Free The Fire Children by Lauren Roy

distance between herself and it, she’d try a door. Every time, the wind gusted and shrieked and sent another spray up at her. When she squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her lips together to fight it, the wind tore the doorknob out of her grip and slammed the door shut in her face.
    Soon enough, she abandoned the idea of getting into any of these houses and headed for her own. She’d left their door wide open. Maybe she could run through it before the wind could react.
    By the time she reached their street, Yulla was panting for breath. Her legs ached. The wind carried away the sweat she’d worked up from fear and exertion, and she shivered with the cold. Mother Sun and Sister Moon had risen above the buildings now, but they provided barely any warmth. Not two days ago, she’d thought she’d melt in the brutal heat leading up to the Scorching Days. Now, she broke out in gooseflesh all over from the chill.
    The thought of the blankets waiting for her down in the cellar spurred her on. She could see the door now, still wide open. Casting a glance back over her shoulder, she saw the Fire Child wasn’t far behind.
    The sight of it—a golden blur speeding through the not-quite-dawn towards her—gave Yulla the last burst of energy she needed to throw herself through the doorway. The wind screamed after her, pushing hard enough at her back to knock her to the ground. The door slammed so hard the house shook.
    She bit back a sob as she pushed herself to her knees. Her cuts and bruises still ached from yesterday’s fall, and now she was adding more on top of them. She should have run for the cellar, but she couldn’t resist a peek back at the front door.
    At first, it was one solid wall of grey. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dim starlight outside, and now her house—which had seemed so bright when she’d first emerged—felt nearly as dark as the tunnels below. Then the gap between the door and the threshold began to glow. Dimly at first, then bright... brighter... so searingly bright she had to shield her eyes against it.
    It’s right outside. It could light the whole house on fire, with me in here.
    That got her moving. Yulla scrambled the rest of the way to her feet and ran for the cellar. Outside, the wind howled. She thought she heard a soft cry beneath it, tinged with... despair? Fear? ...but by then she was through the kitchen and scrabbling at the door.
    It wouldn’t open.
    The knob turned freely, left and right and back again with every twist of her wrist, but when she pulled, the door stayed shut. She braced one palm against the frame and yanked with the other, straining so hard she felt the effort all through her shoulders and back.
    She clamped both hands around it, planted her feet and pulled until she thought her arms might tear clean out of their sockets. Still, the door stayed closed.
    And now the wind was in the kitchen with her, wailing and screaming and buffeting her face. Yulla had to fight to stay in front of the door. She raised her hands and pounded, crying for Amma-Abba-Aunt-Mouse-Kell come help me, come let me in, but the wind was louder than she was, stealing her voice away, blowing it back behind her. Her voice echoed through the empty hallways, but the sound in front of her was muffled.
    They had to hear her knocking, though, didn’t they?
    Yulla struggled to stay upright, to hear something, anything over the wind. Surely by now, Abba would be at the top of the stairs. They’d be calling her name, listening for her reply, trying to get the door open from their side. Wouldn’t they?
    She stepped back and peered at the sigil painted on the door. It kept the Fire Children out, but why would it impede the wind? Banishing the wind from below would be the same as banishing the air—if they did that, the air in the tunnels would go stale and kill everyone. Was it slipping through the cracks beneath the door and keeping even her muffled cries and knocks from reaching her family?
    Suddenly