The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

The world ended, and Mirian woke in her bed, feeling the water drip down her face, and sighed.

Loop one hundred, she thought.

Mirian planned to create a stir in Palendurio, so she tried a new variable: killing a half-dozen of the spies and tipping off both the Magistrate and Archmage as to Sulvorath and Specter. She worked with Jei on a plan to vanish for several days. For good measure, she also set up a trap in the spies’ safehouse.

Enjoy cleaning that up, she thought as she levitated her way out of town and landed on the departing train’s caboose.

***

Mirian first worked on translating the ancient Adamic writing she’d recovered, making friends with one of the language experts who worked in the Great Library. Her memory had been far from perfect, so several words hadn’t quite turned out right. She was able to correct it when she got lucky with her dreams and found herself in the Mausoleum again.

She also read up on the history of the Luminate Order, and more of the lives of the Prophets. She actually found that several of the historians had a wonderful way of telling the past through narrative, and the books were downright tolerable. As she read, she tried to fill in the gaps. Whenever someone like the Third Prophet was said to have instantly made friends with a king or led a perfect battle, she could imagine that was where their own trials in the time loops had come into play.

She had instructed her contacts in Torrviol to send her a message early if someone managed to kill Sulvorath or Specter.

It turned out to be a winning combination of initial conditions.

The message she got was on the 10th of Solem, and it was from Professor Jei.

Her letter was absolutely full of details, including an exchange she’d recorded and transcribed using divination magic:

Recorded 8th Solem, 15th hour, in basement of 3rd house on Dockside Street

Translated from Eskinar

(Door opens. Footsteps)

Man (Sulvorath?): What’s the status of the hunt?

Woman (Specter?): I told you I’d update you if there was progress.

Man: Why are your damn agents always so incompetent? How hard is it to find one fucking girl?

Woman: Why is she even going to Cairnmouth? We work better when we understand the motives of our quarry.

Man: How the hells should I know?

Woman: You claimed to have watched her for months. Surely you mapped out a psychological pro—

Man: I did! And the plan worked perfectly. But somehow, your damned curse didn’t incapacitate—why am I bothering to tell you this again? She was obsessed with the Monument. Now she’s just abandoned it. But she can’t win as long as I have it.

(Long pause. Papers rustling).

Woman: The most likely places are near the Port Market, in the Temple of the Four, or in Fort Aegrimere. Doubtful it’s the Fort. There’s a lot of divination holes in the port district. Lot of paranoid people there. Or she’s not there at all.

Man: So you keep saying.

Woman: It’s standard operational procedure.

(Pause)

Man: The charges are in place?

Woman: Of course. And veiled. Including the undetectable magic.

Man (muttering): Wish that made sense to me.

Woman: Some people are born with the capacity, and some are not.

Man: Just frustrating. At least I know she can’t use it either. Operation Zenith is proceeding as planned?

Woman: Minus the problem in the south.

Man: We’ll remove him from the equation after her. Once they’re gone, the variables they introduce won’t matter. Then we’ll hunt down the others. Then we’ll win.

(Pause. Sound of papers rustling.)

Man: Good. More dossiers. And more blackmail. Our network is spreading nicely. Just wish it was easier to bring the Sacristars in line.

(Pause. More papers rustling.)

Man: What are your communiques to Vadriach University for? This is a recent addition in these cycles. You didn’t do this before. Why?

Woman: A research project on divination. The loop can be exploited to run short experiments on new spells or devices. I was going to wait to tell you until we got the results.

Man: Hmm. And progress on the airship engines?

Woman: Yes, Arborholm is continuing their work. The limitation you ask for is… difficult.

Man: Well, I need to get to Torrviol quicker. That’ll help with all this garbage. The Archmage…?

Woman: No longer trusts me. The skeleton is… difficult to explain away. And I am already busy fending off inquiries from my superiors on the state of operations here. You need to work on explanations that can be used in each contingency.

Man: It’s a stupid waste. When we get her—

Woman: But we have to get her first.

(Pause)

Man: Fine. I’ll work on a letter to Arturus. We can pull a lot of resources from the Palendurio operation. Wish the fucking Corrmiers weren’t so intransigent. Finances are secure on my end, so we should have a dozen more falcons coming in tomorrow. Don’t be late.

