A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,27

black hair calls out. He holds off three legionnaires with a scim, a short dagger, and—I squint—a cloud of hundreds of wights who befuddle his foes. They defend him with a vicious protectiveness that wights aren’t known for. Laia, meanwhile, spins, nocks, and shoots a soldier creeping up on her.

“Get Tas out of here now,” she shouts. The sandy-haired man grabs the child by the arm and drags him up the trail, directly toward where I’m standing.

The forest groans. Perhaps Mauth is occupied, as the Augur said. But he still feels the assault on his territory. And he doesn’t like it.

“You have trespassed into the Waiting Place, the forest of the dead.” I step out of the trees. Though I don’t shout, Mauth’s magic carries my words down to a blonde woman fighting back to back with a Mask. To the Scholar with the wights, and Laia. To the soldiers, all of whom gape at me. “You are not welcome.”

One of the legionnaires spits blood onto the beach and glares at his men. “Put an arrow in that son of a—”

He grabs his throat and drops to his knees. His men inch away.

When he is flat on his back, clawing at the sand, I look to the rest, letting the outsiders feel the full weight of the Waiting Place’s oppression. Then I draw away their vitality—all but the child’s—until the soldiers are gasping and stumbling through the shallows back to their boats. I turn to the others, who are still struggling to breathe.

I must kill them. Shaeva was right to leave broken bodies along the border. These constant interruptions are a distraction I can ill afford.

But the child, who is crouched behind a boulder, cries out. His distress plucks at something deep within that I cannot name. I ease the magic.

The remaining outsiders drink in long, shuddering draughts of air. Those four on the beach move swiftly up the trail, away from the soldiers. The child emerges from his hiding spot, wary gaze fixed on me. His companion stalks forward, reaching back for his scim.

“You,” he says. Darin, I think as he bears down. His name is Darin.

“I thought you were a decent human,” he hisses at me. “But you—”

“Now, now.” The tall Scholar steps in front of Darin. His cloud of wights has disappeared. “Let’s not irritate the creature formerly called Elias. He is the one who has to get us out of here.”

“Get off, Musa—”

“I will not help you.” I am puzzled that they think I would. “Leave at once.”

“Not bleeding likely.” Helene—no, the Blood Shrike—appears at the top of the trail. Blood soaks her fatigues and she limps heavily. She glances down at the Martials, who have retreated—but not far. “Not unless you want a half dozen more ghosts clogging up your day—ah—”

“Careful, Shrike.” The Mask catches her, and there’s something about him that makes me stare, some instinct urging me to look closer at him. We mean something to each other. But what? I have no memories of him.

The Shrike stumbles. The pain in her leg is likely hitting her now that the adrenaline of battle has worn off. Without thinking, I hold her up on one side, while the Mask grabs her other arm. The feeling of her is so familiar, the rush of memory so heady that I jerk away.

“Don’t let me fall, you idiot.” She lists forward. “Unless you want to carry my carcass the next hundred miles.”

“Wouldn’t be the first bleeding time.”

It’s not until she grins at me that I realize my voice wasn’t that of the Soul Catcher but of someone else. The person I once was. Elias Veturius.

“Shut it and help me find a place to sit so I can get this arrow out, would you? Laia? Do you have your kit?” The Shrike glances over her shoulder. “Harper, where the hells is she?”

Harper murmurs something to the Shrike and she glances at me, brow furrowing.

“Tend to your wounds,” I say. “Then leave. Go back to the beach. To your boats. To a quick death, it matters not. But you will not enter the Waiting Place.”

“He’s your brother.” Musa speaks up, nodding to Harper. The Mask gapes at Musa, who doesn’t seem to notice.

I cock my head, surveying Harper. His hair lies flat while mine curls at the ends. He’s shorter and leaner than me, and his eyes are green instead of gray. They are large like mine, but curved up at the outer corners. We have the same gold-brown