The Tempest Tower

Backlash

Sasky pressed her eyes closed, convinced that what she was seeing ahead of them couldn't possibly be real. Was this a nightmare? Was she dreaming? Gods, she hoped she was dreaming, but even with her eyes sealed, she could still hear – still feel – the storm's unpleasant, distant rumbling underfoot.

She was scared to open her eyes again, but when she finally did, it was shocking how close the red storm had jumped forward, like it moved only when she wasn't watching. Like they were prey. She had no choice but to go back to staring, her chest rising and falling rapidly in fright.

To say it was mesmerizing would have made the incoming disaster seem beautiful, and if it wasn't about to destroy everything in its path, she might have given it the compliment. The clouds were stacked like a staircase – so high that they blotted out the afternoon sun. It was like a drop of blood blooming through cloth – how red the storm seemed. Otherworldly. Unnatural.

Keira whimpered, turning her face into Sasky's stomach. This helpless gesture is what snapped her out of the daze she was in, though her voice wobbled when she spoke.

"Kiki, listen to me; go back to the house. Cover father with a blanket and hide under the bed." Though she doubted very much that their poor, old farm house would save any of them. At least her sister wouldn't be able to see as much.

Keira looked sharply up at her, eyes wide. "No, Sasky! Come with me! I'm scared!"

"I'm going to try to keep it away. You protect father."

"No! I want to protect you!"

Sasky's heart clenched a bit, thankful. But… she wouldn't make her sister choose like that. "This isn't up for discussion. Go!"

She gave her sister a shove that was rougher than intended, but only because she didn't want her to turn around and glance at the storm again. There was no disputing that it was coming closer. The wind was starting to tear its claws savagely through the branches of the nearby forest, and the field of grass surrounding her had already bowed.

Strange though. Despite the force of the wind… there was no thunder. No lightning. Even though the clouds seemed to glow and bubble and roll like the storm was a cage trying to contain whatever primal energy was within… whatever was within was incredibly silent. It made the hairs on her arms and neck stand in apprehension.

Even so, despite the chill of the dread and the roughness of the wind… she felt incredibly warm. How could that be? Most storms brought rain at the very least.

As Sasky tilted her head and looked up, she got the feeling that whatever this unholy storm was carrying… it was not rain or sleet or anything good. How had this happened? Was this something that could even be constructed with the weather of their world? She could not even see what was happening to the terrain below – blocked by the forest bordering their village as it was.

She realized with a sickened feeling that it didn't matter. She could hit the storm if she kicked – it was so big that that wasn't the issue. No. It was that she'd have to make it retreat. She'd have to reverse its course entirely or else they would be wiped off the face of the map. Their farm – gone. Their lives – crushed beneath its terrible rage. It was like their village was suddenly an ant mound that a child had decided to kick. That's how helpless they were.

Sasky swallowed. Her body felt clammy. She wanted to say that it was just the heat of the storm, but that wasn't true. She'd never kicked a cloud this big before – not even close. And what if she failed? What if she couldn't beat it back? There would only be one kick, and then her whole leg would be numb. Would she fail… and then be forced to lay helplessly as the storm dragged itself across the sky and land towards her? How horrible. Terrifying. She wouldn't even get to see her sister in the end.

Inhale wavering, she turned and marched away to give herself a few feet of distance. It was moreso to try and get a grip on herself in those few precious second rather than a need for space. As she walked, she could feel the wind sucking on her – trying to haul her back. It was far stronger than her.

"I can do this," she lied through gritted teeth. "I have to do this."

She left all thought behind and whirled, charging at the storm. It's grip on her was foolish, because it only increased her speed – which she always hoped increased her power. In this moment, she didn't dare question it.

Sasky built up as much momentum as she could as she pounded over the uneven terrain. This dried, tangled grass was always so treacherous – always hiding elevated mounds of hard dirt so whenever she ran through it and expected to sink, her leg and knee would sometimes be jarred with unexpected firmness. She hated this grass. But this was her home, and she loved how she hated it – how well she knew it. She didn't want the storm to rip the grass up like a piece if skin, and reveal the bones and trickery beneath.

It occurred to her in that rare moment of terror, that there were a lot of things she thought she hated that she suddenly wanted to protect. This grass, their old, shabby farmhouse, the firewood she'd tiredly chopped, the field next to it that she labored in, her ailing father that could neither live nor die. All these daily nuisances started to swirl in her mind like a soup. She could see her own reflection as if she was staring down into the bowl and someone had just declared that they were going to kick it over. It may have seemed like unappetizing soup with distasteful ingredients – but she was suddenly very aware that it was the only soup she was likely to get.

Jamming her finger up, she pointed right into the storm's eye – where the light was thickest. One of her own eyes pinched shut too. If she missed that spot, she might knock the storm off-course. That wasn't good enough if the storm still had a chance to clip them. Her aim had to be precise. She had to hit it dead on, make it flinch with such an unexpected blow that it stumbled back in shock, and rethought its plan of ever coming near her village.

The next few steps were a blur of action and noise. She thought for a minute that the storm might have finally decided to try and scare her with some thunder, until she realized that it was actually her heartbeat in her ears that she was hearing. Something about that was comforting, like her body was trying to muffle the obvious terror around her with its own noise.

After a few more steps, her body seized up in that way she knew meant it was time for her to kick – the same feeling one got when it was time to swallow whatever they were chewing. Planting her left foot in the grass, she cried out without meaning to, and swung her right leg as hard as she could at the storm – pretending that there were boulders tied to her foot.

She kicked so hard that her momentum lifted her from the ground, and in that fleeting moment she felt her foot connect with the storm.

To say she felt like she had kicked a wall would be an understatement; such pain exploded through her leg that it was like walls were falling across it like dominos, the last heavier than the previous. She cried out and buckled under the backlash, falling to the ground and pressing her face into the grass to muffle her screams. Tears exploded from the cracks of her eyelids, blurring her vision. Her hand scrambled against her leg to try to press against where the pain was most intense, but no sooner had she pressed it to the side of her knee that her hip cried out for attention, then her foot, then her knee again.

Numbness had always been there to greet her if she kicked a cloud that was too big, and it was certainly uncomfortable, but all Sasky could do at that moment was pray for it to find her. It was like an old friend that she'd taken for granted compared to this.

So consumed with her agony, she hadn't thought to listen for the telling cry of thunder that would've erupted from striking the storm. The pain she was feeling was enough to tell her that she'd hit, but had she even left a dent? Had she made it second-guess its course?

Quivering in strain, and still hugging her right leg against her chest, she twisted her face away from the ground to look over her shoulder. She must have been perspiring, because blades of grass came with her, poking in at the edge of her vision.

She couldn't exactly say what she saw through her tears. It was like a blurry mirror. The storm didn't appear to be any closer, and the wind didn't seem to be any stronger. In an effort to grasp what was going on, she took several deep breaths to try and focus and blinked her eyes repeatedly to clear them.

The storm looked smaller, but she couldn't be sure. All she could think to do as her vision wavered and darkened, and her body was blanketed with an unfamiliar heaviness, was glare at it – in case it got any funny ideas about coming back.