Windhaven - Страница 55

“The Landsmen won’t like it,” Tya said, “but perhaps it is time for them to learn they can’t control us. I have friends among the one-wings who agree with me. The Landsmen have too much power, particularly here in Eastern. And by what right? By birth? Birth used to determine who wore wings, but your Council changed that. Why should it determine who rules?

“You don’t realize the things a Landsman can do, Maris. It’s different in Western. And you were above it all, like all the old flyers. But it is different for a one-wing.

“We grow up like all the other land-bound, nothing special about us. And after we win our wings, the Landsmen still see us as subjects. The wings we bear command their respect for us as their equals, but it’s a fragile thing, that respect. At any competition we might lose the wings and again be weak, lowly citizens.

“In Eastern, in the Embers, in most of Southern and even a few islands in Western—wherever the Landsmen inherit their power—they look with respect upon the flyers who were born to wings. They may disguise it, but they feel a sort of contempt for those of us who had to work and struggle to win a pair of wings. They treat us only superficially as their equals. All the time they are trying to control us, trying to buy and sell us, commanding us, feeding us messages to fly as if we were no more than a flock of trained birds. Well, what I’ve done will shake them, make them look again. We’re not their servants, and we won’t submit anymore to flying messages we despise, carrying death-warrants and ultimatums to ignite wars that might destroy our families, friends, and other innocents!”

“You can’t pick and choose like that,” Maris interrupted. “You can’t—the messenger isn’t responsible for the content of the message.”

“That’s what the flyers told themselves for centuries,” Tya said. Her eyes glittered with anger. “But of course the messenger is responsible! I have brains, a heart, a conscience—I won’t pretend I don’t.”

Abruptly, like a sluice of cold water, the thought “This has nothing to do with me” doused Maris’ passion. She was left feeling angry and bitter. What was she doing arguing flyer business? She was no flyer. She looked at Evan. “If you are through here, we had better leave,” she said dully.

He rested a hand on her shoulder and nodded to her, then looked to Tya. “It’s only a minor fracture,” he said. “There should be no problem with its healing. Just rest—don’t do anything violent that might dislodge the brace.”

Tya grinned crookedly, showing her discolored teeth. “Like trying to escape? I have no activities planned. But you’d better tell the Landsman, so his guards don’t forget themselves and massage me with their clubs.”

Evan knocked on the door for the guards, and almost immediately came the noise of the heavy bolts being drawn back.

“Goodbye, Maris,” Tya called.

Maris hesitated, about to walk through the door. Then she turned back. “I don’t think the Landsman will dare to try you himself,” she said earnestly. “He will have to let your peers judge you. But I don’t think they will be kind, Tya. What you have done is too dangerous. It affects too many people—it affects everyone.”

Tya stared at her. “So was what you did, Maris. But the world is ready for another change, I think. I know what I did was right, even if I failed.”

“Maybe the world is ready for another change,” Maris said steadily. “But is this the way we should change it? You’ve only replaced threats with lies. Do you really think flyers as a whole are wiser and more noble than Landsmen? That they should bear the whole responsibility for choosing what messages to fly, and which to alter, and which to refuse?”

Tya looked back at her, unmoved. “I’d do it again,” she said.

The trip through the tunnels seemed shorter on their return. The Landsman was again waiting for them in the drafty outer hall, and he looked at them both sharply, as if seeking signs of anger or fear. “A most unfortunate accident,” he said.

Evan said, “She suffered only a fractured collarbone and a few bruises. She should recover quickly if she is given good food and allowed to rest.”

“She will have the best of care during her detention here,” said the Landsman. He looked at Maris, although he directed his words to Evan. “I’ve sent Jem to spread word of her arrest. A thankless task—the flyers have no leaders, no rational organization—that would make things too easy. Instead word must be spread among as many of them as possible, and that takes time. But it will be done. Jem has flown for me for many years, and his mother flew for my father. He at least I can count on.”

“Then you intend to hand Tya over to the flyers for trial?” said Maris.

The Landsman’s mouth twitched spasmodically. He looked at Evan, making an elaborate charade of ignoring Maris. “It occurred to me that the flyers might wish to send someone to represent their viewpoint. To formally condemn Tya’s actions, to plead for mercy, to present any mitigating factors. But the crime was committed against me—against Thayos—and only the Landsman of Thayos can hold trial and mete out punishment in such a case. You agree?”

