Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (21 page)

I guess that sorta makes sense, and it fits with how Aston created the guide, but when I check the first mark—around the two o’clock position—“Uh, I still don’t see how we don’t die.”

“Aston warned us it would be like that, remember?” Solana jumps in. “He told us to trust the guide, not our eyes.”

“Right, but . . .” I grab Socky the Duck out of my pocket and fling him through the marked place on the blades.

We all get blasted with facefuls of shredded lint.

“I’ll go first,” Gus says, wiping the Socky carnage out of his eyes.

“You’re too weak,” Audra argues.

I have to agree with her on that one. Gus looks worse than when I first saw him. His skin is as gray as his Stormer jacket, and all of his bandages—side note: Are those made from Audra’s
dress
?—seem to be leaking red.

“That’s
why
I’m going first,” Gus says. “I’m the expendable one—”

Audra reaches for his hands. “No, you’re not.”

The look that passes between them definitely doesn’t help my downward-spiraling rage-jealousy.

Even Solana seems to notice, because she places a hand on my shoulder—and not in a possessive way. More like a “there, there” head pat.

Great.

“I’ll go first,” Audra says.

“Uh-uh,” I jump in.

“Yeah, you’re the one with the guide,” Solana reminds her. “If something happens to you, we won’t know the path to follow.”

Okay, that’s definitely not the reason I was going with—though I hate to admit that it’s actually a valid point.

“If anyone’s expendable here, it’s me,” I tell them. “Raiden said as much back in the oubliette. Plus, I’m the one with the least injuries, so I should be the first up.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping they’d talk me out of it—or at least
try
. But of course this has to be the one time they decide to agree with me.

I turn to Audra as I move into fan-jumping position, ready to tell her I love her in case I turn into Vane-splatter. But the words vanish when I realize there’s a chance she might not say it back.

“Okay,” I say, pretending my eyes are watering because of the fan. “Here goes nothing.”

“Be careful,” she begs, and that gives me a little boost as I raise my hands above my head like I’m about to dive into a pool, and launch myself into the fan.

The air vibrates all around me, and my ears throb from the hum, but there’s no pain—until I face-plant onto the cold metal floor.

“I’M ALIVE!” I shout, checking all the key body parts to make sure everything’s where it should be. “And there’s not a lot of space over here, so be careful with your landing.”

I’m still scrambling to my feet when Audra leaps through, tucking her legs as she lands. I’m so happy she’s okay that I can’t help it—I throw my arms around her.

She hugs me back, and I think maybe—
maybe—
she and I are going to be okay. Assuming we survive the next
sixteen
fans.

I let go of her as Solana lands beside us, and a few seconds later Gus follows, hitting the ground even harder than I did.

“It’s the Shredder,” Audra explains as Gus struggles back to his feet. “Some of its winds are still in his essence.”

Gus coughs up blood, and I want to punch myself for my earlier jealousy.

“We need to move faster,” I say, checking the guide, which shows the eight o’clock position on the next fan.

Audra insists on going first, and we fall into a pattern for the next seven jumps. You’d think it would get easier—but every leap is just as terrifying. All it takes is one mistake and we’re splattery pulp.

Gus has to go and prove it on the tenth fan by clipping his left arm on the blades.

He doesn’t chop it off—though it sure sounds like it as it happens. And he loses enough skin that when I try to help him I almost throw up.

“I’m slowing you down,” Gus says as Audra rips off part of her pant leg to bind the wound. “Just leave me and I’ll catch up later—”

“No way,” we all interrupt.

But Gus is super wobbly. No way he can jump high enough to make it through.

“What if we throw him?” Solana asks, and I assume she’s kidding.

Scarily enough, Audra’s game, which is how I end up holding Gus’s feet as Solana and Audra each hold his shoulders and we shove him through the blades of the next fan.

“That worked,” Gus calls—though he didn’t land well. But a bruised shoulder is way better than anymore missing Gus-bits.

We do the next fan the same way, and I’m starting to feel pretty good about it, until a Stormer screams, “THEY’RE IN THE SHREDDER!”

