Sands of Time

Month of Owah

Year 23035, Early Tech Era

Maurrem Devoy (age:24)

Maurrem woke early. Excitement was hard to hide today. He got ready. The image of himself in the mirror irritated him slightly. His fingers ran through his thin strands of black hair. They fell back into his face, poking at his eyes. Why must it take so long to grow out. He wanted to pull it back and out of his face, brushing it to the side would have to do for now.

A knock sounded at his bedroom door. He turned, taking in the furnishing of his home for the some hundredth time. It was more than he had ever had when living with his parents. His brows furrowed at the thought of his father. Maurrem detested him. However, he still cared for his mother. In small ways, he had been doing what he could to make sure she had enough. He walked to the door of his room, grabbing a parcel from a small desk. While the desk was small, it did not lack in comfort. It had the space he required. His journal rested neatly in the corner with a pen aligned to the spine of the book. The door’s handle turned smoothly. Again, far better than the rusty catching mess that he pushed through as a child.

“Good morning, Maurrem.” The middle-aged man cleared his throat and presented the letter in his hand. “Best not to be too long. Good luck.”

Maurrem nodded and took the letter. He tried not to show his excitement. This was his first mission for the Mednekai. There would be a lot of expectation placed upon him and the skills he had been perfecting. His inner well was twice as capable as when Sirds had brought him in. He’d trained long and hard to get this far.

What mission will he send me on? His fingers shook with anticipation as he opened the letter.

The paper caught against his finger, cutting a thin line into his skin. Maurrem grunted, angry with himself for not taking more care while opening the letter. He sucked on the cut until the sting left. He scanned over the words typed neatly on the printed page. The access to technology through the Mednekai was unrivaled across Marmidon. Each week new things were built, new discoveries were found. Imaging systems were now a possibility to see far below their feet, into the core of their world. Most would think to look out at the stars. Not the Mednekai. Their focus was here, rather, what dwelt in the center of Marmidon.

Maurrem tucked his parcel under his arm, a month’s worth of his wage secured in a lock box, meant for his mother. She had the key. He’d been doing this now for three years. The Mednekai provided for all his basic needs. He had a bedroom with a joining washroom, access to food at meal times, and pay for rotating jobs on base. Maurrem didn’t want much more than that. Some time to study ancient glyphs would be nice, but he would not complain. For now, this was all he needed.

Research excursion. He thought on it. He’s sending me on a research trip? He read the letter again. In Morvae. That was interesting. Morvae was a coastal fishing town. It was warm most of the year there, with mild season changes, and a vast desert to the east that ran up to the Teaere Mountains.

He tucked the letter against his parcel and left his quarters. He locked his door, but not in any basic way. “Roeness.” He felt the draw upon his well. Some weaves, you had to stay within proximity of them to keep them going. Others could be detached and left upon inanimate objects, never a living creature. The higher level the weave, the larger portion of your inner well it would take. Maurrem handled this one with ease. He turned from his door.

The hall was the same as every morning. Students leaving their rooms, study books in hand. The younger students wore light brown cloaks. The middle classmen like himself, wore gray. Reserved for the top tier of Shades, were the ebony cloaks, a symbol of mastery in the Shade art. Maurrem planned on reaching top tier before he hit thirty. Top tier Shades were few in number and powerful, but were sent out on missions with higher risk involved. More than just a research excursion, these missions shaped the way Marmidon functioned. Shades were also fluent in the language of weaves. Maurrem knew a fair amount of the ancient language of weaves, enough to understand half of what was usually written, and to weave basic things from them.

He was pulled into the flow of students as he made his way through the building and to the large lift system. It wasn’t more than a minute before the lift reached the bottom of the building and most of the students left, off to their classes or training grounds. His finger started to sting again. The blood pushed against the small cut as his hand hung at his side. It throbbed, making itself known like an annoying fly buzzing about one’s head.

The lift proceeded to lower again. Below grade.

Maurrem heard the chime as the lift reached the lowest it could go. He glanced at the lit up figure indicating the floor he was on, ‘B13’. He yawned partially to depressurized his ears. He walked the lonely hall to Sirds office. Having an office thirteen levels below the ground didn’t sound that appealing to Maurrem. There were many things he still did not understand about Sirds.

He knocked. The overhead light flickered slightly. It was not enough that one would notice when walking the hall, but enough that it caused a slight strobing effect over one remaining stationary. The door opened and Sirds stood there. His iron gaze locked in on Maurrem.

