Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(37)

The other Stormer does the same, juggling the swords back and forth like a freaking circus performer.

Solana positions herself between them. It seems like the worst place to be—until she does this crazy spin-flip move and somehow manages to attack both Stormers at the same time.

Within a few seconds she’s gotten them down to one windslicer each, and when the Stormers charge, she somersaults away, moving so fast she’s just a blur of blond hair and scattering snow.

I knew Solana claimed she could fight—but dang. She does a spin-slash-backflip move this time, and both Stormers scream as she lands somewhere just out of their reach.

Red splatters the ice as the smaller Stormer clutches a deep calf wound and the bigger one holds his bleeding forearm. But their injuries don’t slow them down as much as I’d like. They rush Solana again, keeping a wider space between them so she can’t use the same move. She does at least dodge, but they strike back immediately—and then again.

I try not to think about how much time is racing past, but I can’t help glancing at the sky, wondering how much longer we have before more Stormers swoop in.

Solana’s cry drags me back to the battle, and when I see blood on her leg, I’m on the ground before I even realize I jumped.

“I was fine,” Solana says as the bigger Stormer comes after me.

I’m pretty sure this guy could kill me just by stepping on me, and I beg my Westerly to come up with a plan—preferably one that doesn’t involve using this dagger. I’m not sure how the violence will affect me, but mostly I really don’t want to have to get that close. That’s the sucky thing about bringing a knife to a sword fight. The chances of me hitting him before he chops off my head definitely aren’t good.

Retreat, the Westerly tells me, and I back off as much as I can.

Come on, I tell my shield. You told me about firewhirls last time—what else have you got?

The stubborn draft just keeps repeating for me to retreat. So I do—but I retreat toward Solana. I figure we might as well do this two on two instead of two battles waging at the same time.

“You okay?” I ask when I see how badly she’s limping.

“It’s only a scratch,” she promises. But when she tries to do her spin move again, her leg crumples and she gets a pretty nasty face full of snow.

The big Stormer laughs. “Had enough?”

“Have you?” Solana tries to get up again, but her leg is too shaky. So she dives and swipes at his ankles instead.

He dodges, but she manages to clip the smaller Stormer near his Achilles tendon, and he lets out a yowl that’s part dying cat, part humpback whale.

“I’m getting sick of this,” he shouts, launching a dozen draining winds.

Solana absorbs most of them, but one manages to tie itself around my arms and pin them.

“Not as skilled as your little girl, I see,” the big Stormer says, shoving me into the snow and adding a second bond around my legs.

I guess I should be glad the snow cushions my fall enough to spare my elbow, but it’s freaking freezing. Plus I can’t tell what’s happening anymore.

“He’s the only one we have to keep alive,” one of the Stormers says. “Kill her.”

“Come on, Westerlies,” I beg as I hear metal clang and Solana yelp.

I manage to twist to my side and blink the ice out of my eyes—and find Solana down on her knees in a puddle of red, with one Stormer on each side of her.

“Enjoy your final breaths,” the bigger Stormer says, raising his windslicer to deliver the deathblow.

My Westerly shield screams SLIDE! and I flop down like I’m a seal streaking across ice.

My shoulder knocks the bigger Stormer over, and he falls onto the needled edge of his own windslicer.

Darkness rims my vision during the squishy gagging sound that follows, but I’m much more traumatized by the sound of another bone-crunching windslicer swipe.

I turn toward the noise, terrified I’m going to find a headless Solana.

But hers is still attached.

The other Stormer . . . not so much.

“Hang on,” she tells me, and I can’t quite figure out why—until I taste bile on my tongue.

I’m not sure if I’m actually throwing up, or if I’m just about to. It’s kinda like I’m having an out-of-body experience.

I watch blankly as Solana grabs one of the Stormer’s black windslicers and shreds the winds binding me, then limps toward the water tower and counts her steps.

At some point she drops to her knees and starts digging in the snow. “In my memories this is about how far the entrance looked from the tower.”

I fumble to her side and focus on helping her dig.

Don’t think about the bodies. Don’t think about the bodies.

“It has to be here,” Solana murmurs.

I hope she’s right, because I hear a rumbling that sounds a lot like approaching Stormers.

Okay, I tell my Westerly. Got any ideas?

The Westerly leaves me, twisting into a weak funnel and sweeping aside more snow.

“Wait,” Solana says, pressing her ear to the ground. “I think it’s sinking in somehow.”

I trace the muck with my fingers until I feel the breeze slipping through a crack so thin, I doubt a hair would fit.

“Right there,” I tell Solana, who’s following my hands with hers. “Do you feel it?”