Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (35 page)

Still fighting.

Please let him win.

My eyes will be glued to the sky. Listening. Hoping.

“We can’t leave things like this, Audra,” my mother says. “Just come inside for a few minutes.”

“Why are you so insistent on that?”

She stares at the singing chimes, and her hand darts to her wrist. “Maybe . . . I’m not ready to be alone,” she whispers.

I watch her fingers twitching across her bare skin, itching to polish the gold cuff that should be there. And I have to ask. “What happened to your link?”

“Os took it. Before he sent me to the Maelstrom. He said I dishonored my bond with my choices.”

“You did.”

“I know.” The wind seems to shift, and she turns her face to the breeze, her expression peaceful even as her fingers gouge red trails across her skin. “I’ve lived with my mistakes every day for ten years. Sometimes I’m not sure how I’ll bear it any longer.”

“That’s your fault.”

“It is. But you could fix it.”

“If you’re asking me to forgive you—”

“I’m not asking anything. I’m simply telling you what your father told me. When Vane pulled me out of the Maelstrom, I was mostly gone—and I had no plans to fight my way back. But your father’s songs found me and called me toward him. He filled my heart with new lyrics. Reminded me that while he gave you his gift, he gave me
you
. And he said I could live without him—but never without you.”

I close my eyes, hating that I have to hear the message in her voice instead of his.

“Is that why . . . ?” I whisper.

“Yes. It’s why I helped Vane rescue you. I had to see if your father was right.”

The next logical question burns on my tongue, begging me to ask it.

But I can’t.

I don’t want to care about her answer.

So I turn to the wind, searching once again for my father’s Easterly.

“You won’t find him,” my mother tells me.

I hate her for being right.

Why can’t he be there?

Why can’t he—

I suck in a breath. “I feel him.”

My mother grabs my arm, her whole body shaking.

“He’s coming from the north,” I whisper. “I’m calling him over.”

“Go inside,” she tells me, dragging me toward the door.

I lock my knees. “Why? What are you doing?”

“I’m bringing you inside. For once, can’t you simply listen to me?”

“Not until you tell me why.”

My mother laughs, clawing harder at her skin. “Stubborn right to the end.”

She reaches down her dress and pulls a golden-brown eagle feather from what’s left of her cleavage.

“Yes,” she says as my eyes widen with recognition. “Raiden sent me a special message. He told me to bring you somewhere and keep you occupied so his Stormers could collect you.”

“And you agreed,” I finish, though it goes without saying.

“I didn’t have to. He was sending them either way. And if I resist, he’ll destroy your father’s wind. So go inside, Audra. Don’t make me force you.”

I have to laugh at that. “You think I’m going to surrender that easily? You can’t beat me anymore. I have the power of four! I have Gus’s gift!”

“GO INSIDE NOW!” she screams, launching a whipping wind that drags me through her front door and slams it behind me.

I tear at the handle, but somehow the wind holds it closed.

She can’t contain me that easily.

I grab one of the chairs from the table and smash it through the nearest window, kicking away the jagged shards of glass so I can crawl through.

My feet have barely touched the ground when two Stormers land in the yard.

“Let’s make this quick,” the tallest one says—though they’re both enormous.

Raiden sent his best.

“GO INSIDE!” my mother screams as I gather any nearby winds.

The Stormers have tried to clear the sky, but they can’t chase away my Westerlies.

“They’re not taking me again!” I shout.

“Please, Audra,” my mother begs. “I don’t want you to see this.”

“See what?” the smaller Stormer asks.

It all happens too fast then.

Wood crackles as my mother whips her arms, tearing huge branches off my favorite oak and slamming the jagged ends through the Stormers’ chests.

No one has ever survived her trademark trick.

No one can match my mother’s speed.

But . . . she wasn’t fast enough.

With his final breath the largest Stormer snarls a broken command.

I scream and drop to my knees as the wind he’d been carrying writhes in pain and unravels. Slowly the draft’s essence crumbles away, until there’s nothing left but a sickly yellow whirl.

It used to be an Easterly.

It used to be everything.

