Let the Storm Break

CHAPTER 36 AUDRA

A horrible hiss echoes through the valley, coming from the mountains to the west, where an enormous storm is gathering.

Thick gray clouds swirl together like a hurricane, and when another hiss shatters the silence, the air turns achingly cold. I shiver in my thin dress and reach for any nearby Westerlies. All I feel is one, sweeping through the dunes a few miles away.

“You can’t leave,” Gus tells me as I call it to my side.

“I have to find Vane.”

“No, you have to stay here.” He grabs my arm when I don’t listen. “Raiden’s here for you, too.”

He’s right.

I know he’s right.

But Vane is alone and unprotected and Raiden is so close and he’s not attacking from the east like we thought and—

“You think Vane can’t see that?” Gus asks, pointing to the wall of thunderheads cresting the mountains. “I’m sure he’s just as worried about you, and if he’s not on his way back by now, he will be any second.”

But Raiden could already be in the valley. And if he catches Vane alone—

“Hey, deep breath,” Gus says, shaking my arm until I look at him. “If he’s not here in a few minutes I’ll go after him—but you have to stay here. I’m his guardian now, remember?”

The words feel like thunder—or maybe that’s my pounding heart.

I’m not Vane’s guardian anymore.

I can’t be.

But putting myself ahead of Vane makes me feel every bit the traitor Os accused me of being . . .

The wind I’d called sweeps into the grove, brushing against my cheeks and whispering a song about trust and hope. Tears prick my eyes when I realize it’s my loyal Westerly shield, and as it drapes itself around me—without my even giving the command—I feel my heartbeat steady.

The Westerlies have accepted me as their kin.

I have to start accepting myself.

“You have to keep him safe,” I beg Gus.

“I have to keep both of you safe. So come on, let’s get back to Os and find out how he’s changing his strategy. I can’t believe Raiden’s coming from the west.”

I can’t either, and I can’t decide if he’s doing it for some great poetic irony or if it’s part of some trick we have yet to uncover. Knowing Raiden, it’s probably both. The only thing we can rely on with him is cruelty.

I help Gus gather the wind spikes, and we race through the scraggly palm trees to find the rest of the Gales on the lawn. They stand in a wide circle around Os and Solana, and it’s hard not to panic when I take a quick head count and realize the much-too-small group is all we’re going to get. Especially when I see how thin and pale they are. Gray streaks pepper their braided hair and creases weather their faces.

Raiden definitely stole our strongest fighters.

“Vane isn’t back?” Os asks when he sees us. His voice is eerily calm, though his lips are pressed into a hard line.

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Gus tells him. “In the meantime, we brought you these.”

He pushes through the circle and hands Os the first wind spike.

Os holds the sharp edge up to the fading sunlight and swipes it a few times before he turns to me. “Any special instructions?”

“Don’t lose it.”

He sighs. “Any helpful instructions?”

“That’s the only instruction that matters. These spikes won’t explode like the ones you’re used to. It’s what makes them so powerful—but it also means you can’t use them the same way. If you throw them or lose your grip, the weapon could fall into the enemy’s hands.”

The Gales start to grumble at the news.

I can make out only snatches of what they’re saying, but I hear the word “pointless” several times—and Os does nothing to quiet them.

“You dare to disrespect this gift?” Gus shouts, shaming them all into silence. “You hold the power of four in your hands—a power even Raiden doesn’t possess—and you grumble and complain because you have to protect it?”

“We don’t need more things to protect,” a short, frail-looking guardian shouts back, tossing his spike on the ground.

The others in the group back away as Gus stalks forward, leaning in the rebellious guardian’s face. “The weapon you’ve just cast aside was the only thing that allowed me to defeat the Living Storm I battled. Without it, you might as well surrender to the sky now.”

The rebellious Gale glares at Gus, and for a second I wonder if he’s going to turn and walk away. Instead he bends and recovers his spike from the ground, shoving it through the belt of his uniform, right next to his windslicer.

“That is a smart place to store it,” Gus tells him, turning back to the others. “In fact, the best way to use these spikes is to think of them like a windslicer.”

