Chapter 219 – New Members

Mirian awoke on the 1st of Solem, the year of Poclym 4851, for the 214th time. She stared at the hole in the ceiling where the temporal anchor in her had come from, all those years ago. She looked to the side where her roommate Lily was still asleep. She had long ago given up talking to her. The conversations had become rote, the reactions predictable. She was incapable of understanding what Mirian had gone through. Seventeen years in the time loop. Their friendship had fallen apart gradually, but to Lily, it would again seem instantaneous.

Mirian rose from her bed slowly. The tasks before her were innumerable, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurry. She’d dreamed of the Divir moon. She’d stood at its edge and looked down to see Enteria below her. Her father—her birth father, not her adoptive one—had spoken of what it was like to become unmoored from the experiences of the people around him. Even a three-hundred year old necromancer could build relationships the other person remembered, though.

At least she had the other Prophets.

She’d called for them all to gather in Florin City again. Liuan had been told to leave her RID agents behind. If Gabriel had brought allies the last time, Mirian hadn’t detected them. Ibrahim would also be in attendance. She had no idea what he would do. At least Jherica, only recently broken out from the sleep curse Troytin had put him under, wouldn’t have any elaborate subterfuge or questionable motives. Hopefully, their cognitive capabilities would recover.

She dressed, then headed to the plaza in front of Bainrose Castle, then blinked below it, making it to the conduit room where the Elder creature waited for her.

Hello Eyeball, she thought to it.

YOU ‘LEARNED’ TO COMMUNICATE REMOTELY BY EXTENDING YOUR AURA, Eyeball loudly thought back at her. HAHA. IMAGINE GAINING CAPABILITIES IN SEQUENTIAL ORDER.

Mirian hesitated. You know what I’m about to ask next, of course.

OF COURSE, Eyeball said, its strange skin flashing different colors in amusement.

If I asked you to open the Gate on the Divir moon… would you? She pictured it in her mind, high above the Mausoleum of the Ominian. She had visited it in her dream. Somehow, her dreams were tethered to the Ominian, and her soul walked about freely. Only last cycle had she finally mastered her understanding of the soul enough to open the great doors of the Mausoleum as a soul.

It wasn’t Eyeball that answered, though. Conductor appeared suddenly, the eyes along its carapace narrowed, the teeth in its flesh bent towards the other Elder creature. NO, it said.

I THINK IT SHOULD COUNT, Eyeball said. BUT ULTIMATELY, THE DECISION IS UP TO THE HERALDS.

Conductor began to glow slightly, its skin taking on red and black colors, like it had become more like lava than flesh. HE WATCHES STILL. THESE FIELDS MUST REMAIN UNBURNT. Mirian took a step back, feeling intense mana buildup. Given how mentally powerful these Elder creatures were, she’d always tried to be respectful, but here, she could get a sense of how dangerous they were. Conductor may have looked small, but its soul was burning as bright as the titan Apophagorga.

Eyeball poked Conductor with one of its tentacles, then retracted them, shimmered, then disappeared. It reappeared a moment later as Conductor vanished.

WE HAD A CHAT. A VERY LONG ONE. I THINK OPENING THE GATE THERE WOULD BE VERY FUN, BUT WE DECIDED THAT YOUR TOTALITY WITHIN A SINGLE POINT IN TIME MUST BE THERE. AND THE PACTS ARE ENFORCED. BOTH OF THEM.

Mirian nodded, heart still pounding from Conductor’s little display of power. Somehow, the Pact was related to Carkavakom. Two pacts? The first one was obviously between the Elder Gods and humanity. But what’s the second one?

I HEARD THAT, Eyeball said. OBVIOUSLY I CAN’T ANSWER OR I’LL GET YELLED AT. ‘AGAIN.’ Its carapace flashed with laughter after the word ‘again.’

Open Mahatan Gate, please, she told the creature. There was a pulse of mana and she felt the Elder Gate beneath Torrviol opening.

It had been a few cycles since she’d done it, but Mirian went through the process of retrieving the jeweled lotuses from Prince Rehiz’s palace and bringing them back through. Then, it was a matter of talking to Archmage Luspire and the various professors she wanted researching. She doubted Jei or the other professors would make much progress on conduits, but her father had recently instructed her on energy transfer techniques, and some of them might be applicable. She left a list of sequences for Professor Torres to experiment with.

Then she changed the Torrviol Gate’s destination to Palendurio. That would shorten the cycle slightly, since the Palendurio Gate didn’t correct the energy imbalance in the leylines as well as connecting to the Mahatan Gate. Still, a few days was a small price to pay for the benefits of coordinating the Prophets.

Hopefully.

