The morning after their arrival at Ifse, Saia and Serit followed Atan along the platforms and ladders of the city. Runì and her daughter joined the group, as well as three regular guards and two of the birdguards, following from a distance. The rest of the escort was waiting at the platform, watching over the sprites and the portion of cargo that Runì didn't plan to sell that day. Ménon held the reins of the strong sprite that was carrying the rest.
“Purple is the market district,” Atan was explaining, gesturing at the ribbons tied to the ladders they were using to ascend. “At least, it's the closest one to this level of the city. This one is fairly important, though, since materials from earth and the shilvé cities are sold and sorted out here. I've worked here in my twenties, to learn the language and accumulate the experience I needed to become a guide.”
There weren't many wind spirits in the hostel district, even if they could be seen flying further up above their heads. All the movement that the city had seemed to lack up to that moment could be found in the market district: spirits were moving around with bags full of merch and it was unclear whether they were about to sell it or they had just bought it, and in exchange for what.
The market sprawled across various platforms, all of them more or less at the same level and interconnected. Each one held at least one stall, often more: it was easy to gauge the status and wealth of the merchants that occupied them based on how many crowded on the same platform.
Saia also saw other platforms, scattered here and there, that were completely different from the ones she’d seen so far: they were sturdy frames with a wooden ceiling and no floor, small enough to contain a standing person and nothing else. Inside each of these platforms there was a floating spirit, solid shoulders against the ceiling of the platform, bottom part floating in almost completely gaseous form. Most of them were reading books of ornated paper, placed on a ledger carved from the wood of the frame. Ropes descended from the horizontal poles that composed it, each connected to one of four platforms dangling at different heights. More platforms were tied to those ones, down to the bottom of the city.
“Who are they?” Saia asked, pointing at one of those spirits.
Atan turned.
“Well, they’re what keeps the whole city afloat.”
Saia gestured at the market around her.
“They're carrying all of this?”
“Don't worry, they are strong enough, and a lot more than the minimum amount we need to keep everything floating.”
They entered the crowd of a platform in the central area of the market. Saia walked right behind Atan, the only way she could stay close enough to hear what he said without passing through every spirit on her path.
“It looks like a punishment.”
“It’s not, really, don’t worry for them. Those are newborn spirits, and that’s the first step of their education. They have to keep up the city while they study to become citizens of a higher stratus.”
“Newborn?” Saia repeated. They didn’t look any different than the adults around them.
“Yes. They are born from the sea.” He moved on quickly, not giving her time to ask follow-up questions. “Groups of hunters and explorers are always on the lookout for them, and the shilvé cities made a pact with the elders to send their way any newborn that reaches them.”
“And how long does it take for them to not be considered young anymore?”
“Sadly, it's not that simple. The elders can't afford to let them free until there’s someone to replace them, otherwise the city would collapse. So they made a list.”
He stopped abruptly to avoid two spirits locked in an animated conversation at the center of the platform they were traversing.
“Every new spirit is given a unique name and added to the bottom of the list upon their arrival in the city. The spirit at the top of the list at that moment ascends to an higher stratus, leaving their turn at the platforms free to be filled by the spirit who just arrived. This whole system is also a way to discipline the young spirits, to prepare them for the life in the city. They get moved up and down the list based on their merits or failures.”
They entered a calmer spot of the market, with a lot of empty stalls.
“There,” Runì said, pointing at one of them. Her daughter was already marching toward it, sprite in tow.
Saia observed all of the other stalls in the nearby platforms. She saw another one that sold clothes: the spirits tried the dresses right on the spot, leaving their own in the hands of a merchant's assistant as if it was completely normal to be naked in public.
Her eyes were pointing at one such scene, and Atan seemed to notice.
“Wind spirits can shapeshift,” he explained. “Nudity is much more tolerated, since they can choose what kind of body to have on a whim.”
Ménon started to fill the stall with rolls of paper and cloth while her mother talked to a spirit customer she was clearly familiar with. The human guards scattered around the platform not to make their surveillance too evident, while the birdguards stayed behind Saia.
“I think everything's settled here,” Atan said. “We can move on to the residential district to meet with your contact.”
