Updraft (33 page)

I would not obey, not here. Only a few Singers could guide skymouths. Wik might be there. But they were too close to Densira. My first tower. My family.

“We must do something to chase them away,” I said.

Sellis frowned and shook her head. “We must not interfere.”

My frustration caused me to wobble out of the draft.
Focus, Kirit.
I hissed at myself. Managed to find a weaker gust. Sellis coasted above me, circling away from the path of the slow-moving skymouths.

All I could hear was Nat's voice.
Send a skymouth.
Was that possible? Would we do that?

Sellis interrupted my thoughts. “The council talked about crowding after the challenge. During initiation.”

So she'd been listening too.

“They were. Go on.”

She didn't.

A herding call from one of the Singers drifted back to us on the wind. The verbal nudging of “away” and “here” that Wik had taught me for use in the pens. With a sinking feeling, I knew that Wik was one of the Singers flying with the skymouths. And they were guiding a migration towards Densira.

Finally, Sellis spoke again. “It is for the good of the city, Kirit. Whatever they do.” She was quiet for a moment. “We should offer assistance.”

Pieces fell into place in my mind. Things Civik had said. And Wik. Then something Tobiat had said, long ago.

Terrin had wanted to work with the towers. He didn't have enough support to change the council's direction on this. Cages. Delequerriat. Singers did their best for the city.

Too many skymouths in the pens for just bridges and training. Too many.

“Sellis! This is what Terrin challenged for. He wanted to change something. This!” I felt sick as I realized what this was. Another way to control the towers instead of working with them.

Sellis shook her head. “We aren't in the Spire, Kirit. We cannot argue a decision here. Challenge, if you want. See whether you share Terrin's fate.”

Some Singers and windbeaters had supported Terrin. Others had fought before him. Naton, once he realized why he was building the pens. Tobiat. Nat, even though he hadn't realized what he was doing.

If there was dissent within the Spire, there could be dissent outside of it too.

I signaled to Sellis that I would not follow. Someone needed to warn the tower. To warn those on the lowest tiers especially, for they were most at risk. Elna. Ezarit. The salvagers. Tobiat.

Sellis broke from my side to fly behind the Singers. Perhaps to witness what they did.

I tried to think, keeping to my circuit. Witnessing was not enough. I had to try to help, to change their path.

But how could I interfere besides throwing myself between the skymouths and Densira?

If these were Spire skymouths, they might recognize me and turn faster from their attack. Then again, they were being goaded by more skilled Singers. They might not listen to me. Or hear me at all.

And if the Singers turned them towards me? Could I stop them? I could be devoured, or I could fall from the sky like a stone if a tentacle struck me.

If I did not die here, would the Spire throw me down? Or would I become Kirit Notower again? Worse than Lawsbreaker. I would be outside the city, apart from it.

The skymouths were moving again, circling Mondarath on Densira's near side.

The Singers signaled. Sound struck my ears:
Forward
. They were on the hunt.

A bat chased insects on an opposing air current to my glide. It darted fast on a tangential gust that carried it direct to the top of Densira.

I followed it. Once the Singers saw me, no one would doubt my intent.

But the Nightwing Singers dove, followed by Sellis's bright day wings. They were not headed up the tower's height, to attack from above as dawn broke. Instead, they circled closer to Elna's tier.

I dove lower, echoing.

Elna emerged on her balcony, feeling her way among the few vegetables she'd grown. It didn't matter to her that it was not yet light.

One skymouth, a small adult, saw her and began a slow turn.

“No,” I said.

Sellis spotted me and hissed. Tried to block my path with hers. She missed as I dodged down and away, echoing to see better in the dark.

Nat's mother, my Elna, turned at the sound of wings passing close in the dark. At the sound of my clicks.

“Who is there?” she said. “Tobiat?” The hope in her voice broke my heart.

We dove past too quickly, and I had to turn again to reach her. Sellis, flying by my right pinion, tried to entangle me as I banked right, then up, then down. The tower was too close on my left.

Trapped. She had trapped me as she'd done in Gyre practice. I cast about.

