Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (10 page)

Raiden’s nose crinkles as he sniffs the air. “Put her in there with him. Let her watch his life drain away. And when he’s gone, bring me his body.”

He leaves us then, and my new guard shoves me into Gus’s cell and tosses a gray uniform at me.

Gus seems to be unconscious, but I still move away from his eye line and slip out of my tattered dress. Warm wetness coats my hands as I pull the scratchy jacket off, but the wounds feel shallow. And my Westerly shield is doing all it can to soothe them.

When I’ve changed, I check on Gus. His skin feels sticky and feverish, his breaths a soggy wheeze.

I shred the remains of my dress and bind as many of his wounds as I can.

“He’s bleeding on the inside,” Nalani tells me. “Nothing can fix that.”

Sobs burn in my throat and I choke them back, reminding myself that there’s a reason our medics only know how to set bones and patch wounds.

The wind is our lifeline.

Fresh air will bring Gus’s strength back.

And in his rage, Raiden just made a fatal error.

I roll Gus toward the wall, pretending to be moving him to cleaner ground. The new position gives me a chance to view the guide.

Gus’s rendering was accurate. I try to do the same as I scratch the marks into my leg and let my new pants cover the evidence. The guide still doesn’t make much sense—and I have no idea how to get us to the Shredder. But I have a plan to get Gus the wind he needs.

I prop Gus up, pretending I’m checking his breathing, and when his eyes slit open, I whisper in his ear, “If you can hear me, I need you to act like you’re in as much pain as possible.”

I can’t tell if his grunt is a
yes
.

But the screams that follow are agonizing—horrible bloodcurdling screeches as Gus thrashes and writhes, smearing more red across the floor.

“He needs air,” I shout, letting my panic leak into my voice. “Please—you have to take him aboveground.”

“You heard Raiden’s orders,” Nalani tells me.

Gus vomits. His legs and arms thrash, and I honestly have no idea if he’s acting or finally admitting how much pain he’s in.

“Please—he’s dying!”

“I think that’s the point.”

“But you don’t understand.” I sweep the tears off my cheeks and new ones immediately replace them. “
He’s
the important one.”

“What’s going on down here?” a familiar voice shouts, and the Stormer with the scars runs to the bars of my cell.

I reach for his arm. “My friend is dying. Please—you have to get us to the tower. Raiden would want you to.”

“Then why did he order me to let you watch him die?” Nalani asks.

“Because he doesn’t realize how important Gus is!” I hesitate then, warring over my next words, debating if the risk is too great.

Gus heaves again, making the decision for me.

“Gus is the one who can teach Raiden Westerly,” I whisper. “I taught him a command before I broke my bond.”

Nalani snorts. “How convenient.”

“It’s also true,” I say, focusing on the scarred Stormer as he weighs my words. “I can’t teach Raiden anything,” I tell him. “All of my knowledge is gone. And Vane will die faithful like all the other Westerlies. So if Gus slips away now, he takes Raiden’s last chance at learning the language.”

“And you’ve just decided to tell us this now?” he asks. “Now that your friend’s taking his final breaths?”

“That’s
why
I’m telling you!” I turn to Gus, and a sob shakes my shoulders when I see the red oozing from his lips. “I thought I’d be strong enough. But I can’t let him die. Not like this—not for a language that’s not even mine. Or his. It’s not our job to protect it. I’d teach Raiden right now if I could. But I can’t. Only Gus can.”

I can practically hear their minds chewing the words, deciding whether or not to swallow them.

I focus on the scarred Stormer and push where I know he’s vulnerable.

“What do you think Raiden will do when he finds out that Gus knew Westerly? I’ll tell him after Gus is gone—and I’ll tell him I told you before it was too late. Do you think he’ll reward you for blindly following his orders—or make you face the Shredder?”

Nalani grabs my throat. “You dare to threaten us?”

“I’ll do whatever I have to do to save him,” I rasp.

The scarred Stormer pulls her hand away, letting me breathe.

“Raiden needs to know,” he mumbles. “If there’s even the slightest chance . . .”

Nalani sighs. “We better get him to the tower cell, then. The boy doesn’t have long without the wind.”

The scarred Stormer nods, and his eyes focus on me.

