Fran Wilde - Updraft

Our smiles faded at the same time.

“I’d like to take my old wings to Viit, to see if Liras can use parts to repair Nat’s,” I said.

“A good idea. But after Allmoons.”

I agreed. No one did any work at Allmoons. But I would have agreed to anything she asked. A good apprentice already. My wings rustled in the wind. Ready to fly.

Outside, tower citizens who wanted to be close to the wingfight, instead of watching with their scopes, had already started to glide towards Mondarath and Viit, to the balconies there that had been made into grandstands.

I tucked my purse into my robes, tightened my wingstraps, secured my new cap, and, with my mother’s shooshing hands to give me extra thrust, at least in my imagination, prepared to launch myself from the balcony and glide towards where my flightmates and family gathered to watch the wingfight.

To my surprise, I spotted Nat’s black curls below a patchwork pair of wings. He circled up on a gust and was overtaken several times by younger children. Still, my heart leapt a little as he waved at me and shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear, “You don’t live long in the towers if you can’t pull yourself back up when you tumble.”

I waited for him to get close before I took off from our balcony, then let my wings spill air as we flew tip to tip towards Mondarath.

He caught me at this and scowled. “Don’t, Kirit. Fly true.”

I nodded, banking away. I arrived at the wingfight well before he did and found space on the Mondarath balcony where the traders often gathered. Nat would catch up soon, I hoped.

Guards lowered the wingtest plinth and stretched it between the fifth tiers of Mondarath and Viit. The towers had draped the balconies facing the plinth with nets and woven platforms.

Atop the towers, guards, hunters, Magisters, and several younger residents readied themselves for the wingfight. They tied bands of glass shards to their wings and feet. They sharpened their short bone knives.

* * *

The horns sounded again, a bright cascade of notes, a summoning.

Skyfighters leapt from their towers two at a time. Their wings glittered in the pale sunlight. One of Mondarath’s youngest fighters roared. Her wings were familiar. Aliati!

I laughed, happy to see a flightmate in her first wingfight. I worried for her too. Neither joy nor worry was enough to distract me from what came after the wingfight, when the Singers arrived with our wingmarks, but it helped.

The other team marked Aliati quickly as a weak point in Mondarath’s formation and aimed for her. Fleet and lithe, she tucked her wings and rolled away from them, leading them into the path of two older Mondarath fighters, including Magister Macal. Aliati wasn’t as easy to knock into the nets as Viit had hoped, and Macal swooped around their assault like a born fighter.

The crowd in the balcony rumbled and jeered at Viit. A few adults clustered in a corner and subtly exchanged bets, raising the wingfight’s stakes. I heard Aliati’s name, but not whether they were betting for her or against.

A shout went up. Another Mondarath flier, his wing torn, tumbled into the net. A point for Viit already. The flier pounded the knotted fiber that kept him from plummeting through the towers. His Mondarath teammates reformed, one man down.

The Viit cheers grew louder. “A moon’s worth of grains!” someone shouted.

Viit attacked in a pincer formation, again going for the flier they considered weakest: Aliati. She dodged them again, and Macal almost trapped another Viit wingman in an attack from below. Mondarath’s strategy seemed to be to use Aliati as bait. From the looks of frustration on the Viit fliers’ faces, it would not work for long.

The crush of the crowd and the scent of too many bodies too close together wore me out. I hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. I stepped back into the tier, searching for a morsel of food or tea. I unbuttoned the pocket in my sleeve and pulled my bone cup out, then smiled as Ceetcee approached me with Beliak in tow.

She found a sack of water and poured me two sips, then offered me an apple the size of my fist.

I devoured it, core and all.

“You were hungry.” She laughed.

“That, and unwilling to toss anything down into the nets today,” Beliak said.

Ceetcee smiled at him. A wingtest friendship. There were songs about that. I left them to it and turned to see my mother join the betting corner. Nat landed on the balcony at the same time. The trader crowd shifted to avoid him, pressing closer around my mother.

Nat spied me through the crowd and waved. He didn’t smile. Was I supposed to have waited for him, after he told me to go? I couldn’t tell.

Sidra and Dojha landed and swept between us, laughing. They didn’t greet Nat at all.

“Are you all right?” I asked when I reached him. “Not too hurt?”

“Not too much. My pride, mostly.”

“What will you do now?”

He paused for long enough that I raised my eyebrows. I wanted to keep talking to him, to show him, and everyone on this balcony, that he was not alone. That we were still wing-siblings. But I couldn’t stand here all wingfight. I also wanted to get Ezarit’s attention. To meet the traders.

Finally, he said, “I’ve been thinking of Tobiat’s chips. Figuring them out.”

“How? You can’t fly the city looking for the tower that matches the drawings.” I bit back my next words: not without a wingmark.

“I bet they’ll let me if I’m escorted. You could fly with me.”

A quest that could take days, or weeks. It couldn’t happen if I were to apprentice with Ezarit.

“I have a plan,” he added, when I’d been silent too long.

The crowd shouted as two Mondarath fighters hit the nets. Aliati and an older guard. Viit was now winning.

“Tobiat was at Ma’s after the wingtest. He told me the design on the chips is a Spire secret.”

“And you believe him? He’s addled, Nat.”

“Ma said that too, but he knows more about the Spire than anyone I’ve talked to.” Nat lowered his voice. “He was born there, Kirit.”

Given what Nat had been through, I nodded. I looked around to see if my mother was still betting. She was.

Nat waved his hand in my eyes to get my attention. “Really. There’s something there. Tobiat was on about ‘Delequerriat’—remember from Laws? Something hidden in plain sight. I want to know what the secret is. Or trade the chips to the Singers for a chance to ask questions about Naton, at least.”

I kept my eyes on Ezarit and the traders while I mulled Nat’s mad plan. “You’d have to challenge the Spire to ask your question, Nat. Like Ezarit did. Can’t trade secrets.”

“Maybe not, unless the secret is big enough. Tobiat sure made it sound so, though he can’t remember everything.”

I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. Had Tobiat drawn Nat into his madness? Nat had followed readily, filling the space where his pride had been.

“I want to go during Allmoons,” Nat added.

“Allmoons? Against Laws? What could possibly go wrong, then? You can’t mean to fly at night?” I asked and threw my arms in the air. Nat’s frown deepened at my tone, but I continued. “Why don’t you ask a Singer when they come to deliver the wingmarks?”

His face clouded darker.

He was talking about going to the Spire. Not for a market. Not to trade. To find a way to make the Singers give up a secret. Which the Singers were sworn not to do.

I shivered as I thought about Singer Wik’s fiat. No, they did not surrender their secrets lightly.

The hurt in Nat’s eyes took the fire out of me. He had a half year of waiting, of scrambling to get by, before he could make his path in the world. Because the Magisters had switched for Group and he’d been paired with Sidra and Dix.