Let the Wind Rise

by Shannon Messenger

  But it’s not looking good.

  We crash into something a few seconds later, and I’m sure it’s all over.

  “Would you stop screaming?” Aston shouts, and I realize my mouth is wide open and something that sounds like a dying hyena is blaring out of it.

  “You hit a bird—see?” Aston points to the owl soaring beside us. “I guess that means the mythical tunnel is actually real.”

  We follow the owl into the forest—the swervy little bugger is not easy to keep up with—and touch down in front of an old water tower. There’s no sign of Arella or Solana. Just a two-foot wide hole in the ground that drops down so deep, I can’t see the bottom.

  “Jump,” Solana calls from the abyss below—which does not sound like something I want to do.

  But . . . she’s alive—and we definitely won’t be if the Stormers find us—so one at a time, Aston and I drop into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 14

  AUDRA

  Raiden doesn’t believe me.

  The doubt and fury practically drip off him as he paces back and forth in front of the door to our tower cell.

  But he can’t ignore me either—not when there’s a chance I’m telling the truth about Gus.

  So he lets us remain where we are.

  He even calls down unbroken Northerlies to strengthen Gus.

  They swirl around the cell, making me shiver—but I don’t mind the cold.

  Gus is almost breathing normally again, and his cheeks have more color. He’s still far from recovered, but it gives me enough hope he might actually pull through this.

  I just need him strong enough to follow me through the Shredder.

  And enough time alone for us to slip away.

  And wind.

  I can feel the whisper of breezes in the cracks, but they haven’t crept in yet.

  They’re biding their time.

  Waiting on me.

  I’ve always known the wind has a will of its own—but I never realized it could be so deliberate. It’s as if all of Raiden’s years of ruining drafts have taught them how to survive.

  “I must say, this could be a record for the fastest change of heart I’ve ever seen,” Raiden says slowly. “After such blatant defiance, you’re suddenly eager to spill all your secrets.”

  “One secret,” I remind him. “And it’s technically not mine.”

  “We both know it’s the only secret that matters.” He steps closer to the bars and squats down to my eye level. “So what exactly brought on this remarkable change?”

  I focus on Gus, wiping away the dried blood glued to his lips.

  “I thought Gus would be strong enough to survive this,” I whisper. “But I was wrong. And I can’t imagine waking up every day knowing I could’ve saved him.”

  “You realize you’ll be betraying your beloved by telling me any of this. In more ways than one.”

  He points to my hand, which is still cleaning Gus’s lips.

  I resist the urge to pull my fingers away.

  Raiden stands to pace again, scratching the stubble on his chin. “So—assuming I believe you—what makes you think your friend will be willing to teach me his secret command? He and I have had several heart-to-hearts already, and this little fact never came up.”

  “I think I can convince him.”

  “I’m sure you do—it’s another thing you and your mother have in common. You cling to your lies and keep right on pushing. But sooner or later they always come back to haunt you.”

  He moves toward the window, staring out at the night sky.

  “Your mother never told you why she helped me capture you, did she?” he whispers.

  “You were there,” I remind him. “You heard her excuses.”

  “Yes, I suppose I did.” He turns back to face me. “You didn’t believe she had no choice?”

  “My mother will sacrifice anyone or anything to benefit herself.”

  “She’s a survivor,” he agrees. “But that wasn’t why she betrayed you.”

  He pauses, waiting for me to ask more questions—but I don’t care about her reasons. No threat or trick or scheme of hers could ever justify the horrors she brought upon Gus.

  I reach for his hand, glad to feel he has some grip.

  “I know you’re hoping to escape,” Raiden says, stepping closer to the bars. “So let me give you a piece of advice. I have defenses you can’t see—consequences you can’t imagine. If you try to leave my fortress, your friend will die.”

  An earth-shaking boom saves me from having to respond.

  Raiden rushes to the window. “Looks like your boyfriend is right on schedule,” he says as another boom echoes.

  Panic reaches inside me, grabbing hold of my heart and squeezing squeezing squeezing.

  More explosions follow, some closer, some farther away.

  “He’s a better fighter than I anticipated,” Raiden says.

  “I trained him well.”

  Raiden laughs. “Yes, well no amount of training prepares anyone to face the Shredder.”

  My mouth is too dry to speak, my heart crumbling with every minute that passes. Every explosion.

  But maybe this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.

  “Sounds like your Stormers are struggling,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be rushing down there to lead?”

  “I can lead them just fine from up here.” He reaches through the barred window and catches a dull, yellow draft, closing his eyes and inhaling the wind with a slow, deep breath.

  The wind sinks in, and he spits it back out, grumbling several commands before sending the sickly wind back out into the night.

  I only understand one word.

  Arella.

  So my mother survived the Maelstrom.

  That explains how Vane could be fighting so well, and how he found his way here.

  I can’t believe he was willing to trust her—though perhaps its wise he did.

  Raiden looks . . . rattled by her presence.

  His knuckles turn white as he squeezes the bars, waiting for another wind to report on the showdown.

  Another explosion erupts, loud enough to make my ears ring.

  But the silence that follows is much more terrifying.

