Taking Flight

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  But Irith didn't.

  Irith acted like a girl of fifteen. And it wasn't just acting, like players in the annual pageant taking the roles of ancient heroes—she was a girl of fifteen.

  But how could she be?

  It didn't make sense. There was all this evidence that she was far older than she looked—her own stories about what she'd done, and everything Ezdral said, and the fact that she was known to people all along the Great Highway—and then there was an equal amount of evidence, in her appearance and behavior, that she was just what she claimed to be, a girl of fifteen.

  Kelder couldn't make the two possibilities resolve them­selves.

  Irith would be able to settle the matter, of course—if she ever came back, or when he found her again. He looked up at the southern sky but could see no trace of her.

  He knew he would marry her anyway, but this—this changed things, somehow.

  "I guess I believe you," Kelder said. "Maybe it is the same girl. But it doesn't really matter, since she's gone now." He knew he would find her again, but there was no reason to think Ezdral or Asha would.

  Ezdral looked up and said hopefully, "She might come back, though—she likes you, I saw that she likes you."

  Kelder shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "At least, not while you're here. She's scared of you."

  "But I'm nothing to be afraid of!" Ezdral wailed.

  Kelder shrugged.

  "You do look scary," Asha said. "Your beard goes all over, and your hands look nasty, and you're all dirty, and you smell of wine, or oushka, or something."

  Ezdral looked down at himself.

  "I suppose you're right," he admitted. He looked up again, first at Kelder, then at Asha. "Are you two going to wait here for her to come back? Maybe I could get cleaned up and then come back here and meet you? . . ."

  "No, no," Kelder said quickly. "We can't stay. We've got a very important errand to run, back in Angarossa—we need to hold a funeral for Asha's brother."

  "Oh," Ezdral said.

  "We should get going," Asha suggested, with a meaningful glance at Kelder.

  Kelder knew what she meant—that they should get away from this crazy old man as quickly as possible. He felt some­thing of the same urge himself.

  For one thing, he wanted Irith back, and as he had just told Ezdral, she wouldn't be coming back while the old man was there.

  "You're right," he said, getting to his feet and picking up his pack. "Come on." He turned to Ezdral and said, "Have a safe journey back to Shan, and I hope you find your Irith someday."

  As long, he thought, as Ezdral's Irith was not Kelder's Irith.

  Ezdral leaned forward on his hands, struggling to rise. "I'm not going back to Shan," he said. "She's not going to go to Shan again for years, after this. I'll have to go looking for her elsewhere."

  "Oh," Kelder said, a bit disconcerted. "Well, good luck, then." He took Asha by the hand and started walking, south­ward across the trackless sands, toward the cliffs that he knew lay just below the horizon.

  A moment later he realized that Ezdral was following them. He started to turn and protest, and then stopped.

  What could he say? After all, the man had a right to walk on the same sand as everybody else. As long as he stayed out of reach, what harm could he do? And what could Kelder do to stop him?

  "You know," Ezdral called out, "I'd love to talk to you two about Irith. What have you done together with her? Where have you been? Do you have any idea where she might be?"

  At first Kelder ignored this, but as they walked on Ezdral kept up an intermittent barrage of questions, shouted across the intervening five-yard distance.

  "Come on," Kelder told Asha, "hurry up; if we move fast enough he won't be able to keep up, he's a sick old man."

  Asha nodded and hurried, but it did no good. Kelder by himself could easily have outdistanced Ezdral, but Asha was only nine, and small for her age—she didn't have the long legs or the stamina to keep up with Kelder's pace when he hurried.

  And Ezdral, decrepit as he was, could keep up with Asha's best pace.

  If Kelder left Asha behind, he could easily get away from Ezdral—but what sort of champion of the lost and forlorn would he be then? Reluctantly he gave in and slowed down again, and the three of them proceeded, two in front, and the old man a few paces behind.

  By the time they reached the escarpment that marked the end of the Great Eastern Desert and the beginning of the Small Kingdoms, Kelder had yielded to the inevitable—the three were walking side by side, chatting companionably.

