Let the Storm Break

by Shannon Messenger

  Gus’s hands curl into fists, and I can feel mine doing the same. Trusting your charge is the hardest call a guardian can make. No one would ever make it recklessly.

  “My mother was not—”

  “Now is not the time to debate the past,” Os interrupts, pointing to the coming storm, which is growing larger by the second. Any minute now it will block out the sun.

  And Vane’s still not back. . . .

  “I’ve simplified our strategy for a reason,” Os says, “Let’s not forget that no one here knows Raiden better than me. And I know that his greatest weakness is vanity. He’s coming here to prove to his worthless minions that he is no less of a leader because of yesterday’s incident. His focus will be on creating a spectacle, and therein lies his folly. The more showy and complicated the attack, the more it disregards basic battle principles. We can already see his vanity run amok by the fact that he’s coming from the west—wasting the energy of his forces on unnecessary journeying just for his theatrics. So the best way to take advantage of that kind of thinking is to respond with the very principles he’ll be disregarding. If we come at him straight on and tackle each enemy systematically, we’ll wipe out half his force before he even notices what we’re doing.”

  I hate to admit that his reasoning makes sense. Though Os is forgetting something key.

  “Don’t forget that Raiden might be watching. He held back in Death Valley, waiting to see what we’d do, and changed his commands accordingly.”

  “And it worked so well for him, didn’t it?” Os counters. “All three of you got away, and humiliated him in the process. If I know Raiden, and believe me, I do”—he points to his scar—“he’ll come at us full force this time, hitting us with everything he has, as many ways as he can, right from the start. He’ll be hoping for a quick, decisive victory. Which is why I designed our strategy this way. We need to save our energy, stick with something simple that we know will keep most of us alive so we can hold out long enough to institute the second part of our plan. The part where we use our secret weapon.”

  He pulls Solana closer, and I can’t tell who’s more surprised, her or me. Her skin turns paler than her dress.

  “Raiden will be here,” Os explains. “And his primary strategy is always to deprive us of the one thing we need to fight back. He ruins the wind to leave us defenseless, and we’re going to let him believe that he’s succeeded. We’ll use our spikes to take out as much of his force as we can, but at the opportune moment, I’m going to surrender. Let him taste his victory so he’ll swoop in to gloat. And that’s when Solana will release the winds she’s been storing—giving us an entire arsenal we can use to hit Raiden with everything we have.”

  The rest of the Gales murmur their agreement—and I’m forced to admit that it’s a much more clever plan than I’d originally thought. But it worries me that it completely neglects the Westerlies. Unless he has orders for Vane and me that he hasn’t explained. Or maybe he just expects us to—

  A loud, mournful howl radiates through the valley, followed by another, and another.

  Each cry grows louder and more desperate, until my eyes are watering and my jaw is clenched so tightly my teeth start to ache.

  “What is that?” Gus shouts, covering his ears.

  I do the same, but it barely muffles the next howl, and I feel a tremble ripple through my Westerly shield as it tightens its grip around me.

  “It’s the sound the wind makes when it’s ruined,” I tell Gus. “The final cry before the best parts of the draft crumble away.”

  “Is it always this loud?” he asks, and I shake my head.

  These must be bigger winds somehow, or maybe a combination of drafts, like a cyclone or . . .

  I suck in a breath as I grab Gus’s arm. “I think he’s breaking the Living Storms.”

  Gus’s eyes widen. “Can he do that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  But another unearthly howl rages through the valley and I know I’m right. What I don’t know is why.

  Why ruin his own creation?

  What power is he drawing from their pain?

  I turn toward Os, watching him as he struggles to keep the other guardians calm.

  His agonized expression tells me he recognizes the sound too—though there’s something besides pain in his eyes. Something that makes me far colder than the icy air whipping around us.

  Hunger.

  Os is fighting it—his whole body shaking with the effort. But the craving is still there. Boiling below the surface.

  I pull Gus close enough to whisper in his ear—though it’s more of a shout with all the noise and chaos. “Keep an eye on Os. This sound is like a drug for him.”

  Gus follows my gaze and nods. He presses his lips against my ear to shout back, “We need to find Vane.”

  “No you don’t,” Vane says behind me, and when I spin around he’s appeared almost magically.

  For about half a second I’m relieved. Then I notice how pale he is.

  “What’s wrong?” Gus and I both ask at the same time.

  He’s shaking so hard I have to hold him steady.

  Vane pulls away, wobbling toward the circle of nervous Gales until he finds Os in the center.

  “I called the Westerlies from the mountains,” he says, his voice hollow. Weak. “I wanted to hear their songs, see if they could tell me what we were up against.”

  “And?” Os prompts when he doesn’t finish.

  Vane turns away, staring at the ever-darkening sky. “They said the Storms are too strong this time. There’s nothing we can do to stop them.”

  CHAPTER 37

  VANE

  Innocent people are going to die because of me.

  If I’d moved to some base in the middle of nowhere, maybe I could’ve kept everyone safe. But I wanted to stay with my family. I wanted to act like my life hadn’t changed just because I found out I was a sylph.

