Chapter 68 – Setup

The start of this loop had been a whirlwind. Mirian was relieved when the next few days were more subdued. Sure, there was still the chaos of the plebiscite, and people still stared at her wherever she went, or asked her if she could tell their fortune, but there wasn’t the constant feeling of being rushed. She met with the magistrate a few more times, and both Nicolus and Valen twice more. She was still busy, but relative to what she’d just gone through, it was nearly relaxing.

There was that anticipation hanging over her. She’d made yet more changes to the cycle, and something unexpected still could come out of nowhere, like Priest Krier leading a mob, or—or what? And that was the problem. There was going to be something, and she didn’t know what that something was.

She did have a plan for heading off Priest Krier, though. Seventhday, she went to his sermon.

Mirian had heard his lecture several times during the earlier cycles before she stopped going to the temple. As far as she could tell, it hadn’t changed. Likely, he was reading directly from the notes on his podium. As he talked, her eyes drifted to the statue of the Ominian that loomed behind him. She thought of the colossal statue in her dreams, wounds leaking ichor. She had now seen it too many times to have any doubt; if one of the Gods was responsible for her predicament, it must be the Ominian.

When the sermon ended, she waited patiently for her turn to talk, ignoring the pointed stares and whispers.

“Holy one,” she said. “I have been a faithful adherent to the Luminate Order all my life. Now, I see possible futures. What does the Luminate Order wish of me?”

Priest Krier’s wrinkled face creased as he examined her. “The other priests and I have been discussing that, actually. It’s… a bit strange. We’ve been struggling to find precedent in the holy texts for a situation like this. The Prophets were all devout of the Order, not simply members. And thus far, the Gods have continued their usual silence. It might be more comfortable to discuss this over tea.” This time, his expression and tone didn’t hold the pity for a suspected lunatic they’d held a year ago, but nor did they hold the righteous fury from last cycle.

Mirian hadn’t intended to go anywhere in private with him. She’d chosen to talk to him after a sermon specifically because she wanted an audience that could intervene if he tried something. Maybe he was still intending to do something, but it didn’t feel like that. Still, it would be safer to stay in the central sanctuary. “No thank you, holy one. It feels right to talk where they can watch,” she said, gesturing at the statues and reliefs that loomed around them in the deep shadows of the temple.

Priest Krier nodded. “I often do my best thinking here. It is comforting to know that, despite their own trials, that we are held sacred by the eyes of the Divine.”

Her eyes lingered on the statue of the Ominian. “I think I’ve seen another statue of Them. Only, the temple is strange and shifting, and Their wounds are bare.”

“And what did this statue of the Ominian look like?”

Mirian described it for him as best she could. The black ichor that dripped from the hollow wounds. The strange rock that was carved to look like wings and eyes, the body full of gaping maws. The strange images that played through her mind.

When she was done, Priest Krier had a stunned look. He was silent for a long time. Then he said, “You speak of mysteries that are sealed to all but the Order. Do you think the Ominian speaks to you?”

“Maybe. Not in words, though. It’s more like… symbols. Concepts. Sometimes, I think I know what something means, and other times, I don’t know.”

“The Elder Gods are not like us. The holy texts are clear that they experience the cosmos in ways we cannot conceive. The Second Prophet said, ‘What we see as a line, they see as an infinite plane. When we see a sealed tomb, they see both the bones interred and the path they took before they came to rest.’ He began the Order’s tradition of the new Prophets speaking to the old. Perhaps you will find wisdom in the words of the other Prophets.”

“Would I be able to… join the Luminate Order? As an acolyte?”

“Likely not. There’s a doctrinal problem. The Fourth Prophet said clearly, ‘No Prophet can be an acolyte, for they breach the mysteries of the Order like a tree’s roots sunder the soil.’ A Prophet must be declared by the Pontifex, or in his absence, by the council of archbishop electors. We have already sent word to the Great Sanctum in Palendurio and await the response.”

Huh, thought Mirian. The world must end before they ever get it. The crisis in Palendurio probably doesn’t help. “I want to make sure I stay in the good graces of the Order. I have always been faithful to the Gods.”

Krier smiled, and there was a genuine warmth to his smile that Mirian didn’t expect, especially given her last two encounters with him. “I would expect no less from one who has been smiled upon by them. You have nothing to worry about from the Order. If you wish to read from the holy texts, the temple’s doors are always open to you.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that some time,” Mirian said, and gave a shallow bow with her hand over her heart, as was traditional. As she left, she could only feel bafflement. What chain of events had caused that man to whip up a mob? Had she missed something? Was the Impostor responsible, still pulling strings in Torrviol? If the Impostor was in Torrviol, why wasn’t she trying to kill Mirian? She didn’t really take all that many precautions. Surely a woman who could impersonate an Arcane Praetorian could break into her dorm and kill her. Why hasn’t she? She’d been assuming that was because she fled Torrviol, but as the mayor’s assistant had made clear, at least one of the cells was staying behind.

Well, they could hide as they liked. She’d find them all eventually.

***

The relative calm continued to prevail in Torrviol. As the second quarter began, Mirian took her place as an official apprentice of Jei. On Firstday, the plebiscite nominated Sire Ethwarn again as mayor, and the next day the city council confirmed his appointment. The spies continued to lay low. Through this, Mirian continued her preparations. She’d prepared a series of battle maps to show Professor Cassius and Captain Moliner, assuming they ended up in the same roles as militia captains, and then General Hanaran when her forces arrived. She continued to train, with Jei when she could, without her when her mentor was busy with classes.

Jei also managed to convince Professor Torres to give her special instruction in artifice from time to time. Despite her proficiency, Torres always had suggestions or corrections. As they worked, Ingrid often stopped by, sometimes to watch, sometimes to add advice of her own.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Secondday, though, was when Xipuatl joined Nicolus in studying for Spell Engine Alchemistry. Mirian instructed Nicolus to make sure those study sessions would happen, then arranged to meet them in the library.

On her way to the study room, a boy, a fifth year by his uniform, smiled and said, “Hey, you’re the future-girl, right? What’s my future?”

Normally, Mirian just glared at them, or told them it didn’t work like that, but this time, recognition surfaced in her mind. There were too many thousands of people in Torrviol for her to know individually, but she had seen him while watching from the parapets of Bainrose, several times. “You try to cross the Academy plaza during an Akanan artillery barrage and get your torso blown apart.” She stated it simply, like one might comment on the weather.

The boy gave a nervous laugh, trying to act like the words hadn’t just made his face blanch. “Good one,” he said, then hurried away. She caught him whispering to his friend, “Shut up! I did not!” before she was out of earshot.

She was relieved to be in the study room. Mirian still wasn’t used to all the staring.

Familiar faces greeted her.