Chapter 199 – The Prince of Mahatan

Mirian’s aura was almost completely depleted. She was rapidly burning the ambient mana that she was absorbing, and now that she was far enough from the depths, the larger soul fragments she’d been relying on were gone. By the time she neared the surface, she realized that maintaining both a total camouflage and levitation spell would be impossible. That she was actually coming up against a limit of her mana annoyed her. She was also annoyed that she’d spent so long down there. If Gabriel didn’t have an inkling of her true capabilities before, he would now.

She cast levitation just before she reached the surface. It was the easier of the two spells to maintain, partially because she’d cast it so much its mana efficiency for her was excellent. Then she burst forth from the center of the oasis, hoping that the late hour meant the crowds had mostly disappeared.

A collective gasp erupted from the shore of the oasis and everyone started pointing.

Great, thought Mirian. There was a gathering of Holy Sentinels and, by their robes they wore, several ministers. Her plan of claiming she never actually had touched the sacred waters of the oasis was, in fact, not going to work; she was dripping wet and covered in mud from the ruins.

Might as well get this over with, she decided and flew towards the shore.

A few people shouted at her. Others gaped. Some were still pointing at the water. Light from the gate was just making it up to the surface so that the waters glowed.

Mirian landed in the midst of the delegation from the palace.

“You have trespassed in the sacred waters of Mahatan,” one of the robed ministers said.

Mirian had discussed this sort of scenario with Rostal. The Isheer only disagreed slightly about the status of the First and Second Prophets, calling them Chosen of the Ominian rather than the Ominian, who was the only Prophet. Different Sanctuaries had different ideas about all the Prophets after that. Either way, Chosen were not above the law. They were instead given great freedom to act, but most traditions called for councils of Rectors to assess the decision of a Chosen. This all stemmed from a time the Second Prophet was rebuked by a council of elders in ancient Alatishad.

However, traditions only really stayed as such when they were routinely practiced, and most Isheer hadn’t recognized any of the later Prophets that Baracuel’s Luminate Order did. That meant that they hadn’t actually formed the Judgment Councils since the collapse of the Persaman Triarchy. And, with the collapse of the Persaman Triarchy, so had gone so many traditions and laws.

That was all to say, they had strategized about what Mirian might do, but there was no really predicting how most of Persama would react. Ibrahim had obviously figured out what to say, but he was also an established figure. Mirian was a stranger to these lands—in a sense.

Mahatan also didn’t yet have news of Rambalda’s rebellion. While the authorities of Urubandar couldn’t suppress the news along the coast, they could stymie the news from traveling up river.

One of the Sentinels stepped forward. “By law of Prince Rehiz, Lord of Mahatan and Protector of the Sacred Waters—” she began.

Mirian interrupted him. “I am a Chosen of the Ominian.” Belatedly, she realized that she’d forgotten to cast her illusion spell to veil the glow of her eyes. So much for that particular deception.

Murmurs ran through the crowd.

“And what, pray tell, did the Prophet of God have you doing mucking about in the oasis?” one the ministers snapped.

Mirian used the same commanding tone she’d grown to use when she revealed herself. Projecting overwhelming confidence and authority was a good way to get people to believe she had it. “Your wizards will have noticed the instability of the leylines and the resulting arcane eruptions. I activated an ancient device that will suppress the volatility of the leylines, for a time.”

“A device? There are no constructs of man beneath the sacred waters!” the second minister complained, her voice shrill.

“If you don’t believe me, send someone to check,” she said. Do they think the waters are just glowing by themselves? “The Ominian has tasked me to investigate all forms of magic to prevent a great calamity. My next task requires access to the palace.”

“Nonsense,” the first minister said.

Another of the ministers was silent. He had just been listening the whole time. Mirian caught the whispers of the crowd on the wind:

“…did she cause the waters to glow?”

“…times and bandits. Something has to…”

“…think she’s above the law? Why aren’t they…?”

“…did she say a Chosen? There’s been no…”

“…her eyes!”

The second minister said, “The Ministry of Sanctuaries commands the Sentinels to arrest this so-called ‘Chosen’ until a determination can be made.”

The silent minister at last stepped forward and spoke. “The Ministry of Towers contravenes that order. Prince Rehiz must decide her fate.”

“Minister Koyar, surely you do not mean to—”

“The Ministry of Streets accedes to the Towers,” the first minister said.

That made the second minister’s face turn sour, but she kept her mouth shut.

As the guards parted the crowd and escorted them towards the Mahatan Palace, Mirian went through what she knew of the city’s law. The ministers clearly have some sort of long-running political game I’ve stepped into. But Prince Rehiz wants to be able to claim the authority to recognize or deny a Chosen. Perhaps I’ll have more free rein after that. By the time the councils can assemble and discuss me, it’ll be too late. It was Dualan. They had another three weeks in the cycle, depending on if Liuan stopped the Akanan invasion or not. Perhaps more if the connecting between Mahatan and Torrviol was even more effective at mitigating the leyline disturbances.

I wonder what Gabriel’s doing, she thought. She scanned the crowd, but couldn’t see him.

The Palace was near the oasis. A large pumping system ran behind a series of old fortifications, then led into a network of aqueducts, which in turn poured beautiful waterfalls down onto several tiered gardens. The Palace was a mess of spires, tiers, arched windows, domes, and courtyards. If Viridian was right, one of those courtyard gardens had the jeweled lotuses that were otherwise impossible to find in Persama. There was also an old treasury that Gabriel had said he’d gone rooting around in. Presumably, the ancient spellrod that Mirian had spent so many early cycles using as inspiration for her first artificing designs had originated here in Mahatan.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

As they entered the palace, Mirian noted several servants cleaning up the shards of what had been a large decorative vase. She glanced around. Several tapestries were hanging askew, and a second shattered vase lay down one of the perpendicular halls they passed. Was that because of the landslide? she wondered. She hadn’t realized the collapse had been that big.

Oops.

No wonder there’d been a crowd and three ministers waiting for her. That, and she’d made the whole oasis glow. Hopefully, she could use this all to get useful information. At the very least, she’d learn more about the political dynamics of the ruling elite here.