Windhaven - Страница 46

Maris smiled. “Ah, yes,” she said. She sipped at her tea as S’Rella continued, the talk ranging all over Windhaven. They gossiped about other flyers, spoke of friends and family and places where they both had been, continuing a long-running, far-ranging conversation. Maris felt comfortable, happy and relaxed. Her captivity would not last much longer—she would be walking again in a matter of days, and then she could begin to exercise and work out, to get back in flying trim—and S’Rella, her closest friend, was now beside her to remind her of her real life that waited beyond these thick walls, and to help her back into it.

A few hours later Evan joined them with plates of cheese and fruit, freshly baked herb bread and eggs scrambled with wild onions and peppers. They all sat on the big bed and ate hungrily. Conversation, or new hope, had given Maris a ravenous appetite.

The conversation turned to politics. “Will there really be war here?” S’Rella asked. “What’s the cause?”

“A rock,” Evan grumbled. “A rock barely a half-mile across and two miles long. It doesn’t even have a name. It sits square in the Tharin Strait between Thayos and Thrane, and everyone thought it was worthless. Only now they’ve found iron on it. It was a party from Thrane that found the ore and began working it, and they aren’t about to give up their claim, but the rock is marginally closer to Thayos than it is to Thrane, so our Landsman is trying to grab it. He sent a dozen landsguard to seize the mine, but they were beaten off, and now Thrane is fortifying the rock.”

“Thayos doesn’t seem to have a strong claim,” S’Rella said. “Will your Landsman really go to war over it?”

Evan sighed. “I wish I thought otherwise. But the Landsman of Thayos is a belligerent man, and a greedy one. He beat Thrane once before, in a fishing dispute, and he’s certain he can do it again. He’d rather kill any number of people than compromise.”

“The message I was to fly to Thrane was full of threats,” Maris offered. “I’m surprised war hasn’t broken out already.”

“Both islands are gathering allies, arms, and promises,” Evan said. “I am told flyers come and go from the keep every day. No doubt the Landsman will press a threat or two on you, S’Rella, when you leave. Our own flyers, Tya and Jem, haven’t had a day’s rest for the past month. Jem has carried most of the messages back and forth across the Strait, and Tya has carried offers and promises to dozens of potential allies. Luckily, none of them seem interested. Time after time she has come back with refusals. I think it is only that keeping the war at bay.” He sighed again. “But it is only a matter of time,” he said, his voice weary. “And there will be much killing before it is all over. I’ll be called in to patch up those who can be patched up. It’s a mockery—a healer in wartime treats the symptoms without being allowed to talk about healing the actual cause, the war itself, unless he wants to be locked up as a traitor.”

“I suppose I should be relieved to be out of it,” Maris said. But her voice was reluctant. She didn’t feel as Evan did about war; flyers stayed above such conflicts, just as they skimmed above the treacherous sea. They were neutrals, never to be harmed. Objectively war was a thing to be regretted, but war had never touched Maris or any of those she had loved, and she could not feel the horror of it deeply. “When I was younger, I could learn a message without ever hearing it, really. I seem to have lost the talent. Some of the words I’ve carried have taken the joy out of flight.”

“I know,” S’Rella agreed. “I’ve seen the results of some messages I’ve flown, and sometimes I feel very guilty.”

“Don’t,” Maris said. “You are a flyer. You aren’t responsible.”

“Val disagrees, you know,” S’Rella said. “I argued it with him once. He thinks we are responsible.”

“That’s understandable,” Maris said.

S’Rella frowned at her, uncomprehending. “Why?”

“I’m surprised he never told you,” Maris said. “His father was hanged. A flyer carried the order for the execution from Lomarron to South Arren. Arak, in fact. You remember Arak?”

“Too well,” S’Rella said. “Val always suspected Arak was behind that beating he got. I remember how angry he was when he couldn’t find his assailants to prove anything.” She smiled wryly. “I also remember the party he threw on Seatooth when Arak died, black cake and all.”

Evan was looking at the two women thoughtfully. “Why do you carry messages if you feel guilty about them?” he asked S’Rella.

“Why, because I’m a flyer,” S’Rella said. “It’s my job. It’s what I do. The responsibility comes with the wings.”

