Cloudbound (31 page)

Wik and Beliak grinned at each other, but did what she asked. I followed gamely, feeling lighter and happier than I had in many months, despite an undercurrent of worry for the others.

“Aren't you afraid of the blackwings?” I shouted to Aliati. She hushed me, but nodded. Then she yelled at Ceetcee, and they both rose, driving Wik, Moc, and Beliak before them. I made Ciel go ahead of me, and bumbled on a turbulent gust of wind behind them until we'd reached a ledge a half dozen tiers from where we'd last seen the blackwings.

Near where we'd last seen the others.

This ledge was deep and well-shadowed, though not as protected by overgrowth as the bridge below. Wind whistled over the bone spur that rose little higher than Wik's head.

As my head cleared, nothing seemed so funny anymore.

“What happened?” I demanded as soon as we'd settled.

Aliati looked at me, ashen. Then at Beliak, who was still smiling happily, and Ciel, who giggled with a hand over her mouth. Moc was the only one of them not laughing. “We might have to go up again even higher, if they don't recover.”

As we stood on the ledge, a drizzle began to fall. More moisture than we'd ever seen at one time. Ciel giggled harder and opened her mouth to drink it. Choked and coughed. Ceetcee drew deep breaths, her color returning.

Somewhere nearby, I heard water running. A cloudbound waterfall.

Ciel's giggles slowed. She looked at Wik, then at Aliati. “What's happening?”

Aliati leaned against the ledge wall. “Scavengers have another verse of ‘Corwin and the Nest of Thieves.'”

She hummed the tune, then sang it awkwardly.

Five descend beyond the nest, far, far below.

They find metal fine carved and bright of shine,

but to it cannot hold.

Drop it down, chase it down, ever farther down.

Two return, with laughter burn, from far, far below.

“And then Corwin comes and takes the rest of the metal from them,” she finished, waving her hand.

I'd begun to feel more like myself, and I shuddered at the scavenger's ghost story.
Two return, with laughter burn.
I remembered Aliati's scowl when Ciel first sang the song. “Is there something in the clouds that makes us ill? A plant? A poison?”
No one comes back from the clouds.

“I don't know,” she said. “But in the song, they'd descended fast, and the ones who turned back survived.” Just as we had.

If the Singers knew that verse to the song, Tobiat hadn't shared it with us. Without Aliati, we might have disappeared, laughing, without a trace.

“You saved us.” The sound of more water splashing nearby, but with a different level of intensity, stopped me from saying more. Around the bone spur that shaded us, and a short leap away, was an unprotected ledge. Three blackwings sat there, legs dangling over the edge. The mist between them and us had eddied until it was thin enough to see through.

They leaned on each other, sides heaving with hilarity. One toyed at the air with his bow while another stood urinating off the edge. The waterfall sound.

“Aliati,” I whispered. Pointed. “They're sick too, and they're not as far down.” And what about the others? Kirit and Doran and Djonn?

Aliati pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose. “They've spent their entire lives in the towers. We've been below for a few days.” Her brow was furrowed.

Ciel squinted. “Some of us fledges couldn't stop giggling on the tower-tapping platform. But most of us got better.”

We watched the blackwings. They didn't look like they were getting any better. They looked as if they could barely breathe from laughing.

“Leave them there,” Aliati said. “Let nature and gravity do what's right.”

Ciel stared, waiting. She sniffled a little and looked at her hands, perhaps remembering the fight at Laria. Meanwhile, Aliati sat on the ledge and turned her attention to her wings, checking the seams.

We were many tiers below where the council had fallen. I pictured a blackwing deadfall down here, realizing I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone. “We need to make them go. To try at least. We can't leave them here to die.”

“They'd leave us.” Wik turned, frowning.

I'm not them. I would never be.
I couldn't throw the rest of the bone markers in my satchel. That would only draw the blackwings farther downtower, making them more ill. I walked the ledge to where Ciel sat. “Do you have any firebugs left?”

She unclasped her satchel and looked inside. “A few, but no fuses. No gas.”

