by Fran Wilde
I looked down at Rya. She had the crowd’s attention now. The blackwings had dissipated and were watching intently from the outskirts. Urie himself had stepped back to make room if the mechanism failed.
I’d been frightened many times in my life, but never with such an audience. I tightened the wingstraps and put myself in the hands of those who were winding the tension spring again.
Before me stood citizens I’d been fledges with, some I’d represented on council, some who’d supported me when I’d challenged the city, and many with whom I’d fought. They stared up at me, whispering. Beyond them, a broad span of desert, and then the approaching city. Birds circling on the horizon. Somewhere in between, I thought I saw a glitter of pale wings again. I blinked and it was gone.
Brokenwings. Liar. I was none of these. Not any longer.
“To the flier!” Minlin said. The crowd echoed her.
I focused on the baby’s head, her eyes, closed tight, her fingers curled to fists. On her future, not mine.
“Ready,” I said.
I heard them crank the climber’s legs down. Felt tension build at my back and feet.
Then I heard Rya say, “On your wings, Nat. Mercy on your wings.”
And the climber flung me into the air. The rush of wind felt so familiar. The wild forward pitch did not. But, for a moment, I flew.
When I dropped my ballast, I rose higher, gliding on the light air, thanks to the gas in the pieces of skymouth hide that hung from my wings. I was flying.
I made it farther than I thought I would too.
I made it halfway to the oncoming city, getting a close look at their bone eaters, when my altitude began to drop.
One of the gasbags was leaking. I could hear it hiss. My left wing dipped hard, and I spiraled, watching the ground get closer. I tried to curve my wings to capture more air. Failed. A shadow passed overhead.
I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t brace. I closed my eyes.
With a jerk, I was yanked out of my fall and lifted.
“Caught you,” said a voice I hadn’t heard in several moons.
Kirit.
37
KIRIT, BELOW
Against all odds wings finally soar
We’d worked for days on my plan, building the new wings.
Using the supplies Moc and Ciel had brought and making the modifications that Djonn dreamed up when he wasn’t sleeping, a new kind of glider emerged from the wreckage of the first box kite.
The objects Dix had stolen from the other city became our salvation. We reworked the kite so that it could steer with them. We kept them wound. Ciel prized apart one and figured out, with the help of the brass plates, how she could make it stronger and run longer. She and Aliati made several more out of bone.
As I sat on the ridgeline the second day at sunset, sewing extra panels on a new set of wings, Dix approached.
“Do you know if they have an alembic with them?”
“Aliati and Raq? Yes, they brought one. Why?” I couldn’t imagine she’d find heartbone down here.
“Because the gas that’s coming from vents near the water might be distillable, like heartbone, but much faster. Like rot gas. We could turn it into something that works like lighter-than-air.”
We couldn’t spare the hands, but we needed the gas, if it was possible. “We don’t have time for distractions.”
“I am trying to help,” she said.
She was being true. “This doesn’t mean you are forgiven,” I cautioned.
“I understand. I don’t deserve to be,” she said, quieter than she used to be.
Aliati gave her one of the alembics. When Dix succeeded at harvesting the gas—a dangerous task—she distilled it.
She brought the first sack, floating on a string, to Djonn. Transferred the gas to emptied ballast balloons and went to make more. The balloons filled fast. I followed her down to the cave.
In the quiet, while she began distilling the gas again, I had to ask a question I’d wondered about for a long time. “Why did you hate me?”
She shrugged. “You were the Spirebreaker. And Ezarit’s daughter.”
“Why did you hate her?”
“Ezarit?” Dix laughed softly. “She made it easy.”
That wasn’t an answer. “She had what you wanted. You were jealous? So you—” The wingtest. The attack on the council.
“At first, yes. I was turned down for Singer. They offered it to her instead, and she refused. Then Civik chose to betray the Spire.”
Civik. My father.
Dix continued. “All that hurt. I vowed to be better. Then Rumul offered to help.”
“You were a Magister. That is a great honor.”
