Cloudbound

by Fran Wilde

  “But, Nat,” she continued, alarm increasing, “look at what we just saw. The Spire—I broke it so badly that the heartbone is dying. Tell me what’s happening to our city.”

  My mouth went dry as I made the connection. Dying Spire. “Bone eaters don’t eat living bone.” Our eyes met, wide with horror. Parts of the Spire might already be dead. Yes, there were greater dangers than the Singers. We’d grown up near Lith, a blackened and broken tower that had fallen only a generation before, sending so many—families, artists, leaders—into the clouds.

  “First we warn the towers closest to the Spire,” Kirit said, her anger with me displaced by the threat. “If the Spire falls, it could damage their tiers. Or worse.”

  “Grigrit, Bissel, and Naza won’t like this. They are wealthy and well-positioned.”

  “They were well-positioned, but not anymore. And they don’t have to like it, Nat. They only have to prepare.”

  The city’s center was at greater risk than anyone had imagined. The Spire was not merely unstable, it was dying. And if it fell, like Lith had before it, many more would die too.

  Below us, in the evening light, flight classes wobbled on patchwork wings, returning to their towers’ safety. A few oil lamps began to light up tiers on Varu, Bissel, Grigrit, warm glows among the bone spurs. A melody accompanied notes plucked on a dolin, nearby. The tiers were wide open. None had barricaded themselves behind shutters. No towers attacked one another.

  It was a happy evening. The kind songs said the Skyshouter had returned to the city.

  For a brief moment only Kirit and I knew the truth: that soon everything would have to change.

  4

  SINGERS’ RISE

  “We’ll go to Grigrit first,” Kirit said. “It’s closest.”

  “Good. Doran will know what to do,” I agreed. Kirit looked at me strangely, but Doran was my mentor, and a firm leader. He would move his people to safety, then help the city to act. If he did it quickly, I could return to my own tower sooner, and to my own family.

  “Maybe Doran is part of the problem, Nat,” Kirit said, her voice so low I almost lost it on the wind.

  “Then why did you agree to help him in the Spire?” How could I trust her if she didn’t trust me, or my mentor?

  She shook her head slowly. “I am a ward of his tower, Nat. You don’t understand. He’s complicated.”

  Doran was complicated. He made deals and bargains, said good trades made good politics. I didn’t always like his decisions, but he was willing to teach me what I wanted to learn: how to lead. And Doran looked after his tower and the city. He would act on our information. Kirit’s suspicion didn’t mesh with her willingness to help him search the Spire. Maybe everyone was right, that the fever had made her a bit skytouched after all.

  “At Grigrit, you’ll see how quickly he comes up with a plan,” I finally said.

  She bit her lip, but nodded agreement.

  I unfurled my wings fully and caught Kirit giving them an appraising glance in the last of the daylight. She’d landed after me when we met to search the Spire. She hadn’t seen Liras Viit’s latest design.

  “Those are fancy,” she finally said. Apologizing for talking down about my mentor? Rare for Kirit, but not impossible. More likely, she’d decided I was skytouched, and didn’t want to waste time arguing. That was more Kirit’s style.

  She returned to tightening her own wingstraps: the only pair of gray Singer wings still allowed in the towers. Although not for long.

  My wingsilk was hunter-shaded blues, rippled with brown. Though I spent most of my time now in the council, I still helped guard Densira and procure game; I’d maintained the right to wear the colors. “Doran’s design. Had some made for Ceetcee and Beliak too.” I didn’t mask the pride in my voice.

  Kirit clicked her tongue once. “You always wanted to hunt. You were good at it. Why become a councilor?”

  “I want to help lift the city up, make it better. Keep the Spire from happening again.” I paused, then asked the question that had bothered me for so long. “Why won’t you?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I won’t be someone’s rallying cry.”

  She launched from the Spire’s lip, and I followed, quickly overtaking her on the strong evening breeze. I kept my eyes open for prey—it wouldn’t hurt to bring some food home when I made it back. But the evening held only bug-chasing bats. What did she mean, “rallying cry”? She’d stopped the skymouths and the Singers. But she didn’t want to take responsibility for what came after. “Responsibility isn’t a rallying cry, Kirit! It’s hard work.” I said that to the windspill coming off her pinions. Then I felt bad. She hadn’t chosen any of this. To demand she continue to be a hero when others would gladly step forward? That was cruel.

