Updraft

by Fran Wilde

  “I barely remember Vess,” he said sadly. “Though we are grateful to the Singers for taking him. Two others starved in our tier that year.”

  Sellis spoke of her friend without hesitation. “He has a beautiful voice. And has added much to the life of novices in the Spire.” She drew a breath. “But he was not strong enough to defend the city. He will continue to serve the Spire, but you will not see him again.”

  Vess’s brother sadly accepted the broken wings. We did not sing with him: Vess was not dead.

  “On your wings, Singers,” he said. He watched us depart. I ducked my head below my wings to look back at him growing smaller on the tower’s roof.

  * * *

  By the time we landed on Viit, the sun had crossed the top quadrants of the sky, and my shoulders were numb. Sellis didn’t complain, but I winced as I furled my wings. I carried only one extra pair of wings now, strapped to my chest, but the flights had been long.

  Viit had prepared a meal of goose meat and apples for us, left out in large bone bowl, but no one waited to greet us on this rooftop. A bridge blessing required that they await us below, and on Densira. We ate in exhausted silence.

  Flying the city was so different from what I’d thought it would be. It was lonely and quiet in the sky, with too many thoughts tugging at my attention. And attention was required to stay aloft on the city’s drafts and gusts. We’d flown above the city’s day-to-day traffic, and I’d watched the colorful wings weave in familiar patterns below, wanting to join them once more.

  The bridge blessing was a simple ritual. When we had eaten, Sellis flew across to Densira without a word to me, and I descended to the Viit balcony where the sinew and rope spans had been anchored by one of Viit’s Spire-trained artifexes.

  Bone hooks and eyes had been carved carefully around this tier and incorporated into the cable system to help distribute the load of the main cables. The cables wrapped the tower’s bone core, secured with a complex series of braids and tethers. Pulleys brought from Wirra allowed the bridge’s artifexes to tend it during wind shifts and periodic rebalancing. More support cables ran to tiers above and below.

  Near the core, a surprised whisper. “Kirit! You live!” I looked up to find familiar eyes: Ceetcee. She wore the tools of a novice artifex on cords around her neck: bone hooks and cutters, a thick awl for splicing ropes.

  She clasped my fingers in hers: the first time a non-Singer had touched me in half a year. I did not want to let go of her chapped hands, though she smelled of dried skymouth sinew and rope.

  “Well met, Artifex Viit,” I greeted her formally, after a moment. Sellis waited on the other tower. I could not linger, no matter how much I wished to do so.

  Ceetcee loosened her grip and stepped back too, then bowed. “Well met, Singer.”

  Two more Viit artifexes stepped forward and bowed. I saw Beliak peeking around a spine in the tier. Of course. As a ropemaker, he would be here.

  “You are welcome, Artifexes,” I replied, reminding everyone that the bridges were Singer-gifts to the towers. I added, “And gladly met.”

  The artifexes showed me their work. It was a great honor to tie a bridge. It was also nerve-racking. If the bridge was tethered wrong, or if Singers and artifexes had miscalculated the balance of the towers, a tower’s core could be weakened. Its growth could be slowed.

  Every tower resident learned bridge songs as fledges, whether they had a bridge or not. During my Spire training, I’d learned even more. I knew tension and binding songs. I’d seen how long-lived bridges were maintained and supported with new material, until a tower’s core became too wide to accommodate the bindings, and then the sinew fell or was cut away. I’d examined remnants and drawings of failed bridges, and those of bridges that had survived almost down to the clouds.

  I hoped this bridge between Viit and Densira would last that long.

  Singers whose focus was on bridge building and working with artifexes had attended and assisted the work on Viit and Densira. Our blessing was a formality. An honor for any young Singer, yes, and not just because of tradition. The first Singers to cross would test the bridge for all and take on the burden of risk. Our sacrifice for the good of the city.

  The skies above the bridge were clear. I wondered if Singers waited beyond the towers, watching. I wondered if they would intervene if a bridge ever failed during a crossing. I suspected they would not. Tradition. Sacrifice.