“But I wanted so much more. Rumul expected much more of me.” Dix looked younger as she spoke, despite her injuries.
“And then he gave you that more.”
Dix nodded.
“And you took it farther.”
Her hand stopped. Hung in the air over the alembic. “It’s true. I did that.” She didn’t elaborate or try to excuse herself. “I might do the same again.”
I hated her then. I could not forgive her. But she kept working. She was helping. We needed all the hands we could get. And I respected the fact that she wasn’t trying to win us over with lies. But she’d be a problem when we regrouped with the rest of the community. “You cannot stay here,” I said.
She saw me looking at her work. Her neat, exact movements with the alembic. “I know. I don’t belong in the world that’s coming next, Kirit.”
Her words, out of nowhere, shocked me. No scheming. No attempts to win something. I couldn’t answer. She kept speaking.
“I’ll take my leave once we get the gliders rigged. We’ll launch you right, and then I’ll go. The scavengers might have me. If I prove myself.”
They might. Or might not. “I hope you’re not waiting for me to beg you to stay.”
She shook her head. “I’m not.” And she kept working.
* * *
When we were ready, we took the transformed second kite. The foils were smaller and sleeker now. The craft steered easier too.
Ciel, Moc, Raq, and I crewed the kite. I tucked my wings inside its main basket. Below us, Aliati and two of the survivors from the other kite ran with the tethers along the ridgeline, getting us enough momentum to rise higher in the air than the lighter-than-air could push.
And we flew. The propellers buzzed, and the cams we’d installed in the wings helped us turn. With Moc and Ciel functioning as the hands, and Raq working the windscoop as a tail while minding the propellers, we began to turn a slow, climbing circle on the updrafts to build up height, and then headed for the interior, moving faster than I expected.
The healer had demanded to come with us in the kite, to stay close to the littlemouths. Now they crouched in the bottom of the basket, terrified and airsick.
But Ciel whooped. Moc let loose a long shout of happiness. And I felt the wind on my face. We were flying again. It was a different kind of flight, but it didn’t matter.
“Don’t crash!” Moc shouted as we passed a peak on the ridge.
I wasn’t about to. We kept building up speed so we could make it across the desert.
Once we arrived, we wouldn’t be able to land. I would have to anchor near the city. I hoped we’d be able to talk Rya into moving away. I hoped we could carry some citizens with us, while others followed on their own kites, to the ridge, where we’d be safer.
But once we’d anchored, getting going again would be slow, dependent on the lighter-than-air—if we could get any, if they had some left—and the propellers. We’d come in like a gryphon or a kestrel and leave like a float. That was fine, as long as we could leave with the citizens aboard, or give them means to escape.
We gained altitude and finally got a good look at the city. Liope joined us, looking at the shelters that had sprung up around the fallen beast. Eyes glazed with tears, they looked back at me, then back to the city.
> The collapse had driven a deep valley into the ground, covered with bone tiers that stretched far from the decaying frame of the giant. Below it, I saw the curve of an enormous egg, and I sucked my teeth.
“Can you see it?” I asked Ciel.
“It looks lighter than before,” Moc said.
“Serrahun,” Liope whispered.
Then, briefly, motion out of the corner of my eye. Near what must have been a set of tents and shelters, someone had rigged up a mechanism. As we watched, it flung a person high into the air. Their wings filled and they kept going, gliding a wobbly path.
“Oh,” said Ciel and Liope both at the same time. The littlemouth on Ciel’s shoulder glowed at the sound of their astonishment.
Below us, people ran, trying to follow the flier along on the ground, unable to catch up. They saw us too.
The pair of wings began to falter. “Go closer,” I said.
“We can’t!” Ciel called back. “We’ll lose too much altitude.”
I began to slide my rebuilt wings over my shoulders. “A little lower. Now.”
When I jumped off, they’d rise back up. But there wasn’t any time to plan. Ciel did what I asked, and I climbed over the basket and stood on the silk and bone wing.
