Let the Storm Break (Sky Fall #2)(11)
because we’re hoping that you’re going to be different.”
Funny, I thought they’d put their faith in me because I’m the
only Westerly left.
I’m about to say that when my eyes find the scar on his cheek. “What happened?” I ask, pointing to the deep red marks. He traces a finger over the lines again.
“A gift from Raiden. He branded me a traitor when I refused to
be his second in command.” He smiles sadly when my eyes widen.
“Raiden used to be my friend, Vane—as he was for many of us in
his generation. We worked in the Gales together. Fought together.
Trained in the might and majesty of the storms, pushing ourselves
to master their power. I thought we were doing it to be better guardians. To better control the forces that were wreaking havoc on the
earth and spare the innocents who weren’t strong enough to fight
them. But it was different for Raiden. The more powerful he grew,
the hungrier he was for more, pushing the lengths and limits beyond
any reason. Beyond what was natural. When I saw what he was
doing, I tried to pull away, but I now wish I hadn’t. Maybe I would’ve
uncovered his mutiny before it was too late.”
He looks away, and I take the chance to study his face, trying to
guess how old he is. It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but he can’t be
that much older than my parents—which feels wrong to me. I mean,
I know the rebellion went down within the last few decades. But I
guess somehow it felt farther away than that.
Could an entire world really crumble in one lifetime? Isn’t that
supposed to take like . . . generations?
“I organized an early counterattack, trying to stop Raiden before
it went any further,” Os says through a sigh. “But we weren’t prepared
for his unfathomable brutality. He overran us without a single loss on
his side. Bound us all in strange winds that dragged us back to him if we tried to run and made me watch as one by one he murdered my guardians. But he didn’t kill me. He told me I should have to watch the rest of our world fall to him and know that I was too weak to stop it. And he’s right—I am too weak. I’ve had to make compromises that shouldn’t have had to be made.” He runs his hand along the wall, whispering something I can’t make out before he turns back to look at me. “But now I have you. You have the power to fix things, bring them back to their natural order. Erase the black marks Raiden
has carved into our history and usher in a new period of peace ” I swallow the lump in my throat.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to be the savior he expects me
to be. But I’m surprised to realize that I want to.
Someone needs to stop Raiden. And if that someone has to be
me, well, then . . . I guess I’ll find a way.
I wonder if my resolve shows on my face, because Os nods, like
he’s pleased with what he sees. Then he squeezes my shoulder and
turns to head down the dark hallway.
I follow him until the ground levels off and we reach a round
cavern about the size of my bedroom. A pale, tired-looking Gale
stands between two curtains made of some sort of metal mesh. They
look as flimsy as my mother’s flowery drapes, but when I touch one
it’s solid like a wall. Os hisses a word I can’t understand and the curtain on the right sweeps to the side.
“You should be able to rest in there for the night,” he tells me.
“I’ll be back to get you in the morning.”
The Gloomy Cell of Doom hardly looks inviting. But hours of
nightmare-free sleep sounds pretty dang good to me.
I head inside, relieved to find a pile of soft, feathery things in
the otherwise-empty half circle of space. But an all too familiar voice
stops me before I collapse.
“Hello, Vane,” Audra’s mom says, watching me through the gaps
in a wall that looks like it’s made of chains separating our cells. “It’s
about time you came to see me.”
CHAPTER 8
AUDRA
I
can handle this.
I have to.
It’s not just about staying alive. It’s about protecting the fourth
language. Keeping it from falling into Raiden’s hands.
I run and squat by the largest piece of driftwood, keeping my back to it as I try to pick up my attacker’s trace. But the air is empty. Stripped of any winds. Severing the pull of my bond and leaving me clueless.
Defenseless.
But not completely without hope.
Whoever my attacker is, they couldn’t take away the Westerly I’d
coiled around my wrist, and I concentrate on the cool draft, wishing there were some secret code word I could say to twist it into the ultimate weapon. Though, at this point I’d almost prefer a shield.
“Shield.”
The word slips off my lips without my meaning to, like my inherited Westerly instincts have taken over. And the wind obeys, stretching thin and wide before blanketing me like a second skin of breezes. I have no idea how much protection it will really provide, but I’ll take any help I can get.