  The ties looked secure. The braiding, careful. The secondary cables taut but not straining.

  Ceetcee and her superiors watched me carefully. Confident in their work.

  Beneath the ties, the bone core felt cool to my touch. So different than the heartbone. I was supposed to look for discoloration or signs of strain. There were none. The release points that would allow the artifexes to widen the wrapping’s girth as the core expanded looked much like my wingstraps, but thicker and heavier. Viit’s and Densira’s artifexes had a lifetime of bridge tending ahead of them.

  When I completed my inspection, Ceetcee helped me remove my wings. Her eyes were wide, but her hands held steady as she placed the silk and battens in my arms. We would hold our wings, showing respect for the work of the artifexes.

  Across the span, at Densira, I knew Sellis had gone through the same steps. It was ritual.

  “Singers risk everything for the city,” I sang, knowing Sellis had done this also. I saw her gray shape appear at the top of her end of the bridge. We mirrored each other, from across the towers, so that our feet would touch the knotwork and sinew of the bridge at the same time. Tradition.

  I felt the towers watching as I began my slow walk down the bridge’s curve. The careful pattern of ties and woven fiber kneaded my feet in their soft gray wrappings. I did not use the handrails. My hands were full.

  “Be well, Singer,” someone—I thought perhaps Beliak—whispered behind me.

  The gap between Viit and Densira was wide. The two towers were hung with washing, with blackberry vines on Densira and small apple trees growing in buckets of guano and silage on Viit. When the bridge was opened, Elna would be able to cross almost unassisted, to see friends and take work in Viit, and even to cross from there to Wirra on a lower bridge if she wished. The bridge meant greater freedom for all of Densira, and new connections for Viit, as well.

  The span creaked beneath my feet. The sound of new cables. As time passed, it would become more pliant, until the artifexes tightened it. Neither Sellis nor I sang as we crossed the new span. We were supposed to ponder the span and its broader purpose.

  The bridges served a second purpose: the connections they made strengthened the towers. One of the Singers’ bridge building songs carried a dark reminder of what could happen if those towers did begin to grow apart: they could list, develop cracks, and worse. Bridges were occasionally awarded on the basis of those calculations, often conveniently timed for a novitiate’s rise to Singer. It wasn’t necessary for all towers to have bridges. After all, Densira had been growing fine without a bridge for a long time. A generation, I now realized. Naton and Ezarit. Their punishment.

  A punishment I’d erased with my sacrifice.

  Sellis had stopped to examine a series of knots on one of the vertical cables that kept the bridge from flipping or twisting in the wind. I waited for her, unable to move until she did. She took her time, knowing I could not continue to Densira until she let me.

  My mind wandered. If traders were able to see some of the patterns of power and connection as they flew the city, had my mother seen where bridges were constructed and known that Densira’s lack of one was her punishment? Her tower’s reprimand? Would she answer me honestly, if I were ever able to ask her my questions?

  At last, Sellis began walking again. We both echoed now, as we descended out of the tower’s hearing, searching for weak points in the pattern the bridge cast on the wind, the shadow it threw below it. I heard only the sounds of the towers, strong and true.

  When Sellis and I passed in the middle of
the bridge, we turned back to the artifexes waiting on Viit and Densira. We sang, pitching our voices, “This bridge will keep the city strong.”

  The artifexes cheered. A distant Ceetcee kissed a distant Beliak in celebration.

  The corners of my eyes crinkled painfully close to my new tattoos. Their joining made me happy.

  Sellis and I walked backwards for the second half of the crossing, eyes on each other, and on the way the bridge moved beneath the other’s feet. Sellis moved achingly slow now. Densira. I was so close. The artifexes of Densira had woven this half of the bridge plinth. I wonder who had apprenticed as artifex there, and who had trained them. Naton had been Densira’s previous artifex.

  Half this bridge may have been Viit’s work, but everyone watching our gray forms cross knew the bridge was Densira’s honor. Densira’s luck. A gift from the Spire.

  The sinew creaked again and the base swayed beneath my feet. The pliant spans felt so different from the Spire’s hard edges. The careful knotting and studied connections, the expanse of cloud below: the opposite of the Gyre.

