Updraft (17 page)

“How could she possibly—” Sellis started. She slammed her mouth closed without finishing the sentence, before Rumul reacted.

“It will not be easy, the transition. You know less than a child. But”—he turned to his right and smiled again—“Wik has offered to try to train you.”

This man, who had denied me my wings. To be my trainer. I tensed in his grasp. Bit back a
no
.

Rumul continued, inscrutable. “And Sellis will be your novice guide.”

Two shocked faces now, mine and Sellis's. Her mouth twitched. Rumul stared her down, then returned his gaze to me.

As I considered my new future, the part of me who'd grown up in the towers shouted against it. “If I cannot do this?”

“If you do not succeed,” Rumul said, “your fate is out of our hands. Your Laws, and those of your mother, will—”

“You cannot hurt her. I will not do this if you hurt her.” The words were out of my mouth, fierce and angry, before I could think. Yes, I was angry at Ezarit. But that was my fight with her, not theirs. She was my mother.

Rumul put both hands on his workbench and leaned towards me. His scalp gleamed in the light, and his breath was tart with the scent of a recently eaten apple. My stomach growled, unbidden. His wind-chafed face and his tattoos marked his long experience at the top of the Spire. “I will not battle with you, Kirit. You must decide on this life.”

I held his gaze. Tried to stay standing by myself, even as my knees wobbled. His dark brown eyes hardened to black.

Behind me, Sellis whispered, “If she isn't leaping at it, she does not deserve the choice.”

I turned, slowly, and looked at her for the first time. She was taller than me, with wind-chapped cheeks and lips. Her gray robe framed a face that was all edges: sharp chin, cheekbones, a point in her hairline made sharper by the tight pull of her dark braids. Her eyes a sky blue that was rare in the towers. She lifted her chin higher and held my gaze, silently.

Wik cleared his throat. “You cannot become the best of the Singers now. You are too old.” I dropped Sellis's gaze and turned to face him. “But you can fly with us. Live the life you should have had, with proper training. You will see the city in a whole new way with us. You will help your people rise. And you will learn to manage your voice.”

“You did not tell me these things when you tried to take me from Densira.”

He blinked and tilted his head. “We cannot speak freely of this outside the Spire.”

I looked back to Rumul, who raised his eyebrows. Waiting.

Wik continued, “You may not have the training, Kirit, but you have something the Singers need. With us, you can become something more important than a trader.”

I pictured myself among the Singers, chasing skymouths from the sky. Helping bridge the towers and keep the city together. I imagined myself returning to Densira on gray wings. Behind me, Sellis sputtered, but Rumul's gaze held her silent.

I closed my eyes. If I said no, I would be Kirit Lawsbreaker. Kirit Notower. What did I have left?

Nat,
I thought,
I will not forget you. Nor Elna. I will find your answers inside the Spire, somehow. I will see you again, Ezarit. I will make you proud despite yourself. I will make you miss me.

When I was ready, I opened my eyes. Rumul watched me closely. He'd straightened and now held both hands palms up over the workbench. Waiting in one hand was the red skein of blank Lawsmarkers. In the other, a larger bone tablet marked with the Spire's symbol.

I extended my hand through the air between us and placed it over the tablet. Wik smiled a thin, wary smile. Sellis gathered her robes and swept from the room. I could hear her shout an order that echoed through the Spire.

When Rumul tucked the chips back into his robe and pulled out a sharp bone knife, I knew there was no changing my mind. I took the knife and carved my name mark on the tablet, a thin scratch that barely showed.

Sellis returned with a pile of fabric, holding up gray robes banded with bright blue to replace the remains of my ragged clothing. They looked too small for me, but also whole and warm. A younger Singer brought a washing bowl. Sellis handed me a small cake made of grains, honey, and bird fat. It tasted like sunshine might.

The three of them waited as I swallowed my meal. Then I lifted the bone knife again. I pierced my thumb and squeezed the wound hard. A drop of my blood fell on the tablet. It darkened my mark and the Spire's symbol, making both visible.

I was theirs, and they were mine. I was reborn into the Spire.

