Windhaven

by George R. R. Martin

  "A hero?" Evan was disgusted.

  "It can't all change because of one well-meaning lie," Maris said stubbornly.

  "No," said Coll. "It's been changing all along. And it's all your fault."

  "Me? I've nothing to do with this."

  "No?" Coll grinned at her. "Think again. Barrion used to tell me a story, big sister. About how he and you floated in a boat together, waiting to steal back your wings from Corm, so that you could call your Council. Do you remember?"

  "Of course I remember!"

  "Well, he said you floated there quite a while, waiting for Corm to leave his house, and all that waiting gave Barrion a chance to think over what you and he were doing. At one point, he said, he sat cleaning his nails with his dagger, and it occurred to him that maybe the best thing he could do was to use that dagger on you. It would have saved Windhaven a lot of chaos, he said. Because if you won, there were going to be more changes than you imagined, and several generations worth of pain. Barrion thought the world of you, Maris, but he also thought you were naive. You can't change one note in the middle of a song, he told me. Once you make the first change, others have to follow, until you've redone the whole song. Everything relates, you see."

  "So why did he help me?"

  "Barrion was always a troublemaker," Coll said. "I guess he wanted to redo the whole song, make something better out of it." Her stepbrother grinned wickedly. "Besides," he added, "he never liked Corm."

  After a week without news, Coll decided to return to Port Thayos, to hear what he could. The docks and taverns where he plied his trade were always a rich source of news. "Maybe I'll even visit the Landsman's keep," he said jauntily. "I've been making up a song about our Landsman here, and I'd love to see his face when he hears it!"

  "Don't you dare, Coll," Maris said.

  He grinned. "I'm not mad yet, big sister. But if the Landsman likes good singing, a visit might be worthwhile. I might learn something. Just keep Bari safe for me."

  Two days later a wineseller brought Evan a patient: a huge, shaggy black dog, one of two such monstrous hounds that pulled his wooden cart from village to village. A hooded torturer had mauled the animal and now it lay among the wineskins, crusted with blood and filth.

  Evan could do nothing to save the beast, but for his efforts he was offered a skin of sour red wine. "They tried that traitor flyer," the wineseller reported as they drank together by the fire. "She's to hang."

  "When?" Maris asked.

  "Who's to say? Flyers are everywhere, and the Landsman's afraid of them, I think. She's locked up now in his keep. Think he's waiting to see what those flyers do. If it was me, I'd kill her and have done with it.

  But I wasn't born Landsman."

  Maris stood in the doorway when he departed, watching the man and the surviving dog straining together in the traces. Evan came up behind her and put his arms around her. "How do you feel?"

  "Confused," Maris said, without turning. "And afraid. Your Landsman has challenged the flyers directly.

  Do you realize how serious that is, Evan? They have to do something — they can't let this pass." She touched his hand. "I wonder what they're saying on the Eyrie tonight? I know I can't let myself be drawn into flyer affairs, but it's hard…"

  "They are your friends," Evan said. "Your concern is natural."

  "My concern will bring me more pain," Maris said. "Still…" She shook her head and turned to face him, still within the circle of his arms. "It makes me realize how small my own problems are," she said. "I wouldn't want to trade places with Tya tonight, though she's still a flyer and I'm not."

  "Good," Evan said. He kissed her lightly. "For it's you I want here by my side, not Tya."

  Maris smiled at him, and together they went inside.

  They came in the middle of the night, four strangers dressed as fisherfolk, in heavy boots and sweaters and dark caps trimmed with seacat fur, and they brought the strong, salt smell of the sea with them. Three of them wore long bone knives, and had eyes the color of ice on a winter lake. The fourth one spoke.

  "You don't remember me," he said, "but we've met before, Maris. I'm Arrilan, of the Broken Ring."

  Maris studied him, remembering a pretty youth she had met once or twice. Beneath three days' growth of blond beard, his face was unrecognizable, but his piercing blue eyes seemed familiar. "I believe you are,"

  she said. "You're a long way from home, flyer. Where are your wings? And your manners?"

