Windhaven - Страница 42

Criers’ calls ran up and down the shore. S’Rella stood poised on the precipice, the sun shining off the bright metal of her wings, and behind her Maris glimpsed wiry, black-haired Jirel of Skulny.

S’Rella leaped, and Maris stood to watch, her heart flying with her, hoping, hoping. S’Rella banked and circled, a leisurely approach instead of the wild rush Maris had employed, and came gliding down smoothly on the same tack Leya and Kerr had used in their turns. Through the first gate, turning, leveling, wheeling now in the opposite direction—Maris felt her breath stop for a minute—and through the second gate, and now a very sharp turn upwind, a clean knife-thrust of a turn as if the wind itself had changed direction at her command, and through the third gate, still in control, and another hard veer and she was through the fourth gate—people began to rise and cheer—and the fifth was as easy for her as it had been for Maris, and now it was the sixth that she was moving in on, the sixth on which Maris had failed, and her wings were swaying a bit but then they stilled and she came in higher than Maris, and the sink shook her but didn’t ground her, and then she was through the sixth gate too—shouts everywhere—and the seventh demanded a split-second bank at just the right angle, and S’Rella did that as well, and she came around toward the eighth—

—and it was too narrow, the poles set too close together, and S’Rella was just a bit too far to one side. Her left wing hit the pole with a snap, and the wing-struts shattered even as the pole did, and S’Rella went sprawling on the ground.

And Maris was only one of dozens running toward her.

When she got there, S’Rella was sitting up, laughing and breathing hard, surrounded by land-bound who were shouting at her, yelling hoarse-voiced congratulations. The children pressed close to touch her wings. But S’Rella, her face reddened by the wind, couldn’t seem to stop laughing.

Maris pushed her way through the crowd and hugged her, and S’Rella giggled through it all. “Are you all right?” Maris asked, pushing her away and holding her at arm’s length. S’Rella nodded furiously, still giggling. Then what… ?”

S’Rella pointed at her wing, the wing that had struck the gate. The fabric, virtually indestructible, was undamaged, but a support strut had broken. “That’s easily fixed,” Maris said after she’d looked it over. “No problem.”

“Don’t you see?” S’Rella said, jumping to her feet. Her right wing bobbed with the motion, taut and vibrant, but her left hung limp and broken, silver tissue dragging on the sand.

Maris looked and began to laugh. “One-Wing,” she said helplessly, and they collapsed into each other’s arms again, laughing.

“Jirel didn’t disgrace you,” Maris said to Garth that night, as she sat with him by his fire. He was up and about again, looking better, and drinking ale once more. “She was an admirable proxy, flew five gates, as good as I’d done. But five isn’t seven, of course, and it wasn’t enough. Even the Landsman couldn’t call it a tie.”

“Good,” Garth said. “S’Rella deserves the wings. I like S’Rella. Make her promise to come visit me too.”

Maris smiled. “I will,” she said. “She’s sorry she couldn’t come tonight, but she wanted to go straight down to Val. I’m to join her after I leave here. I don’t relish it, but…” She sighed.

Garth took a healthy swig of ale and stared into the fire for a long moment. “I feel sorry for Corm,” he said. “Never liked him, but he knew how to fly.”

“Don’t fret,” Maris said. “He’s bitter but he’ll recover. Shalli’s pregnancy will soon be too advanced for her to fly, so Corm will have the use of her wings for a few months, and if I know him he’ll bully her into sharing even after the baby comes. Next year he can challenge. It won’t be Val, either. Corm is cleverer than that. I’ll wager he names someone like Jon of Culhall.”

“Ah,” Garth said, “if the damned healers ever cure me, I may name Jon myself.”

“He’ll be a popular choice next year,” Maris agreed. “Even Kerr wants another chance at him, though I doubt Sena will sponsor him again until he’s a lot more seasoned. She’ll have better prospects to choose from next year. With the double victory by S’Rella and Val, Woodwings is suddenly thriving again. She’ll soon have more students than she knows what to do with.” Maris chuckled. “You and Corm weren’t the only flyers grounded, either. Bari of Poweet lost her wings in an out-of-family challenge, and Big Hara went down to her own daughter.”

“A flock of ex-flyers,” Garth grumbled.

“And a lot of one-wings,” Maris added, smiling. “The world is changing, Garth. Once we had only flyers and land-bound.”

“Yes,” Garth said, gulping down some more ale. “Then you confused everything. Flying land-bounds and grounded flyers. Where will it end?”

