by Fran Wilde
Wik slowly shook his head. “We found several, but none we can go to. Many are dead.”
“Where’s Kirit?” I asked. “What happened to her?”
Wik looked along the fallen tiers to the horizon. “She’s still searching for a home for us. She won’t stop looking.”
Ciel came running. “Nat has to return. Rya’s guards are waking.”
My questions hung in the air, unasked, unanswered.
* * *
The next morning, Sidra came to the tent.
To the guards, she said, “I’m on official business of the council. Rya knows.”
They acquiesced, bowing. As she and I walked to the shelters, she whispered, “Rya knows I’m council, at least.”
“Rya needs to know what Moc and Beliak found. Everyone does. No more secrets.” I ducked under the silk-draped opening of Ceetcee’s tent. Beliak and Wik were already there. I hadn’t greeted Wik last night, so I bowed to him now. Because I didn’t know how to honor him, I sputtered for a moment. Eventually I settled on a name. “Returned, you are welcome.”
He looked pleased, but hesitated. “The blackwings may not feel the same way.”
“When we find Macal, he and Rya can straighten the blackwings out,” I said. Sidra nodded agreement, but her expression glazed with worry.
Wik said firmly, “They’ll find him. He’s always been lucky.”
“How can you be optimistic while under Rya’s thumb?” Beliak asked. “And you, while hiding here. I’m losing hope. The egg? The other cities being dead? What next?” He didn’t look angry, only sad and worried. He clasped my hand again.
“We need to tell—” I started to list names in my head. “Everyone.”
Sidra’s forehead wrinkled. “Are you sure? Won’t this frighten people, that they’re living next to a city that might hatch anytime?”
It frightened me. But I nodded. I was sure. They needed to know.
Ceetcee looked at me, clear-eyed. “That’s what we need now. Everyone. Together.”
Wik rose. “I’ll go too.” He ducked out of the tent with me, Sidra behind us.
Four guards passed us. They carried a body on a span of bloodstained kite. A torn Magister’s cloak dragged behind them on the ground. They weren’t headed to the place where we’d begun burying our dead. They were aiming for where the city sheltered now, in low tents.
I recognized the shock of hair, the cloak, but not much more. But Wik knew. He reached out. Asked quietly, “Alive?”
Sidra stepped towards the bearers like the air was too thick, like a sleepwalker, about to slip from a balcony and fall.
One of the bearers was from Mondarath. Minlin, tears streaking her cheeks, slowed the rest to let Sidra to take Macal’s hand gently in her own. “Breathing, but barely. We found him in the lower tiers, near the city. The kite frame saved him,” Minlin said.
Macal’s cheekbones were crushed from the fall, his chin swollen, eyes blackened and pressed shut. Although a leg was temporarily splinted, he moaned when the blackwings shifted the silk too quickly.
Sidra sucked her teeth and put a hand on Minlin’s arm. “I’ll stay with him. Take us somewhere safe.” She reached as if to brush mud from Macal’s hair, then stopped, her hand hovering in the air above him. Then she drew a deep breath and dropped her hand to her side. “Take us to Rya’s tent.”
Minlin and the other Aivans began moving slowly forward. I stayed still. “That’s safe?”
When I protested, Sidra raised a hand, but kept walking with the litter. “We don’t have much medicine, and the Aivans do. We need a place for him to rest, out of the community’s eye. He helped them evacuate. It’s as safe as anywhere, hopefully. Until we find a better home.”
I swallowed hard. No one had told her yet that we might have to stay here for good. I couldn’t bear to do so now.
Macal took a shuddering breath, and Sidra looked at me. “I’ll go with them. Try to keep him alive. But Nat? Wik?”
“Yes?” We both answered.
“Be quick. And keep people away from that egg.”
* * *
We heard the fledges before I saw them. Five of them, the tallest near wingtest age, the youngest just ready for flight.
But not anymore.
They crouched by the city’s leg, impervious to the smell. Peered into the pit. “It’s enormous,” said one.
“I still think it’s a bone or a bird’s egg,” whispered another, streaks of mud light on their dark skin.
