But no oculus hangs in the cave of the Source any longer. A wall of solid rock stands where it was. And from a crevice in the rock has sprouted a tree, little more than a stick as yet, too small to reveal its variety. I like to think it is a sign of the life you’ve given me. I promise I’ll do my best to nurture it.
Your loving son,
Gerick
Karon has begun to write a history of his people in our world, a project he has dreamed about since he first went to the University. And he has begun to heal again, quietly until we are sure of Evard’s new law. We live in the Windham gatehouse, as the main house is too ruined to rebuild. I am working to restore Martin’s gardens.
Gerick’s infrequent letters tell of Singlars and sunrocks and towers that grow, and of the small victories and immense frustrations of responsibility, but very little of himself. Nothing of the scars that I fear go far deeper than those on his hands. Wary. I, too, feel wary. Karon told me of Ziddari’s final curse: You are our instrument…
Are the Lords truly dead? Gerick and Karon believe it. Ven’Dar, too. On a visit this month, the Prince reported how the society grown up about constant war in Gondai has begun to crumble, just as the towers of Zhev’Na collapsed to rubble at the moment of Karon’s and Gerick’s victory. But though I rejoice each morning when I wake with Karon beside me, I cling to him fiercely each night when the inevitable darkness comes.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Though Carol Berg calls Colorado her home, her roots are in Texas, in a family of teachers, musicians, and railroad men. She has a degree in mathematics from Rice University and one in computer science from the University of Colorado, but managed to squeeze in minors in English and art history along the way. She has combined a career as a software engineer with her writing, while also raising three sons. She lives with her husband at the foot of the Colorado mountains.