Chapter 253 – Discussing Dreams

“That was you watching me outside the Mausoleum,” Mirian stated. She turned from gazing out at the city far below to the other Prophet.

“Yes,” Zhuan admitted.

“Why?”

“You know the answer. Let’s skip that part.”

Mirian raised an eyebrow. “Fair enough. You know I can open the doors of the Mausoleum. Now, with the Yiaverunan focus, I can shift between the visions the Ominian has been showing us. The implication—”

“—is that we are connected with the Ominian, even in sleep,” Zhuan finished.

“Therefore we are all present in that dreamscape—”

“—and can communicate there. But early in the dreams—”

“—all the Prophets were present. Presumably, some of whom are attested to historically and are now long dead. So—”

“—can we communicate with them too? Can the trunk of the tree still be shaped? Because if so—”

“—we could change the branches we’re on.” A flash of excitement went through Mirian. “But how would that work? If time is a field, as Eyeball and Conductor have talked about…”

“Eyeball and Conductor?”

“Oh, I gave the Elder creatures that facilitate the Elder Gates names. Eyeball likes theirs, but uh, don’t tell Conductor I named them. They’re the grumpy one.”

“Ah. Then it’s ‘Conductor’ who regulates the Jiandzhi Gate. Time is a field… a field. What a strange concept.”

“For the Elder Gods, and for creatures like Conductor it is. They can move back and forth on the timelines. They can see futures. For things like the myrvite titans, it’s more like what happens to us—memories passed from different paths on the fields, but there’s no freedom to navigate it.” Mirian shook her head. “I can’t even imagine the Gods’ War. I can keep track of a battlefield in three dimensions, keep track of a skirmish in four—but how does one maneuver on a two-dimensional plane of time? You’ve seen the wall of fire?”

“Yes. Weapons and magic on a scale that is inconceivable. But that doesn’t make them gods.”

“They created Enteria.”

“So they did. But if a world is just enough rock and water, those things exist in space. Collect enough meteors and we could make one too. In fact, the Triarchy made a moon. Though, not on purpose, it seems.”

“I suppose you’ve written a book on the matter?”

“Not yet,” Zhuan said sadly. “I never have enough time to write.”

She doesn’t believe in the Elder Gods’ divinity? Come to think of it, Song Jei always was uncomfortable discussing the divine. And I haven’t seen any temples in Zhighua. Huh. “Ibrahim has his own religious disagreements. I don’t think we’ll resolve them, and I don’t think we’ll need to. As long as we can agree on the way forward. Back to the dreams. Have you actually been able to talk to another dreamer?”

“Talk at them. I haven’t received a reply yet.”

Mirian nodded. “We need to do some testing. We both know soul-communication, which is likely the only way to communicate in the dream. However, we need to determine whether or not the subject heard you and couldn’t reply, or couldn’t hear you. We’ll have to try—”

“I’ve already set up an investigation protocol for this contingency,” Zhuan interrupted.

“How many times have you been outside the Mausoleum?”

Zhuan hesitated. “Twice now. I didn’t know who opened the door the first time.”

Implied was that she couldn’t. Does she think I needed the violet focus to do that? Should I imply I’ve used them before? Zhuan had immediately revealed herself when they had arrived. She could have easily hid. But are her elaborate theories of politics just a cover for what amounts to a different kind of domination? At the same time, Akana Praediar had a substantial navy off the coast, and several forts spread throughout the country. Zhuan might be able to dance around the provisional government and slip the bindings of foreign control—but only for a time. Zhighua’s army was nearly nonexistent, and what they had was highly dependent on Akanan supplies. Baracuel also had its own navy and soldiers here, but here, they were outnumbered ten to one by Akana.

Then there’s the dimension of soul magic. Zhuan clearly is experienced in it. Who taught her? And how much? And has she gone into the Labyrinth? Do I need to worry about her trying to commandeer the limited supply of relicarium? Xecatl can’t because she’s pinned to her island, and her memories bound to Ceiba Yan. Zhuan has no such limitations.

“We’ll begin experimenting tonight,” Mirian finally said. They would take small steps to build trust for now. She would watch Zhuan and assess her. If she can really direct Zhighua’s capabilities on the scale she’s implied….

Mirian needed to start thinking on those kinds of scales. She could direct Torrviol to do what she wanted. But think of how many factories Baracuel has. And how many people are in Palendurio and Alkazaria….

“Good. I’ll have the protocol sent to you, as well as some more notes on oneiromancy. Now, I really am needed to direct operations.”

“Very well. I’ll get back to my research.”

Mirian headed back to the archives. Perhaps they had information on nearby Labyrinth entrances. Then, it seemed she had a book to read.

***

The week passed quickly. Mirian spent most of her days reading up on the piles of translated scrolls that kept piling up in her room and slogging through Zhuan’s book.

At nights, she and Zhuan explored the dream. However, the experiments Zhuan had planned couldn’t be run. They could both consistently visit a location within it, but from what they could tell, time wasn’t always synchronized. They couldn’t simply decide to visit each other. She’d hoped they’d unlocked a simple tool, but this too would take practice to master.

If it can be mastered, and it isn’t all at the whim of the Ominian, that is.

Then it was the day of the expedition north.

Mirian wasn’t sure what she’d expected. A few hundred people, perhaps. She knew there’d be neat organized lines of marusaurs and grizzled caravaneers like Han Feng. She’d known that Zhuan Li was busy sending endless correspondences, attending meetings, and visiting different places in the city. She’d known from Gabriel that the Akanan officials in Benansuo were “panicking quietly,” as they realized they could give all the orders they wanted, but fewer and fewer people in Benansuo were following them. Gabriel had said, “I told them, ‘don’t worry, the higher-ups are already aware. It’s being taken care of.’ You think glyphs are magical, try using those words. Gets ‘em every time!”

What Mirian didn’t expect was the scale as she looked out that morning from her tower. “Gods above,” she breathed. The streets by the north gate were packed full of marusaurs and people. They were organized in dozens of columns, with different banners flapping about in the wind. There weren’t hundreds of them—there were thousands. It looked less like an expedition, and more like an army—and she’d seen the Akanan army marching enough times to know.

By the time she made it down to the streets, Zhuan was walking through one of the central boulevards between columns of carvaneers, arcanists, artisans, and riflemen. As the woman passed, she saw the people stand up a little straighter. Saw their eyes, passionate with respect. She knew those gazes; she’d seen them on herself after the Battle of Torrviol, seen them on soldiers she’d led. Seen it from the Praetorians after they’d helped her put down Apophagorga.

Perhaps Gabriel was right, and Zhuan’s philosophy contradicted the way that she actually worked. But whatever she’d done here, something had worked. The kind of respect and loyalty here was not something people gave away without reason.

A gong sounded, and the expedition began to depart north. As they walked, a flotilla of some hundred barges and boats moved up the river alongside them, old spell engines glowing as they moved them against the current.

As Mirian began to approach the gate, an Akanan man wearing a suit, followed by two soldiers, ran up to the guard by the gate. “What is this?” he asked in Eskanar. “Is this a trade convoy? Does it have the permits? I haven’t seen anything go across my desk. Halt them at once!” he said.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The gate guard shrugged. “I was told they had permission,” he said, accent thick.

“By who?”

Another shrug. “He had the paperwork. The stamps were legitimate.”

“Close the gates! No one else goes through. By order of Commander Tillard!”