Morning of Seventhday, the train pulled into the station to wild cheering and celebrating. The people of Torrviol shouted and danced in the streets. Some wept, some fell to their knees and prayed. Mirian watched with mixed emotions. The hope was inspiring, and it brought a smile to her face. Inside, though, she knew how it would end. For her, the joy had that weight of foreknowledge dragging it down.

The first cars to unload did so with some ceremony; Baracuel army officers marched out, followed by disciplined lines of sorcerers and rifle infantry. Beneath those masks of discipline, there must have been a storm of emotions too. Did they know how desperate the defense would be? How little mercy the attackers would show? She wondered how much the situation had deteriorated in Palendurio or Cairnmouth. No doubt, they’d heard of the first magical eruptions.

But whatever trepidation they felt was mixed with the stirring emotions of watching a crowd cheer their arrival, praying to the Gods for the salvation that had just arrived.

Without meaning to, Mirian found that tears were slipping down her face. She turned away from the spectacle. She wanted to feel that hope too. That’s not your path, though, she reminded herself.

Mirian retreated to the militia practice grounds, but found the students and citizens were all lining up to see the army.

It was a different assistant who found Mirian, a woman with more south-western features. “What happened to the other guy who usually gets me?” she asked.

“Dunno. No one can find him,” the assistant said.

That made Mirian pause. She’d meant the last comment as conversational filler, just an idle observation. “Do you think he… ran off? When’s the last time anyone saw him?”

“Fifthday, I think. He didn’t show up for work yesterday. Ethwarn was furious. Timmon might have tried to take one of those caravans south. Never struck me as a coward, but sometimes people surprise you. The meeting is in the heraldry room. Ethwarn wanted you to meet the general.”

Mirian followed her to the mayor’s office, then through the ornate double doors. The heraldry room had banners of most of the noble houses draped along one wall. Another was full of the portraits of previous mayors. A fine mahogany table was the centerpiece of the room, surrounded by equally fancy looking chairs made of wood that had a deep red hue. The tops and arms of the chairs were decorated with silver that seemed like it had been hastily polished only recently, as bits of tarnish were still visible.

Mayor Ethwarn was already there, talking with a woman with gold epaulets. Atop those were little ivory lions, so that a tiny cat was frozen in a roar on each shoulder. The four golden cords across the breast of her jacket and the fancy bicorne on her head marked her as a general of the army. At first glance, Ethwarn and the general seemed about the same height and size, but unlike the mayor, there was a certain grace and power the woman carried herself with. Four officers stood at attention just behind her, while a fifth had a notebook open and was already scribbling notes down at the table.

“Ah, Mirian. This is General Hanaran. She’ll be leading the defense of Torrviol.”

General Hanaran raised a contemptuous eyebrow. “This… is your source? A child?”

Mirian bristled at that. She was a young adult, not a toddler. “What do you know about Marshal Cearsia?” she asked.

“Why on Enteria does that matter?”

“Because she’s leading the attack,” Mirian said, and sat down at the table.

That didn’t quite knock the wind out of General Hanaran’s sails, but they did deflate slightly. She turned back to Ethwarn. “I’m to believe there’s a new prophet, and it’s her? There must be another explanation. Perhaps she knows what she knows because she’s a spy for the enemy.”

Ethwarn sighed heavily and took a swig of the wine cup in front of him before replying. “She did kill two Akanan spies right here in town. I can’t really explain away the foreknowledge. Oh, believe me, I tried. Had her followed, searched through her dorm—”

Mirian sat up straighter at that. He’d what!?

“—interviewed some acquaintances, pulled all her records, and no one could find anything. No exchange of information, no fancy arcane telegraph, and certainly not an aerie of zephyr falcons hiding in her closet. The priests are furious with me, tried to go around my back, the varmints, but I’ve decided what’s important is my home, right here. Baracuel. I’ll leave it to the philosophers to figure out the how and why of it.”

“What of the airships? Did you confirm them?”

“No. No one’s seen those. Or rather, if they have, they were killed before they got the message off.”

“She’s exaggerating the size,” General Hanaran muttered. “None of the design documents in our collaborations ever attempted to lift something that big.”

Mirian rolled her eyes. “And if you’d developed a war-changing secret weapon, you’d tell everyone so they could prepare?”

Hanaran glared at her, then looked away. “Why is she here, again?” she asked no one in particular.

“I know how the Akanans attack. I believe you have one of my maps.”

The general looked at the crude map copy on the table. “I was told it was taken off their spies. Was I misinformed?”

The mayor cleared his throat. “We thought it a bit premature to declare a new prophet when we sent it. Torrviol needed you to take it seriously.”

“Then you are vouching for its accuracy?”

Mayor Ethwarn clenched his jaw and looked at Mirian. Then he looked back to the general and said, “Yes I am.”

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Hanaran made a grunting noise that might have been affirmation. “It’s the obvious path for an assault, especially as they believe Torrviol is essentially undefended. The veracity of the intelligence will make little difference to my defense. And I need no encouragement to take seriously the defense of my country and people.”

The doors opened again, and Cassius, Moliner, and the other militia captains came in. The introductions were brief, and then the meeting began in earnest.

General Hanaran had brought along a much bigger map, and her assistants laid it out so it covered the center of the table. “Your militia’s plan is too basic, though it will serve a vital role in helping hold a defensive line. However, holding ground will not be enough. We need to establish positions for reliable counter-battery fire. And rooftop positions. The 6-inch guns can be loaded with airburst shells to ward away the airships—or take them down, if they get cocky. We’ll need sorcerers to help get them into position. Captain Cassius, I am told you can assist with this?”

