Let the Storm Break

by Shannon Messenger

  “You’re not going there alone—”

  “He’s right—I’m going with you,” Gus interrupts, moving next to Audra. “But she’s right too, Vane. You had one of the worst dislocations I’ve seen. You need some time to recover.”

  “But what if the guard won’t release Arella?” I argue.

  I doubt they’d listen to anyone but the king.

  “I’m sure her guard is fighting along with the Gales,” Gus tells me, which would explain how Arella was able to call the vulture close enough to send a message.

  I try one more time to move my elbow, and it feels like someone is sawing it off with a rusty butter knife.

  “Fine,” I grumble. “But if I start feeling better, I’m heading straight to the Gales to meet up with you.”

  Audra sighs. “I won’t be able to stop you, but please promise you’ll only do that if you’re really up to it.”

  “Only if you promise to be extra careful. If something happens . . .”

  I try to swallow the fear, but it chokes me.

  She cradles my face with her hands. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know. But I’m still going to worry the entire time. Do you need me to tell you how to find the Maelstrom?”

  Audra points to the stupid vulture, which I’m pretty sure is sitting there hoping one of us is about to die. “Her bird will guide me.”

  “Make sure you walk the last part,” I warn them. “Otherwise the winds carrying you will get sucked in.”

  “Not if we fly with Westerlies,” Audra corrects. “I flew right up to Raiden’s Maelstrom in Death Valley.”

  She starts to stand, but I grab her wrist with my good arm. “Promise you’ll come back safe.”

  “I’ll try.”

  I tighten my grip. “Promise.”

  She leans down to kiss me.

  It’s a fast kiss—more of a tease than anything. But it makes the wall I’d felt between us seem to vanish as she pulls her hand free.

  I try not to feel like a worthless Vane-blob as Gus carries me to a spot in the shade and props me against a boulder. But I can’t help sulking as Gus wraps his arms around Audra and she forms a Westerly wind bubble.

  I glower at the sky as I watch them float away.

  And when they disappear into the clouds, I realize that Audra never promised to come back.

  CHAPTER 40

  AUDRA

  Everything about this feels wrong.

  Leaving Vane alone and unprotected in the middle of nowhere.

  Setting my mother free.

  Even flying with Gus—though at least he seems as uncomfortable as me. He’s adjusted his hold twice already, but thanks to this dress, there’s nowhere safe to grab.

  “What do you think the odds are that Vane will really stay where he is?” Gus asks as he shifts his hands to my waist, holding my bandaged side extra carefully.

  “Probably about as good as my mother being a changed woman.”

  “So I take it you’re still pissed about setting her free?”

  “I just . . . know my mother.”

  I know Vane wants to believe she’s different now—and maybe she was when he talked to her. But I’ve learned the hard way that any kindness or concern my mother ever shows lasts only long enough for her to get what she wants.

  And now we’re about to let her have her way again.

  We follow my mother’s vulture toward circles of dead palm trees, and as soon as we reach them, the Westerlies carrying us turn jittery. I urge the winds to fly on, but they grow increasingly unsteady, breaking into a panic when a frenzied Easterly swarms around me.

  The draft’s tone reminds me of my father’s voice, but I know there’s no way it could be him. Its desperate song begs me to turn away and never come back, and my father would never try to stop me from setting my mother free. He loved her beyond life—beyond reason—beyond air.

  He would carry me there faster if he could.

  “Wow, the Maelstrom sure does spook the winds,” Gus mumbles as the Easterly flies with us, repeating its warning over and over.

  I continue to ignore it, and when we reach a series of strange rock formations, the vulture dives and the Easterly finally sweeps away.

  We’ve reached our destination.

  The other Westerlies take off the second I unravel them, but my loyal shield doesn’t waver, tightening its grip around me like it can feel the evil in the air.

  I can feel it too.

  The unnatural stillness.

  The strange push and pull, dragging me toward the dark opening in the sand up ahead, even though every instinct I have is screaming for me to run away.

