Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (12 page)

“Oh yes, I can see why Raiden has killed so many for this power,” Aston says when nothing happens. “I almost wish I could be there when he discovers its pointlessness.”

“Come on!” I beg in Westerly. “Aren’t you getting tired of everyone thinking you’re worthless?”

That seems to get the wind’s attention.

Its song shifts, flooding my head with new lyrics that definitely aren’t what I’d been expecting.

I’d assumed the plan would involve a lot of running and hiding. But my Westerly wants something with a bit more
flare.

“I don’t suppose anyone has a lighter in their pocket,” I mumble.

“By lighter you mean something to spark a fire?” Aston asks.

“Yeah. The wind wants us to head to the end of the tunnel and make something called a firewhirl.”

“That’s a
Westerly
plan?” Arella asks.

“Do you think I could make it up?” I ask.

“Definitely not,” Aston says.

The manic edge to his voice seems to be fading as he adds, “It’s not a terrible idea. But it depends on how large of a welcome party Raiden has waiting for us. One wind might not be enough.”

“What about eleven winds?” Solana asks. “I have eight stored under my skin. And Vane and I can give up the Southerlies keeping us warm.”

“None of that matters if we can’t light a fire,” I remind them.

“I have you covered there.” Aston snarls a strange command and snaps his fingers.

Sparks flash through the darkness.

“How did you do that?” I ask.

“We control
air
,” Aston says. “And what does fire feed on?”

He snaps again, and I realize he’s clicking the bits of his exposed bone together to make enough friction.

It’s beyond nasty, but all I care about is “So you think this will work?”

“It might,” Aston says, a slow smile curling his lips. “Get us to the exit and have your drafts ready. I’ll make sure the winds burn.”

T
he wind is stirring.

Rustling through the cracks all around us—each draft whispering the same words I feel deep in my core.

It’s time.

Gus is as strong as he’s going to get—still slipping in and out of consciousness, but able to move on his own. And Raiden is distracted by the near tangible silence beyond the fortress.

He stands with his back to me, the full force of his focus aimed at the window, where his sallow drafts trickle in with updates from his Stormers.

His replies are calm and hushed. The air around him radiates confidence.

But there’s a rigidness to his posture. A tension seeping from his shoulders.

Clearly, his trap is taking too long.

Somehow Vane and my mother are eluding him.

Which means now is the time to change the game.

But what move am I supposed to make?

I’m still locked behind bars.

Still slowed by an injured companion.

Still under Raiden’s watch, even if his eyes aren’t on me.

The restless Easterlies whisper among the hidden depths in the walls, offering strength, courage, calm.

But if I’m going to do this, what I really need is a new plan.

We can’t flee through the Shredder—not until I know whether Vane has been captured.

Vane.

Thinking his name makes my Westerly hum with an urgent sort of energy, flickering against my skin in strange, deliberate patterns, like it’s trying to signal me—but I don’t have the key to translate the message.

Gus coughs, and I’m relieved when no red leaks from his mouth. I help him sit up, and he leans his head against my shoulder, his fingers tracing the bloodstains on my back.

“I’m fine,” I whisper. Whatever Raiden did was meant to mark me, not end me. “What about you?”

He gives me a weak smile. “Never been better.”

“Sounds like someone is nearly ready for our important conversation,” Raiden tells us. “As soon as I tie up a few loose ends . . .”

My Westerly presses tighter, repeating the same pattern as before.

I wait for Raiden to turn away and breathe into my breezy palm. “I can’t understand you.”

The wind stops for a moment, and I worry it’s going to leave. But it picks up again, gathering around my face, whooshing so fast it makes my hair scatter.

Gus pulls me behind him, letting his broad shoulders hide me.

He presses his lips against my ear. “I think it’s trying to trigger a breakthrough.”

My eyes widen, and I can’t decide if my heart is racing with excitement or fear.

The Westerly must sense my unease, because it grows softer.

Gentler.

“Trust the wind,” Gus whispers.

I close my eyes and nod.

It’s not easy to clear my head, but I let myself think of nothing but the soothing wind.

