Let the Sky Fall (9 page)

Part of me wants to slam the window, lock it tight, and crawl back under the covers. Maybe I’ll even put up a sign that says
Don’t come back unless you’re wearing the sexy dress.

That
might be worth getting up early for.

But the other part of me is too curious what Audra means by “train” to put up much of a fight. Especially since I also need to know what this new “plan” is, and make sure I don’t need to get my family out of town and hidden somewhere safe.

So I seethe at the wall for a few seconds, then kick the sheet off my bed and grab a T-shirt from the stack on the floor by my dresser. The cargo shorts I wore yesterday are crumpled from a night on the floor—but at five a.m., after only four hours of sleep, I don’t give a crap what I look like. I snatch them and creep down the hall to change in the bathroom.

Audra doesn’t seem like the Peeping Tom type—and I’m not
sure I mind if she is. But I’m not going out there without brushing my teeth. No way I want her to get a whiff of my wicked morning breath.

Two minutes later I hop out my window minty fresh and with a scowl that hopefully says
You’d better have a darn good reason for waking me up this early
. If she catches my meaning, she doesn’t seem to care. She just shushes me as I start to ask what the plan is and motions for me to follow her deep into the date grove.

We stop walking when we reach the burned-down house she’s been squatting in. “What time do your parents wake up?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Seven or eight.” I wave a swarm of gnats away from my eyes, mentally cursing the stupid desert. It’s already hot enough to make my back sweat. “But they know I’m never up before nine.”

I emphasize the word “never,” hoping she’ll get the hint.

“Good. We can get four hours of training in every morning. Though it’d be better if you can give your parents some excuse for where you are, preferably something that will explain where you go at night, so we don’t have to worry about them catching you sneaking out.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. There’s no way I’m waking up at five every morning—especially if you’ll also be keeping me out at night. I need my beauty sleep.”

Not only is it my summer vacation, but I need at least eight hours of sleep to function, and no way I’m going to walk around like a zombie just because her “new plan” doesn’t involve calling for backup. What if I want her to call for backup?

Audra cocks her head. “You’ll train when I tell you to train, whether it’s early in the morning or the middle of the night.”

I cross my arms and give her the same
Are you serious?
look I perfected when Mr. Gunter used to lecture me on how I’ll be using advanced algebra in everyday life.

Yeah, right.

She’s lucky I’m willing to train at all. I could just as easily hop in my car and head out of town, leave her to deal with whatever’s coming on her own. I still haven’t ruled that out as a possibility.

Clearly, it’s time to lay down the ground rules and let her know she can’t order me around. This is
my
life, and
I’m
going to be in control of it.

“I can train with you in the afternoons, as long as we go somewhere with air-conditioning. But before we do that, you’re explaining
everything
. Got it?”

Personally I’m pretty proud of the line I just drew in the sand.

But Audra’s eyes narrow and her jaw sets, turning her face into a series of hard lines. “You seem to be under the misimpression that you’re in charge here, so let me correct that right now.” She whips her arms in front of her and whispers, “Rush.”

A blast of wind slams against my chest and sends me flying backward. I grunt as my back crashes into one of the remaining walls of the fire-scarred house. The wind pins me to the scratchy stucco and my eyes water from the racing air.

Audra steps toward me, the glare in her eyes leaving no doubt that she can end me right here, right now.

“Let’s get a few things straight,” she says, her voice deadly
serious. “We’re in a
tremendous
amount of danger, and I am responsible for keeping everyone in this valley alive—including you. No one will be making greater sacrifices than I will, so you will do what I say when I say it—and you will do it without complaint. Is. That. Understood?”

“I thought you said you’d answer my questions today,” I shout over the roaring winds. I
distinctly
remember her promising that last night. Right around the time she promised to get help. What brought on the change of plans?

“I will, Vane. But we have to train when no one’s around to see us, so you’ll have to wait a few more hours. I’ll answer your questions this evening, and then you’ll understand how serious the situation is. Deal?”

