A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,107

But I must. My heart pumps too frantically. I’ve lost too much blood.

The moment I stop, I retch, and if Umber appeared now, I’d be a dead man. Mauth’s magic slows the damage, but I can’t stand.

My canteen is still in my pack—thank the skies Umber didn’t tear it from me—and I drink the entire contents down as I try to comprehend what I just saw. Keris’s army was vast. Twice the size of the army we’ve been bedeviling. It will crush Nur like a Mask crushing a flea.

Nur must be warned. Laia, Afya, Shan—all the Tribespeople who fought with me—still have time to protect the city. But I have to get to them.

As I mull, my neck prickles.

I am on my feet, if unsteady, but there is no one here. Hallucinations. Excellent. The last time I hallucinated in a desert, I nearly died of poisoning.

Not today. The wind rises, nudging me northwest, so I follow it. Instinct is instinct. Sometimes it’s a shout in your head, and sometimes it’s your mind telling you the wind wants you to move in a particular direction.

Whenever I stop—which is often—I get that same feeling, as if I’m being watched. But it is not hostile. Nor is it kindly. It feels wary. One animal observing another.

By sunset, I spot the lights of the Tribal caravan. It has stopped for the night, and though all I want is to find a quiet corner of the camp to nurse my wounds alone, the wind appears to shove me to the center of it. I teeter to a stop beside Mamie Rila’s wagon.

“Elias!” Laia drops the bowl in her hands and runs toward me. “Where have you—you’re bleeding!”

“S-Soul Catcher,” I correct her, and she shoots me a glare, wedging herself under my arm. My legs give out the moment she does.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “Too—too heavy—”

“I dragged you on and off a horse for a week when you were poisoned,” she says. “In armor heavier than this. Shan!”

My foster brother appears with two other Saif Tribesmen. A few minutes later, we are in Mamie’s wagon, Afya, Mamie, and Shan bent over me.

Laia disappears, returning a moment later with a black rucksack. She shoos everyone else away and snips off my leathers, wincing at the sight of my wounds.

A joke teeters on the tip of my tongue. Something about her trying to get my shirt off. I bite it back, my body jerking as she applies bloodroot to Umber’s slashes.

“Who did this?” Her jaw is clenched, and if Umber were to fight Laia right now, I’d bet my marks on the latter. “And why didn’t Mauth’s magic protect you?”

“I don’t know.” Skies, my head is spinning. Laia’s face blurs. “The magic’s weaker—”

“Because of you?” She glances at me. “Because you’re remembering who you were?”

I shake my head. “He’s weakening. Mauth. I need to talk to the Zaldars—Afya—”

“You need to stay still. These are deep, Elias. I’ll have to sew them up.”

I don’t bother to correct the name. My strength wanes, and there are more important things to say. “We can’t go to Taib,” I tell her. “Keris is sending an army to Nur.”

“Afya and the other Zaldars already gave the order to evacuate Taib,” Laia says. “We’ll send Gibran ahead to warn Nur. How far out is the army?”

“Far enough that we can make it. But we need to break camp now. L-leave the wagons.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. “Anything and anyone unessential. Just—sew me up so I can give the order.”

“Someone else can give the order. It doesn’t always have to be you! It was stupid of you to go off alone.”

“Had to,” I mutter. “No one else. Nur cannot fall, Laia.” I grab her arm, but I do not know what I’m saying anymore. “If it falls, he’ll open the door to the Sea—”

The wagon creaks, and Shan appears. “Sorry.” He winces as he takes in my injuries. “But there’s someone here to see him—”

“Look at him.” Laia puts a hand on her hip and stands. Shan backs up, alarmed. “He’s not talking to anyone.”

“Let me up,” I grumble, and Laia shoves me back to the bed, something that is both irritating and intriguing at once.

“Shut it, you,” she growls at me, eyes flashing. She turns back to Shan, but he has stepped away, and a strange, shifting figure stands in his place. Rowan Goldgale.

“You,” I say. “How did you find me?”

“Find you?” The efrit laughs, and it’s the deep hum of