With a snap of his fingers I was laying down in a bed, a man on top of me. I could feel his mouth on my neck and shoulder. I could feel the comfort of my dagger in my right hand's palm as I prepared to plunge it into his back. Wayman Tyrgood of Waystation 15S. He had bought a girl under Daya's wing. It enraged Daya when she found out that he got a kick out of strangling women in bed. And so I was sent in.

As I brought the dagger down into Tyrgood's back, I shoved him off of my body and rose to my feet. I was in Tyrgood's room in the same way I remembered it. "Wayman Tyrgood was a disgusting excuse of a man. He deserved that death. He murdered one of my sisters."

I was met with silence. When the room didn't change, I started for the curtains that were supposed to lead into the hallway of Tyrgood's home. When I stepped through them, though, I found myself in a kitchen. As if in a whirlwind, I was standing in front of a set of dishes, an unlabeled jar of white powder in my hand. I coated each dish in it.

This was back in Arden. A councilman had put out a bounty on Daya's head. He was having dinner with seven other men for business purposes, and I wasn't sure which dish would be sat in front of him. So I laced each one with the poison Daya had provided me. I didn't think twice about it as I fell back into the shadows, waiting in the alleyway beneath the dining area to hear all of the men choking and wheezing almost half an hour later.

They may not all have deserved it, but they weren't all innocent either. Even Deorcae couldn't convince me of that much. The alleyway fell dark, and one end lit up in a sudden uproar as a parade marched by. I remembered this one well.

I fell into step with the crowd, my heart racing as I prepared for what I was about to do. My dagger was laced with poison, and my target was marching just ahead of me, a little boy sat high on his shoulders. I slipped the dagger out of my sleeve and shoved it into the side of the man as he carried his son. He let out a yell and moved to cradle his wound. I caught his son and feigned concern as I held the child and tended to the father. "Are you alright?" The words felt heavy as they left my mouth. I buried the boy's face in my shoulder, trying to calm him down as he cried out for his father. I called for a medic, but in the loud parade my voice wasn't heard.

As soon as the crowd arrived, it disappeared. I was left crouching on the ground as I had been before. This one was much harder to justify. I could have killed him when he was alone. I could have killed him when his own son wasn't clinging to him. I could have not killed him at all. For a second I thought I couldn't remember the reason why I had killed him but then I remembered something about a deal gone wrong. He had promised Daya an artifact and then kept it for himself. Why didn't she just tell me to take the artifact? Why have me kill him? What point would it prove? Daya's words rang through my mind.

It's not about the crime. It's about the intention. He thought he could pull one over on me. If he thinks he can, then what's stopping anyone else from thinking the same? Dissent must be squashed as soon as it is discovered.

I ground my teeth and looked around. What would be next?

But I was in the black sand desert again. The sands didn't crash down on me like waves. They didn't form statues of those I had murdered. Via was nowhere to be seen. It was just me. "What do you want!" I screamed. There was no response.

It felt like time was passing at a crippling pace. I waited for him to do something, anything. I waited for him to show me what I had done or to come back and taunt me. Instead, I was just stuck. I knew he was still watching, waiting. I would slip eventually and he knew it.

So I slipped. I let out a long, hollow scream. I beat my fists down on the sand and begged for him to do something, anything. I didn't let my mind wander for one second as I waited for him to make his move. If he thought I was desperate, he would come back. He wanted me desperate. I could feel him waiting for it.

Only it wasn't him who appeared. It was a strange man. He had no face and no identifiable thing about him. I didn't remember killing anyone like him. Perhaps that was why he was there. He didn't say or do anything for a minute. Then, he fell down to his knees and hung his head low.

Now I remembered.

As soon as the memory was unlocked, the sand around me shifted, rising and rolling to take on the form of Daya's office. Daya's voice came from behind me, but when I looked she was nowhere to be seen. "Your choice."

Without hesitating, I grabbed a sword that had been part of Daya's collection at the time. I could hear him crying, begging, pleading for his life. I felt nothing, though. I tore the sword through his neck, and watched as his head rolled onto the floor. I couldn't remember what he looked like because I had blindfolded and covered his head in a bag.

Daya and I had discovered the murderer of my clan. The murderer of a group of nomads who did nothing but roam the desert and trade goods at different Waystations. The murderer of a group of people who often were left alone by the likes of his kind. But this man had decided he wanted blood. He wanted blood to soak the sands of the dunes and the clothes of my people. He wanted to take advantage of everything the nomads had to offer. The food. The cattle. The women. He took it all for himself.

And he made the mistake of bragging about it. He bragged about being the man who picked off the last of the nomadic peoples. Roaches, he had called them. Filth. He had the unfortunate luck of being in the same tavern as me when he did so. I was tempted then to kill him then and there. But I wanted Daya's permission.

And she gave it to me.

