Windhaven - Страница 34

“Aren’t we your friends too?”

“Of course.”

“But not as close friends as Garth. You care more about protecting him than about whether we win our wings.”

“Maybe I was wrong to omit him,” Maris admitted. “But I care for him too much, and it isn’t easy—S’Rella, you haven’t said anything about Garth to Val, have you?” She was suddenly worried.

“Never mind,” S’Rella said. She brushed past Maris into the cabin and began to undress. Maris could only follow helplessly, already regretting her question.

“I want you to understand,” Maris said to S’Rella as the Southern girl slipped under the blankets.

“I understand,” S’Rella replied. “You’re a flyer.” She rolled over on her side, her back to Maris, and said no more.

The first day dawned bright and still.

From where she stood outside the flyers’ lodge, it seemed to Maris that half the population of Skulny had come to watch the competition. People were everywhere: wandering up and down the shores, climbing over the rugged cliff face to get better vantage points, sitting on grass and sand and stone alone or in groups. The beach was littered with children of all ages, running up and down kicking sand up in their wake, playing in the surf, shouting excitedly, running with their arms stretched out stiffly, playing at being flyers. Merchants moved among the crowds: one man decorated with sausages, another bearing wineskins, a woman wheeling a cart burdened with meat pies. Even the sea was full of spectators. Maris could see more than a dozen boats, laden with passengers, lying dead in the water just beyond the breakers, and she knew there must be even more beyond her sight.

Only the sky was empty.

Normally the sky would have been crowded with impatient flyers, full of the glint of silver wings wheeling and turning as they took some last-minute practice or simply tested the wind. But not today.

Today the air was still.

The dead calm was frightening. It was unnatural, impossible: along the coast the brisk Seabreeze should have been constant. Yet a suffocating heaviness hung over everything. Even the clouds rested wearily in the sky.

Flyers paced the beach with their wings slung over their shoulders, glancing up uneasily from time to time, waiting for the wind to return, and talking among themselves about the calm in low, careful voices.

The land-bound were waiting eagerly for the competition to start, most of them unaware that anything was amiss. It was, after all, a beautiful, clear day. And, atop the cliffs, the judges were setting up their station and taking their seats. The competition could not wait on the weather; contests in this sluggish air might not be as exciting, but they would still be tests of skill and endurance.

Maris saw Sena leading the Woodwingers across the sands toward the stairs leading up the cliffs. She hurried to join them.

A line had already formed in front of the judges’ table, behind which sat the Landsman of Skulny and four flyers, one each from the Eastern, Southern, Western, and the Outer Islands.

The Landsman’s crier, a massive woman with a chest like a barrel, stood on the edge of the cliff. As each of the challengers named an opponent to the judges, she would cup her hands and shout out the name for all to hear, and her apprentices would take up the cry all along the beach, shouting it over and over until the flyer challenged acknowledged and moved off toward the flyers’ cliff. Then the challenger would go to meet his or her opponent, and the line would shuffle forward. Most of the names called were vaguely familiar to Maris, and she knew they were in-family challenges, parents testing children, or—in one case—a younger sibling disputing the right of her older brother to wear the family wings. But just before the Woodwingers reached the judges’ table, a black-haired girl from Big Shotan, daughter to a prominent flyer, named Bari of Poweet, and Maris heard Kerr swear softly. That was one good target gone.

Then it was their turn.

It seemed to Maris to be quieter than it had been before. The Landsman was animated enough, but the four flyer judges all looked grave and nervous. The Easterner was toying with the wooden telescope that had been set before her on the table, the muscular blond from the Outer Islands was frowning, and even Shalli looked concerned.

Sher went first, followed by Leva. Both named flyers that Maris had suggested to them. The crier bellowed out the names, and Maris heard the shouts being repeated up and down the beach.

Damen named Arak of South Arren, and the judge from Eastern smiled slyly at that. “Arak will be so pleased,” she said.

Kerr named Jon of Culhall. Maris was not happy with that. Jon was a weak flyer, a likely opponent, and she had been hoping that he would be challenged by one of the academy’s better prospects—Val, S’Rella, or Damen. Kerr was the poorest of their six, and Jon would probably escape with his wings.

Val One-Wing moved to the table.