Serit nodded and gestured for him to make way.
They started to climb longer ladders, which like the rope bridges were becoming noticeably sparser. Similarly, the platforms were giving way to structures with a completely different shape: they looked like tubes of cloth with circular lines that jutted out at regular intervals, as if a series of rings a bit too large for them had been inserted by force. They were dangling from a rope that exited from a hole at the top and was connected to the few platforms in that area. The hole was large enough to be comfortably used as an entrance from the wind spirits in the area.
“What…” Saia began, but Atan started his explanation before she could finish the question.
“Houses. As you can see, they're very different from the ones us shilvé and you humans use, and also from the hostel’s platforms. They would be quite dangerous for us, but for wind spirits they have an ideal shape.”
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They walked up to the border of the platform, closer to one of the dangling houses.
“Each ring is a floor, which is little more than a disk of wood,” he explained, pointing at each of them. “The first one can be accessed through the entrance at the top, then each subsequent one has a trapdoor that leads to the next. They're secured to the walls through a series of traditional knots, I wish I could show you. It's enough to bear the weight of the owner's possessions, but not a human or shilvé for an extended amount of time. That didn’t prevent me from trying.” He chuckled. “The most terrifying week of my life.”
Saia wondered why creatures who didn't need anything except some viss every once in a while built houses. She expanded her domain to look inside: the third and bottom floor only contained live birds, the wood at the bottom covered with a rag that was stained with feces. She guessed it made sense to keep them as a source of viss to eat.
The first two floors, instead, were clearly occupied by the owners, considering the clothes carefully folded in the corners, the chests of wood full of either jewels, toys or documents, the embroidered pillows and the decorations of colorful paper dangling from the low ceiling.
Atan and Serit were already moving on, while the birdguards lingered in her general proximity. Even without seeing their eyes, she knew they were glaring at her.
She shrunk her domain and followed the other two up the next ladder. Atan stopped at the center of the platform it led to and pointed at one of the tubes hanging in the air. Saia could see a couple of the market's platforms below them and a drop of hundreds of towerlengths further down, mercifully cut out from her view by a thick layer of clouds.
The tube looked different from the others because it was directly connected to two platforms. One of them looked exactly like a hostel room, closed on all sides by thick cloth. The other, on the opposite side, was completely open, except for the roof of dark rough cloth that couldn’t completely block out the sun. It was full of vases with plants, their leaves and branches hanging out from the borders.
“This is the house you were looking for,” Atan said, pointing at a small number painted in gold at the top of the tube. “Twenty-two of residential district three.”
Serit nodded.
“Thank you. You can leave us alone, now” they added, looking at the guards.
The two birdguards walked to the opposite side of the platform and stood there.
“I’m going to check out on Runì,” Atan said, stretching. “Then I’ll book a pool for this afternoon at the public bathrooms, so we can all get a proper bath. Contact me if you need anything.”
He left. Saia turned to look at Serit.
“How are we supposed to contact him?”
“Doves,” they answered, then sighed. “Before we meet Filsun, I need you to know that he's a bit atypical, as far as wind spirits go. Don't expect everyone else to behave like him or react to things the same way he does. If anything, expect the contrary.”
Saia nodded.
“And he's a bit annoying,” Serit added, then took a deep breath and yelled: “Filsun! We're here!”
An instant later, a translucent shape stepped out from behind a plant.
“Serit!” he said, two arms detaching from the torso and opening in a welcoming gesture.
He was about to float down, but Serit stepped forward and touched the ladder.
“Can we come up?”
Only then the spirit's luminous eyes seemed to notice the birdguards on the other side of the platform.
“Absolutely. Please excuse me a second while I get some clothes.”
Saia realized he'd been talking in shilvé, mostly without an accent she could recognize. He floated away, a shapeless fog of light, and entered the house from the hole at the top. Serit started climbing the ladder, and Saia waited until they were on top of the platform before following them.
The vases were small, their collective weight not straining the ropes that held up the platform. She observed the plants, but didn’t see anything too outlandish compared to what they had on the mountain. Maybe it was the lack of flowers that made everything a bit dull.
