by Fran Wilde
The five watched the scene impassively.
The air suddenly filled with feathers as one of the bone eaters dove at me, and tried to knock me from the air with claw and wing. I fired one arrow and nocked another.
Wik, leading Beliak and Urie, dove after the bird.
When the healer climbed into their city’s net, Kirit cheered. A dirty, grayed shift flapped in the wind, a mote rising quickly on the city’s dark expanse.
With a screech, a bone eater tumbled from the sky, an arrow through its enormous eye. The net stopped. A horn blew, a high bright note.
Two more bone eaters beat a path back to Varat.
Meantime, the city still moved forward, bearing down on the bonefall. We were running out of time.
Riders on the other two birds tried firing at us. The carrion sacks they bore threw off their aim. Even so, an arrow caught Urie’s wing, and he spun, tumbling.
One of the five council leaders began to haul the netting up again. In short measure, the healer reached the top of the city. Now we would see if it mattered.
Meantime, the last two bone eaters still came at us.
“Cut the lines to their sacks,” Kirit yelled, “instead of the birds or the riders! The city will stop following!”
Clouds, if Kirit’s gamble doesn’t work, we’ll have to fight for our city against these same birds and riders. Is it worth the risk?
Kirit dove for one of the sacks, a long knife drawn. She sliced her glass-tooth blade through the rope, nearly severing it. The carrion sack hung by a thread. Beliak followed, cutting the final cords, and the sack dropped to the ground.
On the back of Varat, Liope joined the five councilors.
The city slowed, but with one sack left ahead of it, it did not stop.
The other bone eater rider goaded his bird into flying faster. The city looked from the food at its feet to the food getting away and slowed even further. It snapped up the sack and swallowed it, then looked for more.
A horn sounded. High and bright. Varat came to a halt with an enormous groan.
In the air, our lighter-than-air was starting to give out. “Land or turn back?” I shouted.
“Land!” Wik yelled. Rya seconded. We curved our wings to spill wind and foil the propellers. Then hit ground in the vanguard of our community.
“Watch the feet!” Rya called, as several guards got too close. Varat’s enormous footstep knocked two hunters and a blackwing over, and they were barely pulled to safety in time.
The city had stopped before Rya’s attack line, circled by its remaining birds.
“They could still attack us; we need to drive them off forever,” Rya said.
But I understood now, why Kirit hadn’t wanted to fight. Why Liope had risked everything to return to their city. We couldn’t just fight. “We have to change strategies.”
We weren’t alone any longer.
And neither were Liope’s people.
The battle that had almost happened could have ended both our communities. Now that we knew of each other, we needed to learn different ways.
When Varat turned, it did so slowly, moving away from us with pacing steps. One of the bone eaters swooped out in front of it, leading it back to its normal track. I breathed deeply, relieved.
“You gave them back the map,” Rya said, when Wik met us on the ground. She was angry.
He nodded, unfazed. “It’s theirs.”
“The map could have been useful,” I said.
Kirit joined us. “Perhaps someday, they’ll let us borrow it.”
By the time the sun passed below the clouds, we watched the giant move into the distance. Ciel and Moc began to turn the kite towards the ridge, pointing the way for those who wanted to go now. They signaled that they were running out of lighter-than-air.
I still stood cautious guard. Without air cover, we were vulnerable. But the battle avoided gave me great hope.
“We need to leave soon,” Kirit said. “We have people who need us at the ridge. If we use the kites that are tethered here, we can move everyone. There is water and hunting. Come with us?”
I wanted to go, but for different reasons.
Though Varat was headed away from us, we had no way of communicating with its inhabitants. Kirit seemed to think the ridge would be safer if there was a new attack, with our people together.
Ceetcee and Beliak hadn’t packed to leave yet. Moving Elna would take careful planning. “We’ll go or stay, where you’re needed,” Ceetcee said.
They waited while I went to petition Rya.
“Why do you need my leave?” Rya said.
