A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,94

not tell me his weaknesses. You won’t tell me anything about him. Instead I go to the Tribes to beg for scraps of his story, which may or may not exist.”

“I cannot speak of my time with him. If I could, I would tell you all. What I can say is that he was the Beloved. His strength is in his name. And his weakness. His past and his present. You must understand both to defeat him.”

“To defeat him,” I say, “I need that scythe. And if you want me to trust you again, you’ll help me get it. You know how he thinks. You know him so well you spent a thousand years hiding just for the chance to defeat him.”

“I do not know him anymore.”

“Then I suppose we are finished,” I say. “And I’m doing this alone.”

I walk swiftly away from her, the soft sand dragging at my feet. A gust of wind blows the smell of roasting meat and horse to me. When I get to the top of the hill, I spot dim lights far ahead—the Tribal encampment.

“What if your theft of the scythe is part of his plan?” Rehmat comes around in front of me, so that I cannot walk forward without going through her. “A trap, a way to outwit you.”

“Then you will help me outwit him first.”

She considers me, drifting like a dandelion in the wind. Finally, she nods.

“I will help you get the scythe,” she says. “This, I vow. And—and kill him if that is what you wish.”

“Good.” I nod. I am glad then that she is not in my head anymore. For if she was, she would know that for all of her persuasive words, I no longer trust a single thing she says.

XXXVII: The Soul Catcher

The Tribes who escaped Aish left many of their wagons and fled into the labyrinthine desert canyons north of the city. It requires not inconsiderable skill to track them.

Still, after a couple of days, I manage it. Which means their enemies could follow them too.

I find Aubarit on the edge of the camp, sitting atop her wagon seat. She picks at a bowl of stew, listless despite the fact that it smells of cumin and garlic and coriander, and sets my stomach to growling. The walls on either side of the camp are high and the nearby stream rages, heavy from the rains.

“You need to hide your trail,” I tell her, and she glances up in surprise as I step out of the dark. “The only reason the Martials haven’t found you is that they’re too busy burying bodies.”

The Fakira does not smile, and her shoulders are stiff. “I thought matters of the human world were not yours to worry over, Banu al-Mauth.”

“They aren’t,” I say. “But matters of the Waiting Place are. And right now, the two are one and the same.”

The Fakira calls over one of her Tribesmen and speaks to him in Sadhese. He glances at me curiously before leaving.

“Junaid will see to our tracks,” she says. “You have not asked about Mamie Rila, Banu al-Mauth, or Tribe Nur or your own Tribe.”

“I have no Tribe, Aubarit,” I remind her. “However, I do have a problem. One that only the Tribes can help me with.” Admitting it is frustrating. But it is the truth and cannot be avoided. “Who escaped Aish?”

“Tribe Nasur. Tribe Nur. Tribe Saif. Tribe Rahim. A few others. They are scattered through the canyons, wherever the water is. In the immediate vicinity, there are perhaps three thousand.”

“Call the Kehannis and the Zaldars.” I refer to the Tribal leaders. “Call the Fakirs and Fakiras. Tell them the Banu al-Mauth has need of them.”

“Many are still in mourning.” Aubarit cannot hide her shock at my callousness, but I shake my head.

“There is no time to mourn,” I say. “Not if they wish to survive and not if they wish their dead to pass on in peace instead of torment. Harness their anger, Fakira. Call them to me.”

Within the hour, the area around her wagon is crowded with people. Some are vaguely familiar, like a tiny woman with black-and-red braids and a beautiful face. Her arms are crossed over a mirrored dress of gold and green, and she stands with a young man who looks like the taller version of her. Afya. I remember her from my memories of Laia. And her brother, Gibran.

I find I am relieved to see him. A memory ricochets through my mind—him attacking me, possessed by a