Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(26)
“A single draft of wind has power of its own. But mix it with another wind and it changes.”
She whispers something I don’t understand and another draft rushes from behind me. A colder wind. Louder. I can’t make out its words as it whips around Audra.
She whispers again and the gusts swirl together to form a dust devil.
I jump to my feet, away from the tiny cyclone growing larger by the second. Audra stands too, hovering over the mini-tornado.
“When you combine the different winds, they play off each other, becoming stronger and more flexible. And if you know how to control them, they can do anything you want them to.”
She mumbles something unintelligible and the winds race harder. Faster and faster they spin, until the dust devil’s strong enough to suck up the needle-sword thing and shoot it out the top of the funnel. Audra catches it with a graceful sweep of her right arm as she whispers, “Break free, be free.” The winds sweep away, leaving a dusty trail in their wake.
Okay, that’s pretty cool.
“The possibilities that knowledge opened up were endless. But they discovered something else—something that changed everything. When you combine the winds, their powers increase exponentially with each wind you add. So if someone were to combine all four winds and command them perfectly, they would be unstoppable. Raiden became determined to be the first to learn all four.”
My stomach sours at the name.
“He’s a Northerly—but he’s mastered the other languages so completely he uses them more fluently than those native to the tongue. He joined the Gales when he was young, but after a few years of service, he decided we were wasting our power on protecting the groundlings from storms. He thought we should embrace the wilder gusts—not tame them. Claimed they were the wind’s way of telling us it’s our time to be the dominant race on the planet, and that we should focus on building our own strength and skill while we let the winds wipe away the weaker groundlings. His promise of power appealed to a number of other guardians—especially the conquering Northerlies—and he began amassing a following. Before the Gales discovered his mutiny, Raiden attacked the Westerlies.”
I feel like I should sit down for this part of the story, so I sink to the ground. She sits next to me, staring at the floor.
“No one had bothered learning the Westerly tongue. The west wind is a weak wind. A peaceful wind. And the Westerlies were outsiders. Kept to themselves. Most were nomadic. Everyone thought they were crazy. They probably were.”
I have a feeling I should be insulted by that, but I’m too interested in the word “were.” Past tense.
“Raiden was determined to master the fourth language. Determined to become all-powerful. So he tracked down a Westerly family and tried to force them to teach him their language. When they refused, he slaughtered them in retribution—and to send a message to the other Westerlies. Make it clear he would not take no for an answer. It was the bloodiest crime our world had ever seen.”
Her voice cracks, and she swallows several times, like she’s fighting for control. “It all happened before I was born, but my Gale trainer showed me pictures so I would understand my enemy. A family of five—including three children—torn apart like rag dolls. Like he’d bound their limbs to tornados and sent the winds in opposite directions. There was barely anything left to recognize.”
It isn’t until a fly almost zips into my mouth that I realize my jaw’s hanging open. To murder kids over a language? Over wind?
“Things spiraled out of control after that,” she whispers, like the words are too horrible to say at full volume. “What remained of the Gales rallied against Raiden. But he was too powerful and had too many guardians who fought at his side, either because they believed in his cause—or feared him. The loss was devastating. Only a few escaped with their lives. And without the Gales’ protection, our world—as we knew it—crumbled. Windwalkers have always been a small, scattered race, but the Gales had established one main city, high in the mountains, where the clouds meet the earth. Raiden and his warriors blasted it with everything they had. When it fell, he murdered the king and took the crown. Anyone who didn’t swear fealty to him was killed, and he rebuilt the city as a private fortress for his army of Stormers. The strong mountain winds fuel their power, and he’s been able to spread his reign of terror to the rest of the earth.”
She turns to hold my stare. “Any who oppose his rule are annihilated. The remaining Gales fled underground, organizing their resistance away from Raiden’s ever-watching winds, trying to build a force strong enough to defeat him. But they need the same thing he does. Raiden’s still determined to master the Westerly tongue, to complete his power and dominance. To ensure that no one will ever rise against him. Can you see where this is going?”
I can—but it all sounds so absurd. Since when does one person have the ability to rip apart an entire society like that?
“Why not screw the whole secrecy thing and turn to humans for help?” I ask. “Have the president call in an air strike and blast the crap out of Raiden and his Stormers? Problem solved.”
“Do you honestly think human weapons are stronger than the full force of the wind? Have you seen a hurricane in action?”
I suppose she might be right—but it’s still hard to believe. “That doesn’t explain why my family mattered so much. I mean, so what if we’re Westerlies? What makes us more important than the others . . . ?”