“Because I made a promise, up above the clouds. I’d go with you as Lawsbreaker, if you helped evacuate the towers. I do what I say I’ll do. And you have not yet released me.”
“You no longer need to ask.” She laughed. She pulled the marker from my shoulder, but left the feather. “I remove your Lawsmarker. Offer you Aivan status. You’re free to do what you want.” The air cooled more, and a teasing breeze lifted the feather on my shoulder. “Your sense of honor is to your credit. I release you.”
While Varat moved farther away and my family watched me, I made my decision. “I’ll go to the ridge.”
Rya smiled. “You’ve earned it.”
I looked at Kirit and Wik, at my family, and made ready to head for the horizon. A fledge—Maili, I remembered—came running across the dirt, nearly tripping in the last few steps.
She grabbed Rya’s robe. “The egg cracked. The city is hatching.”
We wouldn’t be going anywhere yet.
39
KIRIT, BELOW
Another city awakes, friends seek farther shores
I was eager to leave. To go to the ridge, to fly. Even more eager when I saw the cracks in the city’s egg.
But Rya asked for help, and I could not turn away.
“The fledges and the wounded must go to the kites,” she said. This time, blackwings and Aivans alike followed her, coughing in the dust kicked up as we retraced our path. “Urie, you’re in charge of that.”
Urie spun fast, bowing just a little to both Rya and Nat, “Yes, Aivan. Risen.” His dirt-streaked robe billowed as he headed for the tents first, then the kites. There was little sign of the dissent Nat had whispered to me about on the way here.
Rya waved Minlin to her side. “Bring all the nets to where the new city lies.” To the rest of the Aivans and blackwings: “Clear the area around the pit.” Her voice was firm, her commands clear.
“What do you need from me?” She seemed to have everything under control.
The ground rumbled.
“Another crack!” a fledge yelled, as if no one could feel it.
We ran towards where the old city’s moldering body loomed over the pit. In all the mud and gore, the egg looked very pale, almost glowing.
When Rya turned to me, I saw the young woman I’d met many Allsuns ago with her father, independent and strong-willed.
“Can you take care of them, Kirit, if—” She didn’t finish. A loud, sharp noise echoed across the ground.
I drew my bow, answering her unfinished question, “Of course I can. But…”
She slowed. Watched me nock an arrow. Held up a hand. “Don’t kill it. Whatever you do.”
Laughing under my breath, I said, “I won’t kill anything. But if it’s down to you or the city, I’ll wound it like crazy.”
She laughed, nervously. “Thank you. You’d make a good Aivan.”
I had to smile. “I like you too, but I’m not a good follower.”
She laughed.
Nat met us at the lip of the pit. We moved the fledges back from the mud-slick edge as they excitedly pointed out the widening fractures on the side of the egg.
Finally, Urie came and led the fledges away. Desert dust billowed as they fled to a safe distance.
If this was anything like a whipperling hatching, it would take a whole day for the city to emerge. Still, my heart was already pounding.
This was a city. It wouldn’t be anything like a bird hatching. What would it look like? What would it do?
“What will it eat?” Nat said, as if reading my thoughts. “We need to have something to feed it.” He was right.
A lone bone eater coasted high above us, and I eyed it appraisingly. Nat put his hand on my arm. “Don’t feed it a bone eater.”
“Why not? Our city ate them all the time.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not first. First tastes are important. The city needs to not think of bone eaters as food. Not at first.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You are an expert now at cities?”
There was a loud crack from the egg, as the fractures split wider. Rya chuckled. “No one’s had time to become an expert, but it is a good point from a trained hunter.” She signaled to Wik. “Can you take some Aivans out and find a few of those … What did you call them?”
Wik blinked. “Groundmouths?” He gave a long sigh. “I could find some for you. I’ll need guards who can echolocate. A very large net. And all the muzz we have left.”
Rya grinned. Another loud crack met the sound of wet surfaces pulling apart. “You should hurry.”
