Let the Storm Break (11 page)

CHAPTER 20

AUDRA

I

have to get inside that mountain.
I don’t care how dangerous it is, or how much the vanished winds and the screeching air warn of something indescribably evil.

Raiden is
here
.
I doubt Aston knew that Raiden would be making a
rare
excursion from his fortress, but this must be why the Easterlies dragged me here. And even if it’s just a lucky twist of chance, I have to take advantage of it.
This is not a time for caution.
This is a time to lay it all on the line.
I watch as Raiden leads his Stormers into the mountain, surprised that none of them remain outside to stand guard. It seems like a mistake—though I’m grateful they’ve made it. But then I remember that this is
Raiden.
He’s not some prince who inherited the crown at birth. He fought for it, killed for it, clawed his way up from the bottom to become the most powerful Sylph alive.
He doesn’t need his Stormers to protect
him.
Only to do his dirty work.
Which makes me more determined than ever to take him down.
I can feel the worry in my Westerly shield, but I whisper for it to stay calm as I count the seconds, waiting until five hundred have passed before I dart out of my hiding place. I scan the basin as I run, half expecting a Stormer to jump out of the shadows. But when I reach the entrance it truly is empty. No signs of life except the fresh footprints on the ground.
All I have to do is follow them.
My head screams at me to abort—call for backup—or at least give myself more time to prepare. But I can’t risk losing this chance.
I reach up and unravel my braid, knowing it will be safer not to look like a Gale. Then I take a deep breath and step into the darkness.
The path turns narrow as it slopes into the earth, and the sound of muffled scraping fills the dark void. There’s no light to guide me, so I walk with one hand on the sandy wall, surprised when I feel the coarse grains shifting under my fingertips. The entire tunnel is somehow rotating around me, like I’m walking through a cyclone that’s been sucked into the ground.
A Maelstrom.
I’ve heard rumors of Raiden’s evil prisons, but I’d always hoped they weren’t true.
Now I understand why the winds are so skittish.
Maelstroms devour the wind
.
My Westerly shield trembles, but I promise to keep it safe. If the Maelstrom could detect its presence, the draft would’ve already been consumed. Still, the breeze on my skin keeps resisting, trying to drag me back to higher ground with every step I take.
The air turns cool and damp, and I’m starting to think the pathway has no end when a dim yellow light fades into view. I press myself as tightly against the wall as I can and listen for signs of life. It’s hard to tell over the scraping sand, but I don’t hear any voices or footsteps, and I see no flickering shadows.
I creep forward, making my way into a small, round room where I have to cover my mouth to block my scream.
Dark chains dangle from the ceiling, each one shackled around body—though they really aren’t bodies anymore. They’re gray-blue withered shells that hang shrunken and shriveled in their dingy Gale Force uniforms, their faces so wrinkled and twisted that I can barely tell they’re sylphs. I’ve never seen this kind of decay. It’s like they’re raisins in the sun, like they’ve been sucked dry or . . .
I gag when I notice flecks of dust breaking off their contorted limbs and sinking into the slowly spinning walls.
The Maelstrom is eating the prisoners alive.
I have no words for that level of evil—and this has to be what Aston wanted me to see.
I’ve never felt so hopeless.
Especially when I realize I know one of the victims.
It’s impossible to recognize his rotted face—but Teman always pinned a golden sun above the Gale Force symbol on his sleeve.
He was my Southerly trainer.
We . . . didn’t get along.
Teman was all about joy and rest and ease—every longing I didn’t want to have. He even tried to convince me that I should wait to become a guardian. Take a few years for myself before I swore an oath to serve.
And yet, four years later he was the first Gale to vote in my favor at my guardian hearing and my staunchest advocate when my mother voted against.
He believed in me, trusted me, and as I stare at his gnarled, crumbling corpse, I feel like I failed him.
If I’d pushed Vane harder—taken more risks to get him to have the breakthroughs earlier—would it have mattered?
Would Teman still be alive?
I smear my tears away as I shove the dark thought out of my mind.
I can’t focus on what-ifs.
All I can do is learn from my mistakes and keep trying harder.
Still, I whisper an apology to Teman as I bow my head in mourning. And that’s when I notice the other bodies.
