The Mother District has closed their gates. It's hours later that I reach them, gaping at the solid wooden doors more than two males high. Closed, barred, and guarded with soldiers wearing the green insignia of the mother armed with spears. Closer to the gates I see the milling crowd, panic on many faces. I examine them and shudder.

They are from the First and Fifth districts. The poor are flooding into the Second district, or trying to. Fleeing the violence that has suddenly overtaken their homes.

As Poppy and I get closer I can hear some of the individual cries over the tumult of the crowd.

We will starve!

Why are the gates barred?

Where is the food!

More cries, of war and starvation, fear racing through the city's most desperate citizens.

I share in their desperation, but only because I don't want to turn back to the Fifth district in order to get home. The mother gates lie just over the main artery of the city, and the road is packed in both directions.

I hear screams and the jostling crowd knocks me around a bit before my shadows form a protective barrier and Mishu pulls me into a small crevice between crates stacked against the walls.

"Mama?" Poppy whispers, "I'm hungry and tired."

"Shh, Poppy. We'll be home soon," I promise her. I check the saffron sash, making sure it's tightly knotted so that my daughter doesn't slip into this mess. The idea of being trampled underneath the feet of a mass of frantic shifters is suddenly much too real.

I glance over my shoulder and feel my heart plummet to my feet. First House soldiers are coming to their side of the road, guarding it and keeping the shifters from re-entering their district. The frenzied mob are now all destitute beggars, stuck in between gates on a road leading to the desert at both ends.

Poppy and I are turned around by the crowd, most of them now heading for Death and War. For the second time today I am racing along, the wave of desperate shifters carrying us like the tide on the river.

The river. Maybe I should try to turn around and make it to the river? I can possibly come up that way, to the temple through the cemetery. But, the water is cold in Winter and without the cover of the harvest, I will be spotted trying to cross the empty mother fields long before I reach the graves of the dead.

I don't know who will side with my father in this war, if anyone. But, right now, this entire city is filled with my enemies. I concentrate on holding Poppy, on keeping my feet as my shadows gather closer and closer to me, trying to keep the press of bodies away, but even they are helpless in the face of the mob. My gargoyles steer clear, scampering along on walls with their claws sunk deep into the crevices between stone.

Those with claws and wings and fangs are not part of this crowd, I realize, looking around. This is a mass of Acera, of non-shifters like me, like Poppy.

I see the black stone heralding the temple of death and gasp in relief. It doesn't last long, however. Of all the six districts, Death has no warriors. We are completely dependent on the Recondites.

The Recondites, who have just lost their Captain, I think. I doubt they even know about Thelios, yet. Whatever is happening with them, they are not here. Death is alone.

My heart aches in my chest just thinking of Thelios, but I have no time to grieve. The irony makes my mouth taste bitter. I have to survive this, to somehow make it inside my temple.

I fight to reach the left side of the crowd, where the entrance to the Death neighborhood is. I practically fall into Death with the rest of the teeming crowd. The flow of shifters is entering Death's district. I can see beyond our gates the gates of War, locked as well. There is no where else for the mob to go.

Our gates don't exist. They never have. Of all the gods, Death has locked no one out, ever. I don't see a Recondite anywhere, but I do see chaos. Absolute anarchy as frightened, desperate citizens ransack and loot my neighborhood. Through the gates we all pour, like a stampede, but in the streets I manage to rescue myself from the screaming mob banging on the front door to the temple. It is closed and locked, thankfully. But, with so many fists and feet pounding on it I don't know how long the sanctity of the temple will hold. I run to the side street, to my right, to the little-known side door, with my gargoyles scampering next to my feet.

The stone carvings of obsidian, the grey wooden door with its gleaming bronze handle, the red stone from the desert; it is my door. My door, the door that witnessed my rebirth and possibly my death, too. The only thing missing from that day is a stone gargoyle winking at me in the sunlight. Instead, I have Mishu and Mushu pulling open the heavy wood and Momo pushing me inside.

The door slams shut. I hear noise coming from the central room, my sacred pool, and my anger explodes. How dare they come into the most sacred place in the city with their stupid, panicking hearts?!

I practically fly around the corner to my pool, spitting mad, only to be engulfed in Banio's flour-laden embrace, squashing Poppy between us.

"Mara! We were so scared!" he babbles, tears rolling down his pudgy cheeks and making trails in the flour that always seems to dust his face.

