Taking Flight

The trim on her tunic was green and blue embroidery, depicting leaves and flowers.

He stared, utterly astonished, as with a final swoop she settled gently to the earth not ten feet away from him.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her face was heart-shaped and perfect, her eyes a deep, pure blue, her hair a flowing stream of gold. Kelder had heard of blondes, and had even seen pictures, but he had never seen one in person before.

The wings that grew from her upper back were sleek and white, with every curve gleaming polychrome; the back of her tunic was slit on either side and hemmed to allow them through. In front her breasts filled the tunic out nicely.

As she landed her wings, which had spread at least five yards from tip to tip, folded about her sides, like a cape. The embroidery at her neckline and on her cuffs, he noticed, showed morning glory vines in full bloom. A bloodstone as big as the top joint of his thumb glowed at the base of her throat, catching the morning sun.

She was four or five inches shorter that he was, though he was scarcely a giant — a shade below average height, in fact. She looked up at him with those deep blue eyes.

“Hello,” she said, speaking the single Ethsharitic word in a soft and velvety voice.

“Hello,” Kelder replied, when he had caught his breath. He was suddenly very, very glad that Luralla’s grandmother had known Ethsharitic.

Who was this miraculous creature? And why was she speaking to him? Had Zindre told the truth after all? Was this one of the prophesied wonders?

Was she perhaps even more?

“I’m Irith the Flyer,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m... I’m...” He gulped and tried again. “I’m Kelder of Shulara.”

She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, and then pointed to the south. “Shulara’s that way, isn’t it?” she asked, cocking her head prettily to one side.

Kelder nodded, staring down at her. She was unbelievably beautiful.

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked, blinking up at him.

“I... I wanted to see the Great Highway,” Kelder replied, horribly aware that his answer sounded stupid.

She turned to look down at the road. “Well, there it is,” she said. “It’s not really much to look at, around here.” She turned back and smiled at him. “Of course, this is one of the dull parts,” she said. “The best parts are at the ends.”

That was a fascinating bit of information, and Kelder was very pleased to have it. “You have traveled on the Highway?” he asked. The Ethsharitic words came to his tongue with difficulty; he feared that if the conversation went on he would soon be lost.

Irith grinned at him. “Oh, I’ve been back and forth along it a hundred times!” she said. “What about you?”

“I came here last night,” he admitted. “From Shulara.”

“Oh.” She glanced southward. “They don’t speak Ethsharitic there, do they?”

“No,” Kelder admitted.

“I don’t think I remember how to speak Shularan,” she said, apologetically. “Would you rather speak Trader’s Tongue?”

“Ah... it might be easier, yes,” Kelder agreed, relieved. Trader’s Tongue shared rather more vocabulary with Shularan than did Ethsharitic, and the grammar came more easily. Besides, Tikri Tikri’s son had been a more knowledgeable and congenial teacher than Luralla the Inquisitive.

Irith nodded. “All right,” she said, in Trader’s Tongue. “You came here cross-country all by yourself?”

Kelder needed a minute to switch languages; then he replied, “Well, there aren’t any roads in Shulara, not really.” Trader’s Tongue was much easier, once he had made the adjustment.

“Oh, I know,” she said. “I was there once, a long time ago. It’s pretty, but not very exciting.” She shrugged, then looked back up into his eyes. “Is that why you left?” she asked. “To find somewhere more exciting?”

“Something like that,” he agreed, marvelling at how she seemed to be equally fluent in both tongues. “I wanted to seek my fortune, you know, like in the stories. My father wants me to just stay home and be a farmer like he did, and he... well, I didn’t want to. Or at least, not yet.” He made no mention of the prophecy, for fear she, like his sisters, would think it stupid and laugh at him.

She nodded. “Grown-ups can be so boring, can’t they?” She giggled.

The sound, Kelder thought, was almost like birdsong.

Bright and beautiful, with a laugh like birdsong, with a magic all her own — this was the girl he was to marry! It had to be, beyond a doubt. He would bring her to his home in pride and delight, and spend his life with her in joy.

That was what the seer had said. Kelder swallowed.

Irith smiled at him, then abruptly sat down, cross-legged, on the grass. The movement exposed her ankles, and Kelder noticed something on one of them, several narrow bands encircling her leg.

Then she stretched her arms over her head and yawned, and Kelder stared at the display of curves elsewhere and forgot about her ankles. Wings aside, blonde hair aside, Irith was still far more interesting than Inza of the Blue Eyes.

“I got up early this morning,” she said casually, when the yawn was done. “I wanted to do a little early flying, before anybody else was up.”

Kelder settled to the ground himself, far more slowly and carefully, a few feet away from her. He stared at her, at the great shining wings, and wondered where she had come from. If he was going to marry her, he wanted to know something about her background. Was there a whole nation of winged people somewhere?

That would be a wonder worth seeing!

“Do you live around here?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t live anywhere in particular,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Just wherever I happen to land.” She smiled at him again, an intoxicating smile. He smiled back without knowing why.

“What about your family?” he asked.

“Don’t have any,” she said. “They’re all long gone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he replied.

She turned up an empty palm in a shrug.

They sat silently for a minute, each contemplating the sunlight on the grassy hillside and the road below. The place that Kelder had found so dismal the night before somehow seemed to be sparkling with beauties and possibilities now that Irith had appeared. Kelder wanted to say something to her — he wanted to impress her, to sweep her off her feet, to hurry along the process of courtship and marriage. Zindre had told him he would marry this creature, but she had never said how long it would take.

But Kelder found himself tongue-tied, unable to think of a word. Irith’s beauty was overwhelming.

Then Irith asked, “So, if you’re off to seek your fortune, how old are you, anyway? The traditional age is still thirteen, right? You certainly don’t look thirteen.”

“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m sixteen.”

She nodded. “I guess you left it a bit late, then?”

He nodded. “What about you?” he asked.

“I’m fifteen,” she said.

He nodded again. That was just right, a year younger than himself.

Not that he would have minded if she weren’t.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gathered his nerve and said, “I never saw anyone with wings before.”

She giggled — definitely birdsong, he thought.

“As far as I know,” she said, “there isn’t anyone else with wings. Just me.”

“Oh.” That answered that, and disposed of any notion he might have had of finding a land of winged people, but left her background a complete mystery. Kelder tried to think of some clever way to phrase his next question, but couldn’t. “How did you come to have wings, anyway?” he said. “Were you born with them?”

She giggled again. “No, silly, of course not!” She pushed playfully at his shoulder.

Startled and pleased by the unexpected familiarity, he asked, “Then where’d you get them?”