It was a dark and stormy night . . .
I can’t remember what book that comes from—but I really hope it doesn’t end with and then they all died.
“Do you think—”
My question morphs into a yowl as our draft drops so fast and hard that I feel the need to shout, “You don’t think he’s going to splatter us like bugs, do you?”
“He can try,” Solana says. “I have enough winds stored up to catch us.”
That would make me feel better except . . . “Isn’t holding on to any winds around Raiden kinda like holding a bunch of grenades around Magneto?”
“I have no idea what that means!”
I’m ready to explain the entire X-Men universe to her, but our plummet gains even more speed, and I decide to spend the next few minutes screaming my throat raw instead.
Right before we go KABLAM, the wind screeches to a halt, leaving us hovering over some long, scratchy grass.
“Are you okay?” I ask Solana.
“Yeah. But ugh—what is that smell?”
“I think it’s ‘cow.’ Might be ‘horse’ though. All I know is, it’s some sort of animal poop.” Which seems . . . strangely appropriate.
“I’m going to set us down,” Solana warns, then hisses a command that makes us drop into the knee-high grass.
“You’re quite talented with my power,” Raiden says from somewhere in the darkness.
The wind stirs to life around us, singing in mangled, ruined words.
“Seriously?” I ask. “You’re going with the ghostly-voice trick? Is that supposed to scare us?”
“How about this?” Raiden asks.
A dozen bolts of blue lightning blast across the sky, illuminating a figure in a white billowing cloak standing about twenty feet away.
I’ll admit it.
I scream.
But I mean—the dude just controlled lightning.
One well-aimed bolt and I’m a Vane-sizzle.
The glow of the lightning flickers away, leaving me squinting to catch the glint of his eyes.
Minutes crawl by.
Okay, it’s probably only seconds, but it seriously feels like forever.
So much for Solana’s theory about Raiden inviting us here to tell us the Woeful Tale of His Life.
I check my Westerly shield’s song, hoping it’s already solved the how-do-we-end-him conundrum. But so far all it’s telling me is: stall.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Nice place you chose here. Was it the poop smell that sold you, or the prickly burrs?”
“Is this how you feign bravery?” Raiden asks. “Worthless jokes and pathetic complaints?” I shrug. “It works pretty well. What about you? Fancy wind tricks are great and all, but don’t they ever get boring? Is that why you’ve been so desperate to learn my language? Looking for some inspiration? If so, this is one of my favorites.”
I call a Westerly to my side and tell it to mess up Raiden’s hair.
It doesn’t do a whole lot, but it does make Raiden flinch—and seeing that flinch feels good.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him. “Afraid the peaceful tones are contagious?”
“Careful,” Solana whispers.
I know she’s right.
I should stop poking the bear—at least until I’ve found the way to kill him. But now that Raiden’s this close, all I can hear is the sickening sound of Gus’s neck snapping.
Plus, not showing up for our last battle was a pretty freaking cowardly move. Makes me wonder if Raiden’s really as scary as we think.
Have we ever actually seen him fight?
What if he’s like one of those magicians who use a bunch of illusions to convince you that they’re cool enough to make a car disappear and really they’re just a guy standing in front of a mirror?
“Saw your army today,” I tell him. “Can’t say I was impressed.”
“Neither was I,” Raiden agrees. “I’d forgotten how few of them truly deserved to wield the power of the sky. I kept a handful of the worthy with me, and the rest? Well, I’m sure you saw how they ended up. Really, I should be thanking you. You gave me the perfect opportunity to clean house while taking out your guardians in the process.”
“Yeah, well too bad a bunch of guardians survived,” I snap. “And now you have no army to fight them.”
“I don’t need an army. I’ll take care of your Gales personally—you have my word on that. But first, I need to tie up a few loose ends.”
The edge to his words makes it clear: He’s definitely here to kill us.
I don’t think he cares about the fourth language anymore.
I doubt he even cares about the stupid whistlepipe.
He brought us here so he could end us.
Any time now, I tell my shield. Stalling isn’t going to work much longer.
The only answer it gives me is: patience.
Yeah, easy for it to say when it’s not about to get lightning-fried. But I grit my teeth and ask, “So . . . what’s up with all the white clothes? I got a peek at your closet and, dude—you know there are other colors, right?”
“And we’re back to the pointless ramblings and insults. It’s really your only move, isn’t it?” Raiden asks. “I guess that’s what happens when your winds won’t stand up and fight for you.”
“Uh, my winds have taken you down plenty of times, thanks.”
AND NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO DO IT AGAIN—ARE YOU LISTENING, WESTERLIES???
“What about you?” he says to Solana. “You’re awfully quiet over there. I’ll admit, I was surprised he chose to bring you. But I suppose he was afraid I might carve more scars into his beloved.”
My hands curl into fists, and I start to weave a wind spike.
Even if I can’t stab his kill spots—I can make him bleed.
Solana absorbs my drafts, her eyes pleading with me to not escalate things before the wind is ready.
