for good.”

  Illera smiled.

  “Is that a proposal?”

  Lark rose and approached her. He bent his knee before her and gazed into her face.

  “I don’t know if you realize what you mean to me, your strength and your goodness. You are queen of Madean and I king of Frain. This journey began to unite Madean and Frain, so would you complete the journey with me and become my wife and queen of Frain as well as Madean.”

  Illera felt the tears well up in her throat, and sharp prickles assailed her eyes. Breath grew short, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Raven hurry away into the dark, closely followed by his shadow. A promise sprang to her mind.

  “Lark, would you be willing to take Min as your companion and train him to be a knight and your personal bodyguard?”

  A frown clove the space between his eyes and Lark shook his head.

  “I just proposed to you. You are supposed to answer yes or no, not ask irrelevant questions.”

  Illera smiled down at his upturned face.

  “I love you, Lark; I really do, but like a brother. I hope I can always be your sister and a very good friend.”

  “Does that mean no?”

  “It means no.”

  “Being king of Frain is good, but it’s only second best compared to having you. Will you be choosing one of Ashera’s brothers then?”

  Illera smiled, a wild grin of pure delight and turned away from Lark and slipped from the firelight into the darkness.

  “Where Maggie?”

  The magpie fluttered ahead, visible only as a light patch in the dark. Illera followed, pausing as Maggie uttered an annoyed squawk. She almost ran into Min.

  “Go back to camp.”

 
; He thrashed past her and vanished into the darkness. Maggie forged ahead. She could see Raven’s silhouette, just barely visible leaning with his head against the lone tree gracing the side of the hill. Maggie landed on his shoulder and poked him in the ear.

  “Go back Min, and take this pesky bird with you. Sometimes a man needs to be alone.”

  His voice was rough and uneven. Illera stepped beside him and laid a hand on his arm. Startled he jumped.

  “I’m sorry, your Highness, I thought you were Min.”

  Maggie burbled and poked him the ear again.

  “I need to ask you a question?” Illera’s voice was strange in her ears.

  “Certainly Lady,” he replied, his voice more controlled and distant.

  “Would you be willing to take Min as your squire and train him to be your companion and personal bodyguard?”

  She could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. “Of course, your Highness. I love the kid like a little brother already. I would be honored to have him as a companion.”

  Illera’s laughter was a merry tinkling on the wind. She spread her arms wide as if to embrace the sky.

  “In that case, Raven, son of Korul, son of Rejoicing and son of Elisa, will you be my husband and King of Madean beside me?”

  Stunned silence greeted her. In the starlight, she could see the flair of his nostrils and the sudden intensity of his eyes. Her wide-spread, empty arms filled as a hard, warm body rushed to her and squeezed her tight. He pushed her away and held her at arm’s length. She could see a world of wonder reflected in his wide, dark eyes.

  “Do you mean it? Do you really mean it? You want me?”

  Illera smiled. “Ever since the day, we met in front of Abbadon’s stall.”

  He crushed her in his arms.

  Chapter 12

  They arrived home the next evening as the sun eased behind the western mountains, gilding the seven tall towers with its last rays. Illera’s heart throbbed with joy at the sight of home. As they rode slowly up the approach, a fanfare burst from the walls and the sound of a commotion disturbed the settling twilight. An approaching cavalcade of horses, knights, castle servants and village folks drowned the ringing echoes from the horses’ hooves upon the drawbridge. Leading the charge, Ashera on the late King Ian’s giant gray war-horse, screamed her welcome, waving her arms about in such a fashion that Illera wondered how she could keep her seat. Behind tumbled such a mishmash of bodies that the travelers could not distinguish faces or cries of welcome.

  Ashera drove her horse next to Commitment, bent forward and lifted Illera from the saddle, squashing the air from her lungs.

  “How did you do it? How did you do?” the giantess babbled. “We thought you dead. The priests were going to proclaim you dead the day after tomorrow and let Garth have the kingdom. They let him go, and he’s in your father’s suites now. I’m so glad you’re home. How did you do it?”

  Illera struggled loose from the big woman’s grip and thumped back down to her own saddle. The people were reaching up, touching her legs and hands, welcoming her back. At her back, she could hear Abbadon snorting at the nearness of so many people and Raven’s soft words soothing him, encouraging him to be still. Illera rose in her stirrups and waved her hands over her head. Min seized a torch from someone and rode to her side using it to illuminate her face. A hush spread across the hordes of people crammed into the outer bailey.

  “Thank you for the welcome!” cried Illera in her loudest voice.

  A mighty cheer rose up from the assembled throngs.

  “I come bringing good news, the best. Frain has its new king.”

  Lark rode forward into the small circle of the firelight and waved to the people.

  “And I have still more good news. Targ, King of the Shul, is dead and Frak, the new king, will work with us for peace and trade between our two people.”

  The people cheered long and loud, many throwing caps or bonnets into the air at her announcement.

  In the pause, she added, “And perhaps the best news of all, Madean will have a new king as well as a new Queen.”

  She gestured, and Raven thrust Abbadon forward as Lark eased aside.

  “Welcome, Sir Raven, my betrothed and soon to be your King.”

