Fran Wilde - Updraft

“Where does it go?” I asked through a yawn.

“Down.” Ciel shrugged. “Don’t the towers?”

“Sort of. The towers are open. Trash and stink are thrown down.”

Ciel wrinkled her nose. “Must get bad down low.”

I frowned. It did.

Moc listened, rapt.

“We keep most things, though,” I added. “Guano, for the farms. And for seed finding. Rinds and gristle, to feed the worms that make the dirt.”

Moc’s eyes grew bigger than I’d thought possible. “We get most of our food from the towers.”

That was good to know too. If food came in, perhaps messages could go out.

The children tugged at my robe and showed me where the scourweed grew. I almost laughed. Outside the Spire, scourweed was reserved for making the towers grow. Marked as special. Inside the Spire, it wasn’t as hard to use it for cleaning filth.

Moc and Ciel kept up a happy chatter while I cleaned Sellis’s bucket. They showed no signs of leaving. Despite how tired I was, I loathed the thought of returning to the silence of Sellis’s alcove. Ciel and Moc’s curiosity about me woke my curiosity in turn.

We walked the tier right around, talking, and they pointed up and down the Spire to the classrooms, the communal kitchens, and the alcoves.

“The novice alcoves are here and on the lower floors, but the Singers”—Moc sighed—“they’re up at the top. With the council on the highest floors.”

“Moc, shhh,” Ciel said cautiously. “We should go now.”

We’d circled back to Sellis’s alcove. This one tier was much bigger than any on Densira, and the number of people it held stunned me. I pulled off my outer robe, piled it on the floor, and collapsed onto it.

As tired as I was, with the circle of the Spire’s apex brightening with moon, I still could not stop thinking. Did Ezarit already know? Had they given her my tablet? Would she tell Elna? Did they know what had happened to Nat?

Our night flight seemed like a dream, something that had happened to someone else.

Would I be allowed to leave the Spire ever again?

The questions rolled on. My mind gnawed at them, giving me no answers.

In what seemed like mere moments, Sellis nudged me awake with her foot. A new day had begun. I rose from my improvised bed, straightened my robes around me, and went to tend to her needs.

* * *

The smell of apples steamed in spices told me where the novices took their meals. My stomach growled, but my heart sank. Ezarit cooked those too.

“They are my favorite,” a voice said near the entrance. Wik. Several children seated nearby whispered and pointed. A Singer in the room must have been rare.

Sellis looked at him. “She cannot possibly keep up. She knows nothing about the city. Nothing about flying.”

He nodded. “And you and I will help her discover that.”

I opened my mouth to protest. I knew as much as anyone.

Wik handed me three smooth bone bowls from a woven basket. “Get us some food. Sellis and I must speak.”

When I returned, my stomach growling at the contents of the bowls, they’d claimed low stools. Their heads were bent together. I balked at joining them.

But Wik noticed my glance and waved a hand in welcome. “You have no reason to fear me, Kirit. In fact, we have much to talk about.”

I had yet to say anything, or to taste the apples, though sky knew I wanted them. He gestured to the bowl. Finally, he speared some on a fork and passed it to me. “Eat. You need your strength. Today will test you.”

For what?

Wik filled me in about “for what” very quickly while Sellis looked on with a sour expression. “You will begin your education. I am certain you will progress quickly and rise to the level of your peers before you know it.”

Sellis snorted.

What did that mean? I took the smallest bite of apple. Taste filled my mouth, the cinnamon rippling over my gums and making me want to eat the whole bowlful. I watched the Singer. Wondered what the battles were that had given him his marks.

He saw me looking. Pointed to his cheek. To a spiral inside a circle. “My first turn in the Gyre,” he said. “A young man challenged for tier. I was sent to fight him.”

I swallowed. This was how Wik took his Singer wings. My mother must have made a similar challenge and won. Not so, the young man Wik had fought.

“Is tier such a hard thing for the city to give?”

“You see?” Sellis threw up her hands in protest at my ignorance.

“Sometimes,” Wik said. He smiled, a contrast to Sellis’s glare. He didn’t elaborate.

Instead, he pointed again, to the pattern that wound around his left eye and over the breadth of his forehead. The mark, another Gyre fight won. “This one made me a member of the council. I fought an old Singer, Mariti, into retirement.” He saw my look. “It is our way. You must be willing to sacrifice everything for what you believe, Kirit.”

“Willing to kill for it?”

“Mariti did not die. He conceded. He still serves the city as a windbeater.”

Concession? I hadn’t known that was possible in the Spire.

“It is not a dishonor, among the Singers. Windbeater is a powerful role in the Spire.”

Powerful as compared to what? Trading? Perhaps.

Sellis smacked the edge of her bowl with her hand. “When Singers get old or hurt, they have a place to go. They don’t starve. They’re not left out to die. We’re not monsters.” Her expression finished the sentence: all these things happened in the towers.

Was it the truth? I saw in her face that she believed it was. She turned away quickly so I couldn’t read anything more into her expression. I stored that knowledge for later consideration as I squinted at a small pattern by Wik’s earlobe. A knife. I explored his face with my eyes. A patch near his chin had been left unmarked. A small stretch of skin with no scrawls.

“I wished to mark an excursion there,” he said. “But I took my wings instead.”

My lips parted. “An excursion?”

“Some leave the Spire,” Sellis growled, turning back towards us, “for the towers. I can’t believe you don’t know this. Tower folk are so—”

Wik cut her off with a look. He flexed his hand on his knee. Took a breath. Sellis’s dissent seemed to be getting to him too.

Between bites, I tried to figure out what made excursion so special. Singers left the Spire all the time. The words escaped before I even realized I’d spoken.

Wik laughed. “Before they take their wings, before they are marked with tattoos, some Singers are allowed a special type of excursion. Especially the Spire-born. So we can understand the towers. Just as only a few are given to enclosure — the deep communication with the city that lets us know its needs.” He said this as if the words should make sense to me.

At my confusion, Sellis gave an exaggerated sigh. “We should enroll her in the nests. With the infants.” She faced me. “You need years of training to become a proper Singer. Years. You can’t glide in here and—”

Around us, other novices watched. The room had fallen very quiet.

At a look from Wik, Sellis cleared her throat and held the dirty bowls towards me. She tilted her head and gestured with her chin. Move, acolyte. I found scourweed piled in a corner and scrubbed the bowls until they were no longer sticky and my hands were cut and bleeding again.

When I finished, I rejoined them.

Wik stood. “Let’s walk.” He folded his hands behind his back and paced away. Sellis and I hurried to catch him.

“Tell me about excursion and enclosure.” If I was to learn, I’d need to get started somewhere.

Sellis said, “Enclosure is for those who can listen to the sounds of the city.”