Windhaven

"No," Maris said. "I'm not happy about Val. He's hard to like, and he hates flyers, and there's always the specter of Ari peering over his shoulder. But I have to help him, Dorr. Because of what we did seven years ago. The wings must go to those who can use them best, even if they are… well, like Val.

Vindictive, and angry, and cold."

Dorrel shook his head. "I can't accept that," he said.

"I wish I knew him better," Maris said, "so I could understand what made him the way he is. I think he hated the flyers even before they named him One-Wing." She reached over and took Dorrel by the hand.

"He's always accusing, making venomous little jests, when he isn't shielding himself in ice. According to Val, I'm a One-Wing too, even if I pretend that I'm not."

Dorrel looked at her and squeezed her hand tight within his own. "No," he said. "You are a flyer, Maris.

Have no fear of that."

"Am I?' she said. "I'm not sure what it means to be a flyer. It's more than having wings, or flying well. Val had wings, and he flies well enough, but you yourself said he was only half a flyer. If it means… well, accepting everything the way it is, and looking down on the land-bound, and not offering help to the Woodwingers for fear they'll hurt a fellow flyer, a real flyer… if it means things like that, then I don't think I am a flyer. And sometimes I wonder if I'm not beginning to share Val's opinions of those who are."

Dorrel let go her hand but his eyes were still on her. Even in the dark she could feel the anguished intensity of his gaze. "Maris," he said softly. " I'm a flyer, born to my wings. Val One-Wing surely despises me for it. Do you?"

"Dorr," she said, hurt. "You know I don't. I've always loved and trusted you — you're my best friend, truly. But…"

"But," he echoed.

She could not look at him. "I wasn't proud of you when you refused to come to Woodwings," she said.

The distant sounds of the party and the melancholy wash of the waves against the beach seemed to fill the world. Finally Dorrel spoke.

"My mother was a flyer, and her mother before her, and on back for generations the pair of wings that I bear has been in my family. That means a great deal to me. My child, should I ever father one, will fly, too, someday.

"You weren't born to that tradition, and you've been the dearest person in the world to me. And you've always proved that you deserved wings at least as much as any flyer's child. It would have been a horrible injustice if you'd been denied them. I'm proud that I could help you.

"I'm proud that I fought with you in Council to open the sky, but now you seem to be telling me that we fought for different things. As I understood it, we were fighting for the right of anyone who dreamed hard enough and worked long enough to become a flyer. We weren't out to destroy the great tradition of the flyers, to throw the wings out and let land-bound and would-be flyers alike fight over them like scavenging gulls over a pile offish.

"What we were trying to do, or so I thought, was to open the sky, to open the Eyrie, to open the ranks of the flyers to anyone who could prove worthy of bearing wings.

"Was I wrong? Were we actually fighting instead to give up everything that makes us special and different?"

"I don't know anymore," she said. "Seven years ago, I could think of nothing more wonderful than being a flyer. Neither could you. We never dreamed that there were people who might want to wear our wings, but reject everything else that makes up a flyer. We never dreamed of them, but they existed. And we opened the sky for them, too, Dorr. We changed more than we knew. And we can't turn our backs on them. The world has changed, and we have to accept it, and deal with it. We may not like all the results of what we've done, but we can't deny them. Val is one of those results."

Dorrel stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes. "I can't accept that result," he said, his voice more sorrowful than angry. "I've done a lot of things for the love of you, Maris, but I can see the limits.

It's true that the world has changed — because of what we've done — but we don't have to accept the evil with the good. We don't have to embrace those, like Val One-Wing, who sneer at our traditions and seek to tear us apart. He'll destroy us in the end, Maris — with his selfishness and his hatred. And because you don't understand that, you'll help him. I won't. Do you understand that?"

She nodded without looking up at him.

A minute passed in silence. "Will you come with me, back to the lodge?"

"No," she said. "No, not just now."

"Good night, Maris." Dorrel turned and walked away from her, his boots crunching on the sand until the lodge door opened for him with a burst of party noise, then closed again.

It was quiet and peaceful on the beach. The lanterns, burning atop their poles, moved weakly in the breeze, and she heard their faint clattering and the never-ending sound of the sea rolling in and out, in and out.

Maris had never felt so alone.