Chapter 93 – Next Steps

As the latest cycle progressed, Mirian released more seeds of chaos and continued to monitor the newspapers, while Lecne used his contacts in the black markets to keep an ear out. Sulvorath had stopped getting his contacts to deploy ‘wanted’ posters and was keeping his search more subtle, but he was clearly still searching. Lecne was able to learn that a description that matched her normal appearance was being circulated among certain criminal elements, along with a promise for a reward. Another priest found her name and description in the office of the Arcane Praetorians, with the charges of ‘practicing unlicensed magic’ and ‘assault of a teacher.’ The first charge was technically true, but Mirian wondered who on the Academy staff had been cajoled into committing perjury by filing false charges. Probably Professor Eld, she thought. Never much liked him.

Priestess Arenthia was both a poor and good teacher, and for the same reason. Her knowledge of soul magic and its history was comprehensive, and so she would go on and on about anything and everything. She also confirmed something else Mirian had realized: that the Department of Public Security was unofficially authorized to evade the necromancy ban.

“It creates institutional power,” Arenthia explained one evening. “Because the organization has access to otherwise irresistible magic, and a deal with the Luminates to have anyone they mark turned over, they act as a check to the Arcane Praetorians and army, while the Praetorians act as a check to the various arcanist guilds and academies.”

“And who acts as a check on the Deeps?” Mirian asked.

Arenthia just smiled, teeth showing.

Purely by accident, Mirian was furthering her knowledge of the conspiracy that stretched from Vadriach to Palendurio. The problem was, the Deeps was the one of two organizations she had no chance of infiltrating. Both they and the Luminate Order would be on the lookout for soul magic, and with Sulvorath still searching for her, she could neither use her transformed identity or her real identity.

But it also seemed that the Deeps was clearly involved in whatever was happening. Not that she had anything like the kind of evidence she needed to convince people or stop it. Arenthia also talked freely of how the Deeps would work with the Akanan Republic Intelligence Division.

“But why would either of them want to provoke war between the two countries, then? I still don’t understand that part.”

“People don’t think like countries,” Arenthia told her. “They think like people. Ask yourself who gains from such a war, and what they would gain.”

Mirian wrinkled her nose. “Nicolus said it had to do with the control of key resources. Crystals. Fossilized myrvite. And now, the Divine Monuments, assuming there’s more than one.”

“That reminds me, I’ve been thinking,” the priestess said, rising from her seat so she could pace about again. “You’ve complained about nothing following you through the cycles. And that’s true—sort of. Nothing human made could do it. But the Elder Gods left us their legacy. I’ve never actually told someone that going into the Labyrinth was a good idea—but for you, it actually might be. The Deeps were obsessed with some of the things they found down there, but they could never replicate them, and they certainly couldn’t reliably get teams to come back alive.”

This was the second time someone had mentioned the Labyrinth. It was already something she planned to investigate, but at a lower priority. But perhaps it shouldn’t be. “I know about the myrvites down there, and special materials… but what else is down there?”

“That’s just in the upper layers,” Arenthia said, waving a dismissive hand. “The ones the Guild of Expeditions can reach with relative safety. You start talking even third level down and people start salivating at the money they think they’ll make from it. There’s antimagic fields. Golems that can reassemble themselves. Wards and spellwork more complex than anything we have invented. Glyphs scribed so miniscule some wizards still think it’s technically impossible. And the holy artifacts—the things that the field of artifice was named after. I’m fairly certain it’s where the first orichalcum came from, and deeper still, there’s beasts of legend that produce untested magichemicals, or have catalysts far more potent than anything on the surface. People think the Gods share their grace with us, but the creatures down there burn with Their light.” Arenthia cackled at that, a sound Mirian had never expected to hear from anyone not playing the villain in a poor drama, never mind from a respected priestess, then said, “The problem is, it’s certain death. You heard of the Expedition of Archmagi?”

“They all died, didn’t they?”

“Oh yes. Trying to breach the fourth level. Three archmagi. Ten support arcanists. Twenty of the army’s best soldiers. No survivors. The Deeps knew it was a problem of intelligence. Can’t prepare for something you don’t know about, see? Reconfiguring rooms, undetectable traps, and divination suppressors everywhere. Met a unit head that was obsessed with it. Never did get anyone back from that fourth level, though. Gone. Vanished.” She snapped her fingers.

Mirian thought back to her Arcane History class. At least one of the lessons had piqued her interest. “Wasn’t there some guy who made it back from the fifth level?”

Arenthia cackled again. “Yes, and who was he?”

Mirian closed her eyes. Right. Yeah. “The Fourth Prophet.”

“And what did he find?”

“Instructions from the Gods, written on holy pages from the deep vaults.”

“The best translation I can come up with is, ‘And thou shalt see the will of the Gods, for the pages of this manuscript are bound to their souls and none but they can change what is written.’ Then, in the Ninth Verse, he’s quoted as saying to his lieutenants, ‘My blade cannot be taken from me, for it is the same stuff as my soul.’ I’d always read it as a metaphor.”

Mirian’s mouth grew dry. “Oh shit. You think there’s stuff down there made of soulstuff? And if there is—that’s the thing that goes back. If it’s incorporable….”

“I reread the holy scriptures, then read them again in the original archaic Friian and another in Old Adamic. It’d be easy to miss, and I’m sure I could have a right proper scholarly argument with Lecne about it because the translation plays havoc with the terminology, but—yes.”

For a time they were quiet, and even priestess Arenthia was still for once. Then the silence was broken by the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen, and then they could both hear Pelnu swearing in two different languages for what had to be a solid three minutes.

“I can probably fix it,” Mirian said.

“Oh, so can he,” said Arenthia. “Sometimes you just need to get it all out. So what are you thinking about now?”

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Mirian let her gaze wander to the painting of the corpse-God. “Does the Luminate Order still have those holy pages? Or the sword?”

“LECNE!” Arenthia shouted, making Mirian start.

Lecne, who judging by his lethargic pace making it down into the chamber was used to this sort of call, came down. “Should have let them execute you,” he muttered as he joined them, though he still smiled when he saw her.

“Too charming to die,” Arenthia said. “Do the Luminates still have the Holy Pages and Sword of the Fourth Prophet still stashed away in their vaults?”

Lecne tapped his chin. “Dunno. Never made it that far in the circles of secrecy. They claim to have them all stashed away in the Grand Sanctum, but there used to be rumor back when I was an acolyte that some of them are fakes and the Church of the Ominian ran off with some of the holy artifacts during the split. If they did, you can bet the Order is still steamed about it.”

Both Arenthia and Mirian lapsed back into thought, so Lecne followed up with, “We done here? I need to pick up some more incense from the market, and then I need to help Palnu with his soup. Cairnmouth is still a hungry city.”

“I’ll help with the soup,” Arenthia said.

“Yes, the people have been clambering for ‘more salt,’” Lecne said, rolling his eyes.