This chapter begins with a Zia dream, which begins with her walking through the ruins of her old village. The first draft of it was written in early September. I apologize for its roughness. I know it is important enough to keep in, but I cannot stomach editing it now, the 8th of November.

It is my nameday today, a celebration of the name I share with my grandfather and his grandmother, so let's talk about names.

There is barely a name for any new arabi character, now and forever, that is not shared by a Palestinian martyr. It is important to me that they are not just numbers. There is a full list, I think it was recently, heartbreakingly, updated, with even more of their names. Their families. And the internet is filled with their stories.

My heart screams that I cannot do more than talk. From the River to the Sea.

"To be half alive is better than to be outright dead." – A Farmer's Letter, 11th Dynasty

Awake

To be half-alive is better than to be outright dead.

To be dead is better than to be stuck in your head.

Asleep.

Paralyzed.

Frozen. Inside of moments that no longer are.

Haunted. By memories that aren't even yours.

Are they yours?

Who are you? Who are you really, Zia?

A lonely, lonely, girl. All alone in a big world. No one is coming.

And you look around the ruins of your home, sifting the red sands between your fingers, picking up pieces of broken picture-frames. The photos have long dissolved into the waters. Can't make out much more than blurry faces.

Blurry faces. Ghosts. You don't know those people, don't remember them.

But those are your eyes, staring back at you.

Alone.

Your smile, cooking over an open fire.

All dead because of you.

Your nose, scrunched up in a thousand funny faces while telling a story.

Your hair waving in the air. Your hands reaching out to you.

"Zia…"

"Zia…"

"Zeze!" I ducked under the table, skillfully escaping the dreadfulness of sitting and eating.

We weren't at home, we were outside. In the center of the village, celebrating something. I didn't really know what, but there were sweets and Gyulver was playing and she called me and I wanted to play, too. I didn't want to eat! So I escaped the table and was about to take off, when mom stopped me.

"Zia!"

Dad laughed. "Oh, let her play, Hasina!"

Mom crossed her arms. "She hasn't eaten all day! I'm not going to wonder what to give her when she decides she's hungry in the middle of the night."

"I will." Dad then shushed me away. "Go."

I ran off so quickly. Now I wish I hadn't. Wish I'd glanced back for a moment, so I can remember his smile. The annoyance on my mother's face as she shook her head and went to eat my portion, knowing full well I wasn't coming back. The sparkle in my aunt's eyes as she pulled me to dance with her, spinning me in the air. The rush and loudness of so many people, all happy and all together.

I never appreciated that sense of belonging until I was left alone.

Alive.

Was it worth it? Surviving?

If I died, here and now, surrounded by their bones… Then I will belong again.

I was ready. Ready to let go off the night terrors and the memories and the pain.

Until the river whispered "Do you want to know a little secret?"

"Yes."
"If you die now, who will be left to tell their stories? To remember? To care? To be forgotten is worse than to be dead. So long you live, they will always be there. In your clothes. In your dance. In your songs. In your face. In your bones. You are never alone."

I don't remember everything that clearly. Those first few moments after my eyes opened, light cracking the surface of months-long darkness, are a blur. I couldn't breathe. I tried to. My lungs bubbled. My throat gurgled.

My head was filled with the sound of my rapidly beating heart, and the distant awareness of my body kicking and hitting in unison with it. Panic and terror clouded my vision. And then, as quickly as they'd come, they were gone.

It was quiet. It was calm. A single deep breath entered my lungs. It felt almost as if someone had flipped a switch and turned the world back on. Too quickly for me to process, or maybe my brain was just out of practice, life came rushing in.

All of it. All at once. The dryness of the air, the coldness and wetness of the river. The water soaking into my clothes. The grains of sand inside my clenched fist. Hands, holding my shaking body from collapsing. Another under my head. Cold fingers on my neck, the hushed whispers of someone counting out a pulse.

Voices. Her voice, gentle and calm, but so tense. Hiding something under the surface, the promise of unknown depths. The river. For the first time in months, she wasn't addressing me.

"She has a good heart, and an important destiny."

A different voice, rougher, grunting. "The Nile's where she should be. That's her proper body."

I managed to turn sideways, just in time for a retching fit. Someone quickly, almost instinctively, gathered back my hair. It took a moment for my breathing to normalize, for my body to feel stable enough to try to get up.

I succeeded, though my legs felt numb. Up ahead of me, the scenery was covered in red sands. No. No, no, no, gods no, I could not witness another nightmare! I couldn't listen to the voices, screaming at me, anymore. I couldn't feel the sands swallow me again, couldn't bang against the water for any longer. Not now, when I'd finally taken a real breath.

I waited. Nothing happened. Nothing, but the urgent whispers behind my back. Was it real? Was it over?