“I don’t know,” Maris said. She stood up. “I’d stay longer, but I must go talk to Val, and I’m long overdue on Amberly. With Shalli pregnant and Corm wingless, the Landsman will no doubt work me to death. But I’ll find time to visit, I promise.”

“Good.” He grinned up at her. “Fly well, now.”

When she left, he was shouting to Riesa for another ale.

Val was propped up awkwardly in bed; his head raised just enough so that he could eat, he was spooning soup into his mouth with his left hand. S’Rella sat by his side, holding the bowl. They both looked up when Maris entered, and Val’s hand trembled, spilling hot soup on his bare chest. He cursed and S’Rella helped him mop it up.

“Val,” Maris said evenly, nodding. On the floor by the door she set the wings she had carried, once belonging to Corm of Lesser Amberly. “Your wings.”

The swelling in his face had subsided enough so that Val was beginning to look like himself again, although his puffed lip gave him an atypical sneer. “S’Rella told me what you did,” he said with difficulty. “Now I suppose you want me to thank you.”

Maris folded her arms and waited.

“Your friends the flyers did this to me, you know,” he said. “If the bones mend crooked, I’ll never use those damn wings you got me. Even if they heal properly, I’ll never be as good as I was.”

“I know that,” Maris said, “and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t my friends who did this, Val. Not all flyers are my friends. And they aren’t all your enemies.”

“You were at the party,” Val said.

Maris nodded. “It won’t be easy, and most of the burden is on you. Reject them if you like, hate all of them. Or find the ones worth knowing. It’s up to you.”

“I’ll tell you who I’m going to find,” Val said. “I’m going to find the ones who did this to me, and then I’m going to find whoever sent them.”

“Yes,” Maris said. “And then?”

“S’Rella found my knife,” Val said simply. “I dropped it in the bushes last night. But I cut one of them, well enough so I’ll know her by the scar.”

“Where are you going, when you heal?” Maris said.

Val seemed thrown off-stride by the sudden change of subject. “I had thought Seatooth. I’ve heard the stories, about how much the Landsman there wants a flyer. But S’Rella tells me that the Landsman of Skulny is anxious as well. I’ll talk to them both, see what they offer.”

“Val of Seatooth,” Maris said. “It has a nice sound to it.”

“It will always be One-Wing,” he said. “Maybe for you too.”

“A half-flyer,” she agreed. “Both of us. But which half? Val, you can make the Landsmen bid for your services. The flyers will despise you for it, most of them, and maybe some of the younger and greedier will imitate you, and I’d hate to see that. And you can wear that knife your father gave you when you fly, even though you break one of the oldest and wisest flyer laws by doing so. It is a small point, a tradition, and the flyers again will despise you, but no one will do anything. But I tell you now, if you find who ordered you beaten, and kill them with that same knife, you’ll be One-Wing no longer. The flyers will name you outlaw and strip your wings away, and not a Landsman on Windhaven will take your side or give you landing, no matter how much they need flyers.”

“You want me to forget,” Val said. “Forget this?”

“No,” said Maris. “Find them, and take them to a Landsman, or call a flyer court. Let your enemy be the one who loses wings and home and life, and not you. Is that such a bad alternative?”

Val smiled crookedly, and Maris saw he had lost some teeth as well. “No,” he said. “I almost like it.”

“It’s your choice,” Maris said. “You won’t be flying for a good while, so you’ll have time to think about it. I think you’re intelligent enough to use that time.” She looked to S’Rella. “I must return to Lesser Amberly. It’s on your way, if you’re going back to Southern. Will you fly with me, and spend a day in my home?”

S’Rella nodded eagerly. “Yes, I’d love—that is, if Val will be all right.”

“Flyers have unlimited credit,” Val said. “If I promise Raggin enough iron, he’ll nurse me better than my own parent.”

“I’ll go, then,” S’Rella said. “But I’ll see you again, Val, won’t I? We both have wings now.”

“Yes,” Val said. “Go fly with yours. I’ll look at mine.”

S’Rella kissed him and crossed the room to where Maris stood. They started out the door.

“Maris!” Val called sharply.

She turned at the sound of his voice, in time to see his left hand reach awkwardly behind his head, under the pillow, and come whipping out with frightening speed. The long blade sliced through the air and struck the doorframe not a foot from Maris’ head. But the knife was ornamental obsidian, bright and black and sharp, but not resilient, and it shattered when it struck.