Page 27 of A ?Sky Beyond the Storm

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.”

“Getoff, 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 skin. The same sharp cheekbones and generous mouth.

“How dare—” the Blood Shrike sputters, eyes flashing. “Musa! That’s not your—”

“Not my secret? It is if it will save our lives.” The Scholar turns to me. “You’ve been looking at him funny. Your gut’s probably telling you there’s a connection. Your gut is right. Same father. Different mother—thankfully for him.” The Scholar chuckles to himself. “You wouldn’t let your own brother die, would you? You were raised among the Tribes. Family is everything.”

“Once, perhaps,” I say. “No longer.”

“Enough.” The voice that speaks conjures laughter and wonder, molten honey skin and hair the color of night. She emerges from the cliff trail and for a long time as she stares at me, she’s silent.

Her regard bothers me. It makes my skin feel hot, feverish, raises memories in my mind of a granite-walled school, and a dance beneath a full moon. Of a trek through the mountains, an inn far away, her body against mine—

“You will grant us passage, Soul Catcher.”

“Laia of Serra.” I say her name softly. “It is not your time. The forest will not abide it.”

“I say it will. You will grant us passage.”

There is a weight to Laia’s voice that wasn’t there before, and a glow manifests near her. That light feels familiar, yet I cannot recall seeing it before.

A cluster of ghosts gathers behind me, but they are silent. Laia lowers her gaze, fists clenched, and I have a sudden, strange thought. She is conferring with someone—or something. As a man used to voices in my head, I recognize when others are listening to voices too.

Nodding as if in agreement with someone, Laia steps past me, into the Waiting Place. I wait for the ghosts to howl, for Mauth to protest. But the forest is still.

The others follow her in. If I do not stop them, something will shift. Something irrevocable. Something that began with that blasted Augur giving me back my memories.

I gather up my magic, prepared to drive them out.

---