It seemed simple to Mirian. Enteria would be annihilated if they didn’t fix things. Therefore, they should all work to fix things. It was simple enough her little brother Zayd could understand it.

And yet, it all came down to politics. The other Prophets not trusting each other was nothing compared to the distrust among the countries they’d need to manipulate. They could all agree that something needed to be done, but the nature of that change was the sticking point.

In Palendurio, Mirian once again used the fake gold ingots from Mayor Wolden’s house to get all the gold she’d need for the cycle, then stocked up artificing supplies and bought a new outfit. She was so incredibly sick of the school uniform.

With that done, she took the train to Florin City. She started by renting out the apartments they’d need, then reserving the Starcrest tower.

Ibrahim was the first to arrive. Mirian learned of this when she heard a commotion going on in the lobby of the apartments.

“—summon the guard! Good sir, I must ask that you leave!” one of the servants was saying. Ibrahim was easily holding one man in the air by the scruff of his shirt. Two well dressed men were on the ground, rolling around in agony. He’d done something to disrupt their souls.

“Ibrahim. What are you doing?”

His shirt was caked in old blood and stained in sweat. He’d probably run here, and he certainly hadn’t bathed before coming. Ibrahim shrugged. “They attacked me.” The shirt he was holding ripped, and the man collapsed to the ground.

Mirian raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Ah! Lady Sulalnahr,” the servant said. Mirian didn’t want to use her real last name because her adoptive family would be arriving in the city shortly and wanted no connection the other Prophets could detect. She couldn’t use ‘Nezzar’ either, because that could lead someone to her connection with her birth father, Gaius Nezzar. Somewhere in the world, there was probably a sheaf of papers connecting the arch-necromancer Atrah Xidi to his real name.

“Summarize, please,” she said, keeping the haughty tone she so often saw in rich people.

“This—this man here was most insulting. He said…. he said…”

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“I said, ‘Ah, here’s where the parasitic worms gather to feast on imported flesh.’ They took offense.” He looked around. “I really ought to destroy this city.”

“Not today.” To the servant she said, “This man is an honored guest of House Sulalnahr. What are the damages for the furniture and garments?”

“He—”

“Is it against Florin law to cause offense?” she asked.

“No, my Lady, but—”

“Is it against the law to commit assault?”

“Well… erm…” The servant attempted to make himself smaller, not wanting to get on the bad side of either the rich men lying on the ground nor the noblewoman he’d offended.

Mirian flipped him two gold Florins. “One for the lobby, the other for their clothes. If they wish to pursue legal action, please let them know I will be doing the same.”

Ibrahim looked at her. “I thought you didn’t care if anyone knew.”

“Let’s take a walk in one of the parks. Get you some new clothes on our way.” Once they were out of the building and strolling down the street, Mirian said, “Not generally. But here, it would just cause a stir. I don’t want to deal with declarations and all the inevitable meetings and political maneuvering that comes with that. This is the path of least resistance. Is that what you normally do? Proclaim yourself Chosen?” The Isheer had a different term for Prophets.

“I name myself Chosen. Whether or not they understand what that means, I leave to them.” Several people shied away from Ibrahim as he strolled down the street. His broad shoulders and tall build made him intimidating, and that was before the bloodstains.

“That did seem to be the pattern with the others. Have you dreamed of the Mausoleum again?”

“Yes,” Ibrahim said. “Two needles now. You know anything about that?”

So he saw. The dreams must have some sort of linearity, or if it’s not linear, it appears so to all of us. “The first temporal anchor is Sulvorath’s. The second… I don’t know.” Hopefully, no one else has figured out how to remove a temporal anchor. But if they’re having trouble with the four-dimensional mathematics behind ‘blink,’ they’ll have trouble with that too. Unless someone’s been holding back a lot. Or, there could be time travelers in Tlaxhauco or Zhighua. Or on the other side of Enteria, for all we know.

“Concerning. So what is your plan?”

When they’d last talked, they’d mostly debated. After that, he’d mostly trained with the arch-necromancer, and then he’d asked Mirian to kill him to send him back. This was the second time they’d talked. It was strange, walking next to a man she knew more from the frantic articles of newspapers. It felt surprisingly easy. “First, uncover all the Elder Gates of Enteria. Figure out what configuration will maximally lengthen the cycle. Next, develop a way to stabilize the leylines. Currently, the idea is to use leyline conduits. Meanwhile, end the use of fossilized myrvite, as it’s the precursor to the leyline instability.”

Ibrahim burst out laughing. His laugh was loud and genuine. He didn’t seem to at all care who heard him. “Ah, forgive me. Did you seek to cage the sun next? Perhaps raise a new continent, and sink the ones that offend you?”