The walls around us slide to the left, nearly knocking us into the blades.

“Oh goody—this thing can move!” I grumble as we struggle to get into our Gus-tossing positions. “Because this wasn’t impossible enough already.”

“All Raiden wants is a shot at learning Westerly,” Gus says. “So let him have me. I’ll keep them distracted long enough for the rest of you to get away.”

So he
has
had the breakthrough.

I’m digesting that revelation when I realize Gus is still talking.

“I’ll protect your language,” he tells me. “Raiden will never learn
anything
.”

I have no doubt about that.

But I’m not ready to give up yet.

“Come on,” I say, hoisting him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “We’ll make this quick.”

Audra shows me the position, and I rally all of my strength and jump through the fan.

The blades clip my shoulder, leaving a pretty gnarly gash—but I keep going.

Three down.

Then two.

Only one.

I’m running on pure adrenaline at this point, and feeling pretty delirious.

But I can do this.

One. More. Leap.

Audra jumps through to make sure the outside is clear and Solana goes next, promising she’ll have a wind ready to catch us.

“Hey,” Gus says as I catch my breath before the final jump. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

“Never,” I promise. “We’re getting you out of here. And then we’ll figure out how to get you better.”

“Maybe,” he says.

But he sounds like he finally believes he has a chance of surviving this.

And he does.

We all do.

Raiden doesn’t get to win this time.

I take one more second to gather my strength and leap through the final set of blades.

I clip the side of my right leg—but it feels like just a scratch. And there’s a steep drop on the other side, so thank goodness for Solana’s quick-catching Southerly.

Audra takes Gus from me, and I try to believe she’s giving me a chance to rest. I’ll stress about how tight she holds him later.

Right now I just want to celebrate that we all survived the freaking Shredder.

But of course nothing is ever that easy.

We’re only free a few seconds before a Stormer shouts, “THERE THEY ARE!” and the fortress gates open to unleash the army.

W
e’ll never outrun them.

Not in our condition.

Not with healthy winds too few and far between as the Stormers close in.

But I refuse to accept only this brief glimpse of freedom.

If we can’t flee, I’ll fight as hard as I have to.

I beg my Westerly shield for wisdom, and search the air for other brave drafts. Amazingly, I find a Westerly, an Easterly, a Northerly, and a Southerly.

I’m about to weave them into a wind spike when all four drafts change their songs, singing of teamwork and embracing our heritage—and each draft is stretching in a different direction.

The Southerly pulls toward Solana. The Northerly toward Gus. The Westerly toward Vane. And the Easterly wants to stay with me.

I hadn’t considered that combined, our heritages represent all four languages. But the winds seem to have decided to put that into action.

“My wind is giving me a command,” Vane says.

“So is mine,” Solana agrees.

“I think we’re all supposed to say the word at the same time,” Gus adds, his voice already stronger now that he’s surrounded by fresher air.

“But we should wait for the best opportunity,” I whisper, even if my instincts are already twitchy.

The Stormers move closer.

Closer.

“Now!” I shout.

Together, the four of us switch to our native tongues and give our winds the same command.

Swelter!

The winds weave into a cyclone, but spin the opposite direction, and the rushing downdraft feels like a foehn. The heated, snow-melting winds usually form on the leeward side of a mountain. But the power of four seems to be able to harness the same force and amplify it.

The foehn creates a wave of melted ice as Raiden’s unnatural winter seeps away in the rush of dry heat. The water crashes into the Stormers, washing them down the mountain and causing enough chaos for us to flee.

A pipeline would be a huge help, but I can’t feel enough untainted drafts to build one. And honestly, I’m not sure if Gus could handle the blast. As it is, I’m dragging him through the sky, begging my Westerly shield to carry us faster.

Vane and Solana catch up, and we head for the forest. I’m hoping the trees will hide us until we have a chance to form an actual plan.

“There’s too many of them,” Vane shouts, pointing to the trail of reinforcements chasing us down.

I shudder when I see two Living Storms among the ranks, and I can’t help worrying it’s proof that Aston and my mother never got away.

“Solana, can’t you do anything?” Vane asks.