  Ezdral was sadly unaware of recent events—he hadn't heard about the Angarossan king's support of banditry, or the use of demonologists as caravan guards, or the rumors about someone named Vond the Warlock building an empire in the south. He didn't even know what a warlock was, though he did remember all the disturbances on the Night of Madness, twenty years ago.

  "That was when the Crystal Skull got wrecked," he said.

  Kelder was not pleased to hear that. It might be that the old drunk was running two different memories together, or simply fantasizing, but it did seem to make sense, and if it was true it would completely destroy any possibility that Irith was re­ally only fifteen.

  Unless she had somehow acquired the memories of some­one older? She seemed too certain of things to have simply been told about the Crystal Skull, but what if those memories had been magically transferred to her, somehow? Kelder had heard of witches doing that sort of thing, so maybe wizards could, too.

  Or what if she had been simply gone somewhere for forty-odd years? Suppose that wizard she'd dueled with had turned her to stone, and then she had finally been turned back just recently—wouldn't that account for everything?

  Kelder thought it would; he rather liked the theory, in fact. It still meant that his Irith had once wandered the Small King­doms with someone else, with the young Ezdral who had de­teriorated into this drunken wreck in the intervening years, but at least she really would have only lived fifteen years or so, not sixty or more. Somehow, the thought of her being an unchanging fifteen for all that time was far more discomfiting than any knowledge of a previous boyfriend.

  He didn't mention the theory to Asha or Ezdral, though. He told himself that he wanted to work out the details a little more first, but the truth was he was afraid they would find enough flaws in the idea to unravel it completely.

  Of course, if that was what had happened, then Irith might not have deserted Ezdral at all, she might have been kid­napped from his side—and while knowing that might comfort the old man, Kelder decided that he didn't want to discuss that possibility.

  What if he was wrong, he asked himself, why get the old man's hopes up?

  Even as he thought that, though, he knew he wasn't really as concerned with Ezdral's feelings as his own.

  When they reached the escarpment they had missed the road completely; studying the sky and the landscape, Kelder finally decided they had arrived somewhere to the east of their intended destination, so with a shrug he turned right and led the party along the foot of the cliff.

  It was midafternoon when they finally found the road again, and by the time they reached the top and were back on the relatively level ground of Dhwerra the sun was almost on the western horizon.

  Ezdral looked about at the patchy grass and weeds and re­marked, "Been a long time since I was up here and saw things growing out of the ground like that."

  Asha gazed around and then up at Ezdral wonderingly. The idea of going for years without seeing greenery was very strange to her, indeed.

  Kelder remarked, "Maybe you should go on to Amramion, then, and see the forests."

  "Maybe I will," Ezdral agreed, "if my feet hold out. I'm getting tired, though. Isn't it about time we found an inn, or at least something to eat?"

  Kelder grimaced. "If you want anything to eat," he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to beg for it. That's what we'll be doing. And I guess we'll just have to sleep by the roadside.
We don't have any money."

  "You don't?"

  "No," Kelder snarled, "we don't. I spent all mine, and Asha never had any, and Irith was paying our way back in Shan, before you frightened her off. I'm just glad we had full canteens when we left!" A thought struck him. "Do you have any money?"

  "A little," Ezdral admitted, "a few bits. Not enough for an inn, but I can get us all some bread."

  "You can?" Asha looked up at him, surprised and grateful.

  He nodded. He looked at the road ahead, curving grace­fully around the Castle of Dhwerra, and at the scattered build­ings along its length. "Which inn is best?"

  Asha looked at Kelder, and Kelder looked at Asha.

  "I don't know," he said. "Just pick one."

  With a shrug, Ezdral picked one.

  Chapter 19

  The bread was rough and a bit stale, but it was fill­ing, and the innkeeper had had leftover cabbage that she had thrown in free; the three had hardly dined well, but at least their bellies were relatively full when they settled onto a hil­lock at the roadside for the night.

  Kelder had two blankets, one for himself and one for Asha; Ezdral claimed he was fine without one.

  "I've got this to keep me warm," he said, pulling a squat black bottle out of his belt pouch. "Been saving it."

