Authors: Sean Williams
Sal stared at her for a long moment, wondering if she was being serious. Her expression left him in no doubt. ‘Why do people put up with it?’
‘They don’t have any choice, Sal. These are the borderlands. Everyone is weak here, so far from stone and sea. Don’t you feel it? Are you really so immune?’
He knew what she was asking, but didn’t know how to answer. The Change radiated from living things and flowed through the landscape. Some places possessed more background potential than others, and those particularly rich in the Change were frequently tapped into by practitioners living nearby. Different reservoirs had different flavours, and just as with food, people sometimes preferred one flavour to another. He himself had a natural tendency towards the teaching of the Stone Mages. Only a natural wildness and half a decade of study had taught him to see reliably beyond those inclinations.
This knowledge is more important than it sounds,
Lodo had told him, an age ago.
In it lies understanding of the great rift that divides the Stone Mages and the Sky Wardens. It explains why the Strand and the Interior are the way they are
—
and why, even though skirmishes are common between both nations, one has never succeeded in taking over the other.
We
can’t use each other’s reservoirs. It’s that simple, at the base of it. The Stone Mages draw forth the background potential from bedrock and store it in fire. Sky Wardens, on the other hand, weave into the air what they take from the sea. The sea, in short, is their reservoir. It may not obey their will, but it is theirs nonetheless. They can tap into it and read its humours; when they bathe in it they absorb some of its vitality; and when they die, they are cast back into it, to sink slowly into its depths and become one with the water again.
The further Banner was from the coast, the less potential she could access. On the northern side of the Divide, should she go that far, she would be powerless. The same would happen to a Stone Mage removed from the bedrock bones of the deep desert. The Divide marked the furthest extents of both Strand and Interior. The political reach of each country was therefore sharply delineated by the alchemical powers employed by their rulers — and that was partly why, Sal was sure, Marmion didn’t want to call ahead to Laure for help.
But these were just conventions, conveniences, even contrivances. Sal had taught himself to follow his own instincts, and he had seen what both Wardens and Mages could do if they had to, no matter how far from home they were. Shorn Behenna, the Sky Warden sent to capture him when he had escaped from the Syndic the first time, had been stripped of his rank for using the Change on the wrong side of the Divide. The last Sal had heard, he had been heading for the Interior with Mawson — the man’kin that Sal had set free from bondage to Sal’s family — and Kemp, the albino bully who had helped them in the Haunted City.
The bloodworkers, the yadachi, were another alternative, another system of thought, albeit one that made him feel slightly squeamish.
Banner was watching him, waiting for an answer, her round, brown face more curious than hostile.
‘Lodo taught me,’ he said, ‘that eventually the Change comes from one single source, no matter who’s using it. Wardens and Mages have their differences, yes, but those differences are irrelevant. Someone who doesn’t buy into either method of using the Change won’t be limited by them. So no, I don’t feel any different here than I would on the coast or in the desert, because I don’t think the same way as you.’
Banner nodded. ‘I’ve heard of wild talents and what they can do. They flare up and die out fast, breaking all the rules. And I’d heard of you, of course. It just seems so strange. I mean, water and stone are complete opposites. They can’t be the same thing.’
‘So where does blood fit in? It’s all in the way you’re taught. If two people speak different languages, the words they use to describe the world can be very different. They won’t understand each other, even if they’re talking about the same thing. But the physical world remains the same. Language doesn’t alter it. Why should it be otherwise with the Change?’
‘Because the Change connects us to the world. It’s not just a way of talking to each other. It binds us, shapes us, just as we bind and shape it in turn.’
‘We also bind ourselves. If you could look past your training and see the world as I do, you’d be free, too.’
‘I don’t feel trapped.’ His choice of words clearly unnerved her. ‘Do you think of me as trapped?’
‘I know you can only live on this side of the Divide. There’s half a world beyond it that you’re not likely to see, because of what you believe. I don’t know if that’s the same thing as being trapped, exactly, but it’s definitely a shame.’
