Page 30 of A ?Sky Beyond the Storm

“They didn’t speak to the child.” The Soul Catcher casts an appraising look at us. “The border is close,” he says. “But they will be waiting, and they are strongest at night. You are depleted. As am I. Come. They cannot hurt us in the cabin.”

The cabin is large and smells of wood shavings, but it’s tight as a drumand solid as Blackcliff. A stove squats in one corner, with copper pans hanging from hooks on the wall. Beside it is a shelf with baskets of carrots and gourds and potatoes. Strings of garlic and onion hang from above, along with bunches of herbs I couldn’t begin to name.

There is also a table, fresh-built with a long bench on either side. A fireplace sits in the center of the room against the back wall, with a soft Tribal rug and cushions strewn about. The Soul Catcher’s bed is spare, but Tribal lanterns hang above it, making it seem almost cozy.

After a moment I realize what the cabin reminds me of: Mamie Rila’s wagon.

The Soul Catcher prepares a meal and though I know I should help, I do nothing, still numb from the jinns’ predations. Only Tas has the energy, setting out plates and cups until the Soul Catcher bids him sit.

I always preferred Elias’s cooking on long journeys. Distantly, I understand that the meal he serves us is hearty and well seasoned. But I do not taste it. From the silence at the table, no one else does either.

After, we take turns in the washroom, and though the water is ice-cold, I scrub off a week’s worth of sea brine gratefully. By the time I emerge, Musa, Darin, and Tas are fast asleep on the floor. Harper has lain down on his roll too, his eyes shut. But if he’s asleep, then I am a walrus. I wonder what the jinn said to him. I do not ask.

Instead I sit beside Laia, who is cross-legged before the fire. She runs a comb through her long hair, pointedly ignoring Elias as he cleans. His sleeves are rolled up, big hands carefully scrubbing out the stew pot with sand. His hair is longer, curling at the ends, but other than that, he looks like he’ll turn to me any moment with a smile on his face and a tale that will have me in stitches.

“The last time the three of us were in a room together, I was about to kill you,” I say to Laia. “Sorry about that.”

“I’ll forgive you—one day.” Laia smiles, but her eyes are sad. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. After a moment, I realize she might have asked because she, too, is haunted by what the jinn said to her.

“Do—do you?”

She wraps her arms around her legs and makes herself small. “I was alone,” she whispers. “Everyone was gone. The Nightbringer had taken Darin. You. Tas. Afya Ara-Nur. Even E—the Soul Catcher. And there was this—this storm. But it was alive and—”

“Hungry,” I say. “A maw, wanting to devour the world. I felt that too.”

The Soul Catcher turns toward us. We lock eyes for a moment, until he shifts that cold gray gaze to Laia.

“You spoke of a hunger, Blood Shrike,” the Soul Catcher says. “What did it feel like? Look like?”

I consider. “It was a storm. Massive. And it felt—skies, I don’t know—”

“Why are you asking, Soul Catcher? Do you know of it?” Laia says, and at his silence, she leans forward. “You’ve seen it too. Where?”

But the Soul Catcher shakes his head. “In dreams,” he murmurs.

“You must know something,” I say. “Or why ask us the question?”

He joins us before the fire, putting a good distance between himself and Laia. “The Augur spoke of it,” he finally says.

“Augur?” I say. The Augurs haven’t been seen since the jinn were released. “Cain? What did he say? Is he here in the Waiting Place? Has he been here all this time?”

“He’s dead,” the Soul Catcher says. “The Augurs are all dead. TheNightbringer killed them when he set the jinn free—all but Cain. He died a few days ago. I... was there.”

“Dead?” I cannot fathom it. The Augurs are immortal. As much as I loathe them, their power is staggering.

But if theyaredead, what does it mean for Zacharias? The Augurs named Marcus the Foretold—the Greatest Emperor, scourge of our enemies, commander of a host most devastating. They legitimized his dynasty. Their support was vital.

“Why would the Nightbringer kill them?” I ask.

“Because of what Cain—and the Augurs—did to the jinn.”

At mine and Laia’s twin looks of confusion, the Soul Catcher considers us. Then he tells of Cain’s invasion and betrayal of Shaeva. Of the Nightbringer’s desperation to protect his kind. That part of the story is so familiar that I clench my fists in sympathy. I know what it is to fail my people.

When the tale is over, my questions flee my mind. All I can think of is what Cain said to me before Antium fell.

The Nightbringer is no monster, child, though he may do monstrous things. He is cloven by sorrow and thus locked in a righteous battle to amend a grievous wrong.

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