I turned around slowly and my eyes fell on a boy. I recognized him, from London. I knew I should have killed him in that museum. The nightmares didn't exist before. We were supposed to take him to… to Iskandar. Maybe we did?

I took a step back, eyes on the boy. There were others next to him, but somehow I knew he had the answer I needed.

"Where is he?" I demanded. "Where is Iskandar?"

A young initiate, way too young to be out of Iunu alone, running up to me. Tears, running down his face. "Ana awsiff. Iskandar, rahimaho Allah…"

"I thought… I had a dream that…" My chest began to close again.

"Zia-" The boy tried to get closer, but I took another step back.

"He's not… He can't be!"

Tears smeared my vision. I could have tried to swallow them down, but my body had experienced enough drowning for a lifetime. The nightmare was supposed to be over. The pain was supposed to be over. He had promised… I was safe. And now I was back at the beginning, where he had found me. Amongst the ruins, the only survivor. He wasn't here this time, to take me to safety. Was there any safety left in this world? If Iskandar wasn't in it?

"Zeze?"

Through the sobs, I hadn't noticed a girl approach. It took me a moment to recognize the voice, so soft and gentle, so careful. Like she was half expecting me to fall apart in pieces. Nothing like the energy and excitement I remembered in her.

No, what would Ayanna be doing in my village? Was it another dream, another ghost, haunting me, another vision I am expected to brave through?

Her hand hovered over my shower, unsure. When I didn't move, she pushed me gently away from the river.

"Yalla, let's sit. Please."

We did, at the steps of my own tomb. I don't know how long I cried for. Every time I thought I was done, the grief would come back to wash over me like the Flood. My clothes and hair were starting to dry, but I still trembled. It was getting colder, the sand was cooling. The night was here. I could feel the dark before I'd even opened my eyes to see it. The sun had dipped below the horizon.

At some point my staff and wand had been placed next to me. That, at least, was a good sign. No one seemed afraid I would defend myself, which means I either didn't have a reason to, or they were overconfident I couldn't.

Somehow, I didn't see Ayanna as dangerous. She's always been too kind. Her being at ease with whatever this situation was, calmed me down some more. Maybe the nightmares had been wrong. Maybe none of my dreams were real. Maybe there was some logical explanation for the dwarf, carefully placing a flail and crook on one of the steps. That's what I hoped for, as the boy, Carter, approached me again. That none of it had been real. Especially…

"Iskandar can't be dead." My voice quavered. I hated myself for it. "He wouldn't have… he wouldn't have done this to me."

He wouldn't have brought me back to this cursed place. Locked me for months. Tortured me in my own head. Iskandar cared about me, why would he hurt me so much?

"He was trying to protect you," Carter said. "He didn't know you'd have nightmares. I've been looking for you-"

"Why?" I demanded. "What do you want from me?"

That sentence, he seemed to use it like a weapon.

"I met your shabti in New York. She-you-took Sadie and me to the First Nome. You started our training. We worked together in New Mexico, then at the Red Pyramid-"

"No." I shut my eyes tight, hoping it will drive the images away. The blood. The fear. My own broken body – the price I paid for disobeying. "No, that wasn't me."

"But you-" he began, but then hesitated. I turned around to catch Ayanna shaking her head at him.

"Really?" I asked her. "I thought you were on my side!"

"I am!" She looked at me pleadingly. "Which is how I know you don't want to hear whatever it is my idiot of a cousin has to say."

At least the idiot part we could agree on.

"You are confused," she continued. "You are tired. Want to know why we are here? Truly?"

I nodded.

"To make sure you are safe. To wake you. We don't want anything from you."

"You want me to follow you to gods know where."

The dwarf coughed. "Actually, we don't."

I glared at him. "Not to mention you're here with- with that."

"That has a name," Bes grumbled. "I'm starting to wonder why I drove halfway across Egypt to wake you."

"You're a god!" I said. Then I turned to Carter. "And if you summoned him, you'll be put to death!"

"Listen, girl," Bes said. "You were hosting the spirit of Nephthys. So if anyone gets put to death-"

The anger flowed through my staff quicker than I could process me holding it. "Be gone!"

A weak column of fire shot at Bes's face, but the dwarf god easily swatted the flames aside. I probably would have been a little embarrassed, if I wasn't so angry.

I raised an eyebrow as Carter moved to stand between us. I'm assuming he wanted to seem brave and heroic, but it was mostly just goofy. And that was the guy who could destroy the world? Caked in mud and sweat and bruises, stupidly standing in between the staff of a trained scribe and a deity?

"Can I punch her?" Bes asked. "You punched me, kid. Seems only fair."

