Sumayya bint Huyayy, I thought, sighing pleasantly to myself as I wove through the maze of sheds. My jealousy pricked as the thought that Sa'ad ibn Mu'adh was not her father dawned on me for the thousandth time.

        But she still chose to meet me, I reminded myself.

        The reeds blazed with fire that compounded the heat of the afternoon, sending beads of sweat trickling down my forehead. The fire rippled through the green, consuming palm trees and precious soil, all in full sight of the Nadir fortresses.

        The flame seemed to be a beast in and of itself, a living being of orange, red and yellow writhing and flickering, roaring loudly and crackling, its threatening presence heavily accentuated by the thick smoke that accompanied it, blurring my vision and clouding my breath.

        I trotted through the shimmering heat, away from the burning land.

        The tree unscathed by the fires, I thought. To the west.

         I grinned widely, prowling through the reeds, seeing a towering palm tree in the distance. I pushed past the reeds that were of a height with me. Palm tree unscathed by the fire. To the west. I hurried, the roar and crackle of fire increasingly distant. I could not contain my elation. I did not sleep the other night. She wanted to see me!

        There she was. Her back was to me. A soft hand tracing the trunk of the tree.

         My heart flitted. My chest heaved. I forgot how to breathe. I wanted to speak, but it seemed I'd forgotten how to do that as well. The words only came out as a choking sound.

          Hearing me, she turned, grinning openly.

         "You're late," she reproved me.

          "You didn't, you didn't," I tried to stammer, entranced by the embodiment of beauty. Surely even Allat was not so lovely? "Specify...a time."

          "I didn't?" she raised an eyebrow. The very motion sent my knees buckling. "Still, it would have been better to keep you waiting."

          She looked me up and down, the eyebrow still raised.

         "Are you just going to stand there? You aren't going to jump on me again, are you?"

         "I wrote you a poem, but..."

        But my thoughts were sluggish. My mind betrayed me. Why couldn't I think proper around her?

        "But what?"

         Her white teeth flashed radiant in the light of the sun. She walked over to me and coiled a strand of my hair in one finger, looking quizzically at it. I wore my hair long, almost shoulder-length. I'd been fretting over it the entire night and morning. I wanted to look my utmost best.

        "I like curls," she said, giggling.

        Was I dreaming?

        If so, I will personally fly up to the heavens, slaughter every god I can find and drink from their skulls.

        "You're," I gulped. "You're beautiful."

        She laughed. A sound akin to the chirping of birds. I sucked in her smell through her nose. It was that of amber.

        "Tell me something I don't know."

        Sumayya bint Huyayy, I thought. Bint Huyayy...

        Oh, fuck.

        "Your father..."

        "My father..." she raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

         "Isn't Sa'ad ibn Mu'adh."

          Her face twisted in disgust.

           "Ugh," she cringed away. "Why would he ever be my father?"

           "Huyayy..."

          "Sumayya bint Huyayy ibn al-Akhtab," she smiled thinly, pulling me closer by my collar. "You aren't going to treat me different now? Like I'm a princess? I want that dagger at my throat again. The other dagger."

         I killed her father.

         Fuck the gods. Fuck the gods. Fuck. The. GODS!

         What now? What –

         She let out a yelp and took a step backward. She put a hand to her mouth. I noticed a long shadow looming over us, putting us in its shade.

         "What – " I was beginning to ask, turning around.

         Instead, I was met with a blinding backhanded blow that sent me sprawling among the reeds. I don't remember hitting the ground. My journey down was a flash of white and black to me.

         When I regained my senses, there was the taste of blood on my lips. Groggily, I sat up, wincing and wiping a hand over my mouth, caressing the area where I had been struck. I wiped the blood away, dabbing at my now swollen lip.

         I blinked, finding my feet.

         "What is –" I trailed away, seeing Sumayya shrieking, pleading for help as a drunk, roaring Habib tore at her black gown from behind. She was trying to squeeze herself away from his tight embrace, clawing at him, kicking. To no avail.

