Windhaven

"Both islands are gathering allies, arms, and promises," Evan said. "I am told flyers come and go from the keep every day. No doubt the Landsman will press a threat or two on you, S'Rella, when you leave. Our own flyers, Tya and Jem, haven't had a day's rest for the past month. Jem has carried most of the messages back and forth across the Strait, and Tya has carried offers and promises to dozens of potential allies. Luckily, none of them seem interested. Time after time she has come back with refusals. I think it is only that keeping the war at bay." He sighed again. "But it is only a matter of time," he said, his voice weary. "And there will be much killing before it is all over. I'll be called in to patch up those who can be patched up. It's a mockery — a healer in wartime treats the symptoms without being allowed to talk about healing the actual cause, the war itself, unless he wants to be locked up as a traitor."

"I suppose I should be relieved to be out of it," Maris said. But her voice was reluctant. She didn't feel as Evan did about war; flyers stayed above such conflicts, just as they skimmed above the treacherous sea.

They were neutrals, never to be harmed. Objectively war was a thing to be regretted, but war had never touched Maris or any of those she had loved, and she could not feel the horror of it deeply. "When I was younger, I could learn a message without ever hearing it, really. I seem to have lost the talent. Some of the words I've carried have taken the joy out of flight."

"I know," S'Rella agreed. "I've seen the results of some messages I've flown, and sometimes I feel very guilty."

"Don't," Maris said. "You are a flyer. You aren't responsible."

"Val disagrees, you know," S'Rella said. "I argued it with him once. He thinks we are responsible."

"That's understandable," Maris said.

S'Rella frowned at her, uncomprehending. "Why?"

"I'm surprised he never told you," Maris said. "His father was hanged. A flyer carried the order for the execution from Lomarron to South Arren. Arak, in fact. You remember Arak?"

"Too well," S'Rella said. "Val always suspected Arak was behind that beating he got. I remember how angry he was when he couldn't find his assailants to prove anything." She smiled wryly. "I also remember the party he threw on Seatooth when Arak died, black cake and all."

Evan was looking at the two women thoughtfully. "Why do you carry messages if you feel guilty about them?" he asked S'Rella.

"Why, because I'm a flyer," S'Rella said. "It's my job. It's what I do. The responsibility comes with the wings."

"I suppose," Evan said. He stood and began collecting the empty plates. "I don't think I could take that attitude, frankly. But I'm a land-bound, not a flyer. I wasn't born to wings."

"Nor were we," Maris started to say, but Evan left the room. She felt a flash of annoyance, but S'Rella began to talk again; Maris was drawn back into the conversation, and it wasn't very long until she had forgotten what she was annoyed about.

At last it was time for the casts to be cut off. Her legs were to be freed, and Evan promised that it would not be much longer for her arm.

Maris cried out at the sight of her legs. They were so thin and pale, so odd-looking. Evan began to massage them gently, washing them with a warm, herb-scented solution, and gently, skillfully kneading the long-unused muscles. Maris sighed with pleasure and relaxed.

When at last Evan had done, and he rose and put away the bowl and cloth, Maris thought she would burst with impatience. "Can I walk?" she asked.

Evan looked at her, grinning. "Can you?"

Her heart lifted at the challenge, and she sat up and slipped her legs over the edge of the bed. S'Rella offered her support, but Maris shook her head slightly, motioning her friend away.

Then she stood. On her own two feet, without support. But there was something wrong. She felt dizzy and sick. She said nothing but her face gave her away.

Evan and S'Rella moved closer. "What's wrong?" Evan asked.

"I, I must have stood up too fast." She was sweating, and afraid to move, afraid she would fall or faint or throw up.

"Take it easy," Evan said. "There's no rush." His voice was warm and soothing, and he took her good arm. S'Rella offered support on her left side. This time Maris did not shake them off or try to move alone.

"One step at a time," said Evan.

Leaning on them, guided by them, Maris took her first few steps. She felt mildly nauseated still, and strangely disoriented. But she also felt triumphant. Her legs were working again!

"Can I walk by myself now?"

"I don't know why not."

Maris took her first unsupported step, and then her second. Her spirits lifted. It was easy! Her legs were as good as ever. Trying to ignore the uneasiness in her stomach, Maris took her third step, and the room tilted sideways.

Her arms flailed and she stumbled, seeking level ground in the suddenly shifting room, and then Evan caught hold of her.

"NO!" she cried. "I can do it—"

He helped her back on her feet and steadied her.