Cassius nodded.

Hanaran continued, placing elegant wood pieces on the map to represent where her regiments would go, and what the militia would need to do to support operations. Soon, the map was full of colored pieces.

Mirian quickly became lost at the terminology and concepts as Hanaran continued her explanation of the plan, the contingencies, and how the defense would progress. It was a small comfort that the businessmen captains also seemed lost, and kept interrupting with questions.

Finally, one of them said, “With respect, General, it may be the case that the Torrviol Militia may not need to know all the details of the defense. Perhaps it would be simpler to establish lines of communication bringing the militia into your chain of command, and a unified logistics effort.”

“There’s also the matter of evacuation of the civilian population,” Ethwarn said. “While I of course understand that martial law allows the military exclusive use of the train, there’s already a great deal of unrest from even the few hours of delay in letting people board. You do plan to let them leave, yes? I think the fewer civilians you have rioting and needing to be fed, the more effective the army effort will be.”

The conference turned to a mix of argument and agreement. General Hanaran was adamant the train not return to Cairnmouth, as it would then be out of her army’s reach if it was needed during the attack. Eventually, she relented, and would have the train start moving people south to the Cairn River, where a temporary camp could be established. The shorter route would allow for several trips before the Akanans arrived. Mirian mostly listened, munching on the steady stream of appetizers until she had an embarrassingly high stack of the tiny silver plates they came on, and one of the servants had to surreptitiously remove them.

Eventually, the meeting wound down. As they adjourned, with General Hanaran still giving her the stinky-eye, Mirian had no real conception of how good the plan was, but it had to be better than what she’d seen before.

***

Back at the dorm, she found Lily sitting in the commons holding her head in her hands.

“Hey,” she said, sitting next to her.

Lily looked up at her. She’d been crying, Mirian could tell. “It’s… I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s all really happening, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Mirian, putting her arm around Lily.

“I didn’t get one of the passes out of town,” she said, sniffling a little. “What should I do, Mirian? Is my sister safe? Should I go north? What happens if I stay?”

Mirian closed her eyes, and felt her own tears leaking out. She couldn’t just say it doesn’t matter. Not to her closest friend. “I don’t know. Every time is a bit different.”

“What should I do?”

“Do whatever will make you happy,” Mirian said.

The problem was, Lily knew her too well. She could see right through her. “We’re all going to die, aren’t we? Even with the changes.”

Mirian kept her eyes closed and swallowed hard. Then, reluctantly, she nodded twice.

She felt Lily start to tremble. “But… this one’s not real, right? You get another chance, right?”

“I don’t know how many I get. But I’ll see you again. I’ll see you all. And you won’t remember. It’ll still be you, just with the last month missing. So in a sense, you’ll be okay, no matter what. Because I’m not going to stop until you are.”

Lily squeezed her. “I know you will. It’s… it’s scary though.”

“Yeah,” Mirian agreed.

They stayed like that for some time, until Lily finally said, “Well, we should get some dinner, right?”

“Sure,” Mirian said, even though she’d already gorged herself on the tiny appetizers.

As they walked to the dining hall, Lily said, “Wow, how do you get used to people staring at you?”

“I haven’t. It’s still weird. Like, the other day a bunch of strangers had an argument with the priest about if I was a heretic or not, and they totally saved me. But like… what do I do about that? Am I supposed to go around shaking their hands? Just sort of say a general ‘thank you’ and then move on? Stop laughing—it’s awkward! Of course, I can take all these classes on magic, but there’s not a single one on social etiquette for time travelers.”

The stares lasted in the dining hall too. Then, Mirian caught the eye of a student she recognized, one who had been making herself surprisingly scarce this cycle.

“Hey, I gotta go talk to someone,” she told Lily.

When Valen saw Mirian approaching, she stood up and started heading for the exit.

“Hey, Valen. Wait. We need to talk.” She followed Valen out the door, and saw the other girl was running. Yeah right, like you can outrun me, Mirian thought, and broke into a run to catch her. Her stomach, full for the second time this evening, wasn’t happy about this, but she was able to grab the other girl’s arm. “Hey. Hey!” she said.

“What?” Valen snapped at her. “What can we possibly have to talk about?”

Mirian threw up her hands. “I don’t know, maybe about what’s going on in that tiny brain of yours? Every cycle you’re lurking around, then suddenly, you’re not. I don’t get you. At first, I thought you hated me. Then last cycle you ditch classes to do counter-espionage with me, and then this cycle you’re like a magnet that won’t come close.”

Valen looked at her like she’d started growing eyeballs on her face. “You really don’t know?”

“Look, I understand math and glyphs. I’ve never pretended to be any good with people.”

She looked crestfallen again. When she spoke, it was in a tone Mirian had only heard her use once before. “I never wanted to say it, because when it happens the right way, it’s understanding. People say things all the time. They profess to speak from their heart, but then forget the noises they made like a tree forgetting its leaves in winter. There’s no truth in words. Deeds are all that matter. You don’t look at what a person says, you look at how they say it. Our bodies are a jumbled up mix of feelings, ambitions, and volatile chemicals, and the mind is just a pitiful augur trying to figure it out. When people say stuff, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not something to be said. It’s something to be felt.”

It was the most words Valen had ever spoken in a row without throwing a barb Mirian’s way. She didn’t know what to say.

“Ah, what does it matter? Tell you what. You want to understand me, meet me in the Stygalta Arena, prepared to speak a real language.”

Mirian looked at her. Five hells, really? she thought, then said, “Alright. I’ll be there in an hour.”

And Valen gave the faintest hint of a smile.