Let the Storm Break (Sky Fall #2)(42)

I will be the last Westerly.

I wish I could strip the language from my mind—go back to being a worthless Easterly who can sacrifice myself to save him.

But the language is part of who I am now.

I have to protect it accordingly.

The crowd crushes forward as the tornado unravels and three figures step out of the funnel. Two Stormers with splashes of red staining their angry faces. And a bloodied, limping prisoner in a black uniform, his hands bound in ruined yellow winds.

His face is covered with a hood and I try to tell myself it’s not him.

Vane hated the Gale Force uniforms. I can’t imagine he’d be willing to wear one.

But the pain of our bond feels more like an empty longing. Like all I would need to do is reach out and hold him and everything would be okay.

It would feel that way only if Vane were here.

The last of my hope fades when Raiden pumps his fists in triumph and shouts, “Behold—the beginning of our ultimate power!”

He coils a draft around Vane’s bleeding leg, yanking him into the sky and waving him back and forth like a tattered flag.

The Stormers cheer, shouting insults and pelting Vane with rocks.

A boulder clocks him in the head and Vane’s shoulders fall limp. I can’t tell if he’s unconscious or dead.

He can’t be dead.

Raiden needs him alive.

I repeat the reminders over and over, but it’s hard to believe as I watch Raiden shake him harder and still he doesn’t stir. “This is what they call a mighty warrior,” Raiden shouts, flipping

Vane around. “This pathetic excuse for a Windwalker is who they’ve

dared to defy us with?”

Vane finally jostles awake, letting out a deep, mournful groan

that shreds everything inside me.

I sink to my knees, wishing I could cover my ears. But I have to

hear what’s happening. I have to find a way to fix this.

Raiden holds Vane steady, waiting for the crowd to quiet before

he says, “And yet, we’re just as vulnerable.”

He snarls a command, and a sailing stone flies off the ground

and smashes into one of the Stormers holding Vane, tearing the

Stormer’s body in half.

Red leaks into the cracks on the ground and the crowd falls

deathly silent, their faces no longer holding smiles for their leader as

Raiden stalks toward his murdered soldier.

“This is why we haven’t succeeded!” Raiden yells, kicking the

body like he’s trying to make sure it’s dead. “We’re slow and vulnerable—and some of us let important missions be delayed.” He turns

back toward the other Stormer who brought Vane. “I could end you.

But I’ve already made my point. In one fell swoop, anything can finish us. Even a weakling like him.”

He points to Vane’s body hovering in the sky. This time no one

cheers.

“But I finally have the solution,” Raiden tells them. “Gather

around.”

Slowly, carefully, the Stormers form a tight circle around him,

stepping over their fallen comrade.

Raiden’s back is still to me, but I can hear the smile in his voice

as he says, “The Maelstrom has done a brilliant job of keeping our

prisoners subdued during interrogations and disposing of them when

we’re done. But we so rarely learn what we want, and I’ve always

found the process to be a bit wasteful. All those perfectly good soldiers being fed to the wind like scraps of meat. So I’ve been working

on a better solution.”

I’m on my feet without deciding to stand.

Everything about this feels wrong. Raiden’s supposed to interrogate Vane—not do this, whatever this is.

Has Raiden finally found a way to claim any secret he wants? I turn and run deeper into the crevice and start to shimmy up

the mountain. Maybe if I get to higher ground there will be a few

winds and I can weave a wind spike and . . .

And what?

Take Raiden—the villain we’ve been trying to kill for decades—

down in one perfect shot?

Probably not.

I’m sure he has all kinds of defenses I can’t see.

But I could take out Vane . . .

My hands shake so hard they lose their grip on the rocks and I

slide several feet before my legs stop my fall.

There has to be another option.

Has.

To.

Be.

Raiden starts hissing a string of commands, and I climb faster, searching the air for any drafts I can use. I still can’t feel any—but the wind responds to Raiden’s call.

Thick gray gusts unravel out of nowhere and I watch in horror as they cocoon around Vane, entombing him inside their cloudy shell.

I start to tremble as I remember the drainer the Stormers trapped me in when they attacked a few weeks ago. I’ll never forget the way the drafts sliced and tore, breaking me down bit by bit. If Vane hadn’t shattered the shell with a wind spike, the drainer would’ve consumed me completely.

I fight my way to the top of the mountain, feeling my first glimmer of hope when I reach a few scattered breezes. They’re weak and reluctant to answer my call, but finally a Westerly feels the presence of my shield and decides to trust me—and once it does, the other winds follow. I weave them into a wind spike and add the Westerly, ducking as the winds twist and crackle and form into the pointed spear of air. I trace my finger near the sharp edge.