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“We can travel together.” I touch his arm, and he starts at the spark that jumps between us.He’s still human. Still here.“We can speak to theFakirs, theKehannis. You could ask—”
At the chill in his gaze, I cease. I keep trying to appeal to his humanity. I might as well throw myself against a stone wall. He does not give two figs about me. He cares about the Waiting Place. He cares about the ghosts.
“How many ghosts have you passed, Elias? How much rot have you seen?”
He tilts his head, contemplating me.
“It’s not because of me,” I say. “Something iswrong. What if it is the Nightbringer’s doing? You are dedicated to protecting and passing on the ghosts. The TribalFakirsare also dedicated to the dead. They might know where the rot is coming from.”
Stay with me, I think.Stay with me so I can remind you of who you used to be.
“A rider approaches.” Elias glances over my shoulder. The sky pales enough that I can see foam on the waves, and I squint toward the western horizon, searching.
“Tribespeople,” I say. “Musa told them I was coming. They must have scouts watching the forest.”
“Not the Tribes. Someone else.” Elias takes a step back. “The voice in your head, Laia,” he says, and I remember then that I told him of Rehmat. “Beware of it. Such creatures are never quite what they seem.”
I stare at him in surprise. “I did not know you were listening.”
Hooves thunder from behind me. A quarter mile to the northwest, a band of men and horses appears atop a hill. Even at a distance, one of the forms flickers strangely. It swings its head toward me.
Two sun eyes penetrate across the distance, pinning me like an insect on a wall.
“Elias,” I whisper. “Elias, it’s a jinn—”
Silence. I turn to him, to ask him to windwalk us away. But as I scan the tree line, my stomach sinks. He is gone.
XVIII:The Soul Catcher
The dead yew in the jinn grove bears the brunt of my frustration, the trunk creaking as I slam the chain into it again and again and again.
The girl will be fine. She’s swift and clever. She possesses magic.
She will survive.
She’s not “the girl.” She’s Laia. And if she dies, it’s your bleeding fault.
“Shut up,” I mutter, delivering a particularly savage blow to the tree. A nearby crow squawks and flies into the clear winter sky.
You’re a fool, the voice hisses, deriding me as it has for the past week, ever since I left Laia at the edge of the Waiting Place.
My exhaustion is bone deep, a product of sleep riven with nightmares and waking thoughts consumed by her. I lift the chain, seeking that sweet oblivion that takes over when my body screams that it cannot go on.
Oblivion doesn’t materialize. As Cain promised, Laia remains in my mind. Every story she told. Her shaking body as we escaped the wraiths. Her hand against my arm as she tried to persuade me to see theFakirswith her.
And her questions.How many ghosts have you passed, Elias?Since she left, I have scoured the Waiting Place for spirits, encountering a mere half dozen in as many days.Something is wrong.
I hear a low, animal moan, and turn to find a spirit reeking of death and wringing her hands at the edge of the jinn grove. Immediately, I move toward her. Mauth’s magic allows me to dip into her memory, and I see a fleet of ships off a fair gold coast. Invaders wearing Keris Veturia’s sigil. Sadh’s silver domes and slender white spires burning and falling. Its people fleeing and dying.
Speaking Sadhese, the spirit tells me her story in bits and pieces and I usher her slowly toward the river. Focusing on her calms my mind. This is my purpose. Not night after night of oneiric hauntings. Not helping a girl cross the forest. Not talking to aFakir.
“My children,” the ghost says. “Where are they?”
“He leaves them,” I tell her. “They’ll find their way to the nearest settlement. Do not fear for them.”
“Did they see it?” The spirit belongs to a Tribeswoman, and she turns her dark eyes toward me. “The storm?”
“Tell me about this storm,” I say. “Release your fear.”
