The Rookery tribe was full of daredevils and fools with an unfortunate love of heights. Which was better than enclosed spaces and tunnels, but I didn’t like feeling like my feet would be blown out from under me into open air once the goddess’s wind came to start the festival.

We were on top of one of the ribs. Prevna, Wren, Dera, and me with a handful of other tribe members and a dozen more clinging to the carved out handholds we climbed to get here. The rest of the cohort and other important Rookery people filled up the rest of the ribs around the upper lake too. The children and their minders kept to the ground. Miyan had been pouting nearby when we started to climb up because she wasn’t allowed up top yet even though she wasn’t that much younger than us.

Logically, I knew I had been higher up on narrower paths, like in the Seedling Palace, but that had never been a place of extreme weather while we were there. Now I’d be facing a wind that I knew could knock me off balance with only a step of clearance in front of me and two or three stumbles behind. The Rookery tribe had kept the ice chipped away beneath the ribs, so at least I wouldn’t have to worry about breaking my neck on the frozen lake when I fell.

They didn’t even have ropes or something else for us to hang onto. The tribe member next to me said that the trick was to crouch or sit and lean into the wind, but not so much that you toppled forward when it stopped blowing. I quietly hoped it was a trick I could master in one attempt.

Something soft brushed against my hand and I didn’t have to look to know what it was. The same thing had happened several times already.

Against all practicality, Prevna had decided to wear her hair down for the festival, with only a couple front pieces pulled back and tied in a pretty knot to keep hair from constantly being in her eyes. It hung long and straight just past the middle of her back when the breeze didn’t catch it.

And everything was fine.

I had seen her with her hair down before, even if it had typically been wet and in the process of being washed then. So it didn’t matter if the change made my eyes want to catch on her other features, see how they might look different with the hairstyle change and the festival paint. I could control it. She wouldn’t catch me staring at her.

So everything was fine.

Wren had pulled her hair back into a tail, which is what Prevna should have done if she didn’t want to do her usual twin buns, and Dera had her sunset hair held in place with two more bone clasps than normal. The pair had also been more elaborate with their light blue festival paint. Wren had two interlocked lines of petals ringing the eye that wasn’t already marked with her bless mark.

Dera seemed to be trying to make herself look more fierce with the jagged line of paint that went from temple to temple and across her nose. She had also drawn a line down her chin and the middle of her forehead.

I kept things simple with my usual braid and a couple of dots under the bottom corner of my eyes in honor of the design Rawley had given me last year. Not that it would matter if I fell face first into the freezing water below.

A sharp crack split the air as the sun started to sink behind the horizon in earnest and the tribe’s Echo started the anticipatory beat. It sounded a bit lonely after years of hearing multiple sets of rhythm sticks being hit together—and with the tribe spread out around the wide lake—but soon that didn’t matter. The Rookery tribe were nothing if not enthusiastic as they stomped and slowly raised their clapping hands.

A breathy pause as we all held our hands over our heads and watched the last sliver of the sun slip behind the horizon. Then the incoming roar of a large gust of wind born from nothing charging toward us. I shifted my stance in one last attempt not to get blown off the spire—and wind was pulling at my clothes, my hair, pulling tears from my eyes. Prevna’s hair slapped me in the face and I heard the Beloved singing with her clear, powerful voice.

I stumbled back and the tribe member next to me tried to steady me but I shied away from her touch. Prevna caught my wrist instead and we both crouched lower into the wind. A moment later the gust began to die down until it was little more than the usual breeze. Prevna let go of my wrist and we both straightened as the Rookery tribe’s Grandmother called out, “For the Beloved!”

“For the Beloved!” We echoed her and pulled our prayer needles free to offer drops of blood. Every single drop disappeared into dust as soon as they were flung into the sky.

That was expected. That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was the sound of running steps as the tribe woman who had been near the tip of the stone rib flung herself over the front of it and into open air. The four of us scrambled forward to see what was happening—it hadn’t looked like she was trying to dive into the water below.

A screech came from behind us, followed by a rush of air, and then the woman landed on the back of a storm bird in a crouch. Wren let out a whistle of appreciation. I gaped.

One of the other tribe members on the rib grinned at us. “She’s a true feather heart.”

The woman got herself tied onto the bird’s saddle in record speed but left the cords a lot longer than Tufani had advised us to do. The reason immediately became clear as she stood up in the saddle—something Tufani had said we should never try to do—and her bird started a circuit around the lake. Other pairs joined them and, once all eight were flying in a circle, the women pulled out feathered fans and began to dance. All while balanced on a flying bird’s back.

We stood entranced as the blue-green light streamed off them and highlighted their smooth, careful movements. Like they were the living embodiment of the Beloved’s lights that sometimes appeared in the night sky outside of the festival.

