How could we have lost so much time?
My mother said the Stormers are better trackers than she’s ever seen. They saw through her confounded trails much quicker than they should have, and now they’ve locked onto ours.
They must be more powerful than I feared.
But why wouldn’t they be? Raiden’s been searching for Vane for years. He sent his best.
My heavy lunch churns in my stomach as the fear settles in and I wonder if I’m about to vomit.
“What do you mean they’ll be here tomorrow?” Vane asks, his face ashen. “How do you even know that?”
“Wait—who’s coming? What’s going on?”
It takes my brain a second to put together that Vane’s mother is standing with us. But I don’t have time to worry about her.
“My mother sent me a message,” I tell Vane. “They found our trace and they’re bearing down on us.”
The words knock Vane back a step. I know exactly how he feels.
At least we have time to prepare—though we have precious little of it. Still, it’s better than nothing. I have time to strategize. Anticipate. Steer things our way.
We shouldn’t try to hide—the chance is too great they’ll catch us off guard. The smarter play would be move to a position where we have the advantage and call them to us.
The wind farm.
The gusts are strong there, giving us plenty of ammunition. And we can hide, send our trace in every direction so they won’t know which angle to approach from. The pointed blades of the windmills make a wind fight more dangerous—but that will work to our advantage too. I’m sure the Stormers have been ordered to be cautious after what happened with Vane’s parents. Raiden needs Vane brought in alive.
“Get changed into something warm,” I order Vane. “They’re Northerlies, so it’ll be an icy storm. And hurry—we need to move fast.”
“Absolutely not,” his mother interrupts, blocking his path. “You’re not going anywhere, Vane. Not until you explain what the hell is going on—and even then. Do you really think I’m just going to ignore that you ran away in the middle of the night?”
Vane runs a hand through his hair. “Mom, you don’t understand.”
“So enlighten me.”
He sighs. “Even if I tried to explain it, you wouldn’t believe me. You have to trust me.”
“I do trust you. But I don’t trust her.” She spins toward me, her face much harder than the last time I saw her.
I take a step back.
“Ever since she showed up, you haven’t been yourself,” she tells Vane. “You’ve been lying, sneaking around, ignoring your friends. I know you like her, but she’s not good for you, honey. I don’t want you to see her anymore.”
The words sting more than they should, and I drop my eyes to the ground. I don’t want Vane’s mom to hate me. And I hate myself for being wounded by such a petty thing.
“You can’t stop me, Mom.” Vane’s voice is gentle but firm. “I’m going with her—I have to. And I need you to do me a favor.” He grabs her shoulders. “Go get Dad and get as far away from here as you can. And if any storm clouds follow you, keep going.”
“Storm clouds?” She leans in, staring into his eyes. “Are you on drugs? You can tell me if you are. I just want to help you.”
Vane laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I wish this was all some big acid trip—that would be a lot better than the reality. But it isn’t. I can’t explain it, but you need to listen to me. Please. Have I ever lied to you—about anything important, at least?”
She stares at him for a long time. “You’re scaring me, Vane. Please, just tell me what’s going on.”
Vane looks at me, and I see the question filling his mind.
I shake my head, as hard as I can.
Do. Not. Tell. Her.
I shove at the thought, wishing I could push it into his brain.
Vane’s jaw sets, and I know he knows what I’m thinking. The rigid line of his shoulders tells me he’s going to ignore it.
“Vane,” I warn as he opens his mouth. “Don’t.”
“She deserves to know.”
“She’ll never believe you.”
“Yes, I will,” his mom chimes in. “How dare you tell him what I will or won’t do! Tell me, Vane. Please.”
Time ticks by, and a soft Easterly streaks past us, singing of the shifting, unsteady world. Vane’s shoulders fall. “I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t tell you.”
I release the breath I’ve been holding.
“But I can show you,” he adds.
Before I can react, he reaches out his hands and whispers the Easterly call, wrapping the draft in front of him into a mini tornado swirling at his feet.
His mom gasps and jumps back, her eyes darting everywhere, like she doesn’t know where to look. “How?” she sputters.
“Don’t say it,” I order him.
Vane looks at me, not her as he answers. “I’m not human, Mom. I’m a Windwalker.”
CHAPTER 45
VANE
I don’t know what I expected. Disbelief? Fear? Disgust?