Taking Flight

Chapter Ten

Kelder had remembered correctly; the greater moon lit their way into the town of Sinodita. Even by the moon’s dull orange glow they had no trouble in following the highway — and no trouble in noticing the changing terrain.

The countryside had grown steadily and visibly flatter since they passed the Angarossa/Sinodita border, and the soil had grown drier and sandier. They no longer passed trees of any sort, and the farms on either side of the highway were far from prosperous. They seemed to raise nothing but goats and horses; the coarse, sparse grass would not feed cattle, and the sandy soil would not support crops.

Twice they past grazing stallions who looked up and whinnied at Irith. Fortunately, there were solid fences between pasture and highway.

Irith plodded along, head down, ignoring everything, except when she turned to glare at Kelder.

Kelder did his best to ignore Irith’s annoyance; his own feet were aching and swollen, and the thought of removing his boots was approaching obsession. To distract himself he concentrated on his conversation with Asha, who had pains of her own to try to forget, ones far more lasting than sore feet.

It was as the sun was setting, in a spectacular display of color, that Asha finally admitted why she had left home.

“My father makes oushka,” she explained. “He has a still out in the barn, and he grows corn and makes oushka out of it. He sells some of it — maybe you’ve heard of him, Abden Ildrin’s son? Abden the Elder? He’s supposed to make the best in Amramion.”

Kelder and Irith both shook their heads. Kelder resisted the temptation to comment that “the best in Amramion” wasn’t saying much; one of his own neighbors, back in Shulara, had claimed to make the best oushka in five kingdoms.

Asha shrugged. “Well, he sells some, but he drinks an awful lot himself.” She shuddered, and Irith tossed her mane in response.

Kelder just nodded.

“He’s drunk most of the time,” Asha said. “Ever since our mother died. She was having another baby, and something went wrong, and she and the baby died. Abden — I mean Abden the Younger, my brother; Dad’s Abden, too, of course, so my brother is Abden Abden’s son. I mean he was. Anyway, Abden said that when our mother was alive our dad didn’t drink anywhere near so much, but I don’t really remember that. I was four when she died, and I don’t remember her much.”

“I’m sorry,” Kelder muttered.

Asha ignored him.

For a moment they continued in silence; then Kelder said, “Your father beats you?” His tone made it a question.

Asha asked, “You saw the marks?”

“Yes,” Kelder admitted.

Asha nodded. “Yes, he beats me. He used to beat Abden, too, but finally Abden ran away. And that cheered me up a lot, you know? It meant I could get away eventually, too. So I did, I ran away to be with Abden, but then he got killed.” She sniffled slightly, and Kelder realized for the first time that she was crying.

“Don’t worry,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. “You don’t have to go back to your father.”

“I can’t live by myself,” she said, snuffling. “I’m too young, and I don’t know how.”

“We’ll find you someplace,” he said.

He had absolutely no idea how he could carry out such a promise, but he intended to do it somehow.

After all, wasn’t he a champion of the lost and forlorn? Maybe those yet unborn who were to honor him someday would be Asha’s children.

“Thank you,” Asha said.

They plodded on together.

When they reached the town of Sinodita Kelder tugged at Irith’s mane. She stopped and turned a questioning look toward him. He reached up and lifted Asha down; the little girl had been half-asleep, and woke up with a start.

“We’re here,” he said, setting her on her feet.

“Where?” she asked, looking around.

Irith transformed back into her natural form — or, Kelder corrected himself, at least her usual form, that of a beautiful teenaged girl. All her clothes seemed to be back where they belonged, and her hair was unmussed.

It had occurred to Kelder that he had no way of knowing whether it was her natural shape or not. He had never dealt with shapeshifters before; he wondered if there were established protocols about such things.

And if her natural form wasn’t human, did he want to marry her?

“Why did we stop here?” Irith said.

Kelder blinked, puzzled. “Because this is Sinodita, isn’t it?”

“I thought we’d go on to the Flying Carpet,” Irith replied. “It’s up toward the other end of town.”

“Oh,” said Kelder, “that’s an inn?”

Irith nodded wearily. “About the only decent one in this whole town,” she said.

“Oh,” Kelder said again. “I didn’t know.”