  And now everyone in this valley is going to pay the price.

  The desert grows dim as the clouds finally block the sun, making everything as dark and cold and bleak as I feel.

  Raiden’s going to win.

  “Did the Westerlies say anything else?” Audra asks, shaking my arm and forcing me to stay focused.

  “They sang about monsters and a rage that tainted the sky. I begged them to tell me what to do, and that’s when their song turned hopeless. It was like that moment in Death Valley when I asked the shield to cover us as we ran. I could feel that the drafts wanted to help. But they just kept repeating ‘too strong’ and whispering about giants that can’t be defeated. There’s nothing they can do.”

  “But it isn’t just up to the Westerlies,” Gus says after a few seconds of silence. “I thought ultimate power came from the power of four.”

  He holds out his wind spike like it somehow proves everything. But he doesn’t understand how it works.

  “Every time I’ve used the power of four, it was always because the Westerlies told me what to do, how to weave them with the other drafts to create the effect I need. And this time they’re telling me they can’t help.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Gus asks, turning to Os.

  “I could turn myself in,” I offer, but even as I say it I know it wouldn’t matter. Raiden doesn’t want a quiet surrender. He wants to make us an example.

  “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” Os snaps. “You’re going to remember your training and get ready to fight for your life. We’ll take care of the Storms.”

  “But—”

  “Did you honestly think we were counting on you to save us? Perhaps that had been our hope several weeks ago. But then we saw how seriously inadequate your fighting is—not to mention your crippling aversion to violence. Why do you think we’ve all pushed so hard to have you share your knowledge? We knew it was useless in your unskilled hands. So I built today’s strategy without any consideration at all for your gifts.”

  “Is that true?” I ask, glancing
between Gus and Audra.

  Audra thinks before she nods. “His battle plan doesn’t rely on Westerlies. That surprised me, actually. But it seems like that was the right call.”

  “Of course it was the right call! You forget that I’ve been fighting Raiden longer than you’ve been alive. We all have.” Os points to the group of Gales, most of whom have gray in their hair.

  And they’re not looking at me with that desperate you are our only hope look I got so used to seeing. If anything they look . . . unimpressed.

  I know I should probably be insulted, but it actually feels like: giant, suffocating weight on my shoulders—gone!

  “Don’t misunderstand, I still have high hopes for the power of four,” Os adds when the next horrible howl fades. “And I still hope that you will grow to be a great king, despite everything.” He glances at Audra and shakes his head. “But for now I won’t put the fate of our world in the hands of a stubborn teenager.”

  I’m so relieved I could kiss him.

  Well . . . maybe I would fist bump him instead.

  “So what’s the plan, then?” I ask, picking up a wind spike and feeling ready for anything.

  Os grumbles about my missing his first run-through before he repeats their strategy. It sounds like a smart plan—though the only stuff I know about battles comes from the few times Isaac made me play one of his gory war games. The only question I have is “How do we keep the Storms out of the valley?”

  Os doesn’t answer. And none of the Gales will look at me.

  The taste in my mouth turns sour.

  “You’re not going to keep them out of the valley, are you?”

  “Sometimes we can’t protect everyone,” Os says quietly. “And I fear today will be one of those days.”

  “That’s not good enough!”

  “Excuse me?” Os asks, stepping into my personal space. “You dare to criticize me for something you’ve already admitted you can’t accomplish?”

  “I never said I wasn’t still going to try.”

  “And I never said that either.”

  “You didn’t have to. Your plan is for us to move to our base and wait for the Storms to come to us. I get that you want the home court advantage, but we all know they’re going to destroy the whole valley before they get there.”

  “And what would you have us do, charge blindly toward the mountains?”

  “It’s better than standing back and doing nothing.”

  “I think it’s too late,” Gus says, and when I turn and follow his gaze, I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the heart.

  A dark funnel tears over the crest of the mountains in the distance. Followed by another. And a bunch more after that.

  From this far away they look like normal tornadoes—though in Southern California tornadoes are hardly normal. But even from here I can tell that they’re moving like soldiers. Straight lines. Evenly spaced. Marching into the desert on a mission to destroy.

  I shout for any nearby Westerlies, relieved when two drafts answer my call.

  “Don’t,” Audra begs, grabbing my arm as I tangle one around me and order the other to form a shield.

  I’m tempted to snatch her up and race away to safety—or at least pull her close and kiss her until the world ends.

  But this is my fault, and if I don’t try to stop it, I’ll never be able to live with myself.

  I order the Westerly to blast me away before I can change my mind.

  The nervous draft can’t spin fast enough to completely hide me in the sky—but no one’s looking my way anyway. People are jumping out of their cars to stare and snap pictures of the strange storms, and I want to scream at them to get somewhere safe.

  But where are they supposed to go? Californians don’t have basements or tornado shelters. We have earthquake drills and fire alarms.

  “Are you crazy?” Audra shouts as she tackles me in midair.

  “Are you?” I shout back.

  “You can’t do this, Vane.”

  She orders my wind to turn us around.

