Windhaven

" Get away" he snapped, anger in his voice. The girls jumped back, startled, and even Maris looked up.

Val was always so cool and controlled; the outburst was unlike him.

"We just want to help you with your wings, flyer," the bolder of the girls said.

"Don't you have any pride?" Val said. He was unstrap-ping himself, without help. "Don't you have anything better to do than fawn over flyers who treat you like dirt? What are your parents?"

The girl quailed. "Tanners, flyer."

"Then go and learn tanning," he said. "It's a cleaner trade than slaving for the flyers." He turned away from her, began to fold up his wings carefully.

Maris and S'Rella were free of their own wings now. "Here," said the boy who had been helping Maris, as he offered them to her, neatly folded. Suddenly abashed, she fumbled in her pocket and offered the boy an iron coin. She had always accepted the help without payment before, but something in what Val said had struck a chord.

But the boy just laughed and refused to take her money. "Don't you know?" he said. "It's good luck to touch a flyer's wings." And then he was off, and Maris saw as he darted toward his companions that the beach was full of children. They were everywhere, helping with the poles, playing in the sand, waiting for the chance to aid a flyer.

But looking at them, Maris thought of Val, and wondered if there were others on the island who were not so thrilled by the flyers and the competition, others who stayed home to brood and sulk and resent the privileged caste that flew the skies of Windhaven.

"Take your wings, flyer?" a voice said sharply, and Maris glanced over. It was Val, mocking. "Here," he said, in his normal tone, and he offered her the wings he'd worn on the flight. "I imagine you'll want these for safekeeping."

She took the wings from him, holding one pair awkwardly in each hand. "Where are you going?" Val shrugged. "This is a fair-sized island. Somewhere there's a town or two, and a tavern or two, and a bed to sleep in. I have a few irons." "You could come up to the lodge with S'Rella and me," Maris said hesitantly.

"Could I?" Val said, his voice perfectly level. His smile flickered at her. "That would be an interesting scene. More dramatic than my launching today, I'd guess."

Maris frowned. "I haven't forgotten that," she said. "S'Rella could have hurt herself, you know. She was badly startled by that fool's leap of yours. I ought—"

"I believe I've heard this before," Val said. "Excuse me." He turned and was gone, walking quickly up the beach with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Behind her, Maris heard S'Rella laughing and talking with the other young people, sharing with them her delight in her first long flight. When Maris approached, she broke off and ran to take her hand. "How was I?" she asked breathlessly. "How did I do?"

"You know how you did — you just want me to praise you," Maris said, her tone a mock-scold. "All right, I will. You flew as if you'd never done anything else in your life, as if you'd been born to it."

"I know," S'Rella said shyly. Then she laughed in sheer joy. "It was marvelous. I never want to do anything but fly!"

"I know how you feel," Maris said. "But a rest will do us good right now. Let's go in and sit by the fire and see who else has come early."

But when she turned to go, S'Rella hung back. Maris looked at her curiously, and then understood; S'Rella was worried about the sort of reception she would find inside the lodge. She was an outsider, after all, and no doubt Val had been filling her with tales of his own rejection.

"Well," Maris said, "you might as well come in, unless you feel like flying back tonight. They'll have to meet you sometime."

S'Rella nodded, still a bit timorous, and they started up the pebbled incline toward the lodge.

It was a small two-room building built of soft, weathered white rock. The main room, well-lit and overheated by a roaring fire, was noisy, crowded, and unappealing after the clean solitude of the open air. The faces of the flyers seemed to blur together as Maris looked around in search of special friends, S'Rella standing nervously behind her. They hung the wings on hooks along the walls, and began to fight their way across the room.

A heavy-set, middle-aged man with a full beard was pouring some liquid into the huge, fragrant stewpot hung over the fire, and roaring insults at someone demanding nourishment. Something about him drew Maris' eyes back after they had passed over him, and with a strange little shock she recognized the overweight cook. When had Garth grown so old and fat?

She started toward him when thin arms went around her from behind, hugging her fiercely, and she caught the faint whisper of a flowery scent.

"Shalli!" she said, turning. She noticed the rounded stomach. "I didn't expect to see you here — heard you were preg—"