He can’t be dead.
Raiden needs him alive.
I repeat the reminders over and over, but it’s hard to believe as I watch Raiden shake him harder and still he doesn’t stir.
“This is what they call a mighty warrior,” Raiden shouts, flipping Vane around. “This pathetic excuse for a Windwalker is who they’ve dared to defy us with?”
Vane finally jostles awake, letting out a deep, mournful groan that shreds everything inside me.
I sink to my knees, wishing I could cover my ears. But I have to hear what’s happening. I have to find a way to fix this.
Raiden holds Vane steady, waiting for the crowd to quiet before he says, “And yet, we’re just as vulnerable.”
He snarls a command, and a sailing stone flies off the ground and smashes into one of the Stormers holding Vane, tearing the Stormer’s body in half.
Red leaks into the cracks on the ground and the crowd falls deathly silent, their faces no longer holding smiles for their leader as Raiden stalks toward his murdered soldier.
“This is why we haven’t succeeded!” Raiden yells, kicking the body like he’s trying to make sure it’s dead. “We’re slow and vulnerable—and some of us let important missions be delayed.” He turns back toward the other Stormer who brought Vane. “I could end you. But I’ve already made my point. In one fell swoop, anything can finish us. Even a weakling like him.”
He points to Vane’s body hovering in the sky. This time no one cheers.
“But I finally have the solution,” Raiden tells them. “Gather around.”
Slowly, carefully, the Stormers form a tight circle around him, stepping over their fallen comrade.
Raiden’s back is still to me, but I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “The Maelstrom has done a brilliant job of keeping our prisoners subdued during interrogations and disposing of them when we’re done. But we so rarely learn what we want, and I’ve always found the process to be a bit wasteful. All those perfectly good soldiers being fed to the wind like scraps of meat. So I’ve been working on a better solution.”
I’m on my feet without deciding to stand.
Everything about this feels wrong. Raiden’s supposed to interrogate Vane—not do this, whatever this is.
Has Raiden finally found a way to claim any secret he wants?
I turn and run deeper into the crevice and start to shimmy up the mountain. Maybe if I get to higher ground there will be a few winds and I can weave a wind spike and . . .
And what?
Take Raiden—the villain we’ve been trying to kill for decades—down in one perfect shot?
Probably not.
I’m sure he has all kinds of defenses I can’t see.
But I could take out Vane . . .
My hands shake so hard they lose their grip on the rocks and I slide several feet before my legs stop my fall.
There has to be another option.
Has.
To.
Be.
Raiden starts hissing a string of commands, and I climb faster, searching the air for any drafts I can use. I still can’t feel any—but the wind responds to Raiden’s call.
Thick gray gusts unravel out of nowhere and I watch in horror as they cocoon around Vane, entombing him inside their cloudy shell.
I start to tremble as I remember the drainer the Stormers trapped me in when they attacked a few weeks ago. I’ll never forget the way the drafts sliced and tore, breaking me down bit by bit. If Vane hadn’t shattered the shell with a wind spike, the drainer would’ve consumed me completely.
I fight my way to the top of the mountain, feeling my first glimmer of hope when I reach a few scattered breezes. They’re weak and reluctant to answer my call, but finally a Westerly feels the presence of my shield and decides to trust me—and once it does, the other winds follow. I weave them into a wind spike and add the Westerly, ducking as the winds twist and crackle and form into the pointed spear of air. I trace my finger near the sharp edge.
Now I have a shield and a sword. Maybe it will be enough.
My hope fades when I turn back to the basin.
The mass of winds has swelled so large that it casts a physical shadow, covering the entire circle of Stormers.
“You might want to step back for this part,” Raiden warns as he growls another command and the dull gray winds start to rampage.
The Stormers duck out of the way as the mass triples in size and the winds tear and howl. It’s a catfight—a snarling battle—and I can’t move, can’t think, can’t do anything except watch the winds tear and devour and wonder what’s happening to the person trapped inside.
The outer shell finally crumbles and the winds spin inward, twisting into a tornado that swells taller and wider with each passing second. I lose track of Vane’s body as the vortex tilts and crashes toward the ground in an enormous funnel of swirling, dark gray winds. Two smaller funnels branch off the top, stretching toward the ground but stopping before they reach it, and a small orb of winds crowns the top center of the mass. Shadows seep between the shapes as the winds continue to tighten until the storm almost looks like . . .
I gasp.
He can’t . . .
It isn’t . . .
My fears are confirmed a few seconds later when the winds finish their final twist and a crack ripples down the center of the storm. Scraps of broken wind crumble away, cementing the rest of the winds into a beast of a tornado with a head and arms attached to its torso.
The Stormers retreat from the monster towering over them, but Raiden moves to its path, his blond hair whipping in the wind as he shouts something I can’t understand.
The monster raises an arm and salutes.
“Behold the first Living Storm. The beginning of our new army,” Raiden announces, turning to face his soldiers. “Built from the blood of our strongest enemy and merged with the power of our darkest winds. I am its master and it will obey me blindly. But it can fight like a soldier and rage like the wind.”
