The start of this loop had been a whirlwind. Mirian was relieved when the next few days were more subdued. Sure, there was still the chaos of the plebiscite, and people still stared at her wherever she went, or asked her if she could tell their fortune, but there wasn’t the constant feeling of being rushed. She met with the magistrate a few more times, and both Nicolus and Valen twice more. She was still busy, but relative to what she’d just gone through, it was nearly relaxing.
There was that anticipation hanging over her. She’d made yet more changes to the cycle, and something unexpected still could come out of nowhere, like Priest Krier leading a mob, or—or what? And that was the problem. There was going to be something, and she didn’t know what that something was.
She did have a plan for heading off Priest Krier, though. Seventhday, she went to his sermon.
Mirian had heard his lecture several times during the earlier cycles before she stopped going to the temple. As far as she could tell, it hadn’t changed. Likely, he was reading directly from the notes on his podium. As he talked, her eyes drifted to the statue of the Ominian that loomed behind him. She thought of the colossal statue in her dreams, wounds leaking ichor. She had now seen it too many times to have any doubt; if one of the Gods was responsible for her predicament, it must be the Ominian.
When the sermon ended, she waited patiently for her turn to talk, ignoring the pointed stares and whispers.
“Holy one,” she said. “I have been a faithful adherent to the Luminate Order all my life. Now, I see possible futures. What does the Luminate Order wish of me?”
Priest Krier’s wrinkled face creased as he examined her. “The other priests and I have been discussing that, actually. It’s… a bit strange. We’ve been struggling to find precedent in the holy texts for a situation like this. The Prophets were all devout of the Order, not simply members. And thus far, the Gods have continued their usual silence. It might be more comfortable to discuss this over tea.” This time, his expression and tone didn’t hold the pity for a suspected lunatic they’d held a year ago, but nor did they hold the righteous fury from last cycle.
Mirian hadn’t intended to go anywhere in private with him. She’d chosen to talk to him after a sermon specifically because she wanted an audience that could intervene if he tried something. Maybe he was still intending to do something, but it didn’t feel like that. Still, it would be safer to stay in the central sanctuary. “No thank you, holy one. It feels right to talk where they can watch,” she said, gesturing at the statues and reliefs that loomed around them in the deep shadows of the temple.
Priest Krier nodded. “I often do my best thinking here. It is comforting to know that, despite their own trials, that we are held sacred by the eyes of the Divine.”
Her eyes lingered on the statue of the Ominian. “I think I’ve seen another statue of Them. Only, the temple is strange and shifting, and Their wounds are bare.”
“And what did this statue of the Ominian look like?”
Mirian described it for him as best she could. The black ichor that dripped from the hollow wounds. The strange rock that was carved to look like wings and eyes, the body full of gaping maws. The strange images that played through her mind.
When she was done, Priest Krier had a stunned look. He was silent for a long time. Then he said, “You speak of mysteries that are sealed to all but the Order. Do you think the Ominian speaks to you?”
“Maybe. Not in words, though. It’s more like… symbols. Concepts. Sometimes, I think I know what something means, and other times, I don’t know.”
“The Elder Gods are not like us. The holy texts are clear that they experience the cosmos in ways we cannot conceive. The Second Prophet said, ‘What we see as a line, they see as an infinite plane. When we see a sealed tomb, they see both the bones interred and the path they took before they came to rest.’ He began the Order’s tradition of the new Prophets speaking to the old. Perhaps you will find wisdom in the words of the other Prophets.”
“Would I be able to… join the Luminate Order? As an acolyte?”
“Likely not. There’s a doctrinal problem. The Fourth Prophet said clearly, ‘No Prophet can be an acolyte, for they breach the mysteries of the Order like a tree’s roots sunder the soil.’ A Prophet must be declared by the Pontifex, or in his absence, by the council of archbishop electors. We have already sent word to the Great Sanctum in Palendurio and await the response.”
Huh, thought Mirian. The world must end before they ever get it. The crisis in Palendurio probably doesn’t help. “I want to make sure I stay in the good graces of the Order. I have always been faithful to the Gods.”
