A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,163

stop her. The Blood Shrike sees and screams a warning at Mirra, for instinct had me drawing a blade the moment she stepped out of the fray.

But I think of my mother. She waits for you, Keris.

And Mirra’s blade finds its mark.

Pain burns through my neck as the Lioness shoves the dagger into my throat, as she drags it across. She does not know my strength, that even bleeding out like this, I can stab her thigh, tear a hole into her that will leave her dead in moments. Even dying, I can destroy her.

But quite suddenly, I am not on the battlefield anymore. I rise above it, above my body, which is nothing but a shell now. Weak and useless and growing cold in the mud.

A great, violent maelstrom swirls down toward my army, tearing through it, annihilating it before my eyes.

“Lovey?”

“Mama.” I turn. And it is her, my mother, who I have mourned in the forgotten corners of my soul. Her smile is radiant, hitting me with the force of a sunrise. I reach out my hand to her.

She does not take it. A gasp escapes her, shock rippling through her vitreous form as she backs away.

“K-Keris?” She peers at me, bewildered. “You are not her.”

“Mama,” I whisper. “It’s me. Keris. Your lovey.”

She drifts farther from me, those familiar blue eyes enormous and stricken.

“No,” she says. “You are not my lovey. My lovey is dead.”

I reach for her, and a strange, strangled sound comes from my throat. But something else approaches. That great, earth-shattering roar, as if a thousand hounds have been unleashed on my heels. I turn to find myself facing the maelstrom. It consumes the horizon, swirling and ravenous.

I have never seen its like before. And yet, I know it.

“Nightbringer?”

Keris. He utters my name, though he doesn’t sound like himself.

“Nightbringer. Bring me back,” I say. “I am not finished. The battle yet wages. Nightbringer!”

He does not hear me—or he no longer cares.

“I fought for you,” I say. “I would never have forded that river or fought a foe on higher ground if not for you. I trusted you—”

The storm rolls on, and I know then that I am dead. That there will be no return.

Fury consumes me—and terror. This betrayal at the last from the only creature I ever trusted—this cannot be borne. This cannot be my death. There is more—there must be more.

“Mama—” I call out, searching for her.

But she is gone, and there is only the hunger and the storm and a suffering that, for me, does not end.

LXVII: Laia

The maelstrom has teeth, and they sink into my mind, injecting me with memory. My father, my sister, my mother—everyone who has ever been taken from me.

The memories fade, replaced by others I do not recognize. First a few, then hundreds, then thousands swirling around me. Story upon story. Sorrow upon sorrow.

Though the bodies of the dead have disappeared, I am still corporeal, and I let myself fade into the nothingness. This is a jinn-made madness and I have had a jinn living within me for a long time.

But she is in you no more, the maelstrom hisses. You are alone. I will consume you, Laia of Serra. For all is suffering and suffering is all.

Flickers alight near my vision. Sweet laughter, and small figures of flame—Rehmat’s children, I realize. The Nightbringer’s children. Though I want to look away, I make myself watch their family, their joy. I make myself witness their light go out.

This maelstrom—it is all him. He has subsumed the suffering of generations, combined it with his own. He was right. For him, the world was a cage. Now he is everywhere. Living in all of these memories, all of this suffering. Lost in it.

But even a maelstrom has a center. A heart. I must find it.

Each step takes an eon as memories shriek past me. Laia. I whip my head around, for it is Darin’s voice howling out of the darkness. He says something, and I cannot understand it. I know if I reach out to him, we will be reunited. Death will have claimed us all—Darin and Father and Mother and Lis and Nan and Pop. When was the last time the seven of us were together and happy?

When was the last time we were not running, or hiding, or whispering so the Empire would not catch us? I do not remember. All I remember is fear. Mother and Father leaving and the ache of their loss. The knowledge, that