It’s strange to see her so deflated, like her guilt’s drained all the fire inside her.
I bite back my apology.
She deserves to feel guilty. How many different ways has she screwed up my life?
She reaches for my arm, her warm fingers stroking my skin. “Please. Let’s not waste our training time on this.”
I shake off her hand, shoving my body back to put some space between us.
“Why is he looking for me, Audra? Why me? Why my family?”
She looks away, like she doesn’t want to answer. But she does. “It’s because you’re a Weston.”
“What, my family’s important?”
“Yes. No. Well, yes and no. And I guess the proper term is ‘Westerly.’ Weston is just your family name.”
“Gonna have to be clearer than that.”
She straightens, a little of the fight returning to her eyes. “This isn’t going to make a whole lot of sense, but fine. If it will make you take your training seriously, so be it.” Her hands twist around each other and she stares at the space between us.
“I told you earlier—there are four languages for the wind. There are also four kinds of Windwalkers: Northerlies, Southerlies, Easterlies, and Westerlies. Everyone’s born with what’s called their ‘native tongue.’ The language of their heritage. For most of our history no one bothered learning any of the other languages. There wasn’t any point. We lived in separate corners of the earth. We rarely mixed company. Why mix languages? It wasn’t until the Gale Force that things changed.”
“The Gale Force?”
“A force we created for peace and safety, in both our society and the groundlings’. The winds have been shifting—becoming more wild. More reckless. And it’s our responsibility to calm the storms, stop them from destroying human cities like they do now. Not for glory or power or respect, but because it’s right.”
She points to a small blue patch on the sleeve of her jacket, just below her right shoulder. Four wavy lines twisted together in the middle, like a knot. That explains the crazy outfit. And probably the freakishly tight hair.
“So, you’re a soldier in the army?”
“A guardian. But yes. At first, all the guardians were Northerlies, because the northern wind is the strongest. But it’s also the coldest and the most unstable, as are its people, so—”
“I take it you’re a Northerly?”
“Why would you think that?”
I almost laugh. Does she not realize how cold and scary she can be? Or is it normal to threaten people with evil swords of doom in sylph-land? “Never mind.”
“My family name is Eastend. Easterlies were the next to join the Gales, to be a softening influence. But they were commanded to learn the Northerly language, to increase their strength. And when they did, they discovered something unexpected.”
She scoots back and whispers the call she taught me. A small breeze swirls in the air between us. I cough as sand and bits of dead palm leaves catch in my throat.
“A single draft of wind has power of its own. But mix it with another wind and it changes.”
She whispers something I don’t understand and another draft rushes from behind me. A colder wind. Louder. I can’t make out its words as it whips around Audra.
She whispers again and the gusts swirl together to form a dust devil.
I jump to my feet, away from the tiny cyclone growing larger by the second. Audra stands too, hovering over the mini-tornado.
“When you combine the different winds, they play off each other, becoming stronger and more flexible. And if you know how to control them, they can do anything you want them to.”
She mumbles something unintelligible and the winds race harder. Faster and faster they spin, until the dust devil’s strong enough to suck up the needle-sword thing and shoot it out the top of the funnel. Audra catches it with a graceful sweep of her right arm as she whispers, “Break free, be free.” The winds sweep away, leaving a dusty trail in their wake.
Okay, that’s pretty cool.
“The possibilities that knowledge opened up were endless. But they discovered something else—something that changed everything. When you combine the winds, their powers increase exponentially with each wind you add. So if someone were to combine all four winds and command them perfectly, they would be unstoppable. Raiden became determined to be the first to learn all four.”
My stomach sours at the name.
“He’s a Northerly—but he’s mastered the other languages so completely he uses them more fluently than those native to the tongue. He joined the Gales when he was young, but after a few years of service, he decided we were wasting our power on protecting the groundlings from storms. He thought we should embrace the wilder gusts—not tame them. Claimed they were the wind’s way of telling us it’s our time to be the dominant race on the planet, and that we should focus on building our own strength and skill while we let the winds wipe away the weaker groundlings. His promise of power appealed to a number of other guardians—especially the conquering Northerlies—and he began amassing a following. Before the Gales discovered his mutiny, Raiden attacked the Westerlies.”
I feel like I should sit down for this part of the story, so I sink to the ground. She sits next to me, staring at the floor.
“No one had bothered learning the Westerly tongue. The west wind is a weak wind. A peaceful wind. And the Westerlies were outsiders. Kept to themselves. Most were nomadic. Everyone thought they were crazy. They probably were.”
I have a feeling I should be insulted by that, but I’m too interested in the word “were.” Past tense.
“Raiden was determined to master the fourth language. Determined to become all-powerful. So he tracked down a Westerly family and tried to force them to teach him their language. When they refused, he slaughtered them in retribution—and to send a message to the other Westerlies. Make it clear he would not take no for an answer. It was the bloodiest crime our world had ever seen.”
