Shannon Messenger - Let the Storm Break

It’s strange to think of it as an attack, but I guess that’s what it was.

“There’s not really much to tell,” I mumble. “I went to the mountains to get some fresh air and I’ve been so tired from not sleeping that I guess I dozed off and Raiden’s creepy wind found me.”

“Gusty told me you go up there a few times a week. He assumed you were searching for someone.” He raises the brow on the scarred side of his face.

I shrug, trying to stay calm as I search for a believable lie. “Fine. If you really want to know, I go up there to check on my friend. I like to make sure he’s still safe, and I didn’t want the Gales to know because they’ve asked me to stay away from him.”

Told me is more like it, but I’m trying not to sound bitter.

I know they’re right that being around me puts Isaac in danger—but it hasn’t been fun cutting off my best friend. He bought my excuses for a few days, but eventually he figured out something was up. And when I wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell him the truth, he stopped calling.

I haven’t talked to him in almost two weeks.

Os doesn’t look as satisfied with my explanation as I’d like. But all he says is “What did Raiden’s wind do to you?”

I really don’t want to relive any of it, but Os insists. So I rush through a few details.

“A girl,” he interrupts. “You didn’t know who she was?”

“No.”

It’s not even a lie. That girl was not Audra.

“And what did the girl do?”

I feel my face get hot as my mind fills with the memory of not- Audra lying on top of me.

Os must notice my blush because he says, “Oh.” Several seconds of awkward silence pass before he quietly asks, “Is this why you canceled your betroth—”

“No.”

I give him my I don’t want to talk about this glare and he falls silent. But just when I think he’s dropped it he adds, “If you’re experiencing urges—”

“Dude—we are so not doing this.”

I barely survived my parents’ you’re-becoming-a-man-and-your-body-is-changing talk when I was a kid. I’m not going through it again—especially with someone named Os.

He clears his throat. “Fine. But it sounds like Raiden has found a way to lure you deep into your consciousness with your desires. That will be a much harder trick to resist.”

He doesn’t have to tell me. I know better than anyone how close it came to working. “But why would he want to do that? Doesn’t he need me conscious if I’m going to teach him what he wants?”

“I’m sure he has a way to release you. But you’ll be much easier to catch if you can’t use the power of four to defend yourself. And there’s no telling if we’ll be able to pull you back if this happens again.”

I stare at my bandaged pinkie, trying not to think about how desperate Gus must’ve been to bite me. “So, what’s the plan?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize what I just walked into.

“I’m not teaching anyone Westerly,” I jump in before Os can ask. “And it won’t help anyway. I’ve already tried every command I can think of.”

“Yes, but those of us with more knowledge of the other winds will be able to think of things that you can’t.”

“Not an option.”

And somehow I doubt that. I’ve been practicing with Westerlies a lot , and it’s amazing the things they’ll let me do. But this trick is beyond them. They’re too trusting and agreeable to block another wind—which I know sounds crazy, but it’s true. Westerlies like to get along with the other drafts, and that makes it kind of hard when the other drafts are evil.

Os puts a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, Vane, I know you want to protect your heritage, but if you would just listen to reason—”

“No, if you guys would just listen to me. Aren’t people supposed to listen to their king?” I ask, shaking his hand away. “Do I need to start threatening beheadings or something?”

It feels weird playing the royalty card, but I’m so tired of this fight.

I’m tired of everything.

I’m just tired.

Os sighs. “If that is truly your decision, then I can only think of one other option.”

“Okay . . . ?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything.

He sighs again, this time letting it rock his shoulders as he reaches up and plays with the ends of his braid. “It’s something I’d prefer to keep secret. But it’s the only place the wind can’t reach and the only place I can think of where you might be able to sleep.”

I yawn so wide it feels like my face is stretching. “Sleep sounds good—I vote for that.”

“You might not be so eager if you knew where you’ll be going. It’s a place I created for a much darker purpose.”

His voice has turned to the kind of hollow whisper you hear in horror movies when a character’s just seen a ghost.

“Uh, then thanks. I’ll pass. I’ll just do some more push-ups.”

“You can’t stay awake by sheer force of will, Vane—look what happened last night. You have to sleep. If you won’t give us the language we need to protect you, you will have to come with me. The choice is yours.”

Doesn’t sound like there’s much of a choice—but that’s probably the point. This is just another dare to try and force me into giving them what they want. And I’m not caving.

“Fine,” I tell him, throwing off my covers. “Take me wherever you want—but there better be a soft bed.”

Os shakes his head. “I wish you would change your mind.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to.”

He closes his eyes, and his voice has that ghostly tone again when he says, “So be it. But you’ll need your walking shoes. We have a long journey ahead.”

I should be home by now.

I can’t tell where I am. Flying with the power of four turned the journey into a blur of color and light. But I can feel the sun directly above me, telling me it’s midday, and I see no bright yellow desert on the horizon. Only the dark blue of the sea.

I command the drafts to slow so I can get my bearings, but they ignore me—and when I shout at them, they rush faster, spinning into a squall. The more I resist the more they tighten their grip, crushing me in their cyclone and dragging me far too fast toward the ground.

I have no idea what’s happening, but I curl into a ball and focus on the air brushing my skin. It’s not the same as wind, but it fuels my strength and steadies my nerves. I let the energy build inside me until I feel ready to burst. Then I shove myself forward and launch out of the vortex, squinting in the bright sunlight.

A quick glance down tells me I’m high above the shore, but when I call a draft to catch me, they rebel and whisk away. Leaving me alone in my free fall.

I force myself to stay calm.

I cannot fly without wind, but I’m still a part of the sky. I can float like a feather on a breeze—I just have to hold still and trust that the air will carry me.

I stretch out flat, trying to keep my body flexible as I take slow, deep breaths and concentrate on the white puffy clouds. I wish I could sink into their softness, bury my face in their cool mist. Instead I drift with the currents, dipping and diving and swooping so much I can’t tell whether I’m falling or flying until I collide with the rocky sand.

It’s not a soft landing, and I can feel my cheek sting from where my skin met a splinter of driftwood.

But I’m safe.

For now.

Something is wrong.

The wind always has a mind of its own, and sometimes it refuses to obey—but I’ve never seen every draft rebel. Some other force is at work. Something dark and powerful, if it could spook the winds that way.