Let the Storm Break

CHAPTER 22 AUDRA

Raiden has Vane.

The thought makes me want to tear through the basin, tackle Raiden to the ground, and scratch at his skin until there’s nothing left but bone. But all I can do is curl my legs into my chest, wrap my arms around them as tight as I can, and rock back and forth as Raiden carries on with his speech.

I’m glad his back is to me so I don’t have to see his cold, arrogant face—though the excitement in his Stormers’ eyes is equally sickening.

Focus.

Think.

Maybe I’m wrong.

I concentrate on my heart, taking slow, deep breaths. The pain of my bond is definitely there—so Vane is still alive. But . . . it’s weaker.

The searing heat is now a soft warmth, and the shredding pull is now a gentle tug.

That would happen only if I was moving closer to Vane.

Or if the Stormers are bringing him here . . .

My head spins and I lie down, pressing my cheek against the brittle ground. I could stay here, never get up, never have to face the possibility of Raiden having Vane in his clutches.

Or I could pull myself up and figure out a way to save him.

I choose option B.

Whether it was random luck or the will of the Easterlies that guided me, I’m here. Which gives me the chance to make sure Vane doesn’t end up as another shriveled lump dangling from the ceiling of the Maelstrom. All I need is a plan.

I stand and scan the valley, searching for some miraculous idea that will allow me to steal a prisoner from the clutches of the most powerful Windwalker on earth and fifty of his top soldiers—without any winds to help me fight.

The dark mountains have potential. Their weathered, dusty slopes would easily crumble if I trigger an avalanche. But the falling rocks would never reach where Raiden stands. At best it would cause a distraction—which could be useful. I could rush in and grab Vane and . . .

Be defeated before I even take a few steps.

Raiden has all the advantages. My only assets are surprise and a single Westerly shield. It won’t be enough.

If I had a way to call the Gales and let them know I’m here and that Vane has been captured, maybe they could get here in time to—

A horrifying thought stops me cold.

The Gales would never let the Stormers take Vane.

They would fight to save him until their final breaths . . .

So if I’m right, and Vane’s been captured, I’m probably all he has left.

I’m shaking now, clinging to my Westerly shield the way I clung to Vane after the storm that stole our families and changed everything.

“Ah, here comes our guest now,” Raiden says, pointing to a gray streak barreling toward us from the southern horizon.

A tornado.

“Clear a path,” Raiden shouts, and his Stormers scramble over one another to get out of the way.

The massive funnel roars into the valley, pelting everyone with sand and rocks as it tears across the basin, destroying the careful trails etched by the sailing stones. It comes to a stop directly in front of Raiden as the clouds swell above, blocking out the sun.

I clench my fists so tight my nails make my palms bleed.

The boy I love—the only thing that’s ever mattered—could be tangled inside that storm.

I have to save him.

Have to.

But as I stare at the power-hungry faces of the Stormers, I realize something even more frightening.

I have to stay alive.

Vane will never surrender to Raiden’s interrogation. He’ll protect the Westerly tongue until his dying breath. So if Raiden has him, and I can’t rescue him . . .

I will be the last Westerly.

I wish I could strip the language from my mind—go back to being a worthless Easterly who can sacrifice myself to save him.

But the language is part of who I am now.

I have to protect it accordingly.

The crowd crushes forward as the tornado unravels and three figures step out of the funnel. Two Stormers with splashes of red staining their angry faces. And a bloodied, limping prisoner in a black uniform, his hands bound in ruined yellow winds.

His face is covered with a hood and I try to tell myself it’s not him.

Vane hated the Gale Force uniforms. I can’t imagine he’d be willing to wear one.

But the pain of our bond feels more like an empty longing. Like all I would need to do is reach out and hold him and everything would be okay.

It would feel that way only if Vane were here.

The last of my hope fades when Raiden pumps his fists in triumph and shouts, “Behold—the beginning of our ultimate power!”

He coils a draft around Vane’s bleeding leg, yanking him into the sky and waving him back and forth like a tattered flag.

The Stormers cheer, shouting insults and pelting Vane with rocks.

A boulder clocks him in the head and Vane’s shoulders fall limp. I can’t tell if he’s unconscious or dead.

He can’t be dead.

Raiden needs him alive.

I repeat the reminders over and over, but it’s hard to believe as I watch Raiden shake him harder and still he doesn’t stir.

“This is what they call a mighty warrior,” Raiden shouts, flipping Vane around. “This pathetic excuse for a Windwalker is who they’ve dared to defy us with?”

Vane finally jostles awake, letting out a deep, mournful groan that shreds everything inside me.

I sink to my knees, wishing I could cover my ears. But I have to hear what’s happening. I have to find a way to fix this.