Another fledge, carrying a younger child, laughed. “Maili, you’re wrong. There’s no bird that big.”
“What happens if it hatches?” said a third, wearing a torn robe and their first patchwork wings, still.
“The slowest ones get eaten!” the oldest shrieked and chased the rest of the fledges back to the shelters. Five fledges, all running back to their families, to share the news of their find.
“Wait,” Wik shouted. Two of the fledges halted in their tracks. “Go get Rya and Beliak. Tell Beliak to bring whoever’s with him.”
It was time to tell everyone.
The fledges were quick. Rumor was quicker. Wik held the curious off with a Singer’s resolve.
“Dirt and bones,” Rya whispered when she’d had a good look. “Liar, did you forget to tell us this too? Do these monsters come out of the ground?”
I ignored her name for me. “Wik says they do. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Would it hatch something small enough to climb, or kill?
“Look at it! Fascinating. Like a birds’ egg,” Rya said.
Beliak, arriving with Ciel, disagreed. “It’s dangerous. The size of it. Think of what happens when it hatches.”
Wik agreed. “When it hatches, it’ll be hungry. We need to be far away. Worse, there are other cities out there, some trying to kill the others. They’ll kill us alongside if we stay.”
He described the cities he and Kirit had seen, and who they’d found there.
Rya’s face went completely calm. “Dix.”
Wik turned to her, touching her feathered shoulder. “You have control of the blackwings—the Aivans now—she’s not a problem any longer.”
“I disagree,” Rya said. “As long as she’s alive, she’s a risk. Perhaps even when she’s dead.”
“She’s with Kirit,” Wik said.
“Then she won’t be alive long,” I said with confidence. I couldn’t imagine Kirit letting Dix live.
Wik looked at me for a long time before he said, “Don’t be so sure.”
Rya paced in front of the hole, the drooping, graying skin of the toppled cities, the egg. “We’ll post a guard here, to keep the curious away. And we’ll sort out some way to drag the egg to a new location, a safe distance. Or…” She paused, tapping a finger against her lips, “We can raise this city. Properly. We might train it.”
“That’s skytouched,” Wik said.
Rya gave him a long, appraising look. “You are a citykiller. I choose a different path. The carrion birds have already begun stripping the dead city. When they’re done, we can live in its bones. That can be our home until the new one is grown large enough,” Rya continued. “You haven’t found us another one, so we’ll make our home here. When the new city hatches, we’ll take care of it.”
“You can’t mean it,” I said. “This is no place to live, among the dead.”
Rya looked at me. “Being here feels a bit like being dead, doesn’t it? Below the clouds, no sky, no wind, everything heavy. We are not made for this, but we will get used to it. And somehow, we’ll fly again. We’ll rise with the new city’s towers.”
Wik sighed. He reached into his pocket and withdrew an intricate map. “This came from a city about two days’ walk from here. We called it Varat. But it will be more than two days’ journey away now. The city moves.”
Ignoring our questions, he spread the map against one of the city’s claws, and took out a lens. “Varat was here. There are cities walking these routes, here and here. This, I
think, is the dead one we found. And this is our own city. That small city is the one that attacked.”
“We named it Nimru,” I whispered.
“This other city has artifexes?” Rya asked. She put her hand on the map. “We’ll need this.”
Wik nodded. He let Rya take the map. “But they can’t understand us, nor we them. And Dix has already broken their trust, stealing from them. They’d attack us if they saw us coming.”
“Then maybe they won’t see us coming,” Ceetcee said. “New tools would be helpful while rebuilding.”
Quiet overtook the group. Wik shook his head. “I can’t advocate for that.”
“Wik, why didn’t Kirit return?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
“She’s determined to find a proper city, with no one on it. Somewhere safe.”
As he said that, Ciel’s face closed up like a trap. “We can’t climb towers again. Not here, not anywhere. We’ll kill another city if we do.” She looked at Wik, at Rya.
The sun had risen above the clouds, blocking the light. The day grew darker. A few citizens passed us by, but the Aivans kept most away.
