I rise to open his window. It’s time.
Usually I slip a breeze through the crack at the bottom to let the wind’s songs stir his senses while I listen outside. Tonight I’ll make direct contact with his mind. If that doesn’t awaken him, nothing will. I reach for the Northerly I can feel prickling my fingers and send it under the sill, thrusting the gust against the lock until it clicks. An extra swell of wind pushes the window silently open.
Vane lies stretched out on his bed—asleep, but not peaceful. He’s tangled in the sheets and strangling his pillow.
I almost feel sorry for him. He has no idea what he’s in for.
Of course, neither do I.
Deep breath.
I’m stalling—and I don’t have time for weakness.
I close my eyes.
Joining the wind requires absolute concentration. Even then, it will be easy to lose myself.
The Northerlies I sent from the mountains fill the air, but for this I need Easterlies. The winds of my heritage. Like the blood in my veins, their drafts flow through me. And if I surrender myself to them, they’ll release me from my earthly form.
I murmur the call I’ve memorized, commanding every eastern wind to find me. Fortunately, there are some nearby, so the movement won’t be detected.
I step into the open, blinking as the drafts whip my hair against my face. Usually I keep it bound in the Gale’s regulation braid, but the intricate twists and folds can’t be replicated in the transformation. Shifting requires letting go.
I stretch out my arms and let the cool air streak across my bare skin. The Gale Force designed my dark sleeveless dress specifically for this task, cutting it short and low to leave most of me uncovered. The smooth, sleek fabric is woven from tiny fibers that cling to each other in a mesh but can quickly break apart. Like dandelion fluff when the wind sets it free. It will dissolve and re-form as needed.
If only my body could make the switch so easily.
I wonder what the Gales would say if they could see me now. What my mother would say.
Would she be worried?
Would she care at all?
No. She would see this as fitting punishment for the crime I can never redeem.
Maybe it is.
I fight off a shiver caused only partially by letting the chilly drafts seep through my skin. They sink into the deepest recesses of my body, swirling and thrashing for freedom.
I have to let them out.
I can’t explain the moment of surrender. It happens on an instinctive level, deep within my core. I just have to trust my gut. And withstand the pain.
With a final breath, I silence my resistance and let the winds rip me apart.
Icy needles and shredding teeth tear through me, breaking my body down cell by cell. It takes only a second to transform, but every fiber of my being will forever remember the agony.
Mixed with the pain is an unimaginable freedom.
No boundaries. No limits.
I am the wind.
My years of training vanish as an uncontrollable urge pulls at me. I yearn to take off, to follow the wind’s teasing song to the ends of the earth and beyond. The farther away, the less the pain will be, until it’s gone and I’m free.
Free.
The idea is so tempting. . . .
No!
I focus on the one thing that keeps me grounded: my father’s face.
His lips are stretched wide with a smile. A faint dimple peeks out of his left cheek, and his sky-blue eyes have crinkles at the corners. He looks happy. Proud. I have to believe he would be.
Under control now, I flow swiftly through the open window, thrilling at the rushing motion as I swirl around Vane.
Time to wake up.
My thoughts fill the whispers in the air, speaking for the wind in the secret Easterly language. But the words aren’t enough to break through. He needs more than the tendrils of my breezes wrapping around him, grazing his cheeks and tousling his hair.
He has to breathe me in.
I sweep across his face, waiting for him to inhale. When he does, I follow the pull in the air. Once I streak past his lips, I break free from the rest of his breath and press deep into his consciousness. To his very being.
It’s dark and confined inside his mind. I thrash to escape, longing to push free when he exhales. The pain amplifies the tighter I’m contained, and my winds rage. I’m a tempest, battering his thoughts, trying to tear them loose.
Wake. Up.
Something stirs around me, a warm tingle of energy building to a hum—but no breakthrough. Not yet.
The urge to fly away tears and pulls at me like cold, clawed fingers. But I focus on my father. He was always calm, always confident. So full of life and love. What would he do?
He would be gentle. He would care.
So I ignore the pain and lessen the force of my drafts, letting only the soft threadlike breezes weave through the strands of Vane’s consciousness.
Please, Vane. Wake up.
His body moves.
I’m reaching him.
Your people need you, Vane.
I almost add that I need him. But I can’t bring myself to say those words. I don’t want them to be true.