Hovering just above their heads was the heart of the twister. Rotating in a miniature version of the real thing, a funnel pulsed with glowing black light—like dense smoke lit from within. Because there was no wind in the eye, it couldn’t sense them, at least not if they were careful. And at the moment, he knew it was focused on the other storm it sensed in the vicinity—whether it thought the other storm was friend or foe, he didn’t know or care as long it stayed distracted. Jinx stepped up first, lifting the jar she had enchanted to draw in magic. As an earth witch, her enchantments were the strongest he’d ever seen, thanks to her natural connection to nature, of which storms were a part. When he had first joined Duke’s crew, they’d had a fire witch. Hers had been good enough to keep the magic in the jar once they’d skimmed some of the excess energy swirling around the storm’s heart. But with Jinx’s enchantment, all she had to do was get the jar close and a smoky tendril of magic peeled away from the small spinning funnel and floated down into the jar, creating an even smaller funnel of its own. A cork formed from nowhere, stoppering the jar and sealing it shut. That was another added bonus of Jinx’s earth magic. Jinx blew them a cocky kiss and rolled beneath the Rock and out of sight. As Sly stepped up toward the heart, the eye began to move past the Rock, cutting off their simplest escape route. But it was no matter. They hadn’t all planned to get out that way. And Jinx could continue her efforts to weaken the storm on the outside.
The enchantment on the jar called forth another tendril for Sly’s jar, and once more a cork appeared, completing the job. But when Ransom stepped up to fill the third jar, the sound from outside the eye pitched higher, and the twister dug in harder to the earth, turning up mounds of soil below them. The storm stilled and the funnel narrowed around them. Sly narrowly missed getting caught up in the enclosing wall of wind and debris.
“Out of time,” Locke yelled. They would have to settle for only two jars.
Almost as if in response to Locke’s call, the storm began moving again, but this time the winds shifted and it began tracking back toward the Rock. He cursed and gestured a hand at Ransom and Sly for them to attack. Sly didn’t have a twister affinity, but her wind Stormheart lent her some influence over the wind rotating around them, and she tried to slow it down.
Ransom and Locke fixated on the storm itself, each simultaneously pulling their twister Stormhearts from their belts. The magic flared to life, filling up Locke’s chest with energy; it sharpened his eyesight, allowing him to see and feel the entirety of the rotating column around him. The twister glowed a sickly greenish black, and he focused on the wall of wind next to him, shifting quickly on his feet to remain inside the eye even as the storm moved. His feet sped to a run as the twister picked up speed, and he knew they had to take this thing down now. He took a deep breath and, with a scream, he threw out his hands, sending out every bit of magic in him, amplified by the Stormheart he held. It slammed into the wall ahead of him, slicing it open and forming another wall of translucent light. The howling winds slammed into that wall, and the shape of the tornado warped, trying to continue spinning despite the disturbance.
Locke heard Ransom bellow behind him, and the walls of the twister shuddered again. Wind breached the eye as the circular rotation broke apart. For a moment, there was no rhyme or reason to the movement of the wind around them. It was everywhere, moving in every direction, and dust filled his vision. Something hard lanced his shoulder, and he was thrown sideways. He fell to one knee and planted a hand on the earth to keep himself from sprawling completely. Before he could force himself to stand again, the terrible roaring noise faded away and the winds dissipated, curling back to the gray sky above them.
To die at the hands of a storm gives one the chance to live again in the skies.
—The Church of the Sacred Souls: Salvation and Second Life
13
Roar came awake gradually to the sound of the hunters shuffling around her. She recognized their voices, the tight, worried whispers that carried despite their stealth.
“And I thought I had a temper,” Jinx said. “My emotional outbursts are mild compared to that.”
“Your last emotional outburst ended with a blade entirely too close to my special bits,” Ransom answered. “I wouldn’t call that mild by any means.”
“Funny. I wouldn’t call your bits special.”
Ransom huffed in annoyance while Jinx laughed with glee. But the friendly teasing was cut through by a quiet, stern voice that Roar barely recognized she had heard it so little.
Sly. The quiet, stealthy girl who spent more time watching than participating in the group’s conversations. “She is not to be trusted. She lies.”
“About what? How do you know?” Locke barked, joining the conversation for the first time. The voice came from right above Roar, and she realized that the warmth cradling her head was not a pillow but Locke’s lap.
“I—” Sly began, and then stopped. “I cannot pinpoint exactly what—”
“So you don’t know at all. Yet you would call her a liar.”
“I’m saying that maybe you should be resting rather than guarding the girl who attacked you. Rabid as a diseased dog.”
It took Roar effort to fight off a flinch at those words. She kept her lids low and her breath even, and tried not to feel the crush against her heart as Sly spoke truths that she wished were lies.
Sly continued: “She says little of her life in Pavan. Little about her life period. She flits around like a brave little butterfly with a broken wing, and you all rushed to accept her. She’s supposed to be a poor girl from the streets, but she came with her own horse. Her own supplies. She knew the man who sold three Stormhearts to Duke as if they were nothing more than trinkets. And yet, she pretends she knows nothing about our world. Had never seen eternal embers or storm charms or anything. I can tell you nothing more than that and the feeling in my gut. This girl is not who she seems.”
“Her reaction was … extreme,” Bait said, his voice tentative. “What if it happens again? Should we tie her up to be safe?”
“We’re not tying her up,” Locke growled.
Duke’s calm but stern voice cut in. “Be still, Locke, or you’ll damage yourself worse than you already are.”
“I’ll be still when you promise not to treat her like a prisoner.”
There was a tense silence before Duke spoke in a measured tone. “Locke, I know you are fond of her, but we must be cautious—”
“Did you see her face? Before you smashed a bottle into her head? Did you see the way she cried between screams? I guarantee you, whatever was happening was causing far more pain to her than it was to me. For skies sake, she was the one to suggest knocking her out. And yet you all think her, what? A military spy? She could have called for a raid on the market, and we would all be rotting our lives away in the dungeons of Pavan. A thief? There are easier ways to make coin than out here, unprotected and in constant danger. Perhaps she does not tell us about herself because she trusts as easily as you do, Sly.”
Roar wondered if he would defend her so fiercely if he knew exactly what secrets she was hiding. The hunters had made plain their disdain for Stormlings and the oppression inherent in their way of life. Locke, in particular, seemed to grow especially tense when talk turned to them.
A long silence followed. Too long for Roar to keep calm, and finally she gave up the pretense of sleep and opened her eyes. She looked in the direction Sly’s voice had come from, planning to gauge if she knew Roar was awake, but all she saw was the small girl’s back as she walked away toward the horses.
That pulled Roar abruptly into awareness, and she tried to sit up. “Honey!” Pain shattered through her head, as if she’d been hit all over again. Then Locke pulled her back into the cradle of his lap and laid a newly wetted rag against her head. The water was cool and helped clear her mind.
“Your horse is fine. Bait rounded them all up,” he said above her, and she tilted her head back to find him shirtless and bloodied as Duke worked to wrap a wound in his shoulder.
“What happened back there, Roar?” Locke asked.