"If you punch her, I'll punch Carter!" Ayanna yelled from her spot at the stairs. Apparently, my attack hadn't fazed her.

Carter stared at her. "Why? What did I do?"

"Nothing," she shrugged. "But I haven't punched anyone today."

"No punching," Carter shook his head and turned back to me. "No blasting with flames. Zia, we're on the same side. The equinox starts tomorrow at sunset, and Apophis will break out of his prison. He means to destroy you. We're here to help you."

The red waters. The blood. The hissing voice, getting louder and louder, growing stronger.

I will find you.

"No. No, it isn't possible. Why should I believe you?"

"Because…" He hesitated.

"You don't know me," I said bitterly. "Now, go, before I'm forced to fight you. I'll make my own way back to the First Nome. I can't trust you."

Ayanna finally got up, dusting off her pants. "You don't have to." Carter seemed like he was about to protest, but she continued on before he could. "I told you, we just wanted to help you. We did. What you do now that you are awake is your decision. But you should know that, if you believe us about the Serpent, it is hiding in First. Not in Brooklyn."

"Maybe she's right," Bes said. "We should leave. We've worked enough magic here to send up all kinds of alarm bells."

Good, they were about to leave me. Desjardins would understand, none of this was my fault. And maybe, maybe this is simply another trick.

"I'm not leaving you." Carter gestured at the ruins. "Zia, this place was destroyed by Apophis. It wasn't an accident. It wasn't your dad's fault. The Serpent was targeting you. Iskandar raised you because he sensed you had an important destiny. He hid you with the pharaoh's crook and flail for the same reason-not just because you were hosting a goddess, but because he was dying and he was afraid he wouldn't be able to protect you anymore. I don't know what your destiny is, exactly, but-"

Maybe Carter was the one to send the nightmares, how else would he know them so well? So maybe Iskandar is still alive. So I just have to reach him, get home, and I'll be safe again. Just have to get to Iskandar and I'll be safe.

"Stop!" I reignited the tip of my staff. It managed to blaze more brightly this time. "You're twisting my thoughts. You're just like the nightmares."

"Kid," Bes said more urgently. "We really should go."

Yes, I really had to go. By force, if needed. I had to go. Flames shot from my staff.

I didn't see any weapons around, but Carter's hands closed around something. I saw too late, that he still had the symbols of the pharaoh-the shepherd's crook and the war flail. He held them up in a defensive X. The fire dissipated.

I stumbled backwards, staff shattered to pieces. My eyes widened. "You dare to use the symbols of Ra?"

Carter's eyes drifted from me, to his cousin, to the god. Back to me, reflecting my own surprise. "I-I didn't mean to! I just want to talk. You've got to be hungry. We've got food and water back at the pickup truck-"

"Carter!" Bes tensed. "Something's wrong…"

He turned too late. A blinding white light exploded around him. When the spots cleared from my eyes, Bes was frozen in a cage of bars glowing like fluorescent tubes.

My heart stopped when I saw the people, standing next to him. Michel Desjardins and Vladimir Menshikov. I wanted to be happy, to be hopeful. Something felt wrong.

Had I been lied to about how much time had passed? Michel looked so much older, then when I last saw him. He looked exhausted, drained of life and will. His graying hair and forked beard were long and unkempt. His cream-colored robes hung loosely on him. My eyes locked on the leopard-skin cloak, slipping off his left shoulder. Something wrapped itself around my hearth hard, a python patiently squeezing the last drops of hope out of me, waiting for me to give up and die.

A python, like the one on Vladimir Menshikov's necklace, silver glistening against his tie in the light of the climbing moon. He wore a fresh white linen suit and carried a new serpent staff. On his curly gray hair sat a white fedora. I never really liked Menshikov, his energy made me uncomfortable. Even more so now, as he smiled at Carter Kane - a smile as dark and cold as the night.

"As I told you, Chief Lector," Menshikov rasped, "Kane's next move would be to find this poor girl and attempt to turn her."

"Turn her?" Ayanna asked. "Into what, a vampire?"

Gods, if you are really in communication with the Kanes, please, please, for the love of Ma'at, give this girl a verbal filter. And maybe some impulse control. Thank you. In contrast, Carter seemed better at pleading his case.

"Desjardins, listen," He said. "Menshikov's a traitor. He summoned Set. He's trying to free Apophis-"

Because Carter Kane is convincing, Zia. He knows how to twist your words, your thoughts, your opinion.

That voice, I knew that voice. It was the voice from the nightmares, the voice fighting with the River, fighting to get me.

"You see?" Menshikov cried and a chill snaked up my back. That same voice was underneath his. A shadow, twisted around his words. "As I predicted, the boy tries to blame his illegal magic on me."

"What?" Ayanna said. "No! Ya gazma!"

