Chapter 59 – Confrontation

Anger bubbled up in Mirian as she looked at Priest Krier. Torrviol is threatened by attack, and this is how you spend your time? The acolytes with him stepped forward, torches still burning with white fire.

Mirian took a step back. “I’m not a heretic,” she said, trying to suppress her anger. “I’m just trying to save as many lives as I can.”

“You claim to be a new Prophet, but do not follow the—”

“No I don’t,” Mirian said, interrupting him, taking another step back.

Priest Krier’s eyes narrowed. “If you predict the future, then you claim Prophesy. Do you deny it?”

Mirian thought about trying to explain that she was only saying what had happened in previous loops, which was her past, but gave insight into the current future, but she didn’t think wordplay was going to save her. Instead, the anger in her erupted. “In past loops, I did come to you. You dismissed me! You did, holy one! And when you did, Torrviol burned. Do you know what happens if I stay silent? You die. All of you do! I’ve watched as the people of Torrviol are slaughtered like animals.”

She was shouting now, with such intensity that the acolytes approaching her had halted. Krier wanted a spectacle? She’d give him one. “Torrviol and its people stand on the brink of annihilation, and this is what you think is important? You’d rather try to dish out mob justice to someone trying to warn everyone than organize a defense?”

Priest Krier’s face grew grim. “You dare lecture me—you dare lecture me? It is clear you are a heretic, as only a heretic would speak to a priest like that.” His hand went to his chest.

Mirian’s eyes grew wide. Was he about to work soul magic? What divine spells did the Luminate Order even know? She had only ever heard of the healing magic they worked—but what if Xipuatl was right?

She felt a hand on her shoulder. A man from the crowd had stepped forward. “Holy one, I beg your forgiveness, but this is not how things are done in Torrviol. If you have criminal charges to levy, they are presented to the magistrate’s office.”

There were murmurs of assent from the people gathered. “She hasn’t tried to steal your congregation, holy one,” a woman carrying a basket of bread called out.

“You would stand by this heretic?” Priest Krier called out. His hand pressed tighter on his chest. Mirian couldn’t help but stare at that point. She felt her anticipation building.

“Follow the rule of law, priest,” an older man called out.

“He is following the highest law,” one of the acolytes said, eyes reflecting the white torchlight.

“Is that so?” the man standing by Mirian’s side said. “And what was Shiamagoth’s law?”

More murmurs echoed through the crowd. Everyone there knew it; they’d heard Priest Krier say it. Power is only righteous if it protects life.

The priest opened his mouth, then closed it.

“A wise priest once told me, ‘live like the prophets,’” one of the women said. Krier said it regularly in his sermons, Mirian knew.

The crowd had turned against him. Mirian could tell Krier knew by the way his face shifted. The anger that had been bubbling out now was veiled by a false smile. As a priest, he had a great deal of power, especially against anyone deemed unholy or heretical. Here, though, he had overstepped his authority, and everyone seemed to know it. “Then the magistrate will hear it, just as you have all heard it. And when the case is decided, I hope you all will reflect on the choices you made,” Krier said, voice calm, but tinged with venom.

He and his congregation turned back towards the temple. Not towards the magistrate’s office, Mirian noted. Maybe he would submit the charges later, but he likely didn’t want to walk through the crowd that had formed behind Mirian.

Mirian realized she was trembling. The anger had drained out of her and left only a bundle of frayed nerves. She didn’t even like presenting artifice projects in front of class. What in the hells was she doing yelling at a priest in the middle of the street? “Thanks,” she managed, to the man who had stepped forward first.

“The way I see it, you’re doing what you think is right. And from what I’ve heard, you have seen something. I’m sorry that a disciple of the cosmic wisdom has strayed into… well, you shouldn’t need to face down a mob. Not in a civilized town.”

She swallowed and nodded. “I’ll keep trying to do what’s right,” she said. She wasn’t sure what to do after that. So many people were staring at her. Mirian hurried along, muttering thanks to the crowd that had saved her.

As she stepped into the dining hall, Mirian realized that if she was going to stir the cauldron as much as she had here, she was going to make enemies. Some of them might not announce themselves so obviously, either. There was only a short time left, but it was still plenty of time for very unpleasant things to happen. If she was going to proceed, she needed to be with people she could trust.

***

She spent the rest of the day staying close to the western part of Torrviol where the militias were practicing. She moved back and forth between talking to some of the militia captains about what to expect from the Akanans and observing work in the crafting stations.

Watching Ingrid and Torres work was a treat. They’d clearly worked together before, and each knew the other well enough that they rarely bothered to talk. Torres would mark some part of the blueprint, and Ingrid would start sculpting the parts, while Torres worked on finishing the glyphwork on a previous piece. Torres’s enchantment work was amazing. She didn’t seem to mind Mirian asking her about her technique, so Mirian spent several hours seeing how she prepared surfaces with alchemical reagents, then used a modified mirror motion spell to scribe with precision.

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