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—”
Shalli stopped her lips with a finger. “Hush. I get enough of that from Corm. And I tell him that our little flyer has to learn about flying from the very beginning. But I am careful, truly. I took the flight slow and easy. I couldn’t miss this! Corm wanted me to take a boat. Can you imagine?” Shalli’s beautiful, mobile face went from one comic expression to another as she spoke.
“You’re not going to compete?”
“Oh, no. It wouldn’t be fair, me with the extra ballast!” She patted the small mound and laughed. “I’m to judge. And I’ve promised Corm that after this I’ll stay home and be a good little mother ’til the baby comes, unless there’s an emergency.”
Maris felt a pang of guilt, knowing that the “emergencies” Shalli had to fly were caused by her own absence from Amberly. But after the competition, she swore to herself, she’d stay home and tend to her duties.
“Shalli, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” Maris said. S’Rella was hanging back shyly, so Maris pulled her gently forward. “This is S’Rella, our most promising student. She flew here from Woodwings with me today, her longest flight so far.”
“Ooh.” Shalli arched her brows.
“S’Rella, this is Shalli. From Lesser Amberly, like me. She used to fly guard on me, when I was just learning how to use the wings.”
They exchanged polite greetings. Then Shalli, giving S’Rella a measuring look, said, “Good luck in the competitions. You’d better not beat Corm, though. I think I’d go mad if he was around the house every day for a year.”
Shalli smiled, but S’Rella seemed to take the jest in earnest. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said, “but someone has to lose. I want to win as much as any flyer.”
“Mmm, well, it’s not quite the same,” Shalli murmured. “But I was only joking, child. You wouldn’t want to challenge Corm, really. You wouldn’t have a very good chance.” She glanced across the room. “Excuse me, please—I see that Corm has found a cushion for me, and now I suppose I must go and sit on it if I’m not to hurt his feelings. I’ll talk to you later, Maris. S’Rella, it was nice to meet you.”
They watched her moving easily through the crowded room, away from them.
“Would I?” S’Rella asked, her tone troubled.
“Would you what?”
“Have a chance against Corm.”
Maris looked at her unhappily, not knowing what to say. “He’s very good,” she managed finally. “He’s been flying for almost twenty years now, and he’s won prizes in lots of these competitions. No, you’re probably not his match. But that’s no disgrace, S’Rella.”
“Which one is he?” S’Rella said, frowning.
“Over by Shalli—see—the dark-haired one in black and gray.”
“He’s handsome,” S’Rella said.
Maris laughed. “Ah, yes. Half the land-bound girls on Amberly were in love with him when he was younger. They were all heartbroken when he and Shalli wed.”
That drew a small smile back to S’Rella’s face. “On my home island, all the boys used to dream about S’Landra, our flyer. Were you in love with Corm too?”
“Never. I knew him too well.”
“MARIS!” The bellow rang from the rafters, attracting attention all over the lodge. Garth was yelling at her from across the room, gesturing her closer.
She grinned. “Come,” she said, pulling S’Rella after her through the press, nodding polite hellos at old acquaintances as she went.
Garth crushed her in a formidable hug when she reached him, then pushed her back to look at her. “You look tired, Maris,” he told her. “Flying too much.”
“And you,” she said, “have been eating too much.” She jabbed a finger into his stomach where it hung over his belt. “What’s this? Are you and Shalli going to give birth together?”
Garth snorted with laughter. “Ah,” he growled, “my sister’s fault. She brews her own ale, you know. Got a right little business going. I have to help her out, of course, buy a little now and again.”
“You’re probably her best customer,” Maris said. “When did you grow the beard?”
“Oh, a month ago, two, something like that. I haven’t seen you in a half-year, it seems.”
Maris nodded. “Dorrel was fretting over you the last time we were at the Eyrie together. Something about a date to get drunk, and you didn’t make it.”
He frowned. “Ah,” he said, “yes, I know all about it. Dorrel goes on endlessly. I was ill, that’s all, no great mystery.” He turned back to the fire and gave his stew a stir. “There’ll be food soon. Hungry? I made this myself, Southern style, with lots of spices and wine.”
Maris turned. “You hear that, S’Rella? You’ll get some decent food, it sounds like.” She ushered the girl forward to face Garth. “S’Rella’s a Woodwinger, and one of the best. She’ll be taking some poor soul’s wings this year. S’Rella, this is Garth of Skulny, one of our hosts here and an old friend.”