Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (30 page)

Still, as the drafts coil themselves around us—Easterlies, Westerlies, Southerlies, Northerlies—and Vane and I lock eyes, we both raise our voices and shout, “Rise!”

I
have no idea how to describe anything that just happened.

I’m not even sure if it
did
happen.

Maybe a Living Storm ate me, and my mind made the whole thing up while my body was being digested.

All I know is, one second the battle was falling apart and I was thinking that Audra and I should spend our last few minutes making out. And the next second the winds were swarming in out of nowhere, telling us to “
Rise!”

And then . . .

I don’t even know.

The wind became a beast with a million invisible heads and arms and teeth, like some sort of hydra-kraken woven straight from the air. And it used all of that weirdness to devour everything it touched—including us. But we weren’t destroyed. We were just sort of . . . sucked up.

Audra. And me. And Aston. And Solana. And Os. And any other Gales that were still breathing—even Arella.

We were all pulled into . . . was it a cocoon?

I guess I could also call it a
womb
—but that sounds way too gross.

So we were in this freaky cocoon-thing, floating around with all these warm breezes that were singing about salvaging our heritage. Meanwhile we could still see the battle going on all around us—kinda like watching a movie but somehow knowing you’re not just watching?

And then . . . everything went quiet, and we were set down gently in the crushed grass, and we all just stared at each other like,
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED???

So yeah.

I don’t know.

But I guess it doesn’t matter.

WE’RE ALIVE!!!

And, WE WON!

Os celebrates by ordering everyone to gather up the bodies, proving that he seriously knows how to kill the buzz.

I offer to help. But yeah . . .

The gore is
way
too much.

Especially when I realize that most of the Stormers have their necks snapped.

“Suicide drafts,” Aston breathes. “He terminated his whole army.”

“Why would he do that?” Solana whispers. “Would he truly give up that easily?”

No one has any real answers, though they debate a bunch of different theories.

I try to pay attention, but I can’t stop thinking about all the dead dudes watching me. Audra has the same
I’m gonna hurl
look in her eyes that I’m sure is in mine, so I take her arm and lead her to the fringes, to a soft spot of grass peppered with wildflowers. When we keep our backs to the battlefield, it’s almost like we’re sitting in a park somewhere, watching the sunset. You know, if we
really
pretend.

“Do you think it hurt?” Audra whispers. “When the drafts . . .”

I picture Gus’s face the moment his draft triggered.

One second he was Gus.

The next he was blank.

“No, I don’t think they feel anything. It happens too fast.”

Minutes tick by, and I count the cars in the visitor center parking lot, glad to see they’re still in the same neat rows, untouched by the storm.

“What if the people over there saw the battle?” I ask.

“They probably went underground to a storm shelter,” Audra says. “And if they didn’t, I’m sure they’ll come up with some sort of rational explanation. Groundlings are good at making excuses for the impossible. Even you did it when you thought you were one of them.”

“Not always,” I tell her. “I never let myself make excuses for believing in you.”

Her eyes turn soft at that, and half a smile curls her lips.

I scoot a little closer, deciding to press my luck. Our legs touch, and the rush of heat gives me a burst of courage. “I knew it was crazy to believe that the girl I dreamed about every night was really out there somewhere. I just wanted you to be real so bad that I didn’t care.”

That earns me the rest of the smile, and I reach for her hand, surprised to feel the soft rush of her Westerly shield draped around her skin.

“The draft didn’t want to leave,” she says as I brush the breeze with my thumb. “Is it weird that I hope it never does?”

“Hey, you and that wind have been through a lot. Maybe more than you and I have.”

“Not quite.” She traces my palm with her fingertips—such a simple gesture, but seriously:
sparks and shivers
. “You told me once that I was the one constant thing in your life,” she whispers. “But you’ve been the constant in mine, too. I know you probably don’t remember—and I’m so sorry about that—”

“It’s okay,” I tell her.

And actually, it is.