Raiden holds Vane steady, waiting for the crowd to quiet before he says, “And yet, we’re just as vulnerable.”

He snarls a command, and a sailing stone flies off the ground and smashes into one of the Stormers holding Vane, tearing the Stormer’s body in half.

Red leaks into the cracks on the ground and the crowd falls deathly silent, their faces no longer holding smiles for their leader as Raiden stalks toward his murdered soldier.

“This is why we haven’t succeeded!” Raiden yells, kicking the body like he’s trying to make sure it’s dead. “We’re slow and vulnerable—and some of us let important missions be delayed.” He turns back toward the other Stormer who brought Vane. “I could end you. But I’ve already made my point. In one fell swoop, anything can finish us. Even a weakling like him.”

He points to Vane’s body hovering in the sky. This time no one cheers.

“But I finally have the solution,” Raiden tells them. “Gather around.”

Slowly, carefully, the Stormers form a tight circle around him, stepping over their fallen comrade.

Raiden’s back is still to me, but I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “The Maelstrom has done a brilliant job of keeping our prisoners subdued during interrogations and disposing of them when we’re done. But we so rarely learn what we want, and I’ve always found the process to be a bit wasteful. All those perfectly good soldiers being fed to the wind like scraps of meat. So I’ve been working on a better solution.”

I’m on my feet without deciding to stand.

Everything about this feels wrong. Raiden’s supposed to interrogate Vane—not do this, whatever this is.

Has Raiden finally found a way to claim any secret he wants?

I turn and run deeper into the crevice and start to shimmy up the mountain. Maybe if I get to higher ground there will be a few winds and I can weave a wind spike and . . .

And what?

Take Raiden—the villain we’ve been trying to kill for decades—down in one perfect shot?

Probably not.

I’m sure he has all kinds of defenses I can’t see.

But I could take out Vane . . .

My hands shake so hard they lose their grip on the rocks and I slide several feet before my legs stop my fall.

There has to be another option.

Has.

To.

Be.

Raiden starts hissing a string of commands, and I climb faster, searching the air for any drafts I can use. I still can’t feel any—but the wind responds to Raiden’s call.

Thick gray gusts unravel out of nowhere and I watch in horror as they cocoon around Vane, entombing him inside their cloudy shell.

I start to tremble as I remember the drainer the Stormers trapped me in when they attacked a few weeks ago. I’ll never forget the way the drafts sliced and tore, breaking me down bit by bit. If Vane hadn’t shattered the shell with a wind spike, the drainer would’ve consumed me completely.

I fight my way to the top of the mountain, feeling my first glimmer of hope when I reach a few scattered breezes. They’re weak and reluctant to answer my call, but finally a Westerly feels the presence of my shield and decides to trust me—and once it does, the other winds follow. I weave them into a wind spike and add the Westerly, ducking as the winds twist and crackle and form into the pointed spear of air. I trace my finger near the sharp edge.

Now I have a shield and a sword. Maybe it will be enough.

My hope fades when I turn back to the basin.

The mass of winds has swelled so large that it casts a physical shadow, covering the entire circle of Stormers.

“You might want to step back for this part,” Raiden warns as he growls another command and the dull gray winds start to rampage.

The Stormers duck out of the way as the mass triples in size and the winds tear and howl. It’s a catfight—a snarling battle—and I can’t move, can’t think, can’t do anything except watch the winds tear and devour and wonder what’s happening to the person trapped inside.

The outer shell finally crumbles and the winds spin inward, twisting into a tornado that swells taller and wider with each passing second. I lose track of Vane’s body as the vortex tilts and crashes toward the ground in an enormous funnel of swirling, dark gray winds. Two smaller funnels branch off the top, stretching toward the ground but stopping before they reach it, and a small orb of winds crowns the top center of the mass. Shadows seep between the shapes as the winds continue to tighten until the storm almost looks like . . .

I gasp.

He can’t . . .

It isn’t . . .

My fears are confirmed a few seconds later when the winds finish their final twist and a crack ripples down the center of the storm. Scraps of broken wind crumble away, cementing the rest of the winds into a beast of a tornado with a head and arms attached to its torso.

The Stormers retreat from the monster towering over them, but Raiden moves to its path, his blond hair whipping in the wind as he shouts something I can’t understand.

The monster raises an arm and salutes.

“Behold the first Living Storm. The beginning of our new army,” Raiden announces, turning to face his soldiers. “Built from the blood of our strongest enemy and merged with the power of our darkest winds. I am its master and it will obey me blindly. But it can fight like a soldier and rage like the wind.”

Each word feels like a bruise, but I choke back my sob and force myself to accept this cold new reality.

I stare at the wind spike in my hand, realizing it’s time to let it serve its purpose.

Vane is a Living Storm.

And it’s my responsibility to kill him.