I’m just going to say it—I’m really sick of wind battles.
Like, I can’t even begin to explain how over them I am.
Crushing cyclones.
Exploding wind spikes.
Getting constantly sucked up and tossed around.
I don’t have time for this crap.
I need to get back to Audra.
She’s strong enough to take down Arella—and she promised she’d be on her guard. But it still kills me that I’m stuck playing Who Has the Scariest Wind Trick? when I could be on my way to help.
And I know Audra gave me a big speech one time about how human weapons have nothing on the might of a hurricane. But, dude, what I wouldn’t give for a tank to hunker down in and keep on blasting.
But no.
All I get is a steady supply of Westerlies, which still haven’t come up with any freaking ideas for how to end this madness.
And Raiden’s wind tricks just keep right on coming.
“Is that really all you’ve got?” I shout from our hiding spot behind a few trees as Raiden launches another volley of wind spikes and Solana uses some special command to deflect them away.
I mean, I’m glad we’re able to hold our own—but seriously, what’s the deal? I’m seeing a lot more average wind fighter and a lot less legendary warrior.
Unless he’s tiring us out, and saving the good stuff for the end. . . .
Yeah.
It turns out it’s the last one.
“You had to push,” Solana snaps as Raiden forms a massive tornado and somehow tangles it with a ton of flashing purple lightning.
I don’t understand the physics of that—but the zapnado is headed our way, and fun bonus: Its suction is pretty much on the level of a supermassive black hole. So it definitely has that NO WAY WILL WE SURVIVE THIS feel I’ve been expecting from Raiden.
I scramble to get us airborne, but that only buys us a few seconds before the zapnado’s pull drags us toward its sizzling funnel.
“What was that?” Solana shouts as some sort of animal gets sucked past us and crispified by the lightning.
“Pretty sure that was a bison. Or maybe a buffalo? Is there a difference?”
“Never mind, just get us out of here!”
“I’m trying!”
My Westerlies fight as hard as they can, but I feel the electricity getting stronger, rippling across my skin, making my hair stand on end.
“Okay, new plan.” I have to look away from Solana, because even with the gravity of our situation, I want to make fun of her giant static hair explosion. “How many winds do you have left?”
“I only have broken ones.”
Another bison whizzes past us, and we barely miss its flailing hooves. “Can you weave them into a wind spike?”
“I can try.” She murmurs a few different commands and ends up with some sort of yellowish curved thing.
“That looks more like a wind boomerang—what did you ask for?”
“I asked for something that would give us a fighting chance.”
“Well . . . let’s see if it works!”
I aim for the funnel’s base, hoping that might knock it over or something.
It does make a dent—but not enough to stop the zapnado.
“Incoming!” Solana shouts as the wind boomerang proves I nicknamed it correctly. It blasts back our way, exploding our wind bubble before I can catch it.
I can’t find any winds to slow our fall, so we’re stuck with the tuck-and-roll method. It’s equal parts painful and disgusting when I end up with a face full of manure.
“For the record, I just bruised every inch of my body.”
Solana has no sympathy, screaming “GET UP!” and hauling me to my feet.
We stumble away just in time to avoid a lightning blast that definitely would’ve turned us to ash.
Solana launches the boomerang back at the zapnado, nailing it right in the center.
Lightning and sparks explode everywhere, like it sucked up a big box of fireworks. And when the lights dim, the funnel finally unravels.
Raiden celebrates our victory by creating three more zapnadoes.
“I am seriously done with this guy,” I grumble, glad to find enough Westerlies to get us airborne again.
We have to kill him.
The certainty of it feels like ice in my veins—every bit as unsettling as it is awakening. All my senses come to life, and I stretch them farther than I’ve ever reached.
I can feel dozens more Westerlies—maybe hundreds—waiting on the fringes. Almost like they’re watching me.
Only a handful answer my call—which is both annoying and confusing—but with their help, I’m able to fly a lot higher this time. High enough to avoid the storm’s suction—but all we can do is circle above the battle, and the thunderheads around us keep flashing with more lightning.
