"Grief is Love, without Love there is no Grief. You cannot grieve what you didn't love, first," both babies listen intently to my bedtime "story" that sounds remarkably similar to lectures from Patriarch Rimon and my father, sprinkled through with various prophecies I've read about in the library.

"I love you, mama," Poppy says sleepily.

Erra says nothing, of course, but I see him look at Poppy and smile. He's a head taller than she is, in just a day he has grown dramatically and now I have a new fear to stack onto the others; will our enemies see this child as a threat? What sort of demon-child matures so rapidly? It's not just his body that is growing. He is devouring knowledge the way he used to drink down blood. Young in so many ways, but absolutely ancient in others.

He looks at my poppet in a way that I am not comfortable with. She is his goddess. Inanji miscalculated by tainting his soul. She has created a dangerous creature whose only concern is the daughter of her enemy.

Strange that I trust him more than most of the grown shifters who surround us night and day.

A rhythmic pounding begins again. The battering rams are hitting the gates nearby. The ebb and flow of battle can be marked by this noise. If the rams are close enough to be used, than we are failing to hold back the tide of undead. If they are silent, then we have beaten the enemy back from the walls.

The booming of the battering rams has grown more and more frequent. War is teetering on collapse and I can't help but wonder what Urto hopes to accomplish by sacrificing his shifters to this conflict.

A softer noise reaches my ears. I turn my head, my words faltering. The noise is strange, a scratching of stone on stone. I look towards one of the antechambers of the mausoleum. Momo peeks out, his face lit up in unholy glee.

I stand, attempting to look casual, and stride into the room just where the toilets are located. This window is larger than most in the mausoleum, due to trying to air it out, I think. My smart gargoyles brought Enlil in through the high arrow-slit. He is shifted into a wolven, a little thinner than in his other form and just able to be shoved and pushed and pulled through the window.

It looks painful as Mishu yanks on his arms as Mushu and Harku push his hind legs through. The unconscious shifter hits the stone ground with a thud, headfirst.

I wince for him. Tongue lolling out of his mouth, I see a little blood. His canines must have pierced it.

"This is Enlil?" I ask in a whisper.

Momo shrugs both shoulders, even as Harku shakes his head, 'no' and Mishu and Mushu nod 'yes.'

I sigh. Well, whoever this is, he's about to be experimented on. I feel guilty, but more so if this isn't Enlil. As far as I'm concerned, overhearing his agreement to trap my soul makes him my enemy.

I take a deep breath and crouch down.

"Tie the wolven, first," I hear Erra's voice chime from behind me.

I cut stripes of my own robes to tie the wolven with. Mishu and Mushu take over, their intricate knot-making ability coming in handy for once.

Enlil, or whoever this is, starts to stir just as Mishu finishes knotting his wrists to his ankles. He stirs, shifting back into his Acera form with wide eyes springing open. Mishu tightens the knots expertly, so Enlil's hands and feet remain bound together.

Momo steps forward and shoves a sock into the shifter's mouth just as he opens his lips to shout for help.

"Hello, Enlil," I greet the male in my coldest, most intimidating voice. I hope.

His eyes fill with fire and the hint of fear.

I take a deep breath and exhale noisily. "Sorry," I tell him. Quickly, Momo removes the dirty sock and Alnue shoves in the rag soaked in my blood.

Enlil's eyes bulge. The whites show all around his irises, the light brown quickly invaded by his pupils. Streaks of red dot his face, the color climbing and climbing until sweat pours down his forehead and tears down his cheeks. He thrashes his head to and fro, trying to dislodge the rag, but it is too late. His tongue is swollen from the damage of his own canines, and he can't work it enough to spit out the blood-soaked cloth.

His frantic, muffled cries slow down gradually. His body finally lays still, just the occasional twitch letting us know that he is still alive.

It creeps up on him like a slow spring tide. Black shadows, crisscrossing his skin as dark ley lines, sinking in, their edges red as if the marks are fresh tattoos. Soft whimpers emerge from his mouth, all the fight drained from him.

His eyes slowly open. They are normal, if a little hazy. Carefully, I reach forward and remove the rag.

"Enlil? How do you feel?" I ask him warily.

He looks at me, brown eyes shining with... shock and devotion?

"You have chased away the cold hands of death, my Lady."

Right. I suppose it worked then?

He gathers himself, coming to his knees as if praying at my feet. "How may I serve you?" he continues eagerly.

Oh, gods. "Enlil," I start slowly, trying to order my thoughts. It was easy to imagine using the Recondite who was so willing to lock my soul in a state of constant stasis, but this male is like an overgrown puppy. Pure trust shines in eyes that just a while ago showed only contempt and fear.

Inanji created Erra in a sad imitation of me, and I just changed Enlil in an even sadder imitation of Love's own power.

What a wicked circle this game of the gods is.

"I need you to spy for me, Enlil. Do you remember how you felt about me... before?" I finish lamely.

His eyes drop, head bowed, shame filling his posture. "I am so deeply sorry, my Lady. I-"

"It's alright, Enlil," I interrupt gently. "But I need you to act like you hate me."