Filsun returned with a flowy tunic without sleeves that floated and enlarged with each movement he made. It was orange, with yellow and gold decorations.
“I’m sorry, I’d invite you to the other platform but my wife is resting.”
His gaze indulged on Saia, and she felt the weight of all of the questions he was holding back. But he tiptoed on toward Serit, enveloping them in a strong hug.
“I’m glad you're back. You're like a child to me. No, better, a grandchild.”
Serit hugged him back, eyes lost on the wooden floor of the platform. Saia couldn't read their expression, whether that mention of a familial link was appreciated, whether they considered that to be truth or courtesy. She didn’t think it interesting enough to read their viss, and the hug ended before she could come to a conclusion of her own.
“How is my daughter?” Filsun asked, keeping a visibly solid hand on Serit's shoulder while the rest of him floated and shifted.
“Hilon rained a week ago,” Serit said.
The spirit nodded.
“She mentioned she'd have to go soon. Let's hope she'll return safely.”
He let go of Serit and turned to examine Saia.
“We don't know each other, right?”
His voice was low and energic, like he could talk in Iriméze’s arena for hours without an amplifier and not feel the least bit inconvenienced.
She didn't answer, giving Serit an uncertain glance instead. She remembered Atan’s remark about talking to wind spirits, and she couldn’t understand whether Filsun was of a high social stratus or not.
He followed her gaze and laughed.
“Don't worry, you can speak freely. My wife is human, and everyone in this city descends from humans, in one way or another.”
Serit froze, as if a sudden wind had torn the back of their tunic apart, exposing it to the elements. They leaned over the border of the platform and looked up and down.
Filsun laughed again.
“What are you scared about?”
“Someone could hear you.”
“We'll have to accept the truth of who we are, eventually. You and I are both remnants of people who don't exist anymore, but so is everyone else in the world.”
“It's not that simple,” Serit answered quickly with another glance behind themselves. “Saia, please, introduce yourself before this madman gets us killed for treason.”
Filsun eyes returned on her.
“I'm Saia. Serit’s assistant.”
He nodded. His features were undefined and kept changing slightly, diluted by the daylight in the atmosphere.
"Where are you from?" He peered at her, trying to find clues in her face and clothes.
“She was born on Iriméze,” Serit interjected. “She's the one I hoped you could help me with.”
Filsun smiled at them.
“You know I love humans, but they produce too little viss for what I can teach.”
Serit sighed, looking at Saia, probably deciding whether to reveal who she actually was.
“What do you teach, exactly?” she asked to fill the silence.
“I help young spirits unlock the full potential of their bodies. When they get here, their shape changes with their emotions and they can't become solid, not at will at least. I teach them how to control that.”
Saia nodded, thinking about her experiments with éshan. Serit’s calculating stare gave way to a resigned expression.
“Promise me you won't reveal anything of what I'm about to tell you,” they told Filsun, “For my and Hilon’s sake.”
He became serious, his features changing a bit faster with growing agitation.
“I won't. I suspected it was something important, since you didn't write anything about it in the letter.”
Serit stepped closer to him, to the point wisps of wind from the spirit's body brushed their hair aside.
“We lied. Saia isn't a human, but a special kind of tanhata. My goal is to teach her how to solidify éshan.”
They gave Filsun a meaningful look. They stared at each other for so long Saia started to think there was some sort of mental communication going on. Then, Filsun’s face lit up. He floated a step back from Serit and looked at her.
“The representatives are going insane, clearly,” he said, but his smile made it clear it was the kind of insanity he liked.
“It would give us a chance to reunite with humans in a way that's never been done before,” Serit added quickly, glancing around. “Thought you might be interested in that.”
“I am. Hilon has never seen the earth, and my wife will always regret not being able to show her the place she came from. We both came from, if you really think about it,” he added with a mischievous smile.
“We'll pay you, of course. The representatives…”
“I’m not interested in payments. There’s still something I’ll ask of you, but consider it more a request for help than anything. But first…” he turned toward Saia. “Let's make sure I can actually teach you something.”
His shining eyes were focused on her. His fog rearranged until his body became solid, the shapes clearly defined even in daylight. Then, he raised a hand.