  “There’s something off about this place,” Gus mumbles, his hand gripping his wind spike as he searches the air.

  “It feels just like the other Maelstrom,” I tell him.

  Sounds the same too. The horrible screeching that bores into my brain like twisted needles.

  Though this one was built by the captain of the Gales.

  Gus’s eyes scan the valley, but the only signs of life are the vultures. Dozens and dozens of them, lining the rocks, the scrubby plants, even the sand. They watch us with their silent stares as we make our way to the Maelstrom’s entrance.

  I’m tempted to shoo them away—they won’t be getting the meal they’ve been waiting for. But I know they won’t leave. They’ll be loyal to her.

  “So . . . we have to go down there?” Gus asks as I start down the sloped, dark path surrounded by the spinning funnel of sand.

  “Unless you want to stay here and cover the entrance,” I offer.

  For the briefest second he looks tempted. Then he draws his wind spike, holding it in front of him as he pushes past me to take the lead. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I try not to touch the walls—try even harder not to imagine bits of my mother being absorbed by them.

  But she’s also in the air.

  I cover my mouth, breathing as shallowly as I can. Still, every breath makes me want to gag.

  I keep my hand to my heart as we walk, wishing I could feel some small trace of my bond. There’s nothing but a cold emptiness.

  It makes me want to turn around and run until I find the sky. But I press forward. One foot in front of the other. Each step dragging me away from the light. Into the wasted darkness.

  “Okay, I officially hate it down here,” Gus says after several more minutes of walking. “I mean . . . it’s just wrong. There’s no other way to describe it.”

  There isn’t.

  Maelstroms feel as awful as they are.

  And once again I can’t help thinking that a Gale made this.

  I almost speak the thought aloud, but stop myself just in time. So I’m surprised when Gus asks me, “What do you think about Os?”

  I choose my answer carefully. Now is not the time to cast doubt on our leader. Battles call for trust and loyalty. “I think he’s desperate to protect our people.”

  “Desperate,” Gus repeats. He’s quiet for several steps, before he asks, “Do you believe the Gales can win?”

  My fingers rub the skin on my wrist, finding the remnants of Aston’s burn. His haunting warnings still ring in my mind, and I can see now why he was so sure we had no chance. But I have to believe there’s still hope.

  “No matter how powerful Raiden gets,” I tell Gus, “the wind will always be stronger. And I can’t believe that the wind will let him keep on destroying it for much longer.”

  “You talk about the wind like it’s alive.”

  “In some ways it is.”

  I think of my loyal Westerly shield, journeying with me into this dark place where no other winds dare to go. It stays because it wants to. The same reason it rallied the other Westerlies and came to our rescue in Death Valley.

  Yes, some of the winds may be willing to let Raiden dominate and ruin them. But others will fight. And if we can enlist their help, get them to join our side, nothing can stop us.

  Perhaps t
hat’s the secret we’ve all been missing. It’s not about finding the right commands. It’s about finding the right winds.

  Which might actually mean my mother can help us—much as I hate to admit it. She understands the wind in ways none of us ever have. If anyone can find the winds we need, it’s her.

  A dim light appears ahead and I brace myself for the sight of my mother dangling from a chain, like the victims in Raiden’s prison. But when we finally reach the tunnel’s end, it’s an empty, round cavern with mesh curtains of metal partitioning off two small cells.

  Apparently, Os’s cruelty has a much finer line.

  “Audra?” my mother asks, her voice so weak it’s almost unrecognizable.

  “Yes,” I force myself to say, the single word carrying seventeen years of my pain and regrets.

  A pale form approaches the mesh of metal, and when I step closer I can see her face—though I barely recognize her.

  I should rejoice at her greasy hair and sweaty skin covering her thin features. But it feels like too much of a waste.

  All of it, this whole thing.

  My beautiful, powerful mother.

  Our small, happy family.

  Our quiet, dedicated lives.

