A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,44

him, speak to him. Still your mind. Reach.”

“How—” I stop myself from asking and consider. Rehmat was right about my disappearing. Perhaps it is right about this too.

I close my eyes and imagine a deep, quiet lake. Pop did this with patients sometimes, children whose bellies ached for reasons we could not see, or men and women unable to sleep for days. Breathe in. Let the air nourish you. Breathe out. Expel your fears.

I sink into the stillness. Then I call out, imagining my voice stretching across the miles.

“Darin. Are you there?”

At first, there is only silence. I begin to feel foolish. Then—

Laia?

“Yes!” I nearly leap up in my excitement. “Yes, it’s me.”

Laia, what is this? Are you all right?

“I’m fine,” I say. “I—I am in the Waiting Place.”

Is Elias with you? Is he still being an idiot?

“He is not an idiot!”

Figured you’d say that. I wanted to make sure it was really you. Are you sure you’re all right? You sound—

Rehmat appears so suddenly that its glow blinds me. “Fey creatures! Approaching from the west. They must have heard you, Laia. Forgive me—I did not sense them. Arm yourself!”

The gold light fades as quickly as it appeared, and I am left alone in the inky murk. I scramble to my feet, dagger at the ready, my pulse pounding. A cricket chirps nearby and the wind whispers through the branches. The forest is quiet.

And then, in an instant, it is silent. Shapes flit between the trees, too fast to track. Jinn? Efrits?

I scuttle back, trying to use the night to my advantage. The darkness can feel like an enemy, the Blood Shrike said once, insisting I wear a blindfold while she trained me in hand-to-hand combat. Let it be a friend instead.

The shadows draw closer. Where in the skies is Elias? Of course, when he and his big fists and murderous demeanor might actually come in handy, he’s not here.

Something cold brushes past me, and I feel as if my neck has been plunged into pure snow. I dart around the fire—kicking at it to get air on the embers. They flare for a moment, then fade. But not before I see what hides in the dark.

Wraiths.

Stay calm. Elias and I fought these things out in the desert east of Serra. Taking off their heads kills them. Too bad I have a dagger with no reach instead of a scim.

Invisibility will not fool them. All I can do is run. I kick the embers into the faces of the wraiths, and as they screech, I bolt through an opening in the trees. I feel them behind me, all around me, and lash out with my dagger. They fall back—and I have a few more inches, a few more seconds.

Did the Nightbringer send them? You fool, Laia. Did you think he would just let you get away?

Through the gasps of my breathing and the crunch of brush beneath my boots, I hear a creek. Most fey creatures hate water. I tear toward the sound, slipping on the wet rocks, only stopping when I am midstream, with the water at my knees.

“Come out, little girl.” The wraiths speak as one, their words high and reedy, as if a winter gale out of the Nevennes has been given voice. “Come out and meet your doom.”

“Why don’t you come in here?” I snarl. “You ragged bastards could use a bath.”

The blue starlight throws the shadows emerging from the woods into sharp relief. A dozen wraiths, at first. Then two dozen. Then more than fifty, their shredded clothing fluttering in a nonexistent wind.

They could have rushed me in the woods. Ambushed me. But they did not. Which means they want me alive.

Think! There is a reason the wraiths are here and it is not to kill me. Brazen it out, then, Laia. And hope to the skies you aren’t wrong. Without warning, I sprint through the water toward them.

I expect them to move. Instead they catch me and squeeze. Bad idea, Laia. Very bad idea.

Impossible cold lances through me and I scream. The chill is all-consuming, and I am certain that this will be a slow death, like being bricked away and knowing you will never escape.

My body seizes, my vision flashes to a vast sea, dark and teeming. Then to the River Dusk. I see it from above, the way a bird would. I follow its serpentine path through the Waiting Place. But there is something wrong. The river disappears, rotting at the edges.