Vane wasn’t as lucky.
The elbow on his left arm is bent at an angle that makes me wince just looking at it, and I stumble to his side, screaming for him to wake up.
“Come on,” Gus shouts, landing beside me and pointing to three Living Storms tearing toward us.
He tells me to wrap my arms around his waist as he throws Vane over his shoulder and blasts us back into the sky only seconds before the first whip cracks.
“What’s happening?” he shouts. “Why aren’t the spikes working?”
“It must be because Raiden broke the Living Storms.”
“That’s stronger than the power of four?”
“I don’t know. I think it might be.”
Aston did warn me about the power of pain.
I reach for Vane, hating that he’s still unconscious. But when my hand brushes his cheek, his eyes snap open and he coughs so hard Gus nearly drops him.
The coughs turn into a groan as Vane tries to move. “Careful,” Gus tells him. “You jacked up your arm pretty good.”
I take a closer look at Vane’s elbow, and bile rises in my throat. It’s swollen and twisted and obviously out of joint.
“We’re going to have to adjust it,” I tell Gus as he dips to avoid the crack of another whip. “He’ll be in too much pain to fight, otherwise.”
“Duck!” Vane shouts as a monstrous fist lunges for us and Gus barely slips us out of its clutches.
I shift my weight so I can let go of Gus with one hand, feeling the air for any usable winds. “We need to make a pipeline. It’ll launch us far enough away to treat him without wasting any time.”
“And we just abandon the Gales in the meantime?” Gus asks.
“What else can we do?”
“I’m fine,” Vane jumps in, but as soon as he tries to move his arm he can’t fight back his groan.
“We need to at least warn them about the broken Storms,” Gus decides as we dive so close to the ground I’m amazed we don’t crash. “Can you send them a message?”
“If I can find a draft.”
I stretch my concentration as far as I can and manage to reach a healthy Southerly. It takes three tries to get it to answer my call, and when it finally sweeps in, its song is so scattered I can tell it will only be able to hold a few words.
“Don’t trust the spikes,” I tell it, hoping the Gales have a backup plan. Then I send the wind away and search for drafts to build the pipeline.
“Any time now,” Gus shouts, launching us straight up as a Living Storm jumps in front of us. “It’s hard to keep up my speed with two extra bodies to carry.”
“I just need one more Northerly.”
“What about the one to the east of us?” Vane asks through labored breaths.
I can’t feel the draft he means, but he whispers the call anyway, and a weary wind sweeps in and joins with the others I’ve gathered.
For a second I’m speechless.
Vane’s senses are stronger than mine?
“Feng had me practice like five hundred times a day,”he explains. “He made you seem easygoing.”
No.
He did what I was supposed to do.
Gus turns to look over his shoulder at the Living Storms right on our tail, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am.
We owe it to Feng—to all the guardians whose lives were lost or destroyed—to stop this.
But first we have to fix Vane.
I shout the command, forming the pipeline right in front of us, and we fly straight into the funnel. The pressure makes my head throb and my eyes water and I’m worried the winds are going to collapse around us. But then we shoot into a gray, cloudy sky, and Gus tangles us in Northerlies and sets us down in the foothills.
I can see the whole valley in the distance. The line of Living Storms towers over the small desert towns, filling the air with a graybrown haze as they tear their way toward the Gales’ base. I hope Os got my message.
“Yep, it’s totally dislocated,” Gus says, reminding me why we’re here. “We need to pop it back into place.”
“Sounds like a party,” Vane mumbles, forcing a small smile.
“Can you handle the traction?” Gus asks me, and I order myself to nod.
Part of our guardian training includes basic medical procedures. But the idea of doing this to Vane . . .
“Ugh, it’s going to be that bad?” Vane asks, grabbing my shaking hand.
“Yeah, this is going to suck,” Gus tells him. “But not as much as what’s going on down there.”
We both follow his gaze and see the Storms curling into a circle, surrounding what has to be the Gales’ base. I hold my breath, hoping to see some sign that the Gales can handle them. But all I see are the Storms closing in.
“We’d better hurry,” Vane says, and I kneel in the sand, facing him with my knees pressed against his bad arm. His eyes never leave mine as I place both hands on his biceps and pin it to the ground— but he sucks in a sharp breath as Gus bends his elbow up to a right angle.