Meyna said something less than complimentary in turn.

Ahkio walked around the side of the house and opened the entrance to the cellar. As he started down, something caught his attention. In the dim light of the flame fly lanterns at the front of the house, he saw someone on the porch.

Ahkio hid his hands in his sleeves. He called to the figure. “Welcome, kin. Food, rest, or company?”

The figure raised its head, and Ahkio’s chest tightened.

It was Nasaka, one of the Oras from the Temple of Oma.

The last time an Ora had come for Ahkio, his parents were murdered, and he was saved from a fiery death by his screaming sister and Nasaka’s glowing willowthorn sword.

Nasaka was a lean whip of a woman, well over fifty, hawk-nosed and gaunt, with a firm mouth and broad jaw. She was his aunt – his dead father’s sister – and people often remarked that she and Ahkio bore a resemblance to one another. The resemblance annoyed him. He’d rather look like some useful farmer.

She wore dark colors. Not temple colors. That meant she had traveled without wanting the locals to recognize her as an Ora. The scholarly magician-priests of the temples weren’t well favored in most clans. They dirtied up Dhai politics. As if Dhai politics weren’t dirty enough.

“Just a smoke, I’m afraid,” Nasaka said. “Come sit with me, Ahkio.”

Ahkio hesitated. Dread knotted his stomach. He heard Meyna’s laughter behind him. He wanted to turn around and pretend he had not seen Nasaka at all.

“Has my sister sent for me?” Ahkio asked. He leaned against the porch rail. He, Rhin, Hadaoh, and Meyna had built the railing the year before, when Mey-Mey had started to walk.

Nasaka pinched her fingers to the end of her pipe. A soft glow lit the end of the pipe. She began to puff. She drew her fingers away, shaking off ash. It was a trick Ahkio was surprised the old woman could manage. She was a sinajista, and Sina had been descendent many years. What little power Sina’s gifted still retained wouldn’t amount to much more than calling up a tiny flame or perhaps removing an uncomplicated ward.

“You certain?” Nasaka said, gesturing with the pipe.

“I don’t smoke,” Ahkio said. “You’re thinking of Kirana. How is my sister?”

Nasaka exhaled a long plume of smoke. “Your sister is dying,” she said.

Ahkio was glad for the rail then. “You’re wrong,” Ahkio said. “Kirana is Kai, and Kais don’t die without heirs. I’ve spent all morning teaching that to children.”

“Just because a thing has not yet happened does not mean it can never happen,” Nasaka said. “She is dying. And she has summoned you. There is no one else, Ahkio. You knew this day might come.”