Horizon

by Fran Wilde

  Djonn watched me carefully. Finally, he spoke. “I think you are right. Too much information, in this case, may be more harmful than good. They will find out soon enough.”

  Hearing him put it that way made me groan. “When you say it like that, it sounds worse.”

  Djonn raised his eyebrows. “I am supporting you, though I don’t like it. Don’t make me make you feel better about this too. That’s not who I am. I build things.”

  He was right. Kirit would have said the same thing. You won’t have to lie or make me feel better.

  “Does Macal know?” Djonn fiddled with a batten in the box kite. His skin was tinged gray from all the work and lack of sleep.

  I shook my head. “Can I trust him not to tell more people? He needs to focus on getting everyone down and evacuated.” Macal would know I’d failed again.

  “He’ll do that better with more information.”

  “But can he keep the secret?” This had been my worry. Macal wasn’t a stranger, but he wasn’t a friend either. And we’d already disagreed about so much.

  Djonn shook his head. “I’ll work on the design problem. You work on the towers and the blackwings.”

  Any relief that Djonn knew was short-lived. “You can’t tell anyone either. Not even Aliati.” Secrets had a way of bleeding through if enough people knew. I hadn’t told Beliak or Ceetcee, although I desperately wanted to. I couldn’t tell Elna. She would never make the journey if she knew—she might say our energy was wasted getting her down and we should take someone else. I couldn’t bear that.

  “I’ll wait for you to say something. You know the ground best.” Djonn frowned, then looked up.

  Overhead, dark shadows flickered in and out of the mist. Gryphons? Bone eaters?

  “Blackwings,” Djonn said. “Looking for the meadow. They’ve been at it since Dix came down and didn’t come back. Haven’t found us yet.” Djonn pointed up at the skymouth camouflage. “We’ve been hiding in plain sight. Elna helped us turn a skymouth skin into netting to hide the meadow.”

  “Elna did?” I could see her sewing something like that, her deft touch with a needle and sinew.

  “We’re lucky she’s here.” Djonn coughed. “Though I don’t think it does much for her health, or mine.”

  Silently, I cursed the cave, the damp.

  “Very lucky,” Djonn continued, “that she wasn’t on Densira when it collapsed.”

  I let the weight of that mixed luck sink in. Elna was alive because the blackwings had taken her from Densira and brought her here in order to bargain.

  For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

  “When they evacuate, the netting won’t matter. Blackwings will finally know where we are,” Djonn added, oblivious to my discomfort. “More hands to help with the work. But more risk too.” He sounded cautious, at best. His face grew troubled. “Last time we had blackwings here in the meadow, Doran died. We need to be careful.”

  Doran, Rya’s father. He’d fought Dix with us. He’d been my mentor on city council, long ago. He’d maneuvered the truth a lot, omitted information. And he’d paid for it, in the end.

  “Agreed,” I told Djonn. It was all I could manage.

  Blackwings had imprisoned Djonn. They’d fed him heartbone until he couldn’t live without it and forced him to artifex for them. He’d escaped, with Aliati’s help. They’d kidnapped Elna. Anticipating further contact with blackwings wasn’t easy.

  “We’ll make sure you’re all right,” I promised. Our hope was that one faction was better than the others. Rya’s faction.

  “You might have to make sure sooner, rather than later,” Djonn said. “Look.”

  The dark shadows had reappeared in the clouds, passing between towers, closer this time. The figures flew over the meadow, low enough for wing colors and robes to be visible. Two pairs of blackwings, flanking a set of blue.

  “Get everyone inside. Tell Moc,” Djonn said.

  When I hesitated, Djonn slapped me hard on the arm. “Go! I’ll catch up.” And I ran, whistling the tower windsign for “danger” as I passed Ciel and Ceetcee on the scaffolding. They grabbed Macal and the guards and pulled them towards the cave. I heard the baby wail in insult as she was jostled, then quiet.

  “Do we have arrows?” I asked. I had six left. Ciel had four. “Bows?”

  Moc sped past, carrying several very old-looking bows in his hands. They’d been restrung, but they were obviously from one of the cloudbound caches we’d discovered near the meadow, before we fell.

