Shannon Messenger - Let the Storm Break

“But—”

She puts a finger on my lips, definitely a good way to shut me up.

Warm tingles ripple through my face, and I close my eyes and hope it’s a sign that she doesn’t hate me.

“Please, Vane,” she whispers, leaning so close I can feel her hair brush my cheeks. “You’re not up for a battle. You have to stay here, where it’s safe.”

“You sure it isn’t that you just don’t want me around?” It’s mostly a joke, but she was pretty pissed a few minutes ago.

She reaches up to brush a couple pieces of hair off my forehead, not looking at me as she says, “I don’t trust my mother, but I do trust you .”

“You do?”

She nods.

That makes one of us.

“So I need you to trust me on this,” she adds quietly. “Stay here while I go release her.”

“You’re not going there alone—”

“He’s right—I’m going with you,” Gus interrupts, moving next to Audra. “But she’s right too, Vane. You had one of the worst dislocations I’ve seen. You need some time to recover.”

“But what if the guard won’t release Arella?” I argue.

I doubt they’d listen to anyone but the king.

“I’m sure her guard is fighting along with the Gales,” Gus tells me, which would explain how Arella was able to call the vulture close enough to send a message.

I try one more time to move my elbow, and it feels like someone is sawing it off with a rusty butter knife.

“Fine,” I grumble. “But if I start feeling better, I’m heading straight to the Gales to meet up with you.”

Audra sighs. “I won’t be able to stop you, but please promise you’ll only do that if you’re really up to it.”

“Only if you promise to be extra careful. If something happens . . .”

I try to swallow the fear, but it chokes me.

She cradles my face with her hands. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know. But I’m still going to worry the entire time. Do you need me to tell you how to find the Maelstrom?”

Audra points to the stupid vulture, which I’m pretty sure is sitting there hoping one of us is about to die. “Her bird will guide me.”

“Make sure you walk the last part,” I warn them. “Otherwise the winds carrying you will get sucked in.”

“Not if we fly with Westerlies,” Audra corrects. “I flew right up to Raiden’s Maelstrom in Death Valley.”

She starts to stand, but I grab her wrist with my good arm. “Promise you’ll come back safe.”

“I’ll try.”

I tighten my grip. “Promise.”

She leans down to kiss me.

It’s a fast kiss—more of a tease than anything. But it makes the wall I’d felt between us seem to vanish as she pulls her hand free.

I try not to feel like a worthless Vane-blob as Gus carries me to a spot in the shade and props me against a boulder. But I can’t help sulking as Gus wraps his arms around Audra and she forms a Westerly wind bubble.

I glower at the sky as I watch them float away.

And when they disappear into the clouds, I realize that Audra never promised to come back.

Everything about this feels wrong.

Leaving Vane alone and unprotected in the middle of nowhere.

Setting my mother free.

Even flying with Gus—though at least he seems as uncomfortable as me. He’s adjusted his hold twice already, but thanks to this dress, there’s nowhere safe to grab.

“What do you think the odds are that Vane will really stay where he is?” Gus asks as he shifts his hands to my waist, holding my bandaged side extra carefully.

“Probably about as good as my mother being a changed woman.”

“So I take it you’re still pissed about setting her free?”

“I just . . . know my mother.”

I know Vane wants to believe she’s different now—and maybe she was when he talked to her. But I’ve learned the hard way that any kindness or concern my mother ever shows lasts only long enough for her to get what she wants.

And now we’re about to let her have her way again.

We follow my mother’s vulture toward circles of dead palm trees, and as soon as we reach them, the Westerlies carrying us turn jittery. I urge the winds to fly on, but they grow increasingly unsteady, breaking into a panic when a frenzied Easterly swarms around me.

The draft’s tone reminds me of my father’s voice, but I know there’s no way it could be him. Its desperate song begs me to turn away and never come back, and my father would never try to stop me from setting my mother free. He loved her beyond life—beyond reason—beyond air.

He would carry me there faster if he could.

“Wow, the Maelstrom sure does spook the winds,” Gus mumbles as the Easterly flies with us, repeating its warning over and over.

I continue to ignore it, and when we reach a series of strange rock formations, the vulture dives and the Easterly finally sweeps away.

We’ve reached our destination.

The other Westerlies take off the second I unravel them, but my loyal shield doesn’t waver, tightening its grip around me like it can feel the evil in the air.

I can feel it too.

The unnatural stillness.

The strange push and pull, dragging me toward the dark opening in the sand up ahead, even though every instinct I have is screaming for me to run away.

“There’s something off about this place,” Gus mumbles, his hand gripping his wind spike as he searches the air.

“It feels just like the other Maelstrom,” I tell him.

Sounds the same too. The horrible screeching that bores into my brain like twisted needles.

Though this one was built by the captain of the Gales.

Gus’s eyes scan the valley, but the only signs of life are the vultures. Dozens and dozens of them, lining the rocks, the scrubby plants, even the sand. They watch us with their silent stares as we make our way to the Maelstrom’s entrance.

I’m tempted to shoo them away—they won’t be getting the meal they’ve been waiting for. But I know they won’t leave. They’ll be loyal to her.

“So . . . we have to go down there?” Gus asks as I start down the sloped, dark path surrounded by the spinning funnel of sand.

“Unless you want to stay here and cover the entrance,” I offer.

For the briefest second he looks tempted. Then he draws his wind spike, holding it in front of him as he pushes past me to take the lead. “Let’s get this over with.”

I try not to touch the walls—try even harder not to imagine bits of my mother being absorbed by them.

But she’s also in the air.

I cover my mouth, breathing as shallowly as I can. Still, every breath makes me want to gag.

I keep my hand to my heart as we walk, wishing I could feel some small trace of my bond. There’s nothing but a cold emptiness.

It makes me want to turn around and run until I find the sky. But I press forward. One foot in front of the other. Each step dragging me away from the light. Into the wasted darkness.

“Okay, I officially hate it down here,” Gus says after several more minutes of walking. “I mean . . . it’s just wrong . There’s no other way to describe it.”

There isn’t.

Maelstroms feel as awful as they are.

And once again I can’t help thinking that a Gale made this.

I almost speak the thought aloud, but stop myself just in time. So I’m surprised when Gus asks me, “What do you think about Os?”

I choose my answer carefully. Now is not the time to cast doubt on our leader. Battles call for trust and loyalty. “I think he’s desperate to protect our people.”

“Desperate,” Gus repeats. He’s quiet for several steps, before he asks, “Do you believe the Gales can win?”