Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  “Where is the girl, Thunderer take it? If she has vanished, I’ll have somebody’s head,” Illera heard as she entered the kitchen.

  “Is something the matter father?” she asked sweetly.

  Her father turned at the sound of her voice. A mighty frown on his face smoothed away at the sight of her.

  “I thought you were hiding.” He cleared his throat.

  Illera pondered a moment and said, “Father, I’ll leave with the messengers, but won’t you please reconsider. I feel marrying Torul will be a disaster. I feel it in the marrow of my bones.”

  Ian smiled sourly at her. “I suppose it will. What else could it be with two spoiled brats joining together.”

  “Father!” exclaimed Illera shock ringing through her voice.

  “Yes,” he continued, “I thought I raised my daughter to be a good and caring person, but you have proved me wrong. Such a pity I didn’t realize it earlier when I could have done something about it, but I guess it will be Torul’s problem from now on.”

  Illera felt as if a knife were disemboweling her. Her breath was short, and her stomach knotted painfully.

  “Father.” She shook her head, and a single tear dribbled down her cheek as he turned from her and marched from the kitchen.

  Following him to the great room, she noticed Ashera, Lark, and Raven already at breakfast at the head table. Despite her pain, Illera forced herself to join them. As the food was set before her, she chewed and swallowed everything on her plate and asked the serving girls for more. She ate until she could barely breathe and another mouthful would make her void the contents of her stomach. Lark and Raven were watching her with lowered brows. Ashera was eating twice as much and never noticed Illera gorging on ham, eggs, bread dripping with butter and honey; all washed down with quaffs of fresh milk.

  “Princess Illera, are you all right?” Lark blinked, and his eyes wandered from her face.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, I am fine. The last few days I didn’t feel much like eating, but now my appetite has returned.”

  “Do you always eat like this?” He waved a hand in his brother’s direction to silence his guffaws.

  Feeling puckish, Illera gave him her widest smile. “Of course not, almost Sir Lark, quite often I eat much more.”

  Raven no longer able to contain himself burst into loud peals of infectious laughter, joined by Ashera. The astonishment on Lark’s face made Illera join in as well.

  Lark ventured another question, “Then how do you stay so slim if you are so fine a trencherman?”

  King Ian cut in crossly, “Can’t you see this is just another scheme to make you leave her here. She hopes to put you off, so you return to Frain without her and counsel Torul to avoid her.”

  “Come, sire,” retorted Raven as his eyes twinkled at her, “I hardly think her capable of such perversity.”

  “Nor would I have thought so until recently.” The king’s face sported a mighty frown.

  Illera smiled politely and excused herself, feeling as if the considerable meal was going to come back up then and there. She made it to her room and flopped on the bed. The nausea and whirling sensation in her head finally left, and she rose and went downstairs, collecting her bag and her cloak from where she left them. Her father waited at the main door of the keep. Down the stairs, over his shoulder, she could see the servants loading her baggage onto the donkeys. The two banner carriers were waiting beside their white mules. Abbadon and Appolon were saddled, waiting for their riders and a scruffy white war-horse dozed beside them.

  Illera walked toward her father as he gazed over the activity on the inner bailey.

  “Goodbye, father,” Illera noted the cold in her tone, freezing her features to match as she moved past him.

  He caught the sleeve of her jacket as she went past. “Illera, I’m sorry at the harsh words that have been spoken between us. You will leave, and I won’t see you again for a long time, if ever. I want you to know that I do love you, more than you can ever realize. I’m sorry that you are unhappy about this match, but I had no choice.”

  Illera could see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his voice. His eyes were rheumy as if he might cry at any moment. He looked like a beaten, defeated old man. She felt the barriers crumbling inside her and took a step towards him.

  “Father, you were the only man I loved, and I love you still. But I know you are making a mistake, I know it. I am going, and I wish it were as before, before Sir Kyle ever stepped foot into Madean. The thing that hurts the most is feeling that you don’t love me anymore. That’s the only reason I am leaving.”