Raiden smiles like a Cheshire cat and takes a step closer to her. “Ah yes, you’re a windcatcher. A family trait, I believe—not that it did them any good. Your father had been so smug about his escape, I had to make sure I took my time with him. And the rest of your relatives—tell me, how did it feel to walk the halls of Brezengarde? Did you know I slaughtered your grandparents in the very room you stood in? I bet if you’d looked hard enough you could’ve seen the stains on the floor.”
I reach for Solana’s hand, hating to feel her shaking.
“It was almost pathetic how desperately they pleaded for their lives,” Raiden continues. “I expected so much more dignity from the royal family. They even told me about their precious secret passage. They kept the password protected, but I learned enough to set a trap.”
“A trap we got out of super easily,” I remind him.
“Yes,” Raiden agrees. “As I said. You showed me the folly of relying on an army. But that mistake has been corrected. And now you get to face me. We’ll see how your foolish tricks stand up against my power.”
Lightning crackles all around us.
I glance at Solana, hoping she’s got a plan, but her eyes are closed and she’s focused on the wind.
“It must be lonely,” she says quietly. “Your winds so clearly despise you. Their shattered songs are filled with loathing. Is that why you keep your bedroom still? Does their hatred haunt you?”
“Careful,” Raiden warns, as thunder rolls across the plain. “I could end you with one word.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says.
FYI: It’s a bad idea to call Raiden’s bluff.
He growls a command, and Solana claws at her stomach, screaming and thrashing until I’m pretty sure he’s shattering the winds inside her.
“Stop it!” I shout, pulling the whistlepipe out of my pocket. “Or do you want me to smash this into tinsel?”
Raiden stops, and I’m relieved for about half a second.
Then he laughs. “So you do have it with you. That makes this much easier.”
Well . .
. crap.
Come on, Westerlies—think!
And maybe start gathering some other winds, since I’m sure Raiden’s next attack is coming—and it’s gonna be a big one.
“You know this wasn’t the only thing I stole from you, right?” I say, fighting to buy time as I check on Solana, glad to see her breathing is steadying.
“I haven’t missed anything else,” Raiden says. “So it can’t be too important.”
“You’re sure?” I fumble in my pocket.
Socky the Duck is long gone, but I still have the handprint thing—and it’s a good thing I do.
Raiden stumbles back a step when I hold it out to show him.
“Does that mean this is special?” I ask. “So, like . . . you wouldn’t want me to do this?”
I pinch the edge and tear off a crumble of the plaster.
“STOP!” Raiden yells, as lightning flashes and thunder blares and the winds switch to hurricane mode.
“I take it that means you want your chubby handprint back.”
“That’s not my hand,” Raiden snaps.
It’s not?
“It’s your sister’s, isn’t it?” Solana asks, proving she’s smarter than I am.
She leans on me, and I’m assuming she needs the support. But the strength in her grip makes me wonder if she’s planning something.
Man, I hope so.
My Westerly is giving me nothing but a constant chant of Stall! Stall! Stall!
“Rena,” Raiden whispers, glancing at the sky.
“How did she die?” Solana asks.
Thunder shakes the ground.
“Why is that always the first question?” Raiden asks. “She lived for five years—but no one ever wants to hear about that. All they want to know about is the end.”
“I want to know about her life,” Solana promises. “Tell me about her—isn’t that why you brought us here?”
Raiden’s laugh is darker than the next crack of thunder. “I came here for me. You were just my excuse—and a reason to send a message. Do you know, I haven’t been to this field in forty-seven years?”
“The day she died, right?” Solana asks.
“The day she was abandoned by the sky, and ruined by a disgusting groundling.”
He moves into the darkness, and Solana and I debate a second before we follow, keeping a safe distance from the tree he stops to lean against.
“Rena was fascinated by the groundling’s flying machines,” he whispers. “I never understood the appeal. But I was a good brother, so I’d sneak her away and we’d stand right here, where we could see them circle over this field, puttering and humming and spewing smoke. I brought her at least once a week, and it was always the same. But she didn’t tell me she’d had her breakthrough. If I’d known, I would’ve held her hand. I would’ve made sure she stayed beside me. I never would’ve let her fly so close.”
Solana covers her mouth, and I kinda feel like doing the same.
Everything I’m imagining involves some wicked sharp propellers.
“She might’ve lived,” Raiden whispers. “She’d only lost a leg. But the shock made her fall. And when I ordered the wind to catch her, the draft disobeyed.”
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
It even makes me feel a little sorry for Raiden—not enough to excuse anything he’s done. But still.
Watching your little sister die like that . . . ?
I trace my fingers over the chubby handprint in the clay, feeling like a jerk for what I’m about to do. But the winds still haven’t given us a plan, and I can feel our time running out.
“Surrender yourself,” I tell him. “End this peacefully. Or I’ll smash this into powder.”
Solana grabs my arm as the storm shakes the ground again.
“You know,” Raiden says, “I’m almost tempted to agree. I’d love to watch you live with what you’ve let happen tonight.”
“What does that mean?” I demand.
He laughs.
“There goes her thumb!” I shout, snapping off another piece of the plaster. “Tell me what you mean or I’ll destroy the rest.”
