Chapter 225 – An Old Friend

The High Priest of Carkavakom was waiting for Mirian by the altar. The rest of the main area of the Great Temple was empty. Gaius turned and watched the entrance of the temple, ready to renew the fight at any moment.

“Ask,” the priest said, as if he’d been expecting her. His rictus grin had faded, and now he looked pale and clammy.

“When did you commune with Carkavakom?”

“I didn’t. I’ve seen… flashes. Fragments. From… not the God Himself. I don’t think it’s possible to perceive him directly. Not us. Not and stay sane.”

Mirian frowned. “What did you receive in these flashes of memory?” She could already tell from looking at his soul that there wasn’t a temporal anchor.

“They came in dreams, a few days before you arrived. An eyeless face watched me. They knew… they wanted to know your intentions. To make sure Carkavakom’s Law was upheld.”

“This would be easier if the Gods or Elder creatures would share the exact nature of the laws we’re to follow. Or anything at all.”

The high priest shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t… translate. Each message needs to be interpreted, and much is lost when it is. And there’s… too many paths. Too many paths for Him to watch them all. So He… delegates. I was chosen. An honor I never dreamed of.”

Mirian continued to examine the man. “The same thing that gave you memories took some, didn’t it? Your soul’s been damaged by it.”

The high priest nodded. “His laws… they’re laws of consequence, not laws like we have,” the priest said. “I understand that now. The result is what’s important to Him. A blessing, to be touched so. Carry His message forth.”

Mirian nodded. “Anything else?”

The priest gave a pained smile. “That’s all I know.”

“So the Ominian chose us… but the other Gods…” Mirian ground her teeth, trying to think through the implications. Was Carkavakom the only one she had to be concerned about? Would any of the others intervene on her behalf? On Enteria’s behalf? The Pantheon was just that because they were all the protectors of Enteria. Has something changed? Are they working at cross-purposes?

It was all too vague to be helpful. She was bound not to do certain things, but what? The Elder creatures would enforce the rules on the Gate. They knew different futures. They’d seen things she hadn’t done yet. But what needed to be prevented?

She thought of the burning tree. Too many paths. But which one leads to a future for Enteria?

“Thank you,” she told the priest. There was no sense being impolite.

As she left with her father, she asked, “What do you make of it?”

The necromancer shook his head. “We’re far beyond the things I know. The Sixth Prophet never shared much about what he knew of the Gods. And you can imagine, with all the splitting religious orders, no one can agree on much of anything.”

“East, then,” she said as they exited the temple, and they flew off towards Arriroba. Mirian could smell the smoke from the fires wafting through the air, could still hear the shouting, but she didn’t look back. What was the point? Whatever the people of Alkazaria suffered, it would only be for a few more days.

***

It took them two days to make the flight, mostly since Mirian’s mana was exhausted, though she practiced converting myrvite souls to mana using her father’s more refined techniques. By then, the leyline eruptions had begun in full, and anyone with eyes could see the world was ending.

“Shall I use my disguise?” Gaius asked as they neared her village.

“Oh, might as well. No sense getting people all riled up.”

They landed about a mile outside of town, then walked the rest of the way. Mirian happily chatted about her childhood there. “…and that’s the farm my friends and I would play hunt-the-myrvite in. Renic would yell at us when we trampled his crops. There’s Tav’s groves, where I learned you weren’t supposed to eat olives right off the tree. And that’s the schoolhouse you can see coming up. I ran away from that a lot…”

She knew where to find Grandpa Irabi, not from any knowledge of past loops, but just because she knew him. He was over by a creek sitting on a log, watching over a group of children while their parents worked. It had always seemed ridiculous to her how many people still worked when it was obvious something terrible was happening, but it was a common mindset.

“Grandpa Irabi!” Mirian said with a smile.

The nearly unflappable Irabi did a double take. “Mirian!” He put his hand to his chin, then that hand held up a finger, then he said, “Is that an illusion spell you’ve been practicing?”

“No, my eyes just glow now,” Mirian said, sitting next to him. “I’d like you to meet my birth father, Gaius. Gaius, this is Irabi, honorary Grandpa of the whole village.”

“Oh my,” he said, standing. “No, yes, I can see the resemblance. A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said, holding out his hand. He didn’t flinch at all from the hand shake, which possibly meant Gaius had done the trick where he magically heated up his hand so it didn’t feel as cold as it usually did. To Mirian, Irabi said, “So I suppose you know… well! Dhelia and Jeron are going to be surprised. They were quite sure you were an orphan. But welcome to the family, Gaius! Have a seat, have a seat.”

They all sat on the log together. Down by the creek, two of the children were poking at the mud with sticks, while two more tussled with each other and another looked around, seemingly in a daze. Another young boy was hiding in a bush, apparently playing hide-and-seek, only he didn’t seem to realize there were no seekers.

“So what brings you back from the Academy?” Irabi asked.

“Ah, it’s a bit complicated. There’s a time loop. The Ominian chose me as a Prophet. The apocalypse is in three days, but there’s not much to accomplish until the loop resets, and I was nearby so I decided to drop in.”

There was a long pause, and then Irabi said, “Then we’ll need to celebrate your birthday. I imagine we’ve missed it quite a few times.”

Mirian laughed. It was like a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Like the fire simmering in her had cooled, if only for a bit. “There’s a reason I like to visit,” she said. “All these other cities—they can’t get the spices quite right, and the fruit is never as fresh.”

“You’re doing okay, then?”

She shook her head gently.

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“Ah,” he said. “But you put on a brave face. You didn’t used to be so good at hiding your emotions.” He paused. Three of the children were now engaged in a race. One of them tripped and fell in the mud, then looked around, trying to decide whether it was more important to cry or to get up and keep running. He decided to run, shouting about how there was a new rule that everyone had to trip once. Irabi said, “What can we do for you?”

“A birthday celebration sounds fantastic.”

“It does,” said Gaius with a smile.

***

The festivities weren’t particularly dramatic, which suited Mirian just fine. Irabi talked to a few people around the village, and whatever he said, the folks who did show up were pleasant and happy. The food was good. Gaius put on a little show of illusions for the children.

That evening, when everyone else had gone home, Mirian found herself back in her family home, her hand gently brushing over the furniture. Chairs she hadn’t sat in for decades. The often-repaired dining room table, where she hadn’t shared a meal with her family in years.

“The choice to leave you in poverty was deliberate,” Gaius said bitterly.

“I wonder who was watching me when the memory curse was complete and Westerun finally moved on. I don’t think it was Adria.”

Her father shook his head, looking at the sorry state of the kitchen.