Krier smiled, and there was a genuine warmth to his smile that Mirian didn’t expect, especially given her last two encounters with him. “I would expect no less from one who has been smiled upon by them. You have nothing to worry about from the Order. If you wish to read from the holy texts, the temple’s doors are always open to you.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that some time,” Mirian said, and gave a shallow bow with her hand over her heart, as was traditional. As she left, she could only feel bafflement. What chain of events had caused that man to whip up a mob? Had she missed something? Was the Impostor responsible, still pulling strings in Torrviol? If the Impostor was in Torrviol, why wasn’t she trying to kill Mirian? She didn’t really take all that many precautions. Surely a woman who could impersonate an Arcane Praetorian could break into her dorm and kill her. Why hasn’t she? She’d been assuming that was because she fled Torrviol, but as the mayor’s assistant had made clear, at least one of the cells was staying behind.
Well, they could hide as they liked. She’d find them all eventually.
***
The relative calm continued to prevail in Torrviol. As the second quarter began, Mirian took her place as an official apprentice of Jei. On Firstday, the plebiscite nominated Sire Ethwarn again as mayor, and the next day the city council confirmed his appointment. The spies continued to lay low. Through this, Mirian continued her preparations. She’d prepared a series of battle maps to show Professor Cassius and Captain Moliner, assuming they ended up in the same roles as militia captains, and then General Hanaran when her forces arrived. She continued to train, with Jei when she could, without her when her mentor was busy with classes.
Jei also managed to convince Professor Torres to give her special instruction in artifice from time to time. Despite her proficiency, Torres always had suggestions or corrections. As they worked, Ingrid often stopped by, sometimes to watch, sometimes to add advice of her own.
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Secondday, though, was when Xipuatl joined Nicolus in studying for Spell Engine Alchemistry. Mirian instructed Nicolus to make sure those study sessions would happen, then arranged to meet them in the library.
On her way to the study room, a boy, a fifth year by his uniform, smiled and said, “Hey, you’re the future-girl, right? What’s my future?”
Normally, Mirian just glared at them, or told them it didn’t work like that, but this time, recognition surfaced in her mind. There were too many thousands of people in Torrviol for her to know individually, but she had seen him while watching from the parapets of Bainrose, several times. “You try to cross the Academy plaza during an Akanan artillery barrage and get your torso blown apart.” She stated it simply, like one might comment on the weather.
The boy gave a nervous laugh, trying to act like the words hadn’t just made his face blanch. “Good one,” he said, then hurried away. She caught him whispering to his friend, “Shut up! I did not!” before she was out of earshot.
She was relieved to be in the study room. Mirian still wasn’t used to all the staring.
Familiar faces greeted her.
“Good to see you for the first time again, Xipuatl,” she said.
Xipuatl glanced at Nicolus, who shrugged. “She did the same thing to you?”
“More or less,” Nicolus said.
“And you really believe her? I mean, I’m the first to admit our understanding of magical theory has massive gaps, but time magic—”
“Your family’s elder reliquary is in your meditation room, behind a permanent illusion in the stone wall,” Mirian said.
Xipuatl said something in Tlaxa that she guessed was probably a string of curse words.
“I’ll give you the same offer I did with Nicolus. You want a unified theory of arcane and soul magic? I’ll help you with it. But I need your expertise in soul magic.”
Nurea, who was standing in the corner, now back to her usual statuesque composure, raised a single eyebrow. Nicolus said, “He’s exempt from prosecution, due to the heritage clause. There’s no risk to us, only her.”
Mirian said, “Xipuatl, do you want more details?”
“That would be… nice,” he said. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not the most trusting individual.”
“Trust is for idiots,” Nicolus said.
“You just told me you’re taking the risk and trusting her,” Xipuatl said.
Nicolus grinned. “No inconsistency there.”
Mirian sighed, then summarized Xipuatl’s own theories. Then she told him more about the cycles, what she could do, and what she couldn’t. Once she’d done that, she could already sense the answer. Xipuatl was cautious, but by now she knew this passion of his for solving this particular mystery of the cosmos was irresistible. “Dammit, I’m in,” he said.
Mirian smiled. “Glad to have you on board.”