Maurrem could never quite tell if Sirds was happy or upset. His face was usually solemn, with little emotional expenditure when conversing. He looked no older than the day he had found Maurrem ten years ago, all thanks to the requiem he wore. Maurrem would have created one for himself, excepting that that specific weave and process was kept to Sirds, and Sirds alone. Only those Sirds deemed worthy to have a requiem were given one.

“Ah. Good. I hope you are pleased with your assignment.” He sounded pleasant, but his face bore nothing of note. He gave a waving gesture to Maurrem and offered a seat across from the large desk in the room.

Maurrem took a seat. He rested his parcel and the letter on his lap and held his hands casually atop them. Sirds closed the door and took a seat behind the desk. “You came promptly, as I suspected you might.” He adjusted his seat, settling in for their conversation. “I trust you are up to date? Monitoring should be up and running by tomorrow morning.”

Maurrem nodded. There wasn’t much to say about the monitoring systems being built, or the radar, for which they planned to hone in on particular signatures across the continents. Maurrem didn’t care for what they would be used on or for.

“For your trip, you will want to be mindful of The Hunt. I’ve heard a great deal about the Nauxen of the Teaere Mountain range. They can be particularly ruthless. I hope to have the radar up and running before you leave, to help you avoid any unwanted and unfortunate encounters with the nauxen.” Sirds leaned forward, showing his concern through the motion, not expression.

The rise in nauxen civilian attacks did concern Maurrem. Maurrem hadn’t dealt much with naux. He’d seen them. Often watching the water naux feed on the schools of fish off shore of his birth town, Tortiaine. The nauxen were otherwise bred for war by Verra. They caused a great deal of strife across Marmidon. Last he heard, Verra was sending riders to Dershja to claim their land for the metal ores. “I’ll keep clear of the naux.”

“I have faith that you will avoid an untimely demise.” Sirds laced his fingers, his stare carried a great weight with it somehow. “There is one item of particular interest to me, that I want you to seek out.”

“What would you have me seek?” Maurrem kept his voice steady, his eyes focused and his wandering thoughts contained.

“You’ve heard of Marmidon’s heart stone, yes?”

Maurrem nodded. It was more myth than fact to most researchers. In this era it would be deemed a dreamers quest. Alternatively, a waste of time. “It doesn’t exist.” Maurrem spoke to the point, careful to keep any begrudged emotion out of his words.

Sirds leaned back and folded his arms, a slow sigh slipped between his lips. “Ah, but it does. I’ve seen it.”

Maurrem felt his face turning quizzical. How is that possible? He would have to be…

“Yes, Maurrem. I am that old.” He sighed. “And still, with all that behind me, I have yet to get ahold of the shard since that fateful day.”

“Shard?” Maurrem was now interested in the topic.

Maurrem studied Sirds’ face. A hint of a smile cracked at the edge of Sirds’ lips. “The heart stone is beyond our reach now. It has been since the day of Peerretdyn.” He waved a hand. “But, that is a tangent we will have to visit another time. For now, believe that there is a heart stone of Marmidon, and that a shard of it has been hidden across various lands over time. It is moved about almost constantly.” He shook his finger.” But there is a pattern. I’m sure of it. And when I crack it, that shard will be ours.”

Maurrem nodded and rubbed at his finger. The cut stung again. He put his hands down, not wanting to appear nervous. “When do I leave?” He listened as Sirds detailed his schedule.

Maurrem left Sirds’ office a half hour later. The door shut behind him and he walked to the lift in a complex of thoughts. His mind wanted to explore several avenues. One of which was to figure out how old Sirds actually was, another on the heart stone of Marmidon, and last on the shard. The idea that the shard existed, that it could be held. Maurrem only knew the whispered legends of such a thing. The power to control nature itself all imbued into a hand-held stone. That would make the holder the most powerful person alive. He tried not to dwell on it. He couldn’t go down a path that led nowhere. But, Sirds did say he’s seen it. His mind played a tug of war with his future plans. Sirds trusted me with this information. He couldn’t betray the man that took him in. Sirds showed him more kindness than Maurrem’s own father had after seeing him weave. In addition, Sirds encouraged him to weave, praising Maurrem’s quick learning and ability to excel in every subject so far, except healing.