  On the short glide to Grigrit, the wind felt like silk against my cheeks after the Spire’s dust. My wings filled and, despite my concerns for Kirit, my heart lifted to be going home soon, once this task was finally over. Worry about the Spire dampened the freedom I felt when I flew, but the joy was still there.

  By the time we approached Grigrit, the sky had darkened and stars pricked the eastern horizon. Kirit began echoing as she neared the tower, clicking her tongue rapidly on the roof of her mouth. Flying downwind of her, I could hear it, barely. The Singer technique for flying at night was still a sought-after skill. But enough had learned it that we wouldn’t need the graywings’ help anymore.

  I kept silent, not wanting to distract her navigation. I could fly at her pinion without a problem, and I didn’t want to risk her losing her satchel in a sudden updraft. But the night air remained clear. All around us, the towers rose dark against the dark sky. Oil lamps began to brighten Grigrit’s high tiers, and others in the distance. So many lights crowding into the tiers here. So many people.

  We circled Grigrit to the side that was trapped in the Spire’s near-constant shadow. A few dim lights glowed in the shadows’ depths.

  Kirit spilled wind from her wings, and I followed, descending lower than I’d intended to go. I thought she’d agreed we’d talk to Doran. What was she up to? Doran’s tier was at the top of Grigrit. We were far below that.

  We skidded to a stop on the slick, narrow balcony allotted to Grigrit’s five Spire refugees: two novices, the fledge Moc, a weighted Singer leader, and Kirit.

  Maalik fluttered in behind us and took his usual spot on my shoulder after I furled my wings halfway, ready to take off again.

  “What are we doing here?” I demanded. “We were going to see Doran.”

  “Kirit?” A fledge looked out from behind the patched sleeping screen. Her short hair was a spiky mess from sleeping on the secondhand mats they’d been given, which were rolled neatly against the tower wall.

  “Did you eat already, Nadoni?” Kirit asked her, setting down her satchel.

  My own stomach growled softly. I would be headed to Densira and a home-cooked meal, but for the Spire. “Kirit, really—”

  She turned to me. Spoke firmly, but gently. “We can spare a few minutes. These fledges are under my protection. The tower has grown stingy with its food, and I want to make sure they are prepared and well enough to move if need be.” She held my gaze with hers until I bowed my head, agreeing to wait. She sounded like Ezarit. The matter was urgent, but the fledges came first.

  Two more heads appeared from behind the screen. “This is Minlin,” Kirit said. “And you know Moc.”

  I gritted my teeth. The boy had been a plague on every tower agreeing to host him and his twin. Grigrit was his latest stop.

  The fledges watched us shrug from our wingstraps. Moc’s eyes were locked on the silk spans, the bone battens of my wingset. He seemed hungrier for them than for food.

  “We’re fine,” Minlin said, her chin high.

  “Starving,” said Moc.

  “We haven’t eaten much since the dirgeon yesterday,” Nadoni acknowledged slowly from the corner.

  Near the tier’s thick core wall, gristled laughter
sounded. Lawsmarkers clattered together and then the laughter stopped and coughing began. Minlin paled, but didn’t lower her chin or drop Kirit’s gaze.

  Kirit turned to me. “Do you have anything in your satchel?”

  I had the last of Ceetcee’s dried apples, spiced with sweet herbs. I pulled these out and shared them with Minlin and Nadoni first, then Moc. He’d edged close enough that he could touch my wings. I furled them tight so he wouldn’t get food on them.

  My new wings had specialized cams and pulls that made them much more responsive to the wind than previous designs. They had to be stowed with care.

  If my wings had been damaged in the Spire? I would never have heard the end of it from Doran. He’d recommended his own wingmaker for the design. I set them aside reluctantly. Kirit had shucked hers off as soon as she landed. On second thought: incredible luck. They weren’t damaged, and we retrieved the codex. That was skyblessed, and I shouldn’t forget it.