Strewn along the edges of the room in careless piles like fallen leaves. Ordinary Windwalkers in regular clothes. We’ve always been an isolated race, scattered through the high places of the world, where the winds flow free and the groundlings rarely go. But Raiden must be hunting down every sylph one by one, forcing them to swear fealty or die.
A few even look like children.
I have no idea how long I stand there, staring at the indescribable cruelty. But voices coming from another hallway yank me back to reality.
Close
voices.
I don’t have enough time to run to safety—and when I hear Raiden’s deep, booming voice, I don’t want to. I can’t understand what he’s saying, but I managed to catch one word.
“
Vane.”
I want to cry when I realize there’s only one place to hide, but I force my legs to carry me to the tallest pile of bodies and wriggle my way inside. Sickly gray dust crumbles around me, and I hold my breath, hoping it doesn’t make me cough.
Or vomit.
Please let this be quick.
Please let them not see me.
And if I live through this, please erase this moment from my memories.
The footsteps draw closer, and I pick up more snatches of their conversation—words like “prepare” and “demonstration”—but it’s all too vague and choppy for me to make any sense of. And by the time they reach the room, all I can hear is deep, throaty laughter. It echoes off the cavernous walls, so cold and cruel in this place of death and despair that it twists everything inside me with rage.
I hold still as the chains clatter and someone with a low, nasal voice asks, “Can I help you, my liege?”
“Yes, I want this one’s pendant for my collection.”
I don’t know which makes me sicker: knowing that Raiden’s collecting the blackened pendants of the guardians he’s murdered—or the fact that he’s only a few feet away and there’s nothing I can do to end him. I can’t make a move in a place where he holds all the power.
The footsteps draw closer, making the ground tremble beneath me.
“Something feels off,” Raiden murmurs.
“Off?” a new voice asks.
“Yes.” Raiden takes several steps away. Then moves closer again. “There’s something over here. A hint of life.”
He knows I’m here.
I curse my stupidity as the footsteps thunder closer.
It’s over.
He’ll find me and feel the Westerly wrapped around me and that will be the end. I’ll fight until my dying breath but I’ll still be the next withered body dangling from the ceiling.
“This one, over here,” Raiden says, his voice agonizingly close. “That one’s still alive.”
“You’re right,” the Stormer says, moving closer as well.
The load on top of me gets lighter, like someone is grabbing bodies and tossing them to the side. I wait for the burly arms to reach out and snatch me—but they drag a different body away.
“I’ll string her back up,” one of the Stormers offers.
“No need to bother,” Raiden tells him. “We’re almost done with this place. Just set her on the ground and I’ll take care of it.”
I hear a thud as the Stormer obeys, and then I hear a couple more footsteps.
Then a sickening crunch.
I bite down on my cheek, hoping it will distract me enough to stop me from throwing up.
Somewhere in the panic and pain I hear Raiden say something about a gathering and a long-awaited prisoner. Then I hear their footsteps walk away.
I should count to five hundred to make sure they’re truly gone, but I barely last another minute in the dust and decay. I claw my way out of the pile, smothering my coughs with my fists as I crawl across the floor, hating how close I am to Raiden’s newest victim.
Her hands are stretched out like she was reaching for freedom. But her skull’s been crushed in the center. Stomped in by one of Raiden’s boots.
My chest tightens and my eyes burn, but I manage to fight back my sobs as I pull myself to my feet.
I want to run, attack, tear Raiden apart piece by piece for every horrible crime he’s committed.
But now is not the time.
Soon,
I promise myself as I start the long climb back to the surface.
The path gets brighter as I walk, and when the sunlight starts to blind me, I press myself against the wall and check for guards. I see no sign of any Stormers, but I still slide slowly toward the exit, keeping to the shadows as I slip into the empty crevice.
The air is hot and still, but I gulp it down, grateful to be free of the tainted Maelstrom. The screeching wail has quieted, replaced by the low hum of a crowd, and when I creep to the edge of the crevice, I can see Raiden standing in the center of the basin. His back is to me, and he’s balanced on one of the tallest stones, facing a group of Stormers. A quick head count tells me there’s at least fifty, and from the white bands on their arms I’d guess they’re his top soldiers. Maybe even his leaders.