  Beliak stuck his head outside. “They landed below the cave and are climbing up.”

  “I’ll go,” Moc said, and headed for the tunnels.

  “Moc!” Ceetcee called. “Just—hold them off.”

  Moc grumbled but kept moving.

  “I’ll go too.” Ciel grabbed a bow and sped to catch her brother while the rest of us followed quickly behind them. She’d traded her ragged robes for a fresh set, the quilted green silk not clean exactly, but better than what she’d had. Her hair had been neatly braided. Chasing Moc, she still looked weary.

  We made it through the tunnel. Ceil and Moc stood at the cave mouth with Aliati, arrows pointing at three figures pulling their way through the lichen. “Stop there,” Aliati shouted.

  The blackwings didn’t stop. I heard the lichen crunching beneath their feet as they approached, wings half furled. They carried several heavy sacks. No weapons that I could see.

  “Hold,” I whispered.

  “Wait.” Macal grabbed my arm. My grip on my own knife grew tighter. “I know them. The one in the middle is Urie Mondarath.” He sighed as the blackwings climbed closer. But now I could see the third flier wore green wings, not black, though they were darkened with rainwater.

  They climbed to just below the cave, within reach of our ropes.

  “He’s of your tower? You take responsibility?” I asked.

  Macal nodded, but there was a pause before he said, “Yes.” Something he was holding back.

  Beliak stepped close to the cave edge, still favoring his leg.

  “Macal speaks for you,” he said. “You are welcome here unless you break his trust and ours.”

  “We will not!” shouted the blackwing. “Agreed,” said the other flier.

  The third, Urie, was already in the cave, shaking off the wet from his hair. He was more than bedraggled, though. He had small blisters on his left cheek, chin, and arm. Pieces of his robe were burned away.

  “Fire?” Aliati helped Urie with his wings.

  He shrugged them off with a mischievous grin. “No! Better.” Urie kept smiling while the rest of us waited. “We made it! We’ve got alembics, Macal!”

  Macal leaned close. “Lighter-than-air?”

  The boy laughed. “We barely got away from Laria with the supplies and the artifexes but”—and here he stepped back and we saw another line of blackwings approaching, this time carrying burdens—“here they are. My aunts. The alembics.”

  “On your wings, Urie!” Macal’s enthusiasm echoed through the cave. The baby woke at the noise, but Macal kept going. “Now we must set up a steady supply of heartbone.” He paused. Clamped a hand over the boy’s arm. “But you were supposed to be helping Sidra. What has happened?”

  I had bigger concerns. “You brought stolen mechanicals here? Are you cloudtouched? Laria and their blackwings will be after both alembics and artifexes.” I glared at Macal. This was so dangerous.

  Urie smiled even more broadly. “They won’t pursue.”

  Despite his burns, the young hunter’s bravado was starting to wear thin. He was barely old enough to have passed his wingtest. How could he understand cross-city politics at this point, when so much was in flux? I was that arrogant, once. Worse for us, what Urie had done now put Macal’s and my journey above the clouds in jeopardy. Who would listen now to thieves? To Lawsbreakers?

  Ceetcee took one look at my face and stepped between me and the young man. “Tell us why not.”

  Urie helped the alc
hemists enter the bone cave as he answered. “Because we set enough hints to blame it on Grigrit. And by the time we left, they were already fighting!” Urie looked around for approval and instead found frowns and looks of concern. “What did I do wrong?”

  Macal patted his shoulder. “It’s all right.”

  It had to be all right. But our work had just become more difficult, and there was no changing it. Blackwing factions fighting, when we needed them to agree. Worse and worse.

  The second and third fliers dropped their sacks with a clatter in the cave mouth. The bulky bags stank like heartbone. Worse.

  Djonn and Aliati moved quickly away from the smell. Ceetcee too, standing as close as she could to the fresh air of the cave opening with the baby’s mouth and nose covered by a silk cloth. My course of action was clear. “That has to go outside, now.”

  Just beyond the cave mouth I saw the silver outlines of several sacks of lighter-than-air, weighted down with bonefall. I grabbed them. “These too.”

  “I’ll show you where to store it,” Beliak said. The two artifexes and Urie followed him out the back, turning to get their burdens through the tunnel.

