Cloudbound (5 page)

“Then you'll send me down with them,” she said, stripping her wings off and handing them to me.

 

3

HEART OF THE CITY

Kirit stared at me. She pressed her wings to my chest.

I grabbed at them, fearing she'd drop them over the Spire's side next. Grabbed her hand too.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, not any of it. I stood there on the Spire, clutching at Kirit, but hearing Doran's words after I'd been elected to the council.

He'd come to find me at Densira. Brought a bolt of silk for Ceetcee, teas for Elna. We'd stood on the balcony, and I hoped he'd ask to mentor me on the council, as Ezarit had already asked Hiroli Naza. Doran's robes were richly quilted; his many tower marks were woven in his hair. And his laugh boomed reassuringly.

“Son,” Doran said, “you were handed a bad game and a second chance. More than one. The Singers killed your father, impoverished your family. They did it to scare people. They used you to do it.”

Yes, they had used me, and my family. Doran felt that, when Ezarit had known me all her life and hadn't paid it any mind.

“You screwed up, too, didn't you? My own kids screwed up once or twice.”

I swallowed my pride. Some Laws had certainly been broken. They might have needed to be.

“You broke Laws. Not without good reason, but Laws nonetheless. Now you have another chance. Now you're a hero who saved the city from skymouths, from Singers. You could be a good leader, maybe even great, to unite the towers. To help us rise again, on our own this time.” He looked at me quietly for a moment. I waited him out. He was a trader; he was pitching me hard. He cleared his throat. “To do that, we need invention, curiosity, and decisive action. We need to uncover the city's secrets, set them out for all to see. We can't flinch at the hard parts. Sound like you?”

Oh, it did. I said as much. He'd clapped me on the shoulder. “Tell your family you're apprenticing with a lead councilor, then. And tomorrow we start on the hard part.”

“Like what?” I wanted to start right then.

Doran smiled, pleased. “That's the metal in you. But it's delicate too, like a good wing. You can't talk about this until enough of the council agrees with us. I'll show you how to get people to agree with you. This one will go over easy, but it gets harder after that.”

“What will go over easy? If it's a question of safety, we do what we must.”

“We need to cut ourselves off clean from the Singers. Kirit does too. She's had enough time to recover. She needs to help the city's leaders, if she won't become one herself. She's offering to help a little bit, but she's stubborn.”

“That sounds like Kirit.”

“Does it? I worry she might be affected by her injuries, her fever.” He was concerned about her, about me. “She doesn't understand the tension in the city right now, that's for certain. We need to help her understand.”

I'd said yes. I would help my mentor. I'd help my city. And my friend.
Yes.

Now, atop the Spire, I wrapped Kirit's fingers around her wings. Made a warding sign with my hands. “Put these back on. It was decided. You're not guilty of anything.”

My satchel shifted when I reached out to take her arm to let her know I wasn't judging her. The Lawsmarkers inside clacked and rattled. She pulled her arm away.

“I'm not guilty? Of letting skymouths terrorize the city? Of taking Singer vows?” Her voice rippled across the air in angry waves. “Who decided who isn't guilty? Who has done all this deciding in the city's name?”

Kirit, my wing-sister, wingless atop the Spire. Shouting. Irrational. Unlucky. She would fall, and I would be responsible. I said what I could to calm her.

“It hasn't been technically decided yet. There hasn't been a vote,” I said. “But there will be, and the vote will carry.”

The look in her eyes when I said that made me regret every word. But she put her arms through her wingstraps again, and angrily began buckling them. “What about the fledges? They can't help where they were born. Will you throw them down too?”

“I hadn't—wait. No! Kirit, wait.” No one was talking about fledges.

“What do Ceetcee and Beliak think of this?” She stared at me, the wild strands of her hair flying in the wind, her scars stark on her anger-darkened cheeks. “What about Elna?”

They didn't know. None of them. It was Doran's idea, and he'd sworn me to silence. “I couldn't—” I ground my teeth hard. It had all happened fast, and I'd sworn, we'd all sworn. All the junior councilors, and some senior delegates. Vant had been all for it. “Kirit, I shouldn't have told you, even. I'll be punished.”

