Ahkio glanced up at the representation of the heavens above him, and the dark stain of Oma. Oma was an embodiment of the gods, the Book said. It was not supposed to be a true star. A philosopher-astronomer once said that Oma’s rise was actually just an eclipse of the satellites, a brief moment when all three stars crossed paths in the sky. Two thousand years. Who knew what it really was?

“These invaders,” Ahkio said, “where are they coming from? Which direction?”

“Boats,” Taigan said, but Ahkio saw something in his expression that troubled him.

“From the east, then?” Ahkio said. “Or the south?”

“They come from…” Taigan muttered something in Saiduan. “They come from the sky, sometimes.”

Masura spoke for the first time, her tone incredulous. “The sky? Have you been drinking, sanisi?”

Ahkio heard someone running in the hall outside. The militia turned toward a blue-clad Ora who burst through the door. One of the militia members held up a hand. The Ora stopped, gasping for breath.

Gaiso stood. “What is it?” she asked.

“Murder,” the Ora said. Ahkio recognized her as Nasaka’s assistant, Elaiko. She wasn’t much older than Ahkio.

Ahkio saw Nasaka tense. He was keenly aware of the weapon at her hip. She had yet to bare it, but he was waiting. It felt like an inevitability now. He regretted running from this temple just when his sister had needed him most. Now he was left alone amid a sea of scheming Oras, murder, and rising stars. He was not ready. But he stood anyway. His sister once affectionately called him a coward, and it was true. He wanted a quiet, honest little life.

Oma, it seemed, had other plans.

“There’s blood all over the scullery stair,” Elaiko said, “like bad tea. He’s in a storage room.”

“Who?” Dasai asked. “Let’s not make a bear out of a fly.”

“Rohinmey,” Elaiko said. “I’m not making up some fish story, Ora Dasai. Roh is dead.”

Lilia choked on a cry. Adrenaline flooded her. She watched the infirmary as if from a great height.

Ohanni set Roh’s body onto Lilia’s bed. A blooming tear ran across his gut; she saw the wet glistening of his intestines beneath bloody clothing and torn skin. More rents in his clothing indicated numerous wounds. Blood pumped profusely from one of them.

“Ora Matias?” Ohanni called, but Matias was still standing, shocked, by the shelves.

Lilia tugged off Roh’s apron. “Help me get his tunic,” she told Ohanni. She was surprised at how calm she felt. His blood smeared across her own scarred wrists, and a terrible thought bubbled up from a long time ago – we are wasting so much blood.

Ohanni helped with the tunic, her breath rapid, fine beads of sweat bathing her face. Lilia wondered how long Ohanni had carried him. She was not a large woman.