Her voice cracks, and she swallows several times, like she’s fighting for control. “It all happened before I was born, but my Gale trainer showed me pictures so I would understand my enemy. A family of five—including three children—torn apart like rag dolls. Like he’d bound their limbs to tornados and sent the winds in opposite directions. There was barely anything left to recognize.”
It isn’t until a fly almost zips into my mouth that I realize my jaw’s hanging open. To murder kids over a language? Over wind?
“Things spiraled out of control after that,” she whispers, like the words are too horrible to say at full volume. “What remained of the Gales rallied against Raiden. But he was too powerful and had too many guardians who fought at his side, either because they believed in his cause—or feared him. The loss was devastating. Only a few escaped with their lives. And without the Gales’ protection, our world—as we knew it—crumbled. Windwalkers have always been a small, scattered race, but the Gales had established one main city, high in the mountains, where the clouds meet the earth. Raiden and his warriors blasted it with everything they had. When it fell, he murdered the king and took the crown. Anyone who didn’t swear fealty to him was killed, and he rebuilt the city as a private fortress for his army of Stormers. The strong mountain winds fuel their power, and he’s been able to spread his reign of terror to the rest of the earth.”
She turns to hold my stare. “Any who oppose his rule are annihilated. The remaining Gales fled underground, organizing their resistance away from Raiden’s ever-watching winds, trying to build a force strong enough to defeat him. But they need the same thing he does. Raiden’s still determined to master the Westerly tongue, to complete his power and dominance. To ensure that no one will ever rise against him. Can you see where this is going?”
I can—but it all sounds so absurd. Since when does one person have the ability to rip apart an entire society like that?
“Why not screw the whole secrecy thing and turn to humans for help?” I ask. “Have the president call in an air strike and blast the crap out of Raiden and his Stormers? Problem solved.”
“Do you honestly think human weapons are stronger than the full force of the wind? Have you seen a hurricane in action?”
I suppose she might be right—but it’s still hard to believe. “That doesn’t explain why my family mattered so much. I mean, so what if we’re Westerlies? What makes us more important than the others . . . ?”
My voice trails off as Audra shakes her head.
“Raiden’s spent the last few decades tracking the Westerlies down one by one. If they refused to teach their language, he ended them, hoping to scare the others into submission. But it turns out your kind are surprisingly brave. None were willing to compromise, and none would share their language—even with the Gales. They didn’t want the knowledge to fall into the wrong hands, and didn’t trust anyone to protect it besides themselves. They’d rather let the language die than have it be used for destruction. On it went, until, as far as everyone knew, your parents were the last living Westerly family.”
I can’t think of anything to say to that. Audra keeps going anyway.
“Protecting your family became the Gale Force’s highest priority, so they assigned my parents—their top guardians—to watch them full-time. But a Stormer found them, and somewhere in the struggle to capture them they were accidentally killed. Leaving only you. The last Westerly. And up until four years ago Raiden didn’t even know you were alive. Now that he knows, he’s been tearing the world apart to find you, and you can bet if he gets his hands on you, he’ll show no mercy. Sure, he’ll be careful to keep you alive. But you’re the only thing standing between him and ultimate power. The only chance he has at satisfying his obsession. Do you think he’ll take no for an answer when he demands that you teach him?”
“But . . . I don’t know any secret language of the west wind. I didn’t even know there was a west wind until a few minutes ago—I thought there was just wind.”
Seriously, there’s no way I belong to any part of that crazy story. It has to be ripped out of some cheesy fantasy movie with a bunch of scrawny actors running around in tights, shooting arrows at each other because of some evil man trying to rule the world. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life—and it certainly doesn’t happen to me.
I’m just an average guy.
Well, okay, fine—apparently I’m a sylph, so I’m not exactly average—but still. I’m not some ultra-powerful answer to all their problems either. I’m not Superman. I don’t even like that comic.
“You’re right,” Audra says as my mind fills with horrifying images of me in tights and a stupid cape being asked to save the world like it’s no big deal. “You don’t know the Westerly tongue. Your parents chose not to teach you, thinking it would keep you safe from Raiden. But you are a Westerly. So we’re hoping the language is instinctive.”
“Hoping?” I need to move, to think this through on my feet. I stand and pace. “You’re hoping I’ll speak the language that gets everyone killed?”
“We’re hoping you’ll be the first to master the four languages. Then you’ll be powerful enough to defeat Raiden.”
I laugh, too loud and too hard, feeling the threads of my sanity stretching dangerously thin. “Oh, good, because I was afraid you were going to put pressure on me.”
It’s all too much. I can’t breathe. The choking heat beating down is nothing compared to this heavy, crushing weight Audra just dumped on me.
“Vane,” Audra says, standing and blocking me as I try to walk away.
I’m not sure where I’m going—I just have to get out of here, and I’m not above shoving her out of my way if I have to. “I can’t do this, Audra. I’m not a warrior and I can’t . . .”