  Above us, the sky sparkled, blue and simple. The sun hung lower than when we began. Our robes looked lustrous in the light.

  Walking was much slower than flying. Especially when one walked with Sellis. She had stopped again, studying a knot intently.

  Turning briefly, I saw a child’s face looking over the edge of the highest tier with a scope, watching from Densira. Growing up on a tower without a bridge meant many things. Isolation and privation. Risk, as Densira creaked alone in the stronger winds. The child above me would know less hardship and more connection to his neighbors. I envied him already.

  For once, the sky between Viit and Densira was clear of flight classes and the brightly colored wings of the young. In a few days, there would be a market here, and the new honor would brighten the city. Children would fly crimson kites from the tiers and the bridge as Allsuns drew near. Nearly a half year had passed since my wingtest.

  I’d had a kite, long ago. A bright bird on a string. Flown with my nearest wingmate, whose wings I now bore to his mother.

  On the other side of the bridge, Sellis cleared her throat loudly. I’d paused in my walk, remembering, and she could not move until I continued my backwards approach to Densira. She waited on the bridge, bored with her game now. Eager to reach Viit and finish our tasks. My reflection, robed in gray.

  My arms tired from holding my wings before me, and I suddenly longed to reach the other side as well, if only to be able to wear my wings again. Against my chest, the pair of wings that replaced Nat’s wings pressed and rubbed as I walked.

  Families gathered quietly around Densira’s bridge tier, waiting to cross the bridge, to shake hands with their friends in Viit. Our passage had made it safe. Only a few more steps.

  I could hear already some of the discussions from Densira’s upper tiers. I heard Sidra’s voice, I thought, saying the size of their tier had been reduced by the bridge ties.

  Already frustrated by Sellis’s slow passage across the bridge, I was angered by this minor infraction. Complaining while Singers risked their lives.

  But no, I heard another voice, this one more like Sidra’s, begging for silence. The first voice had sounded older. The younger voice spoke of honor, saying, “Mother, for once, be reasonable.” Silence fell again.

  When I looked ahead, I saw Dojha, from my flight class, standing with one of my cousins at the end of the bridge. Next to two artifexes. By the tower marks tied in their hair, I suspected they were from the south.

  Dojha looked nervous. She reached to greet me with a shaking hand. “You are welcome here, Singer,” she said. Sidra’s mother’s muttering continued in the shadows. They thought I could not hear her.

  But I was a Singer now, for better or for worse. I was expected to show my old tower a Singer’s power.

  “You do not keep silence here. You have no reverence for the city,” I said. “I will turn back.” The old Kirit Densira shouted at Kirit Spire, who’d just spoken. How could I turn back? This bridge would help Elna.

  Someone in the crowd gasped. If a Singer turned back, the bridge would be taken down and strung elsewhere.

  The sound of a slap echoed through the tier. My hand stretched as if I had struck the mutterer myself. No more sounds came from the back of the tier.

  Sidra emerged from the shadows, her face flushed. I expected her to glare at me, but she smiled instead.

  Dojha looked at me. “Do you wish this person given Lawsmarks, Singer?” Her eyes held mine. Afraid. For her bridge. For her friend’s family. Now that I had the power to tie weights, how would I distribute it?

  How, indeed.

  Sellis would already have pulled the markers from her robe. I hesitated. I’d exercised Singer power, and now I had to enforce the consequences. All our lessons said so. Tradition dictated.

  I shook my head. “I was shown mercy, once. I entrust the artifex to assign a marker if needed. Densira can teach the noisy one another way.”

  Dojha’s look of concern turned to relief. “We will ensure it.”

  I made the final step from bridge to tower. Sellis and I put on our wings, on opposite tiers.

  Dojha stepped aside to give me room, saying, “You honor us, Singer.” So formal.

  I remembered her trying to help before the wingtest. I’d thought she and Sidra had been teasing. Perhaps I’d misread. They had concerns of their own. Sidra especially. And now we had all changed so much. The distance between me and my former tower suddenly felt overwhelming.

