The kindling moon had risen into the crimson night, and a dark figure garbed in the clothes of a Shak’rahn warrior moved quickly through the city of Armaris. As he rounded past the Leeward gates of the closed market, two city guards stepped to bar his way.
“Hold,” the smaller Medaran commanded. “What is your business?”
The warrior held the edge of his cowl close so as not to be recognized in the dim light. “I am on an errand for my Des’tri,” he answered in a whispered voice. When the guard scoffed at the declaration, the warrior revealed an ornate and sealed scroll case. “As you are aware, the Shara of your city has declared that we may keep to our own affairs unless we have broken your laws. May I pass?”
The guards both rolled their eyes before stepping aside and allowing the warrior passage deeper into the city. Once he was out of their sight, Nedim pulled back the cowl to let the cool night air onto his face. He smiled at the thought that, while every Shak’rahn caught stalking the city a night claimed to be on an errand for his Des’tri, he in fact was doing exactly that.
Nedim had been with the desert tribe for almost a full fading of the moon, and in that time he had learned much from the desert warriors he had once feared but now respected. The guide and leader of the tribe, the Des’tri, somehow possessed knowledge of events that could come to pass. By ensuring or changing key events, the Des’tri could avoid dangers and invite fortune.
What the tribe leader had not done was told Nedim why she or her tribe was so interested in his quest or why they felt compelled to provide assistance. They trained him to pass as a Shak’rahn, gave him the money (mostly sils and sunstones) he would need to barter with, and the Des’tri told him where the objects of his quest could be found.
One was named was Parisa, his wife. The other, Cala was his daughter.
Even thinking their names in his mind made Nedim ache with a sickness. He could see them as though he had only left them, holding both close while the disease consumed them and passed him by, tearing his heart out as it took them both away. The wisest of the scholars that he had paid the last of his fortune to told him that which he sought was in another place, and even if he went there, it would be another their hearts belonged to.
Nedim didn’t care. He had told himself he would have no qualms about cutting out another’s heart if it would replace his own. As if to counter those very thoughts, he remembered hearing the Des’tri’s advisor, the Vastan, impart one final bit of knowledge as he left for the city: “Good, like evil, is always a choice.”
Shaking his head clear, he remembered where he was and what he had set out to do. He again donned his disguise and followed the path as he’d been told. Off from the Haggler’s Court was the compound he sought, and nearby was the dark and shadowy alcove where he was told he must wait.
How long he had been there had just started to worry him when his patience was rewarded. He could hear two sets of footsteps shuffling toward him. Nedim tensed and touch the hilt of the long dagger beneath his clothes. A voice spoke, one that sounded both familiar and cold, and another voice answered as arrangements were made.
“Parisa’s indenturement with me ends tomorrow,” spoke the familiar voice. “She is with her husband and infant now. When she leaves to spend her last daynight in my service, ensure that her husband meets his end with the blood on her hands. I have already been assured that a vizier will suggest a sentence under my supervision far more benevolent than the alternative. With her daughter’s welfare hanging in the balance, she’ll have little choice but to agree.”
“It will be done, Lord Nedim,” answered the second voice.
Nedim’s mind numbed as he listened to the details. Parisa married? Himself ordering a murder? The plan was falling apart. Parisa was supposed to have been his, in this realm like any other. Even if he killed himself, no matter how deserving, it still wouldn’t win him what he had come for unless another innocent perished.
But how could it have been him that gave the order? He couldn’t imagine his own voice sounding so cold, arranging lives and deaths like a fallen Divinity. Closing his eyes, he commanded his mind to quiet, focusing on the task at hand. When all was finally silent, he realized that everything was too quiet. No voices, no movement, nothing at all. Were the two conspirators still there or not? Nedim decided he must risk a look around the corner if only to confirm that he was again alone. To his horror, his twin was taking the same risk, and Nedim came face to face with himself, prompting him to back away into the alcove.
“Who are you?” the familiar voice demanded, stepping fully into the alleyway.
Torchlight reflected from the street revealed to Nedim his own face glaring back at him, a cold stare that matched the tone. The resemblance was identical except for the emotionless eyes. Is that what he was destined to become? Is that what he already was in this realm?
The murderous Nedim grabbed a fistful of the vengeful Nedim’s clothing and wrenched him closer. “Nothing to say, assassin? A spy perhaps? A Shak’rahn blackmailer?”
“Last chance, Nedim,” a different but familiar voice spoke. The vengeful Nedim looked up to see Cerese seated on the wall overlooking the alcove, the kindling moon’s light illuminating her hair. “Choose.”
The murderous Nedim glanced up in turn. Cerese smiled back. With an innate sense of understanding, he knew that it had not been him that Cerese was speaking to but his opponent instead. With his free hand, he tore away the disguise to find himself looking at his twin, leaving the vengeful Nedim little choice. Both men reached for their weapons.

On to Part 3…