Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(8)

The cloud of birds streaks closer, and I abandon all hope of playing it cool. There are dozens of them—huge black crows and vultures. It’s officially my nightmare come to life. All that’s missing is the screeching violins playing in the background as they dive.

I try to hold still, but there’s so much flapping and cawing, and I can feel their talons digging into my skin as they peck and peck and—yeah, I’m definitely going to be sick.

“Close your eyes,” Solana tells me, so I’m guessing I look as awful as I feel.

I take her advice, but I still hear all the flapping and pecking—and now it makes me imagine they’re stripping away flesh.

“Okay, that’s so much worse!” I yell, ripping my eyes open again.

I’m relieved to see there’s still skin on my hands. But I also have five evil crows perched all over me, and I flail harder than I’ve ever flailed before—which is especially impressive considering how tight my bonds are.

“Stay calm,” Arella orders. “Remember why you’re doing this.”

I try to focus on Gus and Audra as the crows land on me again. But I still flail—it’s a reflex. Creepy birds wanting to peck my eyes out—run away!

I’m trying to come up with a plan C when I hear a familiar screech, and as I turn toward the sound, I see a gray hawk heading straight for me. This time I’m not afraid.

Gavin and I have come a long way since the days when he used to terrorize me if I accidentally wandered too close to where Audra was hiding. I still don’t like him—and I like him even less when he lands on my bad arm and glares at me with his beady, red-orange eyes. But then he goes to work on my ropes with his razor-sharp beak, snapping through the strands like they’re made of paper.

“We have to hurry,” Arella says, slipping her hands from her shredded bonds. “Os could’ve spotted the birds as they swooped in.”

She unties her ankles and rushes over to me, shooing Gavin away as she unravels the last of my frayed ropes.

Gavin screeches and I tell him, “Don’t try to follow us—and don’t go near Os.”

I watch him land among the palms, and our eyes meet for a second.

“I’ll bring her home,” I whisper.

I swear when he blinks, it feels like a nod.

“Come on,” Arella says, ruining the moment.

“Wait for me,” Solana calls, still struggling to break free.

Arella shouts that we don’t have time, but I turn back and tear at Solana’s ropes—not that I’m much help with only one strong hand.

“We don’t need her,” Arella insists.

“Excuse me?” Solana asks. “I’m the one who’s guiding us to Raiden’s fortress.”

“I can do that,” Arella says. “In fact, I’m fairly certain Vane’s the only Windwalker in our world who doesn’t know how to get there.”

“Uh, maybe I would if you hadn’t scrambled all my memories with your little wind tricks,” I grumble. “Especially since you only did it so I wouldn’t remember that you murdered my parents.”

I want to argue more, but now’s not the time to think about the list of Shady Things Arella’s Done. Instead I help Solana pull herself free, and we follow Arella through the vortex of ruined winds. The drafts scrape like sandpaper, and as soon as we cross to the other side, I hear sounds of the Gales crunching through the trees to find us.

Arella sends her creepy birds after them, and I call as many winds as I can find until I have enough to tangle us in the power of four. Then we’re streaking through the blue-white sky, blurring over sand dunes and flattened houses and what’s left of the San Gorgonio Pass Wind Farm. I don’t dare slow down or look back or even let myself think about what Os is going to do while we’re gone.

I picture Audra and Gus and beg the winds to get us to them as fast as they can.

“I need you to steer us north,” Arella tells me, pointing toward the mountains in the distance.

“Raiden’s fortress is to the east,” Solana corrects.

“I know. But Os took all of our weapons. I keep a stash of replacements at my house.”

I’m not convinced that windslicers will do us any good against the power of pain, but I guess it would be pretty stupid to storm a fortress unarmed. And we already know my wind spikes aren’t very useful.

Arella’s directions take us over a forest of Joshua trees and end at a small, square house in the middle of an endless stretch of barren desert. It looks like the kind of place where a serial killer would hide, which . . . is pretty accurate.

I set us down in the shade of the only tree—a giant oak that should be dead, considering the dry ground all around it. The soft ringing of wind chimes fills the scorching air.

Arella gasps and races toward her house, staring up at the eaves where silver chimes dangle from an intricately carved blackbird. The melody feels haunting and sad as they ping against each other in the late morning breezes.

“Audra must’ve come here,” she whispers, reaching up and removing a black necklace that’s been tied around the bird’s neck. A silver feather pendant dangles from the cord, and I vaguely remember Audra tearing it off her mother’s neck after she realized her father’s death had been Arella’s fault all along.