“You expect us to engage in hand-to-hand combat with these Storm beasts?” an old, tall Gale with a braided beard asks.

“Why not? I did. And I won.” Gus’s voice holds no arrogance. Only assurance. “I understand that things feel bleak—and I wish I could promise that no lives will be lost today—but that is no different from any other battle we’ve faced. And this is our chance. Raiden is coming to us, desperate to prove that he’s the invincible king he claims to be. But he is not invincible. I’ve seen him bleed. I’ve made him bleed. And the weapon that sliced him was one of these.”

He holds up his spike and this time there are cheers.

Halfhearted and fleeting, but still, cheers.

“Guardian Gusty is right,” Os says, like he’s just realized that Gus is doing his job. “The tide is turning, my friends. If we stand strong against it, we could mark this day in our histories as the day this war swung in our favor. Perhaps even the day we end Raiden’s reign forever!”

Louder cheers this time, mixed with applause.

Gus moves back to my side as Os continues to prep his soldiers.

“Do you really think Raiden will come here?” I ask, keeping my voice low so that only Gus hears.

Raiden may crave power and prestige, but he usually stays away from the action. And I saw the fear in his eyes when Gus’s wind spike sliced his arm. I can’t see him risking further injury in a battle with this many variables.

“I don’t think he’ll be able to stay away,” Gus whispers back. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he hides in the mountains. And you can bet I’m going up there to find him.”

His grip tightens on his wind spike, and I have a feeling if Gus gets another shot, he won’t miss again.

If only it could be that easy.

Os switches to discussing their strategy and I try not to cringe. It sounds like he’s reciting straight from the basic-training guide. Divide and conquer. Clean, direct attacks. No one works alone.

“This isn’t a time for basics.”

I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until everyone turns to look at me.

“What was that, Ms. Eastend?” Os asks.

I notice that he doesn’t call me Guardian Audra. Though at least he doesn’t call me Your Highness.

I clear my throat, hoping my cheeks aren’t as red as my ridiculous dress as I say, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt. But I’ve seen Raiden fight, and nothing about his method is basic.”

“Ah, I see,” Os says, and the circle parts as he stalks closer to me. “So perhaps you think you should be captain?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“And yet, you thought it was perfectly acceptable to second-guess me in front of my guardians.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I agree with Audra,” Gus interrupts, earning himself a death glare from Os—and a grateful smile from me. “The plan you explained to me earlier was a stronger plan. Just because Raiden’s coming from a different direction doesn’t mean we should abandon it.”

“Another person thinking they’re an expert on battle strategy. Tell me, Guardian Gusty—how many battles have you actually fought?”

“Three,” Gus replies without a hint of apprehension. “And one of those was against a Living Storm.”

“Yes. One Living Storm, Gus. Which is entirely different from facing down an army of them—something you would know if you understood anything about battle tactics. But Feng was the brilliant strategist in your family, and from everything I’ve seen, you take more after your mother. A strong fighter and a loyal Gale, but far too impulsive and reckless—and we all know how that turned out.”

“Ravenna didn’t die because she was reckless,” Solana shouts, surprising everyone with her fury. She wraps her arms around herself, staring at Gus as she whispers, “She died because I failed her.”

“What do you mean?” Gus asks, but Solana shakes her head and looks away.

Os puts his hand on her shoulder. “Ravenna was your guardian, Solana. Her job was to protect you—and the fact that she left any part of her strategy up to her charge only proves my point about her recklessness.”

Gus’s hands curl into fists, and I can feel mine doing the same. Trusting your charge is the hardest call a guardian can make. No one would ever make it recklessly.

“My mother was not—”

“Now is not the time to debate the past,” Os interrupts, pointing to the coming storm, which is growing larger by the second. Any minute now it will block out the sun.

And Vane’s still not back. . . .