Rya looked at all of us. “But if we don’t,” she said, “we’ll never fly again. We’ll be always at the mercy of the ground. I need your help.” She looked at me. “Yours especially.”
We waited, and listened, while she laid out her sense of the community’s needs.
Rya gestured across the destruction of the city, the fallen towers, moss, bone shards, and crushed birds. “We need to make our home a fortress. To keep our community safe. And to keep the blackwings from learning about Dix until we have the community’s support. Until it doesn’t matter anymore. We need to find a way forward, to fly again.” She looked at Wik and Ciel. “We need to gather all the supplies. We need more artifexes.”
Ciel stared at Rya. Her fists clenched and unclenched. She looked at me, then back to the Aivans. Rya didn’t notice. She was so busy trying to picture the future of the city, she ignored the youngest among us.
Then Urie came running, the sound of his feet on the ground breaking the tension.
“Sidra sent me,” he said.
Rya looked at him, alarmed. “Blackwing, is Macal worse?”
Urie bowed. He glanced at me, but he turned to Rya. Her feathers were dusty and her voice raw, but he stuttered in her presence. Finally, he spoke low, and with awe. “Risen, she sent me as Macal’s second. He still lives, but I am yours. Not the blackwings’ any longer. I wish to be of use. To help artifex for you.”
“Not Risen. Aivan,” Rya corrected gently.
“Aivan,” Urie said. “I am honored. I will follow you and Nat anywhere.”
“There is nowhere to go,” Rya said. “Nat has lied. Kirit has failed. We need to find food, clean water, to begin again. And we will start here.”
She pulled a feather from her pocket and gave it to Urie.
He tied it to his shoulder, delighted.
“Rya—” I started. This was time to discuss, to plan. Not to fortify.
She held up a hand. “We clear the area, we defend the bones of the city from any challenge. We can live beside it, use the skin for shelters, footwraps. Begin to see what grows here. We need to begin again. Just like Ciel’s new song says. Everyone must help.”
Urie focused on her words, but he looked concerned. “Djonn’s climbers and kites ‘become real in the sky,’ yes. But no one’s seen the artifex since before the collapse,” he whispered. “What can I help build in his absence?”
“I need you all,” Rya said. “Urie, I need you to help run messages. Ciel, you can make new, hopeful songs.”
But Ciel’s gaze turned bone-stubborn. She turned to me and whispered, “I will never live inside the city’s skeleton. We need to fly. And we need to find a home for us, and for the silkspiders and the—” She bit her lip before speaking louder. “We have to find a place that’s better.”
Rya focused on Ciel. “We need to, yes. Still, your songs helped give us a way to live now. If it will help your city, will you write us more?” Rya said. Her tone was kind, inviting.
Ciel, storm-faced, walked away without answering. Past the small group of fledges camped by the tethered kites.
Rya blinked and took a deep breath.
“I need you too, Nat,” she said after a pause. “You can redeem yourself. You can help the community recover.”
“How?” I watched Urie look from Rya to me. Rya hadn’t asked him to do anything besides run messages. He followed the conversation, waiting.
“You can help me find a way to fly again. If that means attacking Varat for their tools, so be it. Otherwise, you find another way.”
I thought about my options. Looked at the intricate map. If this was an example of Varat’s power, we would lose. And helping Rya fly again? Impossible. I needed to stall her.
“You’ll need all of us for those things,” I said. “Ciel included. She’s not a fledge by any means. Let me go get her. But I need to do it without guards.”
She held up a hand, considering my request. Turned to Urie. “I need you to find those who can help me build, who can lift us into the air again.”
“I can help,” Urie said. “I helped Djonn and my aunts with the kites.”
“Then you’ll know what to look for,” Rya said. “Very helpful.”
Urie, looking slightly disappointed, said, “On your wings, Aivan.”
When he’d departed, Rya looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “Go.”
* * *
Ciel had traveled a long way down the bone collapse in a short time. When I found her, she was repacking two small bags for better balance on the uneven bone shards.
“Where will you go?” I asked quietly.