Down, then.

I dove.

Sellis followed, hard on my heels. I tightened my grips, raked my wings back.

I twisted until I was in a searing dive, the dive that Macal had dared me to do at my wingtest. This dive ended in a sharp parabola before I plunged into the clouds.

Just as before, the airflow at the cloudtop was enough to power a climb. I pushed hard into it, using my grips to control curvature and angle. The battens tightened and formed new angles and arcs. It was glorious, all this speed. And now I controlled it with a Singer's precision.

I stretched my fingers painfully into the curve and shot upwards, faster than I'd fallen, headed straight for Densira and the skymouth that was opening itself up, a red tear in the sky that Elna could not see. She turned her head this way and that, trying to hear who startled her.

I drew in breath, preparing.

She could not see the danger, even as a mouth opened wide, then wider still, and neared her tier.

I slowed enough to pass between her and the skymouth, and I began to shout the monster down.

The sound of my scream echoed against the inside of my skull. It bounced off the tower. I breathed in through my nose and let more sound out of my mouth. As Wik had taught me, I supported everything from deep in my stomach and pushed out, so the very air shook with the noise.

I tried to make a shield over Elna with my scream. To push the monster away with my voice. The sound expanded and spread. The skymouth slowed. Elna stood openmouthed, stunned. I dove through the sound of my own voice and flew down, hoping the predator would follow.

I heard Wik shout a warning from the back of the group. The Singer in the lead was cursing my name.

Then I was through my wave of sound, and I could not hear behind me.

I knew Sellis would draw her ceremonial knife and come for me, but would the rest of them follow? Would the skymouths?

Looking back, I saw Sellis flying just above the skymouth that trailed me closely. Sellis's knife glinted in the moonlight.

I led both Sellis and the skymouth away from Densira. The night breezes were strong, and we moved fast on them, far from the tower that was my home.

I did not care what happened now. Singers could take me and throw me down. Elna would live to see Allsuns and bid Nat a real good-bye.

I realized that I cared about her more than I did the city. I would protect her against any challenge. Use myself as a weapon if I had to.

With a scream, Sellis attacked my wing, a slicing arc aimed to break battens. She caught a wingtip, and I spiraled away, losing altitude and control as the silk tore. The rip stopped at the first batten. The rest of the wing held, but I could not control my fall. I spun away from the Singers and their monsters, and fell towards the empty tiers of Densira and the waiting clouds.

The wind screamed in my ears. I grew dizzy with spin and fear. Sick welled in my mouth, hard terror against the dryness. I tried to work my legs from the footsling in order to use my feet to keep the rest of me from being dashed against a tower.

The clouds rose quickly to meet me.

I tangled in my wings.

Fell, blinded by the rush of wind.

*   *   *

With a powerful jerk, my wings were nearly ripped from my back.

Someone had hooked me. I dangled, then I rose.

I was dizzy, but alive.

Who had me? In the night, with my captor above and my wings in the way, I could not see.

I tried to speak, but my voice was a croak, muffled by my wings. My throat felt like I had swallowed scourweed.

From a slit in the mess of torn silk and broken battens, I saw a double shadow pass across the uninhabited tiers of Densira. One flier, one flown. We flew so far downtower, the bone core had nearly grown out to the balcony's edge.

We cleared Densira's curve, and my bearer found a strong vent. We began to move fast into the open sky, headed beyond the city.

Not a rescue, then. Cloudbound. I imagined what it would be like to fall without the towers around me.

But the air shifted, and a cold breeze flapped the torn wing silk near my face. We turned again, back towards the city. A dark shape rose from the clouds, rough edges blocking the white towers on the horizon.

Lith.
Only the most recent to fall,
I heard Rumul say again. The most recent tower to send citizens tumbling into the clouds.

We approached the broken tower top from the city's outer edge. It was still dark. No one on the other towers could see us this far down. No one looked this way, if they could help it.

I struggled, hoping to slow my captor.

A hard shake stilled me. “You always have the worst timing, Kirit.”

Wik's voice. The voice I'd grown to trust. The voice of the man who had led a pack of skymouths to attack Densira.

