Let the Sky Fall

by Messenger, Shannon

  “I don’t know,” Audra admits. “I guess you have to sit back, close your eyes, and hope your instincts do the rest.”

  That really isn’t much of a plan. I can’t think of anything better, though, so I flop onto an empty bench. Audra tries to pull her hand away, but I tug her onto the bench next to me. Close enough for our legs to touch. “I need you with me for this. In case you have to bring me back when I have the breakthrough.”

  Her body radiates as much tension as it does heat, but she doesn’t pull away.

  Good.

  I try to concentrate on the songs. It feels like fifty people are whisper-shouting at me in a foreign language.

  “Just relax,” Audra tells me. “Let your mind drift with the winds. Follow their lead and hope they accept you.”

  That falls into the category of advice that sounds helpful but actually makes no freaking sense. But I try to do as she says.

  Yeah . . . it works as well as I figured.

  Doesn’t help that the bench is arguably the most uncomfortable seat ever invented. Cold wooden slats dig into my back. I slouch, and they dig in more. I try to lean my head back, but my neck throbs. I shift again and my butt goes numb.

  “What are you doing?” Audra asks as I reposition again, this time lying across the bench on my back.

  She’s probably referring to the fact that I’ve rested my head in her lap. Hey, when I see an opportunity, I take it.

  “Do you want me to be able to concentrate or not?”

  Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t shove me away.

  Awesome.

  And actually . . . being this close to Audra makes everything else fade away. I focus on each Westerly as it slides across my face and feel the pull I felt at the wind farm.

  My heritage is calling the winds.

  But the winds don’t respond.

  Minutes pass. Or maybe hours. I lose track of reality. My whole world narrows to me and those drafts. And the more my mind reaches for them, the faster they pull away.

  Isaac likes to tease his sister’s cat with a laser pointer. I always thought it was hilarious—but as I lie here, grasping for something that insists on staying just out of my reach, I feel sorry for that dumb cat, chasing a red dot it will never catch.

  The winds whip and swirl, and I feel my body move with the drafts. But no matter what I do, they won’t reach deep enough inside me, to the part that craves them so strongly it actually aches.

  Then . . . something shifts.

  A small strand of wind lets me breathe it in, and it slips inside my mind. It darts around my consciousness, stirring feelings I can’t understand because I have nothing to attach them to. I strain to focus, grasping for whatever piece of myself the wind needs to make a connection. But I can’t find what it wants, and the longer it’s in there, the harder it thrashes.

  Sparks flash behind by eyes and my stomach cramps. I want to vomit, but I can’t move, can’t think. Can only lie there as a million different splinters rip apart my skull and slam into my brain.

  I hear myself groan.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It’s Audra’s voice. I know I should answer, but the throbbing has taken over my body. I’m not Vane anymore. I’m a lump of pain.

  “Vane?” Audra calls. “Vane, wake up.”

  Her warm hands press against my face—or I assume they do, based on the electric shocks that jolt me.

  But it’s not enough to pull me back from the agony.

  My brain fuzzes and I can’t fight it anymore. Darkness swallows me whole.

  CHAPTER 38

  AUDRA

  This isn’t happening. There’s no way this can possibly be happening again. My whole body trembles as I fumble to get a better hold on Vane’s limp body.

  I shake his shoulders, trying to jar him awake.

  Useless.

  His chest rises and falls, but they’re slow, shallow breaths.

  Why isn’t he waking up?

  I squeeze his hands. Whisper pleas in his ear. Hold him as tightly as I can. All the things that brought him back before.

  No response.

  So I smack his face. Shake him. Shout his name—not caring if anyone hears me. Try anything—everything—I can think of.

  Still he lies there. Completely beyond my reach.

  This isn’t like the breakthroughs, when I could see his body shutting down, surrendering to the winds. It’s like he’s left his body entirely, and all I’m holding is a cold, empty shell.

  I don’t know how to bring him back.

  I taste bile as an image of Vane spending the rest of his days in this useless half life flashes through my mind. Worthless. Hopeless.

  My fault.

  I pound my fists against his chest, and his breath echoes in his lungs. Like a death rattle.

  Something inside me breaks.

  Everything—the fear and stress and anger, the hurt and regret and sorrow, the doubt and longing and turmoil—bubbles over in a fit of heaving sobs.

  He left me.

  How could he leave me?

  And what am I supposed to do now?

  Nothing.

  Nothing except hold his limp body and cry. For Vane. For me. For every mistake I’ve ever made.

  And for the ten millionth time, I wish I’d died instead of my father.

  He would’ve known what to do.

  Maybe he still does.

  I turn to the lone Easterly swirling over the ocean and call it to my side.

  “Please,” I whisper as the draft cocoons around us, “please, Dad—if there’s any piece of you left, please tell me what to do. I can’t lose Vane. Not now. Not like this. Please help me wake him up.”

  The seconds race by in silence and I give up. I release my hold on the Easterly, let it float away with the last of my hope.

  I close my eyes, cradling Vane in my arms and resting my head against his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears.

  “I’m sorry, Vane. I don’t know if you can hear me or if you’re there anymore. But I’m sorry. Not just for this. For everything.”

