Taking Flight

Lawrence Watt-Evans Taking Flight

Prologue

The girl squirmed on her seat, and the old woman cast her a quick, angry glance. She quieted, and the woman turned back to her customer.

“Well, lad,” she said, “what would you have of me?”

The boy hesitated.

“I’m... I’m Kelder of Shulara,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, nodding.

It was a lie, of course; she hadn’t known anything of the sort. In fact, it struck her suddenly that the name might be false, and instead of looking omniscient she might look foolish if she believed it. “Kelder of Shulara” — well, really, that probably was a lie! And not a very original one, at that. Smoothly, so that the boy saw no pause, she winked at him and continued, in a mysterious tone, “I know all I need to know.”

The lad looked suitably confused and impressed. Behind him, the little girl rolled her eyes upward and mouthed something — it looked like, “Oh, come on, Grandma!”

“So, Kelder of Shulara,” the woman went on, a bit hurriedly, “you have come to Zindre the Seer to learn your future — and I see it laid out before me, vast and shining. There is too much to tell you all of it, my child, for your life will be long and rich; you must ask me specific questions, and I shall answer them all...”

The girl cleared her throat. Her grandmother glared at her and continued, “...at the cost of merely three bits apiece.”

Kelder, fortunately, didn’t notice any of the byplay between Zindre and her granddaughter; he was staring intently at the crystal bowl on the table before him, as if he expected to see something in it himself.

That was an uncomfortable thought; Zindre did not like the idea of a customer who had real magic.

But surely the boy couldn’t have any magic; he was just a peasant.

He cleared his own throat, and asked, “Will I ever get out of Shulara?”

That was an easy one. “Oh, yes,” Zindre said. “You shall go, and you shall go far, beyond the hills and into strange lands, and you shall return safely.” He probably wouldn’t, but she knew what he wanted to hear.

“Return? I’ll come back?”

Zindre suppressed a frown and silently cursed herself for not listening more carefully to the boy’s tone and phrasing. “Oh, yes,” she said. “You will return, covered in glory, to tell those who remained behind of the wonders you saw.”

“To stay?” Kelder asked; then something registered, and without waiting for an answer he asked, “Wonders? What wonders?”

“Many wonders,” Zindre said quickly, hoping to distract the boy from the question of exactly where he was going to wind up. “Great cities and vast plains, strange beasts and beautiful women, and much mighty magic.” She usually threw in something about mountains, rather than plains, but in a place as hilly as Shulara she thought that plains would be more exotic and intriguing.

“Magic? But what will I do? Where will I go?”

Zindre gestured broadly and stared into the bowl before replying, “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. You will roam free, unfettered, and you will be a champion of the lost and forlorn, honored by the dead and those yet unborn.” That should sound vague and mysterious enough to suit anyone.

From the corner of her eye she saw her granddaughter clearly signing to ease up a little; Zindre reviewed what she had just said and decided the girl was right, she had been getting carried away. “As for where,” she said, “I see a long road stretching before me, but just which road it might be I cannot say.”

Kelder’s disappointment showed on his face. The granddaughter broke in.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but that makes fifteen bits, and you only paid a single round; I’ll need another before you ask my grandmother any more questions.”

Kelder turned, startled, and stared at her, open-mouthed.

She held out a hand.

Abashed, Kelder dug in the purse at his belt and pulled out another copper round. “That’s all I have,” he said.

“That leaves one bit,” the girl said. “Do you want change, or one more question? My grandmother will answer one more at discount.”

“Another question,” Kelder said immediately.

“Think well before you speak, then, Kelder of Shulara,” Zindre intoned.

Kelder thought.

“Tell me about the girl I’ll marry,” he said at last.

Zindre nodded. “She will be bright and beautiful, with a laugh like birdsong,” she said, “with a magic all her own. You will bring her to your home in pride and delight, and spend your life with her in joy.” That one was easy; it was a standard question, and she had used that standard reply a hundred times, at least.

“Children?” Kelder asked.

“Money?” the granddaughter demanded.

Woebegone, Kelder admitted, “I don’t have any more.”

“It matters not,” Zindre said quickly. “The vision dims; the spell is fading away. I could tell you little more in any case.” She picked up a green cloth and dropped it neatly over the crystal bowl.

“Oh,” Kelder said. Reluctantly, he stood.

The granddaughter gestured toward the door of the hut, and Kelder, with a polite little bow, departed. The girl escorted him out, and closed the door behind him.

When the door was shut the girl said, “I guess he believed it.”

“Of course he did!” said Zindre, bustling about, adjusting the hangings on the walls and straightening candles that had slumped as the wax melted unevenly. “Are there any more?”

“No,” the girl said. “You know, Grandma, I still don’t understand how we can get away with this — can’t anybody tell real magic from lies?”

“Those that can,” Zindre said complacently, “don’t come to us in the first place.”

Outside, in the gathering dusk, Kelder found two of his sisters chattering with the smith’s daughter, near the forge. “Where have you been?” Salla demanded, as her little brother ran up.

“Talking to the seer,” he said.

All three girls turned to stare at him. “Oh, Kelder, you didn’t,” Edara said.

“Didn’t what?” Kelder asked defensively.

“You didn’t spend all your money on that charlatan!”

“No, I didn’t!” Kelder replied angrily.

“How much did you spend?” Salla asked.

“Not that much,” he said.

“How much?”

“Two rounds,” he admitted.

“Oh, Kelder!” Edara sighed.

“Magic is expensive!” he protested.

“Kelder,” Salla told him, “she doesn’t have any more magic than I do! She’s an old fake! A liar!”

“No, she isn’t!”

“Yes, she is! She’s here every year, and none of her predictions have ever come true.”