And I realized that this display of of skill was the Rookery tribe’s formation dance. They might not have the hundreds of people who came together to dance like I was used to in Grislander’s Maw, or multiple Grandmothers and Echoes from various tribes, but they had their birds and they were going to understandably include them in every significant event they could.

We watched until the dancers settled back down on their bird, one by one, the light dimming and dying out around them, before they flew away out into the night. I turned back toward the handholds leading down the stone spire, ready to leave, but the same tribe member who spoke before held out an arm to stop me.

“It’s your turn now.”

My eyes blew wide open again while Prevna took the lead and asked, “What do you mean?”

The tribe member gestured to the pointed tip of the rib. “Your turn to fly.”

I heard someone swallow thickly behind me and then Dera said, “We haven’t even gotten to the advanced shoots yet. We haven’t been on a bird…and you want us to jump?”

The tribe member made a negating gesture. “Don’t worry, we always let you have the gentle birds and if you miss or fall off you’ll just be going for a dive instead.”

Wren was in a heated conversation with Chirp at this turn of events and from the sound of her half of the conversation he was trying to declare that she didn’t need any other bird to fly but him. Which was a clear lie no matter how you looked at it, but Wren seemed to be trying to soothe the little puffball’s ego rather than making him face reality.

Dera didn’t sound the least bit reassured by the tribe member’s statement. “But most of the lake is still covered in ice—and we’ve never flown before!”

None of the tribe members with us looked particularly alarmed. “You’ll be fine. The birds’ll keep it short and fly low.”

I knew I’d be fine but I didn’t like the thought of the others being forced into a recipe for disaster. Maybe if they saw someone else go first they’d be less likely to make a mistake, too.

“I’ll go first.” Prevna.

I twisted to glare at her. “But—”

“It sounds like fun and we’ll have to fly at some point.” Prevna really had lost all sense with her change of hairstyle.

Dera wasn’t ready to give in either. “What about Tufani? She wouldn’t want us riding the birds before we’re ready.”

The tribe member started to usher Prevna to step around the others and make her way towards the rib’s tip. “Her words, ‘They’re never ready, so all we can do is help them build character’. The Tamer’s the reason we get you seedlings up here every year. Make sure you respect the sky once you get to fly proper.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, but it seemed like we weren’t going to be given much of a choice. Prevna stepped up to the edge as the tribe member continued to give her advice.

“Don’t flail around too much or try to do the fancy landing like Fay. You’ll probably get the air knocked out of you when your bird swoops in to meet you, but just do your best to get a hold and then hang on. That’s the main thing you need to do after that: hang on.”

Prevna nodded and then cast a look back at me. “Wish me luck? From one horror to another?”

I crossed my arms. “Like you need it.”

Dera looked shocked and Wren broke off her conversation with Chirp to say something, but Prevna cut her off with a laugh before catching the attention of the tribe member who was facilitating this whole crazed situation. The tribe member stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly.

Prevna tipped over the edge.

My heart surged up into my throat as I strained to see what was happening. If she got hurt when I couldn’t even bring myself to wish her luck in front of others…

A large white bird swooped in from behind us again and met Prevna before she was even halfway into her fall. Prevna landed on her stomach closer to the bird’s tail than fully in the saddle, but after a breath stopping moment she managed to get a hold on the handles and haul herself into the proper position. She didn’t try to tie herself in place, just held on as the bird flew low out over the ice.

I let out the breath I’d been holding.

Then the bird began to climb and take steep dives, twist and turn like it was trying to shake Prevna off. It didn’t take long. I could only watch in horror as her grip slipped during one particularly sharp turn and she went one way while the bird continued in another. She arced up and then down. On a crash course with unforgiving ice.

And then another bird dove down from the sky, nearly vertical, and snatched her out of the air with its beak before making a quick adjustment to fly out over the lake, so it didn’t crash into the ground right after saving her. Light began to rise around the bird’s saddle and I realized it was one of the dancers who had saved her. Most of me wanted to punch someone even as I realized that this whole situation was more preplanned and thought out than I wanted to give it credit for. That didn’t make it any less dangerous.

Wren marched right up to the tribe spokesperson. “What in the storming night was that?”

The woman remained cool. “A lesson, like I said. You’re not in any real danger. Our best fliers and their birds will catch you before you hit the ground, but the Tamer wants you to know what it’s like if a flight goes bad in a safe environment.”

Dera looked like the tribe member had just declared her death. Inevitable, inescapable, and akin to the goddess’s will, so no one in their right mind would dare to try to help her avoid it.

Wren just looked pissed. “So it’s like that then?”

