by Anna Webb
If he heard her, he made no sign of it, his eyes closed, his breathing labored and painful.
“Get up,” Allyra bit out. “You are more than this storm. Get up!”
And then slowly, painfully, Alex struggled to his feet. He opened his eyes and looked at her, his gaze filled with agony. She needed to stay strong for him, so she fought against the tears that sprung, unbidden, to her eyes. It tortured her to see him in so much pain, to glimpse the fear in his eyes.
“Finish this,” she whispered. “Please.”
Thread by excruciating thread, he worked until the storm stilled and the wind became no more than a whisper. Only then did he release his hold. Only then did he collapse.
As Alex fell, the power of the memory dimmed. And Allyra barely heard the shouts and cheers of relief from the Atmospheric College. She released her hold over the memory and slipped away.
* * *
Abruptly, the memory shifted again, moving forward, and Allyra found herself back on the balcony.
Alex walked past her to the railing of the balcony, staring pensively at the massive night sky with its infinite stars blinking over the empty desert. He was silent for a long time, but the tension in his body was unmistakable. There was a frenetic energy coiled within him like a slow-lit fuse heading toward an inevitable end.
His long, elegant fingers were curled around the neck of a bottle, from which he would take a long swig every few minutes. It didn’t seem like he was gaining any enjoyment from the drink, appearing more like a man drinking to escape than one drinking for pleasure.
Eventually, she couldn’t take the silence any longer. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” she said softly, aware she sounded like an awestruck teenager.
Alex turned around with a surprised smile, and it lit up his handsome face, chasing away the shadows for a brief moment. “I was hoping I’d see you again—I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For staying with me. For believing that I could stop that storm. For helping me believe.”
She smiled. “How long has it been?”
He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it and leaving strands standing at endearingly odd angles. Allyra resisted the urge to reach up and smooth them away.
“A week,” he replied.
So, not long at all. She took a closer look at him and saw the effects of his brush with death. His always pale skin now had an unhealthy gray tinge, and his blue eyes were shadowed, the skin beneath them bruised.
“How long has it been for you?” he asked.
“No time at all.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he asked pensively.
“What?”
“Time. Sometimes you can’t wait for it to move—you think you have so much of it, to do everything you ever dreamed of doing. And then there are other times, when you wish you could linger in a moment, and in those times, you realize that you have almost no time left at all. I can’t seem to escape the irony of it.”
He sounded desperate and broken, and she leaned toward him, suddenly afraid.
“I was chosen tonight,” he said tightly, his eyes fixed far into the distance. “You are now speaking to the youngest Elemental High Master ever to be chosen.”
Silence stretched and curled around them, bleeding into the empty night. She searched desperately for the right thing to say.
“Congratulations,” she said carefully, aware that she was on unsteady ground.
He let out a laugh, but the sound was tight and strangled and edged with something akin to madness.
Alex dropped into the seat next to her with his shoulders slumped forward. Never had he seemed more exhausted—or defeated—and her heart hollowed at the sight of it. He turned to her, his blue eyes shrouded and troubled, searching her face as if he might find absolution or an answer to an unspoken question.
With a start, Allyra realized where she’d seen the bright, barely contained light exploding in his eyes.
A leopard had gotten caught in a metal snare on a neighboring farm, and her father had been called—not to save it but to give it a quick and humane death. By the time they’d arrived, the leopard had little fight left in him, with his back leg mangled within the teeth of the snare. But as her father approached, the leopard had dredged up the last of its energy and gotten to its feet, hissing and spitting. It was a gladiator fighting to the death, refusing to acknowledge defeat. And the bright desperation in the leopard’s yellow eyes was a perfect reflection of the look in Alex’s eyes. It was the look of someone who knew they’d lost the fight for independence. Someone who knew they would never again taste freedom.
“I think that the Council wouldn’t have chosen you if they didn’t think you were the right person for the job.”
He laughed again. “Perhaps the mask I’ve been wearing has been a little too convincing. I may appear calm, but the truth is, I’m terrified by the responsibility.”
“It would be far worse if you weren’t terrified. Leaders make the hard decisions, but the great ones never do it with a light heart.”
Alex leaned back in his seat, and some of the tension seemed to drain from his body.
“How do you do it?” he asked with his head tilted back and his eyes closed.
“Do what?”
“Be so in control.”
Allyra turned to him incredulously, wondering if he was making fun of her. She couldn’t help but burst into laughter when she saw the earnest look on his face. For the first time since the start of The Five Finals, she really laughed. The sound filled her chest, pushing against her ribs until it consumed her. At first, Alex looked at her with surprise, or perhaps concern, but soon enough, he joined her. They laughed for a long time, like a valve releasing the pressure, until neither of them knew what they were laughing about anymore.