He took a detour through a courtyard. The only places on campus he could find a bit of nature. Everywhere else was slathered in industrial structures, clean lines, and paved roads and paths. He looked forward to seeing more greenery in his coming trip. He brushed his hand up through the low hanging leaves of the singular tree. His cut burned. Marmidon! He took a seat on the raised planter. The cement was cold under him. Looking at the cut, he sighed and held his other hand over it. “Salabotte.” He spoke the healing weave.

Nothing happened.

“Salabotte.” He put more feeling into it.

Nothing.

Frustration bubbled inside him like a boiling pot of water. He couldn’t figure out why this was the one thing he couldn’t do. He picked up his parcel and letter and stomped off to the mail center. I can bend the elements, but can’t heal a throge of a cut. “Gah!” He looked away from stares received from his frustrated grunt.

After mailing the parcel, Maurrem returned to his quarters to pack. He wouldn’t need much: a few changes of clothes, his notebook and a first aid kit. He grumbled while packing his duffle. He pulled the zipper shut, feeling the tingle as the teeth interlocked. A knock sounded at his door.

He opened it, leaving his duffle on his bed. “Hello.” He greeted the young woman. She looked to be around his age, but her rank was still that of a base student.

“Good evening, Maurrem, I presume?” she had a voice that hit all the right octaves. He nodded and she continued, “The shuttle is preparing as we speak. Are you prepared to leave?”

Students were often given the task of informant. Maurrem saw it as a cruel way to keep someone busy. He’d been less than kind when he had held the job. “I’m ready.” He walked back and slung his duffle’s long strap across his chest. She eyed it and, with thin pressed lips, nodded.

“Follow me.”

She led him to the hanger. It spread out over a large plateau just outside the main campus. He glanced back at the tall iron gates that surrounded the school of the Mednekai. It looked more like a cage from this position.

The engine roared to life, sending a vibration through the shuttle. It wasn’t much more than a run of the mill shuttle. The ore powered engine turned the gears that rotated the wheels and moved them at high speeds. He set his bag down in the empty seat next to him. The shuttle was four seats wide, and five rows long. Glass opened his view to the outside environment in all directions, separated only by thin structural rods of sleek metal.

“Shuttle four four eight, departing for Morvae. Remain seated until we reach a rest stop.” The driver announced over an intercom. Hearing the detached voice always bothered Maurrem. He preferred hearing one speak directly to him.

Maurrem almost rolled his eyes over the announcement. He was one of two passengers. The young woman sent to retrieve him looked to be going with him. She sat near the front with a bag of her own. Her dusty blond hair brushed the backrest of her seat as her head swiveled to stare out the windows.

He settled in for the long ride and shut his eyes.

The next five days traveling from Yunedale to Morvae were slow to pass. He’d spent some of the time writing thoughts down in his notebook, and enjoyed a few short conversations with whom he now knew as Sieara. Those had not lasted as long as he was hoping. She kept to herself, a lot. He understood to a degree. He did the same thing. The rest of the hours, he spent watching the scenery pass by, listening to the driver, Justin, give monologues about history, the landscape and local plant life. Maurrem drifted off in the middle of yet another monologue.

Maurrem’s heart rushed with panic at a sudden jolt from under him. His eyes snapped open. It was dark. Middle of the night. He’d slept a few hours, and it appeared they had arrived at their next rest stop. The shuttle turned off and the driver left the machine. He watched Sieara follow, carrying her bag with her. She glanced back at him, one of her eyebrows rose expectantly.

Have we arrived? He followed, wishing they had arrived at dawn to give him a better look at what was around him.

There were a few town lights along the main roads. He noticed right away that the roads here were basic, pounded dirt and gravel that formed mostly smooth paths, for vehicles like the shuttle, or self-propelled transport, which Maurrem expected to find more of here.

The homes were interesting, thatched roofs instead of the more modern roofing. The fire flickering in the lanterns caused the shadows in the walls to move slightly and gave him a headache when staring too long. He adjusted his pack and followed Sieara into town.

“So, where are we staying?” He realized how that sounded and quickly corrected himself. “I mean, where will our separate rooms be?”

Sieara sighed. “The local inn has agreed to keep two rooms available for use by the Mednekai.” She pointed up ahead at the end of the street. “Get some rest. We will be taking to the streets in the morning.”

Maurrem shook off her cold response to him. He settled into his room after checking in. It was like the rest of the town, basic, wood plank floors, wallpapered walls with horrid patterns of paisleys and a bed that squeaked with every movement. He was starting to hate this mission. His previous excitement was all but gone. Letting out a deep breath, he shut his eyes.

