He nods.
The winds whip the windmills into a blur of white, and I let myself believe that keeping Vane surrounded by giant, sharp blades will deter the Stormers from using a vortex attack. But I can feel the winds streaking to the edges of the hills. Forming a wall. Caging us inside.
What are they up to?
I race to the tallest windmill and wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. It would be faster to float to the top, but the Stormers don’t know exactly where we are. If I call a draft now, I might as well light a beacon. I have to climb by hand.
My legs burn and my fingers feel raw, but I reach the top and crouch behind the blades. I should be able to see the whole valley from my roost, but the winds blur everything beyond the foothills. I can still make out the two dark funnels plowing across the desert, though. Attacking from the north.
I hope my mother’s ready. They’ll hit her position before ours.
Sweat streaks down my spine as the funnels unravel on the outer edge of the wind farm, vanishing into clouds of sand and dust. The Stormers’ first command licks through the icy air, echoing off the whipping drafts. I’ve never heard a call so loud. It sounds like bits and pieces of the three languages. Nothing more than gibberish.
But the winds understand.
All around me they change direction, swooping and ducking and diving in unnatural patterns, searching us out.
Probes.
Unlike any probes I’ve seen. They dip and dart on a whim, almost like they’re seeking movement or heat.
Is that possible?
I duck as a probe beelines for me. It misses my head by inches. Another rushes for my legs and I jump to avoid it, barely recovering my balance when I land. I glance at Vane and see he’s faring no better. The winds whip and twist around him, making him dive and leap and dance to avoid them.
What kinds of tricks has Raiden taught his warriors?
I dodge another probe and lose my footing, barely catching one end of the platform as I fall. My muscles tear, and I barely suppress my scream as my shoulder dislocates. But I haul myself up and twist into the position the Gales taught me, wrapping my arm around my chest so I can force the bone back into the joint. My hands shake, knowing it will hurt just as much going in as it did tearing out.
Three deep breaths and . . .
The howl of the winds covers my groan as white-hot pain stabs my shoulder like a burning windslicer. When I wipe the tears from my eyes, I can feel my arm working properly again.
Before I can celebrate the small victory, there’s another garbled hiss.
The winds disappear. Instantly. Like someone snapped their fingers and made a hundred winds unravel. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.
I crouch again, squinting through the stirred-up sand, waiting for their next move.
One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.
No attack.
Winds trickle back and my pulse starts to steady. Until I hear their songs.
I can’t understand any of the words.
Something is very wrong.
Gavin screeches.
My heart stops when I spot him streaking through the sky. Heading straight for me.
No. No! My mother sent him home. Why would he come back?
He circles above my windmill, and I try to transmit a desperate warning: Go. Away. Now.
Instead, he screeches again and dives, landing on my shoulder.
My windmill explodes.
The turbine splits in half, the metal peeling like it’s made of paper. Gavin flaps away as I fall through a shower of shrapnel, shielding my eyes with one arm and reaching for a draft with the other. Most of the winds feel wrong—broken—and refuse to acknowledge my call. But my fingertips reach a usable Southerly and I command it to catch me.
The ruined drafts scrape against my skin like dull blades as I float a few feet above the ground. I sink deeper into the strands of the Southerly to shield my face.
What are they doing to the winds?
It’s hard to see with all the sand swirling through the air, but I catch a glimpse of Vane’s blue sweatshirt stumbling toward me, not even attempting to stay out of sight.
“Duck,” I shout as another wind spike blasts a windmill directly in front of him, spraying him with metal debris.
The heavy pillar cracks and wobbles, tipping toward Vane.
I scream as he scrambles away seconds before the steel pole crushes the ground. Another windmill explodes next to him, and he dives to the sand and misses most of the shrapnel.
I order my Southerly to drop me near Vane, but another wind spike whooshes toward me and I barely manage to duck. The force spins me into a windmill and stars flash in front of my eyes as my head cracks against the metal. The pain breaks my concentration, and the wind holding me streaks away.
There are no healthy winds to call. My breath is knocked out of me as I crash to the sand.