  “Oh child, if only you could know just how much I do love you. You can’t believe how hard this is for me as well.”

  “But it’s still not enough to believe in my feelings.”

  “I have to do what my head tells me is right, not my heart.”

  Illera ducked her head. “I know.” She raised her head to look into his eyes. They were glistening with unshed tears. She felt her own grow shiny. “Father, remember that I love you and I always will. I can’t continue angry with you, and please, when you hear the reports of me, don’t grieve too much. Don’t blame yourself; I do know this is the only thing you can do under the circumstances. If only we’d had more time…”

  Her voice thickened, and she could speak no longer. Her father drew her into his arms and held her, his tears dampening the top of her hair while hers fell to his shirt and darkened the fine material. Raven and Lark slipped past the embracing pair and went to the horses. Ashera stopped beside them

  “My lady, we have a long way to travel today, and it would be best to get started.” Ashera’s voice grated like metal on Illera’s ears.

  With a final hug, she turned from her father and descended the steps to the courtyard. Raven strode from the stable leading the tall chestnut palfrey with a strange contraption on its back. Lark came up beside her.

  “What’s in the bag?” he asked nodding to the sack tied at her waist.

  “Oh, I brought that to get acquainted with the horses,” replied Illera remembering her plan.

  She opened the bag and went to each of the four donkeys, taking a palmful of oats and holding it out to each. Then she fed a handful to each mule and Ashera’s white steed. Appolon reached eagerly for his share and whickered at her. Abbadon greedily shouldered him aside and gobbled down a handful of oats. Illera approached the mare and held out a hand. The chestnut lowered her head and delicately nibbled the offering. Abbadon tried shoving the mare aside and taking her share, but she laid her ears back and bared her teeth. Abbadon back away. Illera laughed, Raven and Lark, joining her.

  “Enough,” called Ashera from her mount, “We must be off before the sun’s overhead.”

  “This mare is a gift from Torul to you my Lady, her name is Copper,” said Raven as Illera inspected the horse.

  “From Torul?” asked Illera, “Did he select her personally?”

  Raven darkened, blushing to the roots of his hair. “No, my Lady. I chose her, but Torul said to bring you a mount.”

  At Lark’s snort, Illera inquired, “Did Torul really send me a mount?”

  Raven blushed even darker. “Well, he said to see you had a reliable animal to enable you to reach Frain.”

  Lark laughed aloud. “You might as well tell her the truth Brother. Torul wanted you to have a donkey, but Raven thought a donkey wasn’t good enough for a princess, even an ugly princess, so he picked the best palfrey from our mother’s herd for you. Torul has no idea.”

  Illera looked up at Raven watching him grind his teeth while giving murderous looks to his brother. Lark swung up on his horse, and the banner carriers mounted their mules. They gathered the reins for the donkeys.

  “How am I supposed to ride this horse? It needs a saddle,” asked Illera puzzled by the contraption on the mare’s back.

  “It’s a side saddle, my Lady,” replied Raven.

  Illera looked at him puzzled. His hands encirc
led her waist, and he lifted her to the tall chestnut’s back. Blushing furiously again, he arranged her legs into the proper configuration and placed her feet in the stirrups.

  “Thank you, Raven,” she murmured, taking pity on his embarrassment. “But this seems a very unstable way to ride.”

  The party moved out, passing through the inner gates and onto the outer bailey. Illera refused to think that this might be the last time she passed these beloved walls.

  “Why do Franians enforce the indignity of sitting a horse in such a manner on their princesses?” she asked in an attempt not to think of the more important event taking place.

  “A,…uh…maiden must be protected…from….uh…uh…damage,” Raven looked pointedly ahead.

  “Damage?” inquired Illera innocently.

  “Er, yes…damage.”