And I murdered him in cold blood. He was the death I felt no shame in. He was the death that made me feel nothing but rage and hunger. I wanted more. I had wished I had savored it. Wished I had brought him down into Daya's cell and wrung him dry. I didn't sleep that night because of all the ways I could have tortured and killed him that were running through my head.

I stared at his body.

If there was one death I couldn't justify, it was his.

He had murdered my people. Dozens of people, I was sure. The difference with him was that I had made the decision to kill him. I made the regret of killing him too quickly. This was the man that made me thirst for blood. The one I told Daya I wanted to remember.

"Your choice," Deorcae repeated Daya's words in my ear as he appeared behind me. "She gave you the choice of how to deal with him. And you chose death. Little bird, little bird. You can pretend all you want that you have been forced into your life path. But you and I both know the truth."

"What truth is that?" I spoke between clenched teeth as I tried to hold back tears. He was right. I was the murderer I had denied myself of being for so long. I was the bloodthirsty wannfota.

"You're no better than the rest of them. You killed all of them for the same reason. They're murderers. Thieves. Rapists. So, tell me, Aumee, why have you not killed yourself?" He appeared before me. "You have dealt judgement upon many people in your life. Now it is time for your own. Here are your numbers," he said with a raise of his pale hand. The sand rose to recreate all of my victims. I turned to look at them all, and saw just how far back they went towards the horizons. "Now, do what is best for all of us."

A dagger appeared in my hand, and I held it up in the light of Deorcae's nightmarish landscape. The dagger did not glint, but looked like condensed sand sharpened to a point. Do what is best for all of us. What is best? For me to be gone or for me to keep fighting? How would I know?

I pricked my finger with the dagger and watched as blood began dripping down my skin, red and thick. I winced and pressed my finger into my palm.

"What are you waiting for?"

His pale hands guided the dagger towards my chest, letting it sit just above my heart.

Here were my victims. Here were people that I judge by standards much harsher than the ones I had ever judged myself with. If I had killed for the stealing and the life of one person, why hadn't I killed myself for taking the lives of dozens? For stealing lives the same way I stole maps or artifacts. Be it thief or murderer, I deserved no mercy. Either way I was stealing that which wasn't mine.

I lifted the dagger away from myself. I couldn't bring myself to push the dagger into my chest. I couldn't hardly stand to hold the dagger. It felt as if it were burning marks into my hand, punishing me for not using it as fast as it wished to be used. "I can't," I sobbed. I fell to my knees and shook my head as I looked down at it. "I can't do it."

"Perhaps I can help to remind you why you should have used that dagger when you had the chance." Deorcae spat at me before starting towards me, his bony hands moving to grab my hand as it held onto the dagger.

But it was too late. His sand began rising into the air and swirling around, leaving nothing but darkness behind. Deorcae was gone in the blink of an eye, and I was left breathless as I lay on the ground. My own dagger sat in my hand, angled towards my chest as if it were waiting for me to give it a command. I gasped and tossed the blade down, holding my empty hands close to my chest.

I couldn't help but cry as I lay there. All alone. Whether by choice or by design, I was alone. Perhaps it was for the better. The best people I had ever known were either dead or suffering because of me. I couldn't even begin to think of where I would be soon. If I chose to continue walking the Wayst, I would end up in the nightmare that was Deorcae's perfect world. I would have to keep surviving. That was the only option.

It's what I do best.

The dark god himself had said that people like me, survivors, fared well in his world. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to be right or not. Either I live through it or I die trying to fight it. Either way, he wins. I never get the life I hope for. Maybe I am better off turning my dagger on myself. That's what he wanted anyway.

How strange for a dark god to want me dead. For stepping on his toes. It felt like an odd choice of punishment when the alternatives were living and suffering for much longer. Suffering was his favorite, and yet he preferred I end mine.

My tears slowed to a stop as I looked up from where I had myself cradled. Why would a god want me dead? The punishment didn't fit. It's not as if I had the power to stop him. I had already tried that. I hardly had the power to stop Daya.

Daya. My stomach churned as I thought of her. I pushed the memories of her eyes and her hands down so I could focus. Daya was his weakest link. Daya's weakest link was... what exactly? She had power. She was mortal... that could be it. She could make mistakes. She was flawed. She had let me have time fulfilling my end of the deal rather than taking the book by force. Via had been sent as a warning. A warning that fell flat. Via had said Daya was giving me time so I could complete the deal. What if she had been giving me time because she didn't have the heart to do otherwise? What if Deorcae wanted me out of the picture because that would mean one less weakness for Daya?

I knew I shouldn't be thinking in such a way. I had already been fooled once by Daya's 'love' for me. I couldn't do it again. I couldn't be turned on. I had lost too much.

Oh, Via. If she had just stayed in the kitchen. If she had just gone back to bed. If she had never woken up in the first place. If she had trusted me when I said that she was on the wrong side. Too many 'if's. It was all said and done, though. There was no going back. She was gone. My sister and my friend. I had no one left.

