Fran Wilde: Updraft

I had to fly. Now. I couldn’t undo what had happened. But I could try to keep it from getting worse. I lifted the lenses. Blew in them to keep the glass from fogging.

Elna coughed. “Hurry,” she said. “The Singers will be out again at dark.”

Her words reminded me that I’d made a bargain too, with Rumul, so long ago. Your Laws, and those of your mother.

Trapped here on Lith, I had forgotten the full consequences of my betrayal.

Ezarit. I fought to keep my hands from shaking. I had to find her before I went to the Spire. I had to make her come to Lith, to hide. If I flew fast enough, I might reach her before Rumul’s people did.

I tightened the last strap as much as I could.

“What if Ezarit won’t listen?” The sadness in my voice surprised me. Ezarit had always done things her own way.

“She fought to keep the Singers from knowing about you; she tried to find a place in a tower that had more power in the city; one that could protect the two of you better than Densira. But Grigrit required an apprentice in order to consider it. She’ll listen.”

I understood a little better now. The bargain she’d made with Doran Grigrit. Her desperation after the wingfight. “She should have told me.”

Elna nodded. “We both should have told you. And each other. I thought my silence would buy your lives.”

The sun began to sink below the clouds, turning the sky pink and red.

Silence. Tradition. Secrets. I’d thought I was keeping Elna and Ezarit safe too. Now we were stranded on Lith. Now I had to hurry.

I stood and tightened my other strap, then stepped through the footsling, ready to fly. The sun was setting as I checked the wind at the balcony, low on the city’s darkest tower. What Elna and Naton had sacrificed for, and Ezarit, and Nat too, I needed to finish. As soon as Ezarit was safe.

I unfurled my new wings, my lopsided, mismatched pair that was everything I was at the moment: stitched together pieces of my friends and family.

As I leapt from our hiding place on Lith, they watched me go. I stuttered in the breeze until I learned to balance on the unmatched, patched wings. If I were attacked, I would not survive it.

The patchwork wings wobbled. My lenses swung on their strap and banged against my collarbone. I reached carefully to still them and my right wing dipped precariously. I fought to right it, twisting my arm up, just as a small tentacle wrapped around my wrist.

“Bone and blood,” I whispered, more startled at the touch than anything. The littlemouth had stowed away with me.

The tiny creature worked its way up my arm and clung to my shoulder. I slipped my hand back into the grip on my right wing. My path straightened immediately, but I still fought for altitude. My neck prickled as the tentacles felt their way forward, dragging the small sack of the skymouth’s body behind it. Its hide was rough and dry, not wet like its bigger, fiercer cousins.

The creature pulled itself over to my left shoulder, which was higher ground, I supposed, since the right one kept dipping as I fought to control my new wings. As it settled there, the slight weight change steadied me. The wings soared better. They lifted me, finally, to the clearer air.

“Thanks,” I whispered to the tiny monster hugging my left arm, my shoulder, and my back. “Enjoy the ride.”

I began to hum again, softly.

The towers rose over me, tinted blue-violet and blackberry hues by the setting sun. At this level, only a few scavengers might have seen me by mistake, but soon I’d rise to a level that didn’t have such downdrafts. It would be safer, but if a Singer — or someone loyal to them — saw me there, I would never reach my mother in time to warn her, nor the Spire in time to challenge Rumul before they threw me down.

I would simply disappear. Like Naton and so many others.

Densira and the edge of the city drew close. I found an updraft and circled gently with it, aiming higher. A dark shape passed above me. Two Singers, flying wing to wing.

I dodged around the tower, taking extra time to circle Densira and avoid them.

When I emerged from the other side, the Singers were leaping from a balcony, carrying a burdened net between them. The person in the net struggled.

My mother’s voice drifted down the many tiers to my sensitive ears. I was too late.

Ezarit shouted at the Singers who carried her away from her tower and towards the Spire. She cursed them, then tried to bribe them. She was still negotiating. But the Singers ignored her.

I tried to climb faster, but my wings would not permit it. I had no weapon to use against the Singers. And my mother wore no wings. My attack would doom her if they chose to let the net fall.

The Singers who bore my mother to the Spire faded quickly into the distance. The city’s towers turned to shadow and darkness.

I stumbled along in the twilight air, frustration filling my eyes. Freezing on my cheeks. I kept flying. I could not fail in my goals.

* * *

Even the long days before Allsuns had moments of darkness. The last of the sunset’s colors disappeared below the clouds. Oil lanterns flickered in the nearby towers as people drew close with their families.

I hummed quietly, hearing the city as well as seeing it for a short time. The darkness thickened, and I heard the Spire ahead of me.

As my echoes struck the Spire’s solid-seeming walls, they revealed hidden hollows and panels. I glided close to the one I needed, the access gate closest to the pens. I pulled my fingers from a wing grip and flexed them.

* * *

In the dark, I clung to the Spire’s side, a mottled shadow against the bone-white wall. Wik waited for me inside, and Civik, but it was up to me to break in without being caught. Above, Nightwings launched from the Spire and flew into the city. They did not see me.

I had to get inside the Spire, fast.

I traced my fingers along the wall until I found the pressure points that opened the gate from outside. One stuck, then depressed. I heard the sound of a panel rolling back. This was a small gate. I furled my wings before pulling my upper body through.

I entered the Spire sideways, on my belly, near an empty alcove in the windbeaters’ tiers. I heard heavy snoring nearby and cinched my footstrap to keep it from clattering against the floor and waking my neighbor.

Hidden on the windbeaters’ tier, I waited and tried to think how to find Wik or Civik. On the tier’s far side, I saw a small shadow work its way past a moonlit patch. I held my breath and sank back against the alcove wall. Hoped.

When Moc passed by on silk-soft feet, I reached out and grabbed his robe.

He bit back a screech. “I was looking for you! Wik said you would come back.”

“I need your help. And Civik’s.” We kept our voices low.

Moc caught sight of my lenses, still hanging round my neck. “He gave them back to you. Windbeaters don’t do that.”

“Perhaps he’s something more than a scheming windbeater, Moc. He might want things to change too. Ask him.”

Moc slunk off in the direction of Civik’s alcove, and soon both returned. Parted ways as Moc climbed from the tier to find Wik. Hurry, Moc.

Civik tapped my hand with a finger. “Council’s already met to hear from Sellis about your interference. Rumor is you’re cloudbound.”

“I’m not cloudbound yet. But they were going to hurt Elna.”

Civik bobbed his head and shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe Wik would have diverted them.”

“People still would have died. We have enough troubles without Rumul making more.”

He frowned. “He’s still got too many on his side. No one wants to see more towers fall. No one wants war. Our plan is to work slowly.” I could see his face as the brief moonrise brushed our side of the tier. He looked afraid, and very old. My heart sank.