Eventually, the laughter died away, like the last notes of a beautiful song. Allyra composed herself and turned to him seriously. “Less than six months ago, my entire life got turned upside down. It seemed like I’d lost everything, including my ability to separate truth from fiction. Frankly, I panicked and nearly lost myself to it. But then someone saved me. He taught me to fight and to find the strength within myself. Most of all, he taught me to trust my instincts and fight for what’s right.”
Alex shot her a searching glance. “He sounds—important to you,” he said carefully.
Allyra smiled at Alex, composing once more the elegant lines of his face to memory as her grasp on the moment slipped and Alex started to fade away, dissolving like early morning mist beneath a rising sun.
His expression tightened as her hold on the memory continued to dissipate. “A storm is coming,” he said, fear suddenly in his voice. “Wake up, Allyra!”
* * *
Allyra slammed back into awareness with the suddenness of a car crash. Instead of the clear blue of Alex’s eyes, she woke to Jason’s indigo ones. Her gaze slipped past him, over the balcony edge, toward the vast desert, toward a view of a world turned to chaos.
A swirling, seething mass of sand and dust, alive in its ferocity, pounded at the bubble of air created by the Assembly of Wind. The sandstorm writhed against the protection around the Atmospheric College. Somewhere beyond the madness, dawn was breaking, but the storm had turned day to night.
For a moment, she thought she’d fallen back into the memory. But no, this was real, and this was now.
“The other pairs?” Allyra asked urgently.
“Six pairs arrived during the night, but there are still five pairs out there,” Jason said tightly.
“Chi? Henri and Adriana?”
“Henri and Adriana are back, but not Chi.”
Allyra got to her feet and scrambled for the edge of the balcony. She cursed under her breath at the sight that greeted her. Just as there was chaos beyond the domed protection, there was chaos within. People were rushing around—aimlessly, at least it seemed that way at first glance. A closer look showed that they were
following the orders of High Master Radebe—a single point of calm in the sea of madness.
“What are they doing to help the pairs that are still out there?” she asked.
Jason shook his head, his expression tense. It was then that the true scale of the horror hit Allyra.
“There are rescue teams here, but the storm is too violent for them to go out,” Jason said quietly.
“But—” The words died on her lips, and her mind scrambled, looking for options or solutions. There were none for her to grasp—her mind dominated by emotion where cold logic was required.
“Surely the Group of Winds or whatever they’re called can extend the dome?” she asked desperately, her mind filled with images of Chi mired in the chaos of the sandstorm.
“They’re struggling just to maintain the dome against the storm, they’re not strong enough to push further into it.”
It was then that she knew what she had to do. It had to be the reason why she’d seen that particular memory. The effort had nearly broken Alex, but she had to try. Without a second thought, she took off running toward the edge of the dome, banking on the fact that everyone else was far too busy to notice her. She was right for the most part, except she’d forgotten about Jason. He caught up to her just before she reached the edge of the protective barrier, grabbing her arm and yanking her to a stop.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“What needs to be done.”
“And what would that be exactly?”
Allyra tried to pull free from him, but her efforts only made him hold on that much tighter.
“An Atmospheric could stop this storm,” she bit out, furious that he was slowing her down.
“Somehow, you think you’re that Atmospheric?” he asked incredulously. “You might be more powerful than the average Atmospheric, but have you looked out there?”
Jason took hold of her shoulders and turned her toward the storm pounding violently against the dome.
“I’m not blind, I know what I’m doing.”
“No, you don’t. I know you’re new to this, but what you’re proposing is incredibly stupid. There are other Atmospherics here, and none of them are stupid enough to go rushing out there—let that be a lesson.”
“Well, they should be. There are people out there that need our help. We were entrusted with this Gift, and therefore, it is our responsibility,” she said harshly, using Alex’s words, realizing that she believed in them absolutely.
Jason flinched as if she’d slapped him, color draining from his face. He dropped her arm, and for an instant, Allyra caught a glimpse of a memory—nothing solid or tangible, just a powerful feeling of regret and loss. It was a strange response, but there was simply no time to go chasing after it.
She took advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration and turned back to the storm, but before she could step into it, Jason took up a position next to her.
“I’m going with you,” he said tightly. It wasn’t a question, and it allowed no room for argument, but she tried nonetheless.
“You can’t help me out there, all you’ll be is a drain on my resources.”
Jason turned to her, his dark eyes bright with more emotion than she’d ever seen. “No one deserves to walk into that alone, Allyra, let me come with you.”
She hesitated and then nodded. “Stay close.”
As soon as they left the protection of the Atmospheric College, Allyra created her own barrier against the storm. It raged against her, the grains of sand hitting the bubble like a million tiny bullets ready to tear through her flesh. They were instantly engulfed by an oppressive darkness, and though her Gift allowed her to see, Jason called a flame to his hand and lit their way.
She didn’t walk far, just deep enough for the storm to surround them completely. And then she reached for her Gift.
One thread at a time.