For the first time I can see him as one of Raiden’s trained killers. Especially when he says, “If this is a trick, I’ll end you myself.”

T
he sky is dark by the time we reach the mountain that hides Raiden’s fortress—and I mean
really
dark.

No stars.

No moon.

Just storm clouds blacking out the world and showering us with snow . . . in the middle of summer.

“I’m g-g-guessing this isn’t n-n-normal,” I stutter as Aston sets us down in an ice-crusted forest. It looks like Mr. Freeze came through and blasted everything with his freeze gun.

“It means Raiden knows we’re coming,” Aston tells me, pulling his hood up to block the snow. “I’d figured as much. But I’d been hoping he wouldn’t be
this
prepared.”

I know it shouldn’t surprise me that Raiden can change the weather. But somehow the idea feels
huge.

And the mountain
itself
is huge—way bigger than I’d imagined. We should’ve brought climbing gear—and about a million extra layers of clothes.

“Here,” Solana says, blanketing me in a Southerly.

She does the same to herself before turning to Aston.

“I’ll just absorb it,” he tells her.

“And it would dull my senses too much,” Arella adds.

I shiver just looking at them. The Southerly can’t keep all the freezing air away, but at least I’ll leave here with all ten of my toes.

Aston licks his finger and waves it back and forth, then curses under his breath. “Raiden’s definitely gunning for you, Loverboy. He brought in the northern squalls. We’ll have to limit flying to emergencies only, and Brezengarde will be at maximum power.”

“The fortress draws strength from the wind,” Solana explains when she sees my confusion. “There are windmills on every wall, and a system of tunnels to channel the wind to the heart of the fortress, where a central turbine powers all of Raiden’s defenses.”

“And his
offenses
,” Aston adds. “Raiden isn’t the type to sit back and wait for his fortress to be stormed. He likes to blast you to pieces long before you ever get there. And the squalls triple the range of his blasters—and quadruple the force of the Shredder.”

“The ground isn’t safe either,” Arella warns, waving her hands to fan away the cloud of her breath. “I can feel patrols all over the mountain.”

“Okay, so . . . how do we get around all of that?” I’m done hearing about problems. Let’s get cracking on the answers.

Aston turns to Solana. “It might help if we knew where we’re going. Care to tell us where we can find this mythical tunnel?”

“It’s not mythical,” Solana argues. “But . . .”

I feel a nightmare coming on.

Solana fiddles with her link. “I don’t know exactly where it is—but I remember seeing train tracks near the exit my dad used in his memories. And some sort of structure.”

“Train tracks?” I repeat. “On a mountain?”

“There’s a train that takes people to the summit observatory.”

She says it like that’s good news, but uh . . . “There are
people
on this mountain?”

“Normally, yeah—especially at this time of year,” Solana says. “But the squalls should be keeping them away.”

I hope she’s right.

There was enough collateral damage during my last battle with Raiden’s army.

“Why would your family build their fortress so close to humans?” I ask. “And why hasn’t someone noticed it and been like, dude—what’s
that
?”

“It’s tucked away quite brilliantly,” Solana tells me. “And the winds help disguise it.”

“You know, for a sylph raised by groundlings, you don’t seem to know much about either race,” Aston points out.

“Oh, please, like anyone normal knows about . . . um . . . what mountain is this?”

Okay, so maybe I’m an idiot. . . .

“Mount Washington,” Solana tells me. “One of the windiest places in the world. Also the highest peak in the northeast part of this continent.”

“Well, look who’s a walking geography book,” I grumble.

“No—I just took the time to learn about my home,” Solana snaps back. “Though I guess it’ll be your home when all of this is over. You and your
wife.
”

Oh good, so we’re going
there.

It gets even better when Arella says, “Audra will make a better queen.”

“Okay, no one is getting crowned right now,” I jump in. “Can we get through this alive and
then
worry about who gets to keep the castle?”

The sad truth is—assuming we find a way to defeat Raiden—if I don’t marry Solana, I’ll basically be usurping her family’s throne. It doesn’t matter who I love—or who loves me—or that I don’t even want to be King Windwalker. It’s all about the Gales’ plans for rebuilding their world.

