Windhaven

Sena shrugged. "He was a mediocre flyer even when he had his wings, and I cannot believe he was better than that as a teacher. Always too eager to impress. And he constantly overpraised and overestimated his students. Last year, in the competition, he sponsored nine in challenges. They all failed, and most had no business trying. I sponsored only three. This girl that died, I'm told, had been at Airhome only a year. A year, Maris! She had talent perhaps, but it was like Nord to let her go too far too soon. Well, it is too late now. You know the academies have been a drain, a useless drain to hear some Landsmen talk. All they needed was an excuse. They dismissed Nord and closed the school. End.

And all the children of Eastern can give up their dreams now, and content themselves with their lot in life."

Her voice was bitter.

"Then we are the last," Maris said glumly.

"We are the last," Sena echoed. "And for how long? The Landsman sent a runner to me last night, and I hobbled up to get this joyous news, and afterward we talked. She is not happy with us, Maris. She says that she has given us meat and hearth and iron coin for seven years, but we have given her no flyer in return. She is impatient."

"So I gather," Maris said. She knew the Landsman of Seatooth only by reputation, but that was enough.

Seatooth lay close by Big Shotan but had a long, fierce history of independence. Its present ruler was a proud, ambitious woman who was deeply resentful that her island had never had a flyer of its own. She had campaigned hard to make Seatooth the home of the training academy for the Western Archipelago, and once she had been lavish in her support. But now she expected results. "She doesn't understand,"

Maris said. "None of the land-bound understand, really. The Woodwingers come to the competitions almost raw, to vie with seasoned flyers and flyer-children who have been bred and reared to wings. If only they would give you time …" I

"Time, time, time," said Sena, a hint of anger in her voice. "Yes, I said as much to the Landsman. She said that seven years was enough time. You, Maris, you are a flyer. I was a flyer once. We know the difficulties, the need for training year after year, for practice until your arms tremble with the effort and your palms come away bloody from the wing grips. The land-bound know none of that. Too many of them thought the fight was over seven years ago. They thought that next week the sky would be full of fisherfolk and cobblers and glassblowers, and they were dismayed when the first competition came and went and the flyers and flyer-children defeated all land-bound challengers.

"At least then they cared. Now they are only resigned, I fear. In the seven years since your great Council, the seven years of the academies, only once has a land-bound taken wings. And he lost them back again a year later, at the very next competition. These days I think the island folk come to the meets only to see flyer siblings compete for the family wings. The challenges from my Woodwingers are talked about as a kind of a comic interlude, a brief performance by some jesters to lighten up the moments between the serious races."

"Sena, Sena," Maris said with concern. The older woman had poured all of the passion of her own broken life into the dreams of the young people who came to Woodwings asking for the sky. Now she was clearly upset, her voice trembling despite herself. "I understand your distress," Maris said, taking Sena's hand, "but it isn't as bad as you say."

Sena's good eye regarded Maris skeptically, and she pulled her hand away. "It is," she insisted. "Of course they don't tell you. No one wants to bring bad news, and they all know what the academies mean to you. But it's true." Maris tried to interrupt, but Sena waved her quiet. "No, enough, and not another word about my distress. I did not call you here to comfort me, or to make us late for breakfast. I wanted to tell you the news privately, before I told the others. And I wanted to ask you to fly to Big Shotan for me."

"Today?"

"Yes," Sena said. "You have been doing good work with the children. It is a real benefit to them to have an actual flyer in their midst. But we can spare you for one day. It should only take a few hours."

"Certainly," Maris said. "What is this about?"

"The flyer who brought the news about Airhome to the Landsman also brought another message. A private message for me. One of Nord's students wishes to continue his studies here, and hopes that I will sponsor him in the next competition. He asks for permission to travel here."

"Here?" Maris said, incredulous. "From Eastern? Without wings?"