Windhaven - Страница 38

Garth’s fall intensified the bitterness of flyers and Woodwingers both. The afternoon games, stunts conducted in an increasingly dark and stormy cloud, had little zest to them. An Easterner from Kite’s Landing was the grand winner, but she had scant competition, as many of the flyers decided to drop out at the last moment. A few of those not directly involved in challenges were even seen taking wing for their home islands. Kerr, the only Woodwinger who bothered to attend the games, reported that the spectators had grown sparse as well, and all their talk was of Garth.

Sena tried to encourage the students, but it was a formidable task. Sher and Leya were philosophical about their chances, neither expecting to win, but Damen was in a dismal condition and Kerr seemed ready to slink off and throw himself into the sea. S’Rella was nearly as despondent. She was tired and withdrawn for most of the afternoon, and that evening she quarreled with Val.

It was just after dinner. Damen was setting up his geechi board and looking for an opponent, and Leya had gotten out her pipes again. Val found S’Rella sitting with Maris on the beach, and joined them uninvited. “Let’s walk down to the tavern,” he suggested to S’Rella, “and celebrate our victories. I want to get free of these losers and hear what people are saying about us, maybe even get down some bets for tomorrow.”

“I’ve got no victory to celebrate,” S’Rella replied sullenly. “I flew horribly. Garth was much better than I was. I didn’t deserve to win.”

“You win or you lose, S’Rella,” Val said. “What you deserve has nothing to do with it. Come on.” He tried to take her by the hand and pull her to her feet, but S’Rella yanked loose of him angrily.

“Don’t you even care about what happened to Garth?”

“Not particularly. You shouldn’t either. As I recall, the last thing you said to him was how much you hated him. It would have gone better for you if he’d drowned. Then they would have to give you his wings. As it is, they’ll try to find some way to cheat you out of them.”

Maris, listening, began to lose her temper. “Stop it, Val,” she said.

“Keep out of this, flyer,” he snapped. “This is between us.”

S’Rella jumped to her feet. “Why are you always so hateful? You’re cruel to Maris all the time, and she’s only tried to help you. And the things you’ve been saying about Garth—Garth was nice to me, and what did I do, I challenged him, and now he almost died and you’re saying awful things about him. Don’t you say another word! Don’t you!”

Val’s face became an expressionless mask. “I see,” he said flatly. “Suit yourself. If you care so much for flyers, go visit Garth and tell him to keep his wings. I’ll celebrate by myself.” He turned away and began to stride across the sand, toward the sea road that would take him to his tavern.

Maris took S’Rella’s hand. “Would you like to visit Garth?” she said impulsively.

“Could we?”

Maris nodded. “He and Riesa share a big house a half mile up the hill road. He likes to stay close to the sea and the lodge. We could go see how he is.”

S’Rella was eager, and they set off at once. Maris had been a bit afraid of the reception they might receive when they arrived, but her own concern about Garth’s condition was great enough that she was willing to take the risk. She needn’t have worried. Riesa beamed at them when she opened the door, and all at once began to cry, and Maris had to take her in her arms and comfort her. “Oh, come see him, come see him,” Riesa kept saying through her tears. “He’ll be so glad.”

Garth was propped up in bed against a mountain of pillows, a shaggy woolen blanket thrown over his legs. His face was frighteningly pale and puffy, but when he saw them in the doorway his smile was real enough. “Ah,” he boomed, his voice loud as ever, “Maris! And the little demon who’s out to take my wings.” He waved them to his side. “Come and sit and talk to me. Riesa does nothing but fuss and fret, and she won’t even bring me any of her ale.”

Maris smiled. “You don’t need any ale,” she said primly as she walked to his bedside and kissed him lightly on the brow.

S’Rella hung back by the door, however. When he saw that, Garth’s face turned serious. “Ah, S’Rella,” he said, “don’t be frightened. I’m not angry with you.”

She came forward to stand by Maris. “You’re not?”

“No,” Garth said firmly. “Riesa, bring them seats.” His sister did as he asked, and when they were seated, Garth resumed. “Oh, I was furious when you challenged me—hurt, too—I can’t deny that.”

“I’m sorry,” S’Rella blurted. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t hate you—what I said that night at the lodge.”