“I’ve simplified our strategy for a reason,” Os says, “Let’s not forget that no one here knows Raiden better than me. And I know that his greatest weakness is vanity. He’s coming here to prove to his worthless minions that he is no less of a leader because of yesterday’s incident. His focus will be on creating a spectacle, and therein lies his folly. The more showy and complicated the attack, the more it disregards basic battle principles. We can already see his vanity run amok by the fact that he’s coming from the west—wasting the energy of his forces on unnecessary journeying just for his theatrics. So the best way to take advantage of that kind of thinking is to respond with the very principles he’ll be disregarding. If we come at him straight on and tackle each enemy systematically, we’ll wipe out half his force before he even notices what we’re doing.”

I hate to admit that his reasoning makes sense. Though Os is forgetting something key.

“Don’t forget that Raiden might be watching. He held back in Death Valley, waiting to see what we’d do, and changed his commands accordingly.”

“And it worked so well for him, didn’t it?” Os counters. “All three of you got away, and humiliated him in the process. If I know Raiden, and believe me, I do”—he points to his scar—“he’ll come at us full force this time, hitting us with everything he has, as many ways as he can, right from the start. He’ll be hoping for a quick, decisive victory. Which is why I designed our strategy this way. We need to save our energy, stick with something simple that we know will keep most of us alive so we can hold out long enough to institute the second part of our plan. The part where we use our secret weapon.”

He pulls Solana closer, and I can’t tell who’s more surprised, her or me. Her skin turns paler than her dress.

“Raiden will be here,” Os explains. “And his primary strategy is always to deprive us of the one thing we need to fight back. He ruins the wind to leave us defenseless, and we’re going to let him believe that he’s succeeded. We’ll use our spikes to take out as much of his force as we can, but at the opportune moment, I’m going to surrender. Let him taste his victory so he’ll swoop in to gloat. And that’s when Solana will release the winds she’s been storing—giving us an entire arsenal we can use to hit Raiden with everything we have.”

The rest of the Gales murmur their agreement—and I’m forced to admit that it’s a much more clever plan than I’d originally thought. But it worries me that it completely neglects the Westerlies. Unless he has orders for Vane and me that he hasn’t explained. Or maybe he just expects us to—

A loud, mournful howl radiates through the valley, followed by another, and another.

Each cry grows louder and more desperate, until my eyes are watering and my jaw is clenched so tightly my teeth start to ache.

“What is that?” Gus shouts, covering his ears.

I do the same, but it barely muffles the next howl, and I feel a tremble ripple through my Westerly shield as it tightens its grip around me.

“It’s the sound the wind makes when it’s ruined,” I tell Gus. “The final cry before the best parts of the draft crumble away.”

“Is it always this loud?” he asks, and I shake my head.

These must be bigger winds somehow, or maybe a combination of drafts, like a cyclone or . . .

I suck in a breath as I grab Gus’s arm. “I think he’s breaking the Living Storms.”

Gus’s eyes widen. “Can he do that?”

“I have no idea.”

But another unearthly howl rages through the valley and I know I’m right. What I don’t know is why.

Why ruin his own creation?

What power is he drawing from their pain?

I turn toward Os, watching him as he struggles to keep the other guardians calm.

His agonized expression tells me he recognizes the sound too—though there’s something besides pain in his eyes. Something that makes me far colder than the icy air whipping around us.

Hunger.

Os is fighting it—his whole body shaking with the effort. But the craving is still there. Boiling below the surface.

I pull Gus close enough to whisper in his ear—though it’s more of a shout with all the noise and chaos. “Keep an eye on Os. This sound is like a drug for him.”

Gus follows my gaze and nods. He presses his lips against my ear to shout back, “We need to find Vane.”

“No you don’t,” Vane says behind me, and when I spin around he’s appeared almost magically.

For about half a second I’m relieved. Then I notice how pale he is.

“What’s wrong?” Gus and I both ask at the same time.

He’s shaking so hard I have to hold him steady.

Vane pulls away, wobbling toward the circle of nervous Gales until he finds Os in the center.

“I called the Westerlies from the mountains,” he says, his voice hollow. Weak. “I wanted to hear their songs, see if they could tell me what we were up against.”

“And?” Os prompts when he doesn’t finish.

Vane turns away, staring at the ever-darkening sky. “They said the Storms are too strong this time. There’s nothing we can do to stop them.”