He points to the emergency signal in the center of the field—a thin, white funnel of speeding winds stretching to the highest point of the sky.
“I’d even wager that’s why they involved you in the first place,” Os adds, glaring at me. “Someone to do their dirty work.”
Aston shrugs. “That doesn’t mean it was wise to corrupt the entire force with a power you don’t understand. And every time you use it, you’re dragged further under.”
“Maybe not,” Solana mumbles, then shrinks slightly when all eyes focus on her. “I think . . . I found a safer way to channel the power.”
“Have you now?” Os asks. “Does that mean you’ve used the commands I taught you?”
“She did,” I answer for her. “And it really messed her up.”
“I’m fine,” Solana starts, then stops herself. “It’s been hard. And part of me wishes I’d never used it. But it’s a little better now that I figured out the trick. If I focus on the needs of others, instead of what I’m craving, the power doesn’t take over the same way. The hard part is letting go of the selfish thoughts and making sure I truly mean the sacrifice.”
“But you still have to ruin the wind, don’t you?” Arella asks.
“Not if I use winds that are already broken,” Solana tells her. “Raiden has shattered thousands of drafts—and I’m sure he’ll destroy hundreds more today. We can use those to fight against him. Give them back their meaning. Otherwise what will their fate be? To drift aimlessly with no value or purpose ever again? They may be damaged—but they’re not useless. So long as we make sure we’re working in harmony with their needs, I don’t see why it would be cruel to let them help us, whatever way they can.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that before.
I kept thinking of it like shielding ourselves behind dead bodies. Taking advantage of the violence of others in order to survive.
But the winds aren’t dead.
If she’s found a way to give them purpose—why not?
I feel even better when I see Audra nodding, like she agrees with Solana’s reasoning.
“So is this your plan, then?” Os asks me. “Put us on the front lines of your battle while tying our hands and limiting our power?”
“Thinking of others doesn’t tie your hands,” Solana insists. “And it definitely doesn’t limit your power. It made us stronger than even Raiden claimed to be.”
“And you can organize yourselves however you want,” I add. “You’re the experts on battle strategy. All I need is for you guys to keep the Stormers busy, so I can find Raiden and end this.”
“You’re going to end this?” Os asks. “You realize what that means?”
“Yeah, I’m going to kill Raiden,” I tell him.
Hopefully slowly and painfully.
It’s kind of amazing how little the idea shakes me. All I have to do is keep my mind focused on Gus.
“I’ll be helping,” Solana jumps in.
“As will I,” Audra adds.
“Only if I need it,” I correct.
“Oh, you’ll need it,” Os says. “Or is selflessness supposed to be the magical cure for your aversion to violence?”
“No, the magical cure is rage,” I tell him. “Raiden murdered Gus right in front of me. He tortured the girl I love. So yeah, I have absolutely zero doubt that the first chance I get, I’ll be ready to end him.”
I’m pretty proud of how confident I sound in my little speech. Until I realize I slipped the L word in there too.
The coward in me wants to put my head down—look anywhere but Audra’s face.
But the needy, desperate boy has to know what she thinks.
I steal a glance, and . . . she’s not looking at me.
But she’s blinking a lot.
Are those tears?
If they are—are they good tears?
Something hits my side, and I realize Solana elbowed me.
“Os asked you a question,” she says under her breath.
Right. I’m supposed to be focusing on battles and things.
“One more time?” I ask, losing what little credibility I might’ve gained.
Os sighs. “I asked if you have a preference on how we organize the ranks.”
“I do,” Aston jumps in, and once again I want to hug him. He knows everything about Raiden’s battle tactics and gets to work bossing everyone around, sending the guardians to different positions, and telling them how to prep for battle.
Arella wanders off to “get a better reading on the air.” And Solana takes off her jacket to absorb as many winds as she can. Even Audra’s keeping busy, testing her strength and range of motion with her windslicer.
And I’m . . . standing here uselessly—which is pretty much par for the course, but it feels like I could do better.
I still have the pain pills I grabbed from my house, so I divide them up among the Gales, telling them to crush them and throw the powder in the Stormers’ faces if they lose their weapons during the battle.
I’m debating whether I should make them wind spikes, too, since I know Os will probably shatter the drafts in them. I decide to put it off when I remember a question I meant to ask.
“Do either of you guys know anything about this?” I ask Aston and Os, showing them the whistlepipe.
Their jaws fall open.
“I’m guessing that’s a yes?”
“That belonged to Raiden’s sister,” Aston whispers.
“Raiden has a sister?”
“Had,” Os corrects. “She returned to the sky when he was nine. He never told me the whole story. Something to do with groundlings. Add it to the list of reasons he despises them.”
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
Dead sister. Humans responsible. And Raiden probably felt super powerless when it happened.
I’m not a shrink or anything, but that sounds like a pretty good reason why someone might head down the I-want-to-kill-everyone-and-have-absolute-power path.
