Shannon Messenger - Let the Storm Break

The Westerly doesn’t respond, disappearing into the clouds.

I feel like I’m turning my back on my heritage—but I’ve tried fighting with my own wind spike and it did nothing. And the Westerlies told me themselves that they couldn’t stop the Storms.

So, seriously, what am I supposed to do?

I order the winds still holding me to hover, and I test my swing, aiming for the Storm that’s carrying Solana. I check my swing twice to steady my nerves, and on the third sweep I let it fly.

The freaking Storm ducks.

I shout commands to adjust the spike’s trajectory as it passes, but the angle’s too sharp and the spike swishes across the Storm’s shoulder, making such a small slice, the wound doesn’t even leak any fog.

But it does still piss the Storm off, and I turn to flee as it tosses Solana back to the other Storm and takes off after me.

“Hang on,” I shout as I duck the crack of a whip and call the broken wind spike back to my hand.

I race toward Solana, knowing this is probably the stupidest strategy I’ve ever come up with. But I don’t have time to play Keep Away with the evil Storms anymore.

“Take my hand,” I shout, stretching out my wounded arm as I duck another blow from the whip. I know it’s going to hurt like hell when she grabs on, but I need my good arm for other, even crazier things.

Before she can reach me, the Storm yanks her away, tossing her back to the other Storm and swatting its massive hand at me.

“Get down, Vane!” Os shouts from somewhere behind me, and I decide not to question him, dropping toward the ground as fast as I can.

I glance up just in time to see a spike streak above me, nailing the Storm in the head and making the monster explode.

“Now it’s one-on-one,” Os tells me, and I steal a quick glance, surprised to see he’s still pinned under the rock. I’m not sure how he reached one of the wind spikes, but I’m grateful for the help. I can’t afford to waste any more time.

The Storm carrying Solana races away, and I chase after them, cursing every second this is wasting as I go back to my other crazy plan. I sneak up on the Storm’s blind side and hold out my bad arm, shouting at Solana to grab on when I pass.

It takes two tries, but she manages to snag my hand. My elbow screams from the pain, but I grit my teeth and bear it, knowing it’s only the beginning as Solana tangles our fingers together and I warn her to get ready. When I feel her get a firm hold, I raise my wind spike and slash it through the Storm’s wrist, severing its hand and pulling Solana free.

The Storm screams and howls, and I do the same as Solana’s weight—light as she is—rips my elbow back out of joint.

“Hold on,” Solana shouts as the sickly yellow fog explodes around us, making me want to gag.

She wraps her legs around mine and shimmies up my body until she has a solid hold around my waist. “Are you okay?”

I can’t answer.

It takes the last of my energy to order the drafts carrying us to fly as fast as they can toward the Maelstrom.

I hope it’s fast enough.

“Got any winds left in you?” I ask when I glance over my shoulder and see the wounded Storm chasing after us. The rage seems to have given it a burst of energy, and I’m guessing we only have about a minute or two before it’s right on top of us, unless we get a boost ourselves.

Solana shakes her head. “I ran out in the first few minutes of the fight, after we realized the spikes you gave us wouldn’t work. If Os hadn’t tried breaking those drafts, we’d all be dead.”

I want to shout, You hear that, Westerlies?

But I honestly get why they’re angry. Just holding the spike, I feel the broken Northerly’s pain, and dang, it’s intense.

“I’m sorry,”  I whisper, wishing the draft could understand me. “If there’s a way to fix this, I will.”

I didn’t expect the wind to actually listen. But three Westerlies wrap around us out of nowhere, boosting our speed just in time to launch us the hell out of the valley and leave the creepy Storms in the dust.

I hope the rest of the Gales will be able to handle them.

And I hope this means the Westerlies have forgiven me—but no matter what, it’s time for a change.

No more slacking in my training.

No more fighting to have a normal life.

The only thing that matters is stopping Raiden.

And Audra.

I clutch my chest, realizing our bond is gone.

Not faded.

Gone.

I try to tell myself it’s because she’s still in the Maelstrom. But everything inside me feels very, very cold.

We pass the crumbling dead palms in Desert Center, and the winds carrying us start to panic. I know they’re freaked out by the pull of the Maelstrom, but I beg them to keep flying. They hold out as long as they can, but one by one they pull away until all we have left are the Westerlies.

I guess it’s a good thing they forgave me.

The desert is hauntingly empty. Just a few vultures and some footprints in the sand. And when we touch down in front of the rock piles, all my nerves tangle into knots.

Audra’s trace is everywhere—but somehow it’s nowhere, too. It’s like it’s her but it’s not her, and it can’t tell me where she went or what she did. Only that she was here. And that she was in a lot of pain.

Gus’s trace makes even less sense, so weak it’s like he isn’t even alive. And there are other traces in the air too. . . .

A lone Easterly swishes around me, and I focus on its song, searching for some clue to what happened.

It’s only singing one word, but it knocks me to my knees.

Sacrifice.

“No!” I scream, stumbling to my feet and tearing into the Maelstrom.

She wouldn’t do that.

She wouldn’t give up her life that way.

I won’t believe it.

There has to be another explanation.

“Hey!” Solana shouts over the screeching, grabbing my good hand as we stumble into the spinning tunnel. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here if you need me.”

I know she is. And it’s nice to have something to hold on to.

But it’s the wrong girl.

The wrong girl.

Please tell me I didn’t save the wrong girl.

Especially since I’m the one who sent Audra here. If I’d listened to her . . .

I stop myself from finishing the thought.

Right now I need to focus on finding her.

A dim glow finally appears ahead, and I take off running, racing straight for Arella’s cell.

She doesn’t respond to my call, and when I peer through the mesh curtain, I can see her collapsed on the floor. Her skin is a freaky gray-blue and her arms and face are all twisted with pain and when I try to shove the curtain aside it won’t move, no matter how hard I try.

“Stop!” Solana tells me as I pound and kick and scream all kinds of things my mom would kill me for saying. “Os told me a word when we were up in the mountains and the Storms were closing in. He didn’t tell me what it meant or what it was for but . . .”

She whispers something I can’t understand, and the curtain of metal slides to the side.

I scan the small space, desperately searching for Audra or Gus. But no one’s here. Not in the other cell either.

“I think I feel a pulse,” Solana tells me, her legs shaking as she crouches beside Arella. “But it’s really weak. . . .”

“We have to get her back to the winds.”

Arella weighs almost nothing, so I could probably carry her even with my bum arm. But I let Solana help me, grabbing Arella’s feet while Solana grabs her shoulders and we haul her outside and stretch her out on the sand.

I didn’t expect her eyes to pop open with her first breath of air—though that would’ve been nice. But even when I wrap her up in Westerlies, she’s still not getting any better.