 

12

ACOLYTE

Sellis exited Rumul's alcove again without a word, dragging me behind her. She sped through the tier so quickly I gained only a blurred impression of the more ornate wall carvings, their edges shadowed by the sunlight pouring through the tower's apex. We came to a ladder cut into the thick outer wall and spines of the Spire.

“You'd best keep up on your own,” she said as she turned to descend. “I won't be slowed down. I challenge for Singers' wings this year.”

My aching feet strained to support me as I stumbled after her. The treads had barely enough space for a foot. My blisters and cuts made each step painful; my strained muscles too. I drew breath and tried to look strong. Capable.

“I already passed my wingtest,” I reassured her, while attempting to smile over my shoulder.

She paused on the ladder and looked up at me, flipping her dark braids off her shoulders, digging her close-set gaze right into mine. “That means nothing here. Nothing.”

I began to respond, but she'd descended again, and my fingers had started to slip. I clutched the slim carved rungs and scrambled after her.

We passed tier after tier, until I whimpered through my teeth each time my feet touched a new rung. On each tier, I heard the swish of robes as people passed, the murmur of conversations, and the sound of wind swirling nearby. On one floor, several voices were raised in song: tenors and altos. Their melody echoed off the wall where we climbed.

On another, lower tier, a group of children scrubbed the floor near the ladder. Two whispered in the shadows, their brushes dripping beside them. As Sellis passed, she hissed at them to get back to work. They stared for a moment longer, steel-blue eyes peering from identical faces, their robes gray with one blue stripe like mine. Then they scrambled back to the group just as an older Singer rounded a curve.

Sellis's gray silk robes had three stripes of blue at the hem. The lowest stripe's edge, undone and fraying, dragged on the risers. I tripped on it twice, then caught myself. Judging by its color and fit, my new clothing must have been intended for a much younger novice. How would I earn my stripes? How would I begin to keep up with Sellis?

She stopped so suddenly on the next tier that I nearly put my foot on her head. Sellis hissed and grabbed my ankle, threatening to topple me. “You will pay attention!”

“I assure you I am trying.”

“You are worse than a fledge!”

I could not argue that. Everything within the Spire struck me as strange, as if a tower like Densira had been turned inside out. My eyes ached for sky with each tier we passed; my ears missed the comforting sounds of families arguing, neighbors haggling, babies crying. For a group named Singers, their home was almost as quiet as the sky. They walked it as if they were listening for messages on the wind.

Sellis let go of me, but the suddenness of my change in situation kept me pinned to the wall. No longer trapped in Rumul's prison, but still inside the Spire. I'd given up the sky and the towers in exchange for a life enclosed on all sides by the Spire's bone walls.

Nat might have known what to do; I did not.

“Breathe,” Sellis said, no tinge of mercy to her voice. “I won't carry you if you faint.”

I inhaled. I would find a way to live in this new place.

We left the ladders and paced half the circumference of the tier. Other girls who seemed to be the same age as Sellis, or older, greeted her as she passed. They stared at me. I felt the pit's grime on my skin, the dried blood on my hands. The way my arms and legs showed beneath the too-small novice robe. I watched my feet, trying not to trip and further set myself apart.

To our left, the passageway beyond the alcoves and classrooms ran to a sudden drop. The Spire's center was a void. Wind whistled as it rose past each tier, up and down the hollow of the Spire.

“To fall into the Gyre,” Sellis said, watching me with a level of calm that made my skin crawl, “is to fall forever. You should be careful.”

I craned my neck to look past her and saw galleries spaced around the Gyre, carved into the tower's spines. Places to sit while watching a challenge, perhaps. Sellis dragged me on.

She turned suddenly, into a small alcove barely big enough for one person to sleep in. “Here are my quarters.” I hoped mine were close by. I could barely stand.

She glared at me again. “You will sleep here.” She pointed to the floor in front of her alcove. “They've made you my charge. I name you my acolyte. I do this for Rumul, and so you will do this for me. What I need, you get. What I drop, you pick up. Understand?” Her voice was brisk, businesslike. She didn't care how I answered.

“Rising above your tier again, Sellis?” A boy peered around the corner. “You can't take an acolyte until you are a Singer.”