Morning brought a whole new life to the town. Maurrem walked through the streets between vendors and the crowds that he never would have thought would be there. He and Sieara split up after breakfast, she was actually on her own mission.

Maurrem thought he would enjoy talking to everyone, but nobody had heard of the shard, or the stone box Sirds’ said it would be contained in. He felt like a fool asking each person that passed by. Seeing their odd stares back at him, they thought he was crazy. He sat under the shade of a large oak with his lunch. He examined the roasted chicken thigh. It was skewered with a charred stick. The smell had his mouth watering before he took a bite. The crisp outer skin was seasoned to perfection, and the moist meat inside brought a smile to his face. Now, if nobody here knows where Sirds’ stone box is…what is there to do? His gaze passed over the crowds to the edge of town. He could barely see the smooth rolled hills of sand. The light highlighted the tips with a golden hue. I could use a bit of time alone.

The end of town was within sight. His steps quickened. Maurrem felt a tug at his cloak’s edge. The hold on it was just long enough that it did not feel like it had just passed over the edge of something. Maurrem turned to see an older man hunched over a walker. Great, just what I need. Their eyes met and Maurrem knew it would be hard to keep going now.

“I hear you are looking for a particular box.” His voice crackled through each word. His eyebrows rose, lifting the sunken skin that hid half his eyes. “Or have I bothered the wrong young man?”

Maurrem stared for a few seconds more before he realized, the old codger hinted at knowing information on what Sirds had sent him to find. “Uh…yes, yes that’s me. It’s a stone box with engravings of an ancient language on every face.” He made the gestures indicating the size Sirds had shown him.

The old man smacked his mouth twice, his eyes darting off to the sky as though in deep thought, reaching for his fragile memory. Maurrem’s shoulders slumped. This is a dead end. The man can hardly carry a conversation. Maurrem turned to leave.

“Hold on.” The man reached out. “I. I recall a woman. Long blond hair. She had a foreign accent. One that you might hear from a Jushen.” He smacked his mouth again, it sounded dry.

The sound made Maurrem cringe, his patience ran thin. “And? When did you see her? Did she carry the stone box?”

Maurrem sighed when the old man looked to the sky again, lost in his daze. He tried to be patient and waited for almost five minutes before the old man looked him in the eye again. “Last Terreth, at noon in the market. She looked like she was in a hurry trying to buy supplies for a long trip.” He shifted his weight on his walker, taking a dragging step forward. “I saw the stone box you speak of. She carried it in a bright red satchel, held it close, all protective like.”

“Did you happen to see what direction she went?” Maurrem was getting antsy. He could feel his mind begging to be done with the old man.

The man nodded. His nod was about as fast as a spear-headed sniller, the slowest mammal to creep Marmidon. Maurrem thought of the creature, he’d seen it in Dershja during a short visit a few years back. Looking at the old man, he nearly laughed at the similarities in his hunched over form. The creature was similar to a tree-climbing primate, but with longer limbs, hardly any meat on it. The snill were quite ugly things the more Maurrem thought on it.

“As a matter of fact, I did. Not many take notice of us old folk. I see and hear a lot more than you’d think.” He paused and looked out at the sands. “She headed out into the desert. That’s all I know, sadly.” He looked to the ground, disappointed in what information he was able to provide, even though it was more than Maurrem had gotten all day.

“Thank you, for the information.” Maurrem did his best to be polite. He hated every bit of it. The faster he could get out of there the better. This was not the country-side respite he was hoping it would be.

He took out his notebook and wrote down the information. Tucking it away in his satchel, Maurrem resumed his walk out of town. If she headed this way, maybe I can find some indication of it.

The sands reflected the heat more than Maurrem realized they would. The weight of his cloak was adding to the building sweat. If it weren’t for the protective nature of this thing...he thought about removing it still. Every cloak of the Mednekai was imbued with a protective weave. It could deflect an enemy weave up to a certain level. If the weave was advance, it wouldn’t do much in way of protection. Who’s going to weave at me out here? He stopped and looked around. He stood a mile into the sands. The town waved in the heatwave rising from the dunes.

He undid his cloak and slung it over his satchel, the ends of it left a thin trail in the sand as he walked. The mountains were several miles away. From here, they looked like small pointed hills. So, nauxen live upon those peaks? He recalled Sirds mention they were stone Nauxen. Most naux left people alone. They had only started attacking after they were bred for war. The trained qualities appeared to pass onto their offspring. He had often wondered if he could tame one.

