Chapter 84 – Cursed

The second curse killed her, but unlike previous deaths, it wasn’t just the memory of the pain that followed her—the agony lingered. As it slowly faded, she felt tired, like she did when she’d been directing the Battle of Torrviol and had gone two days without sleeping.

Lily was saying something to her, but it took her a moment to comprehend the words she was saying. Mirian’s mind felt sluggish.

“—talk to me, Mirian. What happened? Are you hurt? Mirian? Mirian!” Her roommate was standing right over her.

“—fine. Give me… a… moment,” she managed.

“Gods. Was it a nightmare? You nearly gave me a heart attack. Ugh, I sound like my mom. Are you okay?”

“Need… space. A moment. Please.”

Lily backed up, then sat on her bed looking distressed.

It felt nearly impossible to meditate. Twice, she slowed her breathing enough, and then a jolt of pain ran through her and broke her concentration. And that water was dripping from the ceiling—that damn water. She rolled onto the floor with a thunk just to get away from the incessant dripping. “That was… intentional,” she said. “Bit longer.”

“Can I get a cleric? I can get a cleric. You look terrible. But what do I tell them? What happened?”

Mirian focused again on her soul. She could just make out the outlines of it. There was something there; in her mind’s eye, it looked like dark tendrils covering the surface. She’d been cursed, that much was clear. And the curse had come with her, back into the past.

With great effort, she stood, even though it felt like weights were dragging her down. “Yeah. Cleric. Let’s… go.”

Lily grimaced. “In your night clothes?”

In a cycle, no one would remember. Mirian couldn’t bring herself to care, and dressing properly felt like too much effort. She just needed the curse gone as soon as possible. “Yeah. Cleric. Now. Can I… lean on you?” And why is it so damn hard to think?

They made their way towards the hospital, Mirian stumbling along as best she could. Periodically, she felt a stab of pain run through her whole body and she had to stop and wait for it to fade. By the time they’d made it to the hospital, Mirian felt like she’d walked for hours.

“Thanks,” she told her friend as she collapsed into a chair.

The attendant looked at her and didn’t ask what had happened. She stood and fetched a cleric immediately.

Mirian recognized the cleric from one of her previous loops. She remembered he preferred Cuelsin, and that he’d helped diagnose her when she’d been drinking too many mana elixirs. When he introduced himself again as Cleric Marovim, the name meant nothing to her. Despite her memory tricks, it had been one meeting several years ago by now.

“What happened?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Mirian said, and then kept repeating it to his other questions.

When Marovim finally analyzed her soul, his face turned white. She expected him to say, ‘Ah, you’ve been cursed. Don’t worry, as a member of the Luminate Order I can fix that, because that’s what we do’—but he didn’t. Instead he said, “I’m… very sorry. I’ll be right back.”

Well, maybe he needs someone with more skill, she thought. Her mind was still fuzzy, and the exhaustion was clawing at her. I’ll just close my eyes for a moment, she thought.

When she opened them, Priest Krier was in the room. “Ah. You’re awake. Your roommate tells us your name is Mirian, yes?”

“Yes. Can you… fix it? I don’t—”

In a low voice, Krier said to Marovim, “Do you really think she doesn’t know?”

“I… Holy One, I don’t… I’m not sure. She’s just a student.”

“She has the mark, though. How does she get the mark without…?”

“Mark? What… what are you talking about?” Mirian mumbled.

Priest Krier looked concerned. “We need to talk in private,” he told the cleric.

They closed the door and talked in hushed voices. Mirian strained to hear. Finally, as they reopened the door, she heard Marovim say, “—settles it. I’ll contact Adria.”

That sent a chill through Mirian’s bones. “Wait, why are you getting an Arcane Praetorian? I’m sick,” she said, but already her mind was racing. The Impostor had branded all the souls of her spy network so that her rune-magic traps could detect them. That first spell of hers must have been a brand. Whatever the brand signaled, the clerics could pick up on it, and the Impostor had chosen something that roused their suspicions. It was so hard to think, but she tried to make the connections. The Arcane Praetorians take on rogue arcanists. Like necromancers. But if they use soul magic…. And then Mirian knew. The Impostor had branded her as a necromancer. The clerics could see it, and to them, it probably looked official. In fact, given the Impostor’s status as a Deeps agent turned traitor, it probably was genuine. That brought another question: Why is the church allowing the Deeps and the Praetorians to use soul magic? Isn’t it the purview of the Order?

There was no way anyone would believe the time loop story. But she needed to get them to heal her. “Have I been cursed?” she said. “I don’t know what happened last night. We were celebrating the end of the quarter approaching, and then… it’s all black.” She started crying, and it wasn’t fully an act to garner sympathy, but she hoped it would help.

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“I’m sorry,” Priest Krier said. “We have to follow protocol here. It’s… I’m sure everything will be….”

It was insidious. The curse made it impossible for her to fight, and the brand made it so no one would remove it without the Praetorian’s approval—and the Impostor had killed the Praetorian and the Department of Public Security cell that could have checked her. The Impostor certainly understood how to gain power. But for what purpose? There had to be more to it than what she’d told Mirian, but she doubted she could find out anything useful this time. The woman was trained in interrogation. She wasn’t going to let anything slip.

No, this time, she had to do what she could to escape. The last time she’d tried that, she’d aimed for the wrong target. This time, she wouldn’t make the same mistake.