Fran Wilde - Updraft

“Come on, Kirit. It’ll be like old times.”

It could have been me with broken wings. But it wasn’t.

“I need to think about it, Nat,” I said. I didn’t meet his eyes. I looked across the balcony, to where Ezarit stood at the center of a crowd of bettors and traders. She turned to look for me too. Beckoned. I went to her.

* * *

Only five wingfighters remained aloft; the rest were in the nets. Macal flew for Mondarath against four Viit fliers. Viit observers were already counting the goods they’d take from Mondarath at the loss. Mondarath bettors shouted at the five men and women gliding in tight circles between the towers. The fliers were cut and bloodied, but still better off than their companions in the nets. Aliati among them, a sharp cut down her arm. She shouted encouragement to her sole teammate: Macal wasn’t giving up.

One Viit flier’s wing tore on the sharp edge of Magister Macal’s pinion.

Ezarit shouted at another bet won. She was in her element.

I pulled a marker from my new purse and held it aloft to see if I could catch a bettor’s eye. “One, on that Mondarath,” I said, imitating Ezarit. A bearded man took the chip from my fingers. Aliati’s team. Macal’s. The trader’s laugh boomed when a Viit flier knocked Macal hard, nearly into the net.

“You’ll learn,” he said. “You bet early, before they tire.” He clapped his hand against my furled wings, rattling the battens. I backed away. Moved closer to Ezarit. Watched Macal continuing to fight out of the corner of my eye.

When the match had only one Viit flier left aloft against Macal, she put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me into the group. “My daughter, Kirit,” she said, introducing me to the men and women with whom she’d been betting.

They wore their tower marks around their necks and in their hair. Not the fashion in our quadrant, where we kept them in purses in pockets. The one who’d taken my marker a moment ago extended his hand, “Doran Grigrit. My wife,” he gestured to the trader by his side, “Inaro.” She inclined her head, and I made a small bow to them. In my mind, I pictured the tower map I’d assembled earlier that day. Southwestern quadrant, where Ezarit went for honey. Far from here indeed.

“I have arranged,” my mother said, “a most fortuitous apprenticeship for you, Kirit.”

I heard her words, but there was something strange about them. That wasn’t how you announced your own apprentice. She seemed to be speaking through the long end of a bone horn, her words distant and warped. She kept going, but my mind had stopped listening.

Not partners, then. Not a team.

A roaring sound rose in my ears. One of my mother’s best trading skills was the bait and switch. And I realized too late that I might be the bait.

I forced myself to listen to the terms: “…’s daughter will apprentice with me, and you will work with the Grigrit fliers. You’ll learn much more than I could ever teach you.”

There was more roaring. She looked at me, held my gaze. She expected me to compose myself, to seem pleased. While she sent me away.

She’d made this arrangement while she was on her trading run. She hadn’t told me when we were alone. She hadn’t wanted an argument.

The horns blew for the end of the wingfight. Viit had won, but Macal had made it a close thing. Each tower bound the wounds of the opposing teams’ players, even as the winning tower began to plan how to transport the tithes it would take from the losers.

All around me, tower markers changed hands, bets were paid, and treasures pulled from robes. The tower was rich with trades. Something about Mondarath made people less cautious. My mother laughed, and the beads in her hair sparkled.

My new wings felt heavy on my shoulders. I tugged at the lenses around my neck, wishing I could take them off and hand them back. Instead, I smiled as she’d taught me. Don’t show disappointment; that gives the other trader an edge.

And behind my smile, locked tight, my voice keened silent and broken. Yoked to an apprenticeship I had no say in. Sent away without warning.

Doran continued talking, oblivious. “Just like fledges. Feed ’em, flip the nest when they’re prepared. Mine know they’re ready.”

“Kirit is a hard worker,” Ezarit said, proud of her trade. I wondered what she got in return besides Doran’s daughter, but I refused to let it show. I locked my smile and pretended to listen, though much of what I heard was the roaring in my ears. “She’s done very well in flight.”

He turned to me. “Good! We’ll teach you the rest.”

I already knew plenty. I’d been watching the best trader in the city. But this was not enough. I prepared my objections, but Doran turned his attention to the group again.

“Tower children don’t know half what they should until they apprentice. We’ll make sure she learns the right way to trade. And the traditions. My father’s still alive. His songs about when we came out of the clouds, and before, they’ll make your skin crawl.” Doran’s eyes lit up at the thought of it. And he was right; my skin was crawling already.

Ezarit still played dealmaker. “Doran has the best trade routes in the south.” She jutted her chin, and I saw his quilts were richly embroidered. He was very wealthy, then. “We will make them welcome at Densira tonight, and you will leave tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. I stared at her, and she rumpled my hair. “We’ll meet in the sky,” she said. “Traders are never far. And I know you’ll be safe with Doran.” For a moment, her face grew serious, and her eyes begged me to agree. Then she became lighthearted again. I did not know what to think.

Doran laughed and reached for a wineskin that was being passed around. He took a pull and pointed outside with his free hand. “Ah, Singers!”

I blanched, then remembered these Singers bore wingmarks. Smiled.

Too late, for Doran saw my look. “You’ll learn respect for Singers too, Kirit. I’ll have no Lawsbreaking in my tower. Singers saved us. They kept us from fighting to death in the clouds. They found the few left alive, taught them Laws. They learned how to raise the towers faster. On their wings, we rose.” Doran actually wiped a tear from his eye, and I nodded, even as I edged backwards.

For all my studies, I hadn’t realized how different the south was, how traditional. And Ezarit had traded me there, like a weight of tea wrapped in silk.

The Singers landed, with Councilman Vant right behind. I moved away from Doran and the bettors, towards the gathering wingtesters. One last look at Ezarit, her face relaxed now that she’d done her duty and found me an apprenticeship.

Doran laughed heartily and clapped her on the shoulder. She had the dignity to raise an eyebrow, and he pulled his hand away.

The sun was a pale slip on the cloudtop. The Singers’ wings were tinted red with the light. The day neared Bethalial by the old Laws.

“We congratulate Viit on its win,” the Singer with the silver streak in her hair said. “We will hurry to get you to your home towers before nightfall.”

Behind us, the bantering and the post-wingfight win recapping faded as everyone turned to listen to the Singers. The members of my flight clustered forward. Nat kept to the back, in the section of the tower already fallen into shadow.

The two Singers who bore the wingmarks were the woman with the silver streak in her hair and the older man. Wik was not with them. For that, I heaved a sigh of relief.

The female Singer held the bag of wingtest markers, a thick-spun silk dyed goldenrod. I could hear the markers click together from here.

Sidra joined the press towards the Singers. I kept myself back a little, soaking up the feeling of almost ness. The moment before I could hold my future in my hands stretched out — the length of a breath, held.