Lawrence Watt-Evans: Taking Flight

“They’re beautiful,” Kelder said, in honest admiration. He was tempted to reach out and touch them, but dared not.

He wondered what it would be like, taking a flying girl to bed. Would the wings get in the way?

She smiled as she peered over her shoulder at them. “Aren’t they? And flying is such fun!”

He smiled back at her, sharing her delight, then asked, “What happened after that? Did the wizard catch you?”

She laughed. “No, silly,” she said. “At least, not then. I just flew away and never came back. And the next time I saw him wasn’t for years, and by then nobody cared any more, and we just forgot about the whole thing.”

Kelder nodded. “So you never finished your apprenticeship?”

“No. Why should I? I’ve got everything I need!” She spread her wings wide, and the breeze they made blew the hair back from Kelder’s forehead. “See?” she said.

He stared in amazement. He wondered just what she meant when she said “years,” though. She couldn’t mean it literally. After all, she must have started her apprenticeship at age twelve-that tradition was so ancient and sacred that Kelder couldn’t imagine it being violated-and it must have taken her at least a year before she learned enough magic to attempt something like a wing-making spell, and got fed up enough with her master to use it. He had always heard how difficult wizardry was, and he would have thought it would take at least a journeyman wizard to do something like that; the magicians he’d seen mostly limited themselves to little stunts like lighting fires or making trees whistle. Nobody could have made journeyman before age eighteen, from what he’d heard-sixteen at the very least. And yet Irith claimed she’d gotten her wings and run away years ago, and she was only fifteen now.

Of course, the wizards Kelder had encountered in a quiet nowhere like Shulara weren’t the best, but even so, she must have needed a year or two before she could have learned such a spell.

And she’d talked about visiting Shulara, and travelling back and forth on the Great Highway hundreds of times-she must just be prone to exaggerating, he decided.

Well, that was no big deal. Lots of the girls he knew liked to exaggerate-and not just girls, either, for that matter. So what if she twisted the chronology a little?

Of course, it did make it harder to know just what had really happened. She must have been a good pupil, he thought, to learn a way to conjure her wings so young. She probably only ran away a few months ago.

Part of the prophecy ran through his head-“The magic is strange, of a kind I have never seen, and that neither wizards nor witches know. It will both be yours and not be yours.” His wife’s magic would be his and yet not his-were Irith’s wings the “strange magic” that had been referred to?

But according to Irith’s story this was a magic that wizards know, wasn’t it?

Well, perhaps Zindre had gotten that one little detail wrong, or Irith had distorted something.

And the details didn’t really matter, anyway, did they? He decided not to be nosy, and asked no further questions. When they were married he would have plenty of time to find out.

“So where were you heading?” she asked him. “You said you came to see the Great Highway, right?”

“That’s right,” he agreed.

“Well, you’ve seen it; are you just going to go back home to your folks now?”

“Of course not!” he said.

Actually, he had been planning to do exactly that, but he was not about to admit that in front of the girl he was destined to marry. He didn’t want to look like a coward, or a fool, walking all this way for nothing.

Besides, her very presence proved that Zindre the Seer had not lied.

He had traveled far, beyond the hills and into strange lands; he had seen the road stretching before him; he had found the girl he was to marry-but he had not yet seen great cities or vast plains or strange beasts, he had not seen beautiful women in the plural. Irith’s magic might qualify as “mighty,” or it might not, but the prophecy had said “much mighty magic.” And he had not yet championed anyone lost or forlorn. It was not yet time to return safely home with his bride.

And he wasn’t about to let Irith think he was a coward or a fool; if she spurned him, his entire destiny would be jeopardized.

“Where are you going, then?” Irith asked.

“Where are you going?” he countered.

“Oh, I haven’t decided-and besides, I asked first!” She smiled brightly. “So where are you going?”

“That way,” he said, choosing a direction more or less at random and pointing east along the highway.

“Oh, good!” She clapped her hands together in delight. “All the way to Shan on the Desert?”

He nodded. Why not? Why shouldn’t he actually do it, go all the way to Shan on the Desert? It was a great city, wasn’t it? The prophecy had said he would see great cities. And the Bazaar there was said to be full of wonders and magic.

“I haven’t been there in the longest time,” Irith said. “Could I come with you? We could get to know each other better-I get lonely sometimes, living by myself.”

“Sure,” Kelder said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’d be glad of some company myself.”

That, of course, was an understatement. Kelder thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and given half a chance, he’d have followed her wherever she wanted to go. To have her following him was even better, since she couldn’t very well consider him a nuisance in that case.

The prospects for a short courtship and swift marriage were looking better every moment.

There were obstacles, of course, like his limited funds, but he tried not to think about those.

“Let’s go, then, shall we?” She got to her feet, and he caught another glimpse of the curious colored rings on her ankle as her breeches fell back into place. She started down the hillside.

He started to follow, then stopped. “Wait a minute,” he said, flustered, “I need to pack up my things here!” He turned, and quickly gathered up his belongings, stuffing them into his pack as fast as he could.

When he was sure he wasn’t leaving anything important he got up, slung the pack on his shoulder, and trotted down the hill to where Irith waited, smiling. It was only as he came up beside her that he realized her wings were gone.

“Hai!” he said, startled.

“What is it?” she asked, looking about.

“Your wings,” he said, feeling very foolish. “Where’d they go?”

The thought occured to him that maybe she had never really had wings at all, maybe they’d been an illusion of some kind-but hadn’t she said she had wings?

“Oh!” she said with a giggle, “didn’t I tell you that? It’s part of the spell. I don’t have wings all the time, only when I want to. And they’re kind of a nuisance when I’m walking, so I got rid of them.”

“But…” Kelder began, then stopped. He really didn’t know how to express his puzzlement, especially not in Trader’s Tongue.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, silly!” Irith said. “Come on!”

She started walking, and he hurried to catch up. A moment later, he asked, “But where do they go?”

She shrugged, a gesture he found wonderfully winsome. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s magic, of course.”

“But when you want them back, where do you … I mean…”

She sighed. “Don’t worry about it, all right? I’m a shapeshifter, that’s all. That’s what the spell really was. I can shift back and forth between being me with wings, and me without wings, just the way some wizards can turn themselves into cats or birds or other things. That’s all!”