“I know nothing of the law, nor of what Landsmen must do,” Evan said quietly. “The ways of healing are what I know.”

Maris felt the warning pressure of Evan’s hand on her arm, and said nothing. It was a hard silence. For years, she had always said what she thought.

The Landsman smiled at Evan. It was a gloating, unpleasant expression. “Perhaps you would like to learn? You and your assistant are welcome to stay and sup with me, and afterward I can promise you a most edifying entertainment. A traitor, Reni the healer, is to be hanged at sunset.”

“For what crime?”

“Treason, as I said. This Reni had family on Thrane. And he was often seen in the company of the traitorous flyer—was known, in fact, to cohabit with her. He was her accomplice. Won’t you stay and observe the fate of those who betray me?”

Maris felt sick.

“I think not,” said Evan. “Now, if you will excuse us, we must be on our way.”

Evan and Maris did not speak again until the lands-guard had left them at the mouth of the valley and they were on the road toward home, presumably safely away from unfriendly ears.

“Poor Reni,” Evan said then.

“Poor Tya,” said Maris. “He means to hang her, too. Oh, what she did was wrong, no doubt, but what a fate! I don’t know what the flyers will do, but they can’t tolerate this. A flyer can’t be tried and executed by a Landsman!”

“It may not happen,” Evan said. “Poor Reni will die, no doubt, but that may be enough to appease the Landsman. He’s a man who must have blood, but he is not totally mad. He surely realizes that he will have to give Tya over to the flyers, eventually; that her punishment must come from them.”

“Whatever happens to Tya is none of my business anyway,” Maris said with a sigh. “It’s a hard habit to break, after more than forty years of thinking of myself as a flyer. But I’m a land-bound now, like any other, and what happens to Tya shouldn’t mean anything to me.”

Evan put his arm around her and hugged her close as they walked. “Maris, no one expects you to forget your life as a flyer, or to stop feeling those ties.”

“I know,” said Maris. “No one except me. But it’s no good, Evan. I have to. I don’t know how else to go on. When I was younger I thought the story of Woodwings was romantic. I thought that dreams were the most important things of all, and that if you wanted something strongly and surely enough, you would eventually have it, even if it meant dying to attain it. It never occurred to me to wonder what might have happened to Woodwings if he had been rescued from the ocean, if his legendary fall had not killed him. If he’d been picked up floating on those ridiculous wooden wings of his, and given back to his land-bound friends. How he would have lived with the failure, with his dreams shattered. What compromises he would have made.” She sighed and rested her head on Evan’s shoulder. “I’ve had a long life as a flyer—longer than many. I should be content. I wish I could be. In some ways I’m still a child, Evan. I never learned how to deal with disappointment—I thought there was always a way to get what I wanted, without giving up or compromising. It’s hard, Evan.”

“Growth can be painful,” Evan said. “And healing takes time. Give it time, Maris.”

Coll and Bari were gone. They planned to tour Thayos one last time before taking ship to other Eastern islands. They would come back before very long, Coll assured Maris and Evan, but Maris suspected that one thing would lead to another, and that it would be a matter of years, rather than months, before she saw either Coll or his daughter again.

In fact, it was only a matter of days.

Coll was raging. “Permission of the Landsman is required to leave this godforsaken rock,” he said in response to Maris’ surprised greeting. He was almost shouting. “A time of crisis, when singers might be spies!”

Bari peeked shyly around her father’s bulk, then rushed forward to hug first Maris and then Evan.

“I’m glad we came back,” she murmured.

“Has war with Thrane been declared, then?” asked Evan. Despite the quick flash of a smile for Bari, his face was grim.

Coll threw himself into the large chair near the fireplace. “I don’t know if it is called war yet or not,” he said. “But the story abroad in the streets was that the Landsman had just sent three warships crammed with landsguard to wrest control of that iron mine.” He fiddled with his guitar as he spoke, his restless fingers striking soft discords. “And while we wait for the outcome of this little venture, no one is to land on or leave Thayos without the Landsman’s express, personal permission. The traders are furious, but afraid to protest.” Coll scowled. “Wait until I’m decently away from here! I’ll make a lyric that will blister the Landsman’s ears when it gets back to him. And it will, it will.”