Fran Wilde - Updraft

The ceiling was very low there. I crawled to the pile of rags, my hands needled by the rough bone floor.

The pile moved at my approach. A tangle of black hair. A glint of white robe spattered with old blood.

Nat.

My head spun at the sight of him. “You survived the fall?” I reached out and touched Nat’s arm, hoping.

He flinched, and I pulled my hand back, still reeling.

“How—” I began, then stopped. When I fought him, he fell. That was part of the how. He lay injured before me, while I knelt there whole.

I stepped back, nearly knocking the water sack into the fire. “I don’t understand.” By my hand he fell.

Tobiat crawled to Nat’s side and lifted the rag blanket away. I saw clearly what I’d done. His left leg, broken and splinted, but seeping. His right, torn in long gashes. His ribs, his arms, his head. Wrecked and bleeding, still. His broken form looked so much like Tobiat’s.

I knelt at his side. If his wounds healed badly, he would be as crippled as Tobiat. Unable to hunt or fight. Unable to fly? His fate would be tied to a single tower and those willing to care for him. I knew Nat well enough; that would be the worst of all the injuries.

Injuries I caused.

Tobiat’s breaks had never been set, never properly healed. And Elna had looked out for him. Someone would do the same for Nat.

I looked closer, thought more clearly. Nat’s left leg had been splinted. The gashes on his right were roughly bandaged. His ribs and arm also. I saw the start of a poultice heating beside him, though it was missing some elements.

A whipperling nested in a fold of fabric by Nat’s feet. Maalik. Nat’s bird.

Someone had found him and brought him here. Someone cared for him. “Tobiat, did you do this?”

“Some!” Tobiat laughed. He pointed at the rough bandages. “Others too.”

Someone with enough knowledge to make a poultice. A splint. Someone who could fix Nat and make him straight again. Straight enough to fly.

“Who?” I turned and nearly caught Tobiat. He skittered away. “Who comes here? Who brought you here to tend Nat?”

Tobiat echoed me. “Who comes here? Kirit comes here.”

Kirit did indeed. And Wik had brought her.

Nat’s eyes opened again. This time they stayed open, blinking at me. Not looking away. They were angry eyes. Fierce hunter’s eyes. I, his prey.

“Didn’t you hurt me enough in the Spire?” His voice was rough and filled with pain. “You’ve come to finish the job?”

No. “Never.” Never again.

“Liar.”

I heard again the sound of his arrow passing close to my ear. He had known what he was doing too. I watched his jaw clench and looked for clean rags to rebandage his wounds.

When I found none, I tore the hem of my new gray robe. The rip of silk broke the silence.

“Stop,” Nat said.

“Please hear me, Nat.”

“Singers hear.” Tobiat chittered behind me. He waved his arms above his head. I recognized a windbeater pattern.

“Tobiat,” I said, “you were in the Spire. You know how things work.”

He mumbled. “Bargains. Bribes.”

“Right! I made a bargain. I had to.”

Nat didn’t answer. He watched me from narrowed eyes.

“How did you survive the fall?” I started to reach out again, then drew my hand back.

He went quiet. Looked older for a moment. Harder. Gaunt. The hollows around his eyes weren’t just from pain. Since Allmoons, he’d been under Singer punishments. Weighted with Laws. A broken set of wings.

“How did you survive?” I repeated, though I meant so much more than the challenge now. “And Elna? Did Densira help you?” Elna too had looked gaunt, her eyes much worse, when I saw her. I’d been too caught up in my own guilt to realize.

The look he gave me told me all I needed to know. Worse than unlucky. They had become pariahs in the tower.

“I hunted,” he said proudly. “Ezarit gave us everything she could, when she could. No one would trade with her for weeks, until the Singers did. I kept us all fed. Went lower on the tower than anyone has in years.”

While I ate well in the Spire, Nat had taken care of everyone.

“How did you survive the fall from the Spire?” The third time I’d asked. Despite my shame, I could not ignore the fact that he was dodging my question. I caught his gaze. Held it.

“Tell,” Tobiat shouted, chuckling. So close to my side that I jumped.

Nat took a stuttering breath. “Tobiat taught me how.”

My face must have shown confusion, because Tobiat laughed again.

Nat coughed. “I didn’t go to the Spire to die. I went to survive. To gain the right to tell the truth my father knew.”

“The Singers would never let you speak a truth about Naton.” Even my mother had been held to secrecy. Had bargained for it. Another realization swept over me. Ezarit hadn’t known who she would have to fight either, in her challenge.

Just as Nat hadn’t come to fight me. That match had been Rumul’s doing.

“I had to try. We had nothing left but the truth. And Naton wanted people to know that Singer secrets are killing the city.” Nat’s voice was older, deeper. Even as injured as he was, I heard the strength in it.

“I know their secrets now,” I said. Some of them, at least.

“Spire secrets!” Tobiat shouted, and spat at me. A gob of phlegm landed on my foot. “Keep them in the tower!” It sounded like a caution.

“What does it matter anymore?” I raised my arms, palms up. Now Nat watched me intently as I argued with Tobiat.

“Tradition!” Tobiat shouted.

Nat looked between us, then took a deep breath. “Tobiat told me a way to survive, if the windbeaters could be bribed.”

My jaw hung open. Tradition indeed, Tobiat. “You bribed the windbeaters?”

Now Nat looked very uncomfortable. “Elna did.”

“To win?” I was shocked. She knew how to do this?

“If I could win.” This time it was Nat who looked away. Both of us, complicit in this fall.

I reached out and touched my once-best friend’s shoulder. “I did not want you dead. I am happy you are not.”

His face creased with a small smile that folded into a wince. “I am glad I’m not either. Nor you. But that challenge was never meant to be a fair trial.”

If I’d known who my challenger was going to be, I also would have bribed the windbeaters to let him live, as he’d done. I sat back on my heels.

Nat tried to raise his head, licked his lips. I brought him the goosebladder of water and let him sip at it. “We need to get you medicines. Herbs. Honey to keep out infection.”

“Soon.” Tobiat nodded.

Not soon if there were skymouths lurking near the towers. No one would get through. “Not with Singers on the wing.”

“Why would you want to be one of them?” Nat spat.

I searched for words to describe the enclosure. The feeling of learning my fate and my past. Rumul’s enticements. You were born to be a Singer. It had felt like hope within the walls of the Spire. A way to survive.

I took a deep breath, hoped he’d believe me.

“What I learned about the city, Nat, and about what Singers do, what they’ve done in the past — I thought I could help.”

Tobiat waved his hands emphatically. “Singers help kill.”

My mouth hung open. I stared at Tobiat. “That’s not what I mean.”

“But you were trying to kill me,” Nat said.

“You were trying to kill me too. Why did you keep fighting, once you saw me?”

He blanched and lay back. “I wanted to know. We needed a better life. We had a plan. Why did you?”

“I thought I could win and save you. And, yes, I wanted those wings. To try and change things. Some Singers disagree with Rumul.” He was weakening, needed rest. But I pressed him again. I was newly ruthless. “What did you give them? And to do what?”