  It’s the closest I’ve ever come to a confession, and as the words leave my lips I feel a tiny bit of the burden I’ve borne so long slip away with them.

  My head clears a little, and as it does I catch the faint whisper of a nearby Easterly—one I didn’t notice before. Its song is similar to the typical Easterly melodies I’ve heard my whole life, singing of the constant fight for freedom. But four words stand out from the others.

  Caged by the past.

  The winds can be called and tamed and controlled. But they can never be caged.

  It has to be a message.

  But how is Vane caged by the past? He doesn’t even remember his past.

  Unless that’s the problem.

  My heart races as fast as my mind, making me dizzy.

  What if his consciousness chased the Westerlies deep into the mental abyss my mother created to store his memories? Could he be trapped there?

  I stretch out my hands, feeling for the slow tug of a Southerly. For a moment I don’t find any. Then a soft itch stings my thumb, on the farthest edge of my reach.

  My voice shakes as I call it to us.

  The warm, sleepy breeze coils around me and I part my lips to command it into Vane’s mind. But my voice betrays me.

  The command will release Vane’s hidden memories.

  All of them.

  I hug my shaking shoulders and take deep breaths.

  This is bigger than my secret shame—or how it will change Vane once he knows. This is about saving his life.

  If this even works, my selfish side reminds me.

  I can’t believe I’m sitting here arguing with myself when Vane could be slipping further away.

  I grab Vane’s hands and whisper the command, ignoring the fear that stabs me with each word.

  “Slip with his breath, then fall free. Release what’s been hidden and return to me.”

  Southerlies have a magneti
c quality. Any part of us that touches them wants to follow. So when my mother erased his memory, she sent a Southerly into his mind and told it to bury itself deep. All his memories drifted along with the draft, sinking so far into his consciousness they’ll never return without a trigger.

  Now I’m drawing them back, hoping they bring Vane with them.

  His neck jerks as the draft climbs into his mind and I squeeze his hands harder, hoping the energy between us will prevent him from getting caught by the pull of the Southerly. It’s only one weak wind, not the dozens I used to trigger his breakthrough. But in his altered state there’s no telling what effect the wind will have on his consciousness.

  His arms twitch, and my breath catches.

  “Vane,” I whisper, leaning closer. “Please come back.”

  His shoulders rock.

  “Vane,” I call louder. “You need to come back. We need you.”

  I have more words on the tip of my tongue—words I know I shouldn’t say. Before I let them slip, his eyes snap open and he takes a deep, shaky breath.

  Tears stream down my face and I send a silent thanks to whatever part of the winds helped me figure out what to do. I won’t let myself believe my father spoke from the great beyond. But I know my heritage saved me.

  Saved us.

  Vane twists in my arms and I pull him against me, burying my face in the nape of his neck.

  “What happened to—” he starts to ask in a raspy, broken voice.

  “Shhh.” I breathe in the warm, sweet scent of his skin. “It’s all going to be okay. Just rest.”

  He doesn’t argue. Just wraps his arms around me and pulls me even closer.

  I call the lone Easterly and swirl it around us, adding my whispers to its song. The bench is cold and hard and my heart is heavy from all the emotions I’ve forced through it. But tangled there in Vane’s arms, I finally relax.

  CHAPTER 39

  VANE

  I cling to Audra, afraid to lose my grip on her. Afraid to lose my grip on reality.

  But the rhythmic pattern of her breath on my skin calms me, and the whispers of the Easterly fill my mind, leading me to sleep.

  The second I leave consciousness, a tidal wave of memories slams into my brain. An entire childhood sliced and diced. Smiles, hugs, laughter, tears. Faces I know. Faces I don’t. Places I can’t recognize. Places that feel like home. All laced with different emotions—love, joy, fear, anger, hurt, regret. And wind. Lots and lots of wind.

  I want to make sense of it all, piece my past back together and finally feel whole. But it’s too much to process all at once. My brain throbs so hard I want to tear it from my skull.

  Then Audra’s whispers wash away the chaos and her face fills my dreams for the first time in days. Her dark hair sweeps against my face, and her sad eyes watch me as her lips speak words I actually understand this time. A hushed apology.

  What is she sorry for?

  She doesn’t say. Just repeats “I’m sorry” over and over and over. So softly it feels like she doesn’t want me to hear it. But I do.

  I yank myself from the dream.

  “Try to relax,” Audra murmurs. “Having your memories come back can be overwhelming.”

  I jerk away from her, sitting up. “You know about that?”

  She frowns as she sits up next to me. “Were your memories coming back before?”

  Crap.

  “I’ve had a few resurface since the breakthroughs,” I mumble.

  She hisses something that sounds like a curse word. “I should have realized that might happen. The Southerlies during your breakthrough probably drew a few toward them on their way out of your mind.”

  I have no idea what that means. Though it does tell me one thing. “So . . . you knew the memories could come back. Funny, considering you told me that was impossible.”

  She scoots away, like she needs space from my accusation.

  I take that as a yes.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  Her hands find her braid, twisting the loose ends. “I thought I was sparing you. You have a lot of hard memories in your past. I honestly don’t understand why you want them back.”