“I suppose,” Evan said. He stood and began collecting the empty plates. “I don’t think I could take that attitude, frankly. But I’m a land-bound, not a flyer. I wasn’t born to wings.”

“Nor were we,” Maris started to say, but Evan left the room. She felt a flash of annoyance, but S’Rella began to talk again; Maris was drawn back into the conversation, and it wasn’t very long until she had forgotten what she was annoyed about.

At last it was time for the casts to be cut off. Her legs were to be freed, and Evan promised that it would not be much longer for her arm.

Maris cried out at the sight of her legs. They were so thin and pale, so odd-looking. Evan began to massage them gently, washing them with a warm, herb-scented solution, and gently, skillfully kneading the long-unused muscles. Maris sighed with pleasure and relaxed.

When at last Evan had done, and he rose and put away the bowl and cloth, Maris thought she would burst with impatience. “Can I walk?” she asked.

Evan looked at her, grinning. “Can you?”

Her heart lifted at the challenge, and she sat up and slipped her legs over the edge of the bed. S’Rella offered her support, but Maris shook her head slightly, motioning her friend away.

Then she stood. On her own two feet, without support. But there was something wrong. She felt dizzy and sick. She said nothing but her face gave her away.

Evan and S’Rella moved closer. “What’s wrong?” Evan asked.

“I, I must have stood up too fast.” She was sweating, and afraid to move, afraid she would fall or faint or throw up.

“Take it easy,” Evan said. “There’s no rush.” His voice was warm and soothing, and he took her good arm. S’Rella offered support on her left side. This time Maris did not shake them off or try to move alone.

“One step at a time,” said Evan.

Leaning on them, guided by them, Maris took her first few steps. She felt mildly nauseated still, and strangely disoriented. But she also felt triumphant. Her legs were working again!

“Can I walk by myself now?”

“I don’t know why not.”

Maris took her first unsupported step, and then her second. Her spirits lifted. It was easy! Her legs were as good as ever. Trying to ignore the uneasiness in her stomach, Maris took her third step, and the room tilted sideways.

Her arms flailed and she stumbled, seeking level ground in the suddenly shifting room, and then Evan caught hold of her.

“NO!” she cried. “I can do it—”

He helped her back on her feet and steadied her.

“Let me go, please.” Maris drew a shaky hand across her face and looked around. The room was calm and still, the floor as flat as it had ever been. Her legs held up firmly. She took a deep breath and began to walk again.

The floor suddenly slipped out from under her feet, and would have hit her in the face had not Evan caught her again.

“S’Rella—hand me the basin,” he said.

“I’m fine—I can walk—let me do it—” But then she couldn’t speak, because she had to throw up, and blessedly S’Rella was holding a basin before her face.

Afterward, shaky but feeling better, Maris walked back to the bed with Evan’s guidance.

“What’s wrong?” Maris asked him.

He shook his head, but he looked uneasy. “Maybe just too much exertion too soon,” he said. He turned away. “I have to go now and tend a colicky baby. I’ll be back in an hour or so—don’t try to get up until I return.”

She was elated when Evan removed the cast from her arm; overjoyed that the arm proved whole and strong, with no permanent damage. She knew she would have to work hard at building up the muscles before she could fly again, but the idea of long, hard hours of exercise excited rather than dismayed her after so much time spent doing nothing.

Too soon, S’Rella announced that she had to leave. A runner had come from the Landsman of Thayos. “He has an urgent message for North Arren,” she told Maris and Evan, making a disgusted face, “and his own flyers are off on other missions. But it is time I left anyway. I must get back to Veleth.”

They were gathered around the rough wooden table in Evan’s kitchen, drinking tea and eating bread and butter as a farewell breakfast. Maris reached across the table and took S’Rella by the hand. “I’ll miss you,” she said, “but I’m glad you came.”

“I’ll return as soon as I can,” S’Rella said, “though I expect they’ll keep me busy. Anyway, I’ll spread the word about your recovery. Your friends will be relieved to hear.”

“Maris hasn’t entirely recovered,” Evan said quietly.

“Oh, that’s only a matter of time,” Maris said cheerfully. “By the time everyone hears from S’Rella, I’ll probably be flying again.” She didn’t understand Evan’s gloom; she had expected his spirits to lighten with her own when her arm came out of the cast. “I may meet you in the sky before you get back here!”