Taking Flight

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.