It’s strange to see them gathered so openly. Standing in the middle of a groundling valley, with no concern for anyone spotting them.
I can’t see Raiden’s face, but I can see the faces of his Stormers. Their eyes are wide with awe—and maybe a little fear.
My Westerly shield tugs at me, begging me to flee to safety. I offer the draft release, instead. I’m not going to force it to suffer along with me. But it stays by my side, tangling tighter.
“I know you’re growing restless in the heat,” Raiden says, his sharp voice echoing off the valley walls. “The winds tell me there’s been a delay. Apparently he tried putting up a fight. When will they ever learn?”
The crowd’s muffled laughter makes me want to throw something, but one glance at Raiden’s pant leg freezes me in place.
The white fabric is splattered with red.
“I can assure you, this will be well worth the wait,” Raiden promises. “And in the meantime, let me ease your discomfort.”
He hisses a strange curl of words, part growl, part wheeze, and a fleet of grayish Northerlies fills the air, making the temperature drop at least twenty degrees. I duck back into the Maelstrom to avoid the winds as they dip and dive and race around the basin. If they touch me they’ll give away my location.
“Is that better?” Raiden shouts as the winds vanish as quickly as they appeared.
The Stormers murmur their agreement, and I slip back outside as Raiden tells them, “All our hard work—all our years of patience and perseverance—have led us to this day. Some of you may have doubted that it would ever happen. I myself at times wondered the same. But this is the turning point I’ve been working for—searching for. We’ve tried and failed before—but today we finally have what we need. In just a few short minutes, you’ll see. I now have the key that will give me the power not only to snuff out the last of this pitiful rebellion but to control
the entire world
!”
There’s scattered applause as the Stormers process this information, and I wonder if some of them are as terrified as I am. But when Raiden stamps his bloody foot and shouts, “Who’s with me?” they all raise their right arms straight in front of them and then sweep them back toward their foreheads in a waving gesture.
“Tell me this,” Raiden calls. “Who’s tired of living in the shadows of the groundlings—weak, pitiful creatures who cannot even stand in a storm? Who’s tired of letting them hold the prime lands while we hide out of sight?”
More murmurs of agreement before everyone repeats their strange salute.
“The winds have turned wild against the groundlings, storming their lands and tearing apart everything they own. The sky has chosen to get rid of them—but it needs our help. They’ve been too resilient, relying on their technologies and their evacuations and their sheer power in numbers. But not for much longer. This is the day we join the winds’ fight to reclaim the earth, and we won’t stop until every last one of these useless creatures has been returned to the ground where they belong! Are you with me?”
This time the crowd erupts immediately and the sound makes me shiver under the scorching desert sun. But something else in Raiden’s speech was far more chilling—something I want to pretend I didn’t hear because then I won’t have to decide if it’s true.
The way Raiden keeps talking about having “the key” and “the power” he’s been “searching for.”
It almost sounds like he . . .
But he can’t.
I don’t believe it.
I press my hand against my chest, trying to feel the burning pull of my bond—but my heart is pounding too fast.
I can’t tell.
I can’t think.
“Any minute now my long-awaited prisoner will arrive, and then I will show you how we will win this war,” Raiden shouts. “Today we will change the future!”
He throws up his hands and the crowd goes wild. Cheering and clapping and chanting,
“Bring out the prisoner. Bring out the prisoner!”
Feeding off each other’s energy.
Each repetition crushes me more.
There’s only one prisoner who could grant Raiden that kind of power.
The key he’s been searching for
.
The one he’s tried and failed to catch before.
Raiden must’ve finally captured Vane.

CHAPTER 21

VANE
T
his can’t be happening.

I know the Gales have been preparing me for this moment—but as Gus drags Solana and me across the grove, I can’t remember a single thing Fang taught me. I can barely remember my own name.

All I can do is stare at the splotch of blood on Gus’s hand, trying not to think about where it came from or who it came from or how much more of it I’m going to see today.

“Stop!” my mom screams as she chases after us. “Where are you taking him? What’s going on?”
“We don’t have time for this right now,” Gus tells her.
“You have time to explain where you’re taking my son,” my mom insists, grabbing my arm and starting a Vane-tug-of-war.
