Windhaven by George R. R. Martin

Author:George R. R. Martin [Martin, George R. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Fiction, General, Fantasy, Epic, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯), Fantasy Fiction
ISBN: 9780553897197
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 1981-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

The afternoon passed quickly. Some of the Woodwingers went off to watch the flying games—an Outer Islander and two Shotaners won the individual prizes, and Western came away with the medals in the team races—while the others rested, talked, or played. Damen had brought a geechi set, and he and Sher spent hours bent over it, both of them trying to recoup some of their lost pride.

In the evening the parties started. The Woodwingers had a small party of their own outside Sena's cabin, in a halfhearted effort to lighten dampened spirits. Leya played the pipes and Kerr told sea stories, and all of them drank from the wineskin Maris had brought. Val was in his usual mood, cool and distant and invulnerable, but everyone else remained glum.

“No one has died,” Sena said at last, her manner gruff. “When you lose an eye and shatter a leg as I did, then you will have a right to be morose. You don't have that right now. Get out of here, the lot of you, before you make me irritable.” She waved her cane at them. “Off now, and to bed. We still have two more days of competition, and all of you can win your wings if you fly well enough. Tomorrow I expect more of you.”

Maris and S'Rella walked along the beach for a while, talking and listening to the slow restless sound of the sea, before heading back to the cabin they shared. “Are you angry with me?” S'Rella asked quietly. “For naming Garth?”

“I was,” Maris said wearily. She did not have the heart to speak of her break with Dorrel. “Maybe I had no right to be. If you beat him, you have a right to his wings. I'm not angry now.”

“I'm glad,” S'Rella said. “I was angry with you, but I'm not now. I'm sorry.”

Maris put an arm around her shoulders. They walked in silence for a minute, and then S'Rella said, “I've lost, haven't I?”

“No,” Maris said. “You can still win. You heard what Sena said.”

“Yes,” said S'Rella, “but tomorrow they'll be judging grace, and that's always been my weakest point. Even if I win at the gates, I'll be so far behind that I won't be able to catch up.”

“Hush,” Maris said. “Don't talk like that. Just fly as best you can, and leave the rest to the judges. It's all you can do. If you do lose, there's always next year.”

S'Rella nodded. They had reached the cabin. She darted ahead to get the door, and then drew back. “Oh,” she said. Her voice was suddenly frightened. “Maris,” she whimpered.

Alarmed, Maris hurried to her side. S'Rella stood trembling and looking at their cabin door. Maris looked too, and felt sick.

Someone had nailed two dead rainbirds to the door. They hung limp and disheveled, bright feathers dark and stained, the nails driven through their small bodies, blood dripping slowly and steadily to the ground.

Maris went inside for a knife and came back to take the grisly warnings from the door.

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