I am the one to leap next to the sacred pool, on creaking, ancient knees no less, and catch the nude, unconscious girl in my arms before she can slip under again. I pull her to the side of the pool and see the water, tinged a dark pink, run off of her skin back into the pool, leaving her clean and dry as if the divine god Death wishes his daughter to not catch cold.

We do not touch the sacred waters. They are toxic, filled with acids that are meant to strip the flesh from the bones of corpses during the year of mourning.

I feel nothing from the water that must be on my skin, but my robes already have holes from the water burning through the cloth.

She is a miracle.

Never did I believe I would live to see the day that Nateos gives a daughter to the temple. I am near the end of my own earthly life. I do the calculations in my head, wracking my brain for any historical reference to a daughter. I know, without any shadow of doubt, that there has never been a female priest, a priestess, at the temple. And, of our holy servants, only three have been female in the last sixty years of my own service.

This young female will not be changing sheets and preparing bread. She is more than any of us.

I glance down at the miracle in my arms. How stunning, to enter the temple for my morning salutations and see a beautiful child bathing in the pool. Her red hair pools over my arm. Her eyes, dusky pools of deep brown, almost black, may be closed now, but I saw the burning of death in their depths. Nothing hollow, not the absence of life that death is for all other living souls, but a living, passionate death. Truly, she is a gift of fire for our dark temple.

I come to my senses when I feel the weighty stare of Nateos on me. The ill feeling of Death stalking you, disapproving. She needs to be taken to a bed to rest and recuperate and her father is becoming impatient.

"Antin, Farso, carry her, please."

The younger, far more strapping males step up, both blinking at the girl as if she is entirely of another species. Antin picks her up carefully, shaking his head at Farso. "She's light enough for me," he murmurs. Wide eyes look all around except at the female in his arms. We are used to nudity, but of the dead, not the living. I wrap my own robes around her, shielding her nudity, and see Antin relax a touch.

"Where are you taking it?" Postite Salbin glares at the girl.

"To her room, postite," I say it mildly instead of smacking him upside the head. She is light, the female, too skinny by half. I will have to make certain that she eats more. Though the miracle we all just witnessed healed the most grievous of her wounds, it did not magically make her gain weight and I imagine that she will still need to heal, both spiritually and physically, from whatever brought her to the temple of the death god.

"Her room?!" Postite Salbin exclaims, hurrying after the me. "We should be finding out what House this.., this creature, belongs to and return her, perhaps with a hefty fine for dirtying the sacred pool!"

I can barely contain the urge to sigh outloud in aggravation. Barely. Only the knowledge that I'm too old for such a childish gesture, and of course the fact that the postite can hear me, stops me.

"Did you not recognize the miracle, Postite?" I open a door to the private hallways that the novices and postites live in and stand back so that Antin can carry her inside. "She spoke with the god, did you not see that? His sacred waters do not burn her skin. He has blessed her as he blessed each of us."

In truth, Salbin wasn't blessed by the god. As a young man Salbin's family sent him to the primary school in hopes that one of the temples would take him and thereby elevate their own position in their House. He wasn't blessed by any god, but we're not as picky, here. His family wasn't hoping for the death temple, but such is life.

Salbin falls silent at the bitter reminder. I know, however, that the male isn't done making an issue about the acceptance of this girl into the brotherhood... or sisterhood... or something.

I have no idea how to raise a child. She is still just a child, not entirely grown, yet. Fourteen, perhaps fifteen years? She will need schooling, and proper attire, and, of course, she will need to learn all of the rites and traditions of her god, her father.

I smile to myself as I hurry down the hall in front of Antin and open the doors to a small room with large windows that overlook the garden below. I never had the chance to have my own child after pledging myself to the temple. My sister's children are grown with not a single little one among the entire bunch.

They were all males, too. What do young females enjoy? She must not play with dolls any longer. What games do young shifters play these days?

The sheets on the small bed are clean, always kept ready for a possible overflow of guests that come from other cities to attend funeral rites. When the girl is settled onto the sheets her body barely makes a dent in the mattress below.

This precious female was injured greatly. Someone tried to kill her, to destroy her life. They nearly succeeded. We will have to be on our toes with her security here.

This tiny female is going to shake up the temple most definitely, I think, and the city most likely. The Death god is no longer satisfied with confining himself to his kingdom, apparently.

Mara, I remind myself. She who is Grief made flesh.

---

"Mara... Lady Grief... I beseech you... help him. My son is gone... he is gone... Help him... I beseech you... Help him... Please... Help him."

A voice, a whisper in my sleep, makes my eyes pop open. I wake without even a moment of confusion. I know where I am. I know who I am.

Mara... my new name... I've never heard of it before. Lady Grief, the Daughter of Death.

And I am hearing voices of the dead.

