continued, “Don't worry, friend. We'll make your son a flyer such as Amberly has never seen.”
But then Coll looked up, and though the tears flowed still, suddenly there was anger in his face too, and decision. “ No! ” he shouted, and his glance at Corm was defiant. “You won't make me anything I don't want to be, I don't care who you are. I'm not a coward, I'm not a baby, but I don't want to fly, I don't, I DON'T! ” His words were a torrent, all but screamed into the wind, as his secret came pouring out and all the barriers fell at once. “You flyers think you're so good, that everybody else is beneath you, but you're not, you know, you're not. Barrion has been to a hundred islands, and he knows more songs than a dozen flyers. I don't care what you think, Corm. He's not land-bound; he takes ships when everybody else is too scared. You flyers stay clear of scyllas, but Barrion killed one once with a harpoon, from a little wooden boat. I bet you didn't know that.
“I can be like him, too. I have a talent. He's going to the Outer Islands, and he wants me to come with him, and he told me once that he'd give me his guitar one day. He can take flying and make it beautiful with his words, but he can do the same thing with fishing or hunting or anything . Flyers can't do that, but he can. He's Barrion! He's a singer , and that's just as good as being a flyer. And I can do it too, like I did tonight with Raven.” He glared at Corm with hate. “Take your old wings, give them to Maris, she's the flyer,” he shouted, kicking at the limp fabric on the ground. “I want to go with Barrion.”
There was an awful silence. Russ stood mute for a long time, then looked at his son with a face that was older than it had ever been. “They are not his wings to take, Coll,” he said. “They were my wings, and my father's, and his mother's before him, and I wanted—I wanted—” His voice broke.
“You are responsible for this,” Corm said angrily, with a glance at Barrion. “And you, yes you , his own sister,” he added, shifting his gaze to Maris.
“All right, Corm,” she said. “We are responsible, Barrion and I, because we love Coll and we want to see him happy—and alive. The flyers have followed tradition too long. Barrion is right, don't you see? Every year bad flyers take the wings of their parents and die with them, and Windhaven is poorer, for wings cannot be replaced. How many flyers were there in the days of the star sailors? How many are there today? Can't you see what tradition is doing to us? The wings are a trust; they should be worn by those who love the sky, who will fly best and keep them best. Instead, birth is our only measure for awarding wings. Birth, not skill; but a flyer's skill is all that saves him from death, all that binds Windhaven together.”
Corm snorted. “This is a disgrace. You are no flyer, Maris, and you have no right to speak of these matters. Your words disgrace the sky and you violate all tradition. If your brother chooses to give up his birthright, very well, then. But he won't make a mockery of our law and give them to anyone he chooses.” He looked around, at the shock-still crowd. “Where is the Landsman? Tell us the law!”
The Landsman's voice was slow, troubled. “The law—the tradition—but this case is so special, Corm. Maris has served Amberly well, and we all know how she flies. I—”
“The law ,” Corm insisted.
The Landsman shook his head. “Yes, that is my duty, but—the law says that—that if a flyer renounces his wings, then they shall be taken by another flyer from the island, the senior, and he and the Landsman shall hold them until a new wing-bearer is chosen. But Corm, no flyer has ever renounced his wings—the law is only used when a flyer dies without an heir, and here, in this case, Maris is—”
“The law is the law,” Corm said.
“And you will follow it blindly,” Barrion put in.
Corm ignored him. “I am Lesser Amberly's
But then Coll looked up, and though the tears flowed still, suddenly there was anger in his face too, and decision. “ No! ” he shouted, and his glance at Corm was defiant. “You won't make me anything I don't want to be, I don't care who you are. I'm not a coward, I'm not a baby, but I don't want to fly, I don't, I DON'T! ” His words were a torrent, all but screamed into the wind, as his secret came pouring out and all the barriers fell at once. “You flyers think you're so good, that everybody else is beneath you, but you're not, you know, you're not. Barrion has been to a hundred islands, and he knows more songs than a dozen flyers. I don't care what you think, Corm. He's not land-bound; he takes ships when everybody else is too scared. You flyers stay clear of scyllas, but Barrion killed one once with a harpoon, from a little wooden boat. I bet you didn't know that.
“I can be like him, too. I have a talent. He's going to the Outer Islands, and he wants me to come with him, and he told me once that he'd give me his guitar one day. He can take flying and make it beautiful with his words, but he can do the same thing with fishing or hunting or anything . Flyers can't do that, but he can. He's Barrion! He's a singer , and that's just as good as being a flyer. And I can do it too, like I did tonight with Raven.” He glared at Corm with hate. “Take your old wings, give them to Maris, she's the flyer,” he shouted, kicking at the limp fabric on the ground. “I want to go with Barrion.”
There was an awful silence. Russ stood mute for a long time, then looked at his son with a face that was older than it had ever been. “They are not his wings to take, Coll,” he said. “They were my wings, and my father's, and his mother's before him, and I wanted—I wanted—” His voice broke.
“You are responsible for this,” Corm said angrily, with a glance at Barrion. “And you, yes you , his own sister,” he added, shifting his gaze to Maris.
“All right, Corm,” she said. “We are responsible, Barrion and I, because we love Coll and we want to see him happy—and alive. The flyers have followed tradition too long. Barrion is right, don't you see? Every year bad flyers take the wings of their parents and die with them, and Windhaven is poorer, for wings cannot be replaced. How many flyers were there in the days of the star sailors? How many are there today? Can't you see what tradition is doing to us? The wings are a trust; they should be worn by those who love the sky, who will fly best and keep them best. Instead, birth is our only measure for awarding wings. Birth, not skill; but a flyer's skill is all that saves him from death, all that binds Windhaven together.”
Corm snorted. “This is a disgrace. You are no flyer, Maris, and you have no right to speak of these matters. Your words disgrace the sky and you violate all tradition. If your brother chooses to give up his birthright, very well, then. But he won't make a mockery of our law and give them to anyone he chooses.” He looked around, at the shock-still crowd. “Where is the Landsman? Tell us the law!”
The Landsman's voice was slow, troubled. “The law—the tradition—but this case is so special, Corm. Maris has served Amberly well, and we all know how she flies. I—”
“The law ,” Corm insisted.
The Landsman shook his head. “Yes, that is my duty, but—the law says that—that if a flyer renounces his wings, then they shall be taken by another flyer from the island, the senior, and he and the Landsman shall hold them until a new wing-bearer is chosen. But Corm, no flyer has ever renounced his wings—the law is only used when a flyer dies without an heir, and here, in this case, Maris is—”
“The law is the law,” Corm said.
“And you will follow it blindly,” Barrion put in.
Corm ignored him. “I am Lesser Amberly's
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