Please, I beg. Tell me what I have to do. If we don’t kill him soon, he’s going to win.
The winds stir a little faster, and their songs shift to something new.
But their brilliant new lyric tells me: A shield is more dangerous than a sword.
“Are your winds giving you any ideas?” I ask Solana. “Because mine are giving me philosophies. Or is it a platitude? Whatever—it’s useless. I think this fight might be beyond them, but I’m hoping that still fits with the winds’ plan. I’m here to keep us safe while you figure out the killing.”
“Gee, no pressure or anything,” Solana mumbles. “And I’m not having much luck. I’ve tried thinking about avenging Gus and my family. I’ve tried thinking about saving the rest of the Gales. I’ve even tried thinking about all the groundlings who’ve died in all the crazy weather Raiden’s always causing. But every time I try to think about getting around his backlash, it gives me nothing.”
“Okay, this is going to sound awful—and I swear I’m only asking because it’s what you said worked for the oubliette—but . . . have you made it clear that you’re okay if you don’t make it out of this? Just to take any selfishness out of the equation?”
“Of course. I’ve made it very clear that I’m not concerned with my safety—only yours. But it still hasn’t given me anything.”
My idea trigger goes off, but I try to shut it up.
I really really really don’t want that to be the right answer.
But its way more exhausting for us to dodge storms than it is for Raiden to make them. We barely take out the three zapnadoes—only to have him form three more—and when one gets way too close to frying us, I take a deep breath and force myself to ask, “What if I’m throwing off the need? What if the way you keep trying to protect me is too selfish? I mean, I appreciate that you are, but . . . when you compare saving my life to saving our entire world from Raiden, I . . . kinda don’t stack up.”
“So . . . you want me to focus the need without trying to keep you alive?”
“Well, feel free to make it clear that’s not our first choice, but . . . yeah.”
I try to tell myself it’s not as devastating as it feels. After all, if we don’t come up with a plan, we’re both dead anyway.
But all I can think about is my promise to Audra that I would come home to her.
I can still feel the pull of our bond—even through all this chaos.
She’s drawing me toward her.
How can I abandon her?
“A new command is starting to form,” Solana whispers, which does not feel like good news. “I think . . . if you can fly us close enough to Raiden, I might know what I’m supposed to do to take him out. But I’m not feeling a way to avoid the backlash.”
“So basically, you know how to kill him—but it’ll kill us, too?”
“I think so . . . it’s hard to tell. I never know exactly how it’s going to work until I try it.”
I take another ten seconds to admit we’re officially out of options, and a few more after that to let go of a couple of tears.
“We don’t have to do it, Vane. If we keep fighting, we might find another way. I’ll try again, telling the need to keep you safe.”
I have to laugh at that, though it’s not funny at all. “That’s ridiculous. Why is it okay for you to die, and not me?”
“Because I’m using Raiden’s tainted power, and you’re using the language of peace.” The thickness in her voice tells me she’s crying too.
“Neither of us deserves this, Solana. Just like our families didn’t deserve what happened to them. It’s like Aston said. War is about hard choices. This is ours. If you don’t want to do it, teach me the command.”
“But what about Audra?”
I choke back a new wave of tears—and resist the urge to shout at the sky: THIS ISN’T FAIR—YOU OWE ME!
It’s not fair—but it doesn’t matter. All that really matters is one thing.
Please let Audra be okay, I beg the wind. Let her survive whatever she’s facing. And don’t let losing me make her unhappy. I mean, she can cry a few tears—but then I want her to move on. She’s grieved enough in her life. Please let her get over me.
I’m so focused on my plea that I don’t notice that we’re circling lower, like my Westerlies have gotten behind this brutal suicide mission.
At least the storms have calmed, and the last of the zapnadoes have unraveled.
“Are you ready for this?” Solana whispers, clutching a new wind boomerang thing.