“The need isn’t giving me any commands!” she shouts back.

I’m not sure what that means, but a funnel of fire erupts behind us, turning the world to flashes of blinding color and deafening howls and squeals.

“Was that you?” Vane asks Solana.

“No, it was me.”

The familiar voice doesn’t seem real until two figures dart out of the shadows.

One wears a ripped hooded cloak. The other has long dark hair.

My emotions turn to thunder as I gape at Aston and my mother.

“I thought you left,” Vane shouts.

“So did I,” Aston says as he snaps his fingers and sends another firewhirl spinning to life.

The burning spiral cuts a wall of flame through the tress, and when a Living Storm tries to push through, its funnels ignite.

“That should hold them off for a bit.” His smile fades when he notices Gus. “I see Raiden’s tricks haven’t changed. I can carry him. You both look . . . weakened.”

“How do we know you’re really on our side?” Gus asks.

“The fact that I launched the fire at
them
seems like a pretty big clue,” Aston tells him. “And because I could be safely back in my cave, but I was convinced to linger in case you got yourselves into this kind of mess. And . . . because I know your pain.”

He holds up his punctured hand.

“If you want to stick with the pretty girl, I don’t blame you,” Aston adds. “But only do it if you’re both strong enough.”

“I can handle it,” I promise, readjusting Gus for a better hold.

“We should control our speed,” my mother says, keeping her eyes anywhere but on me. “Too much force might tear apart his injuries.”

“That’s what happens when you send someone off to be tortured,” I snap.

She still doesn’t look my way, but her whole body goes rigid as she mumbles something I can’t hear over the squealing.

“What’s that noise?” Vane asks, making me realize the sound is more than the pressure in my head. “Is that the Stormer’s gadget?”

My mother nods and holds up a silver spinning anemometer. “It sprang to life when you led the army this way. That’s how we knew to be ready.”

“The Stormers use them to keep track of each other,” Vane explains to me. “So when it goes off, we know they’re close.”

“How many Westerlies can you gather?” Aston asks Vane.

“I feel three,” he says.

“There’s a fourth one if you stretch your consciousness closer toward the mountain,” I tell him.

That earns me far more attention than we have time for, so I head off their questions with a quick “Yes, Gus and I had the fourth breakthrough. Once we get somewhere safe I’ll explain how it happened.”

There’s something sad about Vane’s posture as he nods, and I wonder if he’s bothered we share his language.

But I don’t have time to consider such trivialities. I’m helping Vane gather the Westerlies when the sky goes still and the winds holding us waver and fade.

We barely manage to stay airborne as Raiden shouts, “You’ll never leave this mountain!”

His voice is everywhere and nowhere. A ghost of shadow and flame.

“Surrender now,” he snarls, “or experience a new realm of pain.”

“I think we’ll go with option C!” Vane shouts back.

Only two Westerlies manage to break through whatever wall Raiden has created, and it doesn’t feel like enough. But Vane weaves them around us anyway.

“You’ll regret leaving,” Raiden warns us. “You have no grasp of the price you’ll pay.”

“Grasp
this
!” Vane shouts, ordering the Westerlies to rise.

Aston launches another firewhirl as the winds blast us away—the forest blurring with sparks and smoke as we streak through the sky.

I’d feel more triumphant if Gus weren’t coughing and sputtering.

“We need to slow down!” I shout. “The speed is tearing him apart.”

“If we do, they’ll be on us in seconds,” Vane argues, pointing to the anemometer, which is still squeaking, warning us there are Stormers on our tail.

“Maybe not,” Aston says, testing the air with his fingers. “I don’t feel any Stormers nearby.”

“But I still feel the chill,” my mother whispers.

Gus coughs again and Aston’s eyes widen and he shouts a dozen curses as he grabs my mother’s needled blade and swipes it toward Gus’s throat.

“What are you doing?” I scream.

“Trying to save him.”

He slashes Gus’s neck before I can pull away.

The blow barely grazes Gus’s skin, and there’s so much shouting and squealing and flailing, I can’t figure out what anyone is saying, until my brain catches two words: