Fran Wilde - Updraft

I turned to Wik. “You weren’t at Densira to escort my mother through the migration.”

He shook his head and began to answer. Rumul held up a hand, leaving the bone chips on the table. “You were a surprise to the Spire. We were curious about you.”

“But what would you have done? I am grown.”

“True.” He frowned. “If Ezarit’s plan was to keep you from us, she did a nearly perfect job. But she had something of greater value than she knew.”

Me. Breaker of Laws. Skymouth shouter. “My voice.” That was my bargaining tool.

“Untrained, your voice is merely awful,” Wik said. “But trained, you could truly help the city.”

I blinked. My mind, once empty as the sky, was a mess of wind-tossed thoughts and feelings. My father, alive, a sharp, sudden sunbeam. My mother’s betrayals, dark clouds. A small thought, that she’d been trying to keep me from the Singers, fluttered back and forth between the two, like a whipperling on a message run.

“I want to see my father,” I said, my fingers tight around the lenses.

Rumul shook his head. “He is unable to come uptower, and only Singers may descend below the novices’ levels.”

“You cannot be serious,” Sellis cut in. “You are truly considering this?”

Rumul stood behind his workbench. His stool fell over and clattered to the floor as he turned to face her. “You are a member of council now?” Sellis ducked her head. “You are not yet a Singer, Sellis. You are here as my ears. Have a care.”

I tried to understand the layers of this room. What Rumul decided was paramount. Wik seemed to be on my side, in a strange Singer way. And this Sellis? My ribs throbbed from her sharp elbow. What did I need to say to tip the balance? I thought hard, tried to remember all my mother’s lessons about bargaining. The arguments I had practiced within the walls of the Spire had been based on one desire: I wanted to live.

Rumul was trying to show me how I could live and still be a part of the city. Thanks to a father I’d never known. A Singer.

How did I feel about that? No time to hesitate, Kirit. No time to be afraid.

I tried to consider what Rumul stood to gain from taking me in. How far he’d go.

“What are you offering?” I rasped.

He smiled. “A chance to change your life.” The words hung in the air, sweet and tempting. He continued. “You can train as a Singer. You can learn to control your voice, and, with it, help the city. If you prove to us that your behavior is due to your lack of education, then we will reconsider your sentence. Do well enough, and you will join us.”

Rumul’s tattooed face gave me chills. His voice — I knew better than to trust it. My mind reached for clouds and sky, found only carved walls. Any chance was better than the prison I’d emerged from. Even this chance. I could never go back to the towers, to the way things were. But now I had another chance to stay alive.

“How could she possibly—” Sellis started. She slammed her mouth closed without finishing the sentence, before Rumul reacted.

“It will not be easy, the transition. You know less than a child. But”—he turned to his right and smiled again—“Wik has offered to try to train you.”

This man, who had denied me my wings. To be my trainer. I tensed in his grasp. Bit back a no .

Rumul continued, inscrutable. “And Sellis will be your novice guide.”

Two shocked faces now, mine and Sellis’s. Her mouth twitched. Rumul stared her down, then returned his gaze to me.

As I considered my new future, the part of me who’d grown up in the towers shouted against it. “If I cannot do this?”

“If you do not succeed,” Rumul said, “your fate is out of our hands. Your Laws, and those of your mother, will—”

“You cannot hurt her. I will not do this if you hurt her.” The words were out of my mouth, fierce and angry, before I could think. Yes, I was angry at Ezarit. But that was my fight with her, not theirs. She was my mother.

Rumul put both hands on his workbench and leaned towards me. His scalp gleamed in the light, and his breath was tart with the scent of a recently eaten apple. My stomach growled, unbidden. His wind-chafed face and his tattoos marked his long experience at the top of the Spire. “I will not battle with you, Kirit. You must decide on this life.”

I held his gaze. Tried to stay standing by myself, even as my knees wobbled. His dark brown eyes hardened to black.

Behind me, Sellis whispered, “If she isn’t leaping at it, she does not deserve the choice.”

I turned, slowly, and looked at her for the first time. She was taller than me, with wind-chapped cheeks and lips. Her gray robe framed a face that was all edges: sharp chin, cheekbones, a point in her hairline made sharper by the tight pull of her dark braids. Her eyes a sky blue that was rare in the towers. She lifted her chin higher and held my gaze, silently.

Wik cleared his throat. “You cannot become the best of the Singers now. You are too old.” I dropped Sellis’s gaze and turned to face him. “But you can fly with us. Live the life you should have had, with proper training. You will see the city in a whole new way with us. You will help your people rise. And you will learn to manage your voice.”

“You did not tell me these things when you tried to take me from Densira.”

He blinked and tilted his head. “We cannot speak freely of this outside the Spire.”

I looked back to Rumul, who raised his eyebrows. Waiting.

Wik continued, “You may not have the training, Kirit, but you have something the Singers need. With us, you can become something more important than a trader.”

I pictured myself among the Singers, chasing skymouths from the sky. Helping bridge the towers and keep the city together. I imagined myself returning to Densira on gray wings. Behind me, Sellis sputtered, but Rumul’s gaze held her silent.

I closed my eyes. If I said no, I would be Kirit Lawsbreaker. Kirit Notower. What did I have left?

Nat, I thought, I will not forget you. Nor Elna. I will find your answers inside the Spire, somehow. I will see you again, Ezarit. I will make you proud despite yourself. I will make you miss me.

When I was ready, I opened my eyes. Rumul watched me closely. He’d straightened and now held both hands palms up over the workbench. Waiting in one hand was the red skein of blank Lawsmarkers. In the other, a larger bone tablet marked with the Spire’s symbol.

I extended my hand through the air between us and placed it over the tablet. Wik smiled a thin, wary smile. Sellis gathered her robes and swept from the room. I could hear her shout an order that echoed through the Spire.

When Rumul tucked the chips back into his robe and pulled out a sharp bone knife, I knew there was no changing my mind. I took the knife and carved my name mark on the tablet, a thin scratch that barely showed.

Sellis returned with a pile of fabric, holding up gray robes banded with bright blue to replace the remains of my ragged clothing. They looked too small for me, but also whole and warm. A younger Singer brought a washing bowl. Sellis handed me a small cake made of grains, honey, and bird fat. It tasted like sunshine might.

The three of them waited as I swallowed my meal. Then I lifted the bone knife again. I pierced my thumb and squeezed the wound hard. A drop of my blood fell on the tablet. It darkened my mark and the Spire’s symbol, making both visible.

I was theirs, and they were mine. I was reborn into the Spire.

Sellis exited Rumul’s alcove again without a word, dragging me behind her. She sped through the tier so quickly I gained only a blurred impression of the more ornate wall carvings, their edges shadowed by the sunlight pouring through the tower’s apex. We came to a ladder cut into the thick outer wall and spines of the Spire.