Free Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) by Katie Robison Page A

the smooth stretch of sand. I run even faster, trying to knock it all out of my head.
    Everything is so confusing. One second, Miri’s all right; the next, she’s a witch. Paika—he’s spent all this time helping me, been my friend, a protector, but he’s the one who brought me here in the first place. And Rye? I don’t know what to think about him. Was he lying to me, or are they?
    I pump my arms faster, swing my legs. In. Out. In. Out. To my annoyance, the words from one of the songs Paika taught me pops into my head. Tātu e tātu e.
    Get out! I yell at the words. I don’t want you!
    Suddenly, my left foot drops down, and I fall forward as my ankle twists beneath me.
    “Ouch!” I yell. I look back at my foot. The sand must have given way beneath it; everything below my ankle is submerged in water. I try to lift my leg out and sharply draw in my breath.
    “Great,” I mutter.
    Moving slowly, I slide my foot out of the hole and gently rub the swollen joint. It’s going to take me a long time to walk back to the house. I look around for a stick to use as a crutch, but the beach is bare.
    Gritting my teeth, I push myself onto my feet. Moving carefully, I put a tiny bit of weight onto my left foot and hop forward with the right.
    After twenty minutes of my agonizingly slow pace, I stop for a break, leaning against one of the large rocks poking out of the sand.
    “Hello there!” someone calls from ahead of me. “Are you hurt?”
    I look up. A small man wearing slacks and a cardigan is hurrying down the beach toward me. His black hair is parted down the middle, and he has a thin, well-trimmed mustache.
    “I sprained my ankle,” I say.
    “ Lǎo tiān ! Here, let me help you.”
    “Thanks,” I say as he approaches, dubiously eyeing his skinny frame.
    “Don’t worry,” he says, smiling. “I’m stronger than I look.”
    As I wrap my left arm around his shoulders, I notice a small jade dragon pinned to the inside of his collar, but then he’s propping me up and we’re hobbling forward.
    “Where do you live?” he asks, a thick accent marring his otherwise perfect English.
    “Closest house to the beach,” I tell him.
    “Miri’s?”
    “You know her?”
    “I do, very well. So that would make you Kitara.”
    I stop walking. “How do you know that?” I ask.
    “You’re the person I’ve come here to see.”
    “What—why?”
    “I’ve come to take you to the meeting.”
    “You’re a Rangi?”
    “Surprised?” He laughs pleasantly. “Most people are. I’m an adopted member. I was born in China and used to belong to the Cua. The name’s Jian.”
    “I don’t understand. Why would you join the Rangi, of all people?”
    “I didn’t like what my tribe was doing and wanted to support a better cause.”
    “You think the Rangi are in the right?”
    “Of course. They’re defending their homeland. What’s more right than that? I will admit they have their prejudices,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair. “It’s been difficult to fit in, but the Riki has been very kind to me.”
    “Have you come by yourself?” I ask.
    “I have a companion. He’s at the house. We didn’t know where you were, so I decided to walk down the beach in search of you.”
    “I see.”
    Jian looks at my face. “I’m sure the meeting will go well,” he says quickly. “The Riki is a reasonable man, and you have friends who will support you.” He smiles reassuringly.
    “I don’t know about that,” I mutter, thinking about my conversation with Miri.
    When we get closer to the house, I see Miri and Paika standing on the beach. They’re talking to a third person: a young man. He’s tall, taller than Paika, and his black hair is cut just above his collar. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off a tattoo on his right arm and on his muscular chest, but there’s not one on his face. A gun is strapped to his right leg, a patu to his left, and hanging from his neck is a tiki figure made of greenstone. As I