  “What sort of damage?” she persisted as they crossed the outer bailey and exited the barbican. The hollow ring of the hooves over the drawbridge made her bones ache.

  Overhearing their conversation, Lark was laughing so hard he was having a hard time to sit on his horse.

  “Uh…well… it is said that…uh…damage can occur if a maiden rides astride a horse...so, therefore...we...uh...use a sidesaddle for maidens of virtue.” Raven occupied his hands twisting his horse’s mane.

  Illera forced a strained laugh. The approach vanished beneath the swift-moving animals, and she mentally said goodbye to the spreading oak with Maggie and her babies. A sob caught on the sound of the laugh. Raven gave her a strange look.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, I must be damaged a lot then, for I have ridden astride since I could first walk.” She hiccuped to keep the sobs down.

  Raven gave her a warm smile. “My mother says it is all foolishness, but the men of Frain love the superstition, so you must have a sidesaddle. I wouldn’t worry.”

  Unable to contain the pain that threatened to burst her asunder, Illera kicked the long-legged mare into a gallop. She rushed ahead of Lark, Ashera, and the banner carriers. Raven followed, overtaking and swinging Abbadon in front of her to slow her headlong flight.

  “I’m sorry Illera, but you must stay with the party.”

  She looked at him as slow tears leaked from her eyes. “Can the party move a little quicker then, for if I don’t get away from the castle, I’m going to burst.”

  The understanding dawning in his eyes made her sob harder. He turned and gestured for the rest who joined them at a swift trot, the best pace the donkeys could maintain.

  “Get away from the girl,” Ashera growled chasing Raven back to Lark while she paced her horse with Copper. “Ladies of her sort don’t like to be bothered with riffraff like the two of you.”

  Ashera babbled on for hours about her family and her heritage and how she grew up as an outsider in Southern Reach. Illera tuned her out, concentrating on the rhythm of the horse beneath her as the miles added up, removing her from her home. The vast green plains, dotted with small farms gradually gave way to low hills with flocks of grazing sheep. The road wound on, and the forest dipped over from the west to meet them, and soon they were traveling through the brushy woodland of widely spaced mixed trees.

  “I need to stop.” She pulled Copper to a shifting halt.

  “We need to make some miles your highness,” the warrior woman replied.

  “Then I’ll stop myself.” Illera slid from the palfrey.

  Ashera yelled at the banner carriers. The ground felt unstable after so many hours on horseback and Illera stretched her back and legs and walked around in an exaggerated fashion to limber up her muscles.

  Lark dismounted and walked up beside her. “Is something the matter my Lady?”

  She knew now was the time. “Yes, Lark, my rear is sore, I am perishing for a cup of tea, and I have to ease nature.”

  A grin quirked his mouth. “I guess it is past noon, so we can take a break. The horses need to rest a bit anyway. Ashera, escort the princess to a suitable shrubbery.”

  Illera had not counted on this twist. Still, she went meekly with the warrior woman to a stand of dense bushes, taller than she was. Ashera stood right beside her. She scraped a hole and then turned to the woman.

  “Ashera, please, would you stand the other side of the bush. You can hear me, I’m right here and…and it embarrasses me to have someone watching.”

  “Certainly my lady,” she replied moving to the front of the shrub.

  Illera rustled around making small noises, concentrating all her power on calling some birds. Two tiny brown thrushes came in answer to her summons. She scattered a handful of grain around in the duff of the forest floor and stole away; putting more and more of the low bushes between her and the rest of the party. The thrushes scratched and rustled through the fallen leaves making a lot of noise, precisely as if she were still in the same place.

  The forest grew thicker and denser as she stealthily moved west and south. She called other creatures to come and obscure her trail. The possum and raccoon were the first to answer, and she scattered them a handful of grain. A pair of stags arrived and followed behind her, covering her marks with their sharp hoof prints. When she reached a rocky outcropping, she left them a pile of grain as a reward. She entered the forest again, removing her boots and wading down a small stream. It retook her east, but it would hide her tracks better. When her feet grew numb, she left the stream, dried herself and put her boots back on. A helpful beaver covered her exit point with mud and the imprint of his own body.