The rush of power.

The call of freedom.

And with my next breath, the Westerly slips into my mind.

My eyes water as it presses deep into my consciousness, whisking around my memories. I feel my essence stir, drawn toward the freedom of the sky. Even without understanding the words, the pull of the Westerly is irresistible, begging me to flee this grounded body and become pure motion and energy and strength.

If it weren’t for the steady pressure of Gus’s hand holding mine, I might surrender.

Instead, I focus on the mushy, garbled words, trying to shape them into something I can translate.

If only I weren’t an Easterly.

I’m too cold.

Too unsteady.

I’m not worthy of the beautiful language the Westerly is trying to give me.

It belongs to someone sweet and soothing and stable.

Trust the wind.

I can’t tell if Gus is whispering the words again, or if it’s an echo from earlier. But the next sound I hear crashes against my essence like a wave on the shore, smoothing the battered places inside me and filling the cracks in my heart with a single, simple word.

Peace.

The thought is a hurricane, flooding my mind with wants and needs—so different from my last Westerly breakthrough, where every thought was tangled up with Vane. This time it’s only me—just the wind and my consciousness, fusing our hopes and dreams into something new.

Something
powerful
.

My whole body trembles as the draft flees with my next breath, and I drift with an overwhelming sense of calm.

I’ve never felt so settled in my own skin. So
right
in who I am.

But my nerves spark when I hear Gus gasp with a startled breath.

I sit up and find him still—too still.

His pulse feels strong, though, and his skin is warm. His expression peaceful.

And that’s when I realize . . .

Gus is about to have the fourth breakthrough.

My Westerly shield must’ve shifted to him.

I pull Gus close, tangle my arms around him—anything to help keep him grounded. His flesh is so weak, I can’t be sure he’ll hold on.

“You have to come back,” I whisper. “Take the wind’s strength and make it your own.”

“So
this
is why you asked to be up here,” Raiden says, reaching through the bars and grabbing my ankle.

He tries to drag me toward him, but I kick his hand away.

“You think you’re safe from me over there?” he asks as I crawl out of his reach.

He calls for a guard, and the Stormer with the scars pounds up the stairs.

“She just had the fourth breakthrough,” Raiden tells him, “and it looks like he’s about to.”

All eyes focus on Gus as he exhales a shuddering breath and rolls to his side, coughing and thrashing.

I hug him as tight as I can, too relieved to have him back to care that Raiden’s shouting orders to the Stormer.

But as my Westerly shield blankets itself around me, I hear Raiden snap, “Take them back to the dungeon! Get them away from the wind.”

Before the Stormer can act, a thunderous explosion shakes the tower.

Smoky red-orange light pours through the window—the unmistakable glow of a raging fire.

O
kay, so firewhirls are freaking awesome.

I can’t believe they aren’t the Gales’ go-to weapon.

Mind you, they look pretty wimpy as I make them—just a tiny dust devil that I toss a few scattered sparks in.

But once I shout, “Engulf!” and the heat mixes with all the rushing oxygen? It turns into a hundred-foot spinning death spiral shooting red-hot flames in every direction—which might actually be why I haven’t seen the Gales use them. I’m pretty sure I would’ve burned off all my appendages if I’d been in charge.

But Aston’s a pro when it comes to violence.

He takes out half the Stormers with his very first blow. The rest put up a better fight—but he still wipes them out with three drafts to spare and uses the leftover winds to carry us to the top of a tree several miles away, so we can regroup.

“You’re holding up rather well,” he says, his eyes narrowing at me. “Especially considering we smell like roasted Stormer.”

“Ugh—you didn’t need to put it like
that
,” Solana groans as she tangles a fresh Southerly around me to keep me warm.

I switch to mouth breathing to dodge the smell—but honestly, I’m doing okay.

“I wonder if it’s because the firewhirls were the Westerly’s idea,” I mumble. “Maybe it knows what my limits are. Or maybe it knew how desperate our situation was. Or . . . I don’t know, maybe I’m getting tougher.”