“By whom?” she yelled.

“The fledges are safe. Those who listen and are acclimating, at least.” I kept trying to make this better, and all I was doing was making it worse. But she had her wings back on and both hands free. Something I'd said had been the right thing. So I spoke again in a rush. Her safety was important too. “You'll have to renounce the Singers, of course. To keep your citizenship. Take a tower name again.”

Wide-eyed, she gripped the front of my robes. Maalik launched off my shoulder with a noisy squawk. Her silver-marked face came close to mine, and I felt her breath hot on my cheek in the cold air. “Renounce? How can I possibly do that, when it's clear I—” As she shook me, a curl of her hair brushed a mark on her cheek. A dagger. “Doesn't the city have bigger problems than prosecuting Singers?”

“The Singers are dividing the city. The city is angry and needs to be appeased. Haven't you heard? It needs leadership. You don't understand.” Doran's words. My heart pounded, this high above the clouds, my wings still half furled. Even with wings, if I had to dive after her, we'd plummet fast.

She shook me again. “Tell me everything. Help me understand what's happening, Nat. We get no news at Grigrit.” She gestured to her carry-sack, to the codex pages. “I was trying to bargain with Doran for information and food for the fledges. But no one will tell me anything since I declined the council. It was not the most politic of decisions.” She'd stopped shaking me. Looked up at me, her eyes wide. “Tell me what's going on. Once, not that long ago, I did that for you.”

She was right. In the Gyre below us now, she'd told me Singer secrets.

All the fears I had about telling her the truth? She'd felt those. And more. I knew fully what she'd done back in the Gyre. Broken Singer Laws to save me. I'd been so angry with her that I'd forgotten.

I started to speak, but she spoke first, fierce and determined, misinterpreting my stunned silence.

“Tell me or I'll tell everyone about the trial, starting with Elna.”

Elna. We'd tried to protect her from the developments in the city as much as possible. Anger flared. “She's ill, Kirit. You haven't seen her since Spirefall, and you'd tell her this?”

“If I had to. I am sorry to hear that she's sick. I had no birds, no messages. I'll come to see her. Is it a cough?”

I shook my head. How could she have missed the birds we'd sent? Had someone at Grigrit intercepted them?

“But, Nat,” she continued, alarm increasing, “look at what we just saw. The Spire—I broke it so badly that the heartbone is dying. Tell me what's happening to our city.”

My mouth went dry as I made the connection. Dying Spire. “Bone eaters don't eat living bone.” Our eyes met, wide with horror. Parts of the Spire might already be dead. Yes, there were greater dangers than the Singers. We'd grown up near Lith, a blackened and broken tower that had fallen only a generation before, sending so many—families, artists, leaders—into the clouds.

“First we warn the towers closest to the Spire,” Kirit said, her anger with me displaced by the threat. “If the Spire falls, it could damage their tiers. Or worse.”

“Grigrit, Bissel, and Naza won't like this. They are wealthy and well-positioned.”

“They
were
well-positioned, but not anymore. And they don't have to like it, Nat. They only have to prepare.”

The city's center was at greater risk than anyone had imagined. The Spire was not merely unstable, it was dying. And if it fell, like Lith had before it, many more would die too.

Below us, in the evening light, flight classes wobbled on patchwork wings, returning to their towers' safety. A few oil lamps began to light up tiers on Varu, Bissel, Grigrit, warm glows among the bone spurs. A melody accompanied notes plucked on a dolin, nearby. The tiers were wide open. None had barricaded themselves behind shutters. No towers attacked one another.

It was a happy evening. The kind songs said the Skyshouter had returned to the city.

For a brief moment only Kirit and I knew the truth: that soon everything would have to change.

 

4

SINGERS' RISE

“We'll go to Grigrit first,” Kirit said. “It's closest.”

“Good. Doran will know what to do,” I agreed. Kirit looked at me strangely, but Doran was my mentor, and a firm leader. He would move his people to safety, then help the city to act. If he did it quickly, I could return to my own tower sooner, and to my own family.

“Maybe Doran is part of the problem, Nat,” Kirit said, her voice so low I almost lost it on the wind.