(Door slams)

Woman (hissing): Why did God choose an idiot? If I were in his place…

End of transcript

Mirian wished Jei were right there so she could hug her. The recording was a huge victory for her. It told her things she’d been dying to know—literally. Jei’s notes also detailed the divination spell that Specter had failed to ward against, as well as the surprise attack they launched on the house the next day. Both of them had been killed. With four professors and the Archmage, it hadn’t been a particularly close fight.

And, it sounded like Sulvorath was keeping the Divine Monument trapped, in case she tried to sneak back into Torrviol. What does he know that I don’t? Though, as she pondered what he’d said, she thought the question ought to be, What does he think he knows? It was interesting that Specter was misinforming him, deliberately, it seemed. And it seems I can leverage Nicolas to interfere with his plans better. Sending an early zephyr falcon down to his dad could prevent the Sacristar family from ever joining the conspiracy. Then she thought, Well, if his dad listens to him. Nicolas doesn’t really like to talk about him all that much, but I know their relationship isn’t that great.

She reread the transcript several times to help commit it to memory. But what did he mean by ‘hunt down the others’? Does he mean he’s found more time travelers?

She’d speculated on the possibility. It seemed caution was still in order, especially in any new areas. But if Sulvorath had found them, and already had made them enemies, maybe she could make them allies. A project for another time, though. I have enough in front of me as it is.

It was otherwise fantastic news. It meant she could go ahead with her plan, without worrying about the attention it would otherwise draw to her. She dismissed the bindings on her soul so that she would have her true body, and continued her preparations.

Two days later, she used her knowledge of the gaps in the wards and patrols to sneak into Charlem Palace, arriving in front of the door to the Luminate Order’s section. Two Luminate Guards with ceremonial halberds watched her approach from the gardens. Before they could even ask her, she said, “I’m here to be recognized as a new Prophet. There is little time left. The archbishops and pontiff must meet immediately. Shall I tell them, or will you?”

The two guards looked at each other. “We will… put in a request.”

“Good,” she said, handing them a sealed letter. “Here is a list of predictions. Most of these are large enough and soon enough they are quite likely impossible to change right now. Ensure they see them.”

“We will,” one of the guards said dutifully.

She left.

***

By the 22nd of Solem, Mirian was getting tired of waiting. She’d arrived each day, but the guards’ orders continued to be to keep out any visitors. By then, the pontiff and the archbishops would have seen proof that she predicted the burning of the Akanan Embassy and the exact wording of several newspaper articles.

On the 20th, she’d evaded a patrol sent after her to ‘question her about entering the palace grounds without a permit.’ She wasn’t going to let herself be apprehended and have to come at things from a position of vulnerability. That just lets people ignore you, she knew.

“What is the delay?” she snapped at the Luminate Guards, even though she knew it wasn’t their fault. “And you two! I’m not an idiot. I can see you hiding behind the wall,” she told the two nearby palace guards.

There was a pause, then the guards emerged, wands already drawn. “I apologize, but we do need to apprehend you,” one of them said. “All visitors to the grounds must have an approved seal. You’ve violated this law several times.”

“Only if the council meets with me first,” Mirian said, voice sharp. “You may escort me there.”

The Luminate guard on the left grimaced. “Our orders are—”

“A Prophet supersedes even a pontiff. Declared or not, I will maintain my rights under the highest law, that of Carkavakom. Who, I might add, the pontiff is planning on references extensively in his speech on the 25th.”

“We cannot,” the Luminate on the right said.

“Please drop your spellbook and any wands you might have,” one of the guards said. “If you are declared, you’ll be released, but until then you have no—”

Mirian didn’t wait. She drew from her soul repository, and cast with her focus. She used a simple rune pair that put out a shockwave that would hit their souls directly; it would be a painful stun, but wouldn’t actually cause damage. Since her spellbook was closed and the only thing in her hand was the levitation wand, they didn’t expect it. Before they could recover, she flew into the sky and cast amplify voice, enhanced for high intensity.

“Pontiff Oculo, if you wait to meet with me until after the 1st, the blood of Palendurio is on your hands!” she boomed, her voice echoing across the city. The four guards below stared up at her, mouths agape.

