Windhaven

  The Landsman met them in an outer hall, alone except for his omnipresent guards five steps behind him. His face darkened when he saw Maris, and he addressed Evan harshly.

  “I sent for you, healer, and not for this wingless flyer.”

  “Maris is my assistant now,” Evan said calmly. “As you yourself should know very well, she is not a flyer.”

  “Once a flyer, always a flyer,” growled the Landsman. “She has flyer friends, and we do not need her here. The security—”

  “She is a healer's apprentice,” Evan said, interrupting. “I vouch for her. The code that binds me will also bind her. We will not gossip of anything we learn here.”

  The Landsman still frowned. Maris was rigid with fury—how could he speak of her like that, ignoring her as if she were not even present?

  Finally the Landsman said, grudgingly, “I do not trust this ‘apprenticeship,' but I will take your word on her behalf, healer. But bear in mind, if she should carry tales of what she sees here today, both of you will hang.”

  “We made haste to get here,” Evan said coldly. “But I judge by your manner that there is no cause for hurry.”

  The Landsman turned aside without replying and sent for another brace of landsguard. Then, without a backward glance, he left them.

  The landsguard, both young and heavily armed, escorted Evan and Maris down steep stone steps into a tunnel carved out of the solid rock of the mountain, far below the living quarters of the fortress. Tapers burned smokily on the walls at wide intervals, providing a shifting, uncertain light. The air in the narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel smelled of mold and of acrid smoke. Maris felt a sudden wave of claustrophobia and clutched Evan's hand.

  At last they came to a branching corridor, set with heavy wooden doors. At one of these doors they stopped, and the guards removed the heavy bars that locked it. Inside was a small stone cell with a rough pallet on the floor and one high, round window. Leaning against the wall was a young woman with long, pale blond hair. Her lips were swollen, one eye blackened, and there were bloodstains on her clothes. It took Maris a few moments to recognize her.

  “Tya,” she said, wondering.

  The landsguard left them, bolting the door behind them, with the assurance they would be right outside if anything was needed.

  While Maris still stared, uncomprehending, Evan went to Tya's side. “What happened?” he asked.

  “The Landsman's bullies were none too gentle about arresting me,” Tya said in her cool, ironic voice. She might have been speaking about someone else. “Or maybe it was my mistake to fight them.”

  “Where are you hurt?” Evan asked.

  Tya grimaced. “From the feel of it, they broke my collarbone. And chipped a tooth. That's all—just bruises, otherwise. All that blood came from my lips.”

  “Maris, my kit,” said Evan.

  Maris carried it to his side. She looked at Tya. “How could he arrest a flyer? Why?”

  “The charge is treason,” Tya said. Then she gasped as Evan's fingers probed around her neck.

  “Sit,” said Evan, helping her down. “It will be better.”

  “He must be mad,” Maris said. The word called up the ghost of the Mad Landsman of Kennehut. In grief, hearing of his son's death in a far-off land, he had murdered the messenger who flew the unwelcome news. The flyers had shunned him afterward, until proud, rich Kennehut became a desolation, ruined and empty, its very name a synonym for madness and despair. No Landsman since would dream of harming a flyer. Until now.

  Maris shook her head, gazing at Tya but not really seeing her. “Has he lost his reason so far as to imagine that the messages you carry from his enemies come from your own heart? To call it treason is wrong in itself. The man must be mad. You aren't subject to him—he knows that flyers are above petty local laws. As his equal, how could you do anything treasonous? What does he say you did?”

  “Oh, he knows what I did,” Tya said. “I don't claim I was arrested on false pretenses. I simply didn't expect him to find out. I'm still not sure how he knew, when I thought I'd been so careful.” She winced. “But now it's all for nothing. There will be war, just as fierce and bloody as if I'd stayed out of it.”

  “I don't understand.”

  Tya grinned at her. Her black eyes were still sharp and aware despite her bruises and her obvious pain. “No? I've heard that some old-time flyers could carry messages without knowing what they said. But I always knew—each belligerent threat, each tempting promise, each potential alliance for war. I learned things I had no intention of saying. I changed the messages. Slightly, at first, making them a little more diplomatic. And returned with responses that would delay or sidestep the war he was after. It was working—until he found out about my deception.”

  “All right, Tya,” Evan said. “No more talking just now. I'm going to set your collarbone, and it will hurt. Can you hold still, or do you want Maris to help hold you down?”

  “I'll be good, healer,” Tya said. She took a deep breath.

  Maris stared blankly at Tya, hardly believing what she had just heard. Tya had done the unthinkable—she had altered a message entrusted to her. She had meddled in land-bound politics, instead of staying above them as a flyer always did. The mad act of jailing a flyer no longer seemed so mad—what else could the Landsman have done? No wonder he had been so disturbed by Maris' presence. When word reached other flyers . . .

  “What does the Landsman plan to do with you?” Maris asked.

  For the first time, Tya looked somber. “The usual punishment for treason is death.”

  “He wouldn't dare!”

  “I wonder. I was afraid that he planned to bury me here, kill me secretly and silence the landsguard who had arrested me. Then I would simply vanish, and be presumed lost at sea. But now that you have been here, Maris, I don't think he can. You would denounce him.”

  “And then we would both hang, as treasonous liars,” said Evan. His tone was light. More seriously, he added, “No, I think you are right, Tya. The Landsman would not have sent for me if he meant to kill you in secret. Much easier just to let you die. The more people who know of your arrest, the greater the danger to himself.”

  “There's flyer's law—the Landsman has no right to judge a flyer,” Maris said. “He'll simply have to turn you over to the flyers. A court will be called, and you'll be stripped of your wings. Oh, Tya. I never heard of a flyer doing such a thing.”

  “I've shocked you, Maris, haven't I?” Tya smiled. “You can't see beyond the horror of breaking tradition—not even you? I told you you were no one-wing.”

  “Do you think it makes a difference?” Maris asked quietly. “Do you expect that the one-wings will flock to your side, and applaud this crime? That somehow you'll be allowed to keep your wings? What Landsman would have you?”

  “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 contr
ol 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 landsguard 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.”

  Maris laughed. “Now you sound like Barrion. He always said you singers were the ones who really ruled.”

  That finally drew a smile from Coll, but Evan remained grim. “No song will heal the wounded, or bring the dead back to life,” he said. “If war is at hand, we must leave the forest for Port Thayos. That is where they will bring the wounded, those that survive the crossing. I'll be needed there.”

  “The streets are mad just now,” said Coll. “Rumors and wild stories of all sorts. The town has an ugly feel to it. The Landsman has hanged his healer, and people are afraid to go to the keep. There will be trouble soon, and not just with Thrane.” His eyes found Maris. “Something is going on with the flyers as well. I must have counted a dozen pair of wings coming and going over the Strait. War messages, I assumed, but I drank with a tanner in the Scylla's Head who said more. She has a sister in the landsguard, she told me, and she said her sister bragged of arresting a flyer not long ago. The Landsman has taken it upon himself to try a flyer for treason! Can you believe that?”

  “Yes,” Maris said. “It's true.”

  “Ah,” said Coll. He looked surprised, and distracted from his speech. “Well. Could I have some tea?”

  “I'll get it,” said Evan.

  “Go on,” said Maris. “What other rumors?”