“Okay, ow!” I jerk away from both of them, wrenching my wrist in the process. “Come on, Gus. You can’t drop the ‘we’re under attack’ bomb and not tell us what’s going on or what we’re supposed to do or where my family’s supposed to go or—”
“Honestly? I don’t know,” Gus admits, staring at the cloudless sky—which seems way too clear and blue for an
attack
. “Feng sent me a piece of cactus covered in his blood. All the message said was ‘ambush.’”
His voice cracks and he looks away.
My mom reaches for my hand, squeezing so hard it cuts off my circulation.
“Has there been an echo?” Solana whispers.
Gus shakes his head.
She places her hand on his shoulder. “Then there’s still hope. And we both know there’s no better fighter.”
Gus stares at her hand, a single tear streaking down his cheek as he nods.
I never realized he and Fang were so close.
Feng,
I correct.
“Anyway, that’s all I know,” Gus adds after a second. “Os took a fleet of Gales up to Joshua Tree, where Feng had been patrolling. The rest of our force is divided between the Borderland Base and the Clear River Base, which also sent us alerts this morning. So Os told me to get you both underground in case Raiden’s next move is here.”
“That’s your big plan—hide him underground?” my mom asks, pulling me back to her side. “Let me take him. I’ll drive him anywhere you want. The car has a full tank of gas and—”
“It doesn’t work that way, Mom.” I cover her hand with mine, hating that I can feel her shaking. “I know you want to help, but if they’re really coming for me, I won’t be able to outrun them. Especially not in our beat-up old Honda.”
I can tell she wants to argue, but all she asks is “Where will you go?”
“Os said you knew a place,” Gus tells me. “Somewhere near the desert’s center?”
My skin itches just thinking about going back to the Maelstrom—and the last thing I want is to spend a few more hours with Arella. “But what about my parents? Someone needs to stay with them.”
“I told you—
everyone
is gone.”
Solana sucks in a breath and my stomach gets all churney. Suddenly, hiding in the Maelstrom seems like a pretty good idea. Except . . .
“I’m not leaving my family unprotected, Gus. If there’s no one else, then I’ll stay with them.”
“That’ll only put them in more danger, Vane. You’re the one Raiden wants.”
“But at least I can defend them.”
Gus snorts. “You really think you can take on the Stormers by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine,” my mom interrupts—though her voice sounds anything but. “Go with Gus. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just . . . I’ll grab your dad from work and we’ll head out of town again.”
“There may not be time to get far enough away,” I tell her.
“Well, then I’ll . . .” She doesn’t finish the sentence, because there’s nothing
she
can do. This one’s on me.
“I have to go with them,” I tell Gus, straightening up so he knows I mean it.
He sweeps back his loose hair, smearing a thin stripe of blood across his forehead. “I have my orders, Vane.”
“Yeah, well, this is my
family
, Gusty.”
His eyes flash when I full-name him. Guess he thinks it sounds as stupid as I do.
“And let’s not forget that I’m the only one who knows where you’re supposed to take me,” I remind him. “So . . . you’re kinda screwed.”
“How about this?” Solana asks, stepping between us as Gus lunges for me. “I’ll go with Vane’s parents to keep an eye on them, and you can take Vane underground.”
“You don’t have to do that,” my mom tells her, but it’s actually a pretty good idea.
Gus doesn’t seem to agree, though. “You’re not a Gale—”
“I know how to fight,” Solana insists.
She
does
have muscles to go with her curves. I could see her beating the crap out of a few people. Though it’s hard to imagine her doing it in that dress. Well . . . without something popping out.
Gus still doesn’t look convinced though. Not until Solana adds, “I’ve been without a guardian for two years now. And the only reason I survived that attack—”
Gus holds up his hand and she falls silent.
I can’t tell if he looks like he wants to strangle something or curl up in a ball and cry. All he says is “My orders were to take
both
of you underground.”
“Screw your orders.”
“I think what Vane means,” Solana says, jumping in, “is that sometimes it’s better to protect the most people we can. Let me do this. And keep in mind that this is probably the only way you’re going to get Vane to cooperate.”
I can’t help grinning, and when I meet Solana’s eyes, I kind of want to hug her. But that would be ten thousand kinds of awkward so I just mouth
thank you
and leave it at that.