His head comes up, a frown dancing across his face.

"I need you to pretend, Enlil. I need to know what my enemies are plotting against me."

His confusion clears. "I will, my Lady."

"Thank you, Enlil. First thing, Thane and Thelios of the First House are both dead," I say bluntly. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Gritting my teeth, I continue, "so Nisjahn is now the Lord of the First House. Why is he here in War and why is no one thinking of this?!" by the time I'm finished, I am shouting.

He winces, then goes very still. "I have no idea," he murmurs. "We were told that the attackers were your army."

"I've been in here! In War, this entire time! My own warriors have been fighting against the invaders!" I protest, my mind reeling. How did I go from being War's ally and being guarded in this mausoleum, to War's enemy and being a prisoner in this mausoleum?

"It just..." Enlil frowns, "it made sense, my Lady. You are the Priestess of Death. You and Death's Postites are here as prisoners while the undead beat down our walls."

I shake my head, my lips trembling. The citizens of War have been here for over a month. Trapped and cut off from any outside communications but my own Basru. They are no longer aware of reality.

"Tell me what is happening with the war," I ask him tiredly.

He frowns. "The undead are building walls. Cutting us off from any escape."

My mind goes blank. "Explain," I say slowly.

"On the banks of the river, in the Mother District, even at the mountains. Everywhere you look you see new walls being constructed."

My thoughts flash back to the plan I shared with Lier days ago. To burn this city to ash. I thought it would be impossible without the Basru and Recondites fighting alongside me.

But if the undead are walling us in...

"Did you plan this?" I whisper to my father.

A suggestion merely

"To who?" I ask. My voice has dropped to a trembling hush.

Urto

He is not a wise god

New plans and old are stampeding through my mind. Disordered thoughts come and go, but one is clear.

"Enlil, you must go and tell me when they plan on trapping my soul," I say carefully.

"I will, my Lady."

"Be careful. Don't let them know you have switched your loyalty."

"I will not, my Lady. I will succeed in this, I swear it to you."

"Thank you, Enlil."

---

It is much later when the booming of the battering rams finally stops again. I listen closely, but there is no other noise, so I assume that the walls aren't breached, yet.

I can hear one voice, however, that is like a pike in my heart. A female, screaming.

"Piles and piles of them and the great War can do nothing!"

I don't hear a response, so I'm not sure who she's yelling at. But, if she means War, the god, rather than War, the District, than she is yelling at Nisjahn. Or, at least, the male everyone believes is Nisjahn.

I lean against the wall, trying to listen through the stone. Not the easiest feat to do, although Momo agrees with my method. We sit next to each other with one ear pressed tightly against the wall.

I press even closer to the wall, holding my breath. There are noises of battle, metal scraping against metal, stone falling, males shouting in the distance, but nothing further from the screamer.

I sit back and sigh, looking at Momo. Enlil has been gone for a few hours. He will not return to the mausoleum until he is put on duty at the doors. That could be today, or not.

The doors to the mausoleum are thrown open with a bang. I jump a little. It's rare that both doors are opened, which can only mean...

Lier strides in. Behind him are more Recondites carrying two male bodies between them. I look, but Enlil is not in their ranks, and neither are any of my Basru.

The two Recondites that Tafia was supposed to slip my blood to are dead.

"They need a proper burial," Lier says to Patriarch Salbin without looking towards me.

The elderly male's face looks astonished. "A proper burial? Here?" He looks around the interior of the mausoleum in faux bewilderment. "How, in the name of Nateos himself, would we accomplish that?" Alnue and Harku stand at his sides, hands on their hips, glaring at the males invading our space.

"This is a mausoleum, no?" another male snarls.

Mishu sniffs his leg and falls over, choking. My lips quirk.

Patriarch laughs a short, condescending snort. "And where are our tools? The sacred waters? The shrouds and pastes? Do you think we create these things from thin air?"

Lier straightens up. "There must be a way. Her plague of undead has destroyed your temple entirely, old male. Ask your priestess if there is a way."

"There is," I murmur from the shadows. "But it is private. And none of you may attend the ceremony." Go away, traitor, I say to him silently.

He won't look my way. An uncomfortable silence falls over the space. My words linger in the air.

Until a childish voice pipes up. "You came to Death's daughter for help so that your friends do not return to haunt you. Aren't you going to allow her to perform her ceremony?" Erra steps out of the shadows and into the sunlight streaming through the wide-open doors.

My heart starts to race, my stomach is in my throat. Erra looks nothing like the chubby toddler brought here weeks ago. He resembles a child of six or seven now. Bright blue eyes glow in impish glee. Momo cavorts around him, rubbing his stone hands together in a raspy sound.

"What is this?" Lier points to Erra with a pale face.

"He is Erra. And it is rude to point," Erra announces.

"You-"

"Leave the dead here and go." My voice echoes in the chamber, sinking into flesh and stone, slicing through the consciousness of the Recondites hovering around their fallen brethren.

