Chapter 181 – The Kindly Doctor

“You did what?” Nicolus asked as they departed the gala.

“Convinced Sylvester Aurum he should begin research into large-scale multi-conduit mana regulators, as well as take leyline data from every factory he has in Akana Praediar. I don’t know if I can get him to call off the invasion, though, that seems like it’s more something Matteus and that Field Marshal are behind.”

“Invasion?” asked Alexus, who had only had a partial understanding of what was going on.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nicolus said. “But wait—how did you do that?”

“Very carefully,” Mirian said. “Now here’s what I need you to do…”

***

Gold Standard Industries was a massive company, and even with Sylvester Aurum issuing the command, it took time for the gears to start turning. Mirian disappeared back into the shadows. Rumors had already started swirling around that Mr. Aurum had become infatuated with someone, or perhaps a prodigy artificer had joined the company, or perhaps something more nefarious was at play. In her last meeting with Sylvester, Mirian suggested he get his papers to all print contradictory material. That would muddy the waters well enough.

Then, she vanished, using illusions, camouflage, and bursts of levitation to evade the people trying to track her. Perhaps in another loop, she could direct the research and production efforts more directly, but she was still wary of other time travelers. There was no way she was going to stick around in an easily targetable location next to a man that had such a spotlight on him.

On the 8th of Solem, Nicolus found his way to Mirian’s workshop. “He’s not hard to find,” he said. “Matteus drinks with him regularly. So do several RID and Vadraich professors. He just doesn’t like standing near glyphlamps, if you know what I mean.”

Mirian immediately paused her work on her designs. “Take me to him immediately,” she said.

“Immediate—wow, okay. Well, follow me then.”

It was time to confront Silou Westerun.

***

Westerun lived in a nice, but not ostentatious, house, with a well-groomed garden and no servants at all. With all his connections in high places—both in Baracuel and Akana—Mirian had assumed he would live in a palace like Aurum or Tyrcast, but no, it was smaller even than Jherico’s house.

Mirian started with a diplomatic approach. She went up to the front door and knocked.

Silou Westerun wasn’t portly, but he wasn’t thin either. He had wavy dark hair with the first traces of gray, and his outfit was that of a professor who’d been given a dress code but didn’t really care all that much about his appearance. “Hello?” he said, squinting his face into the approximation of a smile.

Mirian held out her hand. “Mr. Westerun? I’m a wizard with Torrviol Academy, and I’d like to talk to you about your own research into magic. Do you have a moment to talk?”

Westerun looked her up and down. His smile vanished. “Oh dear,” he said, ignoring her hand. “No. Please leave.”

Mirian kept her hand on the door, preventing it from closing easily. “I have to insist,” she said.

“We can schedule a meeting for another time,” he said. “It’s late, and I’ve had a long day.”

“I can keep the meeting short.”

He started trying to push the door closed harder. “Not tonight. Must I call the guards?”

“Surely you’re not scared of an unarmed woman?” Mirian asked.

“This is my property and I simply have nothing to say to a stranger. Talk to the University.”

“You’re not on their payroll, you just collaborate with them as an independent contractor. Should I talk to the RID instead?”

Westerun glared at her.

“You recognize me, obviously. I should have known.”

“Of course I know you, Mirian,” he snapped. “Now go away.”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be pretending to be a kindly doctor? How do I undo the memory curse?”

Westerun reached for an amulet beneath his shirt, but Mirian had already scouted his house with divination. She had her mythril amulet already manifested, and she extended her aura to disrupt the enchantment on his. He scratched his chin, then brought his hand down to subtly press the glyph switch.

“Well?”

His jaw was clenched. Then, through conscious effort, he unclenched it and went back to smiling. “I suppose you caught me being a bit grumpy. Come, have a seat! How do you take your tea?”

“Unpoisoned,” Mirian said. “And one spoonful of honey.”

Westerun laughed. “You know, you were a lot cuter when you were a child. How are your parents?”

“My adoptive parents? Busy vacationing in Florin,” she said, and took a seat on one of his chairs in the living room. She watched Westerun carefully, examining both his hands and his soul. Right now, he was delaying her because he thought his alarm spell had activated. “You’ll have to tell me about my real parents. How do you undo a memory curse?”

