Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (13 page)

“You don’t think Raiden’s destroyed it?” Aston asks.

She shakes her head. “My winds keep telling me to have hope. And the entrance is protected by a password, so even if Raiden found it, he wouldn’t be able to get in.”

“But won’t that area be crawling with Stormers?” I ask.

“Most likely,” Aston says. “You’ll need a distraction. A few well-placed firewhirls should buy you a few minutes—though there will likely be one Stormer who stays behind to keep watch.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Solana and I say at the same time.

“Come on, Vane—be real,” Solana tells me. “We both know the killing is going to fall on my shoulders. And that’s fine. I’ve outlived three guardians. I know how to fight.”

“Not as well as I do,” Arella argues.

“But we’ve already established that you’re coming with me,” Aston tells her. “We both know what I’ll do if you disobey me.”

Arella pales at the words, and I can’t help wondering what exactly Aston’s holding over her. Before I can ask him, he adds another warning.”

“If you face Raiden, remember that he’s protected by his backlash.”

“I still don’t believe he’s invincible,” I argue. “Gus made him bleed in Death Valley.”

“Did he now?” Aston asks. “I’m guessing it was just a scratch?”

He nods when I agree. “Then that’s either a fluke, or another part of the trick. Raiden’s a master of manipulation. Do
not
underestimate him. And if you decide to risk a shot, don’t go for the heart or the head.”

“Noted,” Solana says. “Anything else we need to know?”

“Yes. The Royal Passage will only get you inside the fortress. From there, you’ll have to navigate the labyrinth to find the dungeon.”

“My father’s memories included details on the different paths,” she promises.

“Yes, but they don’t include Raiden’s new additions,” Aston insists. “He’s been a busy boy since he took over. The only way to know where you’re heading is to watch for the pattern. Walls with smaller, rougher stones mean you’re in the old, original pathways. Those take you to the main courtyards and all the living quarters. Paths with precise, square-cut stones mean you’re in Raiden’s newer additions, heading to all the dungeons and towers. And any paths with metal slats are for the wind—be extra wary of those. I’m sure they were nice and safe when your family lived there. But the kind of tempests that fuel Raiden’s fortress are not to be trifled with. And if I had to guess, I’d say your friends will be in the northern dungeon, so try there first.”

“Actually, I was thinking we should swing by the turbine before we attempt the rescue,” Solana corrects. “Might as well cripple his power source while we have a chance.”

“Well, aren’t you the clever girl,” Aston says. “But surely you know a blow like that will dash all of Loverboy’s hopes of sneaking in and out undetected.”

“I think we’re already past that,” Solana says, and I hate her for being right.

Aston nods. “I’ll do what I can from the outside. But I’ll only be able to keep their attention for so long. And if they block you in, know that you can always escape through the Shredder. I carved a guide on one of the walls in the northern dungeon. The trick is to trust my instructions, not your eyes. Your eyes will only see the blades.”

“Blades?” I repeat.

“Seventeen fans,” Aston explains. “I nearly lost a leg at a couple of points—among other things. So only use it as a last resort. But it’s good to have the option.”

“How could you possibly find a path through seventeen fans?” I have to ask.

“Oh, believe me, Raiden made sure I was familiar with the slice of each of the Shredder’s blades. I endured his sessions by isolating the different pains, imagining the angles and edges. And I’m here, aren’t I? What better proof do you need that the guide works?”

I suppose he has a point.

“Anything else we need to know?” I ask.

“Yes, and you’re not going to like it,” Aston says. “Many of the paths can only be accessed by using a verbal command.”

Solana guesses the problem before I do. “The power of pain.”

“Can you handle that?” Aston asks.

She swallows twice before she nods. “A few commands won’t destroy me.”

She says it with confidence, but I notice she glances at Aston for confirmation.

Aston, meanwhile, is now focused on me. “If it does become a problem, there are ways you could help.”

“What does he mean?” Solana asks.

I look anywhere except at her—which is a bad idea because I end up locking eyes with Arella.

The way she’s glaring at me makes it clear she’s guessed what Aston’s referring to.

“Remember why you’re doing this,” she tells me. “And
who
you’re doing this for.”