“Special case,” Sellis said. “She is just now committed to the Spire.”

The boy whistled low and came closer, looking at me. “You came from outside?”

I saw no use in pretending otherwise. “I did.”

“Lurai,” Sellis said, “you aren't even supposed to be on this tier. Go away.”

Lurai. Lurai. The name was so familiar. Beliak's lost brother, yes.

As I remembered, he turned to leave.

“Did you come from Viit? I think I flew wingtest with your brother,” I said, hoping I could keep him here another few moments. The last thing I wanted was to be left alone with Sellis.

Lurai's brow furrowed, and he smiled, bemused. “I don't know any brothers. I am Spire, since I was young.” And he started to turn away again, but stopped. “What are the towers like? What is your name?”

“Her name is Kirit Spire, and she is not going to fill your head with boring tower talk, Lurai. She has work to do here.” Sellis gave him a gentle shove and then, from somewhere within her alcove, handed me a bucket filled with stink. “Get rid of that, acolyte. Bring the bucket back, cleaned. In the morning, I will have mending for you to do.”

I waited for her to tell me where to take the bucket. To point me towards the pouring points that every tower in the city had. But she turned her back to me, lay down on her sleeping pad with a sigh, and appeared to fall asleep with no further trouble.

Lurai had disappeared. I stood alone in the darkening tier with a bucket and orders, but no way to fulfill them. I heard rustling around me and knew that other occupants of the tier were peering out of their alcoves to see what I would do.

I considered taking the bucket and dumping it on Sellis, but this would have been a bad way to start my new life.

“Pssst.”

The whisper came from near the edge of the Gyre. I shambled over, feet aching, cautious of traps.

“We'll show you.” The whisper again, but no body to go with it. “Over here. By the edge.”

Now I saw them. The blue-eyed imps from several tiers up. Crouched in the gallery, watching.

“Won't you get in trouble?”

They shook their heads. Twins. Rare enough in the city. I couldn't imagine a parent giving both children to the Spire. They must have been orphans. The Singers took in orphans.

“I'm Moc,” one of the twins said. “She's Ciel.”

“Kirit,” I said. “Kirit … Spire.” My voice trembled on the last word.

“We're all Spire. Shouldn't matter when you got here,” Ciel piped up with her high child's voice. A lock of brass-colored hair hung over her eye. The rest was neatly braided.

“But
we
were born here,” Moc added. So much for my theory. “So was Sellis. She thinks it does matter. That's why she thinks she's so much better than you.”

I blinked. That was good to know.

Moc took my hand and led me to a double rope. “Pull on that.”

I did, for what seemed like ages. My hands throbbed as the rope rubbed them rawer still. Finally a large bin appeared, and I poured Sellis's bucket into it. The smell made me gag. When I was done, Ciel helped me pull on the other side of the rope until there was resistance, then a tug.

“Where does it go?” I asked through a yawn.

“Down.” Ciel shrugged. “Don't the towers?”

“Sort of. The towers are open. Trash and stink are thrown down.”

Ciel wrinkled her nose. “Must get bad down low.”

I frowned. It did.

Moc listened, rapt.

“We keep most things, though,” I added. “Guano, for the farms. And for seed finding. Rinds and gristle, to feed the worms that make the dirt.”

Moc's eyes grew bigger than I'd thought possible. “We get most of our food from the towers.”

That was good to know too. If food came in, perhaps messages could go out.

The children tugged at my robe and showed me where the scourweed grew. I almost laughed. Outside the Spire, scourweed was reserved for making the towers grow. Marked as special. Inside the Spire, it wasn't as hard to use it for cleaning filth.

Moc and Ciel kept up a happy chatter while I cleaned Sellis's bucket. They showed no signs of leaving. Despite how tired I was, I loathed the thought of returning to the silence of Sellis's alcove. Ciel and Moc's curiosity about me woke my curiosity in turn.

We walked the tier right around, talking, and they pointed up and down the Spire to the classrooms, the communal kitchens, and the alcoves.

“The novice alcoves are here and on the lower floors, but the Singers”—Moc sighed—“they're up at the top. With the council on the highest floors.”