Ahkio threw the books out the front door. He had no idea which ones she’d grabbed. He reached for her hand. She stumbled down the steps.

With three paces left to tread, the ceiling collapsed.

Ahkio looked up too late. He tried to cover his head. Dust misted his face. He took a breath, coughed, opened his eyes.

An arm’s length above him, splintered wood hovered in the air. He looked back at Caisa. She lay on her back on the floor, one hand gripping the maps, the other crooked over her head. She had summoned some shield of air to halt the collapse of the ceiling, but Ahkio wasn’t sure how long she could hold it. Sweat beaded her brow.

Wooden planking, straw insulation, bits of plaster and broken ceramic tiles littered the floor. Ahkio saw Ohanni and Naori at what remained of the door, calling for them to come forward. The shadow man lay on his side on the porch, cackling.

“Ora Ohanni,” Ahkio said, pointing back at Caisa. “Can you keep that ceiling up?”

Ohanni held out a hand toward the stair. The air rippled. He choked on it. Air like soup.

Ahkio grabbed Caisa by the ankles. He pulled her out onto the porch. Caisa coughed out the dust and pushed the maps away from the house. He let her go, and she crawled out onto the stone of the clan square.

“Watch yourself!” Ohanni said coldly. “There are more outside.”

The Tai Mora. Their shadows.

All dozen of the assassins? More? Ahkio didn’t know. They’d come hunting Ahkio, encircling his people here. Eight steps ahead of him.

Ahkio caught his breath. The air outside choked him. Too many jistas drawing power. He heard shouts from the yard, muted and distorted. Behind him, the ceiling above the stair collapsed as Ohanni dropped her shield of air. The sound was oddly dulled, distant.

The lanterns of the square flickered. Oras stood in the center of the courtyard in a circle, their backs to one another. The militia – including Raona’s militia – stood with them.

And on the edges of the flickering lights, at the edges of the square, were the shadows. They bore metal weapons, not the glowing infused brands of the militia. It made them far harder to see in the dark. All around the square, violet, blue, and green bursts of color bloomed against the night as the militia took up arms.

Ahkio looked over at the council house and saw a yawning gulf of black. He looked up at the formerly moons-lit sky. Boiling clouds had rolled over their faces, smothering them in darkness. A heavy wind made the treetops creak, but he could feel none of it in the square in the thick, sticky air.

“How many are there?” Ahkio asked.