“I didn’t want you to see,” my mother whispers.

I realize her arms are around me, and that we’re both shaking too hard to move.

It’s impossible to think surrounded by so much destruction.

Shattered branches.

Shattered bodies.

Shattered wind.

“I’m so sorry, Audra—there was no way to save you both, and I wasn’t going to make the wrong choice again.”

She chose me.

“Please come inside,” she whispers. “The violence . . . remember, you speak Westerly.”

Somehow I make my legs carry me into the house. Or maybe it’s my mother carrying me. My mind is too stuck on the fact that
she chose me.

And my father . . .

“He’s really gone,” I whisper.

That last tiny piece.

I hadn’t realized how much it meant until . . .

“He’s not gone,” my mother tells me. “That’s what I finally see. He lives in you—everything powerful and incredible about him lives in
you.
I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. And I’m sorry I let the madness ruin us.”

“Are we ruined?” I whisper.

It feels like it.

But I don’t want to give Raiden that power.

My mother has played the villain—but Raiden’s always been the true enemy. He set our world on this path and left everything scattered and broken.

I won’t let him break me.

I won’t let him take anything else.

So I hold tight to my mother—let her wipe my tears and check me for wounds. And when she’s done, I do the same for her.

“I can hear your Westerly singing,” she tells me, tracing her fingers through the breeze against my skin. “What is it saying?”

I close my eyes and listen to a song about a steady tree, braving every storm because of its strong hold.

My mother has always been my tempest.

But maybe she can also be my roots.

I sing the lyrics for her—but stick to a loose translation to avoid risking any breakthrough.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll try to remember that so I can hold steady until the next time you come to check on me. In the meantime, go. Get ready for Vane.”

I check my bond, not sure if I should be relieved or terrified that the pull feels just as far away as before. Clearly there was more to Raiden’s plan than any of us anticipated.

But I’m too far away to get there in time.

And . . . he doesn’t need my help.

He has the wind—and Solana. He has his training.

“What about you?” I ask my mother. “Do you need help with . . .”

She shakes her head. “I can handle the cleanup. I’ve done it before.”

She helps me stand and move my shaky legs to the door, and I find my strength with every step.

I know there’s probably something I should say—some grand speech that could cement these new connections.

But words are failing me at the moment.

So I borrow some from Vane, clinging to the hope that they’ll soon be true for him and me as well.

“It’s not goodbye. It’s see you soon.”

I
’m just going to say it—I’m
really
sick of wind battles.

Like, I can’t even begin to explain how over them I am.

Crushing cyclones.

Exploding wind spikes.

Getting constantly sucked up and tossed around.

I don’t have time for this crap.

I need to get back to Audra.

She’s strong enough to take down Arella—and she promised she’d be on her guard. But it still kills me that I’m stuck playing Who Has the Scariest Wind Trick? when I could be on my way to help.

And I know Audra gave me a big speech one time about how human weapons have nothing on the might of a hurricane. But, dude, what I wouldn’t give for a tank to hunker down in and keep on blasting.

But no.

All I get is a steady supply of Westerlies, which still haven’t come up with any freaking ideas for how to end this madness.

And Raiden’s wind tricks just keep right on coming.

“Is that really all you’ve got?” I shout from our hiding spot behind a few trees as Raiden launches another volley of wind spikes and Solana uses some special command to deflect them away.

I mean, I’m glad we’re able to hold our own—but seriously, what’s the deal? I’m seeing a lot more
average wind fighter
and a lot less
legendary warrior
.

Unless he’s tiring us out, and saving the good stuff for the end. . . .

Yeah.

It turns out it’s the last one.

“You
had
to push,” Solana snaps as Raiden forms a massive tornado and somehow tangles it with a ton of flashing purple lightning.

I don’t understand the physics of that—but the zapnado is headed our way, and fun bonus: Its suction is pretty much on the level of a supermassive black hole. So it definitely has that
NO WAY WILL WE SURVIVE THIS
feel I’ve been expecting from Raiden.

I scramble to get us airborne, but that only buys us a few seconds before the zapnado’s pull drags us toward its sizzling funnel.