Wik and several Aivans left at a run, headed for the closest stretch of ground with visible divots in the earth.
Through the crack in the egg, a small—relatively speaking—horn emerged. It kicked at the shell until cracks ran everywhere.
Nat gave a low whistle. “That is going to be a big city.”
Bits of shell fell to the ground, landing hard enough to shake the area where we stood. A rush of fluid muddied the earth below the egg.
We could see the grayish inner membrane, and something curled tight inside. A nostril flared. A blue eye the size of a small child slowly blinked.
After another long moment, the city uncoiled and stuck its head out, then lay its chin on the mud. Its eye slowly closed.
“Is it dead?” Rya’s second in command asked.
Nat shook his head. “Sleeping. This is tiring work.”
Before he’d finished speaking, the city opened its eye again and pulled a clawed foot from the shell. More eggshell broke off and clattered to the ground.
We spread out on the bonefall, waiting to see the city in full, but also ready to run.
“Rya, don’t get too close,” her second in command called.
Nat looked at me across the crowd. He remembered watching the old city eat. We both backed up several more paces and encouraged the others to come with us.
The new city made a rumbling sound high in its throat. Its gray tongue poked out, tasting the air, and then it yawned. A few tooth points were barely visible on its jaw. Its gums were the color of stone fruit.
I kept a firm grip on my bow while Rya knelt, at a safe distance, looking in the city’s eyes. “Rya…”
With a slick rolling motion, the city darted at her, rumbling.
Rya held her ground. “Nets!”
The city’s hind legs got tangled up in the shell, and it tripped, then righted itself and tried to scramble up the bank of the pit.
Nat and two blackwings threw the joined netting over the city’s head and the front part of its body. “That’s as far as it’ll stretch.”
“Control the head, control the city,” Rya murmured. She took two of the net tethers, and we each took two more. As the city shook its backside free of the eggshell, we looked at the pen Rya’s men had built in haste.
“That’s not going to hold it,” she said.
The city tried to spring forward again, but the thick nets held.
“Could keep it in the pit for a while,” Nat said. “Build a cage over it.”
“Like the skymouths?” I whispered, remembering all too clearly the push of their bodies against the nets in the Spire.
Nat shivered. “Nothing like the skymouths. This would only be until Rya tames it or retreats.”
Wik returned with his haul of groundmouths. Most of the hunters were covered with the same goo that had struck him when we killed the first groundmouth. The iridescent tinge to it was visible in the dim midday light.
He measured a piece of groundmouth carefully with his hands, slicing off a city-sized bite. He gave this to Rya. “Don’t move too quickly. You’re not its parent. It could snap your hands off, even without teeth.”
Rya frowned, concentrating. She knelt on the edge of the pit, her feathered robe growing muddy. The bird skull slipped around her neck. She brushed hair out of her eyes with one shaking hand, leaving a trail of groundmouth slime.
She held out the food to the newborn city.
The beast stretched its head to her hands, nostrils blowing like a small storm. Its gray tongue emerged again, curling around her hands.
“Rya,” I said. “That’s too close.”
“Wait.” She waved me off. She didn’t take her eyes off the city.
“It’s not going to be your pet,” Nat said. “It will be too big, very soon. Be careful.”
“Shhhhh,” she whispered.
The tongue drew back quickly, yanking Rya into the pit and the mud. She scrambled to get out of the way of the city’s feet.
“Ropes!” Wik called. “Quickly.” He nocked an arrow as well. “Say the word.”
“Not yet!” Rya scrambled up on the city’s back. The dorsal ridge was barely apparent, white points on the gray, mottled skin. The city didn’t seem to mind her weight. It smacked its jaws together and swallowed the morsel of groundmouth, then opened up for more.
Wik cut another slice and Rya’s second in command reached for it, but Wik shook his head. “For now, just Rya. Soon, perhaps everyone else.”
The city ate until the sun passed below the cloud again, then collapsed in the mud and snored.