  My mind plays through some of the flashes from my dreams. I still can’t make sense of them. But there’s one that stands out.

  My mom—my real mom.

  I can finally remember her face.

  I’m six, and we’re in a wide-open field, our hands locked tight as she spins me so fast my feet lift off the ground, twirling me in the wind. It feels like flying.

  Round and round we go until we’re both so dizzy we collapse to the grass in a fit of giggles. She wraps her arms around me and I bury my face in her tangled red-brown hair as she kisses my cheek. Then she tilts my chin up and makes me look into her clear blue eyes. And she tells me she loves me. That she’ll always be there for me. No matter what.

  I’ve never felt so safe and happy.

  “Because there are good memories too,” I remind Audra. “Proof that my parents loved me—that I loved them. Do you know how much I worried that I erased my family because I didn’t love them enough to remember them? How guilty I felt?”

  My anger deflates when I catch the way she flinches at the word “guilt.”

  Bingo.

  “So, my memories will keep coming back?” I press.

  “I removed the barrier locking them away. I’m not exactly sure when and how they’ll return, but they’ll all resurface.”

  “Any in particular I should worry about?”

  She hesitates before she answers. “You . . . have a lot of pain in your past.”

  “I can handle pain.”

  “I hope so.” Her hands tug at the buttons of her coat and she swallows a few times. “There’s something you should know. About the day your parents died. About what happened to them.”

  My stomach tightens and my mind flashes to the gnarled tree I dreamed about a few nights ago. Coated in blood.

  Does Audra have something to do with my parents’ death?

  Will it matter if she did?

  My heart launches into overtime as her lips part, ready to spill the secret she’s been hiding so long.

  What if it’s something I can’t forgive?

  She closes her eyes and I hold my breath.

  Everything hangs on her next words—and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear them.

  CHAPTER 40

  AUDRA

  This is it. Time to strip away the layers and lies I’ve piled on top of my secret shame and show Vane the dark, ugly truth.

  If only I can find the words.

  I feel like my voice has dropped away, fallen into the pit of my stomach and tangled with the sourness filling me. If I try to drag it back up, it will reduce me to a crumbled, heaving mess.

  I focus on the morning sun on my skin. The breezes in the air.

  Calm. I need to stay calm.

  All I have to do is say it: It was my fault.

  Four simple words that have been the sum total of my existence for the last ten years. They flash before my eyes, making the world blur. Or maybe that’s my tears.

  Just say it.

  Maybe he’ll hate me.

  I deserve it. But I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

  I may be brave in training or in battle—but I’m a coward. I can’t tell the truth to Vane Weston. Especially to Vane Weston.

  Which is absurd. I already made my confession when I was seven.

  Back then he just held me tighter and soaked my shoulder with his tears.

  Will he react the same way today?

  Or will he do what I deserve? Shove me away for betraying him? Destroying him?

  Does it even matter?

  Vane didn’t have the fourth breakthrough—and I refuse to try again. His mind is too fragile, too overwhelmed by all I’ve put it through. The winds could push him too deep again. Or pull him away. Either way, I can’t chance it. Won’t chance it. Vane is too important.

  To t
he Gales.

  To our world.

  To me—though I shouldn’t let him be.

  So if I only have a few days before I sacrifice myself, is it too much to hope that his memory of my confession doesn’t resurface until after I’m gone? That I leave this world knowing Vane Weston cares?

  It’s the most abhorrent, selfish desire I’ve ever indulged. But staring down my death makes me allow it.

  I force myself to meet his eyes. “You . . . need to know that you watched your mother die.”

  His mouth forms several different words before he speaks. “Why are you telling me that?”

  “Because I don’t want you to stumble blindly into the dream.”

  “It was a tree, wasn’t it?” he whispers.

  I shudder, remembering the way the tree shifted in the sky, aiming right for her heart. The crack of bone and branch mixed with the screams and the wailing wind. “Did you—?”

  “Not yet. But I dreamed about a bloody tree floating through a storm. I figured . . .”

  The silence that follows feels like a vacuum, expanding, closing off the world as Vane stares at the horizon, watching the white lines of waves streak toward the shore. An unstoppable force. Like the storm heading our way. Bearing down. Ready to crash any day.

  “Was that really what you were going to tell me?” he asks.

  My heart plummets, but I straighten up to sell the lie. “Of course. Why?”

  “No reason.” He turns on his phone. “We should probably get on the road. It’s ten a.m. I’m sure my mom is freaking out.” His phone beeps. “Yep. Three voice mails.”

  “Wow, she’s really worried about you.”

  “I’m sure she’s planning different ways to murder me. As soon as she finds out I’m okay, of course.”

  “That’s because she loves you.” I don’t mean to sound bitter, but I do.

  Vane scoots closer, resting a hand on my knee. “Your mother loves you.”

  She used to—I think. But not anymore.

  I shrug my sadness away.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Nothing matters anymore.

  So I don’t hesitate to take his hand when he offers it this time—and I don’t try to pull away as we walk to his car.

  Maybe it’s everything I’ve been through. Maybe it’s knowing my days are numbered. Or maybe I’m finally giving in.