  She could move faster now, feeling that they would find it impossible to follow her trail. She trotted through the forest, keeping to the fringes where the trees were farther apart. She ran until her lungs were about to burst, then she walked until she was able to run again. She repeated that pattern, always keeping to the edges of the forest, ready to duck in among the bigger trees if she should see a person. As the sun was celebrating the day’s end with red and gold banners in the sky, she reached the part of the woodlands she knew well. Looking away from the sun she saw the castle, its seven tall towers rosy in the declining day. A sharp pang knifed through her, but she firmed her mind and continued. The first bridge over the Royal River was almost in the forest. She watched for long moments, but the structure seemed deserted. She dashed from the cover of the trees and flew over the bridge as fast as she could run. She was no sooner over the span when she dived back into the concealing trees. She knew this land so well she could travel in the dark and did so until she found herself in a part of the forest not as familiar. She made a nest of leaves and pulled her cloak over her, falling asleep instantly.

  Fingers of golden light pried at her eyelids. Illera snuggled deeper into the warm hollow her body had made. A number of small stirrings around and over her pricked at her consciousness. The decaying scent of leaves and needles filled her nostrils. This didn’t feel like her bed. She opened her eyes. A dozen or more small, furry, long-eared bodies cuddled around her. She yawned and stretched, dislodging the bunnies.

  “Good morning. Are you hungry?”

  She scattered a handful of oats over the ground and smiled as the little ones hopped around picking up the grains. She took a handful herself and chewed the tough material slowly, grimacing a little at the musty taste. Rising, she shook herself off, looked around briefly and continued following the forest to the south.

  On her right, the mountains were growing taller, thrusting sharp knife-edged peaks into the sky and the land itself rolled more deeply, with many gullies; rushing streams in their bellies. Illera climbed and descended, climbed and descended.

  The sun was directly overhead when her attention was drawn by a low moaning. She turned mountainward and scrambled up a sharp incline. On a flat place, enclosed by tall granite boulders, she saw a creature that was new to her. It looked like a man, yet not a man. The back, arms, and legs were covered with plates of tough brown scales. The creature was bald, with a series of ridges beginning as a crest on its head and growing larger
down the spine until they vanished from sight beneath a thick skirt of pounded, woven bark. The hands and feet sported sharp black claws instead of nails, and the face bore a vestigial muzzle with long canine fangs protruding from the upper jaw. A festering wound twisted from the creature’s armpit around to the middle of the back near the waistband of the skirt.

  Illera approached cautiously, murmuring in the low singsong voice that was so successful with other animals. The wounded beast turned its head and regarded her with bleary orange eyes with horizontal pupils like a goat’s.

  “Hello, I see you are hurt. Is there anything I can do?” she asked in case the creature had speech.

  “You can go and let me die in peace,” the beast snarled at her.

  Illera knelt down in front of it. She noticed the red streaking from the edges of the slice. “I know a bit about healing, would you let me help you?”

  The creature yelped. “As if a human would help an ogre to do anything except die!”

  It lay its head back on the rocky earth. Illera reached out a hand, holding it over the wound. The ogre snarled and grabbed her wrist with one hand. Looking straight into its pain-racked eyes, she sent it the thought she would and could help. The grip on her arm weakened and fell away. The beast shrugged.

  “Help if you can. There’s little enough you can do.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She surveyed the surrounding landscape.

  She slithered down the rock and back into the forest. Searching, she finally found a clump of birch trees. There was not as much of the healing moss as she liked, but she picked it and placed it in her bag. She scouted around some more and found the blue mushrooms. A cluster of fleshy trilobate plants caught her attention, and she picked a double handful of them. She raced back. The creature had not moved.