A Torch Against the Night (An Ember in the Ashes #2)(15)

“But I’m not dead.”

“Didn’t she show up to give you her little speech?” Tristas asks. “Welcome to the Waiting Place, the realm of ghosts. I am the Soul Catcher, and I am here to help you cross to the other side.”

When I shake my head, mystified, Tristas flashes me a malevolent smile. “Well, she’ll be here soon enough, trying to bully you into moving on. All of this is hers.” He gestures to the Forest, to the spirits still murmuring beyond the tree line. Then his face changes—twists.

“It’s her!” He disappears into the trees with unnatural speed. Alarmed, I spin around and see a shadow pull free from a nearby trunk.

I keep my hands loose at my sides—ready to grab, throttle, punch. The figure draws closer, moving not at all like a person. It is too fluid, too fast.

But when it’s only a few feet away, it slows and resolves into a trim, dark-haired woman. Her face is unlined, but I cannot guess her age. Her black irises and ancient stare suggest something I can’t fathom.

“Hello, Elias Veturius.” Her earthy voice is strangely accented, as if she’s not used to speaking Serran. “I am the Soul Catcher, and I am pleased to finally meet you. I’ve watched you now, for a time.”

Right. “I need to get out of here.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Her voice is soft. “The hurt you cause? The pain? I can see it.” Her eyes trace the air about my head, my shoulders. “You carry it with you. Why? Does it bring you happiness?”

“No.” I recoil from the thought. “I don’t mean to—I don’t want to hurt people.”

“Yet you destroy all those who get close to you. Your friends. Your grandfather. Helene Aquilla. You hurt them.” She pauses as the horrible truth of her words sinks in. “I don’t watch those on the other side,” she says. “But you are different.”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” I say. “I’m not dead.”

She regards me for a long time before cocking her head like a curious bird. “But you are dead,” she says. “You just don’t know it yet.”

???

My eyes jolt open to a sky covered in clouds. It’s mid-morning, and I’m slumped forward, my head jouncing in the space between Laia’s neck and shoulder. Low hills rise and fall around us, dotted with Jack trees, tumbleweeds, and little else. Laia moves the horse southeast at a trot, straight toward Raider’s Roost. At my movement, she twists around.

“Elias!” She slows the horse. “You’ve been blacked out for hours. I—I thought you might not wake up.”

“Don’t stop the horse.” I possess none of the strength I felt in my hallucination, but I force myself to sit up. Dizziness sweeps over me, and my tongue is heavy in my mouth. Stay, Elias, I tell myself. Don’t let the Soul Catcher pull you back. “Keep us moving—the soldiers—”

“We rode through the night. I saw soldiers, but they were far away and heading south.” Shadows have settled beneath her eyes, and her hands shake. She’s exhausted. I take the reins from her, and she sags back against me, closing her eyes.

“Where did you go, Elias? Can you remember? Because I’ve seen seizures before. They can knock someone out for a few minutes, even an hour. But you were unconscious for far longer.”

“Strange place. A for-forest—”

“Don’t you dare fade out on me again, Elias Veturius.” Laia spins and shakes my shoulders, and I snap my eyes open. “I can’t do this without you. Look at the horizon. What do you see?”

I force myself to look up. “C-clouds. Storm coming. Big one. We need shelter.”

Laia nods. “I could smell it. The storm.” She glances back. “Reminds me of you.”

I try to work out whether this is a compliment or not but then give up. Ten hells, I’m so tired.

“Elias.” She puts a hand against my face and forces me to meet her gold eyes, as hypnotizing as a lioness’s. “Stay with me. You had a foster brother—tell me about him.”

Voices call me—the Waiting Place pulling me back with hungry claws.

“Shan,” I gasp out. “His—his name is Shan. Bossy, just like Mamie Rila. He’s nineteen—a year younger.” I blather on, trying to force away the cold grasp of the Waiting Place. As I speak, Laia shoves water into my hands, urging me to drink.

“Stay.” She keeps saying it, and I hold on to the word like it’s driftwood in an open ocean. “Don’t go back. I need you.”

Hours later, the storm hits, and though riding in it is miserable, the wet forces me further awake. I guide the horse to a low-lying ravine littered with boulders. The storm is too heavy for us to see more than a few feet—which means that the Empire’s men will be just as blind.

I dismount and spend long minutes trying to tend to the stallion, but my hands refuse to function properly. An unfamiliar emotion grips me: fear. I crush it. You’ll fight the poison, Elias. If it were going to kill you, you’d already be dead.

“Elias?” Laia is beside me, concern etched on her face. She’s strung a tarp between two boulders, and when I finish with the horse, she guides me there and makes me sit.

“She told me I hurt people,” I blurt out as we huddle together. “I let them get hurt.”