Taking Flight

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "I didn't see the . . ." Kelder began, and then he stopped.

  He had been about to say that the caravan they had fol­lowed should be there somewhere, if new caravans were what attracted customers, but before he could finish the sentence he spotted something.

  Far off to the right, to the northeast of the market, he could see a face impossibly high up, almost brushing against the stone arch overhead, torchlight from below lighting it un­pleasantly. And it was only a face, with no body below.

  He blinked, and realized that he was looking at a head on a pike—a fairly fresh head. That presumably meant that the caravan they wanted was right there; in fact, the head he was looking at might well be Abden's. Asha's brother.

  He chewed on his lower lip for a second or two, consider­ing.

  His stomach growled, deciding him; he wouldn't point the caravan out just yet. Being Asha's champion could wait a lit­tle.

  "You didn't see what?" Irith asked.

  "Nothing," he lied. "Do you know someplace good to get something to eat?"

  "Of course," she said. "This way."

  She pointed ahead, down a colonnade lined with crates and barrels. A table a few paces away displayed tall green bottles—wine, Kelder assumed. At least some of the barrels were presumably full of spirits, as well—this particular arcade would seem to specialize in strong drink. He glanced down at Asha, remembering what she had said about her father.

  She was staring ahead rather fixedly, not at the bottles or barrels but at a man who lay sprawled against a pillar.

  Kelder grimaced and looked ahead.

  That first drunk was not the last; others were sitting or ly­ing here and there along the arcade. In fact, there were about as many drunks as there were vintners.

  Annoyed, Kelder wondered why the merchants didn't shoo these sorry specimens away. He quickly reconsidered, how­ever, when he realized that there were no sober customers in sight—why should the sellers chase away the only people who were actually buying, at the moment?

  He sighed. The World was not the pleasant place he would have wished for, had he been offered the job of creating it.

  "Come on," Irith said, taking his hand.

  Asha had been holding the other hand, so Kelder found himself being dragged along as the central link in a three-part chain. Irith pulled vigorously—she must be very hungry in­deed, he thought. Asha was too tired to move as quickly as Irith moved, and was slowed further by shying away from an old man who lay mumbling in their path. She whimpered.

  Irith turned at the sound, and the drunk looked blearily up­ward at the trio.

  "Irith!"

  Kelder looked down in astonishment.

  The drank was staring at Irith's face. He dropped the empty bottle he had held clutched in one hand and reached up toward her.

  "Irith," he said, "you've come back!"

  Chapter 14

  Irith stared down at the weathered face, the red nose, the bloodshot eyes, the dirty, ragged beard, and the mat­ted hair. She dropped Kelder's hand and stepped back.

  "Eeeew," she said.

  "Irith, it's me," the drunk said, scrabbling against the pav­ing stones as he tried to get his feet under him.

  Asha dropped Kelder's other hand and backed away.

  "Listen, old man . . ." Kelder began.

  "Irith," the drunk called, ignoring him, "don't you remem­ber me?" With one hand on the pillar, he got to his knees. His foul breath reached Kelder's nostrils.

  "Remember you? I never saw you before in my life!" Irith replied angrily.

  "Yes, you did," he insisted. "It's been years, the gods know, too many years, but you knew me, all right, don't you remember?" He made it to his feet, panting, his hand still on the pillar. "Don't you know me?"

  He stared back at her blank face, no flicker of recognition showing, and suddenly shouted at her, "Don't you know me?"

  "No!" Irith screamed back. "I never saw you before!"

  "Listen, old man, you leave her . . ." Kelder began, trying to push between Irith and the drunk. He was uncomfortably aware that the confrontation was attracting attention; several of the wine merchants were staring, and assorted other people were turning to see what the disturbance was about.

  The old man, with strength truly astonishing in one so de­crepit, shoved Kelder rudely aside and took a step toward Irith.

  She shrank back, and her wings appeared suddenly. She stretched them, as if to take flight, to escape this loathsome apparition, but the tips brushed against the arcade's vaulted ceiling. She glanced up, startled, at the prisoning stone, then looked around, panicky, at the people, staring at her from all sides, watching her intently. Her wings vanished.