I still need to sort out my past—and I will.

But right now I care way more about our future.

I reach for her other hand, and her heat rockets up my arm so fast it settles into my heart.

Does she have any idea what she does to me?

Our eyes meet and my breath catches.

Maybe she does.

“So,” she says, licking her lips and leaning a little closer. Close enough that my brain screams,
THIS IS IT!!!

I decide I’m not stopping it.

I don’t care that we’re only a few feet away from death and destruction.

Maybe battlefield kissing will be our “thing.”

I’m trying to remember the last time I brushed my teeth—and hoping I’m not blasting her with BO—when she takes a deep breath and asks, “What are we going to do about Raiden?”

That’s
what she was thinking about?

Why doesn’t the universe just punch me in the nuts???

Especially since . . . I’d kinda forgotten about him.

His army’s gone—mostly. Doesn’t that mean it’s over?

I wish it could be that simple. But Audra’s right.

Raiden’s still out there, and as long as he is, he can start this mess all over again.

But what the hell are we supposed to do now? He’s locked away in his fortress, still protected by his backlash.

I lean back on the grass and stare up at the darkening sky, feeling like an insignificant ant.

It’d be awesome if we could just beg Audra’s shield to get its windy friends back together and blast over to Brezengarde to finish the job. But . . . I don’t think the wind works that way.

If it did, wouldn’t it have crushed Raiden a long time ago?

I think . . .

The wind definitely has a personality—but it’s also still a force.

If we really need it, maybe it’ll pull through for us.

Otherwise we’re on our own.

This feels like one of those times when it’s up to us to figure it out—and I know I
can
do it.

I can kill Raiden.

I owe it to Gus, and my parents, and all the Westerlies who died protecting my language.

This is
my
fight.

It’s time for me to end it.

It’s just the
how
part that’s especially tricky.

We’re down to him and me now, so . . . am I supposed to, like, smack him with a white glove and challenge him to a duel?

Better question: How do I beat him?

“Please,”
I whisper, my words automatically switching to Westerly.
“Help me figure out how to end this.”

Audra lies back beside me and together we listen to the melodies drifting through the air. At first it all sounds the same—just songs about the turbulent day fading into a calmer night. But slowly the lyrics shift, and one in particular catches my attention:

Born of the sky

Resting on the earth

So much lost. Even more to gain

Seek your ally

Discover their worth

Triumph through peace and pain

Audra told me one time that sylphs are caught between two worlds, since we have ties to both the wind and the ground. So I’m guessing that first part is basically the wind agreeing that yep, this fight’s up to me.

But who is my “ally”?

And more importantly—
why does the process have to involve pain?

Can’t I triumph through peace and something else? How about fluffy bunnies?

Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, “attack of the bunnies” sounds super terrifying. I’m imagining a pack of red-eyed, fanged, killer rabbits when Audra mumbles something.

“What did you say?” I ask, shaking my head to de-bunny my brain.

“All my instincts tell me that if we try to invade Brezengarde, we’ll never get out.”

I agree—though I’m not loving how casually she slipped the word “we” in there.

Then again, maybe she’s the “ally”?

Except I already know her “worth.”

“There has to be a way to lure him away from his fortress,” she says. “Something he can’t resist.”

“Like the language he’s been trying to steal for the last couple of decades?” I ask. “Or a chance to recapture the prisoners who embarrassed the crap out of him by escaping? We offered him both, and instead of showing up, he sent his whole freaking army—and then he offed them. It’s like the guy has finally snapped. And, uh, if he was scary when he was just an evil dude trying to take over the world, imagine what he’s going to be like now that he’s gone nuts? He’s probably turning Brezengarde into a maze of deathtraps, and he’ll just stay in there, blasting stuff with his Shredder before taking long bubble baths.”

“Bubble baths?” Audra asks.

“You should’ve seen his bathroom.”

Audra sits up. “That’s right! Do you still have the whistlepipe you stole from his bedroom?”