My face is awash in cold tears. I can hear the dead and they ask things of me that I'm not sure I can do. Who was just speaking with me? Who is her son and what is wrong? How do I fix it when I am just a girl with nothing and no one to my name?

Something hits my belly with a thump, forcing the air from my lungs in a startled exclamation. I half-sit up, staring at the small, scaly creature chattering away as it sits on my chest. There is something oddly familiar about its orange eyes and dark grey, granite-like skin. Large bat-ears and leathery wings complete the familiar little body.

"You're the gargoyle from the doors!" I exclaim.

He takes a shuffling step sideways, his ears perking up on his head. He emits a high-pitched sound of excitement before jumping up and down on the bed next to me.

"Incredible," I breath. For a moment the pleading words of the spirit fade away from my mind.

"What is your name?" I ask the gargoyle.

The gargoyle cackles in delight. "Mmmoooo," it concentrates deeply to be able to make the sound.

"Moo?" I reply doubtfully.

"Shooo," it nods sagely, blinking it's round orange eyes at me.

"Shoo?" I question slowly.

"Moooo.... Mooo... Shoo..." he croons.

"Am I Moooshoo?" I ask him.

He sits up straight, eyes wide, before clutching his belly and making an odd grating noise. "Maaaraaa, Moooshooo," he chortles. He says it again, pointing at me, then himself, all while making that strange noise that I think may be laughter.

"Oh," I say quietly. "My name is Mara. Your name is... Mushu?"

The gargoyle tumbles off of my chest in his excitement, squealing, "Mushu! Mushu!" over and over. Coming from it's stone mouth, it sounds more like an animal in pain or the wind whistling over a bottle, but I try to keep my wince to myself. It's not good to insult the first creature I see in this place.

Where am I, anyway?

"...save him..."

I look around at the room. It's fairly plain, with muted grey stone walls and delicate wainscoting and molding in the light desert acacia wood. The bedspread is also white, almost like a medical clinic.

Am I in a medical clinic? I feel fine, not even tired or woozy.

I stand up from the bed slowly, testing the strength in my limbs before trusting my legs will hold my weight. I'm as steady as a tree.

Smiling, I walk to the open window. Outside is a garden, with late-blooming white gardenia flowers on low-lying bushes. Twining around the bushes are an oblong path of obsidian stone. A fountain over a pool lies at the far end of the garden. Ringing the entire space is a low-walled building of the same light grey stone so common to the city.

It is so similar to a private home, but something about the garden is odd. It takes me a minute to understand. It's missing something. There are no statues, no calligraphy carved in the rock, no symbols of any of the five Houses and their gods.

It is blank and empty. I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach. I am still at the temple of Nateos. This beautiful garden is a mourning space, meant to bring peace to travelers who are burying their loved ones.

Tears prick my eyes. There's nothing outwardly sorrowful about the garden itself, but its meaning makes me sad.

Unless I'm dead. Aren't I dead? What was it that I said to the Nateos' priests? I am Grief. I know that. Why does Nateos need me in the Underworld?

I press my fingertips to the wall. It's solid under me. I rush around the room frantically, touching and pressing my hands to every surface. Everything feels real, mundane, just as you would expect. Nothing out of the ordinary except for Mushu, who is imitating me, as if he thinks this is a game, running around and slapping his hollow hands on everything I do.

I glance out of the window again and fall to my knees in the center of the room.

There is someone out there. A figure, small and wearing a white shroud. A shroud that only the dead are dressed in at their burials. The dead person is staring right at me.

Am I alive? Is this still the city, Tmari, and if it is then am I still in danger? Who is outside in the garden?

Does Thane know I am alive?

I shudder to think of what he might do to me. His love turned to hatred so quickly, blown away as easily as the wind takes the sands.

Was I nothing to him?

"Save my son... please..."

Whimpering, I clasp my hands to my ears. "I can't" I whisper, "I don't know how." My heart is burning, on fire from sorrow for this unknown voice pleading with me.

"His soul... his soul... his soul..."

I crawl to the bed. Mushu is hiding underneath, his glowing orange eyes all I can see.

"Do you hear her, Mushu?" I whisper.

A soft clicking noise is all he says. I'm taking that as a 'yes.'

"What do I do?" I ask him, stupidly. As far as I can tell, he can't speak any language that my tongue can master.

He chitters, wringing his tiny, delicate hands, then his tail stabs at the door.

"Find help?" I murmur. "Good idea."

---

This isn't what I thought would serve as 'help.' I have no less than five gargoyles dancing and scampering along the hallway with me. I have no idea where in the temple complex I am, and I don't really think that they know, either.

If they do, they aren't telling me.

I already spent close to an hour trying to decipher their names. Besides Mushu, I have now been introduced to Mishu and Momo. I was starting to think that their names were dependent on their ability to only make a limited number of sounds, but then I met Harku and Alnue. I think the three M's are all brothers, with hard grey bodies and orange eyes. Harku and Alnue a bit larger, with brown skin that looks like tiny pebbles and white bellies and chins, black eyes.