I don’t want to cooperate—she slammed me into the wall hard enough to leave the mother of all bruises. But I can tell she’s more than willing to continue to beat the crap out of me with her voodoo wind control, and I’m not in the mood for any further humiliation.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Her hands return to her sides and she whispers, “Release.”

The winds whisk away. I slump to the ground, hacking and coughing from all the dust she stirred.

She looks a little guilty as I rub my throbbing shoulders. “Did I hurt you?”

I shrug and stand, swiping the sand off my shorts and legs. I’m not about to admit I got beat up by a skinny girl.

She stalks inside her dilapidated house and I follow, intentionally dragging my feet to take as long as possible.

She may think she can push me around—but one of these days I’ll be strong enough to take her on. And as soon as I am, wind girl is going down.

CHAPTER 12

AUDRA

V
ane doesn’t seem to be grasping the gravity of our situation. Either that or he truly is the most annoying boy on the planet.

Probably both.

At least my fingers aren’t tingling from touching him anymore. If anything, they itch to strangle him. And if he weren’t so crucial, I’d do just that. Too bad he has to be a
Weston
.

I stomp through my house, releasing bits of my built-up frustration with each pound of my boots.
This
is what my father died for? What I’m supposed to surrender my life for? This bratty, ungrateful boy I can hear trudging through the sand, taking his sweet time to frustrate me?

I’m done playing nice.

I move to the room’s only corner and sweep the palm leaves away from the wall, unearthing the handle of my blade. Calm settles over me as I reach for the hilt, each finger finding its perfect place in the grip. The sword wasn’t made for me, but I’ve practiced with it so much the metal has conformed to every curve of my palm—tangible proof of my mastery.

The smallest flick of my wrist sweeps the blade from the slit I carved in the ground, and with a single motion, I swish and spin, stopping my rotation with the pointed tip of the weapon aimed directly between Vane’s eyes.

“What the crap?” he shouts, backing up.

I smile at his sudden lack of bravado. Windslicers make quite an impression.

Thousands of razor-sharp, unbreakable needles line a steel vein in the center—a deadly feather that can slice through flesh as easily as it can shred the strongest gust or flurry. I slash a couple of times, letting the tearing air echo off the walls like a breathy scream.

Vane backs farther away, stumbling over his feet.

“Are you ready to start taking this seriously?” I ask, thrusting the point closer, practically grazing the skin of his nose.

“I already said I was—put that thing down before someone gets hurt.”

“Lots of people are going to get hurt if you don’t start listening to me. The Stormers have blades just like these. Do you think they’ll hesitate to use them? Can you imagine the level of damage they can inflict?”

I tilt the blade to let the orangey sunlight trace across the needles’
points. Vane’s wide eyes follow the glinting trail, and I can almost see his mind picturing how it’d feel to be wounded with such a weapon.

I don’t have to imagine. My forearm caught the tail end of a blow during my training, and I can still remember the agony as my skin was pierced, shredded, and smashed at the same time. The only pain worse is joining the wind.

“And weapons are nothing compared to the power of three,” I add, waiting for Vane to meet my gaze. He looks ashen. “Raiden requires his Stormers to
master
the languages of the three most powerful winds, making them virtually unstoppable. They’ll show no mercy. Think about what happened to your parents. To my father.”

He struggles to swallow, and his eyes stay glued to the sword I keep trained between his eyes. “So why don’t we run, then? Why stay here and face them?”

“Stormers are expert trackers.”

“Yeah, well, I can be an expert hider. I can stay so far off the grid they’ll think I vanished for good.”

“It doesn’t work that way. And even if you could get away, what about your family? Could you convince them to abandon everything and flee with you? What about your friends? What about the innocent people living here? Would you let them die for you? Could you live with that?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

“Believe me, Vane. If there were any other option, I would take it. This is it. You and me against them. And it isn’t a game. No amount of snarky jokes will spare you in a wind battle. I can teach you to defend yourself, but only if you let me. Otherwise, you might as well
hand yourself over to Raiden now. See if he appreciates your sense of humor more than I do.”