  "Get away from me!" she cried. "Everybody get away!"

  Kelder, recovering from his surprise, thrust himself at the old drunk, arms outstretched, and knocked him off-balance.

  "Irith!" the drunk cried. "Irith!"

  Irith turned and ran, down the shadowy arcade, her white tunic flashing brightly as she passed each lamp, then fading into the next patch of darkness.

  "Follow her!" Kelder barked to Asha. Tired as she was, the girl obeyed, scampering after the fleeing shapeshifter, while Kelder pushed the drunk up against the pillar.

  "Irith!" the drunk called again, looking after her, paying no attention to Kelder.

  "Listen," Kelder began.

  The drunk burst into tears. "No," he wailed, "I can't lose you again! Irith, come back!" He tried to shove Kelder aside.

  "Damn it!" Kelder said, as he stumbled back against a stack of crates. He grabbed at the drunk's tunic and pulled the old man down with him.

  "Let me go!" the old man bellowed, trying to tear loose. "Let me go after her!"

  "No," Kelder shouted back, holding on tight.

  Sobbing, the drunk swung a fist at his face; Kelder dodged easily.

  The drunk swung again, and this time Kelder had to loose his hold in order to avoid the blow. Cursing, he dodged. The drunk stumbled to his feet and began staggering in the direc­tion Irith had gone.

  Kelder sprang up and charged after him, tackling him from behind and knocking him heavily to the stone pavement.

  The drunk's words had become incoherent babbling by this point, but his actions were clear enough; he was trying to get up, get away from Kelder, and continue his pursuit of Irith.

  Gritting his teeth, Kelder hauled off and punched him squarely in the nose.

  The old man's head snapped back against a heavy cask, mak­ing a sound like a slammed door—a very solid door. Blood trickled from his nose, and he slid to the ground, dazed.

  Kelder's knuckles stung from the impact, and he was very worried indeed lest he had killed the old man—he'd heard somewhere that drunks had brittle bones.

  This particular drunk was made of sterner stuff than that, for he didn't so much as lose consciousness completely. He did lie stunned for a moment, but then shook his head, trying to gather his muddled wits.

  By that time Kelder was back on his feet, and the instant he was sure that the old man had not been killed or crippled he spun on his heel and sprinted after his companions.

  A moment later the drunk was out of sight, and Kelder was as good as lost in the mercantile maze of columns and court­yards. He slowed to a stop and called quietly, "Irith?"

  Asha's voice answered him. "This way, Kelder!"

  Following the sound, he made his way through another fifty yards or so of market and into an alley—he had finally left the Bazaar and entered the city proper. He found Asha crouched in the mouth of the alley, watching in all directions.

  "Are you all right?" he asked her.

  She nodded.

  "Where's Irith?"

  Asha jerked a thumb in the direction of the alley's gloomy depths. Hesitantly Kelder crept into the darkness.

  "Irith?" he called.

  A cat meowed, somewhere ahead.

  Something touched Kelder on the back, and he started, then realized it was just Asha, following h
im.

  "She said there's a tavern down the far end of this alley that she likes," Asha whispered.

  Kelder nodded an acknowledgment. "Irith?" he called again.

  "Here," she answered, stepping out of the darkest shadows ahead. Kelder could still only see a dim outline, but he was sure it was Irith. "Is he gone?"

  "He's back there somewhere," Kelder said. "Um . . . I hit him."

  "Good!"

  Kelder was surprised at the heat in Irith's response. "Where are we?" he asked.

  "Horsebone Alley, it used to be called," Irith said. "I haven't been here in years. There's a real nice tavern around the corner at the far end, called the Crystal Skull—that's where we're going."

  "The Crystal Skull?" Kelder asked, glancing back at Asha and seeing only a small, dark shape.

  Irith nodded, then realized that that was probably not visi­ble. "Yes," she said, "the owner had this big chunk of quartz that looked sort of like a skull. He kept it on the mantel."

