Chapter 110 – The Broken City

The leyline eruption began at the horizon, traveling along the distant Casnevar Mountains to the east, moving from north to south. At first, it was silent, because only the light had arrived. Mirian had to use a eyeshield spell just to watch it; it looked like a colossal lightning bolt leaping up from the world, but it was large enough to cut through pieces of the mountains as it burst forth. It danced through the air, violet and orange energy coruscating madly, sending up bright columns of aurora and leaving behind smoldering clouds.

She’d seen this leyline erupt before, back when she’d fled on the train with Nicolas. Now, she was closer, and had a better view.

The leyline smashed back into the ground, splitting an entire mountain down the center as it did, leaving a shattered fissure deep enough she could see a magmatic glow from it.

The earth had trembled lightly before; now it shook hard enough to feel like the world was coming apart. Mirian gripped the battlements of the tower, watching as all across Palendurio stone towers crumbled and buildings collapsed. Panicked shouting began immediately all across the city.

The shaking kept going and going. Suddenly, there was a thunderous sound of stone tearing and Mirian found the tower she was on crumbling beneath her feet. Quickly, she cast her levitation spell, then to her horror, saw that the leyline breach wasn’t done.

Bright prismatic sprays came out of the ground, heading from the mountains towards Palendurio, bursting out like volcanoes unleashing a swarm of multicolored lightning. If it’s anything like what happened in Torrviol, that could cause an antimagic pulse, she realized, and rapidly descended.

She was just in time. By now, the distant rumble of thunder had reached them, but it was drowned out by an overwhelming sound that made standing next to artillery feel like a whisper. Mirian covered her ears, and felt a trickle of blood coming down already.

All across the city, buildings cracked and fell. Wards burst. Pieces of the city cracked apart as sinkholes opened up everywhere. Palendurio began to fall into the very canals beneath it.

Mirian’s levitation wand sparked as the glyphs in it burst apart, and she felt her arcane catalyst by her belt heat up. The earth kept shaking, and just when it seemed like it would never stop—

It stopped.

The silence nearly felt as loud as the thunder. Mirian calmed her breathing, then reached for the soul energy in her repository to heal her ears—but found it empty. The antimagic shockwave had burst apart at least half the glyphs in her spellbook and wands, but the arcane runes at least had remained intact. That meant her repositories still worked, but whatever arcane forces were at work had emptied them. Mirian siphoned a small part of her own soul to heal the damage to her ears. The regeneration didn’t take long; after only a minute, she could hear again.

All across town, the fighting had stopped, at least. Several of the bridges across the river had collapsed. Half the city seemed to be rubble now, and some streets were completely impassable because the street had collapsed into the caves that were below them.

The devastation was breathtaking.

If she was right, the catastrophic eruption she had just witnessed was a direct result of the Divine Monument’s destruction. Likely, it took some time for the arcane forces involved to propagate this far south. But when they do…

Mirian wandered through the city, taking it all in. At first, it seemed people were too stunned to do much. Then, the armed gangs broke apart as people began to mobilize into aid bands. It warmed her heart to see people digging through rubble to help those who were trapped or to start organizing ad hoc medical stations where the bandages were often strips of cloth ripped from their own shirts.

In the end, they understood. But only after it’s too late, she thought sadly.

She retreated back to her room at the Bard and Lion.

Mirian reconstructed the useful parts of her spellbook, though the levitation wand was broken beyond repair, and the inks she would need for an antigravity glyph were unavailable.

Next, she headed to the myrvite smuggling operation. It was abandoned, and the walls that had once protected it, collapsed. Several myrvites lay dying in their cages when she found them. Sorry little guys, she thought.

She filled her soul repositories, then climbed back up where the street had only partially collapsed, forming a ramp of rubble.

Part of her knew what she was about to do was worthless. Another part of her didn’t care. She ached for these people, feeling a sorrow somewhere deep in herself. She could excuse her exercise of magic as practice, but that wasn’t why she was doing it.

