Taking Flight

That three days had been pleasant enough; Asha had been delighted at the suggestion that she might stay at the inn permanently, and had immediately set out to learn her way around the kitchen, yard, and stable. Ezdral had remained much the same, drinking surreptitiously, staring at Irith, following her and muttering incoherently when awake, and spending most of his time asleep, or at any rate unconscious.

Kelder and Irith had wandered about the area, admiring the broad river, the vast open sky of the plain, the impressive engineering of Azrad’s Bridge-and each other.

Kelder was surprised, the morning of the first day, to see that the inn was built at a fork; the Great Highway split here, running in three directions, rather than two.

The northern route led back across the bridge to the Small Kingdoms; the southern to Ethshar of the Spices; and the third road went westward, to Ethshar of the Sands and all the northern lands.

When Iridith arrived Asha was washing plates, Ezdral was snoring by the hearth, and Irith was off somewhere fluttering about in the shape of a rainbow-hued bird, while Kelder sat out front and contemplated the three roads, thinking about nothing in particular. Thus only Kelder saw the wizard descend gracefully out of the sky and land gently on her feet.

“You must be Iridith,” he said in Trader’s Tongue, as she stepped up to the door.

“I suppose I must,” she said in Ethsharitic.

Kelder switched languages, apologized for his rudeness, and introduced himself as he opened the door for her and then followed her inside.

He stood quietly not watching as she and Valder greeted each other enthusiastically. When the two were no longer touching, he broached the subject of countercharms.

“The love spell is easy,” the wizard said, once the situation had been explained. “A drop of the spell-caster’s blood in each of the victim’s eyes will clear that right up.”

“The spell-caster?” Kelder asked.

“In this case,” Iridith said, “that would be Irith.”

“We need her blood?”

“Certainly. Just two drops; a pin-prick will do fine.”

Kelder was unsure just how willing Irith would be-but after all, it was just two drops, and it would cure Ezdral.

On the more serious question of how Javan’s Second Augmentation could be ended, Iridith hesitated. “You know,” she said, “I’ve had ideas of how to do it before, and Irith has always refused.”

“I don’t think she will this time,” Kelder said. “I think she’s finally growing up.”

Valder and Iridith looked at one another silently, then back at Kelder.

“Kelder,” Iridith said gently, “she can’t grow up. Ever. At all. Not until the spell is broken.”

“I think she has,” he insisted. “Just a little.”

“Well,” Iridith said reluctantly, “we can ask her.”

They did ask her, an hour later, in the main room of the inn.

“Kelder,” she said, staring at him, “are you crazy? Give up my magic? Let myself grow old and ugly, and die someday? Spend all my time in one shape, so I can’t get away if someone bothers me? Give up flying?”

“But, Irith…” he began.

“Are you crazy?” she repeated. “Of course I won’t give it up!”

“I was thinking you could come back to Shulara with me…” Kelder began.

“To Shulara? What, and be a farmer? Just sit in one place until I rot?” She stared at him in disbelief. “You are crazy! Kelder, why would I want to live like that? I’m famous, and free! I’m special the way I am!”

And then, as if to emphasize her point, she vanished. A moment later Kelder heard the beating of wings outside; he stepped to the door and saw her appear again, rising into the air on gleaming white pinions.

He watched her go with his gut hard and tight with disappointment.

“I should have known,” he muttered to himself.

Valder and Iridith said nothing.

Irith returned during supper, and the subject was never mentioned again; instead, Iridith explained how to remove the spell on Ezdral.

“That’s all?” Irith asked. “Two drops of blood? I could have done that years ago!”

“Yes,” Iridith agreed. “If you’d known, you could have.”

Irith frowned. “Well, next time,” she said, “I’ll know what to do.”

“Next…” Kelder stopped himself before another word could escape, but the knot of dismay in his belly grew larger and heavier.

“Shall we take the blood now?” Iridith asked, drawing the silver dagger from her belt.

Irith eyed the blade unhappily, then glanced at Ezdral, still asleep on a bench by the hearth. “There isn’t any hurry, is there?” she said. “I mean, Ezdral won’t care if we wait a few days.”

That was the pebble that sank the barge. Kelder grabbed Irith by the arm and shoved his face close to hers.

“Listen,” he said, “you are going over to Ezdral right now, and I’m going to prick your finger, and we’re going to put a drop of your blood under each eyelid, just the way Iridith said, whether he’s asleep or not. He’s been under your damnable spell for forty years too long already!”

“All right,” she said, pulling away. “You don’t need to shout!”