Ahkio also recognized Elaiko, Nasaka’s young assistant, and Dasai, the ancient Ora who had taught Ahkio history and governance before he left the temple. He was the same Ora who told Ahkio the story of the Saiduan who’d come to take away bad students. Dasai held out a hand in greeting. He had a mean face, long and narrow, and he kept his mouth pursed when not speaking. He had already lived well over a century, and though Dhai were known to live a hundred and fifty years or more, few retained their wits and stamina as well as Dasai had.

“The Kai asks for you,” Dasai said. Dasai had a slight Saiduan accent. He had spent many years studying in that country, though he spoke little of it.

Ahkio folded his arms.

“Like that, is it?” Dasai said.

“There’s another issue,” Gaiso said, moving her bulky body between them. “I tried to send you word before you got on the Line. We have a Saiduan sanisi here. He’s asking for the Kai. We can’t permit that. Not in her condition.”

“Where’s Ora Almeysia?” Nasaka asked. “I’m convening the Elder Ora council immediately.”

“She’s with Ora Masura,” Gaiso said, “trying to get her fit for company.”

“Is Ora Masura drinking again?” Nasaka asked.

“Like a drowning Tordinian priest,” Gaiso said.

“Will you ascend with me, Li Kai?” Dasai asked. “Your sister asked for you, and I’m not sure we can wait much longer.”

Dasai led him into the hall. Nasaka hung back to speak with the others.

“Nasaka won’t tell me what’s wrong with Kirana,” Ahkio said.

“It’s not known,” Dasai said.

“How’s it possible not to know what’s wrong with the Kai? Did someone poison her?”

“Eight physicians and four tirajistas have visited her. None can name the illness.”

“Someone close to her did it, then.”

“Let’s not start painting stories.”

“Nasaka thinks I’m in danger if I stay in Osono. She thinks whoever did this to Kirana is after the seat.”

“You should really use Ora Nasaka’s title. It’s respectful.”

“I’m aware,” Ahkio said. He hadn’t called Nasaka “Ora” in almost a decade.

Paper lanterns lined the corridor. The Temple of Oma, like the Temples of Para, Tira, and Sina in many of the holds in Saiduan, was a living thing, a slumbering beast created in some distant time. The walls were smooth and bore a greenish tint. If one tried to dig deep enough into the skin of the hold, it would weep and ooze a sticky amber sap. Whether plant or animal or some combination, no one knew. But the sinajistas said the holds had souls, vital energy that could mend wounds or melt flesh.