Windhaven

Two by two they flew off into the morning sun, struggling against the heavy air — the calm had broken, but the winds were still sluggish and erratic — with wings grown suddenly awkward. The flyers wore their own wings, the challengers pairs lent them by judges or friends or bystanders. The course would take them to a rocky little island named Lisle, where they would have to land and collect a marker from the waiting Landsman before proceeding back. It was a flight of some three hours under normal conditions; in this weather, Maris suspected, it would take longer.

The Woodwingers and their opponents launched in the order in which they had challenged. Sher and Leya got away well enough. Damen had more trouble; Arak abused him verbally while they were circling, waiting for the shout to start, and flew dangerously close to him as they veered out over the ocean. Even from a distance, Maris thought Damen looked shaken.

Kerr did even worse. He botched his leap badly, almost seeming to stumble from the cliff, and a cry went up from below as he plunged down sharply toward the beach. Finally he regained some control and pulled himself up, but by the time he sailed out over the sea his opponent had opened up a substantial lead.

Corm was cheerful and smiling as he prepared for his match against Val, joking and flirting with the two land-bound girls who helped him open his wings, calling out comments to the spectators, waving to Shalli.

He even threw a grim smile in Maris' direction. But he did not speak to Val, except once, before he launched. "This is for Ari," he shouted, his tone deadly, and then he was running and the wind took him.

Val said nothing. He unfolded his own wings in silence, leaped from the cliff in silence, swept up and around near Corm in silence. The crier gave the shout, and the two of them broke in opposite directions, both coming around cleanly, the shadow of their wings passing across the upturned faces of the children on the beach. When they moved out of sight, Corm was ahead, but only by a wingspan.

Lastly came S'Rella and Garth. Maris stood with Sena near the judges. She could look down on the flyers' cliff and see them both, and watching them she felt heart-sick. Garth was somber and pale, and from a distance he appeared far too stout and clumsy to have much of a chance against the slim young challenger. Both of them prepared quietly, Garth speaking only once or twice to his sister, S'Rella saying nothing at all. Neither got off to a good start, Garth having a bit more difficulty with the thick air because of his weight. S'Rella moved in front of him quickly, but he had closed the gap by the time they reached the horizon and vanished.

"I know you wanted to help your Woodwingers, but couldn't you have stopped short of the betrayal of a friend?"

Dorrel's voice, deceptively calm. Feeling heartsick, Maris turned to face him. She had not spoken to him since that night on the beach.

"I didn't want it to happen, Dorr," she said. "But it may be for the best. We both know he's sick."

"Sick, yes," he snapped. "But I wanted to protect him — this will kill him if he loses."

"It may kill him if he wins."

"I think he'd prefer that. But if that girl takes his wings from him — he liked her, did you know that? He mentioned her to me, how nice she was, that night after Val wrecked the party in the lodge."

Maris, too, had been sick and angry over S'Rella's choice of opponent, but Dorrel's cold fury turned her feelings another way.

"S'Rella hasn't done anything wrong," she said. "Her challenge was perfectly proper. And Val didn't wreck the party, as you say. How dare you say that! It was the flyers who insulted him and then walked out."

"I don't understand you," Dorrel said quietly. "I haven't wanted to believe how much you've changed. But it's true, it's as they say. You've turned against us. You prefer the company of the Woodwingers and the one-winged to that of true flyers. I don't know you anymore."

The unhappiness on his face hurt her as much as the harshness of his words. Maris forced herself to speak. "No," she said. "You don't know me anymore."

Dorrel waited a moment, waited for her to say something more, but Maris knew that if she opened her mouth again it could only be for a scream or a sob. She could see anger warring with sadness on Dorrel's face, and anger finally won. He turned without another word and stalked away.

She felt, as she watched him walk away from her, that she was bleeding to death, and she knew it was a self-inflicted wound.

"My choice," she whispered, and the tears ran down her face as she stared blindly out to sea.

They had flown away two by two; they returned, hours later, one by one.

Crowds of the land-bound waited on the beaches, their eager eyes scanning the horizon. They had engaged in their own games and contests as well as in eating and drinking as they waited for the results of the flyers' contest.