Windhaven

"I… I am alive, Evan. I cannot fly, but I am still who I am."

"It's good to hear you say that, and know you mean it."

"And I'm not a healer. I'll never be a healer."

"You have been making discoveries, haven't you? All this while I slept? Yes… I've known, although I couldn't quite tell you. You didn't seem to want to know."

"Of course I didn't want to know. I thought it was the only choice I had. What else was there for me?

Pain, only memories of pain and uselessness. Well, the pain is still there, and the memories, but I need not be useless. I must learn to live with the pain, accept it or ignore it, because there are things I must do. Tya is dead and the flyers are broken, and there are things that only I can do, to set things right. So you see…" She bit her lip and couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I love you, Evan. But I must leave you."

"Wait." He touched her cheek, and she met his eyes. She thought of the first time she had looked into their deep blue depths, and she felt, unexpectedly strong, a pang of loss. "Tell me now," he said, " why you must leave me."

She moved her hands helplessly. "Because I… I'm useless here. I don't belong here."

He caught his breath — it might have been a sob or a laugh that he swallowed, she couldn't tell.

"Did you think I loved you as an apprentice, as a healer, Maris? For how much you could help me? As a healer, quite frankly, you tried my patience. I love you as a woman, for yourself, for who you are. And now that you've realized who you are, who you have always been, you think you must leave me?"

"There are things I must do," she said. "I don't know what my fate will be. I may fail. It might be dangerous for you to be associated with me. You might share Reni's fate… I don't want to risk you."

" You can't risk me," he said firmly. "I risk myself." He took her hand and held it tightly. "There may be things I can do to help — let me do them. I'll share your burden, share the danger, and make it less. I can do more than just make tea for your friends, you know."

"But you don't have to," Maris said. "You shouldn't risk your life for nothing. This isn't your fight."

"Not my fight?" He sounded mildly indignant. "Isn't Thayos my home? What the Landsman of Thayos decrees affects me, my friends, my patients. My blood is in these mountains and in this forest. You are the stranger here. Whatever you accomplish for your people, the flyers, will also affect my people. And I know them, as you cannot. They know me, and they trust me here. Many owe me debts, debts that cannot be paid in iron coin. They will help me, and I will help you. I think you need my help."

Maris felt as if strength was pouring through her, traveling from the firm clasp of his hand up her arm. She smiled, glad that she was not alone, feeling more certain of her way now. "Yes, Evan, I do need you."

"You have me. How do we begin?"

Maris leaned back against the wooden headboard, fitting into the curve of Evan's arm. "We need a hidden place, a landing field; a place safe for flyers to come and go without the Landsman or his spies knowing they are on Thayos."

She felt his nod as soon as she had finished speaking. "Done," he said. "There is an abandoned farm, not far from here. The farmer died only last winter, so the forest has not reclaimed the place, although it will shelter it from spying eyes."

"Good. Perhaps we should all move there, for a time, in case the landsguard come looking for us."

"I must stay here," Evan said. "If the landsguard cannot find me, neither can the sick. I must be available to them."

"It might not be safe for you."

"I know a family in Thossi, a family with thirteen children. I helped the mother through a difficult birthing, and saved her children from death half a dozen times — they would eagerly do the same for me. Their house is on the main road, and there is always a child to spare. If the landsguard come for us, they must pass by there, and one of the children could run ahead to warn us."

Maris smiled. "Perfect."

"What else?"

"First, we must wake S'Rella." Maris sat up, moving out of his light embrace, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "I need her to be my wings, to fly messages for me, many messages. But one first, the crucial one. To Val One-Wing."

Val came to her, of course.

She waited for him in the doorway of a cramped two-room plank cabin, badly weathered, its furnishings covered with mold. He circled three times above the weed-choked field, silver wings dark against a threatening sky, before he decided that it was safe to land.

When he came down, she helped him with his wings, although something clutched and trembled within her when her hands touched the soft metal fabric. Val embraced her, and smiled. "You're looking well, for an old cripple," he said.

"You're very glib, for an idiot," Maris said back at him. "Come inside."

Coll was within the cabin, tuning his guitar. "Val," he said, nodding.

"Sit," Maris said to Val. "I have something I want you to hear."

He glanced at her, puzzled. But he sat.