“Then why did you agree to help him in the Spire?”
How could I trust her if she didn't trust me, or my mentor?

She shook her head slowly. “I am a ward of his tower, Nat. You don't understand. He's complicated.”

Doran
was
complicated. He made deals and bargains, said good trades made good politics. I didn't always like his decisions, but he was willing to teach me what I wanted to learn: how to lead. And Doran looked after his tower and the city. He would act on our information. Kirit's suspicion didn't mesh with her willingness to help him search the Spire. Maybe everyone was right, that the fever had made her a bit skytouched after all.

“At Grigrit, you'll see how quickly he comes up with a plan,” I finally said.

She bit her lip, but nodded agreement.

I unfurled my wings fully and caught Kirit giving them an appraising glance in the last of the daylight. She'd landed after me when we met to search the Spire. She hadn't seen Liras Viit's latest design.

“Those are fancy,” she finally said. Apologizing for talking down about my mentor? Rare for Kirit, but not impossible. More likely, she'd decided
I
was skytouched, and didn't want to waste time arguing. That was more Kirit's style.

She returned to tightening her own wingstraps: the only pair of gray Singer wings still allowed in the towers. Although not for long.

My wingsilk was hunter-shaded blues, rippled with brown. Though I spent most of my time now in the council, I still helped guard Densira and procure game; I'd maintained the right to wear the colors. “Doran's design. Had some made for Ceetcee and Beliak too.” I didn't mask the pride in my voice.

Kirit clicked her tongue once. “You always wanted to hunt. You were good at it. Why become a councilor?”

“I want to help lift the city up, make it better. Keep the Spire from happening again.” I paused, then asked the question that had bothered me for so long. “Why won't you?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I won't be someone's rallying cry.”

She launched from the Spire's lip, and I followed, quickly overtaking her on the strong evening breeze. I kept my eyes open for prey—it wouldn't hurt to bring some food home when I made it back. But the evening held only bug-chasing bats. What did she mean, “rallying cry”? She'd stopped the skymouths and the Singers. But she didn't want to take responsibility for what came after. “Responsibility isn't a rallying cry, Kirit! It's hard work.” I said that to the windspill coming off her pinions. Then I felt bad. She hadn't chosen any of this. To demand she continue to be a hero when others would gladly step forward? That was cruel.

On the short glide to Grigrit, the wind felt like silk against my cheeks after the Spire's dust. My wings filled and, despite my concerns for Kirit, my heart lifted to be going home soon, once this task was finally over. Worry about the Spire dampened the freedom I felt when I flew, but the joy was still there.

By the time we approached Grigrit, the sky had darkened and stars pricked the eastern horizon. Kirit began echoing as she neared the tower, clicking her tongue rapidly on the roof of her mouth. Flying downwind of her, I could hear it, barely. The Singer technique for flying at night was still a sought-after skill. But enough had learned it that we wouldn't need the graywings' help anymore.

I kept silent, not wanting to distract her navigation. I could fly at her pinion without a problem, and I didn't want to risk her losing her satchel in a sudden updraft. But the night air remained clear. All around us, the towers rose dark against the dark sky. Oil lamps began to brighten Grigrit's high tiers, and others in the distance. So many lights crowding into the tiers here. So many people.

We circled Grigrit to the side that was trapped in the Spire's near-constant shadow. A few dim lights glowed in the shadows' depths.

Kirit spilled wind from her wings, and I followed, descending lower than I'd intended to go. I thought she'd agreed we'd talk to Doran. What was she up to? Doran's tier was at the top of Grigrit. We were far below that.

We skidded to a stop on the slick, narrow balcony allotted to Grigrit's five Spire refugees: two novices, the fledge Moc, a weighted Singer leader, and Kirit.

Maalik fluttered in behind us and took his usual spot on my shoulder after I furled my wings halfway, ready to take off again.

“What are we doing here?” I demanded. “We were going to see Doran.”

“Kirit?” A fledge looked out from behind the patched sleeping screen. Her short hair was a spiky mess from sleeping on the secondhand mats they'd been given, which were rolled neatly against the tower wall.