A dream?
The sky held a hazy gray hue. All colors were muted, shadows flitting on the edges of his vision. He didn’t recognize this place, know how he got here, or where the man in black had disappeared to.
But Peter. His wonderful, dear Peter, survived the flames, along with Dmitri. Or maybe Martin’s worried mind merely conjured a vision.
Waves rolled onto the shore, lapping at his bare toes. He’d long ago removed his boots and stripped down as much as he dared for comfort’s sake. Whatever the place, it put E’Skaara’s worst summers to shame for heat.
A day spent exploring showed no way back and gave no indication of Martin’s location. If he ventured far enough, would he find a village?
The outcropping looked familiar. He turned. A tiny inlet, perfect for mooring ships. His heart dropped to his stomach. No! It couldn’t be.
He ran toward the harbor, stopping at the water’s edge. There should be ships here, buildings, an entire city. Nothing but weeds and scraggly trees. Their withered branches mirrored his mood. He climbed a hill he’d last seen under cobblestones, stared at the place where a temple should be, and twisted around, trying to imagine the Father’s temple across the road.
Nothing but an empty, blackened crater in the ground.
There should be carriages, gas lamps. And…
He charged down the hill, back toward the water. E’Skaara’s main dock should be here, which meant a side street should lead from the wharf to the city proper. Nothing but dry grass crunching underfoot.
One step at a time, he made his way to where the lower city should be. Where the Stone’s Throw should be.
Where Peter should be.
Peter.
Pain lashed through Martin’s heart. Had Peter and Dmitri really emerged unscathed from the fire? Where was Martin, why was he here, and how could he get back to where he belonged?
Nothingness, as far as the eye could see, except for shadows. Everywhere, shadows. They moved to and fro. With reason? Did patterns exist in their flitting silhouettes?
If Martin stared hard enough, they almost took shape. People? Staring harder brought in the faint hint of walls, gone with a blink. Was he still in the city, but unseen? Could he find the ancient relics he’d visited with Dmitri?
Dmitri.
Martin ran back to the hill he estimated should house the temple. The gardens should be… over there. The sanctuary? Behind him. And farther back, the area reserved for the oracle and the oracle only.
Well, no oracle. He knelt in what he thought might be the center of the room if it existed.
Footsteps crunched dry grass behind him. Martin whirled.
The man in black leaned against a withered tree trunk, sweeping out a hand. “Look around. The creature you call the Lady did this. It used us, leaving the land I love the ruin you see here.” He strode forward but stopped before coming too close. “It will do the same to your world.”
“What is this place?”
“It’s a shadow of the world you live in. We were you, once upon a time. We lived, we loved, we had children, grew old. And died.” The man trained his gaze on Martin. Even the sparkling of his eyes appeared muted and gray in this place. “Whenthe Ladycame here, my ancestors loved her, worshipped her, built temples in her honor. How did she repay us? Abandoned us without a backward glance. Leaving us to die.” He turned away. “And die we did. If you look closely, you’ll see the ghosts of the lost.
“Everything you’ve ever been told of her religion is a lie. The Lady so many pray to bears no resemblance to your native form. She’ll… it will kill you in the end.”
“What about you? You still live.”
“I was her oracle. The one who loved her most and felt her betrayal the deepest. In return, she cursed me to outlive everyone I know, watch my beloved homeland crumble.”
“Who are you?”
The man sketched a bow. “Xariel, Oracle ofthe Lady, at your service.” He spat the name and gave a bitter laugh. “Though it hasn’t spoken its loathsome platitudes through me in ages.”
“What do you want with me?”
“Much.”