         He continued to bark with laughter, like the sound of stone grating against stone. Horrible and harsh. In one hand, there was a skin of beer that he momentarily sipped from. He smacked Sumayya flat on her back with the palm of his hand, sending her screaming and bawling.

         It was then that something primal stirred inside me. The cardinal desire within every man. The wish to let one's anger flow unrestrained, to bring nations beneath heel, to murder, hurt, hunt down every living being indiscriminately and paint the earth's soil dark with red.

         It was a blinding rage. My body shook despite myself and my hands curled into fists. I ground my teeth, letting out a high-pitched screech, long and winding. I shook vigorously. Tears began blurring my vision.

          And the darkness engulfed me.

          The rage was set free, unchecked. The beast, remorseless and savage and bloodthirsty, unleashed. Within me resides a demon from the deepest bowels of the abode the Muslims called Hell. It is a being that knows only hatred and bloodshed and pain.

          The beast was fed with memories of torment and despair that returned to me in a rush. The boundless anger, pent up within.

           I saw Qusayy falling to his knees, gasping with shock, clutching the side of his neck. His blood spattered on a wall and flowed through his fingers. His murderer stood triumphant over him, smiling and satisfied.

          I saw the reddish sands of Uhud, overflowing with blood and bone and entrail. Corpses piled atop one another in heaps towering over hills. Horses kicked frantically, their eyes lolling. Men moaned and cried for salvation.

         I saw years of distress pass by in a second. I saw Ezra's wolfish grin as Habib pounded me in the cranium or the belly, punching the wind out of me.

         And I roared.

         I lurched forward, my movements out of my control entirely. I was but a passenger in my own body. As though I was watching events unfold like any passerby. The beast inhabited my body, seeking to quench its thirst.

          I leapt on Habib. His moustaches were damp with droplets of beer. He smiled at me in disdain. I wrapped my legs around his waist and clung to him by the neck.

          I snarled at him, dug into my gown and conjured my dagger. I kept it with me at all times since we were attacked at Quba'.

           And Habib faltered. I was rewarded with a look of pure shock as I raised the dagger high in the air, snarling all the while. At its zenith, the blade glinted gold in the sun.

          Then the dagger fell.

          Never have I felt such pleasure. Such elation. The crunch of the stab as the dagger bit through the eye and layers of flesh was satisfying beyond words.

          "Now you're like that cocksucker Ezra," I growled at him, yanking my dagger free as fresh blood trickled from his eye. "Like you always wanted."

           I raised the dagger again and hacked at the eye. Habib grunted and fell back-first to the ground. I was huddled over him.

           I stabbed again. He twitched and punched at me feebly. Blood spattered on my face and garments as the dagger rose and fell, the thirst unquenchable. His punches grew weaker, his defense dimmer. The spurts of blood conjured from the stabs waned.

          His feeble attempts ceased. He lay motionless beneath me. Groaning, screaming, bellowing, I continued to hack and stab without relent. Again and again. Over and over.

         I saw Muhammad ibn Maslamah.

         I stabbed.

         I saw the warriors of Quraysh.

         I stabbed.

         I saw Ezra.

         I stabbed.

         My father, my uncle, Zaid ibn Haritha, any person who so much as inconvenienced me.

         Stab, stab, stab, stab.

       "Hanthalah!" a voice broke through the surface of my trance, vaguely audible. "Hanthalah!"

         I stopped only when someone pulled me off the corpse of what had once been my cousin. It was 'Amr, Mundhir at his side, a mix of concern and horror.

        The muscles of my arm buckled, sore already. Panting and breathing heavily, I looked around.

        Sumayya was nowhere in sight.

        Worse still, there was a small crowd hovering over me, watching and appalled.

         Andat their head was Zaid ibn Haritha, eyes flicking over from me to my victim, mouthopen, eyes wide. Aghast.