Taking Flight (Ethshar)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  The next faced them, but again, Asha indicated that it was not the one they wanted. They were both tiptoeing now; if the guard happened to look up from his whittling, and if he weren't blinded by the tangle of shadows and torchlight, he would be looking right at them.

  The head on the sixth wagon was facing away, and Asha was not completely sure, but didn't think it looked like Abden.

  Kelder was beginning to think they should have turned the other way and checked the tail end first when Asha made a strangled noise.

  “That's it,” she said, pointing. “That's Abden.”

  The fifth wagon was green trimmed with gold, and the Ethsharitic runes on the side said something about someone named Doran of someplace—Ship-something, safe place for ships, something like that; Kelder did not bother to puzzle the whole thing out. It was obviously the name of some Ethsharitic merchant. The pike at the front corner displayed the head of a young man, and Kelder thought there might be some resemblance to Asha, but he wasn't sure he wasn't just imagining it.

  “All right,” he whispered. “Let's go back and tell Irith.”

  Asha nodded, turned, and began to scamper back.

  Her bare feet slapped on the paving stones. Kelder started after her, and had taken perhaps three long steps when something registered.

  He turned, and saw that the guard had lowered his knife and carving and was peering out into the gloom, following the sound of Asha's footsteps.

  Kelder decided that he didn't want to be seen just yet. He fell back into a nearby shadow, under the overhang of a two-story shopfront.

  “Irith?” Asha called. “Where are you?”

  Kelder hissed to himself with exasperation.

  “Irith?” Asha called again, more loudly.

  She was standing, Kelder thought, at about the spot where they had separated, plainly visible in the light of the two moons. The guard was watching her intently now.

  What's more, another guard, whom they had not previously seen, had heard the sound and was peering between the wagons from the other side of the caravan. This one was tall and thin, with a black beard that needed trimming—it straggled messily down onto his chest.

  There was no sign of Irith.

  A cat meowed nearby, and Kelder turned for an instant, looking for the animal, but didn't see it. He turned quickly back to Asha.

  “Kelder!” a breathy voice said behind him, quietly.

  He started, and turned to find Irith standing there, finger to her lips.

  “How did you...” he began.

  “Which one?” Irith whispered hoarsely.

  “Which what?” For a moment he thought she was asking something about the two guards, and he tried to figure out what she wanted to know.

  “Which wagon, stupid?”

  “Oh,” Kelder said, collecting his wits. “The green one, right there.” He pointed.

  Irith nodded, and spread wings that had not been there an instant before. “You go distract them,” she said.

  Then she launched herself fluttering upward.

  Kelder blinked and looked up, watching her ascent.

  “Irith?” Asha wailed. “Kelder?”

  Kelder frowned; the best distraction was probably the simplest, he decided. He stepped out of the shadows. “Over here,” he called. He trotted toward the little girl, who was standing alone in the street, on the verge of panic.

  The first guard had stepped away from the pillar and tucked his carving under his belt. Now he slid his knife into its sheath and picked up the spear. The other guard was between two of the wagons now, facing away, scanning the little plaza on that side of the arcade.

  Kelder tried hard not to be seen looking at either of them as he came up to Asha and said, a little more loudly than necessary, “Here I am, Indra.”

  Indra was the first girl's name he could think of, other than Asha or Irith.

  “Kelder!” She spotted him, and dashed toward him, arms out.

  At least that was one advantage of having the most common name in the World, he thought; nobody was ever going to track him down by using it.

  He met Asha halfway and picked her up in a big embrace, then spun her around—which gave him a chance to look at the nearer guard without seeming to.

  The man was standing, watching the two of them. He was not looking at the green and gold wagon. Kelder forced himself not to look at it, either. He lowered Asha to the pavement, and then glanced casually at the guard.

  That individual was now looking either way along the row of wagons. He might, Kelder thought, have guessed that this little scene was being played out to distract him.