I only make it through half a nod before she’s on her feet, mumbling about finding her mother as she runs through the battlefield.

The Gales have the bodies mostly cleaned up, and now they seem to be preparing the wounded for transport.

“Where do you think they’re going to take them?” I ask Audra.

“There’s a base not that far from here. They set it up after your parents were killed, so they could keep an eye on you during your adoption process.”

Well, that’s . . . weird—but I guess all that matters is that they have supplies to treat the injured.

If everyone pulls through, we might have about twenty-five guardians left—still a ton of losses, but not as brutal of a ratio as the last battle. And hey, it’s more than Raiden has, which still feels so wrong. I wish I could figure out why he killed everyone.

We finally find Arella at the highest point in the field, perched in the center of the hill with her arms stretched toward the sky.

“What are you doing?” Audra asks her.

Arella jumps, and then rubs her injured shoulder. “I’m trying to find your father’s songs. I haven’t seen his Easterly since the day I left the Maelstrom, and I’m starting to fear Raiden has taken control of it.”

The words stop Audra cold.

“If he has, we’ll get the wind back,” I promise her. “I’m ending Raiden as soon as I can get close to him.”

She nods, blinking hard before taking a deep breath and focusing on her mother. “I think I know how to convince Raiden to leave Brezengarde,” she tells Arella. “But I’m going to need you to send him a message.”

Arella smiles. “I thought you didn’t trust me.”

“I don’t.” Audra’s jaw is so tight, it looks ready to snap. “But I need you to send a bird marked with the code you and Raiden used to use.”

“Why would you want to waste time with that?” Os asks, coming up behind us. “Sending the wind is much faster.”

“Yes, but sending the wind won’t shake him up,” Audra tells him. “I saw how tense he was around my mother’s ravens.”

“He still has them?” Arella whispers.

Audra dips her head. “He only has one now. He snapped the male’s neck after I wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”

Tears drip down Arella’s cheeks, and she murmurs something none of us catch. Then she slips her fingers between her lips and makes a high-pitched whistle.

I’m expecting her ugly crow to sweep in, but a huge brownish-gold eagle soars above us instead. It circles three times and dives to Arella’s wrist. Its talons look painful as they dig into her skin.

“What message am I marking?” she asks, pulling out the eagle’s wing.

“Tell Raiden we have his sister’s whistlepipe,” Audra says. “And that if he doesn’t meet us here by sunrise we’ll destroy it.”

It’s a solid plan—though it’s hard to believe Raiden would care more about a flute than the power of four.

“Tell him to come alone,” Audra adds. “And unarmed. And give him this as proof.”

She asks me for the whistlepipe and snaps off one of the feathery things dangling with it.

“I’m assuming these were his sister’s hair clips,” she says as Arella makes the eagle clasp the feathered piece with its talons. “But even if I’m wrong, he’ll recognize it from the chimes.”

“Do you really think he’ll come?” Os asks. “Raiden doesn’t respond to demands.”

“He will if we make it irresistible.” Audra glances at me as she adds, “Tell him he’ll be meeting only with Vane and myself. The last Westerly, and the Easterly who escaped him—and before anyone argues, remember, he has to believe he can defeat us.”

“And if he overpowers you,” Os argues, “he’d have everything he’s wanted. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole reason he skipped this battle was to push us into taking such a risk. He wants us to believe him weak so he can prove himself strong.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aston says, marching up to join the debate, with Solana right behind him. “If you want to make the puppy come, you have to offer it a treat.”

“Except the puppy is actually a wolf, ready to devour everything,” Os argues.

“Which is why we’ll be ready for him,” Audra says. “Vane and I both channel the power of four.”

“And that won’t be enough,” Os says. “You need the power of pain as well.”

They argue back and forth, and I know I should probably chime in—not that Audra can’t handle herself.

But Os’s points got me thinking about the lyrics to the winds’ song.

I check it a few more times, making sure I really have the right translation, because if I do . . . this is gonna be ugly.