EPILOGUE 1

Mara sat on the driver’s bench of the carriage, with Ithella to her left, and Mirabelle riding alongside them. Ahead, Cerene loomed on its hill, framed by blue skies and the Valtans beyond, and Mara loathed to see it again. Her and Ithella’s adventure with Lanri and Seeker, and then also Mirabelle had been a fantastic one, right up until Seeker and Lanri simply disappeared.

Seeker had told them to wait in Amourot for a few days, which had turned to a few weeks quickly. But they’d never come back. She’d been so opposed to leaving without them, but Mirabelle and Ithella had both been adamant that Seeker’s continued absence meant they should just go home.

Mara didn’t like that. She’d grown to like, even love the rather full-of-themselves couple. Being abandoned by them after traveling for nearly two months together hurt a great deal, even if Ithella had assured her that there would be a good reason, and that if she ever wanted to join Ishara’s Touched, she’d have to accept that.

Cerene looked different than when they’d left. The fields around the city were green with growing crops, and the gates were guarded, but open. Caravans of traders came and went again, and gone was the besieged look the place had, replaced with the vibrant Cerene she’d known and loved her entire life.

“You look nervous, Femme d’Arme,” Ithella told her.

“I am,” Mara said. “I did kind-of, sort-of bail on my job in the guard for several months.”

“Captain Addler doesn’t strike me as the type to hold a grudge, Mara. Besides, you’ve only Abbot Du Bois to worry about impressing, now.”

“Don’t remind me,” Mara grumbled, then shifted her voice up into a caricature of herself. “Hi, excuse me, Mister Abbot, sir. I lost your prophet-angel and her mortal lover in a strange land. Anyways, can I live in your monastery and study for free for a few years?”

Ithella chuckled and rolled her big, elven eyes. “No, you’ll remind him that Her Grace explicitly endorsed you study Ishara’s teachings. And it won’t be free, Mara.”

“It won’t be?” Mara asked. Her heart sank a little at hearing that. “Then… why the hell are we even going back to Cerene? I really doubt my dearest father will help me fund several years of–”

“Not like that,” soothed Ithella. “You won’t owe tuition, love. I mean that you won’t be a leech like your sarcastic remarks imply. Abbot Du Bois will expect you to work for the monastery during your studies.”

“Oh,” said Mara. “That’s not so bad.”

Ithella nodded. “My education was obviously very different from yours, but the organized denominations all follow broadly similar practices. There will be two years of traditional studies as an acolyte, where you learn the divine language and theology, then two more years as an apprentice to an experienced, Touched priest. I would wager a great deal that Abbot Du Bois will want to take you on as his personal apprentice, when that time comes. And you’ll be doing chores the entire time.”

As they got closer to the gates, Mara noticed that about a third of the guards around the city’s northernmost gate weren’t professional city guards at all. They were men and women of the militia she and Ithella had trained, now wearing Cereni guards’ armor, decorated with blue braids, and wielding spears, rather than the traditional Cereni glaives.

“Commander, sergeant,” one of them said, respectfully nodding to both of them when they rode through.

“And… what will you do, during all of that?” Mara asked Ithella, uncertainly. She’d been dancing around the question for their entire journey back to Cerene, and now that they were within its walls, she realized she couldn’t delay it anymore.

“When Her Grace and Lanri freed me from my indenture to the Abanians, my plan was to travel to New Gyr, rest, and pursue vengeance against those who had enslaved me.” Mara’s heart sank a little at the news, but Ithella didn’t seem to notice. “However, I believe that was… hasty, of me. I believe I will remain here, Mara. I will petition the pontifex for the right to establish a temple to Lord Daray here in Cerene.”

“You… you will?” Mara asked, hopefully.

Ithella nodded. “I found training the militia to be a very gratifying experience, Femme d’Arme. I believe I can push some of them to excellence, perhaps even train them in the ways of Lord Daray. Plus, that way I can make sure you don’t forsake your martial abilities, either. I’ll be expecting you to train with me.”

