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Her eyes fade to white, and she grasps my hands. Her voice deepens, transforming from a gentle lilt to a growl from the very heart of the earth.
“I awoke in the glow of a young world,” she says, and I am gripped. “When man knew of hunting but not tilling, of stone but not steel. It smelled of rain and earth and life. It smelled of hope.
“Arise, beloved.”
For the next few hours, I do not sit with Mamie, but with the Nightbringer. I am not in the Empire, but deep in the Waiting Place, and then in lands far beyond. I am not enthralled by the story of a creature I’m only just beginning to understand. Iamhim.
I learn of his creation, his education, his loneliness. His relationship to humans and his marrow-deep love of his people. I discover Rehmat as she was in life, a fierce wandering poet. When Cain is mentioned—when Mamie speaks of what he and the Scholars did—I burn with hatred. Andwhen I hear of the Nightbringer’s vengeance, of his love for Husani, my heart breaks.
“—I mourned her then. I mourn her still.”
As suddenly as it begun, the Tale is over. Mamie’s eyes darken to their familiar brown, and when she speaks, it is with her own voice.
“It is done,” she says.
“No.” I stop her from rising. “It cannot be done. There must be something else. Something about—about the scythe, or when he is at his weakest. Something more about him.”
Mamie bows her head. “That is all the darkness gave me, my love,” she says. “It will have to be enough.”
But it is not. I already know that it is not.
LIII:The Soul Catcher
The Blood Shrike and her army approach from the north, on the plains that sweep out from the Waiting Place. When the rumble of hooves is deafening and the smell of horse and men overwhelming, the Shrike lifts her fist and slows her forces to a halt.
Wind howls along the plains, and the two armies stare each other down. Scholars stand with the Blood Shrike’s troops, true. But there are far more Martials, and the Tribes have seen their people destroyed by the Martials.
The Shrike swings off her horse and approaches. My magic, scant as it is, rises, and I sense what is in her. Love. Joy. Sadness. And as she looks at Mamie, a deep well of self-hate.
Mauth’s warning rings through my mind.Your duty is not to the living. Your duty is not to yourself. Your duty is to the dead, even to the breaking of the world.
But when I look at the Blood Shrike’s bare, scarred face, the past overwhelms me. She is not just the Shrike. She is Helene Aquilla. Friend. Warrior. Comrade-in-arms. We did violence together. We survived together. We saved each other from death and madness and loneliness in those long years at Blackcliff.
Not seeing her made it easy to ignore the memories Cain gave me. Now that she stands before me, those recollections hit like one of her scim attacks—swift and painful.
“Hail, Shrike.”
“Hail, Banu al-Mauth.” We regard each other, wary as two eagles meeting over a dead antelope.
Then she quirks an eyebrow at me. “Didn’t want to start without me?” she asks.
“Didn’t want to listen to you whining about it, more like.”
A collective exhale from both sides, and then everyone is dismounting and greeting each other. Laia steps past me and pulls the Shrike into a hug.
“Where’s my favorite tyrant?” Laia asks, but gently, for the wights brought news of Livia’s death. A shadow passes over the Shrike’s face.
“Zacharias is at a safe house,” she says, “with Tas and Uncle Dex and a full complement of Masks. Thought it was wiser than bringing him here.” Pink shadows nest beneath her eyes. “Another war. Will it ever end, Soul Catcher? Or will this be the legacy I leave my nephew?”
I have no answer for her, and she turns to greet Darin. Laia seeks out Musa, putting her hand against the tall Scholar’s face, speaking quietly with that sweet smile of hers. Though I had nothing against the man a moment ago, I suddenly find his face vexing. Laia spots me and grins.
“By the skies, Soul Catcher,” she says as Musa moves away. “Is that jealousy?”
“Do you want it to be?”Stop it, I tell myself.You idiot. But the old me, who appears to be cheekier by the day, shoves that voice into a bin.
“Still flirting at inappropriate times, I see.” Strong hands pull me around. My grandfather, Quin Veturius, regards the rows of Tribespeople behind me. If haughtiness could wither, both armies would collapse into dust. “At least you’re leading an army. Good at it too, I’d wager. Runs in the blood.”
As I meet his gray eyes, a mirror of my own, I consider walking away. We’re about to fight a battle, and even if we win, I’ll have to return to the ghosts and forget all of these faces once more. Even if I can persuade thejinn to return as Soul Catchers, Mauth made it clear that doing so would not mean my freedom.
