Chapter 88 – Seeds of Chaos

Mirian and Lecne worked to plan her return for the next cycle. She studied maps of Cairnmouth, and Lecne recalled the schedule he followed on the first three days of the month as best he could. More, they planned how to save High Priestess Arenthia.

“I probably won’t succeed the first time,” Mirian said apologetically. “I have to stay hidden in the shadows.”

Lecne nodded. “Too much is at stake. I understand. That’s why you’ll appreciate what I’m about to teach you.” He pulled out a thick tome that was packed full of elaborate illustrations of souls.

One could never actually depict auras, mana, or souls. They were beyond the basic senses; there was no sensory organ dedicated to it. The human brain came up with analogies as best it could, and everyone’s was slightly different. Classic magical texts described assembling a spell as ‘weaving’ because it was a group of weavers who’d come up with the instructional system that came to dominate Baracuel. One could imagine it as a painting with a brush, or as assembling colored prisms, or growing plants—there really wasn’t a limit—so long as it helped the mind put the mana in the right glyphs at the right time.

Souls were similar, though it seemed Mirian’s conception of her soul as a flowing thing of light was common enough. The tome depicted the concepts as best it could, then tried to describe what each part of the soul was, and what changing it would affect.

“Classic healing just involves stimulating the soul with relatively simple energy currents near the wound. Finding the wound is easy, because you can see a disruption in the soul’s current,” Lecne said. “This is also why determining the kind of infection is important. Different sicknesses seem to be caused by different things—too small to see, but there’s some amazing work being done on it in Palendurio. Maybe one day we’ll know more. Some of those things seem not to be affected by soul energy, but other infections will get worse when infused. Hence non-intervenable diseases.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Mirian said. “So since the body is a reflection of the soul, changing it in the right place could change… how you look.”

“Precisely,” Lecne said. “But it’s not like an illusion. It causes an actual, physical change. Reversible, of course, but it shares the same mechanics as a curse—the modification of the soul. A great cure for body dysphorias. Most people only make the change once, unless they’re like Marva. Ah, hope they’re doing well.” He gave a loud sigh. “Then of course, there’s the people who try to get taller or make subtle changes so they better conform to beauty standards. That never goes well. The soul is as complicated as the body, and certain traits cannot be changed simply, and attempting those changes can cause one to accidentally cripple themselves. Or worse, there’s the ones who can’t leave the mind alone. They want to implant memories, say, of a skill, or forget something painful, or use it to control others. Messing with the mind generally has two outcomes: brain damage or death.”

“Same as with arcane spells,” Mirian said, though of course, there were the mental-component spells like illusions that seemed to tap into the mind. What makes one kind safe and the other deadly? she wondered. That said, it was a curiosity she was reluctant to indulge, because permanently screwing up her mind through her soul might very well be irreversible.

“There’s other texts on the matter,” Lecne said, gesturing around the temple library. “But this one is probably the best. Always preferred the books with pictures,” he added with a laugh.

They spent the rest of the evening going through the diagrams, with Mirian working to map out her soul. Despite her knack for it, it was still an arduous process, and one that would take several weeks to complete, even at her accelerated pace.

The massacre in Palendurio set everyone on edge, and paranoia gripped the city. Rumors spread like wildfire.

When there was the magical eruption north of the city two days later, the distrust and fear only intensified. Some said it was Akanan sabotage, leading to riots by the port and the burning of an Akanan ship. Mirian ate up the newspapers, and compared them to what she remembered of the news that had made it up to Torrviol. She’d heard of the riots here before, but they were subtly different. That there would be riots seemed practically predetermined. Exactly how they played out seemed to have a random element.

Meanwhile, Cult’s members doubled down in their dedication, the accuracy of her predictions fueling their faith.

“Blessing and a curse,” Maruce, the former soldier, told her. “Pity that a new prophet should come in our time. More the shame it didn’t start earlier. Plenty of other things I wish you could change,” and when he said that, he got a distant look about him and muttered, “See our sanctuary, and have mercy. See our shrine, and help it light the path you have set for us.”

“That’s a Persaman prayer, isn’t it?” Mirian said as the words sparked something in her memory.

“What? Oh. Didn’t know you knew—yeah. Learned it down in the… well. Don’t like to talk about it. I do wonder what the Ihseer and the Church of the Ominian think about all this. Most people in Persama don’t believe in prophets the same way we do, and the Akanans think that there’s just the two prophets. Lotta people are gonna have their faith shaken before this is over.”

“Yeah,” Mirian agreed. She was already one of them.

Before the cycle ended, Mirian went over Arenthia’s execution again with Lecne.

“Tell me what you remember,” Lecne said.

“The execution takes place at the Temple of the Four, in the plaza of Shiamagoth.” She made a face. Having an execution in front of the statue of the Protector of Life seemed blasphemous to her. “The execution is at noon on the 2nd. There’s a small crowd gathered, two Praetorians, and two priests.” She went through the other details they’d discussed. Lecne had made her study a map of the temple and the streets that surrounded Second Cairn, the hill the temple sat upon. She drew it from memory, then together they compared it to his map and they made corrections.

“If I had any idea how to stop it…” he said.

“You would have. I know,” Mirian said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve only known you for this short while, but it’s clear to me you’re a good man.”

Lecne gave her a sad smile. “Wasn’t always. Remember that. Everyone can change. For the better, for the worse. I believe that even in the worst circumstances, we have a choice.”

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***

“Lily, I have to go,” Mirian told her, much like she had the last cycle. “Do what you need to do. When people come looking for me, tell the truth: that I’m gone, and you don’t know where.” Then she added, “Also, could you spread a rumor that Professor Eld is having an affair with Mayor Wolden?”

Lily blinked several times. “You give me this weird speech about leaving and then—what? You want me to what!?”