Mara grinned, and nodded.

________________

Once the horses were stabled, the final stretch to the monastery was traveled on foot. Mara had considered leaving her glaive in the wagon, or even selling it on the walk through the city, but she’d decided against it.

Seeker, or Her Grace as she should probably start to call her, hadn’t said anything about giving it up, or forgetting who she was. She herself carried a sword in Ishara’s name, and that was the example Mara was going to follow. Her glaive was hers, and it would remain that way.

Ahead, the monastery stood tall and proud, the white stones reflecting the spring’s sunlight beautifully. Bizarrely, the gates were wide open, and guarded by two of the baron’s palace guard, wielding glaives that had come from the exact same forge as her own. They lit up when they saw her.

“Mara!” One of them eagerly said. A canine beastkin woman named Terri, she was just a few months younger than Mara, with a tail that eagerly wagged when she saw her. “You’re just in time! Addler and Lord Vattens are both still inside.”

“They are?” Mara asked.

When Mara, Ithella, and Mirabelle got closer, the woman stepped away from her post, and wrapped her up in a hug. “Gods, Mara! You smell like you’ve been to Cornon and back!”

“Amourot, actually,” Mara told her. “Did you say Addler and Vattens are in there?”

The beastkin nodded, then cocked her head in a very dog-like way as her tail settled down. “You sound surprised. Aren’t you here to see Addler about rejoining the guard, now that you’re back in the city?”

Mara shook her head. “I’m not here for them, no. I’m here for, well, the monastery itself.”

“Oh, you’re… you’re not here for us?” Terri asked. She looked disappointed as all the hells for a moment, until an excited grin found its way to her face instead. “Oh, you’re joining the seminary! Your dad’s going to kill you!”

Mara groaned at the thought. Terri wasn’t wrong, not at all. Her dad would try to harass her into quitting and coming home as soon as he found out she’d joined. Luckily, Mara was far more popular in the guard than he’d ever been, so she felt no shame in asking “you’ll stick him in a cell for a few days if he tries to, right?”

Terri exchanged looks with her partner, then nodded. “I’ll talk to Captain Addler, don’t worry.” She gave Mara a knowing smile. “In fact, I think I just saw some kids try to throw a rock through one of the windows. Now that Vattens has gotten religious, we should probably have someone stand guard here around the clock, anyways.”

“The baron found religion?!” Mara asked. She’d never seen the man so much as talk to one of the priests of the city.

“He sure did,” Terri said. “Something about an angel decking him before showing him his girlfriend was wearing one of those earrings, and then what she did to the Bandit Mage… It apparently all made a big impact on the guy.”

“Her Grace does tend to be impactful,” Ithella agreed, before she nodded at the guards, and led Mara and Mirabelle inside.

Beyond the fence, on either side of the statue of Lady Ishara, two trees stood. They’d grown up to about the height of Mara’s neck, and it occurred to her that they had absolutely not been there when they’d left Cerene.

“Wow!” Mirabelle exclaimed, running past, before she dropped to her knees in front of them. She looked up at them with true glee in her eyes. “This would have taken two years in the wild! At least one, even with my greatest spells to help them!”

“So… what happened?” Mara asked.

“Her Grace happened!” Mirabelle eagerly said, as if that alone were an explanation. Mara looked at her for a while, trying to parse her meaning when the bovine beastkin priestess continued, “she blessed the seeds when you all took off, and I planted them on the equinox, before I came after you. They’re…”

“Miracles?” Mara offered.

Mirabelle grinned at that. “You’re talking like a priestess already. Go on, talk to Du Bois about it, already,” she said with a tilt of her head towards the monastery’s front doors. Mara nodded, and walked between the statue and one of the trees, then on across the courtyard.

The doors of the monastery itself were, like the gates before them, wide open. The smell of incense and baking bread wafted out, rich and inviting. With Ithella by her side, she stepped in.

“Excuse us, Son of Passion,” Ithella said, flagging down the male human priest that had accompanied them on the raid against the Bandit Mage. “Where is the abbot?”

