Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(66)

Why isn’t he waking up?

I squeeze his hands. Whisper pleas in his ear. Hold him as tightly as I can. All the things that brought him back before.

No response.

So I smack his face. Shake him. Shout his name—not caring if anyone hears me. Try anything—everything—I can think of.

Still he lies there. Completely beyond my reach.

This isn’t like the breakthroughs, when I could see his body shutting down, surrendering to the winds. It’s like he’s left his body entirely, and all I’m holding is a cold, empty shell.

I don’t know how to bring him back.

I taste bile as an image of Vane spending the rest of his days in this useless half life flashes through my mind. Worthless. Hopeless.

My fault.

I pound my fists against his chest, and his breath echoes in his lungs. Like a death rattle.

Something inside me breaks.

Everything—the fear and stress and anger, the hurt and regret and sorrow, the doubt and longing and turmoil—bubbles over in a fit of heaving sobs.

He left me.

How could he leave me?

And what am I supposed to do now?

Nothing.

Nothing except hold his limp body and cry. For Vane. For me. For every mistake I’ve ever made.

And for the ten millionth time, I wish I’d died instead of my father.

He would’ve known what to do.

Maybe he still does.

I turn to the lone Easterly swirling over the ocean and call it to my side.

“Please,” I whisper as the draft cocoons around us, “please, Dad—if there’s any piece of you left, please tell me what to do. I can’t lose Vane. Not now. Not like this. Please help me wake him up.”

The seconds race by in silence and I give up. I release my hold on the Easterly, let it float away with the last of my hope.

I close my eyes, cradling Vane in my arms and resting my head against his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears.

“I’m sorry, Vane. I don’t know if you can hear me or if you’re there anymore. But I’m sorry. Not just for this. For everything.”

It’s the closest I’ve ever come to a confession, and as the words leave my lips I feel a tiny bit of the burden I’ve borne so long slip away with them.

My head clears a little, and as it does I catch the faint whisper of a nearby Easterly—one I didn’t notice before. Its song is similar to the typical Easterly melodies I’ve heard my whole life, singing of the constant fight for freedom. But four words stand out from the others.

Caged by the past.

The winds can be called and tamed and controlled. But they can never be caged.

It has to be a message.

But how is Vane caged by the past? He doesn’t even remember his past.

Unless that’s the problem.

My heart races as fast as my mind, making me dizzy.

What if his consciousness chased the Westerlies deep into the mental abyss my mother created to store his memories? Could he be trapped there?

I stretch out my hands, feeling for the slow tug of a Southerly. For a moment I don’t find any. Then a soft itch stings my thumb, on the farthest edge of my reach.

My voice shakes as I call it to us.

The warm, sleepy breeze coils around me and I part my lips to command it into Vane’s mind. But my voice betrays me.

The command will release Vane’s hidden memories.

All of them.

I hug my shaking shoulders and take deep breaths.

This is bigger than my secret shame—or how it will change Vane once he knows. This is about saving his life.

If this even works, my selfish side reminds me.

I can’t believe I’m sitting here arguing with myself when Vane could be slipping further away.

I grab Vane’s hands and whisper the command, ignoring the fear that stabs me with each word.

“Slip with his breath, then fall free. Release what’s been hidden and return to me.”

Southerlies have a magnetic quality. Any part of us that touches them wants to follow. So when my mother erased his memory, she sent a Southerly into his mind and told it to bury itself deep. All his memories drifted along with the draft, sinking so far into his consciousness they’ll never return without a trigger.

Now I’m drawing them back, hoping they bring Vane with them.

His neck jerks as the draft climbs into his mind and I squeeze his hands harder, hoping the energy between us will prevent him from getting caught by the pull of the Southerly. It’s only one weak wind, not the dozens I used to trigger his breakthrough. But in his altered state there’s no telling what effect the wind will have on his consciousness.

His arms twitch, and my breath catches.

“Vane,” I whisper, leaning closer. “Please come back.”

His shoulders rock.

“Vane,” I call louder. “You need to come back. We need you.”

I have more words on the tip of my tongue—words I know I shouldn’t say. Before I let them slip, his eyes snap open and he takes a deep, shaky breath.

Tears stream down my face and I send a silent thanks to whatever part of the winds helped me figure out what to do. I won’t let myself believe my father spoke from the great beyond. But I know my heritage saved me.

Saved us.

Vane twists in my arms and I pull him against me, burying my face in the nape of his neck.