  I order it to hold its course, adding a command for the draft to ignore anything else she says. It works like the Windwalker equivalent of jinx times infinity, and I can’t help grinning at Audra as she realizes it.

  “This is pointless,” she says as she crawls to the front of me, clinging to my chest. “You don’t even have a plan.”

  “Actually I do.”

  Making it up as I go along is a plan. I just never said it was a good one.

  “I know this is crazy,” I tell her. “But I can’t stand here and watch people die.”

  “But you have to protect yourself, Vane. The Westerly language—”

  “Doesn’t seem to be as valuable as everyone thought it would be. Or at least I’m not as valuable as everyone thought I would be.”

  Audra pulls me tighter, whispering in my ear—and seriously messing with my concentration—“You’re incredibly valuable, Vane, and not just to me.”

  I sigh. “I have to do this, Audra. But you don’t. You should go back—”

  “I’m not going to let you risk your life without me.”

  “And I’m not letting either of you risk your lives without me,” Gus says, swooping up beside us. “Come on, you didn’t really think I wouldn’t follow you, did you?”

  He grins when I glare at him.

  “Anyone else back there I should know about?” I ask.

  “Nah. Os thinks I’m here to drag you two back to the base. He’s moving everyone else into position.”

  “I’m not turning around, Gus,” I warn him.

  “Oh, believe me, I know. And I’m in for whatever. What are you thinking?”

  “That we have to fly faster.”

  The Storms have slammed onto the desert floor, tearing into the neighborhoods that sit against the mountain. I try to tell myself that Palm Springs is a snowbird area and that most of the houses are probably empty. But I still feel sick when I hear the crunching chaos of the destruction.

  “We should try to get beside them,” Gus shouts as he veers right, expecting me to follow.

  I order my drafts to race forward instead.

  “What are you doing?” Audra yells as Gus loops around to join us.

  “The Storms are heading toward highway 111, which will take them right through the heart of the desert, into all the superpopulated areas. We need to get them to follow us to the other side of the freeway, where nothing’s been built yet. And it’s better to do that up here.”

  This part of the desert is all country clubs and mansions, and none of the rich people bother suffering through the summer heat. I’m sure it’s not empty—but at this point it’s too late to save everyone. All I can do is save as many as possible.

  “We need to move faster,” Audra tells me, calling for more Westerlies. Only one responds, so she shouts for any nearby Easterlies and two sweep in to help us.

  Gus does the same with Northerlies and manages to hail three.

  “Does it seem strange to you that there are still healthy winds around?” Audra asks.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” I admit. “But maybe the valley is too big to clear completely?”

  Audra doesn’t look convinced.

  “Let’s worry about it later,” I tell her as the wild, dusty air slams against us, trying to rip us apart.

  I let Audra take over flying and she guides us close enough that I can see the Living Storms’ shadowy faces. They look like the monsters I remember—but they’re way bigger this time, and I try not to feel like a tiny bug taking on a giant.

  “Now what?” Gus shouts.

  “We need to make it notice us.”

  “I think it already does!” Audra screams, right before the air fills with an earsplitting shriek.

  “Dive!” I yell as Gus shouts, “What is that thing?” and a loud crack explodes in the air above us.

  The force of the blast knocks me off balance, and Audra barely pulls us out of a free fall.

&
nbsp; Another explosion sends a shock wave rippling behind us.

  Gus races to our side. “Oh, good, Raiden gave them weapons.”

  “Wind whips,” I grumble. Because evil, mutated Storms weren’t bad enough.

  “Look out!” Gus shouts as the whip cracks again—and then again—each hit coming so close that we almost miss the more important development.

  The Storms have started to chase us.

  “Faster!” Audra tells Gus, calling more winds to fuel our weary drafts as we race toward the empty desert in the distance.

  “Wait—is that Gavin?” I ask, pointing to a dark shape weaving through the sky.

  Audra leans forward, squinting at the horizon. “No. The bird is too big—and its feathers are black.”

  “But it’s coming straight for us.”

  “Can you take over windwalking for a minute?” she asks, already changing positions.

  “Uh, not if you’re calling over a giant bird.”

  “Really? You’re still afraid of them?”

  “You and Gavin scarred me for life.”

  “Well, it’s time to conquer your fears.”

  The bird swoops closer, circling above us before it dives.

  I can hear Gus laugh as I yelp, but I’d like to see him hold steady while some huge bird lands on his shoulder midflight. And bonus: It’s a vulture, so not only is it huge and heavy with razor-sharp talons, it smells like dead stuff.

  Audra wraps her legs tighter around me and reaches up to check the feathers on its stinky black wings.

  And then checks them again.

  And again.

  “It’s a message from your mother, isn’t it?” I ask, feeling a bit of déjà vu from the last time something like this happened—though that had at least been a small white dove.

  Audra nods, her body shaking so hard I feel like I’m going to lose my grip on her.

  “What did she say?” I ask, wondering how Arella managed to reach the vulture from her cage.

  Audra sighs, staring at the sky. “She wants us to come get her. She says she can help us win.”

  CHAPTER 38

  AUDRA

  It’s a trick.

  It has to be.

  Everything with my mother always is.