  I fell back on tradition and Singer training, saying only, “Your bridge is sturdy and well built. Please make good use of it. You honor the city and the Spire when you do.”

  Dojha and my cousin stepped out onto the bridge, and Densira began to celebrate.

  I looked around me, at my old tower. Familiar faces looked back with unfamiliar reverence and fear. I did not see Elna. Nor Ezarit.

  The bridge ceremony complete, I waited for Sellis to join me for our second duty. The awkward silence stretched out until Sellis landed on the tier.

  I tried to clear my throat, find my voice. I could not.

  Finally, Sellis said, “We have another duty to discharge, and the light is fading. Where is the mother of the young man who challenged the city?”

  My burden pressed at my chest. Wings for Nat. Another silk banner.

  Councilman Vant stepped forward to greet us. He bowed so low his furled wingtips nearly touched the ground. I accepted his greeting with a bow of my own, then continued searching for Elna in the waiting crowd.

  “She is below, Singer,” Vant said, hurrying behind me. “She asks that you bring the wings there.”

  Sorrow bloomed. I stopped walking. A near silent hiss from Sellis, and I was under control again.

  “It is tradition, if the family wishes. We will go down to her,” Sellis said to the crowd. She and I secured our wings and bowed to the remaining citizens on the tier.

  “On your wings, Singer,” said the guard who had once stood watch outside my tier, who had called me Lawsbreaker. He bowed to me now.

  Sidra stepped to the ledge and pressed an apple into my hand. She didn’t look me in the eye. She wore apprentice Magister robes, blue-gray with a stripe of gray. So much like an acolyte’s robes, I was caught by the similarities.

  Sidra’s respect, and that of the guard, was Singers’ due. Sellis didn’t blink at it. It was her birthright. It was part of what I’d wanted when I’d agreed to fly the challenge. But there, on my former tower, it felt hollow. I was grateful for the silence I was required to keep, for tradition’s sake. But I wondered at all the changes in Densira. In myself. At how open and unprotected the tower seemed to me now. At the strangeness of a center core in a tower, rather than a Gyre and walls.

  Sidra bowed to Sellis as well. Macal stood behind Sidra and looked at her proudly. Their hands clasped when she finished her bow. Another new thing. So much change.

  Sellis nudged
me, then turned away from the crowd. Do not linger.

  She opened her wings and left the tier’s edge, then circled, waiting for me to show her where to go. I looked at my former councilman, my former family and flightmates one last time, then unfurled my wings, stepped from the balcony, and rode a breeze down to Sellis.

  * * *

  The tier we sought was far below the bridge and speckled with the garbage of those above it. There, living quarters were pressed a little closer to the edge by the growing central core than they had been six months ago.

  Elna stood at her cookpot, stirring. Did not hear us clatter onto her balcony. The scent of what she cooked was new to me. Something with a heady spice.

  Finally, she turned. The light of the setting sun behind me etched her face in stark relief, her wrinkles and jowls. As she navigated towards me, her fingertips brushing the room’s spines and furnishings, I realized she could not see me in the glare. The skyblindness had grown much worse. A thin silk tether around her waist kept her from the edge of her balcony. Like a child. She kept one hand on it.

  “Elna,” I whispered, and caught her hand as she passed near.

  “Kirit,” she whispered back. Then, “You honor me, Singer.” Tears filled her near-sightless eyes.

  This and her simple formality broke me nearly in two. I did not honor her. I was begging her forgiveness.

  Sellis’s whispers grew louder as I held Elna’s hand. Cannot linger. Must return to the Spire before dark. “Kirit. Tradition,” she finally snapped. I let Elna’s hand go, gently.

  From behind a screen, a voice sounded. “Is she here?” The tone was familiar, but had a sad edge.

  Then Ezarit stepped around the screen. My mother, here.

  She stared at me. Her eyes held worry, a little fear. I stared back, all my words gone from my mouth. She should be out trading. Not here. This was why Singers clung to tradition. To Laws. Surprises conflicted too much with duty.