'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.
This was not out of greed; when an oasis held herds and flocks that numbered, not in the hundreds, but in the handfuls of animals, it was very clear that the Bedu were not a wealthy people. Honorable, yes. True to their word, without a doubt. But not wealthy.
He and Avatre honed their hunting skills quickly. He could not bear to see the big eyes of the unveiled children watching every bite he took as if it was coming out of their own portions. Which it probably was…
Sometimes he went hungry, though he never, ever let Avatre go without.