Maurrem walked until the sun began to set behind him. He glanced back at Morvae. He couldn’t see it anymore. I wonder if Sieara will even notice. Probably not. We still have a week left here.

The heat of the day fell with the sun, a cool wave filled in the sunlight’s absence. Maurrem shivered and was reminded of the current season of Auhen. He replaced his cloak over his shoulders, walking as he did so. He clasped the front and took his next step.

His foot did not connect with the ground in the way he anticipated. The ground fell from under him. Air caught in his lungs as he dropped. The sands pulled him deeper. Darkness swallowed him. He coughed. His lungs tried to remove the sand he had inhaled. “Blāzma.” He tapped his chest and a soft glow illuminated from his skin. Sand spilled into the hole he had fallen into. The pile he had disrupted was several feet from the top now. Getting out will be a challenge. Sand doesn’t weave well. He turned around and dusted himself off. He could feel the sand that had crept under his clothes. He gave an awkward shake to loosen it, and untucked his shirt to let it out. After dumping the sand from his boots and securing them once again, Maurrem took a few cautious steps forward.

Tall pillars supported a structure that he stood at the base of. It was completely buried in the dunes above, the stone roof the only thing keeping the sand from filling it in. He walked under the roof, between the pillars that stood ten feet from him on either side. The pillars were plain, layered discs with visible seams. Sand dusted in random piles over the stairs that led up and into the building. The building reminded him of some of the early depictions of Marmeadan empires. Though, back then Marmeada encompassed more than the current territory.

The stone walls filled with shadows when he entered. His eyes widened, unable to take it in all at once. A soft audible gasp left his open mouth. The language of weaves covered every wall, and partly down onto the floors. To the uneducated, it would have looked like a lovely intricate design, but to Maurrem it was so much more. His previous excitement over receiving his mission returned. His heart thumped, pushing adrenaline through his veins until his fingers tingled. He approached the wall to his right and began tracing his fingers through the characters. He closed his eyes and felt the inscription as his fingers moved. The language of weaves could not be interpreted like other languages. This he had learned in his youth. The first weave he had ever learned was a basic matter shift, plant matter to a living creature. The memories associated with sharing that skill were unpleasant. He moved on. This weave was complex. He could feel rage in it, a burning anger that calmed under this weave. It felt wild, like the animals that roamed Marmidon. He opened his eyes and looked at the character he had traced. It reminded him of a person taming a beast. The figures were not all that distinct, but he could see it. He rested his hand over it again and repeated to trace it, his eyes shut as he tried to learn its name.

Several hours later, Maurrem sat down on what looked like a large stone bench. His fingertips were rubbed raw. If I keep this up, they’ll be bleeding. He tucked his fingers under his arms, pressing them against his body to warm them up. His eyes shut longer and longer between blinks. Rest wouldn’t be a bad idea.

The ground shook. Maurrem jumped into alertness. He’d fallen asleep. One side of his head felt bruised. I fell over. He rubbed at it a little. He sat in the dark, the weave he had cast to illuminate himself had gone out when he had fallen asleep. He took a moment to check his inner well. A few deep breaths later he could tell he was recovered from his earlier weaving.

The ceiling above him shook again, with a second loud thump. What is going on up there? He stood. “Blāzma.” The room filled with his personal glow. The soft light caught on the falling sand. Maurrem looked up at the ceiling. It was between twelve and fifteen feet up. Cracks decorated it and granules of sand slipped through them with each thump and thunderous boom from above. That does not look good.

He looked back at the wall where he had traced the character for so many hours. He rested his hand over it one last time. Taming the beast. He traced it, opened his mouth and let out the first sounds that came to mind. “Perradin, Essi Miergi.” His thoughts turned to the noise coming from above. A heavy draw pulled from his inner well, causing him to double over. His gut wrenched and his face scrunched in reaction to the cramping pain. Too much. That was too much. His body felt weak. His mind wanted to pull back into the sleep he had been in minutes earlier. His hand brushed over another glyph. In his weakened state, he found it easier to understand the characters. He looked to the ceiling, the cracks were larger, but the booming had stopped for the moment. Something is up there. The weave went to it. He wondered if the creature would leave on its own, or if it would be there when he left this place.

