“I do not know,” Ohanni said. “Ghrasia went to rally the forces we have here, but… Ahkio.” She glanced back at the council house. It had utterly collapsed into a splintered mass of shattered glass and broken timber.

“Ahkio,” Ohanni said, “If it’s all the dozen of them at once, we’re lost. They may have… they may be omajistas. We have no defense against omajistas. In the dark, we can’t see them. They’ll have abilities we don’t and use talent we won’t expect.”

Caisa took hold of the railing and drew herself up. Her blade, unlike those of the militia, was bare metal, too.

Someone from the circle of Oras cried out.

There came the sound of breaking glass.

One by one, the lanterns in the square shattered.

“Light,” Naori said.

Ghrasia’s voice, from the other end of the meeting house, “Weapons out!”

And there, in the light of the last lantern, in the instant before it shattered, Ahkio saw Ghrasia rushing into the courtyard, at least a dozen Oras and militia behind her.

The last lantern in the square flickered and died. Someone screamed.

The darkness was complete.

“Stay with these documents,” Ahkio said to Ohanni and Naori. “Caisa, come with me.”

“I’m here,” she said. Her voice said she was very close, nearly at his elbow.

“We need to go around the other side of the council house,” he said. “You’re from Raona. This is your clan. Can you lead me from memory?”

“I’ll try,” Caisa said. “Take my hand.”

He took her fingers.

“Take me to the door of the cellar,” he said.

She led him down the short alley that went behind the council house. His footsteps sounded loud. For her part, Caisa stepped as softly as a cat.

“There are barrels of oil under the house,” he said. “If the floor didn’t collapse, we can ignite what’s down there and give the militia some light.” He wondered, briefly, where Liaro was. He’d been the one to move the barrels here. Ahkio hoped he was tucked safely in someone’s bed.

Ahkio groped forward for the cellar door. Opened it. They stepped down. Ahkio ran into something. Caisa hissed. Just a chair. The house above had not collapsed into the cellar.

When they reached the far wall, Ahkio said, “Start at the room on the end. We’re looking for oil barrels. I’ll head down the other side.”

He had never liked the dark. It helped if he closed his eyes. He knew these rooms. He had stored things in cellars just like this, worked as a laborer just as Liaro did during long summers in Osono, loading and unloading carts whose owners used the council houses for temporary storage. Ten steps across the first room, six deep. He found the outlines of trunks and crates, a couple sacks of what must have been hasaen tubers. No barrels.