THE MAZE OF TAMEREST

Maria Ali Hussain

Daastan Publishing 2023

First Published in Pakistan by Daastan PVT LTD

House # A-41, Madni Street, Lala Rukh, Wah Cantt, Punjab 47040

www.daastan.com

www.meraqissa.com

Text copyrights © Maria Ali Hussain

Book Design copyright © Anum Ameer

Edited by: Mariam Rizvi

The moral rights of the writer, illustrator and editor have been asserted.

All rights reserved

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN 978-969-696-790-3

To Zeth, my best chum.

PREFACE

Many, many years ago, when our kind was being brutally killed or tortured, a hope for a new home had ignited in our hearts. The hope for a land of our own. The hope to not see our beloved ones being captured every day. The hope to escape the brutal humans. We gathered the best warriors, oracles and elementals. And a new home was created: Tamerest.

This book is intended for the masses in search of a home. And with this thought, I hope you enjoy the journey of Cecilia Whiteriver as she finds her purpose in the land of Tamerest.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. Ponder.
2. Mask.
3. Friend.
4. Fear.
5. Lost.
6. Conversation.
7. Journey.
8. Chant.
9. Decision.

Ponder

Verb: think about (something) carefully, especially before reaching a conclusion.

Cecilia Whiteriver

Home. A place where someone should feel safe, protected, and loved. The only place where the worries and difficulties of the world don’t haunt them. A place I was never able to experience.

Now, sitting on my bed, I wonder what life would be like if it weren’t this harsh and rough on me. I try not to let the arguments, which erupted between my parents every now and then, affect me, but it feels near to impossible. I wonder how it would be if my parents just accepted each other and their flaws rather than pointing them out.

My parents, both heirs of very rich companies, were forced to marry one another for the sake of partnership. They initially intended to divorce each other after the project was successful, but then, I was born. A mistake. I try not to think this way, but seeing how this relationship is badly affecting their lives, makes me feel guilty. Guilty for existing.

Since I was three, the only times I've heard them ‘conversing’ was at night times, when they used to fight with each other to no limits. Calling each other and the opposite’s family names and curse words I dare not repeat.

Over time, I familiarized myself with it and got used to it, while little me would try to block her ears so hard they would ring and burn after a while.

I always reprimand myself from meddling in their business, trying not to be a target of abuse due to their temper, but I cannot help thinking how they are not meant for each other.

Pity. That's what I feel for them. Being stuck in such toxicity that they feel suffocated and take it out on everyone around them.

“Lia! Come down and have dinner!” yelled a familiar gruff voice. It was my Pa, Jack Whiteriver. He had a talent. A talent to have such a tone which held authority and power that would make the opposite feel guilty if the orders he commanded were not carried out.

My dear father loved to order. It made him feel superior; above anyone. But the only people he could not control were his parents and his wife, my Ma. His six-foot two height made him tower over others with his muscular built, enhancing his authoritative aura. His hair was always slicked back in a neat hairstyle and a tattoo sleeve painted around his right hand. I had my father’s eyes and hair. A black, so dark, it would remind you of the midnight when the moon didn’t come out to greet you.

The rest of me was a copy of my Ma. Her short height, petite figure, and soft facial features, gathering up to portray her elegant picture. The only thing which differentiated me from her were her emerald, green eyes and chocolate brown hair gracing her facial frame.

Anyone would assume they were a match made in heaven, but they do not see what I see, what I experience.

“Coming, Pa!” I answered quickly as I rushed out of my grey-themed room, putting on a pair of slippers in a haphazard way and running down the auburn-colored stairs at the end of the corridor of the first floor.

As soon as I reached downstairs, I was embraced by the mouthwatering smell of the food the cook had made. Entering the dining hall, I saw my father, sitting at the head of the table, a grim expression resting on his face. I sat on his left-hand side and apologized for the delay.

“Where’s Ma, Pa?” I asked out of habit, knowing the answer would be the same.

“She won’t be joining us. Eat quickly, you have school tomorrow,” he said in a monotonous voice. Pa was more present in my life than Ma and I was thankful to him for at least making the effort.

We quickly ate our dinner and retired to our rooms. And here, again, I lay in my bed, trying to chase a peaceful sleep which I knew I could not catch.

Mask

Verb: conceal (something) from view.

Cecilia Whiteriver

I woke up, gasping for air, my eyes wide in fear. I closed my eyes, trying to forget the horrid dream I just saw.

What was that? Why did it appear again?