I kicked and flailed. Tried to loosen my arms from my wingstraps. I would have rather fallen.

“Stop! I wouldn't have let them harm Elna.”

I didn't believe him. I did not want to hear him.

He picked up speed, despite my struggling, and turned just before he flew right into the dead tower. As he turned, he tossed me hard at Lith. I tumbled through the air towards the filthy tiers. I heard my wings make another loud rip as he let them go.

I landed hard and rolled to a stop against a bone spur. Dust billowed around me and made me cough. The tower groaned.

Wik did not follow me in. When I looked behind me, I saw nothing but sky. He'd flown away. Stranded me here.

Left to die?

My hand rested on a dusty pile of feathers. Bones snapped beneath my palm. Lith smelled of rot and decay.

The sun broke the cloudline. I caught my breath and checked for broken bones, moving feet and arms carefully.

Around me, Lith glistened darkly in the dawn.

My throat was dry from my screams and my robes were torn from the fall. I would not last long here.

A wail echoed against the dark bone: my voice, burred and painful.

At least no one was around to hear me.

I was little comforted by that thought, until a shadow peeled from a wall and limped towards me, jittering and waving one starvation-thin arm.

“Look who fell!” Tobiat peered down at me, his robe flapping in the shadows of the dead tower.

He sidled closer, bringing a familiar Tobiat-stench with him. I lifted myself up to sitting and looked at him.

“Where did you come from?” I said. But he didn't answer.

The wind coursed through the tower. The pitted bone whispered like a cracked flute.

Had he been left to die here too? Tobiat danced his feet back and forth. His old breaks creaked and stuck out at odd angles; he looked like a broken kite. But when the day brightened enough that he saw the color of my robes, he whistled and backed away.

“Singer.” He warded the air with his hands. Began to disappear into the shadows.

“I won't hurt you.” I didn't want to be alone, not now, not on Lith. “You remember me, right?”

“Tobiat, it's me, Kirit,” I tried again. “Nat's…” My voice failed. Nat's what? Friend? Murderer? I couldn't say it. “Remember the cleaning? At Densira?”

I rose and shrugged off the remains of my wings. Tobiat continued to back away.

“How long have you been here?” I asked gently, hoping to keep him near. “Who brought you here?”

Instead of answering, Tobiat ducked into a hole in the blackened wall.

I crawled after him, deep into the broken core of Lith. The tunnel we passed through was neither smoothed by age nor worn away by rot, though Lith smelled like rotting bone. This tunnel had been gouged with sharp tools, recently, to make passages.

The tower's core was hard and cold. Where layers of bone had been peeled back to the marrow, the scent of rot lingered. I brushed a spot with my fingertip. It crackled and compressed at my touch. Nothing like the warmth I'd felt when Viridi let us touch the city.

Wind blew the gray dust of the tower from my finger. We emerged from one tunnel and crossed an open balcony. The floor's odd angle made me wish for my wings. We stood on a dead tier, within a dead tower.

Cracks latticed Lith's core, deep black lines on blackened bone. Nothing grew here except the resilient scourweed and lichen. No families made their homes here. No ladders hung from balconies, no banners. Lith was nothing like the towers of my childhood, and nothing like the Spire.

Tobiat didn't seem to care. He'd threaded a line of silk through the tunnels. As he walked, retracing his steps, he gathered it up into loops. He didn't look back.

“You talked to Nat before he challenged the Spire,” I said. This time, at “Nat,” Tobiat froze in place. “Why did you let him do it?”

“Wind was right,” Tobiat answered gruffly.

“You were a Singer once, weren't you?” I asked, but he was silent.

We entered another tunnel. The gouges looked fresh here, as if someone had dug deep to make new passages between hollows. This passage ended in a narrow cell, walled on all sides and crowded by the central bone core. Two oil lamps glowed weakly in the darkness.

I saw a nest of rags. Smelled the stench of long residency and rotting meat.

Tobiat skittered away from the bedding and placed a small sack of water precariously atop a tripod. He cackled softly as I licked my lips.