Maybe, he thought, looking at Irith’s face in the dim moonlight, she wasn’t really fifteen at all. Maybe she was an old hag who could transform herself into a girl again.

Did he want to marry an old hag?

“Well, it is,” Irith said.

“Come on, then,” he said.

“I’m not turning back into a horse,” Irith said, warningly.

“That’s fine,” Kelder said. “Asha can walk — can’t you, Asha?”

The girl nodded, and the three of them trudged onward.

A few minutes later Kelder rapped at the door of an inn; above his head a signboard creaked in the warm breeze that blew from the east. Kelder hadn’t been able to make out the picture on the sign, but Irith assured him this was the right place.

Dinner was cold and greasy, and the only room left was a garret where Kelder was unable to stand upright without hitting his head on the tie-beams.

The innkeeper was apologetic. “We weren’t expecting anyone so late,” he said.

“At least they weren’t completely full,” Asha said sleepily, before toppling onto the down pillow the innkeeper had found to serve as her mattress.

That left Irith and Kelder sitting on the two straw ticks. Irith was massaging her legs; Kelder looked at her curiously.

“Horses use their leg-muscles differently,” she explained, glaring at him. “I’m not used to walking so far in horse shape.”

“Oh,” he said.

After a moment of awkward silence, he added, “Thank you very much for carrying Asha.”

Irith shrugged. “It wasn’t anything much,” she said, rubbing her shins.

After another moment, Kelder asked, “Can you turn into anything?”

Irith sat up and looked at him. “What?” she asked.

“I mean, well, you turned into a horse, and I didn’t know you could do that. I mean, I knew you could grow wings, and you said you were a shapeshifter — can you turn into anything you want?”

“You mean, could I turn into a dragon and burn you to a crisp?” Irith asked, smiling at him in a way he didn’t like at all.

He nodded.

“No,” she said, turning her attention back to her legs. “I have seven shapes, and that’s all, and a dragon isn’t one of them.”

“Oh.” That was a relief — if it was true. “So you can’t disguise yourself as someone else?”

“No. Why would I want to?”

“I don’t know; I was just curious.” He was not about to admit that he had suspected her of being an ancient crone.

“Well, I can’t.”

“Seven shapes?”

She made a noise he took for agreement.

“Well, a horse is one,” Kelder said.

“And this is another,” she replied.

He considered, and asked, “Wings — is that three?”

She nodded.

“Uh... what are the other four?”

“None of your business, that’s what they are,” she said, straightening up and then lying back. “Go to sleep.”

“But...” As her future husband, he felt that they certainly were his business, but he didn’t want to tell Irith about his plans for her, her prophesied role.

“Shut up and go to sleep, Kelder. I’m too tired for this.” She curled up on her bedding and closed her eyes.

There was another matter he had wanted to discuss with her, as well, and now he wished he had brought it up first. Mentioning it now seemed impolitic.

It would have to come up eventually, but he was too tired to worry about it; he would leave it until morning.

It would need to be discussed then, though.

The matter was money; he didn’t have any more, beyond a few copper bits. He had no way of paying the bill at the inn if it was anything like the last few.

Fortunately, given the accommodations, it would probably be somewhat less.

Life was becoming very complicated, even with the prophecy to guide him. Irith was clearly the one he was destined to wed, and she was as beautiful and cheerful as he could wish, but marrying a shapeshifter with a secret past was not altogether a reassuring prospect. Asha clearly provided him with someone lost and forlorn to champion, and freeing her brother’s soul was obviously the way to be honored by the dead, but catching up to the caravan and getting Abden’s head from it might not be all that simple.

Well, Zindre had never said that his life would be easy.

And could he refuse his promised future if he wanted to? If it was all too much for him, could he just give up and go home?

Well, who was going to stop him?

And for that matter, maybe it was all coincidence after all; maybe Zindre was a fraud, in which case he was fooling himself, and going home would be the only sensible thing to do.

With a sigh, he leaned over and blew out the candle, then stretched out on his own ticking.

He thought he would be awake, thinking about money, and about Zindre’s predictions, and about Irith, for hours.

He was wrong; within three minutes he was sound asleep.