Updraft (37 page)

As I leapt from our hiding place on Lith, they watched me go. I stuttered in the breeze until I learned to balance on the unmatched, patched wings. If I were attacked, I would not survive it.

The patchwork wings wobbled. My lenses swung on their strap and banged against my collarbone. I reached carefully to still them and my right wing dipped precariously. I fought to right it, twisting my arm up, just as a small tentacle wrapped around my wrist.

“Bone and blood,” I whispered, more startled at the touch than anything. The littlemouth had stowed away with me.

The tiny creature worked its way up my arm and clung to my shoulder. I slipped my hand back into the grip on my right wing. My path straightened immediately, but I still fought for altitude. My neck prickled as the tentacles felt their way forward, dragging the small sack of the skymouth's body behind it. Its hide was rough and dry, not wet like its bigger, fiercer cousins.

The creature pulled itself over to my left shoulder, which was higher ground, I supposed, since the right one kept dipping as I fought to control my new wings. As it settled there, the slight weight change steadied me. The wings soared better. They lifted me, finally, to the clearer air.

“Thanks,” I whispered to the tiny monster hugging my left arm, my shoulder, and my back. “Enjoy the ride.”

I began to hum again, softly.

The towers rose over me, tinted blue-violet and blackberry hues by the setting sun. At this level, only a few scavengers might have seen me by mistake, but soon I'd rise to a level that didn't have such downdrafts. It would be safer, but if a Singer—or someone loyal to them—saw me there, I would never reach my mother in time to warn her, nor the Spire in time to challenge Rumul before they threw me down.

I would simply disappear. Like Naton and so many others.

Densira and the edge of the city drew close. I found an updraft and circled gently with it, aiming higher. A dark shape passed above me. Two Singers, flying wing to wing.

I dodged around the tower, taking extra time to circle Densira and avoid them.

When I emerged from the other side, the Singers were leaping from a balcony, carrying a burdened net between them. The person in the net struggled.

My mother's voice drifted down the many tiers to my sensitive ears. I was too late.

 

26

REVOLT

Ezarit shouted at the Singers who carried her away from her tower and towards the Spire. She cursed them, then tried to bribe them. She was still negotiating. But the Singers ignored her.

I tried to climb faster, but my wings would not permit it. I had no weapon to use against the Singers. And my mother wore no wings. My attack would doom her if they chose to let the net fall.

The Singers who bore my mother to the Spire faded quickly into the distance. The city's towers turned to shadow and darkness.

I stumbled along in the twilight air, frustration filling my eyes. Freezing on my cheeks. I kept flying. I could not fail in my goals.

*   *   *

Even the long days before Allsuns had moments of darkness. The last of the sunset's colors disappeared below the clouds. Oil lanterns flickered in the nearby towers as people drew close with their families.

I hummed quietly, hearing the city as well as seeing it for a short time. The darkness thickened, and I heard the Spire ahead of me.

As my echoes struck the Spire's solid-seeming walls, they revealed hidden hollows and panels. I glided close to the one I needed, the access gate closest to the pens. I pulled my fingers from a wing grip and flexed them.

*   *   *

In the dark, I clung to the Spire's side, a mottled shadow against the bone-white wall. Wik waited for me inside, and Civik, but it was up to me to break in without being caught. Above, Nightwings launched from the Spire and flew into the city. They did not see me.

I had to get inside the Spire, fast.

I traced my fingers along the wall until I found the pressure points that opened the gate from outside. One stuck, then depressed. I heard the sound of a panel rolling back. This was a small gate. I furled my wings before pulling my upper body through.

I entered the Spire sideways, on my belly, near an empty alcove in the windbeaters' tiers. I heard heavy snoring nearby and cinched my footstrap to keep it from clattering against the floor and waking my neighbor.

Hidden on the windbeaters' tier, I waited and tried to think how to find Wik or Civik. On the tier's far side, I saw a small shadow work its way past a moonlit patch. I held my breath and sank back against the alcove wall. Hoped.

When Moc passed by on silk-soft feet, I reached out and grabbed his robe.

