I raise the chimes to the winds and hook them from the porch’s eaves, letting the tinkling melody join in the chorus. The soft, familiar sound fills the air, and I realize I’m asking myself the wrong question.
Not How?
When?
I don’t know the answer to that, either. But I know it’s not now. And that makes all the difference.
I’ve been caged and silenced for ten years.
It’s time for me to sing.
I reach up and unravel my braid, letting my hair fall loose. The wavy strands hurt as I smooth them against my scalp. But the pain only lasts a minute. Then I’m free.
I slip my jacket off my shoulders and run my hands over the thick fabric.
I’m not a guardian anymore. It’s time to be me—whoever that is.
So I call three Easterlies and give each draft a single word to hold as I coil them around my jacket. I wrap the package tight—then send it to the sky and let the wind carry it away.
Vane will understand.
I hope.
Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them back.
This is my choice. The first choice I’ve made for me—and only me—in as long as I can remember.
The second comes now.
I call the Easterly laced with my father’s song and coil it around me, ready to let it sweep me into the clouds. But it’s not what I need anymore.
I send it away and reach for a Westerly.
The smooth, gentle draft rushes across my skin and I open my mind to its unfamiliar song.
It sings of rest. Of hope.
I beg the draft to take me away, humming along to the melody, like when I used to sing with my father.
I don’t know where I’m going. But it’s time to find my peace.
CHAPTER 59
VANE
My little chat with the guardian ran longer than I planned.
He didn’t want to accept that his Gales don’t get to run my life anymore. But then I showed him a few of my newly discovered tricks and he realized he didn’t have the power to control me. Not to mention, the Gales need me—now more than ever. So I got to make a few demands, number one of which was an immediate termination of my betrothal.
I didn’t tell him why—and I don’t care if he guesses. All that matters is that he agreed.
I also get to stay with my parents.
That one he agreed with right away—said it was important to appear strong. No more running. No more hiding. The Gales will set up base in the dunes nearby to support me. But now that I’ve had the fourth breakthrough, it’s time to make a stand. They expect Raiden to lie low for now, anyway. He’ll wait to see what I can do, how powerful I am, before he attacks again.
So I’m safe.
Sorta.
Which is probably the best I’ll get, as far as Raiden is concerned. Until he’s gone. And the Gales still expect me to be the one to take him down. I don’t know what to do with that crazy piece of information, but I’ve decided it doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with it when the time comes. Not a second sooner.
The sun has set and the sky glows with oranges and reds when I’m dropped off in my front yard. The house is dark. I need to call my parents and tell them I’m safe—that they can come home. But not until I talk to Audra.
I check inside, half-hoping I’ll catch her in the middle of a shower. Or stretched out in my bed. But the rooms are silent. Empty.
I roll my eyes at Audra’s stubbornness and take off toward the trees. If she thinks I’m going to let her sleep in a roach-infested pile of dead leaves tonight, she’s lost her mind.
The grove is quiet as I run. Too quiet.
I call for her when the pale, broken walls of her house come into view.
She doesn’t answer.
I slow to a stop and focus on the winds, reaching for her trace. Our bond makes the connection so strong, I feel a physical tug in my gut, drawing me to her. But it’s pulling me two ways. A small, weak part of me is lured toward the burned-down house. The rest of me is drawn away. I can’t tell where or why. But it’s somewhere west. Far beyond my reach.
“Audra,” I call again.
Still no response.
Leaves—or maybe bugs—crunch under my feet as I enter the house, and it’s the only sound filling the empty, lifeless space. Until Gavin screeches.
My heart stutters and I curse the stupid bird as he flaps his wings from his perch on the windowsill. His beady orange eyes look almost red as they watch me, and I have no doubt he’s wondering the same thing I am.
Where’s Audra?
That’s when I notice the bubble of winds floating in the corner.
Her trace is laced through every draft, and something dark hovers in the center. My stomach knots.
I step closer, telling myself it isn’t what I think it is. But I can see the gold buttons glinting through the rushing air.
Maybe this is some elaborate Windwalker striptease, I try to convince myself as I reach through the winds to grab the jacket. But I can feel everything inside me sink as the winds uncoil and brush my face. They whisper the three words she left me as a message.
Be. Home. Soon.