  Arrilan smiled a humorless smile. "My manners? Forgive my rudeness, but I come in haste, and at considerable risk. We made the crossing from Thrynel to see you, and the seas were choppy and dangerous for a boat as small as ours. When this old man tried to send us away, I ran out of patience."

  "If you call Evan an old man again, I'm going to run out of patience," Maris said coldly. "Why are you here? Why didn't you fly in?"

  "My wings are safe on Thrynel. It was thought best to send someone to you in secret, someone whose face is not known on Thayos. Being from the Embers, and new among the flyers, I was chosen. My parents were fisher-folk, and I was raised to the life." He removed his cap, shook out his fine blond hair.

  "May we sit?" he asked. "We have important business to discuss."

  "Evan?" Maris asked.

  "Sit," Evan said. "I will make tea."

  "Ah." Arrilan smiled. "That would be most welcome. The seas are cold. I'm sorry if I spoke too harshly.

  These are hard times."

  "Yes," Evan agreed. He went outside to draw water for the kettle.

  "Why are you here?" Maris asked when Arrilan and his three silent companions were seated. "What's all this about?"

  "I was sent to bring you out of here. You can hardly take ship from Port Thayos, you know. You'd not be permitted to leave. We have a small fishing boat hidden not far from here. It will be safe. If the landsguard seize us, we are simple fisherfolk from Thrynel blown northeast by a storm."

  "My escape seems well-planned," Maris said. "A pity no one thought to consult me about it." She gazed at the disguised flyer, frowning. "Whose idea was this? Who sent you?"

  "Val One-Wing."

  Maris smiled. "Of course. Who else? But why does Val want me taken from Thayos?"

  "For your own safety," Arrilan said. "As an ex-flyer living here, helpless, your life might be in danger."

  "I'm no threat to the Landsman," Maris said. "He'd have no cause to—"

  The young flyer shook his head vehemently. "Not the Landsman. The people. Don't you know what's going on?"

  "It seems I don't," Maris said. "Perhaps you should tell me."

  "News of Tya's arrest has spread all over Windhaven, even to Artellia and the Embers. Many of the land-bound have begun muttering their distrust of flyers. Even the Landsmen." He flushed. "The Landsman of the Broken Ring summoned me as soon as she heard, and demanded to know if I had ever lied or twisted a message. I was forced to swear my loyalty to her. Even as she questioned me, it was obvious she doubted my word. And she threatened me! She threatened me with imprisonment, as if she could, as if she had the right—" He broke off, and seemed physically to swallow his anger.

  "I am a one-wing, of course," he resumed. "All of us are suspect now, but it is worst for the one-wings.

  S'wena of Deeth was set upon by thugs and beaten after speaking in Tya's defense in a tavern argument.

  Others have been called names, shunned, even spat upon in Eastern towns. Jem, who is as traditional as can be, was hit with a rock yesterday on Thrane. And Katinn's house on Lomarron was fired while he was away."

  "I had no idea it was so bad," said Maris.

  "Yes," said Arrilan. "And growing worse. The fever burns hottest of all here on Thayos. Val thinks the mob will come for you soon, so we were sent to bring you to safety."

  Evan had returned and was preparing the tea. "Maybe you should go," he said to Maris, concern in his voice. "I hate to think of you in danger. In time, this will blow over, and you can return, or I could come to
you."

  Maris shook her head. "I don't think I'm in any danger. Perhaps, if I paraded up and down the streets of Port Thayos, crying out my concern for Tya… but here in the woods I'm a harmless old ex-flyer, who has done nothing to rouse anyone's anger."

  "Mobs aren't reasonable," Arrilan said. "You don't understand — you must come with us, for your safety."

  "How kind of Val, to be so concerned with my safety," Maris said, staring at Arrilan. "And how unusual.

  At a time like this, Val must have a lot on his mind. I really can't imagine him taking the time and effort to devise an elaborate scheme to rescue poor old Maris, who hardly needs rescuing. If Val truly sent you to rescue me, it must be because he's thought of some way I can be of use to him."

  Arrilan was plainly startled. "He — you're mistaken. He's very much concerned for your safety. He—"

  "And what else is he concerned with? You might as well tell me what you really want with me."

