I follow him until the ground levels off and we reach a round
cavern about the size of my bedroom. A pale, tired-looking Gale
stands between two curtains made of some sort of metal mesh. They
look as flimsy as my mother’s flowery drapes, but when I touch one
it’s solid like a wall. Os hisses a word I can’t understand and the curtain on the right sweeps to the side.
“You should be able to rest in there for the night,” he tells me.
“I’ll be back to get you in the morning.”
The Gloomy Cell of Doom hardly looks inviting. But hours of
nightmare-free sleep sounds pretty dang good to me.
I head inside, relieved to find a pile of soft, feathery things in
the otherwise-empty half circle of space. But an all too familiar voice
stops me before I collapse.
“Hello, Vane,” Audra’s mom says, watching me through the gaps
in a wall that looks like it’s made of chains separating our cells. “It’s
about time you came to see me.”
CHAPTER 8
AUDRA
I
can handle this.
I have to.
It’s not just about staying alive. It’s about protecting the fourth
language. Keeping it from falling into Raiden’s hands.
I run and squat by the largest piece of driftwood, keeping my back to it as I try to pick up my attacker’s trace. But the air is empty. Stripped of any winds. Severing the pull of my bond and leaving me clueless.
Defenseless.
But not completely without hope.
Whoever my attacker is, they couldn’t take away the Westerly I’d
coiled around my wrist, and I concentrate on the cool draft, wishing there were some secret code word I could say to twist it into the ultimate weapon. Though, at this point I’d almost prefer a shield.
“Shield.”
The word slips off my lips without my meaning to, like my inherited Westerly instincts have taken over. And the wind obeys, stretching thin and wide before blanketing me like a second skin of breezes. I have no idea how much protection it will really provide, but I’ll take any help I can get.
Without the crisp ocean winds, the beach has turned sweltering. I suspect my attacker is trying to sweat me out. Hide in the shadows of their cave while I bake out here in the sun. But I’ve braved ten years in the desert.
I can handle a little heat.
I duck into what little shade the driftwood log provides and scour the beach for sharp rocks. The sea has smoothed most of the stones, but I find one with a deep crack, and when I slam it against the side of the driftwood, it splits, leaving me two halves with rough, jagged edges. I shove them in my pockets.
A draft springs to life behind me, whipping my hair with such a frenzy it unravels my braid. I shake the dark waves out of my face as another wind rips away my guardian pendant and sends it rolling across the beach, burying the blue cord in the sand. I move to chase it and a new wind whips me backward, sending me somersaulting so many times I lose track of where I am. But when I pull myself up I have no cuts or scrapes.
My shield is living up to its name—though I wonder how much abuse it can really take.
I stand again, facing the caves.
“Your tricks do not impress me,” I shout, earning myself another faceful of sand. I spit out the grit and clear my throat. “They’re not going to frighten me either.”
The winds swell again, shoving my feet out from under me and sending me sprawling into the rocks.
I pull myself back up, tired of getting tossed around and humiliated. Plus, those tricks have given me an idea.
“Is that really all you can do?” I call, letting my voice crack this time, like I’m starting to break.
Two drafts surge in response, but before they can attack, I command the winds to obey me, and mercifully they listen. I coil them into a wind spike, wishing I had a third wind to make it stronger. But the two winds still form a cold spear of air, and I hold it in front of me like a sword as I scan the beach, pointing the sharpest end at every shadowed area.
A strange hiss slices through the air and a new gust appears, weaving itself into my wind spike and spinning so fast the weapon turns hot. I try to bear the pain, but when my skin starts to blister I’m forced to drop it, and it explodes in an enormous blast of scorching air. My shield spares me the cuts and bruises as I tumble across the beach like a fallen leaf. But when I try to run forward, another draft knocks me back.
Then another.
And another.
They shove me into the ocean, and I scream as a giant wave washes me away.
Salt seeps into my blisters as I fight to keep my head above the freezing water, but more waves wash over me, dragging me away from the air. My lungs burn and my head spins as I crash on the sand, gasping for breath.
I crawl toward the beach, but another wave sucks me back, spinning me around before slamming me onto the shore.
Then again.
And again.