“No, we dare not take the winds any closer. We would only get
sucked in.”
“Sucked into what?”
“You’ll see.”
I’m about to press for an actual answer when I realize where Os
is heading.
“Whoa, whoa, hang on—that’s the freeway. You don’t walk
across the freeway—not unless you want to get splattered against
few windshields.”
“We can weave our way through tornadoes, Vane. You need to
learn to trust your instincts.”
“I’ve only known I’m a sylph for a month—I don’t have any
instincts!”
But as the words leave my mouth, I realize I do.
I remember running through the tornado that killed my family, easily avoiding the drafts and debris and keeping my feet on
steady ground. I never thought about how weird that was until
now.
Still, as I watch the cars and semis whip by at seventy-plus miles per hour, I’m glad I didn’t eat my torpedo. Pretty sure I’d be spewing
it all over the ground.
“Just watch for the breaks in the air,” Os shouts, crouching on
the side of the road like a runner before a race.
“You realize that makes no freaking sense, right?”
He rolls his eyes and reaches for me. “If you need me to hold
your hand . . .”
I know this is my chance to prove that I’m a big, brave Windwalker king and can do this all by myself. But three more semis
whizz by and I grab Os’s hand and hold on as tight as I can. He sighs. “Let’s go.”
And then we’re running. Darting forward and sideways through
the lanes like a terrifyingly real game of Frogger. I can see the breaks
Os means—wide distortions in the air in front of each car that tell
where it’s safe to step—but I don’t dare let go of his hand. And when
we finally make it across both sides of the freeway, my legs are so
wobbly I can barely stay standing.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to steady my shaking. “I’m surprised how disorienting this is for you,” Os says quietly.
“Some things come so effortlessly, like your windwalking and your
mastery of Easterly.”
Both of those came from my bond to Audra—but I can’t exactly
say that. So I shrug and say, “I’m learning as fast as I can.” He frowns, like he’s not convinced that’s true. “Come on—still
a ways to go.”
“Seriously?” I’m not sure how much longer I can last. The sun is
sucking up what little energy I have.
But Os starts walking away, so unless I want to stay here alone,
I have to follow.
We hike across the desert toward some weird piles of rocks that
look like giant anthills. My shoes fill with sand and I keep scraping
my shins on the cacti—but none of that is as uncomfortable as the
stillness.
The air doesn’t move. It presses down on my shoulders like the
sky has turned heavy.
“That’s the pull of the Maelstrom,”Os explains as I rub my arms,
“a name that is not to be shared—with anyone. Do you understand?” “Why?”That’s the second time he’s talked about how secret this
place is, and it’s starting to creep me out.
Os looks up at the sky, his fingers tracing the lines of his scar.
“The Maelstrom is a place that shouldn’t have to exist. It emerged
from a necessity the average citizen cannot comprehend, and should
they learn of its existence it would shake them to their very core. As
king, it is your job to protect them from the shadows and secrets that
would rob them of what little security they have.”
Okay . . .
I would ask for an answer that doesn’t make Os sound like he’s
one Fruit Loop shy of a box—but honestly? I’m too tired to care. If
this Maelstrom has a place to sit and some shade, I’m game. The closer we get to the weird clumps of stones, the more
my head rattles from some sort of high-pitched scraping sound,
like a million angry math teachers dragging their chalk across
the blackboard at the same time. I thought it was coming from
the wind or the giant black birds lining all the rocks, which— by the way—do not make this place more inviting. But when we reach the base of one of the hills, there’s a narrow opening in the ground, and I realize the sand around the hole is moving. It swirls slowly downward, like a tornado has been sucked into the earth and kept right on spinning, and in the center is a walkway leading
into the darkness.
“Have I mentioned I’m not a fan of small spaces?” I shout over
the noise as Os starts to descend. He has to bend his knees so he
won’t hit his head.
“It’s not too late to decide to teach us Westerly instead,” he calls
over his shoulder.
I gotta admit, as I follow him underground I’m tempted to give in. Fresh air doesn’t exist down here. Only a hot, sticky mist that
feels too thick to swallow, like I’m trying to breathe inside someone else’s mouth. And even though the screeching sound dulls, it’s
replaced by a low rumble that makes my teeth chatter.