"Banio? What are you doing?" I ask, looking around in bewilderment.

Grim-faced, Patriarch Salbin and Postite Antin are collecting water from the pool to fill earthen jugs at their feet. They are wearing leather gloves that extend all the way up to their elbows.

"Mara!" they both greet me. Falso is carefully sealing the water with wax, then stacking the jugs.

"The district is overrun," I say faintly. There was no sign of this mass hysteria in the First District. What happened to drive them out?

"That's what the water is for," Patriarch Salbin says to me. "There are boltholes in the ceiling. If they enter the temple, then we will pour acid on top of them."

I wince. It sounds painful. A sound plan to keep looters from the temple, but painful.

"Where are the Recondites?" I ask.

"Where is Thelios?" Postite Banio asks me at the same time.

He steps back and sees my clothing for the first time. "Ah..."

"A disguise. Thelios..." I swallow, "he was taken by the First House. Father told me to run. There are looters... and the gates... all of the gates are shutting..."

"We have no gates. Just the temple doors," Patriarch Salbin says in a strained voice. "No one knows where the Recondites are, but War... the entire District is locked down tight. They were the first to do so," he adds, quietly. "They sent word to us to prepare for war, but we have no soldiers, no warriors. All we can do is hide in this temple."

"We can fight," I say. With Banio's help I unwind myself and Poppy. Passing the baby to him, I remove my outer robes and step into the pool. "Give me a jar," I order.

We fill and fill, until the male's arms are trembling from fatigue. I can hear the sounds of chaos outside of the walls of the temple, and I wonder what they could possibly be looting. There is very little in Death to steal. Our shifters are among the poorest of the city. Our temple has the scarcest number of priests and servants.

"Where is everyone else?" I ask. "The servants and the shifters in the houses? Tafia and Sera? The other shifters in the neighborhood? It looked empty when I was there."

"Most have taken refuge in the cemetery," Postite Banio says in a low voice. "There is nothing to loot. I don't know why they are here."

"Because they have less than nothing," Patriarch Salbin replies. "The storm destroyed most of the city's crops and food is becoming scarce. Even the smallest bite of food can mean the difference between life and death."

I nod, shaken. "What do we do, Patriarch?"

"We keep them from the temple, for now. One step at a time, Mara. We have enough food for the winter, even for our people hiding. As long as the temple walls hold, we will survive this."

"That is the last empty jar," Postite Antin comes back into the room. He looks exhausted. Younger than most of his brethren, his job was to take all of the jars and carry them to the boltholes.

"The doors to the temple are holding. The district seems to be emptying out. Shifters have realized that there's nothing out there. They're congregating at our doors."

I look down at my feet. Tokens given to me, to the Lady Grief, litter the bottom of the pool, gold and jewels glittering in the torchlight. "I've brought them here. All of this. I don't even look at this and it's just sitting here in the acid, being eroded to nothing. How much is it all worth? Why did I accept any of this?"

"Mara," Patriarch Salbin reaches over the pool and takes my shoulders in his hands, giving me a little shake. "They are starving, those shifters. Can they eat gold?"

"No. But... maybe we can convince the other districts to feed their people. If we pay them... they must have food stores, the noble families?"

I reach down and pull out a necklace of filigree gold. A ring is next, then a handful of coins.

"We can try," Patriarch Salbin says slowly. "If we have no riches than I suppose the mob would go elsewhere." He says it with a tone that tells me he doesn't believe his own words. I don't really believe it, either. I was in that mob. They are beyond rationality.

"We can even purchase food from the nomads," I say. "This is gold, Patriarch, it isn't worthless."

"We can try, Mara. But... this is the gods' war. I don't know if gold will be able to stop this."

I know. I know that it is just gold, but I have to do something. I can't stop, because then I think about Thelios. I'll lose my mind if I think about him too long.

I take handfuls of precious gems and metals out of the bottom of the pool. Postite Falso brings a basket and everything goes in as Postite Antin pours fresh water over it all to rinse off the acid.

I reach down and grab a ring of amethyst when the first wave hits me like a sucker punch.

I gasp out loud, clutching my heart.

"Mara?" Postite Falso calls out my name as I start to slip under the water.

"Antin," I breathe, "check the doors. Something... something is happening."

Another wave hits me. Grief. Like a cloud of locusts rising over the horizon, blocking out the sun. It rolls over me, devouring everything and leaving nothing but devastation in its path.