Gus throws up his hands. “
Fine!
If you want to go with them,
go with them.
But keep an ear to the winds and don’t come back until you hear the all clear.”
“I will,” Solana promises.
“And call Dad and tell him to come home from work
now
,” I tell my mom.
She nods and smothers me with a hug. “And
you
be careful. Do you have your phone? Can you text me when you get there safe?”
“I’m pretty sure I won’t get cell service where I’m going,” I tell her, hugging her tighter.
I don’t even carry my phone with me anymore. I don’t have anyone who calls me. I’ve cut off my friends, and the Gales aren’t exactly big on technology.
“Are we done wasting time?” Gus asks.
I let my mom go. “For now.”
“Good. Then tell me where we’re going.”
“Why? Aren’t you the expert at following me?”
I coil a few Easterlies around me and launch into the sky before he can respond.
Gus catches up a few seconds later and we head east. But every few miles I notice Gus glancing north.
I don’t see any sign of the storm. The sky is clear and the clouds are feathery and the winds feel steady and normal. If Gus didn’t have Feng’s blood on his hand, I never would’ve thought there was any danger.
“So . . . how do you know Feng?” I ask, remembering Gus’s earlier tear.
He’s quiet for so long I wonder if he heard me. Then he says, “He’s my father.”
Whoa—how did I not know that?
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, hating how lame it sounds. “I didn’t realize.”
“That’s because I look like my mother. She was the pretty one.”
He forces a grin, flashing perfect dimples. I want to smile back, but I can’t help noticing that he used the word “was.”
“And your mom, she’s . . .”
“She was Solana’s guardian.”
Oh.
Oh.
Well . . . that explains why he reacted so strongly to her mentioning that attack.
“So that’s what you meant about your families having a history?”
“Yeah. My mom sorta left us when she took the role as Solana’s guardian. Feng had begged her not to. He knew Solana’s last guardian had been killed and that it was only a matter of time before the Stormers tracked Solana down again. But that’s what my mom wanted. She was angry and she wanted to
do something big
.” He sighs. “I guess it doesn’t make much sense unless I give you the whole tragic history. You ready for it?”
I nod—stunned at how little I know about Gus. He seems like such an easygoing guy—but I guess I should’ve figured he had some darker crap. Why else would he be a guardian so young?
“My mom was ambushed by a Stormer when she was eight months pregnant with my sister. He left her alive, but the baby . . .” He clears his throat. “The worst part was, my mom wasn’t even a guardian. Feng was, and he’d just won a big fight against Raiden—one of the only victories the Gales have ever had. And apparently, if you make Raiden look weak, he comes after you personally.”
He’s quiet for a minute and I struggle to figure out something to say. I mean, I thought what happened to my family was tough but . . .
“Anyway,” he says, “not surprisingly, my mom never got over it. All she wanted was revenge. She joined the Gales, signed up for every risky assignment she could. She actually volunteered to protect you, but the Gales went with Audra. So a few weeks later, when Solana needed a new guardian, my mom jumped all over it. By then I’d already enlisted in the Gales, so she left me there with Feng, promising us she’d be careful. But she only lasted two years before the Stormers caught up with them.” He glances to the north again. “Feng never got over it.”
Listening to him talk makes me realize why I never guessed the connection—besides how different they look. “Your dad doesn’t mind that you call him Feng?”
“Actually, it was his idea. After what happened to my mom, he wanted to make it as hard as possible for Raiden to know who his family was.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
I watch him glance north for the dozenth time and realize what he must be thinking. “You should be with the Gales right now.”
“I should be following my orders.”
“That’s dumb. You did your job. You told me where to go and I’m going there—I don’t need a babysitter for the rest. Go help your dad.”
Gus looks tempted, but he shakes his head. “The Gales had a reason for not bringing me with them.”
“Yeah, and your dad had a reason for sending his message to
you
.”
Gus stares at the dried blood on his thumb. Then he wipes it away on his pants. “He sent it to me so I could protect
you
.”
“Ugh—I’m so sick of that.”
I don’t want to be the useless weakling everyone has to protect.
I’m the last freaking Westerly.
I should be out there leading the charge.
Isn’t that what they’ve been training me for?