Banner absorbed that for a while, frown lines creasing the skin between her eyebrows. She was clearly becoming keen to change the subject from Laure and its rulers and her own, perhaps fallacious, assumptions.
‘What’s the most beautiful thing you saw in the Interior?’ she asked.
‘The most beautiful thing ...’ He thought about it. ‘There was so much. The lights of Ulum; sunset over the mountains; the Nine Stars at midnight. It was all incredible. But you know what? Places aren’t important. That’s the problem with what you Sky Wardens have been taught — and the Stone Mages, too. Places are irrelevant to the Change. It’s us who matter — us and the people around us — the inhabitants of the world that the Change makes possible. That’s what we should concentrate on connecting with. And in those terms, the most beautiful thing I saw in the Interior is the same as the most beautiful thing I saw in the Strand. And it’s not
Os,
the bone ship, or the glass towers of the Haunted City. It’s not even the Change itself.’
‘I know what it is,’ said Tom, breaking unexpectedly into the conversation. ‘I know
who
it is.’
Sal glanced rearward at Shilly. Her eyes were open, watching him with liquid intensity.
‘It should be pretty obvious,’ he said, ‘although I managed to miss the point for a depressingly long time.’
She laughed softly and shifted to a more comfortable position, half slumped against the side of the buggy. ‘Very smooth,’ she said, closing her eyes again.
Sal felt a familiar warmth spread through him as he turned to Banner. ‘I don’t care if I never travel again. As long as Shilly is with me, the Change is everywhere around me. Wouldn’t you rather feel that way than be tied to an ocean, far away?’
Banner was smiling. ‘You make a convincing argument, Sal,’ she said, ‘when you put it like that.’
He tilted his head to look at her sideways. ‘I’m not trying to convince anyone. You just asked, and I told you.’
Banner sat back into her seat. ‘That’s the best sort of argument.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘The best is when you don’t have to ask at all.’
They hit the open road and accelerated north for Laure.
* * * *
The Wind
‘Flight is not for the faint-hearted. Or the heavy.’
THE BOOK OF TOWERS,
FRAGMENT 379
S |
kender gaped in wonder at a sight he had never imagined. He felt as though a blindfold had been removed from his eyes. All the wealth of the visible world lay before him. Bulbous plumes of hot air rose from the sun-warmed buildings, expanding and overlapping as they hit cooler layers high above the city. Complicated eddies swirled around towers, forming knots and tangles. Directly off the edge of the platform, a strong plane of wind swept up and to his right. He could see, now, how miners coming in to land angled their wings to take advantage of that steady stream. Beyond them, vast edifices of air rose and fell in waves over the disrupted geography of the Divide. The earth itself seemed to be breathing.
‘You see it?’ said Chu into his ear.
‘Goddess, yes. I see it.’
‘Good.’ She pulled away for a moment, then turned her back to him. ‘Let me strap myself in. You’re going to be my eyes. We’re going to fly together.’
He torc his mind away from the magnificent vistas before him to concentrate on her words. The harness jingled as she slid into it and pressed tightly against him. The arrangement felt cramped and clumsy on the ground, and he wasn’t so sure it would be any better in the air. They would be awkward compared to the other miners, who sliced through and skipped across the wind like stones on water.
But they didn’t need to be graceful. All they needed was to remain airborne. For the first time he began to see how that might be possible.
‘We give the winds names here,’ she said. ‘There’s the Smoker from the north in summer, and the Twister that comes down the Divide late autumn. The Cocoa Express is brown with dust, while the Braid is cool and sweet. The one running by this tower at sunset is called the Red Lifter.’ She fastened the last strap across her chest. ‘Right. I’m ready. Which way is the Red Lifter heading?’
Skender pointed.
‘We need to find a thermal that’ll take us up above the city. It’ll look like a big mushroom. Once we get up there, we can work out what to do next.’
‘I understand.’ And he did. He could see the necessity for elevation as clearly as he understood the need for paths and roads on the ground. Thinking in terms of up and down as well as forward and back, left and right, now felt as natural as breathing. The licence had made him a creature of the sky more surely than had merely strapping a wing to his back.