I’m trying to figure out if my hands are strong enough to crush the pipe right in front of him, or if I’ll have to drop it and stomp it with my boot when I hear Aston worrying about our number of guardians.
“You don’t think fifty will be enough?” I ask.
“Sixty-three,” Aston corrects. “And no, I don’t. Raiden will bring at least a hundred.”
“How many Stormers does he actually have?” I ask.
“Not as many as you’d think. He has trust issues, if you can’t tell by the suicide drafts. He usually keeps his force between one hundred twenty and one hundred fifty, recruiting and replacing as needed.”
Wow—that’s definitely not as many as I’d been imagining.
“I’m sure he’ll also bring Living Storms,” Os adds, squishing the tiny bit of hope I’d been building. “Depending on how many innocents he can find and transform.”
My mind flashes to the people in the hotel, and I really really really hope he needs sylphs in order to make his creepy warriors. But I can’t help imagining hundreds of Living Storms tearing toward us.
“And this is really everyone?” I ask Os. “There aren’t any other Gales we can call for aid?”
Os shakes his head. “Raiden has decimated our forces over the last few years. And we were always a small uprising. All we have are those you see, those too badly injured to fight, and a handful of reserves I left behind to cover things should the worst happen.”
“Is it still the same contingency plan?” Aston asks him.
“Essentially. We have a system of tunnels where anyone loyal can flee, and the guardians on reserve will make sure anyone who needs them can find them. Everyone will be safe underground, so long as they stay out of the wind until they’re strong enough to rise up again.”
“That . . . could be a very long time,” I mumble.
The reality of what we’re facing hits me then—like really hits me.
This isn’t just about risking our lives, or settling our score with Raiden.
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It’s about our whole world crumbling.
“Fear is your greatest enemy in battle,” Aston says. “Don’t surrender to it. Take it one fight at a time, one enemy at a time, and hope you’re still standing when the storm settles.”
That’s definitely not as comforting as he seems to think it is.
“Besides,” Aston adds. “You’ll have the strongest defense during the fight.”
“You really think the power of four is that strong?”
“I was talking about me. I’ll be providing your cover so you can get to Raiden. And trust me, I am very motivated to make sure you get there.”
Something about his tone—or maybe it’s the intensity in his eyes—makes me feel a little choked up when I tell him, “Thanks.”
It also makes me hand over my wind spike.
“In case you need it,” I mumble.
“It’s worthless against Raiden unless you break the Northerly inside it,” Os warns.
“Perhaps,” Aston whispers, tracing his fingers along the blue edges. “But I hate to disturb such purity.”
I weave myself a new wind spike and scan the field. It doesn’t have much to it. Mostly rolling hills and a few scattered trees. “Where do you think I should look for Raiden?”
Aston points to a weird pointed rock in the distance—or maybe it’s a mountain. It’s hard to tell. It kinda looks like a hill that’s giving the sky the finger.
“Raiden always watches from a distance,” he tells me. “He’ll only swoop closer if the flanks are failing—or to celebrate his victory. So my guess is, he’ll be somewhere over there. It’s the highest point in the area, and it’s a difficult approach from the ground. I can also feel groundlings not far from there, and I’m sure he knows we’ll try to spare them.”
“Wait—there are humans nearby?” I ask, craning my neck and seeing nothing but empty plains. “Why?”
“I think that rock is famous,” Solana tells me. “I know I’ve seen pictures of it before.”
Great. So we’re back to putting people’s lives in danger—and it’s too late to change location.
“Shouldn’t we claim the high ground for ourselves, then?” Os asks. “Minimize the risk of casualties?”
“Not if we want to win. Raiden’s overconfidence will be our greatest asset. The more he thinks everything’s going his way, the more likely he is to make a mistake. Let him have what he wants. Let him think he has all the advantages. By the time he realizes there are other forces at play, it will hopefully be too late.”
I hate gambling with people’s lives that way. But . . . I know Aston’s right. “So what’s the smartest way to approach?” I ask, vowing to fight ten times harder to keep people safe.
“We’ll have to see how the battle plays out,” Aston says. “And you’ll have to keep an ear to your winds, asking them for help getting around his backlash—and don’t try for the kill until they give you an answer. Assuming there is an answer.”
“There has to be one,” I mumble. “Otherwise why have any Stormers at all? Why go after the power of four if he’s invincible?”
“I used to tell myself the same thing, when I was plotting my escape. Never did get the answer. But don’t look so glum, Loverboy. Your winds haven’t failed you yet.”
Yeah, I guess not. “But what if—”
The rest of my question is swallowed by the wave of heavy, gray clouds that pours in from the north, blacking out the sun.
In the same breath the sky goes eerily still.
Lightning flashes across the sky as hundreds of Stormers emerge from the thunderheads.
With a loud, ground-shaking rumble, the battle begins.
CHAPTER 42
AUDRA
Stay 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 ca
n’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.