The Wind Will Guide Us by Sasha M. Valerio EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Sasha M. Valerio
- Language: English
- Genre: Action & Adventure Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Roma, Australia
2043
C’aiská sighed in irritation and pressed his back to the crumbling
wall. Hot air rushed by as a bullet narrowly missed his cheek, and moments
later, a blast shattered his cover, peppering his skin with fragments of
debris.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he cursed under his breath.
As the shoddy remnants of a bygone world tore apart around him,
C’aiská counted the rounds and did his best to remain still and composed.
There was no reason to panic and with a deep breath, he closed his eyes and
lifted his face towards the sky. It had once been so blue; a clear cerulean
that would stretch out to an endless green horizon. C’aiská could remember
it even if he couldn’t pinpoint where he’d seen it.
C’aiská liked blue. He always had.
He opened his eyes to reality as another bullet skimmed too close for
comfort, but instead of moving, C’aiská kept his gaze set on the sky. There
was no blue—there hadn’t been for a long time. Now it was a swirling mess
of toxic solar flares that ripped through the sun-scorched dust clouds. It
made C’aiská squint, and it bothered him more than any rattle of gunfire
ever could.
A streak of dirty gold and a flash of his favourite colour—weathered
and muted and dulled by the dust of the road—appeared in C’aiská’s
peripheral vision. Everything in him seemed to tingle at the movement, his
body responding to the familiar presence and the bond that existed between
them.
Jáhken; always Jáhken.
It was exactly what C’aiská needed to fully snap back to the situation
at hand.
C’aiská gave the man a cursory glance over as he skidded to a stop
mere feet from his position. Jáhken had been on the other side of the
building at the start of the attack, but he’d covered the distance with the
skill of the warrior he’d always been. Aside from the caked-on grime from
weeks of being on the move, Jáhken appeared to be whole and functioning,
and C’aiská couldn’t see any visible bullet wounds or fresh blood. He had a
smudge of paint on his left cheek, the colour bleeding into his scruffy beard,
and despite the rattle of the machine gun behind them, C’aiská made a
mental note to collect their supplies once this was over.
It had been a quiet evening. Jáhken had muttered something about
painting the sky—a habit of his that C’aiská would never understand—and
had set off towards the west, seeking the perfect view. It was difficult to
find paints these days, and carrying them was a luxury, but Jáhken found
pleasure in the pursuit and C’aiská could never deny him. Besides, it wasn’t
his pack that was full of brushes and cracked pots of dried pigment.
Jáhken was now on the opposite side of the doorway. The ceiling had
collapsed long ago, bringing down half of the walls and leaving behind only
rubble that traced the outline of what had once been a house. Even with the
space between them, C’aiská could feel Jáhken and hear his heartbeat
running parallel to his own.
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