We helped Rya from the pit and stretched the strong nets over the expanse.
“That won’t hold it for long,” Nat observed. “You’ll need something stronger.”
“Maybe,” Rya said. “Maybe not.” She’d lost her bird skull in the mud, and needed a sand bath more than anyone.
She posted three guards at the pit and ordered the remaining citizens to move their tents at least thirty city-strides away.
“What will you do while the new city is growing?” Many of the Aivans and blackwings had decided to remain with her. Many from the old city’s towers had planned to make the journey to the ridge. Now that they understood how big the infant city was, I saw several more groups packing to leave.
She looked at the bone shelters slowly growing from the old city. “We’ll have much to do.”
“The ridge kites will always be open to you,” I said. Sidra came to join me. “They were Macal’s idea, originally. I want to honor his memory. He was and will always be a bridge between us.”
Sidra took Rya’s hands, ignoring the grime on them. “You’ll need food and clean water, especially at first. Kirit says the ridge has that. We’ll help.”
“And we’ll keep an eye out for approaching cities,” I said. Varat, which we would call Serra now, had retreated far away.
“I appreciate it,” Rya agreed. “We will send traders to you. The new city will always be here for you and your ascendants too, should the kites have trouble.”
We sealed our agreement by carving two spirals in a bone shard, symbols of the old city and the newborn one. Then we clasped hands. “I wish you only good luck, Aivan,” I said.
Rya bowed to me, “On your wings, Risen.” Her smile was genuine. I beckoned Ciel forward. The young woman bowed to both of us, her cupped hands extended. They looked empty. Then she began to hum.
Two littlemouths glowed. “For you,” Ciel said. “But don’t let the city eat them.”
Rya laughed. “I won’t, I promise.”
Our ancestors made a decision like this, once. To climb higher. To stay on the ground.
Some of us would stay with the new city and wait for it to rise. They would keep it safe.
Some of us would go across the desert and try
a new way of living.
We made the decision knowing for the first time in generations that we weren’t alone on the ground. Knowing that each choice would take work and sacrifice. Knowing we would need to rely on each other.
No city could stand alone now.
* * *
When the sun rose, there were far fewer tents in the shadow of the old city.
Those who could began the walk through the desert, towing the kites above.
Ceetcee and Beliak waited with Nat, their belongings bundled into satchels and packs.
Urie returned from his duties with the kites. “Everything is ready,” he said to Rya.
Rya regarded him. “You’re certain you wish to stay? You will be under my leadership.”
He nodded. “There is much to build here.”
“We’ll take all but two kites,” I said, looking at the long stretch between here and the ridge. “Are you sure?”
Rya shook her head. Her horizon held only the hatchling for now. “I knew long ago we were changing as a people. Becoming something different. I thought that meant we would fly. I know better now. It is the Aivans’ duty to tend the new city. We are sure.”
Ceetcee’s baby kicked in Beliak’s arms and began to scream, but the city didn’t wake. As Beliak rocked her back to sleep, I looked up at the cloud above us, and the kites floating in the dim predawn light. We had a long journey before us.
Wik, his hand on my shoulder, touched the baby’s cheek. “What’s her name?”
“We’ll know when we get there,” Ceetcee said. “When we get home.”
EPILOGUE
KIRIT, HOME
On a morning like this, joy is a sky filled with birds. It is the sound of laughter, of wind ruffling a patchwork wing.
My son, Mac, wobbles on his first flight, quietly intense. Aliati and Raq fly a spidersilk net beneath him. There’s no room for error as he sweeps a small circuit through the sky and returns to our platform.
His face is a geometry of excitement when his feet touch the silk. The moment his wings are furled, he runs to me, then past me, past Wik, all around the room. All unconstrained energy, until he flies once more, into my arms. “Did you see?”
“I did, and you flew beautifully.” I wink at Raq as Mac’s aunts glide home, their windups churning beneath their wings.