“I’m afraid they can’t be undone, my dear. It’s like lighting a piece of wood on fire. Once it’s changed to charcoal, there’s very little to be done about it.” He set a teapot on the stove.

“It’s some sort of binding that the Luminate Order isn’t familiar with. I know it’s still active, so I know that analogy is bullshit. Did you really bind the memories of a bunch of children? How do you sleep at night?”

“Very, very soundly. What I did, I did for the greater good. Perhaps you’ll understand when you’re older.”

Mirian thought of Gwenna, who’d used Westerun’s techniques to put Theodoro in a dazed state. “Your experiments are about memory manipulation and mind control. The world can only thank the Ominian you haven’t succeeded in getting as far as you want.”

Westerun brought out two mugs, then shaved off some dried tea into them. The tea pot was starting to make noise as the water boiled.

“I blocked your amulet from activating,” she told him.

Finally, he looked up in alarm. Then, he grabbed and flung the tea pot at her. Mirian easily deflected it with a burst of raw force, not even bothering to move. The ceramic shattered.

“The world is going to end soon. It turns out, I’m the only thing standing in the way of that. What happened in Mahatan when I was a child?”

“A bunch of rebels started massacring civilians. We saved you,” he said, as if he hadn’t just thrown a jug of boiling water at her.

“If that were the whole story, you wouldn’t be scared of me. You recognized me immediately, and wanted nothing to do with me. That’s not what usually happens when a friendly doctor sees his old patient. Who were my birth parents? What actually happened?” When Westerun just stood there behind the counter, staring at her, she snapped, “ANSWER ME!”

The man jerked back as if struck. Mirian hadn’t meant to shout, it had just come out of her.

The doctor took another step back. “What I did, I did for Baracuel and Akana. I saved your life, and I saved a lot more lives than that. That you must remain ignorant of what we did is a small price to pay for those lives. What happened in Mahatan should stay like a shadow hiding under shade.”

Mirian suddenly had a vivid flashback of the man saying that to her as a child. She’d had another tantrum at school, and he’d met her out beneath an old tree. He’d talked about not thinking too hard about things she struggled to remember. He’d showed her how her shadow vanished when she was beneath the shade of the tree. Another bout of rage flashed through her. She took three deep breaths before she continued. “And is brainwashing Theodoro also for the greater good?”

“Yes,” said Westerun instantly.

Mirian sighed. “You’re not going to tell me anything useful, are you?”

“I can tell you all sorts of useful things. But I won’t betray my country.”

“Won’t betray Baracuel? You’re just like Nikoline. She said the same thing, while preparing to burn Torrviol. What’s the point of lying to me?” She tilted her head. “Or are you lying to yourself?”

“I am, and always will be, a patriot, and a man of God.” Westerun said. “There’s a glorious future ahead. A beautiful future. And you can’t stop it.”

Mirian shook her head and summoned her spellbook. The man’s eyes grew wide when it suddenly appeared in her hands. “The future goes on for a few more weeks, and then all life in Enteria is exterminated. There is the blade of the Fourth Prophet,” she said, summoning it and jabbing it through the wooden floor. “Here are the Holy Pages. I’m asking you these things, not just for myself, but because you’re intertwined with several critical precursor events that affect three entire countries. You’ve worked with the RID and the Deeps, and have meddled with the course of history. The current path leads to annihilation. It will be easier if you help me. I don’t know how many loops we have to get it right.”

“No,” Westerun whispered, though it wasn’t even an answer to her question. It was more than she could see fear overwhelming him. “No no no no no!” he said, backing away until he hit the counter. He reached for his amulet again, but Mirian ripped it off him, then worked through a list of divination spells to double-check that there weren’t any other security features she needed to worry about.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Pull yourself together,” Mirian said, exasperated. “I know several methods of helping you calm down. Would you like to try one?”

Westerun pulled a knife from the kitchen drawer. He didn’t throw it, though, instead, after a moment of hesitation, he plunged it into his own neck.

Mirian watched as he bled out. Great, she thought.