“Give me one anyway.” I took it in my hand and wound it. Pulled a piece of Ezarit's robe from my pocket and tied a stretch of tea-colored silk to the firebug. Threw it back the way I thought we'd come, letting the catch go on the wound wings.

The little firebug whirred away, dragging behind it the swath of silk. The fabric caught the few rays of sun that slanted through the clouds and shone bright.

A blackwing shouted. One who'd been standing tumbled off the edge, but found enough of a gust to right himself. The others followed suit, and soon all were on the chase.

My companions got to their feet and watched the piece of silk disappear.

“What were you thinking?” Wik said. His robes had turned dark with sweat and damp. A scrape on his cheek crossed an earlier scar. “We have no advantages down here. That's three more blackwings we may have to fight again.”

I knew what I'd done, and why. Wik did too, he just didn't like it. “That would be a terrible way to die.” I looked away from him, to Beliak and Ceetcee. To Ciel, who sat in a miserable huddle on the ledge.

The girl's face was white. “You showed mercy,” she whispered. “I didn't.”

Wik leaned down and touched her shoulder. Pointed to where Moc lay, breathing, still drugged. “You saved your brother.”

“Not fast enough.” Ciel climbed over our feet to curl up with Moc.

Beliak reached out to touch my shoulder. “You did right.” Then, “I was angry with you, earlier. For signaling. For keeping council secrets from us.”

“I know. It's all right to be angry. It's good to talk about it too.” And it was, somehow, all right that I hadn't been the perfect leader, the perfect me, and that he still stood by me. And I by him. For a moment, I felt warmth, despite the clouds. My stomach growled. Beliak's did too.

“We'll find food once we find a cave,” Aliati said, hearing us. “If we find one.” She looked at me, eyes troubled. Another
if.
This one life and death. The cold caught me again.

“If the weather ever clears,” Wik countered, ignoring Ciel's crestfallen look. Hiroli shook herself more awake. She'd kept up with our dives remarkably well.

A clatter of wings and a groan made us all jump.

Doran and Kirit landed on the ledge, towing Djonn. They'd come from the tower's opposite side, away from the blackwings. “Saw your signal from above,” Kirit said. She looked ill and tired, but it was she who supported Doran as he hopped towards us. His footwrap was a bloody mess.

“Blackwing arrow. Almost missed me,” he said.

Aliati and I both bent to look at the councilor's ankle. He'd flown true, not run straight for the blackwings and safety.

“Just a nick.” Aliati sat back after inspecting.

I was less calm. “You could have been killed.”
You might have killed each other.
But they hadn't.

“No chance,” Kirit said. She reached a hand out to me. “I was looking for you. Echoing. You shouldn't have stopped to signal, not until the blackwings were gone.”

“I didn't—” I started, but Doran interrupted. His bandaged hand had also begun bleeding again. “Kirit, you flew true. You could have left me. Instead, you guided us back. Thank you.”

Was Doran playing both sides still, looking for advantage, even below the clouds? Kirit looked away, as uncertain as I, but proud she'd found us. For now, that would have to be enough too.

Aliati peered at the clouds, shaking her head. What I'd done with the firebug and the silk had nothing to do with survival, with getting away. It could have backfired and endangered her, us.

I'd questioned her loyalty when she chose to rescue her friend. Now I watched her think about the impact of my actions on the group's safety. I saw the broader horizon: how she looked at Ciel, Kirit, and even me. She'd saved us not once but several times. Her knowledge kept us from greater danger.

“You didn't have to stay with us, you know,” I said. “You weren't being hunted.”

She cut her eyes at me. “You haven't paid me yet,” she muttered, and kept thinking. Finally, she breathed deep and turned to me, then dipped her head to the right. “We go on from here,” she said.

To where?
Visions of tower guards patrolling above the cloudtop chilled me. So too, the blackwings' shouts about us making war on the towers.

“Down,” said Aliati. “Now that you're acclimated, it should be safer. We'll find a cave and regroup. We can't go up yet, and there's only one place I can think of trying to reach, from a very old song. I hope I can find it. I hope it exists.”

We were caught in the towers' deadly shadows, the sky forbidden to us.