“It’s like that.” The woman nodded.

Wren muttered something to Chirp and then she stepped off the stone rib. The tribe member had to rush to whistle and the bird she called barely had time to get under Wren before she hit the water. Wren landed on one of the long handles and I flinched in sympathy. My ribs could still feel the phantom ache of the time I landed on the railing in the Seedling Palace.

She only had enough time to grab onto the handle she fell on with both hands before the bird was trying to throw her off. Her body got flung around more as a result and one of her legs accidentally clipped the bird’s wing. That sent the bird into a spiraling dive and Wren was thrown into free fall. A second later another bird dove out of the sky and caught her in its beak before flying her to safety while its rider lit up blue-green.

The tribe member’s gaze caught on Dera. “You next.”

“But—” Dera cut herself off as she swallowed. “Okay.”

She edged up to the rib’s tip and looked down, paler than normal. I took a step forward. “I can go next.”

She shook her head. “If I don’t go now they’re going to have to throw me over. That’d…be even worse.” Dera drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before meeting the tribe woman’s gaze. “Ready.”

The woman whistled. Dera hesitated, closed her eyes, and jumped. She screamed as she fell, got cut off as she connected with her bird, and then kept screaming as she scrambled to hold on and tie herself in place with the saddle’s ties.

Her hold didn’t last very long, but her knot did. The one tie she got on her belt stayed connected, but it didn’t do her much good. She had left too much slack so when she was thrown from the saddle she couldn’t reach its handles to pull herself back in place. Instead, after a bit of unsteady flying from the bird as it tried to correct from suddenly being pulled in a new direction by her weight, she was left dangling by its side, buffeted by its wing, and crying. It took a bit of careful maneuvering from one of the rescue riders and the patience of both birds to get her untied and safely in the same saddle as the rider. Then the rider did something to make herself light up to signal that Dera was fine and it was my turn.

I wasn’t in the mood to let them get exactly what they wanted. To get thrown off after a handful of twists and turns. I had been in a bird’s beak before—I didn’t need to experience that again. I knew what it was like to fall and get thrown around and have my hands feel like they were cramping from how tightly I was holding on.

I had stayed in the sea snake’s mouth until it died.

I was storming going to stay on this storming bird’s back until it gave up or got too tired to continue.

The tribe woman flinched as I turned my blackest look on her. “Do your worst.”

Then I stepped off the edge. She whistled. Feathers and a leather saddle rose to meet me. I tried to land on my stomach. Better that than losing feeling in an arm from landing on it wrong or twisting an ankle or going head first.

I got what I wanted and what air I had was shoved out of my stomach. My chin clipped the front edge of the saddle, but I ignored the pain and the spots in my vision to grab onto the handles on either side of me. Ignored the ties. Better to hang on than risk being thrown off because I was only holding on with one hand. My shortness came in handy too as I was able to drawn my knees up some and wedge my feet under the handles.

The bird climbed into the air and then dove into a steep dive. Twisted and turned, flapped this way and that. The wind tried to pry my fingers loose, pull me free from the saddle. I turned my head to the side and tucked my chin against my shoulder. Gave up on trying to guess what the bird was going to do next and instead kept my sole focus on staying in the saddle.

At one point the bird slowed suddenly and turned at the same time. My left side was pulled free from its holds and I had to grind my right knee into the saddle to avoid my legs pulling ahead of my face. Sensing victory, the bird dove into another tight spiral and what grip I had started to pull loose, but I managed to hook my free foot back under the opposite handle and stay on.

Stayed on again when the bird climbed and climbed into the air only to turn into a dive as steep as the one the rescuer had taken to save Prevna. It felt like I was taking the full brunt of the Beloved’s singing wind all over again. My hands and elbows and shoulders ached. My ankles felt bruised, but I stayed on.

Then the bird used its momentum to turn into an equally steep climb and my left hand couldn’t hold any longer against the combined sweat, cold air, and aching tiredness. The sudden added pull on my right hand tugged it free too and suddenly I was only connected to the saddle by my feet. The bird pulled its earlier move of snapping out its wings and quickly slowing before turning.

One foot pulled free as I desperately tried to claw my way back into the saddle, but then the bird changed direction again and I was falling.

I cursed the whole time I was in the air until I felt the unfortunate feel of a bird’s beak closing around me. My rescue rider sang a bit to get herself to glow before calling out over the sound of wind and flapping wings, “That was a good run!”

I glared back into her grin but she didn’t falter like the other woman. Instead she yelled again, “Longest one we’ve had in years! You’re a stubborn one!”

And I swore to myself, right then and there, that no matter what happened I would never be flung from a bird’s saddle ever again. Longest to stay on hardly mattered when I had still lost.