Burning.
“He is here. Unlike our friend on the floor, your lover shared his body willingly, for which I am grateful.”
The odd sensations continued, the pressure within Martin growing unpleasant. “What is your name?”
“You may call me Sige, if name me you must. Once I am back with my own kind, we are not individuals, but one. The one you call Thomoth was not content and broke free. Now it is returned.”
Sige led the way to the gardens and the low bench Martin often shared with Cere. “Sit.”
Martin sat, by now, the pressure threatening to rip him in two. “What’s happening?”
Sige sank down beside him, directing their still-joined hands to the ground. “Focus. Drain the power into this world. Think of the mountains, the seas, all the faraway lands.” The bench beneath them shook. Screams came from the streets. In the distance, falling debris rumbled.
Peter stared into Martin’s eyes. “Quickly. Even now, the magic becomes too much for your control.”
Martin did his best to imagine the mountains where he’d spent childhood, the sea he’d sailed with a young man named Petran. All the distant lands Petran spoke of.
Nothing else existed but the hand in his and the flow of magic into the ground.
Tired, so tired. Martin slumped against the being beside him. “I can’t continue.”
“Shh… rest now. You did well.” Soft lips brushed his forehead.
Martin slept.
Martin awoke in a soft bed. Where was he? What happened? The past few hours slammed into him in a rush. The battle. Thomoth. Cere.
Peter.
Martin shot upright on the bed, clutching his head. That hurt. He collapsed against a mound of pillows.
“You should be resting.” A young man of delicate beauty sat in an upholstered chair beside the bed, dressed in a novice’s flowing, elegant silk.
“Who are you? Where is Peter?” Martin lay in a bed larger and softer than he’d ever seen, draped in silks. Elegant tapestries draped the walls. He clutched the covers to his naked chest, Dmitri’s pendant hanging once more from the chain around his neck.
“If you seek Sige, I’ve sent another to fetch them. They wanted to know the moment you woke.” The young man lifted Martin with an arm much stronger than it looked, holding a cup to his lips.
Martin drank sweet water. “Where am I?”
“You are in a priest’s quarters.”
“A priest?”
The boy cast his gaze down. “A priest of the Lady. They’re gone now. The oracle, the priests. Only a few novices remain.”
“Leave us,” came a voice from the doorway.
The young man bobbed his head and left the room, his silk slippers scuffing against the floor.
Sige sat in the chair the boy vacated and took Martin’s hand. The voice coming from Peter’s body still wasn’t his own. “You are doing well?”
Martin nodded, fighting back a growl. “Are you going to let Peter have his body back?”
The thing sounded surprised. “Of course, after we’ve accomplished what we must.”
“How do I know you won’t keep him like Thomoth did Cere?” Dare Martin trust this being? True, it had defeated Thomoth, but what if it decided to take over instead? “How long will that take?”
“A few of your sevendays. Once I find each realm, I must seek out those who can shape the magic and rebuild. Teach them, if necessary. I do not yet know what I will find. Your and Dmitri’s worlds were still intact, as were the last two Thomoth raided, and a rift exists between the two. Portals, I believe you call them.”
