Windhaven by George R. R. Martin
“You may know more than I. What of this arrest? I hardly believed it. How much do you know?”
Maris hesitated. “We were warned not to speak of it.”
Coll made an impatient thrumming noise with his guitar. “I'm your brother, damn it. Singer or no, I can keep silent. Out with it!”
So Maris told him about their summons to the keep, and what they had learned there. “That would explain a lot,” he said when she had finished. “Oh, I'd heard of it anyway—people talk, even landsguard, and the Landsman's secrets aren't as well kept as he imagines. But I never dreamed it was true. No wonder so many flyers have been about. Let the Landsman try to keep flyers in or out!” He grinned.
“The other rumors,” Maris prompted.
“Yes,” Coll said. “Well, did you know that Val One-Wing has been on Thayos?”
“Val? Here?”
“He has left again now. They told me he arrived only a few days ago, looking very worn, as from a long flight. He wasn't alone, either. Five or six others were with him. Flyers, all of them.”
“Did you hear any names?”
“Only Val's. He's notorious. But some of the others were described to me. A stocky Southern woman with white hair. A huge man with a black beard and a scylla-tooth necklace. Several Westerners, including two enough alike to be brothers.”
“Damen and Athen,” Maris said. “I'm not sure of the others.”
Evan returned with cups of steaming tea and a platter of thick sliced bread. “I am,” he said. “Of one, at least. The man with the necklace is Katinn of Lomarron. He comes to Thayos frequently.”
“Of course,” Maris said. “Katinn. A leader among Eastern one-wings.”
“Was there more?” Evan asked.
Coll set aside his guitar and blew on his tea to cool it. “I was told that Val came representing the flyers, to try to talk the Landsman into releasing this woman he's imprisoned, this Tya.”
“A bluff,” Maris said. “Val doesn't represent the flyers. All those you named are one-wings. The old families, the traditionalists, still hate Val. They'd never let him speak for them.”
“Yes, I heard that too,” Coll said. “Anyway, it was claimed that Val offered to summon a flyer's court to judge Tya. He was willing enough to let the Landsman keep Tya imprisoned until—”
Maris nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. But what did the Landsman say?”
Coll shrugged. “Some say he was very cool, some say he and Val One-Wing quarreled loudly. In any case, he insisted that the flyer would be tried in the Landsman's own court, and that he would do the judging and sentencing himself. The word on the streets is that the verdict has already been reached.”
“So poor Reni wasn't enough for him,” Evan murmured. “The Landsman must have another death to avenge his pride.”
“What did Val say to that?” Maris asked.
Coll sipped his tea. “I gather Val left after his meeting with the Landsman. Some say the one-wings are going to raid the keep and rescue Tya. There's talk of a flyer's Council too, summoned by Val. To invoke a sanction against Thayos, and shun it.”
“No wonder the people are frightened,” Evan said.
“Flyers should be frightened, too,” Coll said. “Feeling among the locals is running against them. In a tavern near the northside cliffs I overheard a conversation about how the flyers have always secretly ruled Windhaven, deciding the fate of islands and of individuals by the messages they bear and the lies they tell.”
“That's absurd!” Maris said, shocked. “How can they believe that?”
“The point is that they do,” Coll replied. “I am a flyer's son. Never a flyer, although I was raised to be. I understand the traditions of the flyers, the bonds that link them, the feeling they have of being a society apart from all others. But I also know the people the flyers call ‘land-bound,' as if they were all the same, joined together in one large family like the flyers are.”
He set down his mug of tea and again picked up his guitar, as if holding it gave him some special eloquence.
“You know how scornful the flyers can be of land-bound, Maris,” he said. “I don't think you realize how resentful the land-bound can be of the flyers.”
“I have land-bound friends,” Maris said. “And the one-wings all began as land-bound.”
Coll sighed. “Yes, there are those who worship the flyers. Lodge men who devote their lives to caring for them, children who want to touch a flyer's wings, hangers-on who get a special thrill and a special status from coaxing a flyer into bed. But there are others as well. The land-bound who resent flyers seldom seek them out as friends, Maris.”
“I know there are problems. I haven't forgotten the hostility we faced when Val got his wings, the threats, the beating, the coolness. But surely things are changing, now that the society of flyers is no longer limited by birth.”
Coll shook his head. “It's grown worse,” he said. “In the old days, when it was a matter of birth, a lot of people felt flyers were special. In many of the Southern islands the flyers are priests, a special caste blessed by their Sky God. In Artellia they are princes. Just as the Landsmen of Eastern inherited their offices from their parents, so did the flyers inherit their wings.
“But no one now could make the mistake of thinking flyers divinely chosen. Suddenly there are new questions. How did this grubby farm-child I grew up with suddenly become so high and mighty? What sets this former neighbor apart, and gives him the freedom, power, and wealth of a flyer? These one-wings aren't as aloof as the traditional flyers—they lord over their old companions sometimes, or meddle in local affairs. They don't withdraw entirely from island politics—they still have local interests. It makes for bad feelings.”
“Twenty years ago no Landsman would have dared seize a flyer,” said Evan thoughtfully. “But twenty years ago, would any flyer have dared to misrepresent a message?”
“Of course not,” said Maris.
“I wonder, though, how many will believe that?” Coll added. “Now that it's happened, it's clear that it might have happened before. Those farmers I overheard were convinced that the flyers have been manipulating messages all along. From what I heard, the Landsman of Thayos is becoming rather a hero for being the one to flush out the truth.”
“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'
“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 fisherfolk, 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
“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.