  Come on, Vane—keep fighting.

  Another yellowed draft arrives, and this time Raiden smiles as he breathes it in.

  “Apparently they found our special tunnel,” he tells me. “I had it built in case some fool ever got it in their head to search for the Royal Passage.”

  I’m not entirely sure what he means, but I get the basic gist.

  Vane and my mother just flew right into Raiden’s trap.

  CHAPTER 15

  VANE

  It smells in this tunnel.

  And it’s too dark to see anything.

  And I’m pretty sure I just brushed my hand against some sort of mutant-size rat.

  But we’re finally getting close to Audra.

  At least, I think we are.

  Right now we’re just walking and walking and walking.

  “How long is the Royal Passage?” I ask Solana, who’s right behind me, followed by Arella, with Aston bringing up the rear.

  We have to walk single file—don’t ask me how I ended up the leader.

  Solana doesn’t reply. It doesn’t even seem like she hears me.

  “Is there a problem?” Aston asks her.

  “I’m . . . not sure. The tunnel was wider in my father’s memories. And the Southwell crest was carved into the wall.”

  “How can you see anything?” I ask.

  “I can’t—but that’s another problem. The tunnel my father used had a bluish glow. I think it was some type of bioluminescence—and maybe the frost is messing with it, but . . . the walls were also made of stone.”

  I run my hand over the muddy sides, trying to feel if there’s something solid underneath.

  All I find is squishy stuff and creepy-crawlies.

  “Well . . . maybe we’re in a dif
ferent part?” I say, shaking the yuck off my hand. “Or maybe your dad remembered it wrong?”

  “Or,” Aston says slowly, “the mythical tunnel was too mythical.”

  “That sounds like Raiden,” Arella whispers.

  “Am I supposed to know what that means?” I ask.

  “Ask yourself this,” Aston says. “What would Raiden do if he heard a legend of a secret tunnel?”

  “How would I know?” I tell him. “I’ve never read the evil murderer’s handbook.”

  “And there’s no way he could’ve heard about the passage,” Solana adds. “My family are the only ones who know.”

  “He’s interrogated members of your family,” Aston reminds her. “And Raiden would use that knowledge to his advantage. He’d make sure that anyone searching for the passage finds what they’re looking for—only it wouldn’t be what they’re looking for.”

  I stop walking. “So . . . you’re saying this tunnel is fake?”

  “I’m saying it’s a trap,” Aston corrects. “This path probably leads to a dungeon, or some perfectly coordinated ambush. And I’m sure Raiden also has Stormers waiting at the entrance we used, in case we backtrack.”

  “But we found the entrance right where I remembered it being,” Solana argues.

  “Exactly my point,” Aston tells her. “Raiden would stick to the legend as closely as possible.”

  “There were two sets of train tracks,” Arella whispers. “They circled both sides of the tower. And the stone we moved was marked with the Southwell crest. The symbol was small, but it does seem too easy.”

  “Okay, so . . . what do we do?” I ask, fighting to stay calm.

  Aston scratches at the walls. “I don’t know about you—but I’ll claw my way out of here if I have to.”

  “The ground is too frozen,” Arella tells him. “And the Stormers will hear you escape.”

  “Then I’ll destroy as many of them as I can until they crush the life out of me,” Aston snarls. “There’s no way I’m letting them take me again.”

  “Awesome as that plan sounds,” I jump in, “there has to be a better way.”

  Aston snorts a laugh. “All right then—how do you propose we get out of this?”

  He goes back to clawing at the wall, and I focus on my Westerly shield. It’s only one little draft—but that was all Audra needed to start that haboob in Death Valley.

  I don’t have her way with the wind, but surely I can convince my own kin to help me.

  “Please,” I whisper to the draft in the Westerly tongue. “We need a way out of here. Can you use your force somehow?”

  Great wording, man—what is this, Star Wars?

  “Can you blast us a new exit from the tunnel?” I try again. “Or—um, what other way is there to get out from underground?”

  “Oh yes, I can see why Raiden has killed so many for this power,” Aston says when nothing happens. “I almost wish I could be there when he discovers its pointlessness.”

  “Come on!” I beg in Westerly. “Aren’t you getting tired of everyone thinking you’re worthless?”

  That seems to get the wind’s attention.

  Its song shifts, flooding my head with new lyrics that definitely aren’t what I’d been expecting.

  I’d assumed the plan would involve a lot of running and hiding. But my Westerly wants something with a bit more flare.

  “I don’t suppose anyone has a lighter in their pocket,” I mumble.

  “By lighter you mean something to spark a fire?” Aston asks.

  “Yeah. The wind wants us to head to the end of the tunnel and make something called a firewhirl.”

  “That’s a Westerly plan?” Arella asks.

  “Do you think I could make it up?” I ask.

  “Definitely not,” Aston says.

  The manic edge to his voice seems to be fading as he adds, “It’s not a terrible idea. But it depends on how large of a welcome party Raiden has waiting for us. One wind might not be enough.”

  “What about eleven winds?” Solana asks. “I have eight stored under my skin. And Vane and I can give up the Southerlies keeping us warm.”

