Fran Wilde - Updraft

The moment she said “trader,” something tight in my chest released with a great whoosh of air. I could hear the tower’s sounds again, the flapping of Allmoons banners on the balconies.

She smiled again to see me relaxing. “Tell me more,” she said. I shrugged from my wings as she pulled me inside.

I looked around our quarters for things that had changed. A tower chip with Vant’s mark sat on the table. She owed him now. She followed my eye to the chip and cleared her throat. “We’ll discuss that later. Tell me about the wingtest.”

I told her as much as I could, about Solo and Group. About Nat, about his fall. Her hand went to her throat.

“I’ll make them down a basket.”

“It’s not something you can fix with goods,” I said more sharply than I meant to. I did not want to fight with her. I wanted her to help me figure out how to make things right.

But she waved her hand, nervous, and turned to her panniers. “It is what I can do. Poor Nat. Poor Elna.”

She fussed with her trade goods as if she wished to pull a new wing from one of the baskets. She opened and shut containers, sighing. Turned back to me, gesturing to the wrapped package I still held. She arched an eyebrow. “Open that while I think. More surprises later.”

I didn’t want surprises. I wanted flying panniers and quilts with deep traders’ pockets. A wing for my friend. I untied the complicated wrapping to find a new robe, the markings embroidered and dyes done in layers and shades of green. No pockets. I put it down on the table; I’d wear it for Remembrances, tomorrow, after the wingfights.

“I thought it was pretty,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“And with that a promise to take you to the Spire, once you’ve made your first trades.”

A chill crossed me, like a shadow. It must have shown on my face. Not the reaction she expected.

“Kirit, you’ve wanted to fly the city for so long. What has happened?” She frowned.

I pressed my lips shut, knowing that everything would tumble out, and she’d be furious at the Singer. She’d argue with them, be ruined.

Her frown deepened.

“The skymouth. Elna said the Singer returned. Saved you.”

I nodded.

“But then he stayed. I imagine he said something to you?”

I held my breath. If Elna had told her that much and she guessed the rest, whatever she guessed, it would be as if I’d told her. I wouldn’t have broken the fiat, but there’d be no way to prove that to a Singer, either. I let the breath out. “Only for a moment.”

“What did he say?”

“That I shouldn’t have lived. He spoke to Councilman Vant, told him to make an example of me. Of us.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “Are you sure it was the same Singer who escorted us past Mondarath?”

Singers looked so similar in their gray robes and tattoos, but I thought that was a safe area. I described the hawk nose, the green eyes. As I did, she relaxed. Strange.

“You thought it might be someone else?”

She sighed and looked away. She did. She knew Singers, of course. She’d petitioned them. They respected her. But the look in her eye had been more complex than that of someone expecting an old friend.

I cleared my throat, curious now. “Who?”

“I can’t discuss it.” She stalked to the back of our quarters to fold quilts. Ezarit was not the kind of parent who folded quilts.

Moments later, as if she’d signaled to them, the aunts burst in with congratulations and questions about the wingtest. Several asked about Nat and tutted uselessly. Dikarit looked exhausted, as I must have, but he eyed my mother’s panniers, knowing she’d returned with gifts for the family. I smelled what she had carried home, hints of dusky spices and honey. Only a few towers were successful with bees in the city near those who grew that particular group of spices, far to the southwest. She’d been on the wing for a long time.

The sweep and swirl of a trader’s homecoming, with shouts of excitement over small trinkets from distant towers, and the general bustle of preparations for Allmoons that began immediately after, kept us from any more discussions.

The relatives did not leave our home until nearly dawn. I woke where I’d pulled my mat to get away from them, back by the center wall, wrapped in my flying quilts. The soft rumbles of the city filled my ears.

Ezarit stood on the balcony, looking at the sun barely peeking over the horizon. I found a goosebladder of water from the night before. Carried it out to her.

“When you were very young,” she said when I joined her, “I flew to the Spire, determined to get a better life for both of us. I was crazed with losses. Loss of your father, of all that I’d planned for our future. I challenged the Spire.”

I dipped my head. I knew this.

She pulled the shoulder of her robe down. Showed me an old scar, long and deep, parallel with her collarbone. I had not known this. She had my attention.

“The Singer who flew against me did not want to fight me. He barely marked me. I was ruthless, Kirit. I won that challenge because I wanted our future back. And I got it.”

I held my breath, waiting for her to tell me more.

She took a sip of water. “Sometimes, even when you think the fight is over, you have to keep fighting.” Then she turned to look at me. Her golden eyes matched the clouds’ colors, far below. “You will get your wingmark today.”

“Yes.” And Nat would not. Nor Sidra.

“You will need to fight for your own future, Kirit. No matter what.”

I didn’t understand, but she rose and hugged me quickly.

A shout went up in the pink-tinted light of the city’s shortest day. Guards called their teams together for the wingfights.

Allmoons meant three days of wingfighting, festival markets, and ceremonies in each quadrant. I’d been looking forward to it.

Tonight, Densira would light its banners, to remember our lost. We would listen to Mondarath’s raw grief, and Viit’s, and we would say good-bye to those we’d lost to the clouds as well. My banner would have been among them, if the skymouth hadn’t turned. Nat’s also, if the Singer hadn’t caught him.

On the year’s shortest day, the towers lit the Allmoons banners when the moon reached its highest point. The city glowed, a fiery night flower. Each year, it surprised me with its beauty. After a short moment, a monument of light, the banners would fall to ash, and the flower that was the city, stripped of its colors, turned back to pale thorns rising from the clouds.

When we were small, Nat and I watched from our mothers’ backs, clinging between their furled wings as our neighbors crowded Densira’s roof. The night’s dark landscape pricked with one light, two, then all the towers together as the council members from each tower lit the banners. The moon rose above the clouds and hung there for the long night, until it seemed bright as day to our eyes. Our bellies rumbled, hungry for Allmoons morning spice rolls. We wondered what we’d find in the markets the next day. Honey sweets, sometimes, small bone toys. And kites, for the holiday.

Ezarit gave me a small silk bag. “For the markets.” She grinned, trying to lift our mood. “Make sure you bargain well.” I shook it and heard the clicking of many tower chips. There was enough in here to buy my own panniers and beaded ties for my hair. Or something for Nat, my wing-brother, to whom I owed a debt.

She handed me my new wings.

“Go watch the wingfight.” She nudged me. “Enjoy it. I have some things to finish up here before I come.”

I unwrapped my wings, and she helped me strap them on. Glorious whorls of gold and green. I was transformed. My mouth ached from smiling so suddenly.

She chuckled. “I like seeing you happy, Kirit.”