A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,64

rooftops, following Umber, watching as she kills. The air around her shimmers and flickers as soul after soul vanishes. Each disappearance leaves behind an emptiness, a void that weighs heavy on the air.

Before Umber spots me, I windwalk away, making for Aish’s tallest building, the Martial garrison. Never have I wished more for Shaeva. For her cool competence and vast well of knowledge. She would know what is happening. She would know how to stop it.

But she is not here, so I must make sense of this alone.

To the Nightbringer, Scholars—and their allies, the Tribes and Mariners—are the enemy. Prey. Meant to be destroyed. And yet, despite freeing thousands of his kindred from the jinn grove, he is primarily using a Martial army to carry out all the murder. The only logical conclusion is that the jinn cannot fight humans head-on.

Perhaps they have been weakened by their imprisonment. Perhaps their magic is limited. All magic comes from Mauth and even I have noticed a dip in Mauth’s strength, a torpidity.

So what, I argue with myself. The Nightbringer is stealing ghosts to fuel his magic?

It is as good an idea as any. If Mauth is the source of all magic, and he is Death, then it would follow that ghosts might be linked to that magic.

If I could get to the Nightbringer himself—I might be able to test the theory further. I reach the garrison’s flat rooftop and drop out of my windwalk, shading my eyes. The buildings all around are engulfed in flame. I won’t be able to see anything from here.

As I make to leave, something gleams in the air. A figure appears out of the smoke billowing across the roof, cloaked and flame-eyed, with a wickedly curved scythe held loosely in one hand. It is attached to a long handle and its dark shine is familiar.

The scythe, I realize, used to be a sickle. A sickle that the Nightbringer used to kill Shaeva months ago.

“Have you come to thank me, Usurper?”

The Nightbringer speaks softly, but his voice no longer makes my skin crawl. Nor do I feel apprehension when I look at him. He is but a living creature, who loves and hates, desires and mourns. A creature who is interfering with my work in the Waiting Place.

Mauth’s magic rises, sensing the threat. “You tamper with the spirits, jinn,” I say. “You tamper with Mauth. You must cease.”

“Then you are not here to thank me.” The feigned surprise in the Nightbringer’s voice grates on my nerves. “I cannot think why. There is so much less work for you, now that you have no ghosts to pass.”

“What are you doing with the spirits?”

“Silence, worm!” Umber appears out of the flames beside the Nightbringer. “You dare to speak to the Meherya thus? Faaz! Azul!” Two jinn materialize from the flames. “Khuri! Talis!”

“Peace, Umber.” The Nightbringer sheathes his scythe and four more jinn appear. The first two—Faaz and Azul—I saw breaking buildings and altering the weather. The third—Khuri—is in her shadow form. The last, whom I assume is Talis, wears his human face, and I recognize his dark eyes and compact body. He accompanied Umber after I killed Cain.

And he was the jinn who cast thoughts into the minds of Laia and the others. He brought their deepest fears and darkest moments to life.

The Nightbringer glides closer. Shadows seethe around him, deeper than before and eerily alive. They writhe with some fey devilry that drags on him like a weight. Despite that, his power is unaffected. If anything, he appears stronger.

The air flickers behind the Nightbringer. Another jinn. One Umber did not call to. I squint—what is he doing? I take a single step toward that jinn, for there is a whiff of ghost about him, a sense of the dead nearby.

That is as far as I get. The Nightbringer snaps his fingers and Khuri steps into the shadows, reappearing seconds later with a limp human figure.

“You are Mauth’s creature now, boy. So dedicated to your duty,” the Nightbringer says. “Shall we test that dedication?”

The figure is bound with chains made of the same sparkling metal as the Nightbringer’s scythe. Her clothing is dark, and her long hair obscures her face. But I know who it is. I know her shape and her grace because the Augur put her in my head and I cannot get her out.

The Nightbringer grabs Laia’s hair and yanks her head back. “If I slit her throat, Soul Catcher, would you care?”

“Why are you taking the