“I am NOT a fledge. No more than you are a liar. I’ll go find another city, maybe. Or I’ll find Kirit.” She slipped her basket over one shoulder. It glowed slightly when she spoke. She crossed the other sack over the other shoulder. That one clanked.
Alone? I doubted it. “What’s in the bags?” A sneaking suspicion began to rise. “Ciel?”
She whistled, and Moc came over the rise, carrying two panniers. Both also carried wing frames, furled.
“We’re going to look for Kirit. To warn her about Rya. Kirit can’t come back with Rya seizing power.”
“Rya wouldn’t harm Kirit.” I couldn’t imagine it.
Moc looked shocked. “Of course not! But Rya would never let Kirit leave. She’d keep you both as Lawsbreakers. Like Dix wanted to. Especially with Kirit befriending Dix.”
“I doubt that’s what’s happened.” Wik hadn’t explained. “And Rya’s not like Dix.”
Moc reached out and touched the feather at my shoulder. “You sure? What happened to wanting to save the city? Are you giving up?”
My family needed me here. My city needed me. The feather on my shoulder swung back and forth, a pendulum of accusations. I hadn’t given up. I’d given myself to Rya in trade, as a Lawsbreaker, in order to speed the evacuation. To earn hope. And I’d lied. Maybe I deserved what I got. “I can be more help here.”
“You were trying to help already,” Moc said. “You’re not a Lawsbreaker. Don’t let her repeat names at you until you believe them.”
Ciel added, “You might check the city’s supplies. Rya has collected the kites and ropes, yes, but also the lighter-than-air! She pulled a lot of it off the kites. And the kites themselves? She’s talking about dismantling those.”
Ciel turned and looked out across the landscape, towards the desert. At what was left of the towers: a treacherous scrabble of wobbling debris. Bonefall piles. It opened to ankle-twisting gaps, large chunks of bone, rotting plants.
Ciel and Moc made ready to climb into it. To disappear.
“Walk away with us, Nat. Keep looking for a better place,” Ciel said. “We can’t live on this city’s back, or its bones, or by Rya’s rules, but we can live somewhere. We’ll find it, and Kirit, and everyone else can come live
with us.”
“What about Macal?” I scolded. Had they forgotten their uncle?
Ciel looked sad.
“He’s very ill. The healers have him.” How could she not know? I watched Moc wobble on the bones.
Ciel shook her head and scratched her scalp. “You’ve seen Sidra today? You should talk to her.”
Only early this morning. “She was at Macal’s side. She sent Urie to Rya.” Hours ago now.
Moc said, “Rya moved Macal into her quarters at midmorning. She’s trying to help. But if Macal dies, half the city may follow Sidra and the tower leaders. Rya knows it. She wants Sidra’s support. Didn’t you see that when she was talking to you? She has to consolidate power. Worse, if the blackwings hear Dix is alive, they might split away to follow her, not Rya.”
I touched the feather at my shoulder. Without wind to make flight easy, Rya had to find a new way to inspire her followers. She might grow desperate.
Ciel walked a few steps forward, clanking. She looked like she was trying to hide something. I recognized the sound from the time I’d carried something similar.
The brass plates.
“If you’re so sure the community’s splintering, why not support the tower leaders? And why are you taking the brass plates?” I lifted one from the satchel, and she grabbed it back. “And the littlemouths?” That glow from the other satchel was unmistakable. “Ciel—”
“Because the groups are too small, the frustrations so large. Don’t you remember The Rise? We could start attacking each other.” She sighed with frustration. “I want to preserve something of what we were.”
The brass plates were our city’s artifex heritage. They contained knowledge well beyond what any of us understood. The littlemouths had always been Ciel’s charge. “Maybe Rya should have those, or the artifexes. Didn’t you hear her? They’re needed.”
“We’re taking them somewhere safe,” she said. “Everyone should be able to have these. Not just one group.” She looked at me accusingly.
Ciel’s braids were once again encrusted with red dirt. Moc’s hair as well. She’d tied her new footwraps with bird gut and sewn on hard dried-skin soles. I recognized these. Moc had cut these from the city’s skin and begun trading for gossip almost as soon as we landed. Now she looked ready to walk away on them.