  “None of that matters if we can’t light a fire,” I remind them.

  “I have you covered there.” Aston snarls a strange command and snaps his fingers.

  Sparks flash through the darkness.

  “How did you do that?” I ask.

  “We control air,” Aston says. “And what does fire feed on?”

  He snaps again, and I realize he’s clicking the bits of his exposed bone together to make enough friction.

  It’s beyond nasty, but all I care about is “So you think this will work?”

  “It might,” Aston says, a slow smile curling his lips. “Get us to the exit and have your drafts ready. I’ll make sure the winds burn.”

  CHAPTER 16

  AUDRA

  The wind is stirring.

  Rustling through the cracks all around us—each draft whispering the same words I feel deep in my core.

  It’s time.

  Gus is as strong as he’s going to get—still slipping in and out of consciousness, but able to move on his own. And Raiden is distracted by the near tangible silence beyond the fortress.

  He stands with his back to me, the full force of his focus aimed at the window, where his sallow drafts trickle in with updates from his Stormers.

  His replies are calm and hushed. The air around him radiates confidence.

  But there’s a rigidness to his posture. A tension seeping from his shoulders.

  Clearly, his trap is taking too long.

  Somehow Vane and my mother are eluding him.

  Which means now is the time to change the game.

  But what move am I supposed to make?

  I’m still locked behind bars.

  Still slowed by an injured companion.

  Still under Raiden’s watch, even if his eyes aren’t on me.

  The restless Easterlies whisper among the hidden depths in the walls, offering strength, courage, calm.

  But if I’m going to do this, what I really need is a new plan.

  We can’t flee through the Shredder—not until I know whether Vane has been captured.

  Vane.

  Thinking his name makes my Westerly hum with an urgent sort of energy, flickering against my skin in strange, deliberate patterns, like it’s trying to signal me—but I don’t have the key to translate the message.

  Gus coughs, and I’m relieved when no red leaks from his mouth. I help him sit up, and he leans his head against my shoulder, his fingers tracing the bloodstains on my back.

  “I’m fine,” I whisper. Whatever Raiden did was meant to mark me, not end me. “What about you?”

  He gives me a weak smile. “Never been better.”

  “Sounds like someone is nearly ready for our important conversation,” Raiden tells us. “As soon as I tie up a few loose ends . . .”

  My Westerly presses tighter, repeating the same pattern as before.

  I wait for Raiden to turn away and breathe into my breezy palm. “I can’t understand you.”

  The wind stops for a moment, and I worry it’s going to leave. But it picks up again, gathering around my face, whooshing so fast it makes my hair scatter.

  Gus pulls me behind him, letting his broad shoulders hide me.

  He presses his lips against my ear. “I think it’s trying to trigger a breakthrough.”

  My eyes widen, and I can’t decide if my heart is racing with excitement or fear.

  The Westerly must sense my unease, because it grows softer.

  Gentler.

  “Trust the wind,” Gus whispers.

  I close my eyes and nod.

  It’s not easy to clear my head, but I let myself think of nothing but the soothing wind.

  The rush of power.

  The call of freedom.

  And with my next breath, the Westerly slips into my mind.

  My eyes water as it presses deep
into my consciousness, whisking around my memories. I feel my essence stir, drawn toward the freedom of the sky. Even without understanding the words, the pull of the Westerly is irresistible, begging me to flee this grounded body and become pure motion and energy and strength.

  If it weren’t for the steady pressure of Gus’s hand holding mine, I might surrender.

  Instead, I focus on the mushy, garbled words, trying to shape them into something I can translate.

  If only I weren’t an Easterly.

  I’m too cold.

  Too unsteady.

  I’m not worthy of the beautiful language the Westerly is trying to give me.

  It belongs to someone sweet and soothing and stable.

  Trust the wind.

  I can’t tell if Gus is whispering the words again, or if it’s an echo from earlier. But the next sound I hear crashes against my essence like a wave on the shore, smoothing the battered places inside me and filling the cracks in my heart with a single, simple word.

  Peace.

  The thought is a hurricane, flooding my mind with wants and needs—so different from my last Westerly breakthrough, where every thought was tangled up with Vane. This time it’s only me—just the wind and my consciousness, fusing our hopes and dreams into something new.

  Something powerful.

  My whole body trembles as the draft flees with my next breath, and I drift with an overwhelming sense of calm.

  I’ve never felt so settled in my own skin. So right in who I am.

  But my nerves spark when I hear Gus gasp with a startled breath.

  I sit up and find him still—too still.

  His pulse feels strong, though, and his skin is warm. His expression peaceful.

  And that’s when I realize . . .

  Gus is about to have the fourth breakthrough.

  My Westerly shield must’ve shifted to him.

  I pull Gus close, tangle my arms around him—anything to help keep him grounded. His flesh is so weak, I can’t be sure he’ll hold on.

  “You have to come back,” I whisper. “Take the wind’s strength and make it your own.”

  “So this is why you asked to be up here,” Raiden says, reaching through the bars and grabbing my ankle.

  He tries to drag me toward him, but I kick his hand away.

  “You think you’re safe from me over there?” he asks as I crawl out of his reach.