I’m still not sure how I’m going to handle the whole violencemakes-me-vomit thing, but if I’m ever supposed to take down Raiden, I’m going to have to start standing up and fighting.
“What are you doing?” Gus asks as I dive and touch down in the middle of the desert. “Is this where we’re going?”
I don’t answer, calling one Easterly, one Northerly, and one Southerly to my side and coiling them around each other to make a wind spike. It’s different from the way Audra taught me, but over the last few weeks I’ve learned they’re stronger this way. One of each wind.
I reach out my hands and call the Westerly I’m missing.
“So you
can
control the fourth wind,” Gus says, staring at the draft as it swirls around my waist.
“You thought I couldn’t?”
“I’d been starting to wonder.”
I roll my eyes and weave the Westerly around the wind spike, ordering the drafts to
converge.
The gusts spin to a blur, twisting out of my grasp and hovering above my head as a crack splits down the center. Gus covers his head like he expects the spike to explode. But the dull outer shell simply rolls away, leaving a gleaming deep-blue spike with sharp points at each end and a glinting sheen.
“Whoa,” Gus breathes as he reaches slowly toward it. “Can I?”
I nod and he hesitates a second before he curls his fingers around it. “Crap it’s like . . . solid.”
I can’t help laughing. “That’s the power of four.”
“I guess.” He slices it through the air a few times before he turns to me. “You realize I’m never giving this back, right?”
“Oh really?”
I whisper,
“Come,”
in Westerly and the spike launches out of his hand and floats straight into mine.
“You were saying?”
Gus blinks. “Okay, wow. That’s pretty damn impressive.”
“I’m glad you think so, because I’m going with you to the Gales. I’m tired of being fussed over and shuttled around like I’m some delicate little flower they have to shelter.”
“No one thinks you’re a flower, Vane. We’ve all smelled you after training.”
“Maybe so, but I’m not going to hide in the sand anymore either— and you can try and talk me out of it, but we both know that’s a waste of time. So let’s just skip that part and go get your dad.”
He still doesn’t look convinced, so I offer the one thing I
know
will win him over. “I’ll make you your own special wind spike. You won’t be able to command it, but I’ll keep track of it for you.”
I hurtle the spike into a cactus and the thorny plant explodes, showering us with slimy cactus goo.
“It didn’t unravel,” Gus mumbles, pointing at the wind spike lying in a puddle of greenish slime.
I call the spike back to me and hand it to him.
He stares at it for a few seconds before he slips it through the strap of his windslicer scabbard. I weave another spike for myself, wishing I’d worn a belt with my shorts. I guess this is why the Gales keep wanting me to wear a guardian uniform.
“Okay,” I say, ripping a hole in my pocket and slipping the spike through. “Armed and ready. Now let’s go find Feng.”
Gus nods and tangles himself in a group of nearby Easterlies. “This time you follow me.”
He leads me into the mountains, over a forest of spiky, gnarled Joshua trees.
I keep searching for a change in the winds or a storm in the distance. But everything stays bright and clear and normal.
Until Gus spots a smear of red on the ground.
He takes us down to an area I remember hiking in with my family. A garden of weird green, tubey plants that look kinda like what would happen if palm trees and cacti hooked up and had a bunch of bristly babies. I’m careful to avoid the white thorns that almost seem to reach for me as we make our way to the red-stained cactus.
“It’s his blood,” Gus says quietly as he reaches up and touches a broken stem. “This must be where he grabbed the piece he sent me.”
“But I don’t hear his echo in the air,” I remind him as he turns away to wipe his eyes. “So he’s still alive.”
Gus nods, sucking in a breath. “We should find the Gales. Os chased the Stormers southeast.”
I can hear the nearby drafts whispering the same thing—and the wind isn’t supposed to lie. And yet . . .
There’s one draft singing a completely different song.
I call the Westerly to my side, letting it fill the air with its warning about a hostage heading north into a valley of death. And when I listen to the other winds again I realize there’s no melody to their song. They whisper the words with no life or energy.
“I think the Stormers did something to the winds,” I say, doublechecking the Westerly to make sure I’m not going crazy. “This Westerly says Feng was taken to Death Valley.”
Gus turns his palms northward, concentrating so hard that a deep line forms between his brows. “I can’t find his trace that way. Can you?”