The first thread she took hold of fought desperately against her. It squirmed and twisted in a frenzied battle to rejoin the storm. Its ferocity stunned her—never, in her short experience with her Gift had she needed to battle against the Elements. For a second, the thread nearly slipped through her grasp. She pressed her will against it, soothing away the frantic energy and stilling it. Only when it lay still and relaxed under her hold did she move on to the next one.
Allyra battled on, one thread after the next, until she lost count. Her body ached with exhaustion and fever, violent chills shook through her, and yet the storm raged on. If the storm had gentled, or the wind howled a little less, the difference was minimal. She marveled at Alex’s raw strength that allowed him to stop the storm; it was clear that it was beyond her ability to match his effort. The best she could hope for was to calm the storm enough for the search parties to go out.
She pushed on.
With even more threads within her grasp, light had started to filter through the storm—wane and diluted, but still a testament to the impact she was making on the storm. She shivered, her body relentlessly cycling through feverish heat and bone-chilling cold. She coughed and tasted blood on her tongue.
Jason’s hand was gentle on her shoulder. “Let go, Allyra,” he said softly. “You’re going to kill yourself.”
She shook her head. “Have the search parties gone out?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
He shook his head. “It’s still too dangerous,” he said, his words laced with unspoken regret.
Despair washed over her and threatened to sweep the threads from her grasp. She felt wetness on her face but couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears. As hope slipped away, the storm suddenly calmed. Threads stilled unaccountably.
Another Atmospheric, she realized. A powerful one, High Master Radebe perhaps.
Jason noticed the change. “Hold still, Allyra,” he instructed urgently. “Be careful, two people working on the storm could be dangerous—if he doesn’t know what you’re doing, you could start the storm again, even more violent than before.”
And worse, one of them could die from the effort, she thought, remembering Alex’s words. In any case, she was too exhausted to do little more than hold on. She closed her eyes and held tight, like a drowning man to a life raft.
Time passed, Jason giving her a running commentary.
“The first team is back, they’ve got someone with them.
“Another one, and they’re going back out.
“Here’s another team.”
Just as she began to settle into the relative calm, the wind suddenly picked up, rushing in like air into a vacuum.
“Allyra?” Jason asked frantically.
“Not me,” she gasped.
High Master Radebe faltered, and Allyra made a desperate grab at the threads he’d been holding. She managed to grasp a few, but more slipped through her fingers.
“How many rescue teams are still out?” she choked out.
“Three.”
Too many.
She had to hold on long enough for the search teams to return. Everything she had needed to go into holding still the threads still under her control. The barrier around them was a luxury she could no longer afford.
“Go,” she told Jason. “I can’t keep the protection up any longer.
He shook his head.
“Go,” she begged and dropped the barrier.
The sand gusted in, rushing into her lungs and grating against her skin. Then a jacket was thrown over her, protecting her from the worst of it.
“Two more are back,” Jason shouted, his voice rough as he coughed out a lungful of sand. “Just one left—I see them. Come on, Allyra, we can go back, the last team is in.”
She took a stumbling step, but her vision wavered, and she tried to gasp out a warning that she was losing her grip, but it was too late, and darkness overtook her.
* * *
The air was buzzed with frenetic energy. The sound of controlled chaos filled Allyra’s ears—footsteps bustling back and forth, something metallic cluttering to the ground. Whisper
ed anxieties, soft weeping, and the occasional wail.
Allyra forced her eyes open and took in the hospital-like environment. Looking down, she found an IV attached to her arm. Her first instinct was to pull it out. She peeled away the tape, wincing at the sticky pull on her skin.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Looking up, she found Jason gaping at her incredulously. The gears of her mind seemed rusty and slow to move. Her eyes moved between Jason and the IV needle in her arm, while her mind struggled manfully to answer his question. Her thoughts were syrupy slow, and it took an agonizingly long time for her to realize that she had no idea why she wanted to pull the IV out, not when she felt like she’d recently been run over by a large truck of some sort.
“I don’t know,” she croaked out.
He shook his head in apparent disbelief, pushing her fumbling, careless fingers away from the IV and pressing the tape back down with surprising gentleness.
Dumbly, she watched him work as her mind labored to turn over anything vaguely resembling a coherent thought. But there was something wrong with his fingers. His skin. Red, and a little raw, like he’d polished himself with sandpaper. She placed her hand over his before he could draw it away.
“Your hands,” she said slowly. “They’re…” She reached for the right word, her head pounding painfully. “They’re wrong.”
“Wrong,” he said, drawing the word out slowly, seemingly turning it over in his head. He smiled wryly. “You could say that.”
Only then did she arrive at the correct conclusion. Jason had stayed with her when she’d dropped the protective barrier. He’d thrown his jacket over her, saving her from the worst of the sandstorm, while enduring it himself.
“Why?” she asked.
He grinned wolfishly though his handsome features had been similarly marred by the sand. “Don’t forget—you’re still my meal voucher. My ticket to the top.”
She didn’t think that was it at all, but that thought was brushed aside by another much more pressing one. “Chi,” she said, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “Did they find him?”