Mara - The Lady Grief (Completed)

9 Cries of the Beast

2651 B.C.E., The Desert

Early Spring, Month of Addaru, One Year after Mara's Rebirth

Thane

The sand is blowing in my face as I trek out to the tombs of the damned. High on the desert plains, I can see watchtowers sitting, forlorn and dark, on the plateaus surrounding the rocky valley below. They were built centuries ago by the first settlers of the city. Some of the old scrolls I have been pouring over for the last month claim that they are the first buildings to be constructed in Tmari. That somewhere there is another city, a buried city, a first temple swallowed by the sands, built by the gods themselves to contain the one whom Nateos refused. Now, these towers are unmanned, forgotten themselves by all but some.

"Lord Thane?" one of the six warriors who came with me, Carnak, addresses me through the handkerchief plastered over his face.

"Carnak?" I yell back.

"Sandstorm is getting worse. Should we seek shelter?"

Yes. No. I have no idea. Getting caught in a sandstorm would be horrific, but holing up in one of those bleak towers seems like we'd be inviting trouble.

"Keep moving, we'll shelter in the tower at the mouth of the valley," I finally decide. The sandstorm will hopefully dissipate by morning when we travel down into the valley. It all depends on what direction the wind is blowing in.

Step by step we walk, until the sand is blowing hard enough that we have to stop and tie ourselves together.

"Hold onto the rope with one hand," I order. All seven of us are single file, now. I lead them, hoping that I don't step off of a cliff and pull us all down with me. Claws extrude from my fingertips and I let the scales ripple over my skin to protect my body from the pelting sand. My demon is watchful, his glowing red eyes peering through the sand at something that I can't see.

When I can't see my own hand in front of my face I reluctantly allow him to take over our sight. The more control I grant to my demon, the harder it is to take it back, but we could all die out here in this mess.

He looks through the desert, a mournful howl ripping from my lungs, surprising me. I catch my breath, my feet stumbling. He wants more control, more of my body to shift into his beast.

I fight him. Lucky the raging sandstorm distracts him from taking me over and focuses his attention on getting to that tower. Relief floods me when I see the door to the tower just a few lengths in front of me. I force his eyes to recede and let my own lead me to the door.

The heavy wooden door to the tower is solid. At first I think its locked, but I press it in and it finally cracks enough to let us spill into the room.

Coughing, brushing off the sand and grit from my face, I look around for a torch. Seeing one in the far corner I stomp over, leaving a trail of sand behind, and fumble in my pocket for my flint. My fingers are clumsy from my claws, but I can't retract them, yet. I don't have that much control.

When I finally get the torch lit two of the males shut the door, heaving it back into place and shutting the storm out.

"Where the fuck is Gray?"

I look around the tower room, startled. It's one, round room, about triple the length of a full-grown male. A rickety wooden staircase, half-rotted away, is in one corner. There is nothing else. There is nowhere for a Tasuri warrior to hide. Gray is missing in the sandstorm.

"Was he at the end of the fucking rope?" I snap out.

"No, Lord Thane, he was tied in front of me," Holsten says, his face paling.