Dae was a Junipan merchant, wealthier than most of his peers. He owned an astaphite deposit from which his miners extracted ore, and he operated three cargo trains running through Arden. Seven sons supervised his work, distributing astaphite to all forty-three factories. His wealth was vast. His household was abundant with food and drink, clothed in the finest garments. Dae rode the best cars, owned the grandest homes, and maintained many friends, all of whom he treated generously.

  Fonifa walked unseen across Dae’s estate. She reached a garden where crystal waters ebbed into a small pool. Kneeling on the soft grass, she placed her hands in the water. Fish swam toward her, nibbling gently at her fingers.

  “Dae treats you well,” she said, and the fish glittered in delight.

  Soon, Fonifa’s sons, who had been watching from the heavens, joined Fonifa. Rheina and the other angels surrounded her, each as bright as the noon sun, each bearing six wings.

  “I have walked the length of the Living World and not met a man as good as Dae,” Fonifa said. “Each sacred day he climbs the mountain to bring an offering to my shrine. I have watched him for a long time. Not once has he failed to ask forgiveness for any sins he or his family may have committed, knowingly or unknowingly. No one is as blameless as he.”

  Then came the Spider, down from a garden tree. He whispered in Fonifa’s ear, “Have you not protected him from the ways of the world? You have blessed him beyond measure so that he knows no pain. Stretch forth your hand and strike everything he possesses, and he will surely curse you to your face.”

  Fonifa replied, “Very well. I grant you authority to weave through his Ways. You will strike all that he has, but the man himself you must not touch.”

  Thus, the Spider, given this authority, became the Shaphet—a name meaning The Weaver of Ways.

  Dae was away, feasting with his sons and daughters, when a servant barged into their tent. “Krima from the east raided the mines. They’ve ceased the deposit and killed one of your sons,” the servant said.

  Before Dae could respond, another ran in. “Landeners are invading from the east. They set explosives on the railroad, derailing all your cargo. They’ve slaughtered three of your sons.”

  A third servant followed. “The Lady of the Sun was unmerciful today. She rode past the factories; her light set them aflame. A terrible explosion occurred, and three more of your sons were caught in it.”

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  Dae was struck by grief. He fell to his knees. Despite the pain, he did not cry out or curse Fonifa. Instead, he spoke what he believed the goddess wanted to hear.

  “I came into this world with nothing, and I shall leave with nothing.”

  Fonifa turned to Shaphet. “Dae remains blameless. While you incited me against him to ruin him without reason, he has kept his integrity.”

  Shaphet bristled. He insisted that no man would give all he had without cursing the hand that struck him. If he touched Dae, he would force the merchant to curse Fonifa. Fonifa granted Shaphet the chance to test Dae—but he had no authority to take the man’s life.

  Shaphet wove Black Vein into Dae’s ways. The disease crept over his skin like shadowed ink. It brought a cruel cough that wracked his ribs. He could no longer walk. He could no longer weep. His wife urged him to curse Fonifa and die, but Dae called her a fool, steadfast in his faith.

  Friends from abroad visited him, seeking answers. One by one, they accused Dae of wrongdoing. Fonifa was good, they argued; therefore, Dae must have sinned to deserve such misfortune. Time and again, Dae insisted he had done nothing wrong.

  Finally, reaching his breaking point, Dae cried out to Fonifa. He demanded to know why he faced such injustice.

  A Great Saprigus swooped from the mountaintop and landed before him. Weak but resolute, Dae climbed onto its back and was carried to Fonifa’s shrine. There, the dande tree stood tall, its stem gray, its leaves red, thrumming with energy. Behind it knelt a lean young woman with long, dark hair—Fonifa herself.

  Dae bowed before his maker. “Tell me,” he demanded, “what evil have I done so I may repent? Why have you taken everything I had? And if I am not at fault, why allow evil to exist in my Ways? Why turn a blind eye to injustice? I have lost everything but my life, Blessed Lady. I do not deserve this.”

  Fonifa’s eyes met his. “What do you deserve?”

  Dae was confused. Surely the answer was obvious. “I have served you all my life. I serve the people. I do not harm the poor or the needy. I keep the forests, preserve the waters, care for the animals. I am a good man who does good. And at the end of each day, I pray for forgiveness if I have sinned.”

  Fonifa’s gaze sharpened. “What do you deserve? Can you take the smallest seed and command it to grow? Can you tell the wind where it must blow? Do you instruct your horses when to graze or when to stop? Were you the one who taught the birds their morning song? Were you there when fish were told to swim and fill the oceans? Were you the one who marked the horizon, or rolled out the oceans and set them to end when the sky begins? Do you control the tides or the waves? Are you the one who commands the moon to circle the earth?”

  “Tell me: what is yours, and what do you truly deserve? Did you or your forefathers spin the threads of time into being? Have you walked the lengths of all dimensions? Are you the one who holds the keys to the beasts I have locked away—or perhaps you feed them? Who are you to judge what you deserve or do not? You have nothing that I do not own. Your eyes see because I allow them. Before you were born, I knew you and set your Ways. What can you truly give me when I own everything?”

  When all she had to say had been spoken, Dae, taking his final breath, fell over and died.