Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (27 page)

With a loud, ground-shaking rumble, the battle begins.

S
tay close to Vane.

It’s my only plan for this battle.

No matter what happens, I won’t be separated from him again.

Not because he said he loved me—though I’d be lying if I said that didn’t help.

Because this is how it was meant to be.

I’ve been his guardian.

His girlfriend.

And now I’m not sure what I am.

But I need him.

And I’m the only other person here who speaks Westerly.

Stormers pour into the field like gray rain, gathering in the center with their backs to one another. A beast with too many heads and no heart to guide it.

I don’t understand why they hold their attack, but I decide to be grateful for the extra time.

I find Vane crouched in the long grass, his eyes trained on the strange rock formation in the distance.

“Is that where you think Raiden’s hiding?” I ask.

He jumps and clutches his chest. “Gah—are you trying to scare me to death?”

“No—but maybe now you’ll realize you should be paying closer attention! I could’ve been a Stormer. You need to—why are you smiling?”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to bend his twitching lips into a frown. “It’s just nice to have you lecture me again. I’ve missed it.”

My throat turns thick. “I’ve missed it too.”

A hundred other words bubble up, but I swallow them back. Instead, I offer him my hand to help him to his feet.

His sparks prickle my fingers, and I’m tempted to not let go—but Aston comes charging toward us. “Save the touchy-feely stuff for when we’ve survived this. Right now we need to get out of the circle of death.”

He points to the distance, where dozens of Living Storms are untangling themselves from the sky, stacking into an impenetrable barrier all around us.

So that’s Raiden’s strategy.

Crush us from without and within.

Leave nothing in the center but dust.

“This is more Stormers than I was expecting,” Aston says. “Raiden’s not holding any reserves. Apparently he’s determined to end this today too. Os is on his way to make us a path out of here so we can track Raiden down.”

He points to a figure in black charging across the eastern plain, heading for one of the smaller Living Storms. “He’s going to make it chase him,” Aston explains. “To create a gap for us to slip through. After that, we’ll be on our own.”

“I’m coming with you,” Solana says, landing beside us.

She’s rolled up her sleeves and knotted her shirt to reveal her midriff, despite the flakes of ice peppering her hair.

“Were you windwalking in this?” I ask, checking the sky.

Lightning crackles in threads of gleaming white and electric pink, painting the storm with erratic, unpredictable patterns. Ice and snow swirl among the flashes, their violent flurries building toward a roar.

Even
I
would never brave such a sky—and I have my father’s gift to guide me.

“I needed to absorb some of the ruined drafts,” Solana says, untying her shirt and covering herself with the wrinkled fabric. “But I only caught a couple. The Stormers are doing a good job of cutting us off from the wind.”

“What are the Gales going to do if they can’t call the wind?” Vane asks.

“The same thing we are,” Aston says. “Fight with anything we have and try not to die.”

I search the air for any brave drafts, and catch the weak pull of a distant Westerly.

It takes a bit of convincing to call it to my side, and I notice Vane watching me the whole time. His smile looks almost proud, but it fades when he catches the wind’s song.

“It’s singing about traitors,” he mumbles. “Lets hope it’s not talking about the Gales.”

I listen to each lyric carefully, trying to piece the full meaning together.

We’re trying to protect you,
I tell the wind.
We’re on your side. But we need your help.

I beg the wind to whisk away and gather its friends.

Not just Westerlies,
I add.
We need the full strength of the sky.

It’s time for the wind to rise up and prove that it’s far stronger than any of us have ever been.

I can’t tell if the Westerly understands me, but the draft vanishes toward the horizon.

“Maybe I should send my shield, too,” I mumble. “It gathered the drafts we needed in Death Valley.”

“Uh-uh,” Vane says. “I want that wind as close to you as it’s willing to stay. I’m pretty sure it’s the only reason you’re still alive.”

I’m certain of it—and that’s the truth I’m hoping Raiden’s missing.

If a single wind can save a life—or take it—what will happen when the winds unite?

“Time to go,” Aston says, dragging Vane toward the Storm.

The uneven ground fights to topple my legs as I sprint after them, with Solana right behind me.

