Windhaven

It was as if the sky itself favored Val this evening, Maris thought resentfully as she came around. The winds toyed with her and stalled her, gusting unpredictably every time she tried to ride them, but let Val fly them freely. He seemed almost unaware of the dangerous uncertainty of the gales, somehow finding, amid the constant shifting, the sure and fluid wind on which to glide.

Maris knew then that she had lost the race. Val was high above her, knowing that altitude often meant speed, and it would take her too long to reach his height, even if she should find the winds she needed to take her there. She tried to make up the distance between them, but the struggle against the ragged gusts wore her out, and the awareness that already it was too late took the heart out of her efforts. Val lost some time descending for his landing, but still passed above the cliff the second, final time more than a full wing-span ahead of her. Clearly, he had won.

Maris was too drained by the flight to smile at him when they had both come down in the soft sand of the landing pit, too depressed to pretend that it didn't matter. In silence, she removed her wings as hastily as she could, her numbed fingers often slipping and fumbling uselessly at the straps. At last, still without a word having passed between them, Maris slung her wings over her shoulder and turned toward the weathered fortress.

Val blocked her way.

"I won't tell anyone," he said.

Her head jerked up, and she felt a hot flush of embarrassment rise in her cheeks. "I don't care what you say — about anything — to anyone!"

"Oh?" His faint smile taunted her, made her realize how hollow her words rang. Obviously she did care.

"It wasn't a fair trial," she snapped, and instantly regretted the feeble, childish complaint.

"No," Val agreed, his tone flat enough so Maris had no clue as to whether irony was intended. "You were flying all day, while I was well-rested. I could never have beaten you if we were both fresh. We all know that."

"I've lost before," Maris said, trying hard to control her emotions. "It doesn't bother me."

"I see," said Val. "Good." He smiled again.

Maris shrugged irritably, feeling the wings scrape her back. "I'm very tired," she said. "Please excuse me."

"Certainly." Val moved out of her way and she trudged past him, crossed the sand wearily, and began climbing the flight of worn, moss-covered steps that led to the fortress's seaward entrance. But at the top, some impulse made her hesitate and turn before ducking inside.

Val had not followed her. He still stood out on the sand, a gaunt solitary figure in the gathering dusk, his folded wings propped lightly on one shoulder. He was looking off over the sea, where a lone scavenger kite sailed in ragged circles against the clouds of sunset.

Maris shivered and went inside.

The yearly competition was a festive three-day affair. Once it had been only games and drinking, with nothing at stake except pride. In those days it was smaller, and traditionally held on the Eyrie. But since the challenge system had been instituted seven years ago, flyer participation had grown dramatically, and it had been necessary to move the competition to the islands.

The Landsmen competed for it eagerly, donating facilities and labor. It was a holiday for their own people, and brought crowds of visitors with good metal coin from other islands. The land-bound had few spectacles like it, and the flyers were still figures of romance and adventure to many of them.

This year the contests were to be held on Skulny, a mid-sized island to the northeast of Little Shotan.

Seatooth's Landsman had chartered a ship for Sena and the Woodwingers, and a runner had just brought word that it was waiting at the small island's only port. They would sail on the evening tide.

"Setting out in the dark," Sena grumbled, taking a seat beside Maris at breakfast. "Asking for trouble."

Kerr looked up from his porridge. "Oh, but we have to leave on the tide," he said earnestly. "That's why we leave in the evening."

Sena regarded him sourly with her good eye. "Know a lot about sailing, do you?"

"Yes, ma'am. My brother Rac captains a trading ship, one of the big three-masters, and my other brother is a sailor too, though he's only a hand on a channel ferry. I thought that I — well, before I came to Woodwings, I thought I'd be a sailor too. It's about the closest thing there is to flying."

Sena shuddered. "Like flying without control, like flying with weights dragging you into the sea, like flying blind, yes, that's sailing."

She'd been speaking loud enough for everyone to hear, and there was widespread laughter around the room. Kerr blushed and concentrated on his bowl.

Maris looked at Sena with sympathy, trying not to laugh for Kerr's sake. Sena, although grounded for years, had never lost the flyer's almost superstitious fear of traveling by sea.

"How long will it take?" Maris asked.