I felt my hand reaching towards my dagger. I pulled it out. Just to examine it, I told myself. It was unimpressive. The metal was not shining any longer, and I hadn't sharpened it in a while so the edges of the slightly curved blade were rough and dulled. The handle was bone from some animal but was wrapped in a red cloth. I removed the cloth, which I realized was red mostly due to blood that had touched the fabric. The bone was yellowing and stained. I ran my fingers over the bone, thinking back to the sawl ripa.

It was a much more elegant blade. The handle fit the hand better and the bone was pristine. It was sharp and reflective. It was a blade that hadn't been used nearly as often as my own had been. I wondered what the twins would do with it. With such little time left, would they really bring their parents back only to meet their ends in a matter of time? Or would Fal return the knife to the library since it had no use. Even then, the hidden library was sure to be ransacked. Or would one of them keep it to themselves? Using it as a weapon against any and all. One cut of the blade and the soul would be yanked from its home, clinging to the blade of the dagger. They wouldn't have to strike a deadly blow. Just nick the skin of their attacker. Or of their victim.

Just a little cut...

My own reliable dagger froze in my hand from where I had been twirling it between my fingers. Any soul. Any injury. All it would take was just a little cut.

Surely, I thought, even gods have souls.

⇼❂⇼

Waystation 15D was beautiful. There were few rivers and oases in the Wayst, and 15D, which was just south of the heart of the Wayst, had managed to build itself on one of them. Because of this, the waystation in question wasn't the typical circular structure, but long and spread out on either side of the river. Guards patrolled the edge of the water, ensuring that no one stepped in or polluted the water. Daya often had me avoid it due to the amount of guards, but I hoped that if I only planned to buy food and weapons I would be in and out quickly. If I wrapped myself well enough, I would appear as another man who was making a stop.

The marketplace was in the center of the snake-like station, with a large bridge connecting both halves of the whole. One side seemed to specialize in food, while the other in items and weapons for trade. I was tempted to search for new daggers, but knew that what little coin I had would hardly pay for the food I was about to buy.

The air here was lovely. One could smell the citrus and the spices and the water. With water came plants, and so the blue and green and gold made any eyes dazzle with awe. The number of guards meant a very calm and civilized crowd. No one tried to go near the water. No one tried to be aggressive with the merchants. No one shared whispers or secrets. It was pleasant. But it wouldn't last very long. It was impossible.

So I kept my head down as I made my way through the stands and around the rugs covered with staggered fruits or meats or spices. I thought of purchasing a goat and doing most of the work myself, but there was too large a crowd huddled around it. A crowd meant bidding, and bidding meant more expensive. I exchanged my silver pieces for some dried meat wrapped in a beige cloth when something rumbled in the distance. No plates clattered and no screams were heard in the distance, so many people shrugged off the incident.

I gathered my items though, tucking them under my arm and weaving my way through the crowds. Whether it was harmless or not, I didn't want to risk anything. If the rumble was coming from the West, I would be heading East. I wanted nothing to do with it. When the rumble came again, and people around us began pointing over our shoulders. We turned to see dark storm clouds rolling over the horizon. The crowd cheered. Rain. There would be rain.

But it felt wrong. The storm clouds were so dark they could have been mistaken for the nighttime sky. As we watched them, a flash of light appeared amidst them before being swallowed back up by darkness. The rumble arrived seconds later. It was the same lightning storm that I saw in my nightmares.

It was the beginning of it all.

I pushed through the cheering people, pulling my scarves tightly against my face. With rain there was often a reprieve for women. When rain graced the desert, less blood was spilt as people took in the sweet air and cool raindrops. It would be welcome were it not for the fact that this was no rainstorm.

The cheers began to die out, and I risked a glance back at the storm only to see that with the storm clouds came a dust storm. It almost looked like shadows racing towards the station. Everyone around me began scrambling as they searched for cover.

The sandstorm came quickly though. It sped out from under the storm clouds and began swallowing the northern part of the station. I watched as the black sand created a cloud in its wake. People who were caught in the storm tried to cover their faces, but their scarves whipped in the wind. I continued shoving my way through the crowd as visitors banged on building doors or tried to hide under market stands. I hurried through them until I was spat out at the edge of the town. Durabi was skittering nervously around his post, his muscles tense and back hunched. I saddled him as fast as I could, nearly dropping my new items, when someone tore at my forearm and dragged me to the ground.

The air left my chest as I lay on the ground facing the sky. The person above me was a young man, his scarves falling loose on his head and neck. A strange mist came off of his eyes, black like the storm clouds. A wicked grin crossed his face, and I watched in horror as he unsheathed a sword from his waist. He moved to swing it at me but his body was slammed away by Durabi's tail. I scrambled to my feet and began mounting him with newfound desperation.

Deorcae was back.