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.