  "What is it?" Asha asked.

  "Oushka," Ezdral replied, grinning. "The very best oushka, Adrean's Pure Barley Liquor, from Sardiron of the Waters. It fell off a caravan wagon last month, and I picked it out of the mud." He displayed the label.

  Asha turned away; Kelder nodded politely, but showed no further interest.

  "Been saving it," Ezdral repeated to himself as he pried the cork out.

  As he huddled under his blanket, Kelder wondered whether he should have asked for a drink. Something warming might be nice, and he had no philosophical objection to oushka. He had tasted it on occasion, back home in Shulara, for various special events.

  Asha, though, with her drunken, malevolent father, wanted nothing to do with any sort of alcohol, and Ezdral, even after he had cleaned himself up a little for dinner, was scarcely an advertisement in favor of strong drink.

  "Are you sure you don't want some, Kelder?" Ezdral said, his voice already starting to slur. "It's good stuff, and one hates to drink alone."

  Kelder curled himself up more tightly, pretending to be asleep, and decided that he would never drink oushka again.

  "It's your loss, if you don't," Ezdral said, shrugging. He gulped noisily, pouring the liquor down his throat, and Kelder shuddered.

  A moment later the bottle clinked against a stone as Ezdral dropped it; a heavy thud followed as the old man fell back against the ground. Kelder lay still, huddled and waiting, find­ing now that he was not really all that sleepy yet.

  A snore sounded, and Kelder uncurled enough to peer over his shoulder.

  Darkness was descending, the sun down and the lesser moon still low in the east, the greater moon not due up for an hour or more; the little party had not bothered to build a fire. All Kelder could see of Ezdral was a shadowy lump.

  He could hear him plainly enough, though; the old drunk­ard was snoring steadily and loudly.

  "He's asleep," Asha said in a conversational tone.

  "Hush!" Kelder called in a hoarse whisper. "You'll wake him!"

  "No, I won't," Asha said, speaking normally. "He's too drunk. Nothing's going to wake him up for hours. He got that whole bottle of oushka down in about five minutes; even my father couldn't do that!"

  Kelder watched Ezdral uneasily. "Are you sure?" he asked.

  "I'm positive," Asha replied. She sat up, a vague shape in the gloom. Kelder watched as she crept over and prodded Ezdral with a finger; the drunkard snored on without stirring. "See?"

  Kelder nodded. "I see," he said.

  "So are we going to stay here with him, or are we going to get away and lose him?"

  Kelder considered. "I'm not sure," he said. "He's not so bad, really."

  "He stinks, and he's dirty."

  "That's true," Kelder admitted. "But if he was cleaned up . . . He knows a lot, he's done a lot of traveling. He might be use­ful. Having an adult along could be helpful." Having someone along who had money could be helpful, for one thing, he thought, but he didn't say that aloud. Nor did he mention that he wondered what else the old drunk might know about Irith.

  "You're an adult."

  Kelder shook his head. "Not really," he said. "I'm only six­teen; if I was an apprentice—well, in most trades I'd still be an apprentice. It'll be another two years before I really count as an adult."

  "Oh," Asha said, "I didn't know."

  "There's no reason you should have," Kelder said.

  The two of them sat for a moment, on opposite sides of the sleeping Ezdral, not saying anything.

  "Is he asleep?" a voice called from somewhere overhead.

  Kelder looked up, startled, and found Irith hovering above them, wings gleaming rose in the light of the lesser moon.

  "Yes!" Asha shouted up to her. "Come on down!"

  The winged girl descended slowly and cautiously and settled to the ground a few yards away. Asha jumped and ran to her and gave her a long, enthusiastic hug.

  Kelder was a little more controlled about it, but he, too, went over and embraced her.

  When they had exchanged greetings, Irith said, "Come on then, let's get away from him while we can!" She gestured for the others to follow and started down the slope toward the high­way.

  Kelder noticed that her wings did not vanish, as they usually did when she walked anywhere; she was keeping them ready, in case Ezdral woke and she had to flee again.

  Of course, that would mean leaving Asha and himself behind again . . .

  "Wait a minute," he said.