I would have never taught her that phrase if I knew it would be one day used against the House. Though I should have seen it coming, should have listened to the warnings against this family.

Menshikov turned to examine Bes, who was still frozen in his glowing cage. "Kane, you claim to be innocent, and yet we find you here consorting with gods. Who have we here? Bes the dwarf! Fortunately, my grandfather taught me an excellent binding spell for this particular creature. Grandfather also taught me many spells of torment which were… quite effective on the dwarf god. I've always wanted to try them."

Michel was wise and just. I trusted his judgment, I trusted his decisions. I trusted him. But the man I grew up around would never let someone speak like this. So violently, so monstrously. There was a glint in Menshikov's eyes, an inhuman thirst for torture. Why was the Chief Lector just letting it happen, why was he encouraging him, giving him power? I didn't know Carter Kane. But was this the Michel Desjardins I thought I did? The same way I thought I knew Ayanna Kane. Was anything the same? Had I woken up in a weird backwards world, where shadows danced on the grave of my intuition?

Michel only wrinkled his nose in distaste. Why didn't he speak up? The House was keeping the gods in check, but it wasn't supposed to be cruel. Iskandar wouldn't build a system that was cruel. Right?

"Carter Kane," said the Chief Lector, "I knew you desired the pharaoh's throne. I knew you were scheming with Horus. But now I find you holding the crook and flail of Ra, which were recently discovered to be missing from our vaults. Even for you, this is a brazen act of aggression."

What? The Kanes wanted to rule? So, of course, they are a threat, Zia. And the crook and flail… They were with me? I was asleep with them? Or was I? Did the Kanes plant them there, just to screw with my brain? Or did Iskandar? Did Iskandar trust them? At this point, would it even matter?

Carter Kane looked down at the weapons in his hands, his eyes locked with Ayanna's. A lingering glance, both cousins reflecting each other's worry. A weird twist in my stomach, a skeleton hand reaching up through the dirt, told me it wasn't themselves they were worried about.

Michel nodded, as if he had understood. Did he take their silence as a confession? Or did the sadness in his eyes mean, that he had heard their silent conversation? That he knew they were ready to sacrifice themselves, when they could easily blame me – justified or not.

"Zia." Carter turned toward me. "You've got to listen. You're in danger. Menshikov is working for Apophis. He'll kill you."

I did not understand, could not understand, the actions of the Kane. Nor the behavior of Desjardins. I felt like I was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, the information I needed to make the right choice. Somehow, at some point, two plus two had become five. And I was asleep when the change was announced.

The only thing that seemed to add up was the violence, the anger and the viciousness of the House's most infamous head-hunter. Even when he tried to look offended, his voice was glazed with satisfaction. No matter what happened here, he was having fun either way.

"Why would I wish to harm her? I sense she is free of Nephthys now. It's not her fault the goddess invaded her form." He held out his hand towards me. "I am glad to see you safe, child. You are not to blame for Iskandar's odd decisions in his final days-hiding you here, softening his attitude toward these Kane criminals. Come away from the traitor. Come home with us."

I was paralyzed. I wanted to believe him. To believe I could go home, go back. And yet, my very soul was screaming at the thought of getting closer to Vladimir Menshikov.

"I had… I had strange dreams…"

"You are confused," Michel said gently and all I wanted was to run up and hug him. To be safe. "This is natural. Your shabti was relaying its memories to you. You saw Carter Kane and his sister make a pact with Set at the Red Pyramid. Rather than destroy the Red Lord, they let him go. Do you remember?"

To be safe from the nightmares, but he wanted the same from me as everyone else – to remember them. To think about them. To relay them. As if my pain was simply a tool they could all use. A weapon I had, that could turn the tide in someone's favor.

"Remember why we did it," Carter pleaded. "Chaos is rising. Apophis will break free in less than twenty-four hours. Zia…"

They were both the same. In this very moment, they were all the same. What I wanted, what I needed, was Iskandar. Another wave of grief tried to push its way up my throat. Iskandar was who I had to listen to, to trust. Maybe at the stairs to the Throne, in the halls of the House, in the streets of Iunu, I could hear him?

"I don't know you," I murmured. "I'm sorry."

I wasn't sure who I was saying this to. Everyone. No one. Myself. Either way, it didn't matter. They were all going to twist my words for their own gain. And first was the zebala.

Menshikov smiled. "Of course you don't, child. You have no business with traitors. Now, with Lord Desjardins' permission, we will bring this young heretics back to the First Nome, where they will be given a fair trial and then, executed ."

How could a trial be fair, if you already know its outcome? Or maybe, just like with everything else today, it seems I had been thought the wrong definition of fairness. Maybe it had two – one for the people, and one for the Power. So maybe I just had to figure out who was who.