“Come!” I shout, calling one of the broken wind spikes Os made.
The Westerly shielding me changes its tune, singing about traitors as it whisks away.
“What else do you want me to do?”I shout, flailing to strengthen my hold on the other drafts. “Do you want them to die?”
The Westerly doesn’t respond, disappearing into the clouds.
I feel like I’m turning my back on my heritage—but I’ve tried fighting with my own wind spike and it did nothing. And the Westerlies told me themselves that they couldn’t stop the Storms.
So, seriously, what am I supposed to do?
I order the winds still holding me to hover, and I test my swing, aiming for the Storm that’s carrying Solana. I check my swing twice to steady my nerves, and on the third sweep I let it fly.
The freaking Storm ducks.
I shout commands to adjust the spike’s trajectory as it passes, but the angle’s too sharp and the spike swishes across the Storm’s shoulder, making such a small slice, the wound doesn’t even leak any fog.
But it does still piss the Storm off, and I turn to flee as it tosses Solana back to the other Storm and takes off after me.
“Hang on,” I shout as I duck the crack of a whip and call the broken wind spike back to my hand.
I race straight toward Solana, knowing this is probably the stupidest strategy I’ve ever come up with. But I don’t have time to play Keep Away with the evil Storms anymore.
“Take my hand,” I shout, stretching out my wounded arm as I duck another blow from the whip. I know it’s going to hurt like hell when she grabs on, but I need my good arm for other, even crazier things.
Before she can reach me, the Storm yanks her away, tossing her back to the other Storm and swatting its massive hand at me.
“Get down, Vane!” Os shouts from somewhere behind me, and I decide not to question him, dropping toward the ground as fast as I can.
I glance up just in time to see a spike streak above me, nailing the Storm in the head and making the monster explode.
“Now it’s one-on-one,” Os tells me, and I steal a quick glance, surprised to see he’s still pinned under the rock. I’m not sure how he reached one of the wind spikes, but I’m grateful for the help. I can’t afford to waste any more time.
The Storm carrying Solana races away, and I chase after them, cursing every second this is wasting as I go back to my other crazy plan. I sneak up on the Storm’s blind side and hold out my bad arm, shouting at Solana to grab on when I pass.
It takes two tries, but she manages to snag my hand. My elbow screams from the pain, but I grit my teeth and bear it, knowing it’s only the beginning as Solana tangles our fingers together and I warn her to get ready. When I feel her get a firm hold, I raise my wind spike and slash it through the Storm’s wrist, severing its hand and pulling Solana free
The Storm screams and howls, and I do the same as Solana’s weight—light as she is—rips my elbow back out of joint.
“Hold on,” Solana shouts as the sickly yellow fog explodes around us, making me want to gag.
She wraps her legs around mine and shimmies up my body until she has a solid hold around my waist. “Are you okay?”
I can’t answer.
It takes the last of my energy to order the drafts carrying us to fly as fast as they can toward the Maelstrom.
I hope it’s fast enough.
“Got any winds left in you?” I ask when I glance over my shoulder and see the wounded Storm chasing after us. The rage seems to have given it a burst of energy, and I’m guessing we only have about a minute or two before it’s right on top of us, unless we get a boost ourselves.
Solana shakes her head. “I ran out in the first few minutes of the fight, after we realized the spikes you gave us wouldn’t work. If Os hadn’t tried breaking those drafts, we’d all be dead.”
I want to shout, You hear that, Westerlies?
But I honestly get why they’re angry. Just holding the spike, I feel the broken Northerly’s pain, and dang, is it intense.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing the draft could understand me. “If there’s a way to fix this, I will.”
I didn’t expect the wind to actually listen. But three Westerlies wrap around us out of nowhere, boosting our speed just in time to launch us the hell out of the valley and leave the creepy Storms in the dust.
I hope the rest of the Gales will be able to handle them.
And I hope this means the Westerlies have forgiven me—but no matter what, it’s time for a change.
No more slacking in my training.
No more fighting to have a normal life.
The only thing that matters is stopping Raiden.
And Audra.
I clutch my chest, realizing our bond is gone.
Not faded.
Gone.