***
Perhaps her conversation with Priest Krier had ignited the dreams anew, or perhaps it was just a coincidence, but that night, Mirian dreamed of the Mausoleum of the Ominian again. As she walked through the middle of the central sanctum, she realized that it now felt familiar. Though the walls and alcoves shifted as she walked past them, they faded in and out of view in familiar patterns. There were the statues of strange beasts with dozens of eyes and tentacles. There was the relief of the great beast with a torso made of hundreds of pincers, with eye-stalks that looked like claws. There was the twisting latticework that shone with colors that defied description. She knew that if she walked a few more steps, another set of statues would fade, and a wall of the constellations interspersed with black, rippled stone carved with gaping maws would appear.
When she had first seen it, the place had terrified her. Now, it still unnerved her, but the familiarity was comforting.
Nicolus had said she would bring with her pieces of the people she talked with. Professor Viridian might have said something similar—that every person was affected by their environment and experiences. Nothing existed alone.
She held onto that idea. She was so far from normal now that she often felt isolated, but she needed to remember that every experience she had mattered. It all served a purpose, a path forward.
Mirian sat before the strange and colossal statue of the Ominian and looked around the room. There was no need to build an imaginary house to try to categorize her memories; this one was perfect. She began to sort through what she remembered. Her lessons in cosmology and religion could go there, by the starfield. Each constellation might represent a God, and each star a story. Her lessons in illusion could fit within the shifting latticework around the ceiling; she could recall Professor Marva lecturing, and put her memories of it there, along the white stone that dripped like stalactites. Professor Endresen’s physics lessons melded into the pillars that supported the right wall. Viridian’s ecosystem lessons went into the pillars along the left.
She thought of Daith, the boy from her Combat Magic classes, and put his conversations next to the scorpion-like beast, with carapace-like layered feathers. She thought of Selesia, and put the moments walking hand in hand with her by the dark, empty windows that looked out to a night brimming with stars.
Little by little, she sorted, categorized, and thought.
Behind her, the Ominian watched.
***
The next day, she went through two more mana elixirs in her practice session with Jei, using one before lunch and another after. With both Nicolus and Jei helping to supply gold to her endeavors, money had ceased to be a problem entirely. She could buy whatever materials she needed for artifice; the constraint began to be the supply. Torrviol only had so many myrvite parts coming in that could be used to make elixirs or rarer artifice components. For example, only one box of manticore parts was delivered per week, so there was a hard limit on how many mantic tails and sacs she could get ahold of. She might try to order more, but by the time she dispatched the orders and the merchants in Cairnmouth got ahold of the goods and shipped them north, they would already be getting to the part of the cycle where the train broke down and then the army took them over.
A spell of dizziness hit her just before dinner, so Mirian spent at least an hour sprawled out on her dorm room bed in total exhaustion, while Lily talked at her. She was conscious enough to murmur “uh huh” and “wow” and “really?” at the appropriate times, but not much else.
After dinner, she met briefly with Valen again, still feeling woozy. The big news was that Mayor Ethwarn had ordered his predecessor's home investigated ahead of the trial on corruption. The spy Idras had helped point the guards to a secret room behind a bookcase. Valen was beside herself. “A sliding bookcase, accessed by pulling the right two volumes? Absolutely classic!”
That had revealed a stash of documents and reports, as well as a stash of ten Florinian Ingots. Each ingot was worth a thousand gold coins—only, there was a problem. The ingots were fakes. They were lead with gold leaf over them, not solid gold. But stranger still, the magical seal of authenticity seemed to be real. “Someone’s got connections. Big connections. Even the Syndicates never got their hands on genuine Florinian seals,” Valen said. “Damn, Mirian, you look awful. I mean, like, sick, beyond your usual terrible visage that makes children cry.”
Despite that, Mirian still wasn’t done. She had to keep pushing herself. She went east behind the dorms into the more forested area. A shattered clay alcohol jug indicated she wasn’t the only one who ever came back here, but for now, it was deserted. She took out the wand of levitation she’d pilfered from the catacombs, and channeled.
Exhausted as she was, she still managed to hover above the ground a full five feet in the air. She returned to the ground, a triumphant smile on her face. It was nice to know all her hard work was paying off.