  Nadoni sidled near Moc, eyeing my wings as if she could eat them. Hers had been taken too. All of the Singers’ wings except Kirit’s had been taken, while novices’ wings had been replaced with fledge wings. The sets already leaning against the core wall looked like they had less control, less power than what Singer fledges were used to. I hadn’t been part of that decision, but councilman Vant had explained that it would “help them fit in.”

  Taking their gray wings had been necessary. I’d figured replacing fledges’ wings could dampen tower jealousies. Now it seemed cruel.

  Doran hadn’t argued the point. So I hadn’t either.

  “Risen, may I?” She asked so politely, I let Nadoni take my wings. My shoulders relaxed, despite myself. She placed my wings reverently near the pairs of patched, faded tower wings.

  Moc handed me a small sack of stale-smelling water. “All we’ve got left. Market tomorrow.”

  “We have enough markers for fruit now,” Kirit said, patting her satchel. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food cooking at home in Densira. “And better sleeping mats too, if we’re careful.”

  The comforts of home I was used to were far away. I imagined Ceetcee tucking quilts around Elna to keep her warm. Settling in to watch the stars on our balcony. A pot of chicory ready to warm for the morning. We were all young still, save Elna, but it was a good place to be. I missed it now.

  In the oil-light here at Grigrit, I could see that the tiny tier space they’d been assigned was indeed as cold and damp as Kirit had said. The fledges pulled the mats from the wall. Down dribbled from torn seams.

  I pulled Kirit aside while the novices went to work on the dried apples.

  “Why do you put up with this?”

  She shook her head, the few sparse braids she’d been able to coax from her hair swinging around her brow. “How could I do differently when they have no choice?” Her eyes met mine, pleading for understanding. I nodded, trying. I would never go downtower again if I could help it.

  “Why not try to bring them up with you? At least the fledges?”

  “Moc,” she said. “And Ciel.” She didn’t have to say any more. Of all the Singer fledges, the twins stood out, both for being twins and for what the Singers first tried to wave off as irreverent playfulness. Even from a distance, across the tier, I could see that Moc’s wrists and shoulders were decorated with minor Lawsmarkers. And a few majors.

  “Stealing?” That was a new one.

  “I didn’t!” He crossed the distance to where we stood in two long strides. He was much taller than when I’d seen him after Spirefall.

  “Moc!” Kirit ended the argument before it began. Turned to me. “He wants to fly. He wants to help. He could teach tower fledges so much with the right wings.”

  Moc hissed under his breath. “And I tried, didn’t I? They like trying to hear, and think my dives are funny. But these wings”—he threw a hand towards the pile near the wall—“didn’t work right, and their parents caught us, and—” He held out his left hand. Two more medium markers dangled from his wrist. Disruption, danger to tower.

  I frowned and cleared my throat. Caught Kirit’s warning look to Moc and stopped myself before lecturing him. I could see she’d been trying already. “And where is Ciel?”

  They both stared at me. Finally Moc spoke. “Summoned to council two days ago to talk about learning echoing while young. Didn’t you see her? She was supposed to be back by now.”

  It was the first I’d heard of it.

  “Someone else’s project, probably.” I wasn’t sure who was working with the Magisters on navigation, but Doran would know where she was sheltering. The brass-haired boy’s face brightened at the fact I took his concern seriously. A relief to see he did care for something besides my wings. “We’ll get her back to you.”

  “Thank you, Risen.” He used the honorific without dissembling. With a bow, he sat with the novices, like a proper fledge. But the stealing. That was unlucky.

  Kirit saw me looking and nudged me. Calling my attention to the dark shadows approaching, blocking the purpling sky. “Doran’s guards. To see who’s come to visit the Singers at this hour.”

  “Doran knew where you’d gone.”

  She laughed softly. “Yes, but they can also count. Two return after one left? Time to send the blackwings down.”

  The hunched form in the corner laughed again. A brittle sound, sharp in the damp air.

  “That Singer,” Kirit explained, “has barely spoken since I moved downtower, except to spit ‘Lawsbreaker’ at me. He likes to laugh at us.” The comment made the elder Singer laugh harder, until his coughing began again.