  “Won’t the alembics rust?” Macal worried as he watched them go. His face, like his brother’s, showed little emotion.

  I railed at him. “Better they rust than the people in this cave breathe heartbone, don’t you think?” He wasn’t thinking about the people here. Not about Djonn. Not even about the baby.

  When they’d deposited their bags nearer the meadow and the open air, the alchemists joined the blackwings for a midday meal in the meadow. Urie returned with Beliak to the cave, looking hungry and curious. “We’ve been descending for two days because the scavengers said to take it slow.”

  “They were right,” Aliati said. “Who told you this?”

  “Raq,” Urie said without hesitation. “She said to look for you.”

  The flicker of happiness on Aliati’s face was quick, but I saw it. Djonn moved to stand beside her. “The whole community will have to come down just as slowly, won’t they?”

  “Or slower,” Aliati said.

  Clouds, the time to evacuate had grown even shorter. I hadn’t added time for tower citizens to rest along the way, only thought about how long it would take to convince them to come. We’d been here two days already, and it had taken three more to climb up. Two moons at best, and we were nearly halfway through. We couldn’t delay. Macal and I had to leave tomorrow.

  Macal tensed at the same time, as if he’d had a similar thought. We looked at one another, over the gap of our disagreements. He lifted his chin towards me as if to say, Go ahead.

  “If we can’t bring the whole city down in the next few days,” I said quietly, so the alchemists wouldn’t hear, “they’ll die. We have to start now. Macal wants hundreds to move through the clouds as soon as possible.”

  Aliati’s eyes widened. “There’s barely enough time to get them moving. From what you say, what’s propping the city up is holding. But any delay? I don’t believe that can last.”

  I couldn’t argue that. It was why I’d hesitated telling anyone about the wind.

  The cave echoed with voices as everyone began talking at once.

  I put my thumb and my second finger into my mouth and gave the loudest whistle I could. The sound passed through the cave, leaving silence in its wake.

  “We’re going to move a city full of people, in stages, starting tomorrow, if Macal and I succeed.” My voice rose, then caught on the last syllable. “We must check everything. Once the blackwings arrive, organization may become complicated. Know now that Djonn is your leader. His decisions are final.”

  Urie whispered in surprise, “On your wings.”

  Macal spoke next. “Most of the city will fly at least part of the way on their own. There must be time given for acclimating to the clouds—Aliati was clear on the risks there. Then, when we reach the lowcloud, everyone will need to descend on the tethered kites that Djonn is working on.” He looked at Urie. “They’re tiered plinths with buoyancy from lighter-than-air and foils. Those who reach the ground first”—here he gestured at Ceetcee and Beliak—“will help prepare for everyone else.”

  Ceetcee’s face brightened at the prospect. Clouds, how could I keep the truth from her?

  But Djonn had begun to speak. “The kites can be hooked to tower pulleys at the base of the cloud. We’ll have to make sure they’re carrying as much lighter-than-air as they can manage, with passengers as ballast.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “Kite crews will be responsible for the safety of their passengers, just like tower leaders. We’ll find you the lighter-than-air.” Somehow, we would. “When a kite finishes a run, it will offload ballast and rise back up to get another group. Understand so far?”

  My companions nodded. Understood.

  “We’ll send down a first crew with the kavik that Urie brought us, so they can let us know they made it safely. That kite will leave tomorrow at the same time Nat and Macal go up. Before we do that”—Djonn looked at me—“we all need to know as much as possible.”

  I looked at my friends, my family. The people I’d fought to reach. The ones I’d sworn to get away from the city.

  The firelight illuminated their faces. All but Ciel returned my gaze, waiting for me to tell them more. Ciel stared at the floor, held her breath. Djonn nodded, eyebrows raised. Go on, he seemed to be saying.

  The baby, nestled in Beliak’s arms, opened her eyes and stared at me.

  I struggled to find the words. I had to speak.

  17

  KIRIT, BELOW

  An old foe appeared, strange rules they defied

  When I woke once more in the healer’s alcove, Wik’s seat was empty. Again.

  But beside me, very close, came the sound of ragged breathing.