“Entertaining as it is to watch this little drama,” Aston interrupts, “we’re standing in the middle of enemy territory and clinging to the ever-unraveling hope of somehow eluding them. So perhaps we should stay a moving target?”

“Right,” Solana mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Me too,” I tell her. “So . . . anyone know where the train tracks are?”

“I know how to find them.” Aston pats the icy trunk of the nearest tree. “Get climbing, Loverboy.”

“Great idea! Except, y’know, one of my arms isn’t working right now,” I remind him. “So how about you shimmy on up there?”

“I’ll do it,” Solana says, jumping to grab the lowest branch.

She misses by at least six inches.

“Honestly, if I’d realized I’d be working with idiots,” Arella snaps, “I would’ve made this a solo rescue.”

“Uh, we wouldn’t need a rescue if—”

“Yes, I
know
,” Arella says, cutting me off.

She cups her hands around her mouth and makes a warbling screech, and a small gray owl dives from a hole in one of the trees and lands on her wrist.

It’s too cute to scare me—though it’s super freaky the way it can spin its head around. Arella scratches its speckled feathers and makes a few more warbles until the owl blinks its huge yellow eyes and flaps toward the sky.

“The best way to get a bird’s-eye view,” Arella tells us, “is to ask a bird.”

Sure enough, when the owl returns, it tells her we need to head northeast.

“Most of the tracks are under the snow,” Arella says, “but it said there are several structures halfway to the summit.”

“Oh good—time for some mountain climbing,” Aston says, heavy on the sarcasm.

I’m right there with him.

I’ve always hated hiking. Hiking through ice and snow—without the right shoes or gear—is a million times worse. Hiking through ice and snow, when every creak or crackle could be an evil soldier coming to murder us?

Yeah . . . every minute pretty much feels like a thousand years.

I have no idea how long we’ve been trekking when Arella hisses for silence, waving her arms around, testing the air.

“I feel something,” she whispers. “A deep shiver down my spine.”

“I feel nothing,” Aston tells her. “I think it’s—”

A soft squeaking cuts him off, and we all focus on Arella’s hip, where the silver anemometer has started spinning.

Aston grabs my arm. “Get us airborne—now! And use Westerlies!”

There aren’t many around, but I manage to tangle a handful into a wind bubble. Solana, Aston, and Arella cling to me as I rocket us into the sky.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Aston pulls the anemometer from Arella’s belt. “These only spin around other Stormers. Things are about to get very . . . explosive.”

The word is still bouncing around our wind bubble when a thunderous crack erupts behind us, and one of the trees blasts into a million jagged pieces.

“Care to fly a little faster?” Aston asks. “And maybe make us a bit of a harder target?”

“On it!” I beg more Westerlies to join the bubble and command them to dash around in whatever random pattern they want.

It seems to help—the next few explosions are nowhere near us. But it’s definitely not awesome on my stomach.

“What is the anemometer sensing?” Arella asks. “I’ve never felt anything so cold and hollow.”

“It’s the suicide draft,” Aston tells her. “I’m surprised you could detect it. Clearly the rumors of your talents have not been exaggerated.”

“Of course they weren’t.”

I roll my eyes, glad when Solana asks, “What’s a suicide draft?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Aston says. “Think of it as Raiden’s ultimate control. He doesn’t allow his Stormers to be taken prisoner, but he doesn’t trust that they’ll all have—shall we say—
the dedication
to honor the requirement if they’re captured. So he forms a suicide draft around their necks when they swear their fealty, and then all he has to do is give the command and . . .”

He mimes his neck being snapped.

“Does he really keep tabs on every single soldier?” I ask.

“He lets his ruined drafts do it for him. It’s amazing how efficient the wind is when it
has
to obey. Meanwhile you seem to leave it all up to whatever whim a draft might feel.”

“Uh, it’s keeping us alive so far,” I remind him, as yet another explosion misses us. “The wind knows what it’s doing way more than I do. Why boss it around?”

Aston laughs. “That’s either noble or incredibly naive.”

“I see the tower!” Solana shouts. “Can you get us lower?”

I try several different commands, but the Westerlies won’t go below the tops of the trees. “If you need me to go lower, we’ll have to be on foot again.”