“Kirit!”
“Wait!” I’d know that wingset anywhere, and I wasn’t going to let him fall this time.
I flicked the propellers on, dove from the kite, and spread my wings.
* * *
When I caught him, Nat struggled for just a moment. I circled lower, flying back over the dead city and brought him down in the center of the shelters. He stood then, wobbling, and turned while I let the last of the lighter-than-air out of my own wings in order to land. The ground caught me hard, and I stumbled. Nat reached out a hand to steady me.
“You came back,” he said, dusting himself off to avoid meeting my eyes.
“I couldn’t miss an opportunity like that, could I?” My voice cracked when I said it.
Finally, we looked at each other while we furled our wings. People came near, clapped us on the shoulders, and tried to pull me away. Wik stood a few winglengths off, near a woman draped in black feathers who looked unmistakably like Doran. But I couldn’t look away from Nat.
He was bruised and battered; I was scarred too.
I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him close enough to crush him, wings and all.
He squirmed, then wrapped his arms around me too. For a moment, we were back on his mother’s balcony, talking all night, looking at the stars. We were six Allsuns old and just learning to fly. We were walking through the undercloud, falling out of the wind. He was hauling me out of the meadow, away from the fallen council; I was leaving him to climb alone back to the clouds.
We were all these things in one.
I pressed my forehead to Nat’s, and he met my eyes.
“You are such a bonehead,” I whispered. “I’d catch you again if I had to.”
“I’d catch you too,” he said, low enough that only I could hear.
My almost-brother, my wingmate. Forgiven and more.
Maalik circled and dove, finally landing on Nat’s shoulder. The whipperling chattered at me.
We didn’t let go of each other until Ceetcee and Beliak came running, yelling at Nat for every stupid thing he’d ever done. And then, over Beliak’s shoulder, a baby cried and they all started laughing.
The tiny creature kicked at me, and I tickled its feet, amazed at how small it was.
The others crowded closer.
Only then did I reach out and lace my fingers through Wik’s. Pulled him close, into the knot of friends and companions. “I promised I’d return.”
38
NAT, BELOW
A city approaches, the Aivans want war
At the center of our ruined city, our tight knot of companions had only a moment together before Ciel shouted from the kite above, “Look to the horizon!”
The approaching city was indeed moving faster, headed towards us. Its bone eaters, loaded with sacks of carrion, flew out front, goaded by riders on their backs. The ground began to resonate beneath Varat’s feet.
Overhead, Raq, Moc, and Ciel circled in their strange kite, recalibrating their wing angles as they tried to stay above us.
“Their lighter-than-air might run out soon; their propellers will need to be rewound,” Kirit said. I heard Ciel calling orders. A figure in a pale shift slid down a rope from the kite, and landed gracefully on the ground.
“Who is that?” I asked as the figure waved at Kirit.
“Someone who helped me,” Kirit said as the stranger began to walk towards us. “Liope. A healer at the other city, the one we call Varat and they call Serra. They risked their life, though it’s not fully clear why.”
I stared at Kirit. Siding with another city. Not destroying Dix immediately. Did I know her any longer? “What did you do?”
She frowned. “We’ve learned much. We can help.”
“Take the stranger,” Rya ordered her guards. “And Kirit too.”
“Hold on,” Kirit protested. “You need me. I think we can avoid a fight. We’re going to try anyway.”
Avoid a fight? Kirit?
Two Aivans tried to catch the stranger, who dodged the guards by racing them over the uneven terrain to come to Wik’s side, where Rya looked at them warily, her knife drawn.
The attacking city drew closer.
Wik didn’t raise his weapon. “I want to hear what Liope has to say.”
The stranger pointed to Wik. Reached into their bag and pulled out an intricate mechanism, which was softly making a kit-kit-kit sound. He hissed in alarm. They pointed to Wik again.
“What is this?” Rya said. “Take this person and their artifact away.”
