Chapter 35 – Apocalypse

They both slept uneasily, waking up whenever they heard loud scraping nearby, or the teeth of some predator sinking loudly into dead flesh. Twice, Mirian woke to hear Nicolus sobbing softly to himself. When dawn finally broke, Mirian was relieved. The myrvites would still be scavenging for corpses, but at least they’d be able to see them and steer clear. Likely, they could avoid being attacked. Most animals preferred easy food, and there was plenty of that around now.

Mirian handed Nicolus her spellbook so he could use some of his own mana to fashion himself a crutch. A metal rod served the purpose, with force polish sanding off the edges. They decided against scavenging for any sort of food. The train cars were now infested with myrvites. Two desert drakes lounged by an overturned car, bits of flesh still dangling from their teeth, and lightning scorpions were crawling over the cars, the cat-sized arachnids clinking over the metal. Several lightning scorpions had started eating the corpses that were in the car with them sometime during the night, and both of them were thankful that they hadn’t decided either of them were food.

They decided to head south first. Mirian knew there was a river that came down from the distant mountains south of them and wound its way north then curved back southeast to Alkazaria. One of those bends was nearby, and they would need the water. Mirian had hurt her knee, which was aching fiercely now, and Nicolus was even slower with his crutch. They walked throughout the day, but slowly, both of them needing constant breaks. Twice, Mirian had drawn her spellrod because two-headed vultures were circling above. Eventually, they moved on, no doubt joining the feast by the train.

In the evening, they finally saw the river. “Oh thank the Gods,” Nicolus said. “A village.”

Sure enough, there was a collection of sandstone houses and a market by the river, a dirt road that paralleled the river going through it. It wasn’t much, but the sentries outside the village spotted them.

The first sentry was a woman old enough to be Mirian’s grandmother. She had piercing hazel eyes and a stern look to her, but she spoke with a protective tone. “The spellward in the village failed. Very dangerous. You saw… it?”

There could only be one it she was talking about. “It was close to us. Derailed the train we were on. I think we’re the only survivors,” she told the woman.

“Gods above. Let’s get you to the temple.” She let Nicolus lean on her as they moved into the village, which was easier than the crutch.

The temple was just a larger sandstone building with a plaster dome on top, but well cared for and with colorful cloth draped about to give it a cozy feeling, and beautiful geometric designs on the walls. Small bronze statues of the Gods lined the halls, and in the side rooms were beds.

“You are… together?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Nicolus said, at the same time Mirian said, “No.”

Nicolus looked at her with pleading eyes. “Mirian I… I can’t be alone. Please.”

“Together,” she said, and squeezed Nicolus’s hand to comfort him. After what he’d lost, she could show him that kindness. She wondered when the last time he was truly alone was, given how close to his side Nurea always was.

“The priest comes once a week,” the woman told them. “Goes up and down the river to each village. He should be here in a few days. Until then, there’s always someone on duty to care for the temple. They can help with food, or there’s a kitchen in the back if you can manage it. You both need to rest. Especially him,” she said. She put a salve on his leg and all over their various cuts to prevent infection, but unfortunately, that was all she could do for them. They both thanked her profusely.

“I have coin,” Nicolus offered, but the woman shook her head. “Worry about that later, when you’re better.”

They had meant to go to Alkazaria, but it soon became apparent they were in no condition for that. Nicolus especially was in bad shape, and started running a fever. Mirian might have made the journey, but she couldn’t abandon him. Home would have to wait.

The next day, two traders got put up in the temple in the room across from them to wait for a healer too. “A myrvite attack,” one said. “Didn’t even know the spellwards had failed.” A manticore had gone after their caravan. They were lucky; it had killed their two camels, but the magic items in their packs had held its attention while they fled. One had gotten grazed by the poison spines the manticore shot, while the other had received a glancing blow to his arm. The arm was broken, and would probably need to be amputated.

“Spellwards didn’t just fail here, it’s all along the road. Travel’s no longer safe, not even by river,” the woman who’d been acting as sentry said. Today was her duty at the temple, and she made a nice hot soup for them, using the proper eastern Baracuel spices that Mirian had missed up in Torrviol.

During the day, Mirian and Nicolus lingered outside on the benches by the market square. It was a tiny market, mostly full of produce and fish. Mirian stepped in and helped a few craftsfolk when she could. Nicolus lapsed into naps throughout the day. Eventually his fever broke, but he’d regained none of his usual energy. She couldn’t tell if it was depression, or his injuries were that bad. Maybe both.

As the days progressed, Mirian marked her mental calendar. Reports came in of other strange goings on. Sea serpents spotted moving up the river. More of those strange geysers. Myrvite activity was on the rise, and one man said he’d seen several desert drakes go into a frenzy fighting over an abandoned enchanted item they were trying to sap the mana from. The villagers started trying to rebuild the old sandstone wall that had once surrounded the village, repairing it with mudbrick reinforced with straw. It was a primitive but tried and true solution. It was also necessary; the two local magi couldn’t get the spellward that had been protecting them working, and it seemed the other villages had the same problem. Mirian helped out where she could with magic, but despite all her academic knowledge, the village magi had two decades of experience on her. Mostly, she cast cantrips to support their efforts and looked up glyph combinations that might help. In the end, repairing the spellward was beyond all of their expertise. Maybe if Professor Atger had known how to teach, she thought when another of their attempted fixes failed.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

There would be no news of it after that leyline eruption, but when the 28th of Solem arrived, Mirian thought about Torrviol. She wondered if Lily or Xipuatl had gotten out before the attack, or if Torres had spotted the advancing army and sounded the warning in time.

That night, neither Mirian or Nicolus could sleep, so they walked out to one of the benches. “What is happening?” he said, probably for the hundredth time.

“I wish I knew.”