Mara - The Lady Grief (Completed)

13 Why?

2651 B.C.E., City of Tmari-on-the-Euphrates

Summer, Month of Tamuzu, One Year and Four Months after Mara's Rebirth

Mara

Reading and studying is not my punishment. Well, it's part of my punishment. No, that's not it, really, because what else am I supposed to do in the temple complex all day long when I can't leave? This is clearly my punishment. I have been imprisoned in the temple complex for three months.

Every time I have tried to leave, my feet are stuck as if captured by quicksand. I tried to sneak out just this morning, a faint headache brewing from reading so much yesterday... and most likely from crying so often. Everything weighs on me lately. My father is upset with me, but worse, he's not just an offended god, he's a despairing father who wonders what he can do to talk to his daughter. I know this, because he, himself, gave me the ability to peer into someone's grief. Even if that someone is Death himself.

I am less than sympathetic. He's the one plotting out my life for me. He doesn't listen to me when I beg and beg him to tell me about this war. I can sense him turning his back, frustrated with me whenever I bring it up. He treats me as if I'm just a tiny child.

My feet won't obey my commands when I try to leave. I can't move past the threshold of the kitchen.

"This is not fair!" I huff out under my breath.

My father humphs.

"You are so unfair!" I snap at him.

At first I think the sting in my bum is my father, until I hear Banio's voice.

"Mara, what in the name of Nateos himself are you doing skulking around in my kitchen?"

I spin around, cupping my hands over my bum, to see the portly Postitie brandishing his weapon of choice; a large wooden spoon. He has several sticking out of his apron pocket.

"Postite," I start to whine.

"No," he interrupts me, waving the spoon, "I don't want to hear it. You made your bed, now you sleep in it young lady. Don't anger your father. What can I say? Except... out of my kitchen!"

My shoulders fall, "fine," I grouse.

"Come back in an hour, I'm making cakes!"

I slump back into the library. I refuse to give my father the satisfaction of knowing that he's ruined my morning plans. I'll just pretend that I meant to read some more.

---

The sounds of grief greet my ears. It's a quiet noise, a low, hushed murmur. It's familiar. The Recondites, the warriors of the gods, are mourning their Captain. It seems like a small amount of grief, but I've learned that they are simply good at hiding their anguish. When I happen to see the patrolling warriors, I can sense that their turmoil goes deeper than the surface shows.

They are afraid, which doesn't help their grief. Afraid because they have no leader and for some reason the gods have not chosen a new Captain.

Yet another question my father refuses to answer for me.

I want to help them, but Recondites tuck their grief down deep...and my father is determined to keep the Recondite warriors as far away from me as possible. I think the flirting in the desert months ago still has him twisted up.

It's not like I'm a child. Other females my age have bonds and children of their own.

I heave a sigh that is so deep and heartfelt it burns my lungs a little.