Let the Storm Break (Sky Fall #2)(36)

The path turns narrow as it slopes into the earth, and the sound of muffled scraping fills the dark void. There’s no light to guide me, so I walk with one hand on the sandy wall, surprised when I feel the coarse grains shifting under my fingertips. The entire tunnel is somehow rotating around me, like I’m walking through a cyclone that’s been sucked into the ground.

A Maelstrom.

I’ve heard rumors of Raiden’s evil prisons, but I’d always hoped they weren’t true.

Now I understand why the winds are so skittish.

Maelstroms devour the wind.

My Westerly shield trembles, but I promise to keep it safe. If the Maelstrom could detect its presence, the draft would’ve already been consumed. Still, the breeze on my skin keeps resisting, trying to drag me back to higher ground with every step I take.

The air turns cool and damp, and I’m starting to think the pathway has no end when a dim yellow light fades into view. I press myself as tightly against the wall as I can and listen for signs of life. It’s hard to tell over the scraping sand, but I don’t hear any voices or footsteps, and I see no flickering shadows.

I creep forward, making my way into a small, round room where I have to cover my mouth to block my scream.

Dark chains dangle from the ceiling, each one shackled around body—though they really aren’t bodies anymore. They’re gray-blue withered shells that hang shrunken and shriveled in their dingy Gale Force uniforms, their faces so wrinkled and twisted that I can barely tell they’re sylphs. I’ve never seen this kind of decay. It’s like they’re raisins in the sun, like they’ve been sucked dry or . . .

I gag when I notice flecks of dust breaking off their contorted limbs and sinking into the slowly spinning walls.

The Maelstrom is eating the prisoners alive.

I have no words for that level of evil—and this has to be what Aston wanted me to see.

I’ve never felt so hopeless.

Especially when I realize I know one of the victims.

It’s impossible to recognize his rotted face—but Teman always pinned a golden sun above the Gale Force symbol on his sleeve.

He was my Southerly trainer.

We . . . didn’t get along.

Teman was all about joy and rest and ease—every longing I didn’t want to have. He even tried to convince me that I should wait to become a guardian. Take a few years for myself before I swore an oath to serve.

And yet, four years later he was the first Gale to vote in my favor at my guardian hearing and my staunchest advocate when my mother voted against.

He believed in me, trusted me, and as I stare at his gnarled, crumbling corpse, I feel like I failed him.

If I’d pushed Vane harder—taken more risks to get him to have the breakthroughs earlier—would it have mattered?

Would Teman still be alive?

I smear my tears away as I shove the dark thought out of my mind.

I can’t focus on what-ifs.

All I can do is learn from my mistakes and keep trying harder.

Still, I whisper an apology to Teman as I bow my head in mourning. And that’s when I notice the other bodies.

Strewn along the edges of the room in careless piles like fallen leaves. Ordinary Windwalkers in regular clothes. We’ve always been an isolated race, scattered through the high places of the world, where the winds flow free and the groundlings rarely go. But Raiden must be hunting down every sylph one by one, forcing them to swear fealty or die.

A few even look like children.

I have no idea how long I stand there, staring at the indescribable cruelty. But voices coming from another hallway yank me back to reality.

Close voices.

I don’t have enough time to run to safety—and when I hear Raiden’s deep, booming voice, I don’t want to. I can’t understand what he’s saying, but I managed to catch one word.

“Vane.”

I want to cry when I realize there’s only one place to hide, but I force my legs to carry me to the tallest pile of bodies and wriggle my way inside. Sickly gray dust crumbles around me, and I hold my breath, hoping it doesn’t make me cough.

Or vomit.

Please let this be quick.

Please let them not see me.

And if I live through this, please erase this moment from my memories.

The footsteps draw closer, and I pick up more snatches of their conversation—words like “prepare” and “demonstration”—but it’s all too vague and choppy for me to make any sense of. And by the time they reach the room, all I can hear is deep, throaty laughter. It echoes off the cavernous walls, so cold and cruel in this place of death and despair that it twists everything inside me with rage.

I hold still as the chains clatter and someone with a low, nasal voice asks, “Can I help you, my liege?”

“Yes, I want this one’s pendant for my collection.”

I don’t know which makes me sicker: knowing that Raiden’s collecting the blackened pendants of the guardians he’s murdered—or the fact that he’s only a few feet away and there’s nothing I can do to end him. I can’t make a move in a place where he holds all the power.

The footsteps draw closer, making the ground tremble beneath me.

“Something feels off,” Raiden murmurs.

“Off?” a new voice asks.

“Yes.” Raiden takes several steps away. Then moves closer again. “There’s something over here. A hint of life.”