I love how she can be worried about Audra’s happiness one second, and selling her out to Raiden the next.

Besides, for all I know, Audra’s thrilled to be free of her bond to me—but I’m trying really hard not to think about that.

Aston clears his throat. “Time to memorize some commands.”

My stomach squirms every time he makes one of the scratchy, snarly sounds—and when Solana repeats them, it’s a billion times worse.

“The passwords might have changed since I left Brezengarde,” Aston warns her. “And if they don’t work—don’t panic. There
is
a way through the maze without the shortcuts. It’s just infinitely harder.”

“Great. Thanks for the pep talk!” I say.

“It’s always better to be realistic,” Aston argues. “Besides, you’re resourceful, and not without your talents.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“I wasn’t talking to you.
You
need to let
her
lead. And if you get in a bind, ask your Westerlies for guidance.”

“So are we ready then?” Solana asks.

“Yes, I suppose it’s time,” Aston agrees. “The section of the tracks you need is that way.”

All I see is darkness and trees.

“We’ll leave first,” Aston says. “Watch for the first signs of fire. I’ll put on a good show, but they’ll lose interest quickly, so I would work hard at finding that tunnel.”

Arella grabs my hand. “Bring her home.”

I get a crazy urge to hug her goodbye, which proves I can’t trust my judgment at the moment.

“Brave faces on,” Aston says. “And every time you start to panic, cling to that pendant.” He points to Audra’s blue cord around my neck. “She’s waiting for you.”

A
ll I smell is smoke.

We’ve been moved back to our lonely cells in the dungeon, so it’s impossible to tell where it’s coming from. But I can’t imagine Raiden leaving us in an inferno—not now that we have his coveted prize.

I still can’t believe we’ve had the fourth breakthrough.

Even thinking the words feels impossible.

But the lyrics of my Westerly shield fill my mind, and I can understand them perfectly.

It sings of change.

Of momentum.

Of new allies banding together.

If only Gus and I weren’t locked away underground and could put our new power to use.

But Raiden cut us off from the sky.

I couldn’t understand the commands he snarled before he left—they were all voiced in the language of pain. But the air is so still, even the dust motes don’t stir. And my breath vanishes as soon as it leaves my mouth.

The stones rumble beneath me, echoes from the battle waging outside.

I press my palms against the floor, glad the explosions feel distant.

Hopefully that means that Vane and my mother are fighting their way to freedom.

“We need to get out of here,” Gus whispers. “I think—”

“SILENCE!” the scarred Stormer shouts, clanging his wind spike against the bars of our cages.

The sharp ring of metal pierces my eardrums, and I send him my coldest glare. He’s been assigned as our guard while Raiden leads his Stormers in the battle, and he’s taking his role quite seriously.

“You should be helping us,” I tell him. “The wind is on
our
side.”

“And since when does the wind know what’s right for our people?” he counters. “Since when does the wind
think
? It’s a
force
.”

“I used to believe the same thing,” I tell him. “But the wind is changing. Maybe it’s fighting against your cruel methods. Or maybe it was always this thoughtful and we were too arrogant to listen. Either way, it’s showing us where our loyalties should be. We belong with the wind and the sky.”

“Don’t waste your breath on him,” Gus tells me. “He took plenty of turns with Raiden’s whip during my interrogation.”

“I spare no sympathy for those who face the consequences of their actions,” the Stormer snaps. “You should’ve known what to expect the moment you dared to defy him.”

“And you should know the risks of joining him,” Gus shouts back. “Raiden’s rule
will
fall, and when it does, he’ll drag his armies down with him—and that’s assuming he doesn’t decide that you’d be much more useful as one of his Living Storms.”

“Ah, but he’s saving that privilege for his captives,” the scarred Stormer says. “I’m sure that’s what he’s planning for you. Like father, like son.”

Gus lunges for the bars, but the sudden motion is too much for his weakened body. He collapses to his knees, coughing and gasping.

My Westerly shield flits to his side, coiling around him.

“Do you see?” I ask the Stormer. “That Westerly is acting on its own.”

“Rushing from one person to another hardly counts as a mighty uprising.”

