Chapter 258 – The Council of Dead Futures

Mirian established the Gates as she had the last cycle, then went through the Jiandzhi Gate and flew south to retrieve Zhuan. Their contact in the Ominian’s Dream was sporadic, but enough for them to coordinate. Since her visit to Baracuel, Zhuan had begun to ask her endless questions about the political dynamics, official organizations, positions of factions, and class dynamics. More than anything, she seemed obsessed with economics and trade, things Mirian had mostly been ignoring since she could essentially conjure money out of thin air to get whatever she wanted. She told this to Zhuan as they flew back north.

“What is efficient and successful for a small group is often destructive at large scale. Poison is in the dose,” Zhuan explained to her.

That was true enough, but Mirian still found it hard to focus on Zhuan’s theories. Much of it involved modeling the flow of information among people, and Mirian was very tired of explaining things to people who would just forget. She tried to pay attention, but often found her mind drifting. It was the cosmic mysteries that held her attention. It was Enteria. It was the apocalypse.

When they arrived back in Palendurio, there was a letter for Mirian from Gabriel indicating he’d departed Urubandar and was making his way up north. The direct route to the archipelago was, on paper, faster, but only if one ignored the time they’d spend in a leviathan’s digestive tract if they made the attempt. Gabriel, still reluctant to be eaten by anything, was taking the safe route where he’d sail north until they reached the southern crossing of the Rift Sea. Mirian thought if he took the Mahatan Gate to Torrviol it would be quicker, but with a fast cutter, it wasn’t a meaningful difference. Likely, he’d show up last. Ibrahim hadn’t said anything, but she knew he wouldn’t. He’d just show up.

Jherica mentioned in a letter that arrived just before they set sail that Liuan was ‘annoyed,’ but had said she’d attend. Mirian already knew Xecatl would be attending. She’d coordinated with Jherica, and Xecatl had suggested the island in the first place.

Mirian spent most of the boat ride from Palendurio to Vadriach in contemplation. The waves moved across the sea in patterns that shifted and overlapped, but there were mathematical—and glyphic—ways to describe them perfectly. Those same patterns were in the clouds, sometimes flowing like a river across the sky, sometimes breaking into fractal drifts. The way heat rose from her breath could be replicated. The sound of her heartbeat could be written in glyphs. The way it pushed the currents of her soul, written in runes.

***

When Mirian’s ship reached the chosen island, she spotted an argument already in progress. Four Akanan skiffs had landed near a Tlaxhuacan honor guard and were bickering about—something. Whatever it was they were arguing about, they stopped when they noticed Mirian levitating over, wisps of silver light trailing, eyes glowing with subdued fire. She extended her aura subtly with the Hand of Shadow dervish stance so that her presence was felt and they knew they were annoying her.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

The Akanans had mostly gone pale, while the Tlaxhuacans stepped back warily. Each group looked between Mirian and their commanding officer.

“Prophet Mirian,” the Tlaxhuacan leader said, making a gesture of respect. “There was a… disagreement about the territory allocated to each honor guard.”

She shook her head. It was such a petty thing to fight over. “I will simplify things.” She moved higher up, then manipulated the stone of the island to create jagged fence posts throughout the interior, dividing it into neat sevenths, minus a circular area in the center. There, she began to create a domed structure, with stone chairs arranged in a circle around a table. She made sure to have spacious gaps in the structure to let in Yiaverunan’s light. There were several trees in the way, so she used manipulate wood to wind them into spiraling columns that reinforced the stone. The design seemed bland, though, so she used beams of fire to melt parts of the stone into the fractal patterns she’d been thinking about, which then cooled into obsidian. After several hours of work, she examined the result and found it satisfactory. The meeting hall was badly in need of decorations and cushions, but it would serve. She could always make a cushion of air to sit on.

By then, the guards from the two nations had stopped arguing. In fact, they seemed quite content to leave each other alone.

That was also satisfactory. Mirian began modifying a spell engine she and Zhuan had bought in Palendurio that would copy documents. She wanted the other Prophets to be able to review her designs, but the machine was having trouble copying the subtler details of her schematics.

***

Xecatl arrived two days later, and Mirian updated her on the details of what had happened in Zhighua. Then, Zhuan stepped in and began subjecting the Tlaxhuacan emperor to such an overwhelming bombardment of questions that a crack Akanan artillery division would have been green with envy. Ibrahim arrived that evening, piloting his own small sailboat, alone. He talked with Xecatl briefly, then found a tall rock to meditate on.

Jherica and Liuan arrived the next morning with another group of Akanans. There was another round of introductions. What Mirian didn’t expect was that Liuan’s handshake with Zhuan was just as cold as her handshake with Xecatl. Jherica had mustered their own delegation of scholars, and Mirian was pleased to see they were mingling equally with Akanans and Tlaxhuacans.

Finally, Gabriel arrived on a luxurious yacht, which he parked in the bay, rather than having it drop off supplies like the other boats had done. It was too shallow for leviathans to swim, at least. If the apocalypse could have been solved by silk cushions, rare wine vintages, and the best of Persaman cooking, they’d have it solved by the end of the day. Gabriel had made sure his transportation was absolutely loaded with supplies, and when he saw Mirian’s council chamber, he laughed and ordered pillows and carpets delivered to it. However, he outright rejected the idea he would be staying in the area Mirian had mapped out. While Liuan and Jherica were both staying in Akanan commander field tents, Xecatl’s nagual had half-built and half-grown a cottage for her. Gabriel, though, was content with his luxury cabin aboard his ship.

Mirian made herself a little stone tower and fortified it with wards out of habit.

That evening, the Prophets ate and mingled, along with any of the retinues they’d brought.

If anyone had noticed that Xecatl didn’t have a temporal anchor, they hadn’t mentioned it. Perhaps they weren’t, like Mirian, constantly checking other people’s souls. Or perhaps they were saving the knowledge as ammunition to be deployed later.

***

The next morning, the Third Council of Prophets immediately started with a conflict.

“We should be able to bring members of our retinue to listen to the discussion,” Liuan insisted after Mirian told her to leave the group outside.

“Agreed,” Xecatl said, to Mirian’s surprise.

“Why?” Mirian asked. She could guess the answer for Xecatl—if she were assassinated, the nagual with her could still communicate some memories to the Sacred Tree. None of the others had a similar vulnerability.

Liuan spoke again. “Because the decisions we make affect our nations. Like it or not, we will need heads of government to back what we do, so we need to come to agreements that are amenable to them.”

Mirian looked to Zhuan, and saw in her expression the loudest silence she’d ever heard.

“Seems fair,” Gabriel said, already reclining. He’d done a bit of work on his stone chair so he could lean back in it. Notably, neither he nor Ibrahim had actually brought anyone to consult, though.

Ibrahim said, “I don’t care.”

“This is a request that could have easily been communicated in the planning stage. It’s a little late to fetch my advisors,” Zhuan said. “Your tacit assumptions about who is required to enact policy is also biased. You—” she said, pointing at one of the Akanans dressed in finery behind Liuan. “How many gold florins is your estate worth?”

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Liuan raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t speak Friian.”

“Then he was a foolish person to bring to this meeting that we are conducting in Friian.”

Meanwhile, an interpreter was at work whispering in the man’s ear.

“What are the rules of this summit? Am I required to answer questions of representatives?” Mirian heard the man quietly say in Eskinar.

Liuan, hearing that, said to the Council, “I move that our retinue cannot be interrogated.”

“We haven’t even established you’re allowed to have a retinue,” Zhuan snapped.