We aim for the narrow gap Os has carved into the wall of Storms, but halfway there Solana jerks me to the side.

A wind spike explodes where I’d been standing, showering us in dirt and grass and petals.

“Where are they coming from?” I ask as another volley swallows Aston and Vane in a cloud of debris.

“We’re fine,” Vane shouts, coughing and hacking. “But getting the hell out of here would be a really good idea.”

We try to run in a crouch, the position every bit as fumbling as it is painful.

The wounds on my back stretch, and I feel the
W
tear open as I twist to avoid a wind spike aimed at my head.

The next blast sends us tumbling across the field, and Solana cries out.

“I’m fine,” she promises, but I notice she’s limping hard.

“They’re out of range over here,” Aston calls, waving his arms as we barely dodge another round of explosions.

I draw a burst of strength from my Westerly shield and let it fuel my arms as I lift Solana and half carry her over to safety.

“You guys okay?” Vane asks, taking her from me.

“You can put me down,” she tells him. “My ankle’s sprained, but I don’t think it’s broken.”

She winces as he sets her in the long, scratchy grass, but when she tests her ankle, it holds.

“They’re closing ranks,” Aston says, pointing to the gap Os made, which is narrowing as the other Storms move to cover it. “We’re going to have to move
fast
.”

“I can handle it,” Solana tells me when I go to carry her again.

She leads the way, and we charge forward, pushing our tired, aching limbs as hard as they can go.

But it’s not fast enough.

The pull of the Storms is too strong, and they drag us toward their merciless funnels.

“Lock arms,” Vane shouts. “The heavier we are, the harder we are to pull.”

Solana grabs him first, and I cling to her, my feet lifting off the ground as the Storm tears closer.

“Pull harder,” Solana shouts, and our group surges forward, step by agonizing step until my feet drop back to the ground and I regain traction.

“Toss me your wind spike,” Aston shouts, and Vane untangles his arm to throw it.

Aston lets go to catch it, and without his weight, we’re sucked back toward the Storm.

“Hang on,” Aston says, clinging to a tree with one hand and aiming the wind spike with the other.

The weapon is sickly with pain now, and he hurls it straight through the Storm’s chest.

Sallow steam leaks from the unraveling funnel, and the Storm unleashes a bellowing howl.

“That’s our cue,” Aston shouts, grabbing Vane’s arm.

“Not without this,” Vane says, commanding the wind spike to “come.”

I wasn’t sure if it would obey, but it snaps to his hand as Aston drags him away.

The air tries to pull Solana and me back, but we synchronize our steps and push through, collapsing as we cross the boundary of the circle.

“Over here,” Aston orders, and we crawl to where they’ve taken shelter behind a cluster of boulders.

None of the Storms break rank to follow us.

“Just like I thought,” Aston says. “Raiden ordered them to focus on the battle. We can rest here for a second before we move on.”

Vane crawls closer to me, taking my arms and searching for blood.

“I’m okay,” I promise. “Nothing major.”

He looks safe as well. A few cuts and scrapes on his face, but nothing deep enough to scar.

“How’s your ankle?” I ask Solana.

She circles her foot a few times. “I won’t slow you down.”

“I’m not worried,” I tell her. I’m fairly certain I owe her my life. “How did you hear that first wind spike? I never would’ve seen it if you hadn’t grabbed me.”

She curls her arms around herself. “My senses are stronger now that I’m carrying ruined drafts.”

I try not to shudder, but the thought of being filled with tainted winds . . .

“Yeah, I know it’s creepy,” she mumbles.

“I don’t think creepy’s the right word,” I tell her. “More like . . . uncomfortable.”

“So you aren’t disgusted by the power of pain anymore?” Aston asks.

I’m stunned to realize I’m not. “The way she’s using it doesn’t seem to bother the sky. Why should I feel any different?”

“Yes, but you realize she wouldn’t be able to use it her way if others weren’t abusing the power?” Aston reminds me.

“So she’s managed to make the most of a difficult situation,” Vane says, but his voice sounds distracted.

I follow his gaze and see him staring at a grayish building stationed near the base of the pointed rock.

“I count twelve cars in the parking lot,” he mumbles. “So I’m guessing that means there’s about fifty people in there.”

