Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(71)

Arella wanders off to “get a better reading on the air.” And Solana takes off her jacket to absorb as many winds as she can. Even Audra’s keeping busy, testing her strength and range of motion with her windslicer.

And I’m . . . standing here uselessly—which is pretty much par for the course, but it feels like I could do better.

I still have the pain pills I grabbed from my house, so I divide them up among the Gales, telling them to crush them and throw the powder in the Stormers’ faces if they lose their weapons during the battle.

I’m debating whether I should make them wind spikes, too, since I know Os will probably shatter the drafts in them. I decide to put it off when I remember a question I meant to ask.

“Do either of you guys know anything about this?” I ask Aston and Os, showing them the whistlepipe.

Their jaws fall open.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes?”

“That belonged to Raiden’s sister,” Aston whispers.

“Raiden has a sister?”

“Had,” Os corrects. “She returned to the sky when he was nine. He never told me the whole story. Something to do with groundlings. Add it to the list of reasons he despises them.”

Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.

Dead sister. Humans responsible. And Raiden probably felt super powerless when it happened.

I’m not a shrink or anything, but that sounds like a pretty good reason why someone might head down the I-want-to-kill-everyone-and-have-absolute-power path.

I’m trying to figure out if my hands are strong enough to crush the pipe right in front of him, or if I’ll have to drop it and stomp it with my boot when I hear Aston worrying about our number of guardians.

“You don’t think fifty will be enough?” I ask.

“Sixty-three,” Aston corrects. “And no, I don’t. Raiden will bring at least a hundred.”

“How many Stormers does he actually have?” I ask.

“Not as many as you’d think. He has trust issues, if you can’t tell by the suicide drafts. He usually keeps his force between one hundred twenty and one hundred fifty, recruiting and replacing as needed.”

Wow—that’s definitely not as many as I’d been imagining.

“I’m sure he’ll also bring Living Storms,” Os adds, squishing the tiny bit of hope I’d been building. “Depending on how many innocents he can find and transform.”

My mind flashes to the people in the hotel, and I really really really hope he needs sylphs in order to make his creepy warriors. But I can’t help imagining hundreds of Living Storms tearing toward us.

“And this is really everyone?” I ask Os. “There aren’t any other Gales we can call for aid?”

Os shakes his head. “Raiden has decimated our forces over the last few years. And we were always a small uprising. All we have are those you see, those too badly injured to fight, and a handful of reserves I left behind to cover things should the worst happen.”

“Is it still the same contingency plan?” Aston asks him.

“Essentially. We have a system of tunnels where anyone loyal can flee, and the guardians on reserve will make sure anyone who needs them can find them. Everyone will be safe underground, so long as they stay out of the wind until they’re strong enough to rise up again.”

“That . . . could be a very long time,” I mumble.

The reality of what we’re facing hits me then—like really hits me.

This isn’t just about risking our lives, or settling our score with Raiden.

It’s about our whole world crumbling.

“Fear is your greatest enemy in battle,” Aston says. “Don’t surrender to it. Take it one fight at a time, one enemy at a time, and hope you’re still standing when the storm settles.”

That’s definitely not as comforting as he seems to think it is.

“Besides,” Aston adds. “You’ll have the strongest defense during the fight.”

“You really think the power of four is that strong?”

“I was talking about me. I’ll be providing your cover so you can get to Raiden. And trust me, I am very motivated to make sure you get there.”

Something about his tone—or maybe it’s the intensity in his eyes—makes me feel a little choked up when I tell him, “Thanks.”

It also makes me hand over my wind spike.

“In case you need it,” I mumble.

“It’s worthless against Raiden unless you break the Northerly inside it,” Os warns.

“Perhaps,” Aston whispers, tracing his fingers along the blue edges. “But I hate to disturb such purity.”

I weave myself a new wind spike and scan the field. It doesn’t have much to it. Mostly rolling hills and a few scattered trees. “Where do you think I should look for Raiden?”

Aston points to a weird pointed rock in the distance—or maybe it’s a mountain. It’s hard to tell. It kinda looks like a hill that’s giving the sky the finger.

“Raiden always watches from a distance,” he tells me. “He’ll only swoop closer if the flanks are failing—or to celebrate his victory. So my guess is, he’ll be somewhere over there. It’s the highest point in the area, and it’s a difficult approach from the ground. I can also feel groundlings not far from there, and I’m sure he knows we’ll try to spare them.”