  Groggily, feeling as if I’d had too much muzz, I tried to focus.

  A darkly cloaked figure bent near my hammock, rummaging through the healers’ medicines. Containers knocked together.

  Again, the scent of smoke and cooked vegetation wafted towards me, this time too close.

  The hand that reached into my robe was missing two fingers. “You made it all the way here, Kirit,” a voice growled.

  I understood those words. I’d heard that voice before.

  Coarse laughter ricocheted through my shock. Familiar. The hood shadowed the person’s features. Another blackwing? I shook my head to clear it. How many of us had walked across the desert? The voice was female. Her tone, bitter. The voice had changed from the one I’d known—deepened, become rougher. But I’d heard it in my nightmares.

  The blackwing said, “And you said you didn’t know me. I wasn’t too grogged to hear.” The voice belonged to someone I’d last seen in a cage. I was shocked into alertness. Dix. Freed?

  Her fingers rooted in my pockets, between layers of my robe. They pulled and tugged, searching. Maalik chirped. Screeched. Claws scrabbled against my skin, then released.

  Dix cackled as I shifted away from her grasp. I wetted my lips, wondering if I was strong enough to fight after the exertions of the day before. I tried to sit up, grew dizzy with the effort.

  The best I could do was speak, a protest and a loud alarm, both: “Dix!”

  Wik came back in a rush. Looked around, saw nothing. “You’re having a nightmare.”

  “If you’d been here, you would know I’m not.”

  Wik scanned the room gesturing sit back, rest, but I pointed to where Dix had flattened herself on the floor to hide.

  “She got out, and she has Maalik.” How could he leave me unguarded? Does he think we were safe here? I fought to stand. Hung on to the hammock for balance.

  Wik grunted, circled the hammock ducking beneath the cables, and yanked the blackwing’s robe.

  Bone containers of medicine tumbled from her pockets as she struggled to conceal the bird, then to keep Wik’s hands away.

  “I’ll break its neck,” she said. “No more whipperling.
”

  Despite myself, I cried out. “No!”

  Wik slowed, but was not gentle when he hauled the blackwing up from the floor. “You got out. How?”

  Dix did not answer. Once again, I tried to move towards her. This time, I mostly managed. The weakness was frustrating—I’d worked too hard to stand yesterday. But I’d climbed the Spire on a half-healed leg. I could do this too.

  “Kirit,” Wik cautioned, “you shouldn’t—”

  “I know I shouldn’t, but what choice do we have?” I didn’t look at Dix. The urge to hurt her was too strong, and I was still too weak. If I was going to break my vow to not kill anything, it would be with strength. To finish the job I’d thought the fall had done. “She has Maalik!”

  I wobbled, and the scar on my leg throbbed. No, it wasn’t entirely healed. But I could still fight. I stepped towards Dix. “Give me back the whipperling.”

  But she stuffed Maalik into her robe. “I’ll smother the bird before you can even make a move.” Dix looked from me to Wik and back. “If you let me be, I’ll let him live.”

  Broken bones had reset across her face and nose, rendering her almost a stranger, but I recognized her eyes. They were the same as they’d always been: hard and unforgiving. Only now they were ringed with purple bruises and a deadened-seeming fear. The ruin of her hand, her face. Hurt and desperate, she’d do what she said.

  We couldn’t risk losing Maalik. His small body was too fragile, and Dix still too quick. He was our best hope to contact our cloudbound friends once we found a new city. I signaled Wik to stand down. “How did you get here? How did you get out?”

  Dix laughed. “The bone bars weren’t very strong, and they don’t watch the cage. They think it’s solid, think I’m safely muzzed, but they only make sure if the council wants to talk to me. If I don’t eat what they give me, I can come and go as I like, and they’ll never know I’m gone, until I’m ready to leave the city entirely.”

  “That figures,” Wik said. “From what I gathered, the healer took her in. She stole from them, and others.” Wik looked at Dix.

  She squirmed. “They gave things to me. Just as they gave you yours.” She gestured at the bracelet. “At first, at least,” Dix said. “But they have so much! So many things we need to survive.” At Wik’s ever-darkening look, her tone grew more contrite. “I did ask at first. It was for our city.”