The young man – Mara couldn’t recall his name – pointed back the way he’d come from, with an arm that was covered in half-finished tattoos. “He’s guiding the baron through a prayer in the common chapel, commander.”

Ithella cocked her head and smiled at the title, then turned the way he’d indicated, gesturing for Mara to follow her. Mara did so, amused by the title. The priests that had joined the militia for the assault had done so at the eleventh hour, so if even he was calling her that, Mara figured damn-near everyone that fought at the battle of Bodrin still would.

“The fact that they all look at you like a hero of legend probably helped you decide to stay here, huh?” Mara asked, as they approached a large congregation area, and she could just barely hear a man’s voice appealing to Ishara and Tenebor.

“It didn’t,” Ithella curtly said.

“It didn’t?” Mara asked.

“No,” Ithella easily said, as she took Mara by the wrist, and spun her to face her. The elf positively towered over her, and had a stern look about her. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Femme d’Arme, the love and respect of the locals is lovely, and will make my new temple flourish. But you, Mara, are why I want to build one here in the first place.”

Mara beamed her biggest, most loving smile up into Ithella’s big, dark eyes when she heard that. The first time she’d seen Ithella, she’d been petrified by the sight of her. Awesome, horrible fear. She’d very quickly gotten over her fear of the elven priestess, but that didn’t stop her from eliciting that awe from time to time.

“You risked your life to save mine; you and Lanri both did. I am every bit as devoted to you as you are to me because of that. We can flourish here in Cerene.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” whispered Mara.

“Usually, when couples look at each other like that in my monastery, the next things they say are vows before lady Ishara,” a man’s voice said to her side. She and Ithella both snapped their heads towards it, to see Abbot Du Bois, and his kindly smile. “Though… I suspect that’s not why you’re here.” He stretched a little, as if to check of Seeker or Lanri were hiding behind them.

Mara smiled at the man. “No, sir,” Mara quietly said, then glanced to Ithella. “Not yet, anyways.”

Ithella smiled and nodded at that, clearly pleased by the answer.

“Then what may I do for you, Daughter of War, Guardswoman Mara?” Du Bois asked.

Mara hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to phrase it. Ithella, gods bless her, started to speak for her, but Mara felt inexplicably strongly like she should make the case herself. “I want to join Ishara’s church,” she began. The abbot raised an eyebrow at her, but she didn’t let it stop her. “We… we traveled do Amourot with Seeker and Lanri, and… they both inspired me.”

“Indeed?” Du Bois asked, glancing up at the blade of Mara’s glaive. “Tell me about this inspiration, if you don’t mind.”

Mara nodded. “Seeker by… by using her sword in Ishara’s name. She was ruthless in defending people, defending her beloved. And Lanri by wearing her heart so proudly on her sleeve. She was so… proud of her place, by Seeker’s side. She lived and breathed to please Seeker, and I know I can do that for the goddess that has called to me since I was a a teenager.”

“It seems your talent for oration is contagious, Daughter of War,” Du Bois told Ithella with a smirk, much to Mara’s confusion.

“Inside joke, Femme d’Arme,” Ithella explained, then gestured with a jerk of her head that Mara should keep her attention on the abbot.

“But… did you speak of Her Grace and her consort in the past tense, young Mara?”

Mara swallowed, and nodded. “They… disappeared,” she quietly said. “They were called by Lady Ishara, and just never came back.”

Du Bois smiled when he heard that. An expression as if he’d finally found the last piece of some unseen puzzle, and had put it together. “That’s… I think that’s wonderful news, then.”

“It is?” Mara asked, uncertainly.

Du Bois nodded. “Oh, yes. And… if you’re serious about devoting yourself to my Lady, I have a feeling you’ll understand soon enough.”

“I am,” Mara said, stubbornly. Gods, how could she be anything other than serious about devoting herself to Ishara, after all she’d been through?

Du Bois’ smile widened. “Very well, then,” he said. “Then… follow me, and we’ll go find a place for you, here.”