“Your choice” rumbled the Outer Islander. He was tense, as were the other judges, even the Landsman. Maris realized she was on edge as well, afraid of what Val might do.

“Must I choose only one?” Val said sardonically. “The last time I competed, I had a dozen rivals.”

Shalli replied sharply. “The rules have been changed, as you very well know. Multiple challenges have been disallowed.”

“A pity,” Val said. “I had hoped to win a whole collection of wings.”

“It will be unfortunate if you win any wings at all, One-Wing,” the Easterner said. “Others are waiting. Name your opponent and move on.”

Val shrugged. “Then I name Corm of Lesser Amberly.”

Silence. Shalli looked shocked at first; then she smiled. The Easterner chuckled softly to herself, and the Outer Islander laughed openly.

“Corm of Lesser Amberly!” the crier thundered. “Corm of Lesser Amberly!” A dozen lesser voices echoed the call.

“I shall have to disqualify myself from this judging,” Shalli said quietly.

“No, Shalli,” said the judge from Eastern. “We have confidence in your fairness.”

“I do not ask you to step aside,” Val said.

She looked at him, puzzled. “Very well. You con-tribute to your own fall, One-Wing. Corm is no grief-stricken child.”

Val smiled at her enigmatically and moved off, and Maris and Sena accosted him instantly. “Why did you do that?” Sena demanded. She was furious. “I have wasted my time with you, clearly. Corm! Maris, tell him how good Corm is, tell this willful fool how he has just thrown away his wings.”

Val was looking at her. “I think he knows how good Corm is,” Maris said, meeting his eyes. “And he knows Shalli is his wife. I think that was why he chose him.”

Val had no chance to disagree. Behind them, the line had moved on, and now the crier was shouting out another name. Maris heard it and whirled, her stomach twisting. “No,” she said, though the word caught in her throat and no one heard. But the crier, as if in answer, shouted the name once again. “Garth of Skulny! Garth of Skulny!”

S’Rella was walking away from the judges, her eyes downcast. When she looked up at last to see Maris, her face was reddened, but defiant.

Two by two they flew off into the morning sun, struggling against the heavy air—the calm had broken, but the winds were still sluggish and erratic—with wings grown suddenly awkward. The flyers wore their own wings, the challengers pairs lent them by judges or friends or bystanders. The course would take them to a rocky little island named Lisle, where they would have to land and collect a marker from the waiting Landsman before proceeding back. It was a flight of some three hours under normal conditions; in this weather, Maris suspected, it would take longer.

The Woodwingers and their opponents launched in the order in which they had challenged. Sher and Leya got away well enough. Damen had more trouble; Arak abused him verbally while they were circling, waiting for the shout to start, and flew dangerously close to him as they veered out over the ocean. Even from a distance, Maris thought Damen looked shaken.

Kerr did even worse. He botched his leap badly, almost seeming to stumble from the cliff, and a cry went up from below as he plunged down sharply toward the beach. Finally he regained some control and pulled himself up, but by the time he sailed out over the sea his opponent had opened up a substantial lead.

Corm was cheerful and smiling as he prepared for his match against Val, joking and flirting with the two land-bound girls who helped him open his wings, calling out comments to the spectators, waving to Shalli. He even threw a grim smile in Maris’ direction. But he did not speak to Val, except once, before he launched. “This is for Ari,” he shouted, his tone deadly, and then he was running and the wind took him. Val said nothing. He unfolded his own wings in silence, leaped from the cliff in silence, swept up and around near Corm in silence. The crier gave the shout, and the two of them broke in opposite directions, both coming around cleanly, the shadow of their wings passing across the upturned faces of the children on the beach. When they moved out of sight, Corm was ahead, but only by a wingspan.

Lastly came S’Rella and Garth. Maris stood with Sena near the judges. She could look down on the flyers’ cliff and see them both, and watching them she felt heart-sick. Garth was somber and pale, and from a distance he appeared far too stout and clumsy to have much of a chance against the slim young challenger. Both of them prepared quietly, Garth speaking only once or twice to his sister, S’Rella saying nothing at all. Neither got off to a good start, Garth having a bit more difficulty with the thick air because of his weight. S’Rella moved in front of him quickly, but he had closed the gap by the time they reached the horizon and vanished.