  In the oil-light, I could see the elder Singer now, weighted down with layer after layer of Lawsmarkers. It didn’t surprise me. Across the city’s towers, Wik and the other Singer leaders were similarly weighted, and several were under guard for their own safety. There was a water sack within his reach, and Nadoni walked to him and handed him an apple as I watched.

  With a clatter and a loud laugh, Doran’s guard landed on the tier balcony. “Singers!” she shouted. “Rise.”

  Kirit brushed apple bits from her robes. The novices and Moc stood too. I heard the elder Singer struggle to stand, clattering.

  “You are welcome,” Kirit said, bowing. She had begun to straighten when Doran Grigrit himself landed behind the guard and furled his dark wings. Kirit bowed lower instead. “You are welcome, Risen.” The novices followed suit. I stayed upright.

  Doran left the guard on the balcony, and strode into the tier until he nearly filled it. The man was a giant. His wings were the biggest Liras Viit had ever made. “Kirit Skyshouter, well returned! I’d expected you uptower. Had a meal prepared.”

  My stomach rumbled again.

  Kirit kept her head bowed. I’d never seen her abase herself like that. It was chilling.

  “You may speak freely,” Doran said. “You are among friends.”

  When Kirit raised her head, it was obvious from her clenched jaw that she didn’t feel friendly at all. I was stunned too, and a bit awed. In council, Doran Grigrit rarely deferred to anyone. But neither had Kirit, ever.

  Politics, Nat, Ceetcee had told me. If you want to rise in council, you must become savvier about politics. Here, in this downtower tier, I was far from my depth.

  Then Doran turned to me. “Well?”

  I smiled, proud. “We found the codex.” Kirit’s jaw clenched harder, and her hands curled to fists. Clouds. I hadn’t meant to steal her glory. “I mean, Kirit found it.”

  “Excellent!” Doran held out his hands. “Let’s see it.”

  Kirit put both hands on her satchel, which she’d kept slung across her chest after she’d removed her wings. “I’ll share it with council in the morning. With the full council.” She turned to me, eyebrows raised. “As we’d agreed.”

  We’d agreed on no such thing, but the tension in the room made me wonder what I was missing. I nodded to buy myself time to figure it out.

  Doran seemed to billow in the dim light. Then he l
et out a calm breath. It was a technique I’d seen him use in council and had been trying to emulate. He was showing us patience, leadership. Despite deep misgivings. “Of course. As is proper, Skyshouter. Respect is so important. But let me suggest that you turn the codex over to a council representative now, for safekeeping.”

  If I’d had fire, I could have lit the air, Kirit was so tense. I knew Doran well enough by now to see he was being helpful but was running out of patience. He was pushing hard. And I’d known Kirit all my life. She would refuse as hard as she was pushed.

  Doran extended his hand, reaching for the satchel again. For the codex. Kirit turned to me. “I will give it to a councilor,” she finally agreed. She pulled the strap over her head, ruffling the down-thin hair near her forehead. Held out the satchel to me. “Nat will keep it safe tonight.”

  The sack was heavier than my Lawsmarker-filled bag, and more awkward. I held it carefully. This would suit Doran and Kirit both. As long as I could swap it back to Kirit to carry tomorrow.

  “Fine,” Doran said, the word tightly clipped and sharp edged. “When will you fly?”

  Kirit met his eyes. “As soon as I see these fledges well provisioned at the market tomorrow. Unless you brought a meal down?”

  She had defied him and was now questioning him. I’d never seen Doran so close to yelling. He was an astute politician, usually. But Kirit’s challenge was too much for him.

  Time for diplomacy. Or at least distraction.

  “We have much to tell the council, and much that Grigrit needs to know as well,” I began. “The Spire is dying, as Lith once did. Nearby towers should be warned that it could collapse at any moment.” A new worry emerged. Would the city hold Kirit responsible for this too?

  Doran nodded slowly, letting me distract him from his frustration. “This I suspected.”

  Kirit pointed over his shoulder, to the Spire’s dark bulk in the distance. “And yet you let your people live in its shadow without preparations? What about the other towers?”

  “I am making preparations, Skyshouter. Many are at work on the problem. You would know more if you had agreed to help lead the tower. Your job today was to find the codex.”