  A hushed pause preceded the wildest screams and cheering yet. The crowd boiled with adulation, and the throngs pushed closer, each individual determined to touch the Queen and her chosen. Night drew velvet curtains around them as they pressed towards the castle, one slow step after another. Ashera tried to break the trail, and with Lark to one side and Raven the other, they reached the inner gates. Here the people finally stepped aside to let them pass into the relative quiet of the inner bailey and the keep. Only the castle servants followed them now, laughing and cheering still.

  Dismounting in front of the stables, Illera’s weary legs wobbled. Raven was there in an instant, supporting her with a hand under her elbow. The stableboys led the horses away with wide grins and whispering behind their hands. As they made their way to the doors of the castle, the servants melted before them. The doors were locked and bolted.

  Illera pounded on the doors and demanded that they be opened. Only icy silence met their ears. Then she snorted and turned to face Ashera and the men.

  “Does Garth think that he can keep me from my home by locking the front door?” she asked.

  Ashera looked at the ground. “I’m sorry Illera. I tried to stop the priests, but they insisted that King Ian wanted Garth to be King, if you couldn’t be found. I told them to wait for you, that you would be back, but they said the omens insisted that you had been eaten by the Shul. I have to go back to my own land, so what could I do? I brought all the people to meet you so Garth couldn’t have you killed and then say you didn’t return.”

  Illera placed her hand on her friend’s heavy shoulders.

  “It’s fine, Ashera, just fine. You did exactly right. I hadn’t known, and if you didn’t act exactly as you did, we would have ridden into a trap and all been killed. This, this is nothing. Gather some of the knights who are still loyal to me and meet me in the stable.”

  Ashera nodded and trotted off into the night. Raven chuckled as he followed her to the stable. Bare minutes later, Ashera was back with fifteen well-armed fighting men in full armor. Illera nodded and slipped aside the panel that gave her access to the hidden passages of the castle. In single file, they followed her into the bowels of the building, gliding silently between the walls. Illera moved from peephole to peephole looking for Garth.

  At the spy hole in her father’s rooms, she saw him preening in front of the dressing mirror King Ian had always disdained. She pressed one ear to the wall and listened hard. His voice was just audible to her sharp ears.

  “Yes,” the pretender was saying to himself, “I do believe I am the best King Madean has ever known. How perspicacious of you to notice, have a knighthood.”

  Illera’s lips drew back in a snarl of anger, and she tripped the latch and slid the panel aside. Raven, Lark, Min, Ashera and the fifteen knights poured into the room. She followed slowly, noting Garth’s hand poised in mid-grab for his sword hanging on the back of the chair.

  “I hardly think that anyone will tell you that you are the best king Madean ever had, especially when you are not her King and never will be,” Illera snarled.

  Garth’s face flushed red to the roots of his carefully coifed hair. He hurled himself forward, hit the ground with his shoulders and rolled to his feet beside the door to the hallway. As the knights lunged at him in a group, he whipped the door aside and vanished, Ashera and the fighting men in pursuit. Raven paused and looked at Illera.

  “Go back into the walls. Garth doesn’t know them, and you do. You’ll be safe there.”

  “No, I won’t hide like a rat between the walls of my own home.” She shook herself indignantly.

  Raven smiled and took two steps to her, grasping both shoulders in his big hands.

  “Illera, if he kills you, he win
s. And you thought that it was quite okay to be a rat while you were princess. No?”

  Illera thought, then nodded, turning back to the wall and sliding the panel closed again. She watched as Raven ran from the room following the others. She moved from place to place, checking each room, searching in her own way for Garth. The knights split up and searched the castle room by room, starting at the top. Illera moved to the dungeons on her invisible pathways. In Garth’s old cell, she found her retainers chained to the walls. She slipped from her hiding place and strode to the jailer’s bench at the foot of the steep stairs.

  “Release Orille and the rest of my people at once,” she commanded the rat-like keeper.

  A slow and greedy smile spread across the man’s narrow face, and his long red nose twitched. His hand glided downward towards the sword he wore strapped to his skinny hips. Illera was faster, whipping her long dagger and pricking the base of his throat with it. The jailer dropped his weapon to the stone floor with a loud clang. Pointing, Illera directed him to the cell where her people were chained. He hesitated before the bars. She probed with the razor sharp blade and sped his fumbling hands. A thick trickle of blood seeped down his neck and under the collar of his greasy shirt.

  Illera prodded him over to Orille, and grunted in the direction of the iron cuffs holding the old man’s hands tight to the walls. The jailer began to back away. Illera twisted the blade, and the man skittered back to Orille’s side, inserting the key and opening the cuffs. Orille slumped to the dirty floor and crawled towards the door.

  She lowered the blade just enough to shove the jailer’s wrists into the cuffs and close them again. Sheathing the knife, she took the keys from his belt and tried the keys one by one until she had all her people loose. With a hand to her lips, so they would be quiet, she led them into the dark, hidden passages. In starts and stops, she directed her weakened people to the big kitchen of the castle. After checking that the place was deserted, even the gigantic hearth fires were cold, she slipped the catch, and they toppled into the huge, flagstoned room.

  Illera busied herself giving them food and water with her own hands. Elisa grabbed her hands and brought them to her lips, but Illera forestalled her with a shake of her head.