His eyes dart between my face and the blade.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

I have no idea what he’s thinking, but he looks as scared as he should be.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he
finally
asks the right question.

“So where do we start?”

I lower the windslicer. “Take a seat.”

He drops to the dusty ground, scooting to the far edge of the floor, against one of the walls. Keeping a safe distance from me.

Good
.

I sink to my knees in front of him, placing the windslicer between us. “Rule number one—the most important rule for our training sessions: Never speak to the wind in anything other than a whisper—is that clear?”

“What does that even mean?”

“You don’t have to understand. You just have to agree. Until the Stormers find us, you cannot do
anything
other than whisper to the wind. We don’t need the breezes telling them more than they already know.”

I wait for him to agree.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

I roll my eyes. He
has
to be difficult. “Hold out your right hand, palm facing me, and spread your fingers like mine.” I stretch my fingers wide, curling the tips like I’m gripping an invisible sphere.
“Memorize that position. It’s the easiest way to feel for the nearby drafts.”

He copies my position. “Okay. Am I supposed to be feeling something?”

“You tell me. What do you feel?”

“Besides feeling like an idiot for sitting in a burned-down house at five-freaking-a.m., holding out my hand like it’s some sort of deformed claw . . . not a whole lot.”

I grit my teeth, but I refuse to let him get to me again. “Then maybe you should try actually paying attention. Close your eyes.”

He heaves a heavy sigh but does as I ask.

“You should be able to detect any movement in the wind within at least a twenty-mile radius—and be able to tell where it’s coming from. Focus on the way the air hits your skin. You’ll feel something like an itch wherever the wind stirs.”

He opens his mouth—probably to complain again. But then his hand twitches and his jaw falls slack. “My thumb itches. Like . . . something moving across my nerves, tugging at me.”

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. His senses are strong. Really strong. That draft barely tickles the base of my thumbnail, and it’s at least thirty miles away.

Maybe this task won’t be as impossible as I thought.

“There’s a weak Easterly stirring over there,” I explain. “That’s what your thumb is telling you.”

He drops his hand, shaking his fingers hard. “That’s really freaky. I don’t like it.”

“Well, get used to it. It’s part of who you are. And it’s an amazing
thing. Groundlings would kill to do the things we can do. Maybe you should try being grateful for your gifts.”

“Groundlings?”

“Humans. We can have a vocabulary lesson another time. Right now I’m trying to teach you how to call the wind—another one of those ‘freaky’ things Windwalkers do, so brace yourself. We’ll start with the most basic call. It’s one you heard me use yesterday, and it will be the one you use most often. Repeat after me. ‘Come to me swiftly.’ ”

He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand, and I know he’s struggling with the language shift. I switched to the Easterly tongue. I repeat the phrase, waiting for his mind to translate.

“Come to me swiftly,” he finally says, his tongue fumbling with the swirling intonations of the words.

I grab the windslicer and point it at his throat. “I told you to
whisper
—it’s a good thing the wind needs a complete command to respond, otherwise you could’ve just given away our exact location.”

“Hey—you didn’t whisper!”

“I was testing you to see how well you were paying attention earlier. You failed.”

“Because you set me up for it.” His hands clench into fists and he looks like he wants to pummel me. But his gaze settles on the windslicer. I have him right where I want him—and he knows it.

“Try it again. Focus on the draft you’re feeling—and whisper this time,” I order, setting the blade back on the ground between us. “Come to me swiftly.”

“Come to me swiftly.”

It’s actually quite impressive the amount of disdain he slipped into his whisper.

I smile at his pettiness. “Carry no trace.”

“Carry no trace.”

“Lift me softly.”

“Lift me softly.”

“Then flow and race.”