  "Oh," Kelder replied. That sounded harmless enough. In general he didn't like the idea of patronizing businesses with morbid names, but in this case he decided to trust Irith's judg­ment. Holding Asha's hand, he followed the dim outline of the shapeshifter down the alley and around the corner.

  "No torch," Irith remarked, startled, when they were out of Horsebone Alley and into a broader but equally unlit thor­oughfare. The shadows here were not as deep or threatening; the faint glow of the lesser moon and the stars poured down, and some of the light of the marketplace slopped over the rooftops and into the street. She pointed to an unlit doorway. "Over there," she said, leading the way.

  Kelder followed, an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling stirring in his belly.

  The doorway was broad and deep; above it an iron bracket projected straight out from the rough stone, with empty rings where a signboard had once hung. To either side of the door­way were black iron sconces, also empty; there were no signs of torch or ash, and even the smokestains on the wall ap­peared to be weathered, rather than fresh. It was plain to Kelder that this place was not open for business, but Irith ignored the signs and marched straight into the gloom of the en­tryway.

  Kelder followed and found her standing in the open arch­way.

  At first he thought the door was open, but then he realized that there was no door. Nor, looking through the opening, was there any roof; the same faint illumination that filled the street filled the building's interior, as well. Dusty chunks of stone and wood lay strewn about, colorless in the dim light.

  "It's gone," Irith said in a tone of dull surprise.

  Kelder stepped up beside her and glanced about.

  "It certainly is," he agreed.

  "What happened to it?" Asha asked curiously.

  "How should I know?" Irith snapped, turning angrily on her young companion.

  Asha cowered back against the wall of the entry, and Kelder thrust a restraining hand between the two.

  "She's just a kid," he said.

  "I wasn't going to touch her!" Irith protested.

  Asha burst out crying, sliding down the wall until she sat sprawled on the ground.

  Kelder and Irith looked at one another.

  "Now what?" Kelder asked.

  "I don't know," Irith replied.

  "We can't eat here," Kelder said, waving his arm at the dusty ruins. "It's been gone for years, by the look of it."

  That statement was simple truth, but something about it bothered him.

  "Well, I haven't been in Shan for years," Irith said. "I usu­ally turn around at Dhwerra when I travel the highway—if I even get that far. Sometimes I turn back at the Angarossa bor­der."

  "Do you know of any other good taverns or inns here?" Kelder asked. "Ones that might still be in business?"

  "No," Irith replied, "I haven't come anywhere but here in ages."

  "Well, where did you go before you found this place?" Kelder asked in his most reasonable tone.

  "One that's been gone even longer," Irith retorted.

  Kelder sighed and looked around.

  "Well," he said, "we'll just have to find someplace new, then. Come on."

  Irith peered apprehensively at the street. "What about that old man?" she asked.

  "What about him?" Kelder asked.

  "What if he finds me?"

  Kelder considered that.

  Two things suddenly fell into place in his thoughts.

  When had Irith last been there? He looked into the ruin; it had not been abandoned yesterday, or the day before.

  It looked as if it had been abandoned for years—and a good many years. If Kelder had been asked to guess, he'd have said ten or fifteen; he could believe as little as five, but less than that . . .

  Irith was only fifteen. More than three years ago and she wouldn't even have been wearing a skirt yet—so to speak, since she was wearing breeches, in defiance of tradition. She wouldn't have been welcome in a tavern unescorted.

  How could she have come to the Crystal Skull? And the way she spoke of it, she had been in here more than once.

  That was one thing.

  And the other . . .

  "How did that old man know who you were?" Kelder asked.

  "What do you mean?" Irith asked, uneasily.

  "I mean," Kelder said, "he called you by name. He said he didn't want to lose you again—he definitely said 'again.' When did he lose you before?"

  "He didn't," Irith said uncomfortably. "He's crazy, or ly­ing, or something."

  "But how did he know your name?"

  "He probably heard one of you two say it," she suggested, "and maybe he got me mixed up with some other Irith. I mean, it's not an unusual name, you know." She made a face that was almost a sneer. "It's about the second most common name in the World, isn't it, Kelder?"