He knew he needed to leave. He looked to the exit then back at the wall where his hand covered the delicate engravings. He brushed his fingers over the lines. Just a little longer. He struggled to his feet and walked along the wall. He chose to go deeper into the building. The large entrance narrowed to a singular doorway, and he went inside. The walls were smooth, empty of any weaves. A center pedestal looked like it had once held something of value. Maybe that shard Sirds is looking for. It looked to be about the right size. He moved on. Taking a few turns down the halls.

“Another dead end.” He spoke aloud, wanting to hear something other than the echo of his footsteps. Large stone doors blocked his way forward. “I’d never get those moved.” He rested his hands on his hips, staring up at the images carved on the face of them. It looked to be a recounting of the Gift. There was a figure representing Marmidon, a woman in form with a flowing dress, and the chosen Gift bearer holding a depiction of their world ablaze with fire. Not what I would have chosen to put there. He turned from it.

A loud crack hit his ears in a sharp pitch. It came from the entrance. Maurrem approached cautiously. He rested his back to the wall and peered around the corner. It was far brighter than when he had last been there. Sunlight poured in from above. The stone ceiling had caved in. Maurrem swallowed. He took a slow deep breath to calm himself. In the center of the room paced two stone naux. Marmidon above. He now understood what all the loud pounding had been.

He looked again. The naux circled, their eyes locked on each other. Maybe I can slip past them. He shook his head. That would be foolish. Better to wait it out, let them leave. He slumped down to the ground to wait.

An hour passed of Maurrem listening and watching at times as the nauxen fought each other. He’d tried to work out why. Is it an alpha thing? Or territory? Maybe they cannibalize. He listened as the stone walls and pillars were smashed again and again, cracking and falling to pieces. He hated listening to the loss of all the weaving contained upon them. Will they never leave? Silence held between the beasts. His stomach churned, putting out a sound louder than he ever wanted. The nauxen’s claws tapped the stone floor in a stalking rhythm. Maurrem’s breath caught in his lungs. A low growl came from one of the naux. It was close. Shoot, dang it, Curse you Marmidon! He slowly stood, ready to run if need be.

He listened, not daring to look. The heavy breaths of one of the naux became louder. Maurrem held as still as he could, but his hands shook. The naux took a deep breath in. The suction of air pulled at Maurrem’s cloak. The next sound to fill Maurrem’s ears was a deafening roar, followed by crashing rock and sifting sand as it fell in. Maurrem turned and ran. Heat followed him with intensifying light and grew closer each second. It would overtake him any moment. I can’t die! He turned and lifted his hand to the naux that had craned its head around the corner, its mouth open wide and the bone-melting flames headed his way.

“Perradin, Essi Miergi!” He spoke the only weave that came to mind in the moment.

His eyes shut. He waited for the moment of death to hit him, for the burning that would melt him in an instant. It never came. The heat from the coming flames had gone. Maurrem opened his eyes. The light from the entrance illuminated half of the nauxen’s face. It stared at him passively. It looked at him as though it awaited a command.

Maurrem took a deep breath and lowered his outstretched hand. He recalled the second glyph his hand had rested upon before he ventured deeper. “Iet.” He spoke it. He understood it as the word left his lips. So did the naux.

He watched in awe as the naux pulled back and out of sight. Curiosity got the better of Maurrem and he followed. He rounded the corner in time to see both stone naux leap out of the hole and take to the sky. They looked like flying boulders. Their extra thick skin lumped unevenly like stone chipped off the mountain. Did I just tame and command the Nauxen? He looked at the ruined wall of glyphs. All broken down into fragments of the delicate scripts they once were.

His mind caught up and he quickly took out his notebook. He sat and wrote out everything that had happened. He drew the glyph he had traced so many times, wrote down its root name and a brief description of what it did. What would Sirds do with a weave like this? The more he thought on it, the more he knew he couldn’t let Sirds have it. Let him think there is no true way to tame the beasts. Verra can torture the creatures into submission and be burned in return. He was decided.

“Well, I have a way out now.” Maurrem climbed up the fallen chunks of ceiling. His raw fingertips ached with each new grip and pull. A few minutes later, he stood atop the sand looking down at the ruins. Wind was already covering it in a blanket of golden dirt, and by nightfall, Maurrem knew that most of what was down there would be buried in the granules of time. Leaving it behind, Maurrem returned to Morvae to report what little information he had gathered from the old man, choosing to leave out his adventure in the sands.

If Sirds was going to keep certain weaves to himself, so would Maurrem.