He waved her quiet. “I know that. And you needn’t be sorry. The water was terribly cold out there, but maybe it woke me up a bit, and I’ve had all afternoon to lie here and think. I’ve been a fool, and I’m lucky I have the breath to say so. I did wrong to keep it secret, the way that I was feeling, and you did right to name me when you knew.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t accept being land-bound, you know. I love the flying too much, all my friends, the travel. But it’s over, my little swim proved that, the only question is whether I’m to be a live land-bound or a drowned flyer at the end of it all. Before today, I’d always managed to shrug off the pain, get where I was going. But this morning—ah, it was miserable, shooting pains in my arms and legs. But I don’t want to talk about that. Bad enough it happened.” He reached across and took S’Rella by the hand. “What I mean to say, S’Rella, is that I can’t compete tomorrow, and I wouldn’t if I could. Riesa and the sea have brought me to my senses. The wings are yours.”

S’Rella could hardly believe him. She stared at him wide-eyed, and a tremulous smile broke across her face.

“What will you do, Garth?” Maris asked.

He grimaced. “That depends on the healers,” he said. “Seems to me I have three choices. Maybe I’ll be a corpse, and maybe I’ll be a cripple, but if I can find a healer who knows what he’s about, I thought I might try my hand at trade. I’ve got enough iron put aside to buy myself a ship, and I could travel that way, see other islands—though I’m half scared out of my wits at the idea of traveling by sea.” He chuckled. “You and Dorr used to kid me about being a trader. You remember, Maris? Said I’d trade my wings if the deal was good enough, just because I liked to swap a little now and again. Well, some trader I turned out to be. Here S’Rella gets my wings and doesn’t give me anything.” He laughed, and Maris found herself joining him.

They talked for over an hour, about traders and sailors and finally flyers, relaxing as they laughed at Garth’s jokes and exchanged gossip. “Corm is livid about your friend Val,” Garth said at one point, “and I can’t say I blame him. He’s a good enough flyer that he never considered that he might lose his wings, and here it seems he’s lost them, and to One-Wing of all people. Did you have anything to do with that, Maris?”

She shook her head. “Hardly. All Val’s idea. He’ll never admit it, but I think he wanted to beat a flyer of the top rank to make them forget about Ari. The fact that Corm’s wife sits among the judges just added an extra flair to the feat, and of course it gave him a convenient excuse if he lost. He could blame a defeat on flyer prejudice.”

Garth nodded and made a rude joke about Corm, then turned to his sister. “Riesa, why don’t you show S’Rella our house?”

Riesa took the hint. “Yes, do come see,” she said. S’Rella followed her from the room.

“She’s nice,” Garth said when they were gone, “and she does remind me an awful lot of you, Maris. Do you remember when we first met?”

Maris smiled at him. “I remember. It was my first flight to the Eyrie and there was a party that night.”

“Raven was there too. That was where he did his trick.”

“I’ve never forgotten it,” Maris said.

“Did you teach it to One-Wing?”

“No.”

Garth laughed. “Everyone is certain you did. We all remember how impressed you were by Raven. Coll even made a song about him, didn’t he?”

Maris smiled. “Yes.”

Garth started to say something else, then thought better of it. For a long moment the room was filled with silence, and the smile slowly faded on Garth’s face.

He began to cry, fighting it and losing; he reached out his big hands for her, and Maris came and sat on the edge of the bed and hugged him, and ran her hands across his brow. “I knew—I didn’t want S’Rella to see me—ah, Maris, it’s so damned rotten, so damned—”

“Oh, Garth,” she whispered, kissing him lightly and fighting to hold back her own tears. She felt so helpless. Briefly she thought of what it would be like if she were in Garth’s place. She trembled and pushed the thought away and hugged him again all the harder.

“Come and see me,” he said. “I—you know how—when you don’t fly, you can’t go to the Eyrie—you know—bad enough to lose your freedom, and the wind—but I don’t want to lose you too, and my other friends, just because—oh, damn, damn these tears—visit me, Maris, promise, promise.”

“I promise, Garth,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Unless you gain so much weight that I can’t stand to look at you.”

Beneath his tears, he laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Here—and just when I thought I could get fat in peace. You—”

Footsteps sounded outside, Riesa and S’Rella returning, and Garth quickly used the blanket to dry his tears. “Go,” he said, smiling again, “go, I’m tired, you’ve exhausted me. But come back tomorrow when it’s all over and tell me how the games went.”