  Kelder did not rise to the bait; he was used to jokes about his name, and he knew perfectly well that it was the most or­dinary name in the World.

  And Irith was quite right, her own name was also very popular, probably the most commonly used feminine name— though nowhere near as widespread as Kelder, and maybe not up with some of the other masculine names. He'd heard plenty of jokes and stories that used Kelder and Irith as names for a boring peasant couple, and wasn't bothered by them.

  "You're sure you didn't know him, when you were little?" Kelder asked.

  "Of course I'm sure!" Irith snapped. "Ick, him?"

  "I mean, he's not your father, or your old master, or an un­cle or something?"

  "Kelder, of course not! Don't be stupid. My father's dead, and I don't have any uncles anymore, and he's not my old master, he's just a creepy old man who's got me mixed up with someone else." She turned away and muttered, "I mean, he's got to be."

  "When you came here before, were you alone? I mean, why were you in this tavern? You must have just been a little girl."

  "No, Kelder, don't be silly, it wasn't that long ago!"

  "But . . ."

  "Hai," she said, "just drop it, all right? Let it go."

  Reluctantly, Kelder let it go. "All right, then," he said, "let's go find somewhere to eat and to sleep. And in the morning we can see . . ."

  "In the morning," Irith interrupted, "we can get out of here!"

  "Out of where?" Kelder asked, startled.

  "Out of Shan, of course! We can head back to somewhere civilized, not all these dreary ruins and old drunks and things!"

  Asha stopped crying and stared up at Irith.

  Kelder hesitated.

  "What about my brother?" Asha asked.

  "Oh, forget about your brother!" Irith snapped. "I want to get away from this awful place and that nasty old man!"

  "Wait a minute . . ." Kelder began.

  "You promised!" Asha shrieked.

  "I did not!"

  "You did!"

  "Hai!" Kelder shouted. "Quiet down, both of you!"

  The girls subsided, glaring angrily at each other. Kelder sighed. This was all getting very complicated; he ha
dn't ex­pected his promised wife to have a mysterious past and trou­blesome moods, nor had he expected championing the lost and forlorn to be as tricky as it seemed determined to be. "Listen," he said, "we did promise her, Irith, but as soon as we get Abden's head off that pike, we can get out of here."

  "Well, how long is that going to take?"

  "Not long," Kelder insisted. "I mean, I saw the caravan back there, I think—it should be easy enough."

  "How?" Irith demanded. "It's up on a pike, out of reach, and they aren't going to get it down for us."

  "You can fly, can't you?" Kelder replied. "Asha and I can make a distraction of some kind, so no one will be looking, and you can fly over there and snatch the head right off the pike, and no one will even see you, in the dark."

  "You mean tonight?" Irith asked. "Now?"

  Kelder opened his mouth and then closed it again. His stomach growled.

  "Maybe tonight," he said. "After we eat."

  Chapter 15

  "Maybe we shouldn't try it tonight," Kelder

  said, chewing on the steak. The meat here required consider­able gnawing—not, as Irith had pointed out, like the food at the Crystal Skull.

  "We should have found someplace better," she had said.

  "There may not be any place better anymore," Kelder had replied. "And I'm hungry."

  And now they were in Big Bredon's Tavern, gnawing on meat that had probably come from some caravan's superannu­ated draft animal. Little Asha was having trouble staying awake, her head constantly on the verge of falling forward into her fried potatoes.

  "Why not?" Irith asked.

  Kelder pointed his fork at Asha.

  "I'm all right!" Asha protested. "I'm just tired."

  "We all are," Kelder agreed. "So maybe we should just rest and worry about it tomorrow night."

  Asha frowned, blinking. "What if the caravan leaves again?"

  "Oh, it won't do that," Kelder said, not quite as confidently as he would have liked. "I'm sure they'll be staying in Shan for several days yet. Right, Irith?"

  "I don't know," Irith said, jabbing her fork viciously at her potatoes.

  Kelder glared at her resentfully. "Well, anyway," he said, "I think we're all too tired tonight. We'd probably mess up somehow. Tomorrow night should be fine."