“What was that?” Solana shouts as some sort of animal gets sucked past us and crispified by the lightning.

“Pretty sure that was a bison. Or maybe a buffalo? Is there a difference?”

“Never mind, just get us out of here!”

“I’m trying!”

My Westerlies fight as hard as they can, but I feel the electricity getting stronger, rippling across my skin, making my hair stand on end.

“Okay, new plan.” I have to look away from Solana, because even with the gravity of our situation, I want to make fun of her giant static hair explosion. “How many winds do you have left?”

“I only have broken ones.”

Another bison whizzes past us, and we barely miss its flailing hooves. “Can you weave them into a wind spike?”

“I can try.” She murmurs a few different commands and ends up with some sort of yellowish curved thing.

“That looks more like a wind boomerang—what did you ask for?”

“I asked for something that would give us a fighting chance.”

“Well . . . let’s see if it works!”

I aim for the funnel’s base, hoping that might knock it over or something.

It
does
make a dent—but not enough to stop the zapnado.

“Incoming!” Solana shouts as the wind boomerang proves I nicknamed it correctly. It blasts back our way, exploding our wind bubble before I can catch it.

I can’t find any winds to slow our fall, so we’re stuck with the tuck-and-roll method. It’s equal parts painful and disgusting when I end up with a face full of manure.

“For the record, I just bruised every inch of my body.”

Solana has no sympathy, screaming “GET UP!” and hauling me to my feet.

We stumble away just in time to avoid a lightning blast that definitely would’ve turned us to ash.

Solana launches the boomerang back at the zapnado, nailing it right in the center.

Lightning and sparks explode everywhere, like it sucked up a big box of fireworks. And when the lights dim, the funnel finally unravels.

Raiden celebrates our victory by creating three more zapnadoes.

“I am seriously done with this guy,” I grumble, glad to find enough Westerlies to get us airborne again.

We have to kill him.

The certainty of it feels like ice in my veins—every bit as unsettling as it is awakening. All my senses come to life, and I stretch them farther than I’ve ever reached.

I can feel dozens more Westerlies—maybe hundreds—waiting on the fringes. Almost like they’re watching me.

Only a handful answer my call—which is both annoying and confusing—but with their help, I’m able to fly a lot higher this time. High enough to avoid the storm’s suction—but all we can do is circle above the battle, and the thunderheads around us keep flashing with more lightning.

Please,
I beg.
Tell me what I have to do. If we don’t kill him soon, he’s going to win.

The winds stir a little faster, and their songs shift to something new.

But their brilliant new lyric tells me:
A shield is more dangerous than a sword.

“Are your winds giving you any ideas?” I ask Solana. “Because mine are giving me philosophies. Or is it a platitude? Whatever—it’s useless. I think this fight might be beyond them, but I’m hoping that still fits with the winds’ plan. I’m here to keep us safe while you figure out the killing.”

“Gee, no pressure or anything,” Solana mumbles. “And I’m not having much luck. I’ve tried thinking about avenging Gus and my family. I’ve tried thinking about saving the rest of the Gales. I’ve even tried thinking about all the groundlings who’ve died in all the crazy weather Raiden’s always causing. But every time I try to think about getting around his backlash, it gives me nothing.”

“Okay, this is going to sound awful—and I swear I’m only asking because it’s what you said worked for the oubliette—but . . . have you made it clear that you’re okay if you don’t make it out of this? Just to take any selfishness out of the equation?”

“Of course. I’ve made it very clear that I’m not concerned with my safety—only yours. But it still hasn’t given me anything.”

My idea trigger goes off, but I try to shut it up.

I really really really don’t want
that
to be the right answer.

But its way more exhausting for us to dodge storms than it is for Raiden to make them. We barely take out the three zapnadoes—only to have him form three more—and when one gets way too close to frying us, I take a deep breath and force myself to ask, “What if
I’m
throwing off the need? What if the way you keep trying to protect me is too selfish? I mean, I appreciate that you are, but . . . when you compare saving my life to
saving our entire world from Raiden
, I . . . kinda don’t stack up.”