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, damn 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.”
Kelder and Asha looked at one another.
“Forty years ago?” Kelder asked.
Ezdral nodded.
“It can’t be the same one,” Kelder said. “She’s only fifteen. She said so.”
Ezdral shook his head wearily, and peered at Kelder from beneath heavy lids. “She was fifteen then, too,” he said.
Kelder’s lips tightened. “Go on with your story,” he said.
“We talked, and I fell in love with her,” Ezdral said. “I mean, wildly and madly in love. She was so beautiful, so sweet. And we left Mezgalon together, and we traveled the Small Kingdoms from Shan to Lamum, Fileia to Lurethon.” He smiled. “Oh, we had some good times, we did. Filched a jeweler’s best stones once in Hlimora just so Irith could play with them. Danced naked in the Forest of Amramion. Got roaring drunk with the crown prince of Tuyoa, and Irith challenged his court wizard to a duel of magic and almost got herself killed. She could do other magic, not just shapeshifting, you know — had maybe half a dozen spells. Wasn’t any match for a real wizard, though.” He sighed.