The winds roar with Raiden’s rage, and Solana clings to me, mumbling something about the sky being too charged for us to fly.
“You honestly can’t guess?” Raiden asks. “You haven’t wondered why I brought you here? Who I might be trying to keep you away from? Who else I might have wanted to reach with my message?”
“Oh God,” I say, and Solana has to hold me steady. “What have you done to Audra?”
The rest of the handprint crumbles to grit when he only smiles. I fling it at his head and grab the whistlepipe, squeezing it in my fist. “If you touch her again—”
“I’m not doing anything,” Raiden interrupts. “That’s on my associate. She and I made another deal.”
“Your associate?”
No.
It’s not possible.
How could Arella . . .
The metal squeals as I crunch it, echoing the sounds in my brain.
“You’re going to regret that,” Raiden tells me.
“We’ll get her back,” Solana promises. “Whatever happened, it’s not too late.”
But it is.
That’s why Raiden wasted so much time taunting us and telling stories. The monologuing was a stall for us. To stop me from saving her.
The only way to help Audra now is to end this for real.
I reach for her guardian pendant to calm my panic.
The cord is still blue—and my chest still aches with the pull of our bond.
There’s still time.
And there’s still wind.
Four drafts within my reach—one from each direction.
I weave them into a wind spike and beg for the full weight of their power.
“Well, then,” Raiden says, weaving three winds into a sickly gray spike of his own. “Shall we begin?”
CHAPTER 50
AUDRA
The sky is quiet in the desert.
Almost too still.
Just a slice of moon surrounded by dust and stars.
It makes me uneasy, though I’m sure that’s mostly the pull of my bond. The constant reminder that Vane is much too far away.
“Aren’t you coming inside?” my mother asks for what must be the fifth time.
“I told you, I will.”
I lasted five minutes after we arrived.
Five minutes of staring at the still, silent chimes my father gave her, once again locked away from the wind.
Then I needed air.
I move to the shadow of her lonely oak tree, the only place in this sad stretch of land that feels welcoming.
I made my guardian oath here.
Sacrifice before compromise.
I thought I was done with that life.
And yet, here I am—voluntarily my mother’s keeper.
I don’t regret the decision. But I dread it all the same.
Her birds have already begun to gather—fierce crows and twitching sparrows and leering vultures. They line the roof, the branches, the rocks and weeds. Their eyes follow my every move, their stares both wary and unwelcoming.
They always choose my mother over me.
I’ve assumed it was some testimony to her superiority.
But I wonder if it’s a simple matter of authority.
I march back inside, pluck my father’s chimes from above her empty table, and carry them out to the porch, stringing them from the same hook I used the last time I freed them.
My mother shouts for me to stop, but already their soft tinkling has made the air less lonely.
“I’m going to move them back as soon as you’re gone,” she tells me.
“No, you’re not. You risked my life—and cost Gus his—all to protect whatever remains of Dad’s songs. And yet you lock his chimes away and refuse to let them sing?”
“I’m protecting them!”
“No, you’re ruining them. I know how it feels
to be a prisoner. I know how it drains the heart slowly out of you. I won’t let you dull Dad’s legacy the same way.”
The words knock her back a step, and I watch the emotions flicker in her eyes. Flashes of guilt and sorrow and remorse—but there are too many darker notes for me to care.
“Fine,” she says, her focus on the stars. “We’ll try it your way—for now.”
“If it helps you to tell yourself that, go ahead. But this is permanent. You have to follow my rules.”
“My, we’re taking our role as potential queen quite seriously, aren’t we?” she asks.
“You think I care about a title? I care about my vow. I swore to keep you under control. I swore to protect our people from your influence. And I will. You don’t leave this house without me—ever. I don’t care if it’s a raging inferno. Suck the air away to squelch the fire and stand in the ashes. And no sending messages to anyone except me.”
“So is that what you’re going to do with your life now?” my mother asks. “Constant vigil monitoring me? I don’t think Vane would be too happy with that arrangement.”
He wouldn’t—though if I asked him to, he’d do it.
But I’m not alone in this. I have the sky—and my gifts.
“The wind will tell me if you disobey,” I warn her. “As will my birds.”
I turn toward our feathered onlookers, glad to see I already have their focus.
“You answer to me now,” I tell them. “And your task is to watch her.”
I stretch out my hand, and a brave sparrow flits to my finger.
He nuzzles his beak against my thumb as I stroke the bold stripes along his head and tell him to report to me twice a day. I can feel his loyalty swell with my touch, and I know he’ll keep a steady eye.
I order the rest of the birds to be his backup.
The wind will tell me if they fail.
“If you prove you can’t be trusted, I’ll let Aston find another solution,” I warn my mother. “And if he can’t find one, I’ll send you to Os, and we both know his answer.”
“Well,” my mother says, smoothing the fabric of her silky blue gown as I send my new sparrow friend back to his oak branch. “I see you have it all figured out.”
She’s trying so hard to be the elegant creature she’s always been. But she’s too frail and scarred to pull it off.
Let the Wind Rise Page 27