Let the Storm Break

CHAPTER 41 VANE

A frightened cry wakes me from my restless sleep, but when I tear my eyes open I’m still alone.

Still in the middle of the desert.

Still stuck with an elbow that feels like a pack of wild dogs is chewing on it.

But it wasn’t a nightmare that woke me.

It was the wind.

I close my eyes as the terrified Westerly surrounds me. Its song is a mess—all jumbled with panic. But one word jumps out.

Traitor.

I start to jump to my feet, but then I remember how not-cool that worked out for me last time and instead use the rock I’d been sleeping against to slowly pull myself up.

The dizziness still hits me, but deep breaths shove it back, and when my head clears I can feel the Westerly coiling around me, trying to drag me where I need to go.

“Hey—easy,” I tell it as it almost pulls me over. “What’s going on—did something happen to Audra?”

It’s a stupid question to ask the wind—and of course it doesn’t answer. It just repeats the same panicked song about traitors and tries to pull me into the sky.

I stop fighting and let it.

I hold my wind spike with my good arm, trying to feel ready for wherever this wind is bringing me. But nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing my valley up close.

I’ve seen disasters on TV.

I’ve even lived through a couple.

But this . . .

Mangled houses. Fallen trees. Smashed cars. Police. Ambulances. Firemen. Helicopters.

People are running. Blocking the roads. Screaming and shouting and wailing.

It’s chaos.

The kind of thing where reporters will come from miles around and the president will go on TV and try to say something to help people make sense of the destruction. But no one is going to understand this.

I can see the Living Storms still raging, scattered through the different towns—though it looks like there might be fewer of them. It’s hard to tell.

It’s hard to think.

One Storm is ransacking Indio and Coachella, and I can see two more shredding the mansions in Indian Wells and Rancho Mirage and another whipping through Cathedral City. But the worst of the fighting is in La Quinta, where three of the biggest Storms are tearing through the Cove. My Westerly steers me there.

I fly over my parents’ house and it’s actually still standing. But Isaac and Shelby weren’t so lucky. Shelby’s house is okay, but her car is smashed through the wall of her neighbor’s garage. And Isaac’s street is gone.

Like, gone gone.

Not a house. Not a tree. Even the sidewalk’s disappeared.

I’m glad I warned them to leave, but what will they come home to?

And what about their neighbors?

Fury makes me shake, but I can’t decide who I’m mad at.

Raiden may have created the Storms but . . .

They’re here because of me.

My Westerly picks up speed as we get closer to the Storms, but just as I’m gearing up for the fight of my life, it steers me into the mountains and drops me down on a narrow ledge.

A strong hand yanks me into a small cave.

“Don’t let them see you!” Os hisses as he spins me around to face him.

My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I notice he’s here with Solana, and they’re both crouched in the shadows.

There’s a new gash to Os’s scar, cutting right through the center, like the mark has been crossed out. But Solana looks a lot worse. Huge splotches of blood stain her pale dress. I can’t tell if it’s all hers, but the thick gash on her chin looks pretty gnarly either way.

“What happened?” I ask quietly.

Os points out at the Storms. “What do you think?”

The Storms slam against the mountain next to us, pulverizing the wall of stone until a huge hole forms.

My mouth goes dry and I have to swallow several times before I can ask, “How many Gales are left?”

Os drops his eyes to his hands. “Last count . . . eight—and that’s including us.”

That’s . . . not even half.

“Where are Gus and Audra?” Solana asks after a second.

I was just wondering the same thing.

I’d thought the “traitor” the Westerly was taking me to was Arella. But it brought me here.

I scan the tiny cave trying to figure out why. A glint of yellow catches my attention.

“What are those?” I ask, pointing to the strangely colored wind spikes piled at Os’s feet.

Traitor, my Westerly whispers again, and I have a horrible feeling I already know.

I pick one up and the winds’ pain and misery pulses through my hand like a heartbeat.

“You broke the winds inside these?” I ask, dropping the spike and backing away.

“Only the Northerlies,” Os corrects as he bends to retrieve it. “And only because there was no other option.”

“Yeah, well, clearly the winds disagree, or I wouldn’t have been dragged here by a Westerly that kept calling you a traitor.”

“A traitor?” Os shouts—then covers his mouth and makes us all duck as we wait to see if the Storms heard.

“I’m a traitor?” he whispers after a few seconds. “I’m the one who saved us! I got your pathetic warning only minutes before the Storms arrived, and before I’d had time to blink they’d taken out a third of our force. We tried to run and hide until the three of you came back to help us, but we would’ve been snuffed out completely if I hadn’t realized that Raiden had broken the Storms. The only way to fight a ruined wind is with another. So I broke the Northerlies in the spikes and we’ve been taking down the Storms one by one. We only have a few left.”

Traitor, the Westerlies around me whisper.

“There has to be another way—”

“There isn’t !” Os grabs one of the spikes and hurls it through the cave’s opening at a Living Storm that had just discovered our hideout.

The spike tears straight through the Storm’s shoulder, making it howl and rage as smoky mist leaks into the sky. Before it even finishes yelping, Os launches another spike straight through its eyes, making the massive Storm explode.

“You see?” Os asks as the ground shakes and the air turns thick and we cough from the dust and debris. “Without these weapons we’d have no fighting chance.”

He hands another spike to me as proof, then reaches up to smear the blood off his cheek.

The cut on his face has opened wider from the strain, and I can’t decide if it makes him look cruel or strong.

I never thought those two things could be interchangeable, but as I stare at the broken spike, I wonder if maybe they are.

Maybe sometimes the only right choice is the wrong one, and what it really comes down to is being brave enough to make it.

Traitor, the Westerlies snarl, and this time it feels like they’re saying it to me. But what else was Os supposed to do? There weren’t any other . . .

The thought trails off when I realize that there is another option—the one Gus and Audra are already working on.

Releasing Arella wasn’t an easy decision either—but it’s better than ruining the wind.

But they should be here by now, shouldn’t they?

I clutch my heart, trying to feel the pull of our bond. But I feel colder and emptier than I have in a long time.

It could be that Audra’s deep in the Maelstrom—but why would she still be there?

What if something’s wrong?

I drop the damaged wind spike and reach for a Westerly to carry me—but they all ignore my call, whispering, Traitor, and flitting away. I’m searching the air for any other winds that might be willing to help me when a Storm’s fist slams into our cave.

Everything crumbles.

I flail to protect my wounded arm as I skid down a rocky slope, not stopping until I’m halfway down the mountain. I’m grateful my Westerly shield didn’t abandon me, because I’m pretty sure I’d have no skin left on my chest otherwise.

I’m choking on the dust and sand when I hear Solana scream and turn my head just in time to see one of the remaining Storms snatch her away.

I shout for Os’s help, but his legs are pinned under a giant boulder. Which leaves only me.

Taking on two Living Storms all by myself probably isn’t the smartest idea—especially with the winds mad at me and with a superwounded left arm.

But I can still hear Solana screaming.

I’ve ruined her life a million different ways.

This time I’m going to save it.