“Wait.” Wik looked hard at the stranger. “We took something that didn’t belong to us. From Varat. Didn’t we?” He pulled the map and lens from his satchel. The healer nodded.
The stranger held up the mechanism, made a gesture as if offering it to Wik. They pointed at our group gathered on the plain. “Hun.”
Kirit pointed at the dead city, and at all the people there. And at the kite. And the horizon. “Serrahun.” Serra. Home.
Liope looked at us, then at the fallen city. They took a deep breath and held out their hand for the map. When they had a firm grasp on it, they handed Wik the mechanism.
A trade.
“What is that?” Rya asked.
“Like rot gas,” Wik explained.
Kirit added, “But in this case, I think it is a peace offering.”
“We have to prepare to fight, Kirit. Not exchange presents.” Varat’s bone eaters were audible. “Why now?”
“Now, Nat,” Ciel shouted to us from above, “because we have more in common than we thought.” She hummed and Kirit hummed until the littlemouth on Ciel’s shoulder glowed. A corresponding glow appeared on Liope’s shoulder.
Liope saw the glow and smiled. “Littlemouth,” they whispered.
Kirit’s shocked expression told me this was a new development. “Hope,” she whispered.
Then the stranger stepped away from our group and began the long trek towards the oncoming city. Varat seemed to slow as Kirit’s healer stepped into its sights. But no arrows flew. No bone eaters attacked them. Not yet.
“Ready weapons.” Rya signaled her guards. “Kirit, if you plan to fly for us—”
“We need to wait,” Wik interrupted. “Let Liope try. Our ways aren’t like theirs. We’re not the only city anymore. We have to hope they’ll see it too.”
“I disagree,” I said. “If Varat is attacking, we must be ready to fight.” Ceetcee cradled the baby, her eyes were wide as she watched the city. She headed to the kites for safety.
“I won’t abandon the old city or fail to defend the new one,” Rya said. “No matter what.” Her Aivans shared out weapons. Wik took a bow, a sheath of arrows, and a knife. I found a passable bow as well. “If Varat reaches the towerfall, we’ll
fight.”
“From above and below,” Kirit said, nodding. “But if Liope can turn them, or we stop them, that would be better.”
Beliak checked my wings for me. “That flight was the stupidest and bravest thing you’ve ever done. Don’t do it again.”
I chuckled. “I’ll try.” Then I tightened his wingstraps. We made ready for a fight, or maybe for a tentative peace, if Kirit was right.
Raq and Ciel began tossing down tethers. “We can take five at a time!” The other kites, farther away, set up high-flung archer stations.
As each fighter grabbed a wingset from the shelters, the area around the city became less of a settlement and more a wide swath of footprints.
Liope reached Varat. Their figure was nearly lost in the oncoming city’s shadow.
Above, the kite was still circling and had dropped two ballast sacks: one split on impact and spilled dark ridge rock. Rya picked up a piece of the rock and looked at curiously. “What is that?”
“It is a chance to start again,” Kirit said.
We climbed the ropes to the kite and gathered the lighter-than-air. When we were ready, we launched from the kite wing, aiming for the oncoming city and its enormous black carrion birds.
* * *
The last time a city loomed on the horizon, there’d been four of us to stand in its path. Now there were many more, both in the air and on the ground. Not all could fly. Those who couldn’t armed themselves still and headed onto the plain to stand between the oncoming city and ours.
From the air, they looked like bugs scrambling towards a giant. But just four of us had toppled a city once. Perhaps, now grown in numbers, we could successfully turn this one away.
Beside me Beliak, Kirit, Wik, and Urie attempted a bee formation. We all moved slower than we were used to with the lighter-than-air, rather than wind. Kirit and Wik dropped winghooks and towed us, propelled by their stolen spinners. Others circled slowly in the air over the settlement, ready to advance if the other city crossed Rya’s line.
We’d locked our wings and had nocked arrows. When we got close to Varat, I saw that five figures stood on the city’s head. They’d dropped a net over the side, where Liope approached.
“The council leaders,” Wik called.