“I think you’re overestimating,” Aston tells him. “The structure feels mostly empty to me.”

“Mostly empty isn’t the same as
empty
,” Vane reminds him.

“It’s not,” Aston agrees. “Welcome to a moment when you’ll have to settle for ‘good enough.’ Shades of gray. Necessary evils. Much like what we’re letting happen over there.”

He points to the battle we’ve just escaped, and from our higher vantage point things look far bleaker. The Gales are fighting the Stormers with windslicers, so there must still not be any useable winds. And for every Stormer fighting, there are two more watching from the sidelines, ready to swoop in as reinforcements if the others fall or tire.

“Where’s my mother?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen her.

“She said she’d find higher ground and send reports on what’s happening. I doubt she’ll be much help, since you already made her mostly useless with that dramatic shoulder injury.”

“Higher ground,” I repeat, checking the field again. “We’re at the highest point right now, aren’t we? Other than the rock face where Raiden’s waiting? And she’s not here, is she?”

“Oh, wonderful,” Vane grumbles. “What deal do you think she’s striking with Raiden this time? Handing all four of us over—maybe with whipped cream and a cherry on top?”

“I can’t imagine she’d be that foolish,” Aston says.

I roll my eyes. “Clearly you don’t know my mother.”

“Actually, she and I are closer than you’d think. Every time I absorb her pain I understand her better—but that’s not what I meant about her being foolish. She’s very aware that I’ve made the same threat as Raiden. I know what draft she’s protecting. And I know the command to destroy it.”

“You wouldn’t,” I whisper as everything inside me coats with frost.

“Oh, I think you know me well enough to know that I very much would. I’m like a thunderhead that way. I can look soft and fluffy. But get too close and I will blast the heart right out of you.”

“No one’s blasting the heart out of anyone,” Vane tells him, “unless it’s Raiden. Or Arella—if she really is off cutting another deal. And if you do anything that hurts Audra—or her father’s songs—I’ll show you just how violent a Westerly’s capable of being.”

“Good,” Aston says. “Keep that darkness close. You’re going to need it when we get to Raiden.”

“Speaking of which,” Solana jumps in, “shouldn’t we get working on that? The Storms are closing in on the Gales.”

“I was hoping your little Westerly might return with a few reinforcements before we press on,” Aston tells me.

I’ve been counting on the same thing. But no matter how far I stretch my senses, I can’t feel any winds.

“I have five drafts tucked away,” Solana offers. “Three Southerlies, a Northerly, and an Easterly—plus the two ruined winds I caught.”

“And I used four in that wind spike,” Vane adds. “And I have a Westerly shield.”

“Still not enough for what I was thinking,” Aston says. “We’ll just have to improvise.”

“What if we . . .” Solana’s voice trails off, and she closes her eyes. “I think I know a command that will blur our forms as we move—I just have to think it through to make sure it’s useable.”

She reaches for my hands and stares into my eyes.

It takes me a second to realize she’s testing her motives.

I suppose protecting the girl who stole your betrothed is about as unselfish an act as possible.

“Okay,” she whispers, her hands starting to shake. “I don’t think it’ll stretch very wide, so we’re going to have to huddle together.”

She takes a deep breath before hissing a string of garbled words.

“Fascinating,” Aston breathes as a gray draft crawls out of her skin and forms a loose funnel around us. “I never would’ve thought to make that request.”

“What did she say?” I ask.

“It’s best not to explain to someone who doesn’t use the power,” he says. “We wouldn’t want to awaken the hunger.”

The air whips faster and faster, turning to a blur.

“Are you okay?” Vane asks, steadying Solana as she wobbles.

“It’s just a little draining,” she says. “How’s the craving in my eyes?”

He leans closer, and she seems to hold her breath. “Wow, I only see the tiniest glint.”

“As do I,” Aston agrees. “I must admit, I’m rather disappointed. I’ve been hoping you were wrong about this selflessness thing, since it doesn’t sound like a whole lot of fun. I guess I should count myself lucky that I’m too far gone for it to matter. You ready to move?”

Solana nods, and we creep out of the rocks, trying our best not to kick one another’s heels as we move.