Light burst up toward the sel oil barrel. Fire licked at the wood. Ahkio recoiled from the heat. Smelled burning flesh. He tucked his hands under his arms, terrified.

He tried to bolt for the stair, but the shadow was over the oily fire in one leap. The man grabbed hold of Ahkio by the collar. Leaned into him. This close, his eyes were like looking into the sun.

“Your victory was going to be a sloppy one,” the shadow man said, still in Caisa’s voice. “A dozen of us dead? What does that matter? There are millions of us, boy. We will swarm this world like sparrows.”

Fire leapt behind them, curled up the length of the beam. Smoke filled the cellar. Ahkio realized he feared the fire more than the man.

The shadow man lifted Ahkio by the collar. The heat was unbearable. Oil caught the floorboards – the close ceiling, the straw insulation, the old wooden timbers, were perfect tinder. The fire ate, crackled, spit. I’m on fire, Ahkio thought. I’m going to burn up. Just like my mother.

The column of fire cast a great, long shadow. The man’s eyes caught the light of the flames, like a mirror.

The shadow grunted. Spasmed.

Ahkio saw the glistening blade of a sword protruding from the man’s chest. The sword withdrew.

The shadow dropped Ahkio and crumpled.

Ahkio fell onto the burning floor. His breath came in ragged gasps. He sounded the way his mother had, when he’d hooked her under her arms and hauled her burning body from their blazing house. He panicked then. His stomach roiled. He grabbed at his hair, terrified that it burned. But he still had his hair. His face. His hands.

Ahkio rolled away from the burning wood and oil. He rolled until he hit the opposite wall of debris. He uncovered his face. The back of his tunic had caught fire. He took either side of the tunic and pressed the fabric together to smother the flames. The flames went out. His breath came easier. Ahkio stared at the charred fabric. Kirana would tell him to get up.

Get up, Ahkio. Or all this death and madness is for nothing.

He choked on smoke. He saw Caisa ducking away from the shadow man she had skewered, ducking from light to shadow, dancing around flames as the ruined ceiling began to burn, loose bits of straw and char falling like flame flies from the ceiling. The shadow had dropped his sword and punched at her with a dagger now. Caisa’s forearms bled.

The shadow’s sword was just three paces from Ahkio, ablaze in a puddle of oil. Ahkio yanked off his tunic and wrapped it around his hand. He plunged forward, into the blazing oil, and snatched out the flaming sword.