  It’s all been sucked up and torn away. Like my entire existence has been trapped in a Maelstrom of my mother’s making.

  Tears sting my eyes as she studies me, but I blink them back. I’ve shed my last tear for this woman.

  “You came,” she whispers, pressing her hand against the metal.

  I take a step back, even though she can’t reach me.

  “Still my same stubborn girl.” She gives me a sad smile and turns to Gus, doing a double take. “You’re not Vane.”

  “Are you sure?” Gus feels his face like he can’t believe it.

  My mother doesn’t smile. “Where’s Vane?”

  “As far away from here as I could keep him,” I tell her.

  “But . . . you’re his guardian. You’re supposed to be with Vane.”

  “You sure know how to make a guy feel wanted,” Gus grumbles, shoving against the mesh curtain, trying to free her from her cage.

  It won’t budge.

  “Didn’t think about that,” he says, shaking the metal to no avail.

  “Try your wind spike,” I tell him.

  “On what?”

  I look closer at the curtain, surprised to find there’s no lock. I honestly can’t tell how it’s held in place.

  “I’m so sorry, Audra,” my mother whispers, and I glance up to find her looking at me.

  She’s such a drippy mess, it’s hard to tell if she’s crying or sweating. But it makes my throat feel thick anyway.

  Now I understand why Vane was ready to trust her. I’m feeling the same urge.

  But can I?

  Should I?

  “I had no choice,” she tells me, pleading with her eyes for me to forgive her.

  My life would be so much easier if I could give her what she wants.

  But I can’t ignore the rage that’s always with me, simmering beneath the surface.

  “What are you even sorry for?” I snap. “Killing dad? Blaming me? Murdering two innocent people? Ruining the lives of everyone you’ve ever met?”

  “Yes to all of those things,” she says quietly, turning and walking away. Bones poke out of her frail, hunched shoulders as she hangs her head and mumbles, “But mostly . . .”

  I can’t understand the last words.

  It sounded like she said, “But mostly for this.”

  But that doesn’t make any sense.

  Or, it doesn’t until I hear a loud thump, like metal hitting bone, and Gus collapses. Before I can even scream, the needled edge of a windslicer presses against my throat and a strong arm wraps around me, pinning me against my captor’s body.

  “You were the one I wanted anyway,” a sharp voice whispers in my ear, and it takes a second for my panicked brain to recognize it.

  Raiden.

  CHAPTER 41

  VANE

  A frightened cry wakes me from my restless sleep, but when I tear my eyes open I’m still alone.

  Still in the middle of the desert.

  Still stuck with an elbow that feels like a pack of wild dogs is chewing on it.

  But it wasn’t a nightmare that woke me.

  It was the wind.

  I close my eyes as the terrified Westerly surrounds me. Its song is a mess—all jumbled with panic. But one word jumps out.

  Traitor.

  I start to jump to my feet, but then I remember how not-cool that worked out for me last time and instead use the rock I’d been sleeping against to slowly pull myself up.

  The dizziness still hits me, but deep breaths shove it back, and when my head clears I can feel the Westerly coiling around me, trying to drag me where I need to go.

  “Hey—easy,” I tell it as it almost pulls me over. “What’s going on—did something happen to Audra?”

  It’s a stupid question to ask the wind—and of course it doesn’t answer. It just repeats the same panicked song about traitors and tries to pull me into the sky.

  I stop fighting and let it.

  I hold my wind spike with my good arm, trying to feel ready for wherever this wind is bringing me. But nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing my valley up close.

  I’ve seen disasters on TV.

  I’ve even lived through a couple.

  But this . . .

  Mangled houses. Fallen trees. Smashed cars. Police. Ambulances. Firemen. Helicopters.

  People are running. Blocking the roads. Screaming and shouting and wailing.

  It’s chaos.

  The kind of thing where reporters will come from miles around and the president will go on TV and try to say something to help people make sense of the destruction. But no one is going to understand this.

