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 . . . ?”
My voice trails off as Audra shakes her head.
“Raiden’s spent the last few decades tracking the Westerlies down one by one. If they refused to teach their language, he ended them, hoping to scare the others into submission. But it turns out your kind are surprisingly brave. None were willing to compromise, and none would share their language—even with the Gales. They didn’t want the knowledge to fall into the wrong hands, and didn’t trust anyone to protect it besides themselves. They’d rather let the language die than have it be used for destruction. On it went, until, as far as everyone knew, your parents were the last living Westerly family.”