“He’s safe. You’ll see him shortly.” If the being named Sige proved truthful. Addie’s survival eased some of the darkness in Martin’s soul. One fewer person for Peter to mourn. How many friends and customers had he lost, in addition to his business?
Addie let out a breath and stepped back, leaving sooty handprints on Martin’s shirt.
Gaveth waved a hand, and the soot disappeared from the shirt and Addie. She jumped back, eyes wide. “Mage!” That she didn’t comment on Gaveth’s appearance said she already knew of his kind.
“Get used to it, Addie. It’s the way things will be.”
She gave a tremulous smile, openly studying the guardian. “So, I can tell women what their children will be without the threat of punishment?”
Addie? Magic? Dmitri once said a mage-born watched over Peter, and she’d worn an amulet.
Martin turned to Gaveth, who shrugged.
“Where are you staying? Was your home destroyed?” Martin owed Peter to see to his friends.
“Nothing left.” Addie stared at the ground.
“Come to the Father’s temple,” Gaveth said before Martin could. “You’ll be welcome there, as will any others in need.”
Addie smiled, though a haunted look remained in her eyes. “Aye. I will.” She turned and resumed sifting through the remains of the tavern, pulling out a broken cup here, a frying pan there.
Martin continued on. The bridge where he’d seen his first runes lay in a mound of dust and broken pieces, the runes no longer holding power.
Gaveth stood quietly by, being there but saying nothing to interrupt Martin’s thoughts. Martin nodded at his silent companion and turned, trudging back the way they’d come.
Gery Enys’s house still stood, though Commander Enys wasn’t home, likely out securing the city. From what Martin knew of Esmerla Enys, she would probably be helping where she could. What about Enys’s huge, extended family? Martin would have to find him later and ask.
He found an empty garrison, all surviving guards deployed to keep what peace they could in the city. Should Martin rejoin their ranks? Suddenly, he felt lost. He’d spent so much time dreaming of the Lady’s—no Thomoth’s—overthrow that he hadn’t spared any thoughts for what came after.
“We would be honored if you stayed with us,” Gaveth said, as though reading Martin’s thoughts. “At least in the short-term. We have much to teach you and much work to do.”
One thing Martin did know about his future: his reason to keep living. “What about Peter?”
He heard the smile in the priest’s words. “He will be asked the moment he returns.”
Martin worked late into each eve, burying the dead, shoring up any salvageable buildings. Half the time, he wanted to surrender E’Skaara to the destruction and rebuild somewhere else.
Those with mage blood came out of hiding, lending their skills.
The inside of the Lady’s temple remained mostly unscathed, with rooms enough to house the injured. There Addie spent her days. At night she made her way to Martin’s room in the Father’s temple, lying beside him in his bed.
The first night he worried but let her be. She cried in her sleep, often waking from nightmares. Martin held her until she calmed as he was sure Peter would want him to.
She’d once boasted of her large family, how most of the lower city were her kin. Martin and Peter were all the woman had left. She could share the bed.
The surviving magistrates agreed that there would be no upper and lower city anymore. No elite novices supported by the sweat and labor of the commoners.
The bed dipped behind him, and a body pressed against his back. Cere. He, too, had been left with no one, though once or twice Martin awoke to find the young man in Addie’s arms. Perhaps Cere found a mother and Addie, a son. She’d taken him on as apprentice healer, though he’d no magic of his own. He’d not spoken since leaving the Lady’s temple.
Blood ties mattered not when so few survived. Ships returned to the ports, bringing much-needed supplies and news of the outside world. Other lands had fared better, though magic reached their shores too. The lands protected by magical beings such as fairies and elves fared much better.
Daily, Martin visited the now obsolete portals, hoping for word. But, day after day, he left disappointed.
One day he sat in the courtyard of a badly damaged house, taking a break from house repairs, and looked up to find a familiar figure approaching. Though most of his body remained hidden by a robe, Dmitri had pushed back the hood to reveal pale skin, hair, and eyes. The days being overcast likely offered some protection from the sun.
Though he’d dared not dwell on his grandfathers too much, relief filled Martin. “Dmitri!” He paused. “Are you Father Dmitri still?” Martin wasn’t ready to call this man his grandsire out loud. Might never be ready.
Dmitri clasped Martin’s shoulder and gave a tired smile. “Dmitri is fine.” He perused the area. “I see the survivors have rallied.”