  "What?" Irith asked, startled. She turned back to face him.

  "I'm not sure this is right," he said. He glanced down at Ezdral. Drunk and snoring, the old man looked lost and forlorn, and Kelder was the prophesied champion of the lost and forlorn, wasn't he?

  And it was time to settle a few things. If he was going to marry Irith—well, marriage was a partnership, and he intended to be an equal partner, at the very least, not giving in to Irith on everything. Her magic gave her an advantage; he had to make up for that by stubbornness.

  "What do you mean?" Irith asked. "Of course it is! Why would we want to be anywhere near a dirty old drunk? Come on, let's get away while we can! He'll be fine where he is, he doesn't need us."

  "How do you know that?" Kelder countered.

  "Well, he got along just fine all those years in Shan by him­self, didn't he?" the Flyer demanded, hands on her hips.

  "It's not the same, and you know it," Kelder told her. "Be­sides, there are things we need to settle."

  "Such as what?" Irith demanded. "Has he been telling you lies?"

  "I don't know," Kelder said. "Maybe they were lies, maybe they weren't. Did you hear any of what he told us?"

  "Only a little."

  Asha was standing at Irith's side; now she looked up, star­tled. "You did hear a little?"

  "Maybe," Irith admitted. "I'm not sure."

  Asha asked, "How could you have heard?"

  "She has ways of not being seen if she doesn't want to be, Asha," Kelder said. "I don't know just what they are—but I'd like to."

  Irith glared at him; even in the darkness he could see that.

  "You want to talk about all this, Kelder?" she asked.

  "Yes, I think I do," Kelder replied.

  "Do we have to do it out here, in the cold and the dark, with that old drunk snoring like a pig?"

  "No," Kelder said, "but I'm not going any farther than the nearest inn without him, until you've explained a few things."

  Irith stamped her foot in annoyance. She looked down at Asha, then back at Kelder.

  "Well, all right, then," she said. "We probably couldn't get very far tonight anyway, in the dark. We'll talk at the inn over there, all right?"<
br />
  "All right," Kelder agreed.

  Chapter 20

  By the time they reached the inn Irith's wings were gone and some of her annoyance, as well. She didn't so much as grimace when she realized that she would be paying for everything.

  "At least we'll be comfortable in here," she said.

  The inn was arranged with tables along the walls and high backs to the benches that accompanied them, forming booths and providing an unusual degree of privacy. The three of them took one of these booths and ordered two ales and a lemonade from a young man with an apron and a tray.

  As soon as the young man had departed, Asha asked Irith, "How could you watch us without us seeing you?"

  Irith sighed. "Do I really have to tell you?"

  "I think so," Kelder said. "At least, if you want us to travel with you."

  "All right, then," she said. "Mostly I was either a cat or a bird; sometimes I was invisible, but I have trouble with that."

  "What's 'invisible'?" Asha asked.

  "It means I'm still there, but nobody can see me. Except it's not comfortable and I can't see very well when I do it, and it only lasts a few minutes, so mostly I didn't get very close or anything, I just stayed a bird and flew overhead, or a cat and watched you from a distance. Except cats and birds . . . well, cats can't hear low noises very well, so I couldn't hear what anyone was saying when I was a cat. Birds can hear low noises, but they don't hear very well sometimes. So when you were coming up the cliff I sneaked up close as a cat and then turned invisible and listened, and you were talking to that old man and he was talking about going to Shan with me years ago, but he didn't, I never went there with him!"

  "You're sure of that?" Kelder asked.

  "Of course I'm sure! I never traveled with that scruffy old drunk!"

  "Well, he wasn't a scruffy old drunk, back then," Kelder pointed out.

  "When?" Irith demanded.

  "Forty years ago—forty-three, I think it was, actually." Kelder watched her reaction closely. Would she be surprised, declare the whole idea of her doing anything forty years ago to be ridiculous?

  "Forty years ago?" Irith stopped and stared.

  That was ambiguous, Kelder thought; she hadn't dismissed it as ridiculous, but she hadn't accepted it, either. "Were you around forty-three years ago?" he asked.