“There has to be a way out of this,” I tell Audra. “I mean, we have the power of four. Aren’t we supposed to be unstoppable?” “Raiden plays by different rules.”
The rock we’re hiding behind explodes, but the shards and pebbles bounce off our shield. I try to tell myself that means it’ll protect us, but when I spot two wind spikes headed straight for us, I can’t help pulling Audra behind me to shield her myself.
We both duck and cover as the spikes hit their mark, and the ground vibrates from a shock wave that makes my ears ring. But when I lift my head, the Westerly is still covering us, creating a pocket of clear air in the thick wall of dust.
“A most impressive trick,”Raiden shouts from somewhere across the basin. It’s impossible to see through the chaos, but he sounds like he’s getting closer. “You’ll have to teach it to me when you’re ready to surrender.”
“Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to be doing that,” I shout back— though I’m very aware that our safe little bubble leaves us very much trapped and outnumbered. “Any chance this thing is portable?” I ask Audra.
She runs her hands along the draft. “I can’t think of a command that would do that, can you?”
I close my eyes and whisper my request, trying let my instincts take over. But the wind’s song turns quiet. Almost sad. Singing of burdens that are too heavy to carry alone.
“I think we’d need one for each of us,” I tell her.
“We’d have two more Westerlies if we unraveled our wind spikes.”
True . . .
“But then we’d have no weapons, no plan, nothing but a shield— and we have no idea how strong that shield is. Can it really hold up against a windslicer?”
“I don’t know,” Audra admits. “I don’t even know if a Westerly would be willing to shield Gus, since he doesn’t speak their language—and none of the other winds have a command that works like that. I think it’s a Westerly thing. They’re defensive winds, not offensive.”
Three freaky-looking balls of dark, cloudy winds stick to our shield, and I pull Audra to the ground as they explode like grenades.
The poor Westerly screams as it suffers through the blow, but it still manages to keep its hold around us. It’s the most stubborn, loyal wind I’ve ever seen. Probably why it likes Audra so much.
“Maybe we should fly then,” I say as Audra whispers soft words to encourage our faithful shield. “We could unravel the spikes and use the winds get us out the hell out of here.”
“Do you really think we’ll be able to outrun Raiden’s entire army with a handful of tired drafts?”
“If we used the power of four.”
She shakes her head. “There’s a trick they can use that would hold us suspended in the sky—even with all four winds. I’m not sure how it works, but I’ve been trapped by it, and it left me spinning helplessly for hours. We need something too fast for them to interfere with, like a pipeline. But those require a very specific set of winds.”
And they suck.
It’s like voluntarily stepping into a tornado and letting it blast you somewhere at warp speed. But it’s probably our best bet.
“We’ll need a distraction,” I decide. “Something that’ll keep Raiden busy so we can get far enough away to find the winds to make a pipeline. Any ideas?”
Another round of freaky wind grenades attach to our shield, and Audra shouts at the poor Westerly to stay strong as they explode.
I’ve never heard a draft screech the way our shield does, like it’s actually in physical pain. But still, it holds on.
“How many winds are in these wind spikes?” Audra asks, pointing to the two I made.
“Only one of each.”
A giant boulder slams into our shield, but somehow the amazing Westerly rebounds it away. It crashes harmlessly next to us in a giant cloud of dust.
Audra sits up straighter. “What about a haboob?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“A haboob. It’s a massive dust storm that swallows everything in its path.”
“Okay, I’m trying to think how that would work, but all I’m hearing is ‘boob.’”
She glares at me as another wave of wind spikes smashes against us so hard I see our poor shield ripple. They must be almost on top of us, and I have a horrible feeling that when they get here they’ll be able to reach right through our little dome of air, just like I can. Assuming the Westerly can even hold out until then.
“A haboob would work,” Audra insists.
“Okay, you’re going to have to stop calling it that.”
She ignores me. “My father used to make them all the time. They’re one of the best ways to cause mass confusion—which is what we need right now. My father always used Easterlies, but I bet we could do it with Westerlies.”
“Okay, putting aside the haboob jokes—which I will be saving for later, by the way—how many drafts did your dad use for something like that?”
“Hundreds,” she admits.