I’ll never tell him, either. It would break his commitment to the mission. Get him captured and me killed, along with thousands of innocent people.
But that’s not the only reason.
Vane’s the first person since my father died to care whether I live and breathe. I can’t give that up.
The guilt burns hotter as I own up to my selfishness, but I bear the pain. It hurts less than the aching loneliness I’ve endured for the last ten years.
So I take a deep breath to clear my head. “You should probably sit down. This is going to be . . . intense.”
CHAPTER 21
VANE
Audra has me sit cross-legged on the pile of palm leaves on the floor, and they’re just as scratchy as they look. I can’t believe she sleeps on these things. She rattles off a long list of instructions I should probably be paying attention to—but I can’t focus. My brain’s stuck on auto repeat.
Intense. Intense. Intense.
I’m pretty sure what she means is intense pain—and I’m not exactly known for having a high tolerance for that.
At least Audra seems pretty impressed that I’m willing to do this to help her—which is crazy. Does she really think I want her to die to save me?
“Hug yourself tighter, Vane. Northerlies are incredibly aggressive winds.”
It’s hard not to groan. “Aggressive” is almost as bad as “dangerous.”
She adjusts my hands and arms, bending me into a Vane pretzel.
“You okay?” she asks when I jump at her touch.
“Yeah, sorry. Just jittery, I guess.”
Doesn’t she feel the way the sparks jolt between us? Now, that’s intense.
The waves of heat make their way to my heart, settling in like that’s where they belong. I know how cheesy that sounds—Isaac would hurl if he knew I was thinking it. But I like it. It feels like she’s becoming a part of me, more and more with every touch.
Makes me want to grab her, pull her against me, feel the warm rush spread as I run my hands down—
“Are you ready?” she asks, ripping me out of my fantasies.
“Yes.” I hate my voice for shaking.
“Okay. Let’s get the most painful part over with first.”
“Sounds awesome.”
Her lips twist into that small half smile she’s becoming famous for. “The only advice I can give you is to not fight back. I’ll command the winds to slip into your consciousness, but you have to breathe them in. Once the gusts are in there, you have to force yourself to concentrate. They’ll feel foreign and unwelcome and your head will probably throb. Just remember that your mind does know how to do this.”
“You kind of lost me at ‘throb,’ but I’ll do my best. Let’s just . . . get this over with.”
She nods. Then she closes her eyes and whispers something that sounds like a snake singing. The winds kick up around her.
A chill settles over us—which actually isn’t so bad after baking in the heat. The gusts wrap around me, crackling the palm branches as they lift me off the ground. The pressure’s much stronger than I expected, and my twisted limbs uncoil until I’m sprawled out flat, rolling with the storm.
“Breathe them in, Vane. Then concentrate on what you hear,” Audra shouts before the roaring air drowns her out. Leaving me alone, shivering in my icy wind cocoon as the drafts hammer my face.
I want to block them, close off everything and hope they go away. But I lock my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering, and the next time a gust comes full force at my face I take a long, deep breath. Instead of flowing into my lungs, the air pushes into my mind. It burns like when water goes up my nose—only a thousand times more painful.
The winds streak inside my head, forming a vortex and slamming me with the most intense migraine ever, like my brain’s being kicked and punched and stabbed and ripped apart. I want to tear off my scalp to let the gusts out.
Concentrate, Audra told me.
How the hell am I supposed to concentrate with a wind tunnel in my head? It’s like standing by a waterfall as a jet engine blows past and a million claps of thunder rumble at the same time.
But mixed with all that chaos is a simple, solitary note.
It rings with a long, low whine—nothing I can understand. But the more I strain to hear it, the closer and clearer it becomes, like it’s shoving its way to the front of my focus, demanding my attention.
It reminds me of when Isaac turns on the subwoofer in his truck. All the music and lyrics get drowned out by the throbbing, pulsing bass, making his truck vibrate and his old, grumpy neighbors glare at us as we thump thump thump by their houses.
The pain in my head amplifies as I concentrate on the sound, and the wind feels like it’s freezing me into a Vane-cicle.
Come on, you stupid wind, break through before I seriously lose it here.
This is hopeless. I’m never going to feel or hear whatever freaking thing I’m supposed to hear or feel. I’m a failure as a Windwalker, and Audra’s going to die because of me.
The realization smacks me back to my senses—and that’s when I catch it.
A single word. Over and over.
Strength.
The instant I separate the word, the wind seeps into my consciousness. It feels like draining a tall glass of water all in one gulp—only my brain’s doing the drinking.
My limbs fall still and I focus on the lyrics behind the melody, which I now understand. The north wind sings of power. Of invincibility. Of balance.
“Vane, can you hear me?” Audra calls from very far away. “Open your eyes.”
I want to obey, but I don’t know how to make my body function at the moment. The winds have coiled around my mind. Teasing. Tugging. Begging me to come with them. And I want to. The Northerlies sound so brave and strong.
They’ll protect me.
“Vane, listen to me!” Audra yells. “You can’t believe everything the winds tell you. I know it sounds like wisdom, but you have to resist. They’re pulling you away, and if you let that happen, you won’t come back.”