“It does in this case,” Gus snarls.

He stands and shouts
“Meld”
in Westerly, and my jaw falls as he pries open his cell’s bars. The metal bends as though it were made of feathers, and when the scarred Stormer lunges with his windslicer, Gus dodges easily, kicking out the Stormer’s legs.

He dives on top of him, pinning the Stormer’s shoulders with one hand, using the other to deliver blow after blow after blow.

Bones crack.

Blood splatters.

The Stormer’s cries fade to delirious moans.

“That’s enough!” I shout—but I have to repeat the call twice more before I’m able to pull Gus out of the frenzy.

“He’s still conscious,” Gus says, reaching for the fallen windslicer and pressing it against the Stormer’s neck. “We can’t risk that he’ll raise the alarm.”

“You can’t kill him!”

Gus points to the hole in his shoulder. “He laughed as this happened.”

I swallow, trying to understand how the same soldier who saved me from assault could be so cruel.

But it doesn’t matter.

“You’re under Westerly influence now,” I whisper. “There’s no telling how the violence will affect you.”

Gus loosens his grip on the hilt, but keeps his blade pressed in place.

“Trust me on this, Gus. It’s not worth it. You’re going to need every ounce of strength to escape.”

“Fine,” he says, slowly lowering his blade.

He punches the Stormer one last time—a knockout blow that leaves him silent and still. “It’s probably better to let Raiden deal with him anyway. I’m sure he’ll have much more creative ways to punish him for letting us get away.”

Each word drips with the purest, most potent kind of hate.

I don’t blame him—but it’s hard to watch Gus strip off the unconscious Stormer’s uniform and drag his limp body to one of the empty cells.

He slams the barred door and crushes the lock so easily, it’s like the metal melts at his touch.

“How are you doing that?” I whisper.

“My gift allows me to absorb strength from the wind and channel it into my muscles. That’s why those Northerlies helped me recover as much as I have. And now that I can finally absorb Westerlies . . .” Gus pries open my cell as though it were paper.

“That’s incredible.”

“It’s never been this strong before,” he whispers. “I can’t tell if it’s a power of four thing, or because your Westerly was especially strong.”

“Was?”

The word feels like a knife to my heart.

I know it’s ridiculous, but . . . after all that little draft and I have been through . . .

“Don’t worry.” Gus closes his eyes and whispers “Release” under his breath.

His body shifts ever so slightly, as though his essence unraveled for a brief moment, and a soft rush whisks past my senses, singing its familiar melody.

“We need to get out of here,” Gus says as my Westerly tightens into a shield around me. “But first, a little camouflage.”

He shuffles to where he left the Stormer’s clothes, and I notice he’s limping again.

He tries to pull the jacket on, but his bandages snag on the fabric.

“Here,” I say, scooting behind him and taking over.

It’s a slower process than I want it to be, pulling the sleeves inch by inch. But Gus has lost too much blood—I can’t tear open any of the scabs.

“I never thanked you for this,” he says, touching one of the pieces of torn red fabric. “I don’t even remember when you did it.”

“You were pretty out of it.” I pull his jacket the last little bit. “How are you doing—
really
?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll either get through this, or I won’t.”

“It does matter, Gus. We’re in this together. I need to know what you’re dealing with.”

He swallows hard. “Let’s just say I’m not planning on making it, okay? I’ll help you as long as I can and—”

“We’re both getting out of here.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be up to you to decide.”

He tries to button the jacket, but the fabric won’t reach. He’s far more muscular than the Stormer.

“Well . . . hopefully if anyone sees us, it will only be from behind,” I say.

“Or maybe they’ll think I got hurt in the battle,” he says. “I guess my pants might give me away, though.”

We both eye the Stormer’s pants on the ground, and I feel myself blush. “If you need help . . .”

Gus shakes his head. “It’ll take too long. Besides, I doubt they’ll fit. You ready?” he asks, strapping the windslicer around his waist. “We should get moving.”

He heads for the stairs, sucking in a pained breath as he climbs the first step.

I pull his arm over my shoulders and support him as we climb. “Maybe you should absorb my Westerly again. It seemed to make you stronger.”