He bit back a screech. “I was looking for you! Wik said you would come back.”

“I need your help. And Civik's.” We kept our voices low.

Moc caught sight of my lenses, still hanging round my neck. “He gave them back to you. Windbeaters don't do that.”

“Perhaps he's something more than a scheming windbeater, Moc. He might want things to change too. Ask him.”

Moc slunk off in the direction of Civik's alcove, and soon both returned. Parted ways as Moc climbed from the tier to find Wik.
Hurry, Moc.

Civik tapped my hand with a finger. “Council's already met to hear from Sellis about your interference. Rumor is you're cloudbound.”

“I'm not cloudbound yet. But they were going to hurt Elna.”

Civik bobbed his head and shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe Wik would have diverted them.”

“People still would have died. We have enough troubles without Rumul making more.”

He frowned. “He's still got too many on his side. No one wants to see more towers fall. No one wants war. Our plan is to work slowly.” I could see his face as the brief moonrise brushed our side of the tier. He looked afraid, and very old. My heart sank.

“You sent me these,” I said, holding his hand to the lenses. “Why?”

“They're yours now. Not mine. I can't do anything with them.” His fingers traced the lenses' edge. Then one finger touched my nose. Hovered away. Then his hands covered my face. Softly, he used his fingers to see me.

I held still, hoping Wik would come soon. I'd never talked to Civik alone. When he didn't move his hands from my face, I stepped back and caught his fingers in mine.

“It is time to do more,” I said, squeezing his hands. “I need you to get windbeaters who share your views out to the Gyre at dawn.”

He nodded. “I can do that. They know what's possible now that we have Naton's chips. We looked at the holes he drilled in the walls. The weak points he created but never had the chance to finish. But Rumul still has influence down here. We have to be cautious.” Civik hesitated, caught between hope and doubt.

At the sound of footsteps tripled by a bone cane and the swish of robes on the passage outside the alcove, we both fell silent. We barely breathed until the noises passed. Where was Wik?

I tried to think of something that would make him act beyond his fear. “Do your rumors tell you who they've caught and brought to the Spire?”

Civik shook his head. “Who?”

I paused, thinking of Ezarit's scars, of what she did to Civik in the Gyre. I didn't know how he'd react to the news.

“Who?” He tightened his grip on my hand. Then, as if he could read my mind, he said, “Ah. Yes. Ezarit.” The way he said it gave me no comfort. I should have stayed quiet.

“I can't let them hurt her either.”

The old windbeater frowned. Then he tapped my lenses again. “You are right. Now is time to fight, and to speak.”

I breathed out, relieved. I would have his support if I fought in the Gyre. I hoped he could gather enough of the others. But I needed more than that. “I need better wings, Civik. And a good blade.”

My father let go of my hand. Rolled back and forth on his cart. “We do not have those things down here. The Singers took all the nightwings we've made. And there are no blades among the windbeaters. You must get them elsewhere.”

There was a scuffling sound, and Moc tumbled into the alcove. “They've blocked off the council tier. I can't get past the guards. Can't get to Wik.”

“They kicked me out earlier,” Ciel said, appearing behind Moc. “No flying, either.”

New plan, then. I couldn't use the ladders to get to the council. I couldn't fly. And Wik was somewhere up there.

“Moc, you need to help me sneak into the pens. Right now.”

He started to argue. “They'll see you.”

But Ciel said, “I know how,” and pulled me from the alcove, towards the galleries where the windbeaters worked the Gyre. She grabbed one of the ropes that ran down the Gyre's sides and handed me a large bucket. It still smelled of stink, but it was empty, and big enough to hold me, if I kept very still.

But the bucket couldn't hold my patchwork wings. I stripped them off. Felt the small skymouth wrap itself tighter around my shoulder.

I tucked myself as best I could into the bucket. Both twins and Civik, working the ropes together, lowered me down on the cable to the knotted ropes of the pens.

They worked fast, and when the bucket came to rest, I rolled out and ducked into the shadows beneath an overhanging gallery. They reeled up the bucket and disappeared.