I don’t want to listen to her, but a blast of warmth shoots through both my arms like an electric shock.
My body jerks and my eyes shoot open. The blinding sunlight makes my head pound, and a loud moan slips through my lips. Then my vision clears and I get a glimpse of Audra leaning over me, clasping my wrists with her slender hands.
“Breathe,” she orders.
Why would she have to tell me to . . .
Burning pain in my chest wakes me up to the fact that it’s been a while since I’ve taken a breath. I suck in a huge gulp of air, hacking and coughing as it enters my oxygen-starved body.
Audra pulls me into a sitting position, pounding on my back. “You okay?”
“I’ve been better.” I hug myself, needing to feel my body again. I forgot about it for a second. “What happened?”
“The wind started to carry your consciousness away.”
I rub my throbbing head. “How about in English this time?”
She flashes a small, sad smile. “I don’t fully understand it myself. My father used to tell me Windwalkers are caught between two worlds. Neither purely of the earth nor the sky, and when we allow ourselves too much contact with either, it starts to lead us astray. In the earth’s case, food and water ground us, bind us to the land. Limit our abilities. And the wind’s call tries to take us with it, like an old friend begging us to come along for the journey.”
That I understand. Part of me still wants to follow.
“But if we let it lead us away, we leave our earthly forms behind, never to return,” she warns.
“How come it didn’t feel like that last night?” I was asleep for most of it, but I don’t remember having a hard time waking up.
“When I triggered your Easterly breakthrough it was me inside your head, and I could control the drafts and build the connections you needed to make without exposing you to the full force of the winds.”
“So
. . . you were literally inside my mind—like how the wind just was?” I shudder, remembering the weird swishy, spinning feeling.
“Yes. When we shift into our true forms, we are the wind. We move and work and feel exactly the same way, only with more control.”
“That might be the freakiest thing you’ve told me yet.”
She rewards me with another partial smile. Then she looks down, watching her fingers as she twists them together. “I’m not sure if I should trigger the Southerly breakthrough. It might be too much for you to handle right now.”
I can’t begin to explain how much I don’t want to go through that again—ever. But this isn’t about me. “I need to learn the three languages, right? As soon as possible?”
A few seconds pass before she says, “Time is running out.”
“Then we have to do it.”
I can’t believe the words are coming out of my mouth.
But I can’t wimp out now. People might die. Audra might die. “I know what to expect now. I’ll be fine.”
“If the lure was that strong from the harsh, cold Northerlies, it’ll be ten times worse from the warm, welcoming Southerlies.”
“I’ll come back.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I take her hands. She tries to pull away, but I hold tight. “When you touched me, it yanked me back. So just do that again, and I’ll come back. For you.”
The last words I kinda mumble, but I’m pretty sure she caught them, because a hint of pink colors her cheeks.
She stares at our hands for a second, taking slow, deep breaths. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
CHAPTER 22
AUDRA
Vane has no idea how irresistible the Southerlies’ pull will be.
Their warm rush is intoxicating. The comfort they promise so alluring. Tempting you to slip away forever in their soft, wandering drag.
I’d been ready to follow their whispers anywhere they led, and I very nearly had. The vow I made my father was the only thing that pulled me back.
But all I can do is stick with the plan and hope Vane really will come back for me.
To me, I correct. And not even me—specifically. Come back to the world, to continue with his training. Live up to his potential. Step into his role as king. Those are my primary—my only—concerns.
I repeat the reminder in my head as I reach for the winds. The nearest Southerlies are several miles away, ambling through a stretch of empty dunes. They shift toward me when I whisper their call.
I hold Vane’s gaze as the winds form the first tendrils of his cocoon. “You must come back,” I order.
“Hold on to me and I will.”
His honest trust, his willingness to face such a challenge for me—not to mention the intensity in his eyes—makes my guilt burn hot in my hands. In my heart.
I stuff the pain as deep as I can shove it. Then I whisper the last command, close the cocoon, and Vane’s gone, tangled in the silky strands of Southerlies.
I catch myself holding my breath and force air into my lungs. I have to keep my head clear. Be prepared for anything.
Vane’s limbs stay locked in place as his body lifts off the ground. No thrashing or flailing like the Northerlies caused. It’s hard to make out his form through the sandy gusts, but I can see his face and he looks peaceful. Happy.
I remember that feeling. The Southerlies carry pure bliss.
My nails press into my palms as I count the passing seconds, watching for the breakthrough to occur. The longer he’s at the wind’s mercy, the more he relinquishes control.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Forty.
I live an eternity in each moment. I could have destroyed our only hope with this hasty decision.
Fifty seconds.
A minute.
“Come on, Vane—you can do this!” I shout over the gusts.
Sixteen more seconds pass. Then the winds unravel, fleeing to freedom.
He had the breakthrough.
His body collapses on the bed of palm leaves, and I call his name over and over. He doesn’t stir, but I take his hands the way I did when he was fighting the Northerlies, ignoring the guilt searing my skin as I do.