The Change-rich fabric that would support them in the air flexed organically as they shuffled to the edge of the platform. He spared no thought for the ground below, or for the other miners watching, hooting their derision. His attention was firmly focused on the wind. The sky was no longer a void. It was full of potential. He was a fish yearning to swim in the ocean. He was going home.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
He nodded.
‘Hold me.’
His arms slipped around her waist. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready, and she was no less poised. He felt her balance shift slightly, leaning outwards in a way that would have panicked him just a few moments earlier. Her knees bent.
They jumped, and the Red Lifter caught them.
With a cracking sound, the wing snapped taut, filled with air. The harness wrenched at him, digging deeply into his heavy, earth-yearning flesh. Downward the ground pulled them; he could feel its power clearly, even though the streets below were hidden in shadow. For one dizzying moment, the world became a spinning kaleidoscope of buildings and rooftops; Observatory Tower pierced the sky like a dagger. The platform blotted out the stars and threatened to swat them from the air.
Chu wrenched her horizontal body to the right, shifting their combined centre of gravity. He felt the wing instantly respond, shifting to a new tack. He and Chu didn’t plummet to their deaths. They were, for the moment, holding their own.
The wind broke around them, trailing streamers and short-lived vortexes behind his legs. He ignored the details and concentrated on the flow.
‘Up there!’ He let go of her long enough to point to her right, then grabbed back on. Just below the leading edge of the wing was a strong up-welling of air. He could see its edges roiling powerfully against the clear night sky. The crimson sunset was fading fast, but he didn’t need light to see the wind. His awareness of it came through entirely new senses.
With his eyes he saw red glowstones on every building roof and tower, visible only from above: navigation lights to ward off those in the air.
He didn’t stop to sightsee any further than that. The scenery was relevant only if it came too close. Chu shifted, swinging them in a new direction. He kept the bulk of his attention on the noise and feel of the wing.
‘Are you all right?’ Chu asked him, her words barely audible over the wind rattling around them.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure? You’re hanging on very tight. Here.’ She took his arm and folded it diagonally across her chest, so his right hand was in her left armpit. ‘Hold me like this and let go with the other hand, so you can point. Does that feel better?’
He was, for a brief moment, completely distracted by the sensation of her body against his. Her breasts were soft under his arm and her hair whipped into his face. Her head angled back into him. Their eyes just met.
Then the world dropped out from under them, and they were tumbling downward.
‘Which way?’ she cried, twisting the wing’s control surfaces wildly in an attempt to check their descent.
‘There!’ He pointed at the nearest thermal. ‘No —
that
way.’ A bigger one lurked just around the corner of a clock tower. ‘Can we make it?’
‘We can try.’ She dipped their nose and used gravity to accelerate them into the hot up-welling. His body seemed to hang heavier in the harness as the wing lifted them upward, curling in tight circles in order to maximise their lift.
Their joint effort began to pay off. Slowly and not always surely, they crept higher over the city. The navigational glowstones grew fainter. The lights of taverns and homes took on a hazy, distant feel.
Another miner circled them, watching their progress with some concern.
‘We’re okay!’ Chu yelled, waving. ‘Don’t worry about us!’
The other miner dipped her wing in acknowledgment and descended gracefully to the landing platforms.
Circling within the thermal became a familiar chore. He found that he had time to look around. Stars appeared in the eastern sky over a land still hot from the day. Buoyant air formed a substantial cladding over the earth, and he knew that he could have flown indefinitely in any direction he chose. The wing thrilled through the air, its charms humming and crackling. When they reached the top of the thermal and circled lazily at the summit of the sky, he felt confident enough to let go of Chu and spread his arms.
Air rushed between his fingers, stealing their heat. But the cold didn’t concern him. The wind rattled in the wing and rushed up the inside of his robe. They were rocketing to the edge of the world. He gave himself completely to the experience, and whooped for the joy of it.