She was doing it because they deserved some relief.

It would only be a few people, in one small section of the city, in one cycle, but it was all she could do. Just this once.

The area near the smuggling operation had at least twenty collapsed buildings. She used detect life to see where the survivors were.

The celestial magic easily saw through the thick stone. There were dozens of bodies trapped in the buildings, and even at a distance she could see the dark distortions in their souls that indicated injuries. Everyone had, after all, been hiding inside to avoid the street fighting when the earthquake had hit.

She approached an apartment building where the limestone beneath it had cracked apart, leading to the entire structure smashing into the ground, bricks strewn about like a toppled sandcastle. Mirian used lift object to quickly move chunks of rubble aside, then used lift person to gently bring the body of a woman, then her child, over.

Mirian had little experience healing, but Lecne and Arenthia had taught her the basics, and she’d practiced on minor wounds. She closed her eyes, drawing from the now charged repositories. The woman’s spine was in terrible shape, and she had a concussion. Mirian sent soothing waves of soul energy into her. As her body began to heal, the crack in her skull knitting itself together, Mirian worked on healing her son next. Based on how she’d found them, the boy had been shielded by his mother as the building collapsed, but she could see damage in his neck and arm. She eased away the roiling dark patches, picking apart the yarn-like dark tangles until his soul flowed again.

She moved from building to building, easily able to find the survivors, though her soul repositories quickly began to deplete themselves. As she worked, people began to stare.

“Who are you?” a man said in amazement as she deconstructed yet another pile of heavy stone and lifted the survivors to safety.

“I thought only priests could do that,” another whispered when she saw Mirian healing lacerations and broken bones.

The priests were nowhere to be found. Charitably, she guessed parts of the Grand Sanctum had collapsed and they were trapped. Or perhaps they were overworked. Or perhaps they have been hollowed out, and have lost their path, she thought bitterly.

As the injured began to stir, Mirian turned to the crowd that had gathered. “There is little time left,” she said. “You must fill it with the satisfaction of what good deeds you can do. Set up aid stations, and cots for those who will need a place to sleep. Share food with each other. Spend time with those you love, and celebrate them. That is all you have time for.”

It will happen again and again and again and again, she knew. But just this once…

“Who are you?” one of the men asked again.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author’s work.

“It doesn’t matter. Anyone should do what I’ve done.” She looked around at the damage. There were still so many people trapped, and so many more who might not last another night. “I will finish doing what I can, then rest.”

***

For another day, she helped who she could and ate food and listened as people talked, and laughed, and cried, and prayed. More rumblings passed through Palendurio, and more buildings, already destabilized, finished collapsing. Word came around noon that the Akanans had landed at the mouth of the river and were marching toward Palendurio. General Corrmier’s soldiers were still busy seizing strategic points around the city. He’s still marshaling his forces as if he’s an occupying army, straight out of one of the strategy manuals. So he’s in league with the Akanans, she realized.

What a fool. Even at the end of the world, all he can think about is grasping power.

By then, the priests had finally moved out from the Grand Sanctum, but they were overwhelmed by the casualties. Logistics throughout the city had broken down, and with grain shipments disrupted and the water purifying artifice demolished, hunger and thirst started to descend upon the Palendurio. Desperate people were drinking straight from the river, which was full of sewage and not fit to drink.

Mirian spent an hour before dinner simply purifying barrels of water with her spellwork so that her little gathering could drink. She demanded the people who now gathered around her have a feast celebrating those they loved.

To her surprise, they listened. The evening air was full of laughter, mixed with tears and heartfelt speeches. They toasted to each other with cups of water.

When a priest of the sanctum came by and asked what she was doing, and that he’d heard rumors she could heal, Mirian snapped, “Go back to hiding in your caverns.”

The crowd had said nothing, but they had all looked at the priest as one. Cowed by their collective stare, he retreated.

That night, she made her final preparations of the cycle.

She had one last thing she wanted to attempt before moonfall.

***