Taking Flight

“Two visitors to see Perina the Wise,” the soldier said in what Kelder took at first for awkward Ethsharitic, then recognized as Krithimionese. “I know one to be Irith the Flyer; the other I do not recognize.”

“Kelder of Shulara,” Kelder volunteered, wondering why the man was answering one language with another.

For a moment, nothing happened; then the door swung open and a woman’s voice called out, in the Krithimionese dialect, “Come in, Irith, and bring your friend! Thank you, Kelder, you may go.”

As Kelder hesitated, the soldier bowed quickly, turned, and headed back down the staircase.

“Wait,” Kelder called after him, “she said Kelder...”

“That’s me,” the soldier called back. “Kelder the Tall. No jokes, please.” Then he was gone, around a bend in the stair.

Kelder muttered, “I’d hardly be the one to joke about the name, would I?” Then he followed Irith through the door.

The workshop was a large room, with windows on three sides, tables and bookcases here and there, fur rugs on the floor, and a spiral stair in the center. Standing on the stair was a handsome middle-aged woman, a streak of white in her black hair.

“Irith,” she said, descending to the floor, “how good to see you!” She spoke Krithimionese, but Kelder could follow it well enough.

“Hello, Perina,” Irith said in the same tongue as she stepped into the room far enough to close the door. “This is Kelder of Shulara; he’s been very helpful lately.”

That was not exactly Kelder’s idea of a great introduction, but he smiled and said, “Hello.”

“I haven’t seen you for more than a year,” Perina said to Irith, ignoring Kelder as she crossed the room. “What brings you here now?”

“Well, I need a spell,” Irith said. “Or a counterspell, really.”

Perina came and took the girl by the hand. “Come and sit down and tell me all about it,” she said, as she led the way to a small settee, upholstered in gold-embroidered burgundy velvet.

Kelder, feeling out of place, followed.

“Well, it seems I enchanted someone,” Irith said, as she sank onto the cushions. “I didn’t really mean to, exactly.”

Perina nodded encouragingly and sat down as well; Kelder, seeing no space remaining, stayed standing, and began to wander toward a nearby shelf as if that was what he had intended all along.

“I put this spell on him, and I sort of thought it would wear off, but it didn’t, and now he’s an old man and he still has this spell on him, and it’s pretty awful, so I’d really like to know how to break it,” Irith said. Kelder looked over the tidy row of skulls atop the bookcase, trying to identify them all; the human was easy, of course, and he was pretty sure of the cat and the horse, but some of the others puzzled him.

“It sounds terrible,” Perina said, patting Irith on the knee. “Which spell was it, my dear?”

“Fendel’s Infatuous Love Spell,” Irith said. Then she added, “I think.”

Kelder glanced at her, forgetting about the odd skull with the horns. This was the first time he had heard her say that she wasn’t entirely certain about which spell it was.

“Oh, that’s a bad one,” Perina said, clicking her tongue in rebuke. “It’s tricky, you know; it can go wrong in ever so many ways.”

Kelder looked at her hopefully, then quickly turned back to the shelves. Directly below the skulls was an impressive array of strangely-shaped bottles, none of them labeled, and he wondered not just what might be in them, but how Perina could tell.

“Do you know it?” Irith asked.

“No, not really,” Perina admitted. “I’ve heard about it, but the Infallible Love Philtre is so much more convenient that I never bothered with it — all those stories about people falling in love with the wrong person, or even with animals!” She shook her head in dismay. “Fendel was a brilliant man, but even the best of us isn’t perfect, and that spell is just nothing but trouble. Whyever did you use it?”

“It’s the only love spell I have,” Irith said. “I didn’t see any others in Kalirin’s book when I was an apprentice.”

“Well, I don’t suppose old — Kalirin, was it? Your master?” Perina asked.

Irith nodded.

“Well, I don’t suppose he had much call for love spells, after all,” Perina said. “It’s too bad.”

Kelder wondered why anyone would make a bottle with two necks, both of them twisted into complete loops. And was there a reason to use blue glass for it?

“So you don’t know the counter?” Irith asked.

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” Perina admitted, patting Irith’s knee again. “I’m so sorry.”

The third shelf held even more bottles, but these were more ordinary — that is, if Kelder ignored the fact that something was moving in that big one second from the left, and that the one fourth from the right was watching him with green glass eyes.

“I do believe it has blood in it somewhere,” Perina said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that.”

“Virgin’s blood?” Irith asked.

Perina shook her head. “No, I don’t think so,” she said, “but I’m really not sure. Oh, dear.”

Something thin and black from the bottom shelf was reaching out for his leg, Kelder realized; he stepped back suddenly, and almost trod on Irith’s foot. The tendril, or whatever it was, retreated.

“Listen,” Perina said, “if you do find a counterspell, you tell me about it, won’t you? Please? It could be useful, you know.”

“Sure,” Irith said. “And if you hear anything, you’ll tell me?”

“Oh, assuredly!”

The bottom shelf held jars; most of them had no lids, and they all appeared to contain plants, none of which Kelder recognized. The tendril came from something resembling a malevolent cabbage.

Did that qualify as a strange beast, in the terms of Zindre’s predictions? Did those peculiar bottled things? Certainly there was much magic here, though he didn’t know how mighty it was.

“Is there anyone you think might know the countercharm?” Irith asked. “We’re heading west — we thought someone in Ethshar might know.”

Perina considered that carefully, as Kelder moved on to another bookcase. This one actually held books on most of its shelves, which seemed less dangerous.

“I’m sure there are people in Ethshar who would know,” Perina said. “That nice Thorum the Mage, on Wizard Street — if he doesn’t know himself, I’m sure he can find you someone who does, he’s just the sweetest man.”

Irith nodded. Kelder tried to read the titles on a few bindings, and found most were in unfamiliar languages.

“Iridith of Ethshar, if you can find her,” Perina went on. “She seems to know just about everything, I think. But I don’t have any idea at all where she lives — she won’t say.” She smiled oddly, and said, “And of course there’s always Fendel the Great himself — the rumor is that he’s still alive, living like a hermit somewhere in Tintallion or some such place.”

Kelder looked up at that, then back, and blinked. Hadn’t that title been different before?

“For that matter,” Perina mused, “is your old master... What was the name?”

“Kalirin the Clever,” Irith supplied.

“Yes, Kalirin — is he dead?”

“Oh, I think so,” Irith said. “I heard that he was, and I haven’t seen him since, oh, 5025, I think it was.”

“That’s almost two hundred years ago,” Perina said, “so I suppose he must be dead.” She sighed.

Kelder decided that maybe he would do better to just look out a window, and strolled over to one.

“So you don’t have any more ideas?” Irith asked.