“Definitely not the last one,” Aston tells me. “But this is progress. From now on, you ask your little winds what they want you to do and obey. Maybe you’ll actually get through this.”

“Let’s hope,” I agree, calling down a fresh Westerly and tangling it into another shield. “So what now?”

“Now we play good news, bad news,” Aston says. “The good news is, we survived Raiden’s trap. I’m sure we’ve also succeeded in royally pissing him off. And the smoke and glare from the fires will make it much harder to track you.”

“And the bad news?” Solana asks.

“Yeah, and what’s with this ‘you’ stuff?” I add. “Don’t you mean ‘we’?”

Aston becomes very interested in his ruined hands. “The bad news is . . . my part in this little adventure has come to an end.”

A million different reactions spin through my head—most of them involving another kick to the nuts.

But losing my temper isn’t going to make him want to stick around.

“You said you’d help us rescue Audra and Gus,” Solana reminds him.

“Actually, I said I’d help you come up with a plan. And I’ll still do that.”

“You’re weaseling out on a technicality?” I snap.

His eyes flash, and I can tell he has one of his snide comebacks ready to go. But by the time he speaks, the words come out through a sigh.

“The truth is . . . I was force-fed a rather large dish of reality while we were stuck in that tunnel,” he mumbles. “And I’ve had to admit that I can’t risk letting Raiden capture me. Not because I’m afraid of what he’ll do to me. Because I’m afraid of what
I’ll
do. Raiden is as addictive as the power of pain. The more you’re around him, the more you see the logic behind his decisions, until you can’t remember why you ever resisted. I almost let him turn me into his shiny new tool last time, and if he gets ahold of me again, I’m not sure what I’ll do. So you can hate me for abandoning you—but I promise, it’s better that I leave you now than end up fighting against you.”

It’s the most humble, sincere thing Aston has said this whole journey—and I can’t really fault him for it.

But I’d gotten very used to the idea of having him there to fight all the Stormers if we needed him. . . .

I take a deep breath. “Fine. We can do this without you.”

“You can,” Aston agrees. “And you can also do it without her.”

He grabs Arella’s arms, binding her in broken winds with the same motion.

“If you think—”

“Let me stop you from saying anything especially foolish,” Aston interrupts me, “and remind you that she can’t be trusted around Raiden either.”

“Raiden holds no power over me,” Arella argues.

“Oh really?” Aston asks. “So then you wanted to betray your daughter?”

When she doesn’t respond, he adds, “If you truly want to save your girl, leave her rescue to people who might actually be able to help her.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re doing this for Audra,” Arella snaps. “You just want my pain.”

Aston doesn’t deny it. “But if that were all this was about, there are other much more exciting ways to force it out of you. So stop pouting and try doing what’s best for your daughter for once in her life.”

“You think
she
cares whether my daughter lives or dies?” Arella shouts, turning the full weight of her glare on Solana. “Do you think
she’s
safe from Raiden’s corruption? She’s already succumbed to the power of pain!”

“To save your life,” Solana snaps.

She turns to me to back her up, but I’m not sure I can.

I also notice she’s twirling her link so fast it’s probably rubbing the skin off her wrist.

“Maybe . . . you should go with them . . . ,” I mumble. “It’s getting pretty dangerous.”

“You need me,” Solana says. “You can’t do this without me.”

“She’s right,” Aston assures me.

I bite my lip.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Solana asks.

Okay, I know I’m about to trigger the rage storm to end all rage storms. But she’s still twisting her stupid link and I can’t ignore it anymore.

“Why are you taking such a huge risk, Solana? Is this about us?” I whisper the last part, pointing to her gold cuff.

The silence is crushing.

Solana breaks it with laughter—cold, angry laughter. “Get over yourself, Vane. This fortress was my home. The man who killed my family is in there. And Gus needs my help. His mother died protecting me—I owe it to her to save her son.
That’s
what I care about. So can we stop wasting time? We need to get back to the section of train tracks where I found the false tunnel. The real one has to be over there somewhere—and I already know which side of the tracks it
isn’t
on. It shouldn’t take me long to figure out where it
is
.”