  At least, that was why Kelder was doing it; Asha had apparently lost track of what she was supposed to be doing, and acting on impulse. In her excitement over finding Abden's head she had completely forgotten everything else about the plan. That was fine, really; she was doing an excellent job of being a distraction, and probably acting far more naturally than she would have if she had remembered.

  They did not, however, want the guard to realize he was being deliberately decoyed.

  The other guard, Kelder noticed with a twinge of concern, was not in sight at the moment.

  Spear in one hand, his other hand on the hilt of his sword, the visible guard was peering into the darkness.

  “Looking for something?” Kelder called.

  Startled, the guard turned to look at him silently for a second, and then shook his head. He said nothing.

  “I've lost my wife,” Kelder said, pressing on. “The girl's sister. She's tall, with black hair, wearing a green tunic and a brown skirt—have you seen her?” He tried very hard to ignore Asha's expression of surprise as she heard him tell such lies.

  The guard shook his head again.

  “You're sure?” Kelder insisted.

  “Haven't seen anybody,” the man said, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “Except you two.”

  “Well, if you do...” Kelder began.

  “Excuse me,” the guard said, interrupting, “I've got rounds to make.” He began walking along the line of wagons, stooping every so often to peer under them, occasionally poking his spear into the shadows. He called something Kelder didn't catch, and was answered by a deeper voice from the other side.

  Kelder was very relieved indeed to see that the near-side guard had started out toward the back of the line, rather than the front. He hoped the other one had, as well.

  “Well, if you see her,” Kelder shouted after them, “tell her we'll meet her at the inn.” Then he turned away, taking Asha by the hand and pulling her along.

  “Kelder,” Asha said, starting to protest.

  He jerked viciously at her wrist, and she followed without further objection.

  He led her quickly around a building, into an alley and out of the guards’ sight. Then he stopped, held a finger to his lips, and peered cautiously back around the corner.

  “What is it?” Asha asked.

  Kelder waved a hand at her, and she fell silent.

  The heavier guard had reached the last wagon; the one with the sloppy beard met him there, and the two exchanged a few words—Kelder could just barely hear their voices, and could not make out any at all of what was said.

  Above the arcade, orange moonlight shone briefly on a fluttering white wing, and a shadowy shape rose toward the heavens, something vaguely round cradled in one arm.

  Kelder smiled.

  “All right,” he told Asha, “now we go around the block and run for the gate, as fast as we can. Irith has the head.”

  “You're sure?” Asha looked up at him doubtfully.

  “Just go,” Kelder said, giving her a shove.

  He was destined to be Asha's champion, but that didn't mean he had to like her, and just now, tired and frightened as he was, he did not think much of her at all.

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  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  To Kelder the double moonlight on the desert sand looked someho
w unnatural. It was brighter than moonlight had any right to be, even when both moons were full and at zenith—and in fact, that wasn't the case. The moons were both past zenith, the lesser descending quickly toward the western horizon, the greater still high overhead, and neither was full—the lesser was close, but the greater was only about three-quarters. The familiar rosy glow of the moons combined with the gold of the sands to make an odd, burnt-orange color that Kelder didn't like at all. “Are you sure we shouldn't wait for sunrise?” he asked.

  “Come on," Irith said, “let's get out of here!”

  Asha said nothing, but she obviously agreed with Irith; she was tugging at Kelder's sleeve. Reluctantly, he came.

  “I can see why you're in a hurry, Asha,” he said. “You want to set your brother's soul free. But I don't know why you're rushing so much, Irith.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder; the city wall gleamed ruddily in the moonslight, and the open gates were a tangle of torchlight and shadow. She thought she saw something moving, and wasn't sure if it was just a flickering shadow, or really someone there.

  “Let's just say I don't much care for Shan on the Desert any more,” the Flyer replied.

  “Is it because that inn was gone?” Asha asked.

  “No,” Irith answered.

  “It's that old drunk, isn't it?” Kelder said. “Or at least that's part of it. But I don't see why he has you so upset.”