  Arrilan smiled ruefully. "Val said you'd see through the story," he said. He sounded admiring. "I would have told you anyway, once we had you safely away from here. Val has called a flyers' Council."

  Maris nodded. "Where?"

  "On South Arren. It's close, but removed from the immediate hostilities, and Val has friends there. It will take a month or more for the flyers to assemble, but we have time. The Landsman is afraid, and he'll be too cautious to move until he sees what comes of the Council."

  "What does Val intend?"

  "What else? He will ask for a sanction against Thayos, to be in effect until Tya is freed. No flyer will land here, or on any other island that trades with Thayos. This rock will be isolated from the world. The Landsman will give in or be destroyed."

  "If Val has his way. The one-wings are still a minority, and Tya is no innocent victim," Maris pointed out.

  "Tya is a flyer," Arrilan said, gratefully taking the mug of tea Evan handed him. "Val is counting on flyer loyalty. One-wing or no, she is a flyer, and we can't abandon her."

  "I wonder," said Maris.

  "Oh, there will be a fight, of course. We suspect Corm and some others may try to use this incident to discredit all one-wings and close the academies." He smiled over the rim of his mug. "You haven't helped, you know. Val said you picked the worst possible time to fall."

  "I wasn't given any choice," Maris said. "But you still haven't said why you came for me."

  "Val wants you to preside."

  "What?"

  "It's traditional to have a retired flyer conduct the Council, you know that. Val thinks that you would be the best choice. You're widely known and widely respected, among one-wings and flyer-born both, and we'd have no trouble getting you accepted. Any other one-wing will be rejected. And we need someone we can count on, not some crusty old relic who wants everything like it used to be. Val thinks it can make a big difference."

  "It can," said Maris, remembering the pivotal role that Jamis the Senior had played in the Council that Corm had called. "But Val will have to find someone else. I'm through with flying and with flyers'

  Councils. I want to be left in peace."

  "There can be no peace until we have won."

  "I'm not a stone on Val's geechi board, and the sooner he learns that the better! Val knows what it would cost me to do as he asks. How dare he ask? He sent you to trick me, to lie to me with talk of safety, because he knew I would refuse. I can't bear to see one flyer — do you think I want to be with a thousand of them, watching them play in the sky and listening to them trade stories and finally stand alone, an old cripple, and watch them fly away and leave me? Do you think I'd like that?" Maris realized she had been shouting at him. Her pain was a knot in her stomach.

  Arrilan's voice was sullen. "I scarcely know you — how could you expect me to know how you felt? I'm sorry. I'm sure Val is sorry, too. But it can't be helped. This is more important than your feelings.

  Everything depends on this Council, and Val wants you there."

  "Tell Val that I am sorry," Maris said quietly. "Tell him I wish him luck, but I will not go. I'm old and tired and I want to be left alone."

  Arrilan stood up. His eyes were very cold. "I told Val I would not fail him," he said. "There are four of us against you." He made a small gesture, and the woman on his right slid her knife from its sheath. She grinned, and Maris saw that her teeth were made of wood. The man behind her rose, and he, too, held a knife in his hand.

  " Get out," said Evan. He was standing near the door to his workroom, and in his hands was the bow he used for hunting, an arrow notched and ready.

  "You could take only one of us with that," said the woman with the wooden teeth. "If you were lucky.

  And you wouldn't have time to reach for another arrow, old man."

  "True," said Evan. "But the point of this arrow is smeared with blue tick venom, so one of you will die."

  "Put your knives away," Arrilan said. "Please, put that down. No one need die." He looked at Maris.

  Maris said, "Did you really think you could force me into presiding over the Council?" She made a disgusted sound. "You might tell Val that if his strategy is as good as yours, the one-wings are finished."

  Arrilan glanced at his companions. "Leave us," he said. "Wait outside." Reluctantly the three shambled to the door. "No more threats," Arrilan said. "I'm sorry, Maris. Maybe you can understand how desperate I feel. We need you."

  "You need the flyer I was, perhaps, but she died in a fall. Leave me alone. I'm just an old woman, a healer's apprentice, and that's all I aspire to be. Don't hurt me any more by dragging me into the world."

  Contempt was plain on Arrilan's face. "To think that they still sing of a coward like you," he said.

