Page 92 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
See, it’s there. It didn’t go anywhere.
I release Wind Blast. It explodes out of me with the same force as before. A wave of relief washes over me. I perform the maneuver a few more times with no trouble, then return to the targets.
“Any luck?” I ask Phoebe.
She shakes her head.
“We’ve got this.” I try to infuse confidence in my words. It partially works.
Eyes closed, I spend a long moment looking inward, imagining my entire self becoming a powerful spear that obliterates the target. The air crackles with anticipation once more, but this time it’s me, not Vaylen, who’s generating the tension. I focus, trying to mimic his effortless grace. A spear flickers to life in my hand. I feed more power into it, and when it fully forms, I stretch my arm in a strong throw. My pathetic excuse for a weapon travels halfway, wobbles, then fizzles out.
Cursing inwardly, I try again, and again, and again. Sweat beads on my brow, my hands trembling. Every time I form a spear, wind howls around me, as if laughing at me while the target, with its mocking red bull’s-eye, seems to taunt me from afar.
Two hours later, the sun well on its way toward the western horizon, I collapse to the ground, exhausted, arms and legs sprawled out. Phoebe’s face appears above me as she leans in to console me.
“You’ll get it. Don’t give up,” she says.
She mastered Wind Spear and moved on to Wind Dagger over an hour ago. She’s now ready to try the next maneuver.
“That’s enough, Skysinger Wyndward,” Vaylen says in a commanding voice.
I turn my head to look at him, squinting.
“You’ve been stubborn enough,” he adds, “and I allowed it. But it’s counterproductive, so it’s time for you to move to other maneuvers for now. You can return to this one later.”
“Yes, Sir,” I jump back to my feet and get to work, even though I despise admitting failure, even if only temporarily.
At the end of the day, I’m nearly caught up with Phoebe, except Wind Spear and obviously Wind Dagger elude me. They’re in essence the same maneuver, the latter requiring more finesse than the former. I had no trouble with any of the other exercises. It makes no sense why there seems to be a block in my mind when I try to create spears and daggers.
“All my bones ache,” Phoebe says as we head toward the lifts when Vaylen dismisses us. The other Skyriders appear just as battered, but there’s a glint of satisfaction in everyone’s eyes.
The next few days are just as brutal. We practice all the maneuvers we only theoretically learned at the Academy. Everyone masters what they’re supposed to, except for me.
Wind Spear and Wind Dagger still elude me.
39
Rhea
Igrowl in frustration and throw my arms up in the air. We only have four days left in Sky’s Edge, and I’m still unable to cast Wind Spear and Wind Dagger.
“Anger and frustration aren’t going to help,” Vaylen says.
Phoebe is flying overhead on Trueno’s head, practicing maneuvers as her dragon pirouettes over the clouds, while I’m stuck down here, the bull’s-eye still mocking me. Even Zephyros got bored and abandoned me, taking off in search of four or fivedelicious sheepto eat. With a dragon like that, who needs enemies?
“But I’ve tried it all,” I say. “I might as well give those a try, too.”
Vaylen has worked as hard as we have these past seven days. He is relentless and strict but always encouraging. Despite my repeated failures, he hasn’t once made me feel inadequate and continues to assure me I will master these two moves in time. Moreover, he hasn’t pressured me to answer his proposal. In fact, his nonchalance and formal manner has me wondering if he has changed his mind, something that has made it more difficult for me to make a decision.
“Have you given any thought to what might be… blocking you from performing these maneuvers?” he asks.
I huff and shake my head. Yesterday, he asked me to meditate before bed, then to search my mind for answers. But meditating is one of those things I’ve always hated. It was part of our teachings at the Academy, used to increase focus and help understand our elemental powers better. But sitting still, doing nothing, has never been my forte.
My answer is a shrug. I try to circumvent him to face the targets again and keep at it, but he grabs my arm, stopping me.
“Rhealyn,” he whispers my name in his raspy voice, shocking me into stillness.
Slowly, my eyes lift to meet his, and as our gazes lock, wind whirls around us. He lets go, frowning. Nothing like this has happened since the day of the Rite of Flight. I have pushed that strange event so far into the back of my mind that I’d started to believe it never happened. From the tense set of his shoulders, I suspect he’s done the exact opposite. Has he been waiting for our powers to interact this way once more?