  “It's not him, either,” Irith said, with another glance behind.

  Kelder looked at her, then turned his gaze to his feet and trudged onward through the cool orange sands.

  She was lying, he was sure. It was the drunk.

  They had gone no more than a league when the lesser moon set; the greater moon was working its way toward the horizon, as well. Color faded from their surroundings, and Kelder began to worry.

  “Are we still on the highway?” he asked.

  For several seconds, no one answered. Then Irith said, “I don't know. I can't see that well.”

  They stumbled on for a moment longer, and then Kelder remarked, “Well, if we're not, at least the caravaners won't find us.”

  “Those demons could,” Irith replied.

  Asha started crying quietly.

  “You would have to say that,” Kelder muttered, not really meaning Irith to hear.

  “Oh, shut up,” Irith said.

  “We're going to wander around in circles until we die!” Asha wailed.

  “No, we aren't,” Irith snapped.

  Kelder took it upon himself to expand on this. “We're all right, Asha,” he said. “Really. We know we're going south because the greater moon is on our right, see? And look, off to the left.” He pointed. “There's light on the horizon, that's the sun coming because it's almost dawn, so that's east. So even if we lose the highway, we'll reach that big cliff eventually, and then we can find the road again.”

  “Oh,” Asha said, struggling to stifle her tears. A moment later, when they were under control, she whined, “I'm tired.”

  “We all are,” Kelder said.

  “Then why don't we rest?”

  Kelder halted in his tracks with the intention of making some biting retort, and then stopped. “You're right,” he said. “Why don't we? They probably aren't going to come after us. Even if they realize we've left the city, why should they go to all that trouble? They have plenty of heads. So what's the hurry?” He sat down on the cool sand. “I'm tired, too, and I'm going to sit here and rest until the sun comes up and we can see what we're doing.”

  Asha smiled, and plopped down beside him.

  Irith had proceeded a dozen paces farther, but now she stopped, as well, and turned back to look at the others. “Here?” she said. “Out in the middle of the desert?”

  “Why not?” Kelder asked. “What's going to bother us?”

  Irith looked back at Shan, still visible as a dark, uneven line on the horizon and a faint glow in the sky.

  “Besides,” Kelder said, “if anything comes after us, we'll see it in plenty of time. You can grow wings and fly away.”

  “It'll still get us," Asha said, momentarily concerned.

  “It would,” Kelder agreed, “if anything were going to come after us, but nothing is. And besides, if Irith got away, she'd find some way to save us, I'm sure.”

  Irith looked at Kelder doubtfully, suspecting—with reason—that he was being sarcastic.

  “All right,” she said, “we can rest here for a little while, I guess.” She folded her legs and sank to the ground.

  None of them really intended to sleep; the idea was merely to rest for a few minutes.

  On the other hand, none of them had had much more than four hours sleep in the past twenty-four, and they had walked a very great distance in that time, as well as going through the various excitements in Shan. Kelder had punched an old man, Irith had pried a severed head off the point of a spear, and Asha had participated in the rescue, as she saw it, of her brother's soul.

  Within five minutes, long before the sun rose or the greater moon set, they were all sound asleep.

  Even as he lay sleeping, something nagged at Kelder. He knew he shouldn't be asleep, and that knowledge troubled his dreams.

  Still, exhaustion had a firm grip on him, and he slept on.

  The sun rose, and its warmth on his face, its light on his eyelids discomfited him; he struggled to wake up.

  Something threw a shadow over him briefly, and the sands shifted slightly; the sound of footsteps reached Kelder, even asleep. He stirred slightly, and tried to pry his eyes open, tried to make his arms and legs move.

  A low voice spoke, something brushed—and Irith shrieked.

  Kelder was awake at last, scrambling to his feet.

  Irith screamed, long and piercing; she was sitting up, hands out to fend off, and as Kelder's eyes focused her wings appeared and spread. She kicked off, flapping, and skittered across the sand for a moment, heels dragging, before she managed to get herself airborne.