I climb from the pool with Postite Falso's help. Postite Antin runs to the main doors, his boots slapping the wet ground as he runs.

"Where is Poppy?" I ask, crawling along the stone toward a dry patch of floor.

"With Banio. Asleep. It's late, Mara."

"Something terrible is happening. Like a thousand voices screaming in sorrow."

I change my robes, my hands trembling. I can't even hear words in the grief, it's such a nauseating amount of sorrow.

Postite Falso lets me lean on him as we walk to the main gates. When we get there, he stumbles in shock, nearly dropping us both to the ground.

"Why are the doors open?" he asks with fear evident in his voice.

"Postite? Antin? Where are you?" I call out.

"Come here, Mara! It's... Nateos, they are gone," Postite Antin's voice calls back.

We walk outside. The streets, the main thoroughfare heading out of Death and over the main road to Love is empty. Trash, broken items, clothing, shifter's belongings, even bits and pieces of their homes and businesses, litter the streets.

Dusk is here and the city across the divide is lit up with torches. I look to my left and War is dark with minimal light. Strategic, I know. No one can see into War, but they can see out. To my right, the Mother district is dark almost completely, like us.

"Where has everyone gone?" I whisper. Patriarch Salbin come up to my other side and supports me.

"Listen, Mara," he cautions.

We all go silent, holding our breath. A faint scream, yelling, thuds and bangs, the sound bouncing off of the empty streets and echoing in the dark.

Grief is still boiling, fuming, ceaseless. I try to keep my steady stream of tears from the males holding me upright.

A lone scream, silenced.

"What is it, Patriarch?" My mind refuses to work. I just can't believe that this is happening.

"It's coming from the river," he says grimly. In silent agreement, we all walk back into the temple. All the way to the rear garden overlooking the graves. Down the rolling hills of the dead is the river.

To the left, past the Mother district, outside of the city, torches are lit. Shadows of shifters moving back and forth. We watch as the poor, the destitute, the Acera of the noble Houses, are herded to the banks. I creep closer, my feet bare, sliding across sand and stone, to the edge of the hill. Then, beyond, past the stately white mausoleums. Into the graveyard of the lesser shifters. With eyes of so many of our neighborhood watching Nateos' daughter with red, wet hair, shining from the sacred pool. I walk until I am standing in the river up to my calves, looking down the opposite bank. The silt squishes between my toes, the water cold, too cold to stand in.

But I have to see. I need to confirm that this well of grief is the war that I think it is.

I can hear the noise more clearly here. My gargoyles, all five of them, come to stand next to me. Their teeth chattering, agitated, wings aloft on their backs, ears perked to the sky.

A scream, a splash, a wave of grief. I watch the soldiers of the First House slaughter another Acera. Swords run through the body, a young male, just a little younger than me, perhaps. Defenseless. The body tumbles into the river. I watch it flow downstream, away from the city. A female is crying, I do not have to be the Lady Grief to know that her sorrow is palpable, even for the Postites standing behind me on the riverbank.

"The Recondites," Patriarch Salbin says grimly.

I turn my head to the right, watching as figures rise from the river, crawling onto the riverbank on the other side. The swimmers are joined by more warriors jogging up the bank. They must have flown out of War to cross the river upstream.

They fan out, tooth and claw and sword and axe, like a pointed spearhead. A male with the reflexes of a cat leads the charge. Belen.

I let out a sob. There is no winged hero. No overly-muscled male with large leather wings held behind him like a war banner.

No Thelios.

The Recondites, only a few, maybe twenty or so, crash into the First House warriors.

"Nateos, help us," I pray softly. "My father, the war has begun. Help us, please."

The First House flees. Many of them are cut down, sent to face my father's justice sooner than they imagined they would be.

More screams fill the air, these are punctuated with growls and snarls, howls and hisses. It fills me with a sense of justice. At least some Tasuri will die tonight.

Then, more grief settles around me. I am exhausted and as I stand here, I start to feel the pinch of hunger deep in my belly, at my spine.

I take a breath. Ignoring the grief that makes me so weak, I turn and look at my father's faithful servants.

"We will go inside, shut the door and make sure everything is locked. Bring everyone back to build a gate, and make sure they don't leave Death. Arm our people with the acid. My father... he can't help us. Not with this sort of senseless death. He will be busy tonight."