"As I told you, you have hunting-right, to hunt for whatever you see wild on the way, to feed your dragon and yourself. But you also have hearth-right, giving you both food from our stores if you cannot catch anything—though I will warn you. We are not a wealthy people, and you both may go hungry if you count upon this."
"I won't—" Vetch began, but the Mouth wasn't listening.
"Last of all, you have water-right, which of itself, is worth twice what this bandit bargained from me." The Mouth's tone gave the lie to his words, though. He didn't sound angry or even annoyed. "So—the message is sped, and so should you be. A man on a camel can reach the next point on your journey by full dark; you should have no difficulty."
With that, the Mouth stalked off again, leaving Vetch to stare after him.
"Don't look for friendship from them," Ari warned. "We made a bargain; that's all. The Bedu don't care for our little wars, nor our pretensions at holding dominion over the land."
"You sound as if you admire them," Vetch ventured.
"Say, rather, that I envy them. Their only enemies are the land and the weather, and they are the freest people in the world, though they pay a heavy price for freedom." He sighed. "And the Mouth is right; finish that meal, and we will both be on our separate ways."
So there it was—the moment he knew was coming. But he had never thought that it would be like this.
"Master—" he began.
"Ari," the Jouster corrected firmly. "I am no longer your master. Though I'll have a hell of a time replacing you."
Vetch winced, and hung his head. He felt horrible, leaving Ari in the lurch like this. But what could he do? He couldn't go back…
"I'd try to get Baken, but Haraket would fight me for him. I think I'll exercise my rank and purloin one of those youngsters that Baken is training," Ari continued. "Though I think not a serf, this time. If another dragon boy gets it into his head to emulate me, I at least want to get another Jouster out of the situation."
Vetch looked up, and caught a twinkle in Ari's eye, and felt a little better. Not much, but a little. "I wouldn't have run—except they'd have taken her away from me," he said softly. "And I knew it would break her heart. And mine—
"That's how you should be thinking, from this moment on. Whatever you decide, do it for her sake," Ari replied, firmly. "Nothing else. Nothing less."
"I won't," Vetch said, drawing himself up and looking Ari straight in the eyes.
"Good." There was a long moment of very awkward silence— awkward on Vetch's part anyway.
"Can't you come with me?" he asked finally. "We don't have to go to Alta—we could go east, to Beshylos—
"No we couldn't," Ari said, sadly, but firmly. "I took certain oaths, and I will do my duty. I must. I wish—well, it can't be otherwise."
"I'm sorry, Ari," he said, overcome with guilt. "I—
"Don't be. I'm not." For the very first time in all of the time that Vetch had known him, Ari broke into a broad and unshadowed smile. "It's the best thing in the world, to see a young thing fly free. I suppose—I suppose I should give you all sorts of advice now, but 1 can't think of very much." He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
Finally, Vetch got the courage to ask the question that had been in his mind all along, since the first day Ari had plucked him out of Khefti's yard. "Ari—why? Why—everything?"
Ari looked at him quizzically. "I'm not sure myself." He looked up into the hard, cloudless blue bowl of the sky. "When I first saw you, so angry with me for stealing your water, I thought you were amusing, like a kitten that's ready to attack a lion for some imagined offense. Then, when that fat idiot of a master of yours came out and you turned from angry to terrified, it wasn't so amusing, and when he laid the lash on you, I knew I couldn't leave you there. And I did need a dragon boy."
"But the rest of it—" Vetch suddenly had to know, desperately. "Finding me a shrine—
"Because it was right. Because I never had a younger brother. I'm the youngest in my family. Because—" He sighed, and looked inexpressibly sad. "Because I feel guilty for all of the wretched things that are being done to Altans, and perhaps at first I thought I could assuage some of that guilt by being good to you. But after a while, Vetch, you earned your place, and everything I did for you. By the time that wretch Khefti showed up again, you'd earned it. The other boys may not have liked you, but they could never claim you hadn't earned your place. And—I don't know, but I'm a man who believes in the gods, and I've had a feeling all along that the gods have some purpose in mind for you, and I was just the means to that purpose."
Vetch sighed; that was another dark fear put to rest. In the back of his mind, he'd wondered all along if Ari had a darker purpose for him.
But no. It was all as simple, and as complicated, as guilt, faith— and just maybe, friendship.
"Now, I have a question," Ari said into the silence. "You aren't really named Vetch, are you?"
He smiled; he almost had to. "No—that's something we Altan peasant farmers do, to protect precious boy babies. We name them something awful, so that the demons think they aren't worth taking in the night."
"So, just what is your real name?" Ari asked. "No—wait, let me guess. Kiron. Like your father."
Vetch nodded, and felt a sudden sting in his eyes that he blinked away.
The bead suddenly tugged at Vetch's neck, just as the Mouth materialized again, looking significantly at the sun. Ari nodded, got to his feet, and whistled sharply for Kashet.
The dragon raised himself from where he'd been basking in the heat, beside Avatre, and moved toward his beloved Jouster. Ari swung up into his saddle without asking Kashet to drop to the sand, and from that lofty perch, looked down at Vetch.
"Whatever you do—try not to get on the opposite end of a Joust with me. I still have my duty, and I will hold to it."
He nodded. "I understand."
Ari smiled again. "I thought you would. Your gods go with you, in whatever you decide, Kiron."
And he sent Kashet up into the sky, leaving Vetch—no, Kiron— and Avatre to watch, as they disappeared into the heavens that were, at last, no less bright than his hopes, and no lighter than his heart.
WELL young Kiron," the Mouth of the Bedu said. "One more day, and you will be where you wished to be—across the border, in Alta. I hope that this proves to be truly what you desired."
Kiron—he had told the Bedu at the beginning of his journey that this was his name, and how he wished to be addressed, so as to get himself used to the shape of a name he had not used in years all over again—looked out over the desert, and saw, in the far western distance, the faint haze that marked the beginning of land where things could grow. He licked dry lips. "It has to be, doesn't it?" he replied, as straightforward as the Bedu had been. "There's no place else for me to go."
It had been a long journey, one in which he had lost track of the days, as he zigzagged from one oasis to another, following the pull of the little beads he'd been given. At each oasis, he would surrender the bead that had brought him there, to receive a new one. He and Avatre had learned, together, how to hunt, for only at an oasis—and only if they had not been at all successful in their attempts to find food on their own—would the Bedu supply them.