His eyes remain closed. He doesn’t so much as twitch.
“Breathe, Vane,” I order, squeezing his hands harder. “You promised.”
No reaction.
I shake his arms, trying to rock him awake. “Breathe!”
Nothing. Even when I pound on his chest with my fists.
My heart jumps into my throat as I watch his lips tinge with blue. I have to do something—anything.
I’ve seen groundlings blow air into each other’s mouths, trying to jump-start the lungs. But I can’t risk forming a bond to Vane. And that might not even work. His lungs aren’t the problem. It’s his mind whisking away, following the alluring call of the winds. Wandering too far from his rightful place.
The blue spreads from his lips, painting his face with a gray pallor.
I grab his shoulders and shake as hard as I can. His head lolls and falls limp.
I can’t just sit here and watch him suffocate. Even if his lungs aren’t the problem—putting air into his body has to help.
I refuse to let myself think about what I’m doing as I lift his chin with shaky hands.
“It’s not a kiss,” I whisper, saying it out loud to stand as testimony. “This is a lifesaving measure. Not a kiss. No bond will form.”
No bond. No bond. No bond.
I will not bond myself to Vane Weston.
No. Bond.
I take a trembling breath—barely able to believe what I’m about to do as I place one hand on each of his cheeks.
“Vane!” I yell. “Vane, wake up.”
Nothing.
Tears burn my eyes as I stare at his blue-gray lips.
Now or never, Audra.
I lean closer, whispering in his ear. “Please don’t leave me, Vane.”
I didn’t plan to say that—but I don’t have time to analyze my word choice. I suck in a huge gulp of air, holding it in my lungs as I part his lips with trembling hands and lean in.
No-bond-no-bond-no-bond-no-bond.
Before I make contact, Vane’s body thrashes with a hacking cough. His forehead crashes against my chin, knocking me backward as he rolls to his side, gasping for breath.
I rub my smarting jaw with one hand and wrap my other arm around myself, trying to calm my shaking. I can’t make sense of any of the emotions washing over me. All I know is: Vane’s alive.
He wheezes and struggles for a minute before he catches his breath. I sit to the side, feeling too much like I’ve had the world yanked out from under me then shoved back into place to do anything except watch.
I want to tell him how much he scared me. How close he came to leaving me behind—to leaving everyone and everything behind.
How much I’d been ready to risk to save him.
But he doesn’t need to know any of that.
When his color returns and his coughing calms, he sits up, smooths his hair, and meets my eyes. “Told you I’d come back for you.”
CHAPTER 23
VANE
My legs move like two soggy noodles as Audra drags me through the grove toward my house. I’ve been tired before. Been beaten up before. Shoot, I survived a tornado—and even though I don’t remember what happened, I remember every ache and pain in the days that followed. But I’ve never experienced anything like this.
I feel empty. Like everything that makes me me oozed out my ears, leaving just a shell of Vane.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the pull of the Southerlies. It felt like I was a kid again and my mom was promising everything would be all right if I just did what she said. Her voice sounded different, higher and softer than usual, but the words still coiled around my mind and heart—and the more I tried to shove them away, the harder they latched on.
I was
a goner.
Until Audra’s desperate voice whispered through the wind, begging me not to leave.
I wouldn’t leave her.
In that determination, I found the strength to break free, my head spinning and my body screaming with a thousand different pains as I forced myself back to reality.
But I swear the wind took part of me with it. It definitely stole my warmth. I can’t stop shivering—even though I’m sure it has to be at least a hundred degrees. The noodle legs aren’t cool either. And my head feels like the soccer team used it for practice.
The worst part is the hollowness. I know what Audra meant by “caught between two worlds” now. The wind made parts of me feel freer, fuller, happier than I’ve ever been. Without them I feel lost and empty. I’m glad to be back, though. The sky may call to me, but I want my feet firmly on the ground. Preferably without the Jell-O legs.
Speaking of which—how am I going to explain my current condition to my parents? Knowing my mom, she’ll probably worry I’m drunk or high or both. She watches too many news reports on troubled teens.
And it looks like they’ll get to meet Audra, because unless I slither into the house, there’s no way I’m walking in there on my own. Audra’s basically carrying all my weight right now—which is pretty impressive, considering how slender she is.
The sun-bleached walls of my house come into view, and my stomach tightens. Audra tenses too, so I have a feeling she’s thinking the same thing I am: What the hell are we going to do now?
She slows to a stop at the edge of the tree line. “I need you to lean on a palm for a second,” she says, already wrapping my arm around a rough trunk. I shift my weight, leaning at an awkward angle, but I manage to stay upright as Audra starts unbuttoning her jacket.
Man, I hope whatever she has under there is thin and lacy.
When she undoes the last of the shiny gold buttons—her jacket reminds me of something an eighties pop star would wear—she slips the heavy coat off her shoulders, revealing a plain black tank and a whole lot of creamy skin. Not the sexy bra I’d been hoping for, but at least it’s tight and cut low. A blue necklace with a silver feather hangs just below the lines of her collarbone, drawing my eyes right where they probably shouldn’t go.
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