I know her too well to miss her meaning. Especially since I can still feel her pull in the wind. Slipping farther west with every second.
I fling the jacket across the room.
How could she leave without saying goodbye? Without letting me beg her to stay?
Pain shoots through my hand as I punch the wall, but it’s easier to take than the empty ache tearing me apart.
I sink to the floor as Gavin flies to a nearby tree—away from the crazy boy freaking out.
“Why would she leave?” I ask the night, the wind, the stupid bird.
Nobody answers.
Then my eyes wander to the crumpled pile of leaves—the bed she’s slept in for ten years. I inhale the sticky, dusty air she’s sweat in every day while I relaxed in my air-conditioned bedroom.
She’s made nothing but sacrifices for me. Can I blame her for needing a break from it all? Even from me?
I can. But I’ll try to understand.
Plus, she left me a promise.
Be home soon.
She’s coming back. Soon.
I touch her trace in the air, drawing comfort from the gentle tugging in the pit of my stomach. She’s tethered to me. Permanently connected. It won’t be hard to find her if I want to track her down.
But I’ll wait.
And hey—at least I’m not the only one she left behind.
I glare at her dumb bird and he glares back at me. At least she ditched him, too. Though, now I’m stuck with her annoying pet.
Gavin flaps and screeches, like he’s thinking the same thing.
I roll my eyes.
Then I call a passing Westerly and add my own words to its song. I tie the draft to her trace and send the wind away, letting it reach her at its own pace.
I’ll miss you.
I’ve waited ten years for her.
I’ll wait as long as it takes.
I hope she finds what she’s looking for. Until she does, I’ll be here. Alone, under the calm sky. Waiting for the wind to return.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I never planned to write this book—and when I grabbed my laptop at four a.m. and started recording the angsty, sarcastic voices that had been keeping me awake, I never thought I would let anyone read it. This was my secret project, just for fun and just for me, and the only reason that changed was because of the help and support of many amazing people.
First and foremost, my wonderful husband, Miles. Thank you for your patience, for eating takeout almost every night, and for not getting (too) freaked out by the fact that I was spending a large amount of time with an imaginary hot boy. Most especially, thank you for always finding a way to make me smile and for all the emergency cupcake deliveries.
I also must thank Mom and Dad for always believing in me, and the rest of my friends and family (you know who you a
re) for being you, and for bearing with me as I struggle to keep up with my hectic schedule.
To Laura Rennert, my ineffable literary agent, thank you for your incredible guidance and for being there to build me up, answer my questions, or tell me to relax—whichever I need most. I’m not sure the world has enough tea to keep you adequately caffeinated for tackling my abundant e-mails, but I adore you for keeping up with them anyway!
I also must thank Lara Perkins, the rest of the Andrea Brown Literary team, Taryn Fagerness, and Sean Daily for taking care of the many complicated aspects of this business so that I don’t have to.
To Liesa Abrams Mignogna, where do I even begin? I could not have handled launching two series if you weren’t my editor. Thank you for making every deadline, every marathon writing session, even copyedits feel easy and fun (well . . . okay, maybe not copyedits . . .) and for helping me shape my stories into what they should be. I still can’t believe that I get to work with such a talented editor and call her my friend. Wonder Twin powers, activate!
I also want to thank everyone—seriously, everyone—at my amazing publisher, Simon & Schuster, for their enthusiasm, support, and general awesomeness, especially Katherine Devendorf, Jennifer Klonsky, Bethany Buck, Mara Anastas, Anna McKean, Carolyn Swerdloff, Lucille Rettino, Paul Crichton, Mary Marotta, and the entire sales team. I am so deeply grateful for how hard you all work to bring my books into the world. Tremendous thanks also go to Guillian Helm for her spot-on notes, to Angela Goddard for designing my breathtakingly beautiful cover, to Brian Oldham for his gorgeous photography, and to Brian Oldham and Megan Scalise for bringing Vane and Audra to life.
To Sara McClung and Sarah Wylie, thank you for telling me I wasn’t crazy when I finally got brave enough to send you a sample, and for cheering me on as I pushed way beyond my comfort zone to tell this story right. I truly could not ask for better CPs—though it might be nice if one of you changed your name. I don’t get nearly enough sleep to keep the whole Sara(h)s thing straight!