Alone in the dark, once all had grown quiet again, I crawled to the center of the nets and let myself into the core of the pens. Felt the captive skymouths bump against the ropes and poke the thin points of tentacles out as I passed. I hummed, and the tentacles receded.

When the skymouths settled, the littlemouth still at my shoulder loosened its grip. “Oh, no you don't,” I whispered, then tucked it into my robe, by my ribs. I tightened the fastenings to secure it. “You'd be like dinner to your cousins.”

Too close beside me, someone coughed, and I jumped. In the darkness, I could make out a tall form with broad shoulders.

“You made it,” Wik said.

“I did.” My heart pounded from the scare. “How did you get away from the council tier?”

“I told Rumul someone needed to check on the pens. He told me to get them ready to migrate again tomorrow and then return. The council will discuss Ezarit's fate in a few hours.”

Worse and worse.

“How did you know I'd come here?”

“I didn't. I'd planned to ask Moc to help find you, but he's made himself scarce.”

I wanted to laugh, but it was too awful. “He was looking for you. You passed each other. One going up, the other coming down.” I grew serious. “We need to get back up there.”

He wrapped a hand around a thick rope. “They will try to stop you from reaching the council and issuing a challenge, Kirit. Rumul says that the city is already angry. That a sacrifice needs to be made.”

“Did you try to challenge?”

Wik bowed his head. “I began the process. No one would support me. Not with another Conclave possible if the city keeps rumbling. They are frightened. They don't want to lose my vote on council, if I fail. We were so close to breaking him before the city—” He stopped. Dragged his fingers through his hair. Exhausted. “Instead, I tried to blunt Sellis's attacks on you, tried to keep them from tearing apart the towers looking for you, the traitor Singer. I told her I'd disposed of you already, but that did not satisfy her, or Rumul.”

I couldn't imagine it would. “They wanted to dispose of me themselves.” Cloudbound. The first sacrifice at Conclave.

“Yes.”

“Why should I believe you? You led the attack on Densira.”

“I was trying to foil it, Kirit.”

“But you didn't.”

“No. But I saved you. And brought Elna to you.”

That was true. “They have Ezarit now, up there.”

He met my gaze. “She's being held in Rumul's enclosure.”

I thought of Ezarit, encased in the walls of the Spire as I once was. “I can't get to her there.”

“If you win your challenge, you can free her.”

“And if I lose?”

Wik was silent. The nets creaked. “Then I will challenge without support. Like Terrin. And more people will die tomorrow.”

I thought of Nat, and my mother. Of the enclosure's carved walls. Of the skymouths. I had to try.

Wik reached into the sleeve of his robe and removed his knife and its sheath. He handed these to me. They were heavy in my hands, and the glass blade was dark as the night. I bound the sheath to my arm.

He said, “I've been down here too long. They are watching everyone. Every tier. How will you get to the council?”

“It's better if you don't know.”

He stared at me. “You are a Singer, Kirit. Truly. The kind we need.” He leaned close, his eyes fierce. “Don't let them tell you you're not.” He climbed quickly from the pens and onto the next tier. Then he was gone, leaving me alone, surrounded by skymouths.

When I echoed, the Singers' skymouths sounded like soft objects, bobbing in the pens. Their tentacles trailed across each other. In the far corner of the pens was a different shape, less buoyant. Not moving.

Any breeding program had successes and losses. I thought of Nat's whipperlings, his search for the fastest ones. Of my own silk spiders. We didn't feed the ones that didn't make enough silk. There were always culls.

I hoped I was right, that it was the same here. Skymouth culls didn't need their skins any longer.

The rigging and cages designed by Nat's father for these pens almost seventeen years ago filled the center of the Spire. I stood on the side, echoing, until I found more still shapes. Beyond them, I could hear the harder objects, the pulleys and cams that raised the pens when the Spire rose.

I imagined how far the cages had risen in the intervening years, and what horrors they'd hosted.

Then I took a deep breath and, humming softly, entered the pens. The littlemouth squirmed against my chest. Gripped tighter. I kept moving, gathering the piles of skymouth skins I'd spotted a moment ago.