The storm had finally broken outside. Maris thanked her luck, and flew straight across the salt channel, skimming a few feet above the waves. There were dangers in flying so low, but she had no time to try for altitude, and scyllas rarely came so close to land anyway. The flight was short enough. Fila was easy to find but — as Sena had predicted — reluctant to come. 'The waters make me sick,' she muttered sourly.
'And that boy on Seatooth, he thinks he's better than me anyway. Always has, the young fool, and now he comes crying to me for help.' But her daughter apologized for her, and soon after left for the ferry.
On the way back, Maris indulged herself, enjoying the sensuous feel of the winds as if to make up for the brusque way that she had used them to travel to Big Shotan. The stormclouds were gone now; the sun was shining brightly on the waters, and a rainbow arched across the eastern sky. Maris went in search of it, soaring up on a warm current of air that rose from Shotan, frightening a flock of summerfowl when she joined them from below. She laughed as they scattered in confusion, banking at the same time, her body responding out of habit to the subtle, shifting demands of the winds. They went in all directions, some toward Seatooth, some toward Eggland or Big Shotan, some out toward the open sea. And farther out she saw — she narrowed her eyes, trying to be sure. A scylla, its long neck rearing out of the water to snap some unwary bird from the sky? No, there were several shapes. A hunting pack of seacats, then.
Or ships.
She circled and glided out over the ocean, leaving the islands behind her, and very shortly she was sure.
Ships all right, five of them sailing together, and when the wind had brought her closer she could see the colors as well, the faded paint on the canvas sails, the ragged streamers flapping and fluttering above, the hulls all black. Local ships were less gaudy; these had come a long way. A trading fleet from Eastern.
She swooped low enough to see the crew hard at work replacing sails, pulling in lines and shifting desperately to stay on the good side of the wind. A few looked up and shouted and waved at her, but most concentrated on their labors. Sailing the open seas of Windhaven was always a dangerous business, and there were many months in the year when travel between distant island groupings was made flatly impossible by the raging storms. To Maris the wind was a lover, but to the sailors it was a smiling assassin, pretending friendship only to gain the chance to slash a sail or drive a ship to splinters against an unseen rock. A ship was too large to play the games the flyers played; a ship at sea was always in a state of battle.
But these ships were safe enough now; the storm was past, and it would be sunset at least before another one would be upon them. There would be celebration in Stormtown tonight; arrival of an Eastern trade fleet this size was always an occasion. Fully a third of the ships that tried the hazardous crossing between archipelagos were lost at sea. Maris guessed the fleet would make port in less than an hour, judging from their position and the strength of the winds. She wheeled above them once more, made very aware of her grace and freedom in the sky by their struggles below, and decided to carry the news to Big Shotan instead of returning immediately to Seatooth. She might even wait for them, she thought, curious about their cargo and their news.
Maris drank too much wine in the boisterous tavern on the waterfront; it was pressed on her by the delighted customers, for she had been the first to bring word of the approaching fleet. Now everyone was at the docks, drinking and carousing and speculating about what the traders might be bringing.
When the cry went up — first one voice, then many— that the ships were docking, Maris stood up, only to lurch forward as she lost her balance, made dizzy by the wine. She would have fallen, but the crush of bodies around her, rushing toward the door, kept her upright and bore her along.
The scene outside was wild and noisy and for a moment Maris wondered whether she had been right to stay; she could see nothing, learn nothing in this excited, milling crowd. Shrugging, she slowly fought her way free of the mob, and sat down on an overturned barrel. She might as well stay out of it and keep her eyes open for anyone from the ship who could supply her with news. She leaned back against a smooth stone wall and folded her arms to wait.
She woke unwillingly, annoyed by someone who would not stop pushing at her shoulder. She blinked her eyes several times, looking up into the face of a stranger.
'You are Maris,' he said. 'Maris the flyer? Maris of Lesser Amberly?' He was a very young man, with the severe, sculpted face of an ascetic: a closed, guarded face that gave away nothing. Set in such a face, his eyes were startling — large, dark, and liquid. His rust-colored hair was pulled back sharply from a high forehead, and knotted at the back of his skull.
'Yes,' she said, straightening. 'I'm Maris. Why? What happened? I must have fallen asleep.'
'You must have,' he said flatly. 'I came in on the ship. You were pointed out to me. I thought perhaps you had come to meet me.'
'Oh!' Maris looked quickly around. The crowds had thinned and all but vanished. The docks were empty except for a group of traders standing on a gangplank, and a work-crew of stevedores unloading chests of cloth. 'I sat down to wait,' she muttered. 'I must have closed my eyes. I didn't get much sleep last night.'
There was something naggingly familiar about him, Maris thought groggily. She looked at him more closely. His clothing was Eastern in cut, but simple: gray fabric without ornamentation, thick and warm, a hood hanging down behind him. He had a canvas bag under one arm and wore a knife in a leather sheath at his waist.
'You said you were from the ship?' she asked. 'Pardon, I'm still only half awake. Where are the other sailors?'
'The sailors are drinking or eating, the traders off haggling, I would say,' he answered. 'The voyage was difficult. We lost one ship to a storm, though all but two of the crew were pulled from the water safely.
Conditions afterward were crowded and uncomfortable. The sailors were glad to come ashore.' He paused. 'I am no sailor, however. My apologies. I made a mistake. I do not think you were sent to meet me.' He turned to go.
Suddenly Maris realized who he must be. 'Of course,' she blurted. 'You're the student, the one from Airhome.' He had turned back to her. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'd forgotten all about you.' She jumped down from the barrel.
'My name is Val,' he said, as if he expected it to mean something to her. 'Val of South Arren.'
'Fine,' Maris said. 'You know my name. I'm sure—'
He shifted his bag uneasily. The muscles around his mouth were tense. 'They also call me One-Wing.'
Maris said nothing. But her face gave her away.
'I see you know me after all,' he said, a bit sharply.
'I've heard of you,' Maris admitted. 'You intend to compete?'
'I intend to fly,' Val said. 'I have worked for this for four years.'
'I see,' Maris said coolly. She looked up at the sky, dismissing him. It was nearly dusk. 'I've got to get back to Seatooth,' she said. 'They'll be thinking I fell into the ocean. I'll tell them you arrived.'
'Aren't you even going to speak to the captain?' he asked sardonically. 'She's in the tavern across the way, telling stories to a gullible crowd.' He canted his head at one of the dockside buildings.
'No,' Maris said, too quickly. 'But thanks.' She turned away, but stopped when he called after her.
'Can I hire a boat to take me to Seatooth?'
'You can hire anything in Stormtown,' Maris answered, 'but it will cost you. There's a regular ferry from South Landing. You'd probably do best to stay the night here and take the ferry in the morning.' She turned again and moved off down the cobbled street, toward the flyers' quarters where she had stored her wings. She felt a bit ashamed of leaving him so abruptly when he had come so far in his desire to be a flyer, but she did not feel ashamed enough to turn back. One-Wing, she thought furiously. She was surprised he admitted to the name, and even more surprised that he would come to try again at a competition. He must know how he would be met.
'You
'Of course I knew,' Sena said. Her own voice was even, and her good eye was as impassive and fixed as her bad one. 'I did not tell you earlier because I expected you would react like this.'
'Sena, how could you?' Maris demanded. 'Do you really intend to sponsor his challenge?'
'If he is good enough,' Sena replied. 'I have every reason to think he will be. I have serious qualms about sponsoring Kerr, but none whatsoever about Val.'
'Don't you know how we feel about him?'
'We?'