  When he had gone, Maris turned to Evan. She was trembling, and her head felt light and dizzy.

  The healer lowered the great bow he held and set it aside. He was frowning. "Dead?" he asked bitterly.

  "All this time, have you been dead? I thought you were learning how to live again, but all this time you've seen my bed as your grave."

  "Oh, Evan, no," she said, dismayed, wanting comfort and not still more reproach.

  "It was your own word," he said. "Do you still believe that your life ended with your fall?" His face twisted with pain and anger. "I won't love a corpse."

  "Oh, Evan." She sat down abruptly, feeling that her legs could no longer hold her up. "I didn't mean — I meant only that I am dead to the flyers, or they are dead to me. That part of my life is finished."

  "I don't think it's that easy," Evan said. "If you try to kill a part of yourself, you risk killing everything. It's like what your brother said — rather, what Barrion said— about trying to change just one note in a song."

  "I value our life together, Evan," Maris said. "Please believe me. It's just that Arrilan — this damn Council of Val's — brought it all back to mind. I was reminded of everything I've lost. It made the pain come back."

  "It made you feel sorry for yourself," Evan said.

  Maris felt a flash of annoyance. Couldn't he understand? Could a land-bound ever understand what she had lost? "Yes," she said, her voice cold. "It made me feel sorry for myself. Don't I have that right?"

  "The time for self-pity is long past. You have to come to terms with what you are, Maris."

  "I will. I am. I was learning to forget. But to be drawn into this thing, this flyers' dispute, would ruin everything; it would drive me mad. Can't you see that?"

  "I see a woman denying everything she has been," Evan said. He might have said more, but a sound made them both look around, and they saw Bari standing in the doorway, looking a little frightened.

  Evan's face softened, and he went to her and lifted her in a great bear hug. "We had some visitors," he said. He kissed her.

  "Since we're all up, shall I make breakfast?" Maris asked.

  Bari grinned and nodded. Evan's face was unreadable. Maris turned away and set to work, determined to forget.

  In the weeks that foll
owed, they seldom spoke of Tya or the flyers' Council, but news came to them regularly, without being sought. A crier in the Thossi village square; gossip from shopkeepers; travelers who sought out Evan for healing or advice — they all spoke of war and flyers and the belligerent Landsman.

  On South Arren, Maris knew, the flyers of Windhaven were gathering. The land-bound of that small island would never forget these days, any more than the people of Greater and Lesser Amberly had ever forgotten the last Council. By now the streets of Southport and Arrenton— small, dusty towns she remembered well — would have a festive air to them. Winesellers and bakers and sausage-makers and merchants would converge from a half-dozen nearby islands, crossing treacherous seas in unsteady boats in hopes of making a few irons from the flyers. The inns and taverns would be full, and flyers would be everywhere, throngs of them, swelling the little towns to bursting. Maris could see them in her mind's eye: flyers from Big Shotan in their dark red uniforms, cool pale Artellians with silver crowns about their brows, priests of the Sky God from Southern, Outer Islanders and Emberites whom no one had seen in years. Old friends would hug each other and talk away the nights; old lovers would trade uncertain smiles and find other ways to pass the dark hours. Singers and storytellers would tell the old tales and compose new ones to suit the occasion. The air would be full of gossip and boasting and song, fragrant with the scents of spiced kivas and roasted meat.

  All of her friends would be there, Maris thought. In her dreams she saw them: young flyers and old ones, one-wings and flyer-born, the proud and the timid, the troublemakers and the compliant; all of them would assemble, and the sheen of their wings and the sound of their laughter would fill South Arren.

  And they would fly.

  Maris tried not to think of that, but the thought came unbidden, and in her dreams she flew with them.

  She could feel the wind as she slept, touching her with knowing, gentle fingers, carrying her to ecstasy.

  Around her she could see their wings, hundreds of them bright against the deep blue sky, turning and banking in graceful, languid circles. Her own wing caught the light of the sun and flashed briefly, brilliantly: a soundless cry of joy. She saw the wings at sunset, blood-red against an orange-and-purple sky, fading slowly to indigo, then turning silver-white again, when the last light vanished and there were only stars to fly by.