She nods. Then she closes her eyes and whispers something that sounds like a snake singing. The winds kick up around her.
A chill settles over us—which actually isn’t so bad after baking in the heat. The gusts wrap around me, crackling the palm branches as they lift me off the ground. The pressure’s much stronger than I expected, and my twisted limbs uncoil until I’m sprawled out flat, rolling with the storm.
“Breathe them in, Vane. Then concentrate on what you hear,” Audra shouts before the roaring air drowns her out. Leaving me alone, shivering in my icy wind cocoon as the drafts hammer my face.
I want to block them, close off everything and hope they go away. But I lock my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering, and the next time a gust comes full force at my face I take a long, deep breath. Instead of flowing into my lungs, the air pushes into my mind. It burns like when water goes up my nose—only a thousand times more painful.
The winds streak inside my head, forming a vortex and slamming me with the most intense migraine ever, like my brain’s being kicked and punched and stabbed and ripped apart. I want to tear off my scalp to let the gusts out.
Concentrate, Audra told me.
How the hell am I supposed to concentrate with a wind tunnel in my head? It’s like standing by a waterfall as a jet engine blows past and a million claps of thunder rumble at the same time.
But mixed with all that chaos is a simple, solitary note.
It rings with a long, low whine—nothing I can understand. But the more I strain to hear it, the closer and clearer it becomes, like it’s shoving its way to the front of my focus, demanding my attention.
It reminds me of when Isaac turns on the subwoofer in his truck. All the music and lyrics get drowned out by the throbbing, pulsing bass, making his truck vibrate and his old, grumpy neighbors glare at us as we thump thump thump by their houses.
The pain in my head amplifies as I concentrate on the sound, and the wind feels like it’s freezing me into a Vane-cicle.
Come on, you stupid wind, break through before I seriously lose it here.
This is hopeless. I’m never going to feel or hear whatever freaking thing I’m supposed to hear or feel. I’m a failure as a Windwalker, and Audra’s going to die because of me.
The realization smacks me back to my senses—and that’s when I catch it.
A single word. Over and over.
Strength.
The instant I separate the word, the wind seeps into my consciousness. It feels like draining a tall glass of water all in one gulp—only my brain’s doing the drinking.
My limbs fall still and I focus on the lyrics behind the melody, which I now understand. The north wind sings of power. Of invincibility. Of balance.
“Vane, can you hear me?” Audra calls from very far away. “Open your eyes.”
I want to obey, but I don’t know how to make my body function at the moment. The winds have coiled around my mind. Teasing. Tugging. Begging me to come with them. And I want to. The Northerlies sound so brave and strong.
They’ll protect me.
“Vane, listen to me!” Audra yells. “You can’t believe everything the winds tell you. I know it sounds like wisdom, but you have to resist. They’re pulling you away, and if you let that happen, you won’t come back.”
I don’t want to listen to her, but a blast of warmth shoots through both my arms like an electric shock.
My body jerks and my eyes shoot open. The blinding sunlight makes my head pound, and a loud moan slips through my lips. Then my vision clears and I get a glimpse of Audra leaning over me, clasping my wrists with her slender hands.
“Breathe,” she orders.
Why would she have to tell me to . . .
Burning pain in my chest wakes me up to the fact that it’s been a while since I’ve taken a breath. I suck in a huge gulp of air, hacking and coughing as it enters my oxygen-starved body.
Audra pulls me into a sitting position, pounding on my back. “You okay?”
“I’ve been better.” I hug myself, needing to feel my body again. I forgot about it for a second. “What happened?”
“The wind started to carry your consciousness away.”
I rub my throbbing head. “How about in English this time?”
She flashes a small, sad smile. “I don’t fully understand it myself. My father used to tell me Windwalkers are caught between two worlds. Neither purely of the earth nor the sky, and when we allow ourselves too much contact with either, it starts to lead us astray. In the earth’s case, food and water ground us, bind us to the land. Limit our abilities. And the wind’s call tries to take us with it, like an old friend begging us to come along for the journey.”
That I understand. Part of me still wants to follow.
“But if we let it lead us away, we leave our earthly forms behind, never to return,” she warns.