Fran Wilde - Updraft

Each bone chip contained one of four tower symbols. If a Magister drew his or her own, he would hand it back.

I hoped the Magister from Viit, Calli, would be our Laws tester. Ezarit knew her. She was a daughter of Liras Viit, the wingmaker. The Magister from Mondarath was so new even his students were strangers to him.

“The old Mondarath Magister was taken by the skymouth,” Sidra whispered. No one shushed her.

Magister Calli joined the two students from Mondarath. Her task this round would be short.

Our Magister went to Wirra.

And Magister Dix from Wirra went to Viit. I released a little air from my lungs. One hurdle passed.

Mondarath’s Magister walked to our group. He seemed very young. Below us, no one on the towers would know yet, but when they learned of it, they would think us unlucky from the start. So many students, with such a young tester.

When I looked at him more closely, I realized he was barely older than my cousin.

“I am Magister Macal,” he said. “And you are my first flight test.”

Sidra groaned, so softly that only the flight group could hear her, not the Magister.

“Enough, Sid!” Dojha whispered.

Macal began the test of Laws without any further discussion.

He pointed at me, then drew a bone chip from the silk pouch and said, “Trade.”

I was very lucky, then. I began to sing the first Law I’d learned, from my mother.

Fair trade requires freedom, honesty, and speed.

No goods will spoil when a tower is in need.

I heard Sidra stifle a laugh when my voice soured, but I kept going.

No trader lives with jealousy or greed.

Or keeps tithes from Spire or Tower.

When I finished, Macal nodded.

Nat got Safe Passage, which he stumbled on.

Sidra took Spire neatly. That was the easiest, and shortest, law.

None enter the Spire, night or day, unless Singer-sworn, or Singer-born, all in gray.

She held the note and ended with a flourish.

Four more Laws passed. Then it was back to me. When the Magister pulled the chip, his brow wrinkled. He stumbled on the word. “Bethalial.” An archaic Law. Birdcrap.

My mind searched for the opening phrase. I knew this. They observed it more in the south, and in the city center.

In the Allmoons time of quiet, let no tower be disturbed.

Let no things thrown down in sacrifice be salvaged or perturbed.

A strange one. No one sacrificed things that weren’t broken anymore, even symbolically. Magister Florian had said once that some Laws were traditions from the past, but we must learn them still.

Nat got War, which was dead simple.

No tower will sabotage or war

With neighbors near or far.

We rise together or fall apart

With clouds below, our judge.

Only one tower had tested that Law since we came out of the clouds. The Singers hadn’t let them rise for generations. Ezarit said the towers to the west sometimes raided, but that was nothing overt.

The Magister circled Densira’s flight group. Voices stammered and stalled, and some sang confidently too. At the plinth’s other corners, Laws filled the air and were carried away on the wind.

Sidra received another frown from the Magister as his hand fumbled in the Laws bag. We could tell he’d never done this before. Most testers, Florian said once, could feel the Lawsmarks with their fingers and choose those we were required to know. Like Right-of-Way and Tithing. So far, we hadn’t had much luck.

“Delequerriat,” Macal said after two false starts. Sidra’s mouth moved strangely. “Dele—” she began to say, but cut off before she started a song she could not finish. That was how my cousin had failed last year. I could see Sidra thinking. I didn’t know this one either, though it sounded familiar. Sidra was left gaping openmouthed, like a baby bird. The time for her answer passed, and Magister Macal turned from her to the group. “Delequerriat: The act of concealment, in plain sight, may only be used to turn wrong to right. ”

Macal moved on as Sidra’s face turned purple, matching her wings. Dojha took Sidra’s hand and squeezed. This couldn’t get much worse.

It didn’t. The Magister pulled Tithing from his pouch, and Dojha passed it. We’d made it through Laws.

Singer Wik handed a blue-dyed marker to each tester who’d passed. He gave Sidra a half marker, breaking it in front of her. He passed before me and gripped my marker with both hands. My eyes widened. I’d passed well. He wouldn’t dare. He handed it to me, and I quickly tied the thin chip to my wing.

Wik and Macal passed on the plinth. The two exchanged a look I could not fathom. A greeting, it seemed, but fiercer. Macal grimaced and turned away.

The craft representative unfurled a dyed silk and set it in the center of the plinth, anchoring it with thick madder-dyed chips against the wind. The City test. We all turned our backs. One by one, we were beckoned forward and given bone chips to place on each of the city’s fifty-eight towers, naming them and speaking of their qualities as we did.

I heard Nat take deep breaths beside me, nervous.

The towers rose in my mind, shaped by late-night conversations with my mother. Her tales of what she’d traded and where gave me a window on my city that few had.

When my turn came, I placed the marker for Grigrit in the southwest. They made honey. My mother traded tea and silks to them to help the sick in the southeast quadrant. My cheeks colored as I thought of her. I placed the markers for the six towers she helped. Heard my voice forming the correct words, but my mind went elsewhere, wondering whether Ezarit was on her way home.

One chip remained in my hand. I looked across the map, checking each in turn. Then I placed the final chip at the center of the city and completed the test with “The Spire is home of the Singers, who protect the city and hold it together for us.” Two Singers signaled approval, the woman with the silver streak in her hair and an older man, both covered with silver tattoos. On the other side of the map, Wik frowned. The Craft representative gave me a full marker dyed madder-red for City.

When I returned to Densira’s corner, I secured that chip to my left wing, next to the Laws marker. Two tests down; two to go. The markers made a soft clatter at my shoulder as they swung on their ties.

* * *

Before the flight rounds began, Macal motioned to me. “You have offended someone?” he asked quickly, looking around to make sure he was not overheard.

I raised my eyebrows but did not speak. My heart hammered in my chest.

Macal continued. “A Singer has indicated he doesn’t think you are skilled enough to pass the flight tests. To a Magister who was upset by his words.”

I knew it. The Singer was trying to sway the Magisters, to make me fail. He thought I would have no place to turn but the Spire. Densira would turn away from my bad luck. Even my mother.

“Who was upset?”

“Me.”

Macal was only a few years older, but his eyes were sure and clear. He didn’t like being played for a pawn.

“Anyone else?”

“I don’t know. When I refused to listen, the Singer said he had other prospects. Be careful.”

If the Singer had any knowledge of my mother’s past, I knew exactly who else he’d try to sway. Magister Dix.

The Magisters gathered to draw tower marks for Solo Flight. At that moment, my fear returned. Open sky. Vast and filled with teeth.

If I wished to fly by my mother’s side, or to fly independent of her, I would be in this sky every day. I found the fear in my heart and grabbed it tight. Ripped it out and threw it down to the clouds. My mother could fly through a migration without wavering. I would do so as well.