“Let’s just get it over with quick this time,” I whisper. “As soon as the need tells you what to do—do it, okay?”
She reaches for my hand, and I squeeze hers back, glad I get to face this with a friend.
“Here goes nothing,” I tell her, ordering the winds to set us down in front of Raiden.
He chose his spot well—a ridge so narrow we can only keep a couple of feet between him and us. A guarantee that we’ll be within range of his backlash.
“So this is how it ends,” Raiden says. “The last stand of the last Westerly. Any final words?”
I’m about to tell him no when I notice my winds have added a new lyric.
They’re still singing about a shield being more dangerous than a sword, but there’s a new line that comes right before it.
Trust your enemy.
“You have two choices,” Raiden tells us. “Teach me a word of Westerly and I’ll kill you both quickly. Refuse, and you’ll get to watch your little friend experience a multitude of indescribable agonies.”
He grabs Solana by her hair, wrenching her neck as he drags her closer.
Trust your enemy, my Westerlies sing. Trust your enemy. Trust your enemy.
TRUST YOUR ENEMY.
“You want to know a word of Westerly?” I ask Raiden, hoping I’m guessing the wind’s meaning. “Fine. I’ll teach you a word. Just don’t hurt her.”
Solana’s eyes get almost as huge as Raiden’s.
“Just like that?” he asks. “After all of this”—he sweeps his arms toward the battle-scarred field—“you’re ready to betray your heritage before I place a single blow?”
“I saw what you did to Gus,” I mumble. “Solana doesn’t deserve that.”
Maybe I’m a better actor than I think. Or maybe Raiden’s just power hungry and doesn’t stop to ask the questions he should probably ask.
He doesn’t even argue when I demand he let Solana go. He releases his hold, and I pull her close enough to whisper, “Watch for my signal.”
“I’ll teach you their strongest command,” I tell him. “The one that’s saved me the most. If that doesn’t trigger your breakthrough, nothing will.”
Raiden’s in full power-junkie mode, his mouth practically salivating as I ask the Westerlies to whisk around him.
A shield is more dangerous than a sword.
“I’m going to teach you how to form a shield,” I say. “It only takes one word.”
Solana and I share a look, and I hope she’s ready, because she’s going to have to time it perfectly.
“Listen to the way I say it first,” I say, glad my instincts aren’t making me hurl yet. They’ve done that every other time I’ve tried to teach anyone, so this really must be what the winds want.
I whisper the word, highlighting each of the sighing, swishy sounds.
“Repeat it one more time,” Raiden tells me.
I notice Solana tightening her grip on her boomerang, and nod.
This is it.
Please let this be the end of him.
“Ready to try it?” I ask.
Raiden’s too focused on the pronunciation to notice Solana whispering her own command and turning her boomerang from yellow to red.
He nails each syllable of the Westerly command perfectly, and right as the final sound rolls off his tongue, Solana flings the weapon, nailing him dead in the chest.
We both drop to the ground as the force of the backlash ricochets, and I suck in a breath, wishing my last taste of air wasn’t so dusty.
I will always love you, Audra.
I repeat the words, hoping they brand themselves to my echo.
Let her find it. Let her know how sorry I am to leave her alone.
But as the explosion rings in my ears, I don’t feel any pain. And after another second I have to brave a look.
I don’t know how to describe the sound I make—it’s a mix of a thousand different emotions.
Solana makes a similar noise as she sits up beside me.
In the split second after her boomerang passed through Raiden’s backlash, the Westerly shield draped around his body, sealing in the explosion and leaving him to bear the full force of the blow—which triggers the backlash again. And again. And again.
Justice, the Westerlies tell me, the word easing my nausea at the gore.
Raiden’s the one who sealed his doom, forcing himself to face the pain of his own evil power.
It’s a slow death.
A painful one.
And then, he’s gone.
I leave him in his shell a few minutes longer, just to be certain the explosions are over.
And when I finally release the Westerly shield, his body crumbles to dust.
Rejected by the sky. Left to rot on the earth.