Each word feels like a bruise, but I choke back my sob and force myself to accept this cold new reality.
I stare at the wind spike in my hand, realizing it’s time to let it serve its purpose.
Vane is a Living Storm.
And it’s my responsibility to kill him.
CHAPTER 23
VANE
I’ve never been inside a villain’s lair before, but I’m pretty sure Death Valley meets every cliché requirement.
Creepy name—check.
Stuck in the middle of nowhere—check.
Miserable why would anyone want to come here? conditions—oh, definitely check.
And bonus points for the ominous winds swirling around, singing about monsters and devils and mountains where the wind goes to die.
At least I know we’re in the right place, but still. Next time I’m rooting for a mansion on a private island or something.
We stop every few miles so I can check the Westerlies for Feng’s trace, and I search for Audra, too.
Her trace always pulls me in the same direction.
Our connection feels strong, so I’m hoping that means she’s not in any serious danger. But, clearly, whatever trouble Feng found, Audra’s somehow in the middle of it.
Gray clouds appear on the horizon, and the winds turn more frantic as Gus has us land near a lookout point on a mountain pass.
“I can feel Feng’s trace on my own now, so I’m guessing they’re on the other side of this range,” he tells me as he unravels his hair from his braid and removes his guardian jacket. “We should prepare here.”
“Are we getting ready for battle or dancing at Chippendales?” I ask as he takes off his black tank.
“Until we know what we’re facing, it’s safer if I don’t look like a Gale.” He unclasps a blue necklace with a silver feather pendant and tucks it into his boot. “And you might want to remove that.”
He points to the compass bracelet Audra gave me. I never take it off, but he�
�s right. It probably screams, I am a Westerly.
Then again, we’re carrying crazy blue wind spikes, so I’m betting they’re going to know something’s up.
I unfasten the clasp, hating my hands for shaking as I shove it into my pocket.
I know we’re walking into a war zone and might have a hard fight ahead, but I’m honestly more nervous about what happens after that.
What am I supposed to say to Audra?
The last I heard from her was the vague apology she sent across the sky—and that could very well have been the Windwalker equivalent of a breakup text.
I’m not sure what I’ll do if it was.
Probably grab her ankle and not let go until she agrees to give me another chance. But first I have to make sure she’s safe, and we have to rescue Gus’s dad and get out of this valley alive. Not really things I planned to be facing today when I woke up—but hey, I also wasn’t expecting to have a hot girl in my bed, so it’s been a day of surprises.
I strip off my T-shirt and toss it on the ground.
“You can keep your clothes on. You’re not wearing a Gale uniform.”
“Yeah, but it’s freaking hot out here. So what’s the plan?”
“We fly in, grab my dad, and get the crap out of there. And if anyone comes near us we use these.” He makes a stabbing gesture with his wind spike.
“I like it,” I say, even though my head is spinning and my heart is racing and I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to stab someone with a wind spike.
Or multiple someones . . .
“Ready?” Gus asks, calling the only Easterlies to his side.
I send them away. “I think we should fly with Westerlies. The Stormers won’t be able to feel our trace on them.”
“Good point.” Gus steps closer and wraps his arms around my shoulders.
I’m suddenly wishing I’d left my shirt on.
Gus clears his throat. “Think this would be less awkward if I stood behind you?”
“Uh, I don’t see how it would.”
He repositions so he’s holding my elbows as I call every nearby Westerly and ask them to form a wind bubble around us.
The drafts seem nervous to obey—and I have to ask twice before they do. But they finally float us into the sky, whipping as fast as they can to hide our forms as we fly in the direction the traces are leading me.
“Are we crazy?” Gus asks as the clouds block out the sun.
“Probably. But what else are we supposed to do?”
“I could’ve followed my orders, instead of risking your life to save my father. He wouldn’t have wanted me to do this.”
“I had my own reasons for coming, Gus. And it’s going to be fine. I’ve faced worse.”
I really want to believe that’s true, but the ground below us has a wide rut running down the center that looks a lot like a fresh tornado path. And the closer we get to the valley, the more frantic the Westerlies in our bubble turn. It takes all my focus to keep them under control.
So when Gus shouts, “My father’s trace is gone!” it breaks my concentration and the winds unravel.
The good news is, I manage to convince one of the Westerlies to catch us.
The bad news is, it’s not strong enough to carry us both, and all it really does is slow our fall.
We hit the ground hard—though the landing was probably much softer for Gus since the dude landed on top of me. I groan as he rolls away, trying to be grateful that nothing feels broken.
Gus jumps to his feet and moves to the edge of the cliff.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I stumble to his side.
My jaw drops when I take in the scene.
The valley is filled with at least fifty Stormers—with some blond guy who has to be Raiden standing in the center. But terrifying as that is, it’s nothing compared to the gigantic tornado with a head and arms that’s looming over everything.
I watch in a daze as it picks up a giant boulder and hurls it at the mountain.
Half the rock face crumbles away.
Holy.
Freaking.
Crap.
“What are you doing?” Gus snaps as I grab my wind spike and line up my aim.