To Myra McEntire, thank you for giving me the last nudge I needed to send pages to my agent (and to Myra’s children: Sorry about that tardy slip!). I also have to thank C. J. Redwine for insisting that I keep writing through the hard times, Elana Johnson for a lightning-fast critique, Faith Hochhalter for being the perfect cheerleader and a never-ending source of wisdom, and Tashina Falene for helping me create the jewelry pieces described in the book. And to the brilliant Ellen Hopkins, thank you for pushing me to convert the draft to present tense. I may have cursed you as I did it (a lot), but you made the book so much stronger.
To Becca Fitzpatrick and Kiersten White, thank you for taking time out of your insanely hectic schedules to read my book. You truly know how to make a girl feel like a rock star. And Karsten Knight, thank you for suffering through our daily title chats and for finally coming up with the one. (Also, for everyone who participated in The Great Title Debate of 2011, thank you for not killing me!)
To the amazing ladies of Friday the Thirteeners: Erin Bowman, Elsie Chapman, Brandy Colbert, Renee Collins, Alexandra Duncan, J. R. Johansson, Mindy McGinnis, Ellen Oh, Megan Shepherd, April Tucholke, Kasie West, and Natalie Whipple, thank you for the laughs, the support, and the always entertaining e-mail chains. I also want to thank the Apocalypsies, the Bookanistas, and the WriteOnCon team, as well as my brunch buddies Lisa Cannon, Debra Driza, Kirsten Hubbard, Nikki Katz, Andrea Ortega, and Cindy Pon. Thank you, Dustin Hansen, for being my go-to tech guy; Courtney Stallings-Barr, Matthew MacNish, and Shannon O’Donnell for being such loyal blog followers and friends; and Lisa Mantchev for our endless e-mail chains, most of which make me snort-laugh (and crave baked goods like, whoa!).
I also have to thank 30 Seconds to Mars, Anberlin, Jack’s Mannequin, Lifehouse, Linkin Park, Mae, Muse, Paramore, Something Corporate, The Spill Canvas, Trust Company, and Vedera for creating the music that inspired so much of this story. This book truly wouldn’t exist without your hauntingly powerful songs.
To everyone at SCIBA, thank you for letting me crash your events for so many years and for being some of my earliest supporters. And thank you Katie Bartow, Alyson Beecher, MG Buehrlen, and Kari Olson for going above and beyond with everything you do to promote my books.
Really, I have such an amazing online support group, I wish I had space to personally thank you all. But alas, these acknowledgements are reaching epic length, so I’ll finish with a huge thank you to everyone who follows me on Facebook, Twitter, my blog, or any of the other places I ramble on the Internet. Thank you for laughing at my shenanigans and so generously giving your time to support my books. You all totally blow me away!
(What? I had to make at least one wind pun!)
© DEVENDE PHOTOGRAPHY
SHANNON MESSENGER grew up among the sandstorms and giant bugs of the desert and was not sad at all when her family finally escaped the heat. She’s studied art, screenwriting, and television production, but realized her real passion is writing for kids and teens. Let the Sky Fall is her first young adult novel. She is also the author of Keeper of the Lost Cities, book one in a middle-grade series. She lives in Southern California with her wonderful husband and far too many cats and believes In-N-Out cheeseburgers are the perfect food. Find her online at shannonmessenger.com.
JACKET DESIGNED BY ANGELA GODDARD
JACKET PHOTOGRAPH COPYRIGHT © 2013 BY BRIAN OLDHAM PHOTOGRAPHY
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition March 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Shannon Messenger
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Messenger, Shannon.
Let the sky fall / by Shannon Messenger. — 1st Simon Pulse hardcover ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Ten years after surviving the tornado that killed his parents, Vane Weston, now seventeen, has no memory of that fateful day but dreams of a beautiful girl who, he now learns, is not only real, she is his guardian sylph, who harnesses the power of the wind.
ISBN 978-1-4424-5041-7
[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Winds—Fiction. 3. Spirits—Fiction. 4. Amnesia—Fiction. 5. Tornadoes—Fiction. 6. Orphans—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M5494Let 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2012006109
ISBN 978-1-4424-5043-1 (eBook)
Fall
Let the Sky Fall Page 29