  I can see the Living Storms still raging, scattered through the different towns—though it looks like there might be fewer of them. It’s hard to tell.

  It’s hard to think.

  One Storm is ransacking Indio and Coachella, and I can see two more shredding the mansions in Indian Wells and Rancho Mirage and another whipping through Cathedral City. But the worst of the fighting is in La Quinta, where three of the biggest Storms are tearing through the Cove. My Westerly steers me there.

  I fly over my parents’ house and it’s actually still standing. But Isaac and Shelby weren’t so lucky. Shelby’s house is okay, but her car is smashed through the wall of her neighbor’s garage. And Isaac’s street is gone.

  Like, gone gone.

  Not a house. Not a tree. Even the sidewalk’s disappeared.

  I’m glad I warned them to leave, but what will they come home to?

  And what about their neighbors?

  Fury makes me shake, but I can’t decide who I’m mad at.

  Raiden may have created the Storms but . . .

  They’re here because of me.

  My Westerly picks up speed as we get closer to the Storms, but just as I’m gearing up for the fight of my life, it steers me into the mountains and drops me down on a narrow ledge.

  A strong hand yanks me into a small cave.

  “Don’t let them see you!” Os hisses as he spins me around to face him.

  My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I notice he’s here with Solana, and they’re both crouched in the shadows.

  There’s a new gash to Os’s scar, cutting right through the center, like the mark has been crossed out. But Solana looks a lot worse. Huge splotches of blood stain her pale dress. I can’t tell if it’s all hers, but the thick gash on her chin looks pretty gnarly either way.

  “What happened?” I ask quietly.

  Os points out at the Storms. “What do you think?”

  The Storms slam against the mountain next to us, pulverizing the wall of stone until a huge hole forms.

  My mouth goes dry and I have to swallow several times before I can ask, “How many Gales are left?”

/>   Os drops his eyes to his hands. “Last count . . . eight—and that’s including us.”

  That’s . . . not even half.

  “Where are Gus and Audra?” Solana asks after a second.

  I was just wondering the same thing.

  I’d thought the “traitor” the Westerly was taking me to was Arella. But it brought me here.

  I scan the tiny cave trying to figure out why. A glint of yellow catches my attention.

  “What are those?” I ask, pointing to the strangely colored wind spikes piled at Os’s feet.

  Traitor, my Westerly whispers again, and I have a horrible feeling I already know.

  I pick one up and the winds’ pain and misery pulses through my hand like a heartbeat.

  “You broke the winds inside these?” I ask, dropping the spike and backing away.

  “Only the Northerlies,” Os corrects as he bends to retrieve it. “And only because there was no other option.”

  “Yeah, well, clearly the winds disagree, or I wouldn’t have been dragged here by a Westerly that kept calling you a traitor.”

  “A traitor?” Os shouts—then covers his mouth and makes us all duck as we wait to see if the Storms heard.

  “I’m a traitor?” he whispers after a few seconds. “I’m the one who saved us! I got your pathetic warning only minutes before the Storms arrived, and before I’d had time to blink they’d taken out a third of our force. We tried to run and hide until the three of you came back to help us, but we would’ve been snuffed out completely if I hadn’t realized that Raiden had broken the Storms. The only way to fight a ruined wind is with another. So I broke the Northerlies in the spikes and we’ve been taking down the Storms one by one. We only have a few left.”

  Traitor, the Westerlies around me whisper.

  “There has to be another way—”

  “There isn’t !” Os grabs one of the spikes and hurls it through the cave’s opening at a Living Storm that had just discovered our hideout.

  The spike tears straight through the Storm’s shoulder, making it howl and rage as smoky mist leaks into the sky. Before it even finishes yelping, Os launches another spike straight through its eyes, making the massive Storm explode.

  “You see?” Os asks as the ground shakes and the air turns thick and we cough from the dust and debris. “Without these weapons we’d have no fighting chance.”