  As she did, a dark, ragged shape that Kelder could not immediately identify threw itself at her, trying to grab her, hold her down, bring her back—but unsuccessfully. She slipped away and soared upward. Kelder and Asha watched her go.

  She didn't hesitate, didn't slow, didn't look back; she flapped strongly and steadily as she drove southward toward the horizon.

  The ragged creature wailed and wept, calling after her; most of the words, if they were words, were unintelligible, but the name Irith was repeated frequently. It staggered along for a few paces, then collapsed, sobbing, into a miserable, huddled heap. Then it lifted its head. With a shock, Kelder realized that the creature was the old drunk who had accosted Irith back in Shan.

  “Irith,” the old man called, “come back! I won't hurt you, I swear it, I just want to talk! Please!"

  The distant speck that was Irith the Flyer continued to dwindle.

  "Now what do we do?” Asha asked.

  Kelder looked about. His pack was still lying where he had left it; the bundle containing Abden's head was there, as well. He looked up. It didn't look as if Irith was coming back right away.

  He considered. He knew that he would find her again—Zindre's prediction was that he would marry her and bring her home to Shulara with him, so he knew he would find her again.

  He didn't know when, where, or how, though.

  That would have to take care of itself; there were more immediate concerns. “We can go on and build the pyre ourselves,” Kelder said. “But first, I want to know just what in the World is going on here!” He stepped forward and grabbed the old man by the shoulder.

  The filthy cloth of his tunic felt greasy and unpleasant under Kelder's hand, but Kelder ignored that. The old man started slightly at the youth's touch, but didn't resist; he didn't even turn to look, but instead kept staring after Irith.

  “Old man,” Kelder said, “who are you?”

  The drunk simply stared at the departing Flyer.

  "Talk to me, da
mn it!” Kelder shouted. “Who are you? Why is she scared of you?”

  That penetrated.

  “Scared of me?” The old man turned and looked up at Kelder, astonishment plain on his face. “Why would she be scared of me?”

  “That's what I want to know!” Kelder snapped. “Who are you?”

  The man blinked, as if considering a new and surprising idea.

  “What's your name?” Asha asked, stepping up beside Kelder.

  “Ezdral,” he replied. “My name is Ezdral.”

  “Just Ezdral?” Kelder asked.

  The old man shrugged. “Mostly,” he said. “Back in Shan they call me Ezdral the Sot, mostly.” He blinked. “That'll do. I'm not drunk right now, haven't touched a drop since I saw Irith in the arcade last night, but I've been pretty sodden for a long time, there's no sense in denying it.”

  “All right, Ezdral,” Kelder said, withdrawing his hand and resisting the temptation to wipe it on his own tunic, “how do you know Irith?”

  The old man looked down, coughed, spat something out, wiped his mouth on a grubby sleeve. He turned, squatted, and then sat down, crossing his legs slowly and carefully.

  Kelder waited.

  Ezdral looked up at him, and then gestured at the ground. Asha took the hint and dropped down, sitting facing Ezdral. Kelder took a moment longer, but joined them.

  “When I was eighteen,” Ezdral began, “I met...”

  “When was that?” Asha interrupted.

  Ezdral frowned. “What year is it now?”

  “5222,” Kelder told him.

  “Then I'm ... let me see ... sixty-two, is it? Born on the first of Thaw, 5159...”

  “Sixty-three ... no, sixty-two,” Kelder agreed.

  “So it would have been forty-four years ago.” He looked at them for agreement.

  Asha nodded. Kelder said, “Go on.”

  Ezdral took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

  “When I was eighteen,” he said again, “I met a girl, a beautiful girl with golden hair, like I'd never seen before. I was working in a stable in Mezgalon, and she was passing through, and I thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. We got to talking, and she said her name was Irith the Flyer, and when I asked how she got a name like that she showed me how she could grow wings and fly.”