It is an order. One that the Recondites do not have to obey, but Lier does.

I can see the conflict on his face. In his mind I have become evil, a... what was his word? A plague on this world.

"You heard her," Patriarch Salbin snaps. "Leave the dead to those who know what they are doing. Run along now and fight your useless battles against the enemy created by your own stupidity."

Lier opens his mouth to protest as the other males shift in discomfort, anger, confusion.

"And Captain," I insert. "Tell the Basru they are to stop fighting and return home. Immediately."

It's as if I sucked all of the air from his lungs. His mouth gapes open like a fish out of water. He is horror-struck and I wonder if he finally realizes that my threat to destroy this city was not idle.

I am a goddess, damn the gods- well, not me or my father, but...

"Please, reconsider," he gasps out.

I laugh, a mean, cruel sound. "Leave the field. Return to where you belong, Lier."

"Please," he mumbles, flecks of blood appear on his lips. He is fighting the command.

I step into the light and watch his eyes turn dark from sorrow. I know I look as if I am dying, slowly. I let my gaze travel those of the Recondites, deliberately meeting all of the hostile, angry eyes.

A smile curls my lips. "Where are the rest of my warriors, Lier?"

He doesn't respond.

"They are fighting? Protecting all of you from the plague that I started? While you strut into a sacred burial site and demand a 'proper burial?'

I look at him, watching. He straightens his spine after a moment, resolve hardening his face.

"Go and tell them to return home, Captain," I purr to him, "and I will set your soul free."

I hear my father grumbling under his breath in my ears. Well, he chose a bad senet piece.

"You will?" he murmurs.

"I will," I promise.

He jerks his head to the other Recondites, males who need a leader and have found it in Lier, to their own detriment.

They file out of the mausoleum, leaving the bodies of their fallen behind.

"Are you sure that was wise, Mara?" Patriarch Salbin whispers to me.

"If I'm correct, Patriarch," I tell him, "then Lier and the god of War will end up fighting over Inanji, just as that foul creature wants. It's a distraction."

He nods.

I can feel them approaching. My Basru. Only six of them left.

Flesh is Flesh

Ililie enters first. Tears shimmer in his eyes. "My Lady, don't send us from your side!" he rasps out. They all kneel in front of me.

I look them over. Proud, strong warriors trained in the depths of the Underworld.

"There are no better males to have fighting on your side," I tell them. "But War is not on our side. Not anymore, if he ever was."

My Basru look at each other. It's clear from their expressions that they didn't know.

Stone is Stone

"The undead are walling in the city, yes?" I ask them. They confirm, a chorus of 'yes, my Lady,' ringing out. "Love has lost control of them.

I take a deep breath. "Take my family and my father's Postites and leave the city."

The protests are loud, raucous, and immediate. Poppy clings to my legs, then hugs Erra as he watches me with those eerie, ancient eyes. Postite Falso crumples into tears. Postites Banio begins to wave around his wooden spoon in the air to emphasis his protests, nearly whacking Postite Antin in the face. Patriarch Salbin shakes his head, his face mutinous.

But their reactions cannot compare to the anger of my Basru. When Carnak and Rolle shift into their wolven and start to try to eat each other and Rollen rips a stone cairn in half I call a halt.

"You are entrusted to protect my family, Basru," I call out.

We are Death

They all stop fighting. Weeks of fighting the undead and in just a moment of battling each other they have done more damage. Rolle has a cut over his left eye dripping blood onto the floor. Carnak has bite wounds on his ears and muzzle. Nasir is holding his right leg together with his palms.

Quietly I walk to each, brushing my tears over their wounds and telling them how proud I am of each of them, how important they are to me. Slowly, the anger and defeat in their eyes fades.

"Bring Esa and the baby, if they want to leave," I tell Holsten softly. He nods, trying to hide the tears in his eyes and failing.

I take a breath, giving Patriarch Salbin a smile when I see that he has instructed the other Postites to pack up their meager possessions.

I walk over to Poppy, who is crying in Erra's arms. "Take care of her?" I ask him softly.

He nods solemnly. I kiss his cheek, then take my daughter and squeeze her tight.

"Remember, sweet poppet. Flesh is flesh. Stone is stone. We are Death."

"Yes, mama," she whispers.

"I love you, sweet girl."

"I love you, too, mama."

My sweet daughter

My precious granddaughter

The foul little demon will protect her

I nearly smile at the reluctant admiration in my father's voice for Erra.

I give Poppy back to Erra and watch as my family leaves with my Basru, walking out into the fading sunset into the War District. I hear a commotion, but Lier stops everyone from preventing them from leaving the city.

And I am alone.

Or not.

Mishu flops over my foot and lets out an audible fart. Mushu screeches with indignation and shoves him away. All of my gargoyles are fat from drinking the grief rolling off of my family and myself in these last moments.

"Gluttons," I sigh.

Momo lets out a belch. Staggering to his feet, he waddles over to the dead Recondites laid out on two stone cairns.

We do not Die

Raise them to life daughter

And greet your new warriors