“I’m getting rid of that—whatever that is.” I test my swing, feeling dizzy when I realize I’m about to kill something.
But it’s not a person.
It’s . . . well . . . I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s not human or sylph—that’s for sure.
It’s a force for death and evil and nothing else—and I’m not going to let Raiden use it.
“Wait,” Gus says, grabbing my elbow and stopping me midthrow.
“We don’t have time to wait, Gus. Think of what that thing could do if it gets out of this valley.”
“Yeah, but you can’t give away our location and use up one of our only weapons until we have my father and are ready to get out of here.”
I hate him for being right.
And I have to find Audra, too.
But we have to be quick because I have a feeling Raiden didn’t just bring his new toy for show-and-tell. We have to destroy it before it’s too late.
“You won’t be able to find him,” Gus tells me as I close my eyes and search the air. “Feng’s trace is completely gone.”
Audra’s is too.
All the winds have vanished—and our bond has faded too much for me to follow.
But there has to be a way to find her.
I force myself to focus, begging my instincts to guide me as I stretch out my hands and search with every ounce of concentration I have. My brain feels like it’s going to explode, but the pain is worth it when a warm itch prickles my palm, telling me there’s a Westerly somewhere on the other side of the basin.
I try to call it to me, but the stubborn wind won’t budge, almost like someone else is controlling it.
Could that be Audra?
Sweat drips down my face as I try to lock on to the draft’s location, but all I can tell is that the pull is coming from one of the narrow cracks in the badlands.
“Where are you going?” Gus asks as I make a break for the nearest clump of rocks.
“There’s someone down there in one of those crevices.”
“Do you think it’s my dad?”
I hate myself for forgetting all about Feng. “I don’t know. I can’t even tell which crevice it’s coming from.”
“Well then, let’s check them all—but we better move quick.” We both glance back to the giant storm thing, which is flinging more rocks at the mountains.
Gus draws his wind spike and we race toward the next outcropping. But halfway there I freeze.
I saw something move in one of the crevices, but it was too quick to tell what it was.
I squint into the shadows and it moves again—and this time I catch a glimpse of dark hair and pale skin.
My elation lasts about .0004 of a second. Then Audra steps out onto a narrow ledge in the middle of the mountain, standing in full view of the Stormers as she raises a special wind spike and hurtles it at Raiden’s beastly storm.
CHAPTER 24
AUDRA
Throwing that wind spike was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I know Vane would rather die than serve as a mindless mercenary for Raiden—but as I watch the pale blue spear streak through the sky, I can’t make myself run away like I’d planned.
The dark patterns in the Living Storm look so much like eyes, watching me as I end him forever—and the ache of my bond still remains in my chest.
What if there’s a small part of Vane left?
“Divert!” I scream in Westerly, holding my breath until the spike alters course. It misses Vane by inches, whisking by his head and landing on the ground a few feet away.
Right at Raiden’s feet.
“Come!” I hiss at the spike, and it zips to my waiting hand.
For a second Raiden and I just stare at each other, his fury obvious even from this far away.
But I can also see his hunger.
He knows the power I have.
And he wants it.
“There are two ways we can do this,” Raiden shouts at me as his Stormers turn to him, awaiting his order. “We both have our tricks.” He calls the Living Storm to his side. “But I also have my army. And you?”
He waits, like he’s expecting a fleet of Gales to pop out of the shadows.
“That’s what I thought. So you can surrender now. Or we can see which one of us has the stronger weapon—though I get the impression you don’t really want to destroy this.” He runs his hand along the funnel of the Living Storm, his voice heavy with mock sympathy as he asks, “Was he a friend?”
I aim my spike at Raiden’s head.
“Suit yourself,” he says as his Stormers launch into the mountains above me, trapping me in the canyon.
Raiden snarls a command I can’t understand, and I feel my insides drop as the Living Storm swells to three times its already enormous size, looming over the valley in a tower of shadow and wind.
I duck back into the crevice I’d scaled and slide down the sides, grateful my Westerly shield protects my skin from shredding against the sharp rocks. As soon as I’m back on the ground, I race for the Maelstrom, hoping the hungry, swirling drafts will shield me from the Living Storm long enough to come up with a plan. But I make it only a few feet before an arm of thunderous wind tangles around me and drags me back to the open air.
“Don’t do this, Vane,” I scream as I stare into the raging winds, trying to find the shadows that looked like eyes a few minutes before.
All I see is a cold, frenzied Storm.
The fist tightens, crushing the breath out of me, and I try to pull my wind spike free but I can’t breathe and the pain is so sharp, like all the bones in my body are splintering from the pressure.
Light flashes behind my eyes and I feel my consciousness start to slip. But in the gray space between nightmare and darkness I see a blur of deep blue streak past me and crash into the shoulder of the Storm.
The winds howl and writhe and twist as a shadowy gray fog seeps out of the Living Storm’s wound, making the air taste salty. I gag as I wriggle free from its weakened grip—realizing my mistake when I drop like a broken-winged bird and there are no winds to float on or call to my aid.
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