Harku coos and wraps his fingers around mine. I look down at his look of concern. I have stopped in the middle of the corridor, staring at nothing.

"Save him..."

I stomp my foot. "I'm trying. I can't find my way around this labyrinth!" I shout. The gargoyles start chittering more loudly, as if they're yelling at the ghost too.

"The halls are meant to confuse the souls of the dead, if they were ever to become trapped here on the earthly plane."

I spin around on my heels, stumbling over Harku's tail and nearly stepping on Mishu. The gargoyles scatter into the rafters and ceiling cornices. Except Mushu, he puffs out his chest and stands to his full two foot height in between me and the elderly male who surprised me.

I edge Mushu behind me. The gargoyles are a little scary at first, with their sharp teeth and claws, barbed tails, and stone skin, but they're like very mischievous... ugly... kittens.

Mishu scuttles out from behind a section of fancy wood trim that didn't hide him at all and starts to smell the male's shoes. He leans back, and sneezes all over the male's light grey robes. Then he falls over, dramatically, with his tail wrapped around his nose.

I inhale delicately. I can't smell anything wrong with the male from a few feet away.

"Mara, Daughter of Nateos, I am Rimon, the Patriarch here. You are welcome here, child. You are safe."

"Safe?" I whisper. My voice seems to echo off of the stones. I can hear something, a voice, a deep whisper, in that echo, 'safe.'

"First, some food, perhaps?"

We walk. The gargoyles seem friendly enough toward the Patriarch, and I'm so hungry, that I follow him along.

"It is wonderful to see you on your feet again, little one. You have been sleeping for nearly a week."

"A week?" I almost trip again, this time over my own clumsy feet.

"Yes. I was worried that you may deteriorate, but everyday you seemed to gain health."

I hold up my hands, looking at the fingernails that were torn away, the exposed bone, the bruises and cuts.

It's all gone. Every part of exposed skin on my hands and arms is smooth and perfect. The only mark on my skin is around my wrists, thick ropes of scar tissue wrap around both.

It's the first injury inflicted on me, to be manacled and dragged from my mama's home like a criminal.

"Yes, we don't understand those, either. I imagine that Nateos is sending a message through those scars, little one."

I force my eyes away from my wrists. I feel odd, as if I'm separate from reality somehow. How didn't I see the scars on my wrists?

"...save him..."

Something hard touches my wrist with utter gentleness. I look down to see Harku's misshapen little face staring up at me in what I think is concern. It's hard to see through the sheen of tears in my eyes. His caresses my wrist with the end of his tail, again.

I smile at him, "thank you," I say to him. It's nice to have friends here, even if they're made of stone.

The Patriarch looks at me curiously. "Your room is near the front of the temple complex. It's been guest quarters and for some of the postites. I thought you may enjoy the view."

I think of the garden and the ghost. "Um... it's nice," I say lamely.

Sharp old eyes look at me, but he doesn't address my obvious discomfort. "I'll take you on a tour later, but first, the kitchens."

We walk along the corridor, taking twists and turns that I try to memorize, but the hallways are confusing, to say the least.

"Most of the postites have rooms in this building, but we don't like to let the other buildings remained unoccupied. We pray in the Solstice garden, unless the weather is poor, then we go inside."

"Into the room with the pool?" I ask. It's the only room I've been inside other than the bedroom I woke up in.

"Ah... no. That room is for the god. We offer a morning prayer there, only on Wednesdays."

"Oh," I'm not sure if I hear censure in his voice or not.

"You, of course, may visit your father at any time," the Patriarch continues.

So... no censure. Apparently I can go swimming under the watchful gaze of the statue any time I want to. Fun.

The Patriarch turns a corner and suddenly the endless maze of corridors ends, opening up to an airy portico one story off the ground overlooking the Mounds.

"Oh," I stop short. Row upon row of neatly stacked hills with white standing stones stretches out for at least a mile before disappearing into the horizon.

"The sea of the dead," the Patriarch says solemnly. "Beyond the last hill is the river. To the east are the mausoleums of each House." He huffs a little bit. "You'll find that each House continuously competes to provide grander and grander accommodations for their relatives. We are careful to not allow too ostentatious decorations to be added. The Fourth House has spent three years trying to install a bigger fountain at their mausoleum. They say that the Water god needs more, but then what do we allow the others to do?"

I shudder at the mention of the Fourth House. Thane's Chosen Bonded, the lady Anthea, came from that House.

The Patriarch's wise old eyes don't miss my revulsion. "I think, little one, that I need to feed you, then we will talk. Just remember, you are the daughter of a god, now, no matter who you were in the past."

In the past. A week ago, because I've been sleeping for a week. Parijan of the Fifth House, of Love, is gone. My name is Mara.

"I beseech you..."