Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(91)

A long silence follows, until Solana asks, “It feels like we’re flying lower, doesn’t it?”

“I think so. But it’s hard to tell when I can’t see the ground.”

There’s a moon out there somewhere, but it must be blocked out by clouds. And I can hear thunder rolling in the distance.

It was a dark and stormy night . . .

I can’t remember what book that comes from—but I really hope it doesn’t end with and then they all died.

“Do you think—”

My question morphs into a yowl as our draft drops so fast and hard that I feel the need to shout, “You don’t think he’s going to splatter us like bugs, do you?”

“He can try,” Solana says. “I have enough winds stored up to catch us.”

That would make me feel better except . . . “Isn’t holding on to any winds around Raiden kinda like holding a bunch of grenades around Magneto?”

“I have no idea what that means!”

I’m ready to explain the entire X-Men universe to her, but our plummet gains even more speed, and I decide to spend the next few minutes screaming my throat raw instead.

Right before we go KABLAM, the wind screeches to a halt, leaving us hovering over some long, scratchy grass.

“Are you okay?” I ask Solana.

“Yeah. But ugh—what is that smell?”

“I think it’s ‘cow.’ Might be ‘horse’ though. All I know is, it’s some sort of animal poop.” Which seems . . . strangely appropriate.

“I’m going to set us down,” Solana warns, then hisses a command that makes us drop into the knee-high grass.

“You’re quite talented with my power,” Raiden says from somewhere in the darkness.

The wind stirs to life around us, singing in mangled, ruined words.

“Seriously?” I ask. “You’re going with the ghostly-voice trick? Is that supposed to scare us?”

“How about this?” Raiden asks.

A dozen bolts of blue lightning blast across the sky, illuminating a figure in a white billowing cloak standing about twenty feet away.

I’ll admit it.

I scream.

But I mean—the dude just controlled lightning.

One well-aimed bolt and I’m a Vane-sizzle.

The glow of the lightning flickers away, leaving me squinting to catch the glint of his eyes.

Minutes crawl by.

Okay, it’s probably only seconds, but it seriously feels like forever.

So much for Solana’s theory about Raiden inviting us here to tell us the Woeful Tale of His Life.

I check my Westerly shield’s song, hoping it’s already solved the how-do-we-end-him conundrum. But so far all it’s telling me is: stall.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Nice place you chose here. Was it the poop smell that sold you, or the prickly burrs?”

“Is this how you feign bravery?” Raiden asks. “Worthless jokes and pathetic complaints?” I shrug. “It works pretty well. What about you? Fancy wind tricks are great and all, but don’t they ever get boring? Is that why you’ve been so desperate to learn my language? Looking for some inspiration? If so, this is one of my favorites.”

I call a Westerly to my side and tell it to mess up Raiden’s hair.

It doesn’t do a whole lot, but it does make Raiden flinch—and seeing that flinch feels good.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him. “Afraid the peaceful tones are contagious?”

“Careful,” Solana whispers.

I know she’s right.

I should stop poking the bear—at least until I’ve found the way to kill him. But now that Raiden’s this close, all I can hear is the sickening sound of Gus’s neck snapping.

Plus, not showing up for our last battle was a pretty freaking cowardly move. Makes me wonder if Raiden’s really as scary as we think.

Have we ever actually seen him fight?

What if he’s like one of those magicians who use a bunch of illusions to convince you that they’re cool enough to make a car disappear and really they’re just a guy standing in front of a mirror?

“Saw your army today,” I tell him. “Can’t say I was impressed.”

“Neither was I,” Raiden agrees. “I’d forgotten how few of them truly deserved to wield the power of the sky. I kept a handful of the worthy with me, and the rest? Well, I’m sure you saw how they ended up. Really, I should be thanking you. You gave me the perfect opportunity to clean house while taking out your guardians in the process.”

“Yeah, well too bad a bunch of guardians survived,” I snap. “And now you have no army to fight them.”

“I don’t need an army. I’ll take care of your Gales personally—you have my word on that. But first, I need to tie up a few loose ends.”

The edge to his words makes it clear: He’s definitely here to kill us.

I don’t think he cares about the fourth language anymore.

I doubt he even cares about the stupid whistlepipe.

He brought us here so he could end us.

Any time now, I tell my shield. Stalling isn’t going to work much longer.

The only answer it gives me is: patience.

Yeah, easy for it to say when it’s not about to get lightning-fried. But I grit my teeth and ask, “So . . . what’s up with all the white clothes? I got a peek at your closet and, dude—you know there are other colors, right?”