On every side, traitorous clouds cloaked our path. To survive, we had to put our trust in songs and myths. Words once nearly lost to the city would now be our only guides.

 

25

NEST OF THIEVES

From our ledge, we could see through the mist a short glide in several directions. Gray and green shadows gathered everywhere, except upwind. There, a dark cloud brewed, seeming to grow larger, then recede. Aliati watched it warily, so I began to do the same.

The wind carried few sounds to us, save an occasional dark rumble from the cloud.

“I'll search first. Rest.” Aliati tied a tether to the bone spur so she could find us again and leapt from the ledge.

Wik shared pieces of dried bird his captors had given to him. He'd saved what he could, biding his time. Preparing to escape, even when addled by Dix's drugs and cruelty. He hadn't given up. I took a tiny strip of dirgeon. Kirit and Beliak did the same. We chewed it until it lost all taste and went stringy in our mouths. Ceetcee tried but spit hers out.

Beliak reached into his sleeve, to the pocket he'd had sewn there. He withdrew my whipperling, gray and shivering, but unharmed. “He's been tearing up my arm, and my head's pounding. Take him?”

“Maalik!” I was glad to see he was safe. But who would we send a message to down here? I let Maalik roost in my satchel. He settled down next to the brass plates, cooing at his faint reflection.

Ceetcee, Beliak, and I tethered ourselves to the ledge wall behind an outcropping in order to rest. Ciel curled up next to us. Soon she snored softly. Doran wrapped himself in his cloak and glared out at the mist, and Djonn leaned against the wall next to him, blowing on his blistered palms. The ledge grew quiet, each of us wrapped in our own aches.

Upwind, Kirit whispered to Wik, “What happened at Laria? Did you hear their conversations?”

Wik whispered back, “I didn't hear much.” His voice faded, then returned: “… kept me secluded, but the webs carried sound if you knew how to listen.”

“Is Dix skytouched?” Kirit asked.

I listened hard for Wik's answer.

Wik shifted, the silk of his robes rubbing against the wall. “I don't know. She believes she knows how to save the city. Rumul believed the same thing. People are willing to follow belief.” He paused and took a deep breath. “But even Rumul had doubts and fears. Dix is so certain.” Wik's voice quieted after each phrase. Then he coughed. “I am sorry about Ezarit.”

On the ledge, Kirit drew a shuddering breath. Wik hummed to her, at first tunelessly, then finding the notes for The Rise.

“Shhhh,” Kirit said sadly. “Blackwings might hear.”

I closed my eyes and let them mourn in silence. When I slept, I dreamt fitfully: Moc in Rumul's lap, laughing at me. Doran demanding answers about a vote. Dix shouting and pacing, carrying a dead man on her shoulders.

I woke up stabbing at the air with my hands. Ceetcee whispered, “It's all right,” in my ear. Around us, the others slept. Aliati had not returned.

“How do we go from here?” I leaned my head against Ceetcee's shoulder. “We can't return to the city. Not while Dix has control.” Our botched attack had delivered the city to her.

She squeezed my hand. “We'll return. We're part of the city too.”

When I looked up, she had set her eyes on the clouds. “I thought by protesting Conclave, I could end it,” she said. “That we could escape that debt to the cloudbound we all carry.” Her grip on my hand tightened. “We can't undo what's been done in the city's name, but I could try to keep it from happening again.” Ceetcee frowned, then leaned towards me, nearly nose to nose in the darkness. “Shifting the way people think isn't simple. The Singers and Ezarit knew that. Even Doran knows it. I think Kirit was trying, with her refusals. With the firebugs and the blackwings? You helped people think about what was happening. What I attempted with the protest? You achieved.”

“And I've dragged us here.” My voice wavered. “Stranded us. Stranded you.”

Ceetcee stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to my forehead. “Others in the city will begin to question because we've questioned. They may not follow Dix so easily. Sometimes it just takes one action to change things.”

Curls of cloud began to lick at the ledge and at our dirty footwraps, trying to disappear our legs beneath the mist. Ceetcee swung her foot until she could see her footwrap again, and I mimicked her motion. We kicked at clouds until they swirled away from the ledge, distracted for the moment from our griefs.