A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,62

is not an “it” but a “he,” for there is something irritatingly male about its obduracy. “We need to understand the Nightbringer’s weaknesses if we wish to stop him. We need his story. Your plan to find the Tribal Kehannis was a wise one. But to carry it out, you must escape. That is a war you ride toward.”

“It is indeed,” I say, and the idea that comes to me is one Afya would approve of, as it is utterly mad.

“Come, child. Do not be a fool—”

“Why are you afraid?” Until now, Rehmat has seemed wise if a bit high-handed. I have never sensed its alarm, like I do now. “Because you think the Nightbringer will discover you? Destroy you?”

“Yes,” Rehmat says after a long hesitation. “That is what I fear.”

No, it is not. I know this immediately. The creature lies. Conceals. This is the first time I’ve felt it for certain, and an odd pang goes through me. Rehmat is like no one I have ever met or even heard of, but I have grown to trust it. I thought it was my ally.

“Let me help you, Laia.” Rehmat modulates its tone at the last instant so it sounds calm and level-headed, instead of like an overlord. “You must not fall into the Nightbringer’s hands in the midst of a war—”

“Falling into his hands in the midst of a war,” I tell the creature, “is exactly what I have to do.”

XXIV: The Soul Catcher

A horn trumpets from the southern buildings of Aish, echoing from guard tower to guard tower, a frantic blare. The wind picks up, carrying the stench of singed earth and blood.

The Tribal encampment is in chaos. Men and women throw children into wagons and sweep up belongings. Cookfires spark. Camels and horses groan as their masters work frantically to buckle saddles and harnesses.

But when the Tribespeople see me, many of them stop what they are doing, hope dawning in their eyes.

“Banu al-Mauth! Are you here to aid us?”

“Will you destroy the jinn?”

I ignore them as Tribe Nasur’s guards converge on Aubarit’s wagon. “Fakira,” one of them says. “We must take shelter in the city before the gates are closed.”

The Tribe’s silver-haired Kehanni follows them, frowning. “Better to flee into the desert,” she says. “The Martials will be occupied with Aish. They will not hunt us.”

“Tribe Saif will flee,” Mamie Rila speaks. “Even if they pursue us, we can evade them.”

She turns to me. “Help us, Banu al-Mauth,” she says. “There are too many jinn. Too many Martials. And a city filled with innocent people who did nothing to invite this invasion. You could use your magic to defeat the enemy—”

“That is not how the magic works, Kehanni.”

“But if you helped, fewer would die.” Aubarit grabs my arm, holding on to me even when I attempt to shake her off. “There would be fewer ghosts to pass—”

But I do not seek fewer ghosts. I seek to understand what is happening to them.

What if it is the Nightbringer’s doing? Laia’s words echo in my head. The few Fakirs who could have answered my questions were murdered by the Nightbringer. In the battles he has fought, where hundreds of ghosts should flow into the Waiting Place, none arrive.

Perhaps this is an opportunity to see why.

“Make for water.” I raise my voice, and the Tribespeople nearby fall silent. “The jinn hate it.”

“The only water is in Aish’s wells,” Mamie Rila says.

“The Malikh escarpment has water.” The information costs me nothing. “Stream is running high.”

The horns of Aish call out again, a low thrum that elicits cries from across the encampment. The approaching fire is distant no longer. The jinn are here.

Aubarit and Mamie’s questions fall upon the unfeeling wind as I stream away, past the Tribespeople scrambling to get into the city, past the refugees from Sadh looking for shelter where there will be none. Keris Veturia’s army will pour through Aish’s many gates. The wide streets that are perfect for Tribal caravans, open markets, and traveling players will become killing fields.

Such is the world of the living.

I pull up my hood so no one recognizes me and scan the horizon. Screams echo from the south, and flames light up the sky, moving like whirling typhoons. Jinn. The fear of the Tribespeople curdles the air, turning the cold night bitter.

A rooftop will offer a better view, and I spot a trellis I could climb. But it is blocked by a wagon with an old man and two little children inside.