Fran Wilde - Updraft

We could barely drag ourselves up the ladder to the last tier. “This will take all night,” Nat said, going first.

He was right. Even if we managed to finish by dawn, we’d be dead on our wings tomorrow for the test. Still, I followed him up. Heard him gasp as he pulled himself over the ledge.

In the sunset light, the tier sparkled. Clean. Elna stood close to the central wall with Councilman Vant, who looked annoyed. Elna was in a chipper mood.

“Didn’t think you two would start with this tier and work down,” she said.

“We didn’t—” Nat began, but I dug an elbow hard into his ribs.

“We didn’t think the order mattered,” I finished.

Vant made a harrumph noise while he looked around. Finally, his face brightened. “Haven’t had the lower levels cleaned in some time,” he said. “Good for the health of the tower.” His voice was jolly, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. He couldn’t figure out how we’d done it.

Neither could I.

“I’ll be seeing you and your mother soon,” he said with a sour smile as he reached for my hand. He cut the punishment chip from my wrist with a small knife, well worn. Then did the same for Nat.

We were dismissed.

Vant unfurled his wings and leapt from the tier. A strong late-afternoon gust lifted him in a rising circle around the tower.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elna place a wrapped parcel by the wall. She climbed the ladder, and Nat followed. I lingered, hoping to see who she’d thanked with the thick bundle. No one peeked out from the shadows to claim it. Before I climbed the ladder, I took one of my light quilts from my satchel and left it atop Elna’s parcel. I hoped it would keep him warm.

Elna had filled her table with rich things she couldn’t possibly have bought herself. Was Ezarit near? She would know what had happened.

I looked behind Nat’s and Elna’s screens. Nat’s whipperling squatted on its perch, several tail feathers dusty and askew.

“Ezarit sent a courier to the tower, with a package for Vant and the goose for us,” Elna acknowledged. Maalik pecked at his mash, hungry.

“You sent her a message,” I said. It was not a question.

Elna raised her eyebrows. “She needed to know. And you need your strength for tomorrow. Though I couldn’t tell her everything.” The Singer’s warning. You will not interfere. If I knew Elna, she’d hinted anyway.

We ate greedily. Nat’s fingers dove for the goose fat, and mine scooped up a thick, roasted leg. I saw his frown. He’d wanted that too.

Elna’s plate was empty. “Go on, eat.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. “You worked hard. You’re testing tomorrow.” I pushed the goose leg to her plate and picked up a wing instead. She tried to say she wasn’t hungry. When I ignored her, she tore into the leg.

“When I’m apprenticed,” Nat said through a mouthful of goose, “we’ll eat like this every night.”

Elna chuckled. “And you’ll need new wings each Allsuns, like Councilman Vant.”

“Won’t. Ever.” Nat reached for the water sack and helped himself. He filled Elna’s cup, then splashed water in mine. “I’ll be the fastest hunter in the sky. Bring down everything I see.”

“Let’s hope you don’t bring down a friend, then.” Elna ruffled his hair. She cracked the leg bone and sucked the marrow out. Nat did the same with a thigh. I set my wing down. Never crack a wing, not even if you might starve.

We were the opposite of starving. We sat at the table near the balcony and watched the lights go down in the highertowers. The stars grew bright in the sky, and the moon bellied above the clouds, full enough to turn the city silver.

“Clear sky,” Elna noted. “Good for tomorrow.” She stepped away from the table and pulled two bundles from behind the sleeping screen. Our wings.

Nat whooped and spread his out on the floor, then went in the back for a mending kit to shore up a worn seam.

Elna looked sad as she handed me my wings. “Your mother’s delayed in the south quadrant,” she said. “The tower council brought these down when they delivered the goose.”

I shrugged off my disappointment and tore into the bundle, thinking of the green and gold swirls. My new wings. But when the bundle came undone, I found my old wings, newly mended. Elna laid a skein of message chips on top. From my mother. She patted my hand and left me with it.

Kirit, the chips read, I should be back in time for Allmoons. Southwest is complicated. Meantime, do your best. I won’t have you test on new wings after all that happened. You will use your old ones. Liras Viit has mended them well. Be brilliant. You will rise like the sun.

Nothing more. Old wings, a mother away, and a wingtest for which I was ill-prepared. I should be flying from the towertop on gold and green to meet the test, with Ezarit cheering me on.

Alone. I would do this alone. Ezarit hadn’t returned. The southwest was more important and demanded much, I knew.

A thought took my breath away. Would she return before the Singer came back? Perhaps she didn’t want me as apprentice after all. Staying away was an easy way to say so.

My dusky wings with their patches and stains felt far heavier in my hands than they used to. How could I rise if both my tower and my mother were determined to weigh me down?

With that, I snapped back to reality. Chin up, shoulders back, Kirit. I would fly the wingtest well enough to keep Wik at bay and take top marks, so that Ezarit would see I was the best apprentice she could choose. And then I could choose to go with her or make my own way.

“Beautiful stitching,” said Elna, running her fingers over Liras Viit’s patchwork. She patted Nat’s shoulder, then mine. “You could work on your mending skills. Never know when you’ll need them.”

Nat wrinkled his nose, but continued to shore up his wings. I barely hid my expression; I hated mending. I’d trade for my garments, like Ezarit did. After tomorrow.

Tomorrow, we’d be questioned on city Laws and history. There would be a solo flight, then a group flight with students from other towers and citizen volunteers. Group was the most important test: flying among strangers without killing anyone. I had to do well on it all. I could not falter, could not let Vant or Wik or anyone keep me from passing my wingtest.

We’d spent years preparing. Our Magister had drilled us on each element. And tried to dissuade Nat and me from showing up because we’d spent the final days before the test cleaning downtower.

Worse, I had yet to go into open sky since the migration. The thought, even though the Singers had declared the skymouths gone for now and the skies safe, made my dinner feel like a pannier full of guano.

Elna gave me a knowing smile. She remembered what it was like. “Stakes are high. Passage on the first try will make you seem lucky. It will balance the tower’s censure.” She was trying to make us feel better. “Even on the second try, there are plenty of professions that will still want a strong flier.”

But no one wanted you if you were unlucky, or if you happened to attract skymouths to your tower.

“Sidra said some of the group volunteers are hunters,” Nat added. He was a fine shot. Good with a knife, too.

“If not the hunters, the guards,” he told me while he double-stitched a seam with silk thread. “Sidra said she’d talk to her father if I wanted to be a guard. I would line my wings with glass and patrol the skies.”

I barely heard him. As I’d scrubbed the tower, I’d let myself daydream too. My life as a trader. I knew he’d done the same. All that stood between me and that future was one test. Now, holding my old wings, I imagined the roar of air around me as I plummeted and failed. It would be worse than being sent downtower in a basket, because everyone who could spare the time would be watching the wingtest, with lenses. If I fell out of my turn, they would see me.