She cloaked herself with sky camouflage and flew away, then used a major illusion spell when she was back on the streets to make her way back to the Bard and Lion Inn to make sure she wasn’t recognized.

***

On the 1st of Duala, Mirian headed to the palace again. Each time before, she’d gone to the front gate, and a quick divination spell told her several Luminate guards and at least one Arcane Praetorian were waiting there, so she headed for the basilica tower, this time flying in from the northeast. She landed on the balcony, then descended down to the council chambers one floor below.

She had expected the pontiff might be consulting with the archbishops, but the chambers were empty, and the large marble table clean. As she looked around the circular chamber, she saw portraits done of Luminate pontiffs. Her eyes lingered on Oculo Stellnat’s. Beneath it, it had his birth name, from before he took the ascendant name of his office. Alberin Allard, it read. Oh, Mirian thought. Allard. Of course. Another member of the noble families. I should have known.

Her detect life spell told her Pontiff Oculo was in his dining chamber, attended by several servants. Having already bypassed the guards and locked and warded gates, there was no security between her and the pontiff. She burst into the dining room with barely contained fury.

“Three times you’ve denied even a response,” Mirian said as she entered, while Oculo knocked over a chalice of wine in his surprise. He was dressed in his black and white robes of office, with a heavy gold necklace of medallions, each of which depicted a symbol of the Elder Gods. Up close, she could see the deep wrinkles and sagging skin that came with his age.

The three servants froze, not sure what to do. One of them was carrying a still steaming platter of roast cockatrice.

“What are you—?” Oculo began.

“I am a Prophet. I will not be ignored. Have the predictions come true?” When he said nothing, she added, “Did you and the archbishops even bother to look at them?”

“Get the guards,” Oculo said quietly.

“Belay that order,” Mirian snapped. “You and I need to talk. Did Acolyte Hamel die, like I said?”

Oculo was silent.

“And the two other deaths? And the embassy attack? And the newspaper headlines? And Corrmier’s occupation of Parliament? And the assassination of the Akanan Prime Minister? And the contents of your own speech to the crowds?”

Oculo was silent.

“Did you know your bishops here are complicit in accounting fraud? It wasn’t even a particularly complicated scheme, which is why Hamel found it so easily.”

“Leave us,” Oculo said to the servants, tone harsh.

“Oh, you can stop hiding. It doesn’t matter if they know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that there’s another explanation besides foreknowledge for all those predictions, and that is that I got information about the conspiracy. Because, no doubt, you and all the other conspirators could have written the same list of predictions, couldn’t you? Alberin Allard.”

Upon hearing his birth name, Oculo was still silent, but she could read the barely suppressed emotions on his face. It was a facial expression she was growing familiar with, one that kept showing up on the faces of the powerful. She’d seen it on Cearsia, Luspire, Hanaran, and Bishop Valentar’s faces, as well as some of the upper bureaucrats in Charlem Palace when she was trying to get them to see reason. It was the face one made when they considered themselves superior to the person they were talking to. It was something in between contempt and anger, and it came in flashes, often veiled behind fake smiles and a veneer of polite words that cracked apart like old paint flaking.

Being talked to with anything other than deference was too much for Oculo. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it ends today. The Arcane Praetorians have been alerted, and will be here shortly. You will find your prowess in arcane arts means nothing to me or them.”

Oh, you have your own protection?

For the first time, she looked at the servants more closely, then glanced behind her. Some sort of secret intruder signal had been sent; she could see the guards starting to move up the stairs towards them. The first tremor hit then, rattling the silverware on the table.

“It is the last two predictions that no conspirator could make or prevent,” Mirian said. “I warned you what the price for Palendurio would be, will continue to be, until you listen.” I need another minute, she thought.

Two of the servants looked frightened, but the last looked too calm. An agent? she wondered. Or perhaps a secret bodyguard? Mirian cast bind person on him, and he toppled over like a statue. When a wand clattered across the floor, she knew she’d made the right call. She then cast lift person on Oculo, reinforced with soul energy to break any spell resistance, but found that even with that her spell dissolved on contact with him.

There was no time to figure out where his spell-resistant jewelry was, so she lifted the table aside instead, smashing it against the wall, then walked over and grabbed him and hoisted him over her shoulder, ignoring his protests and flailing.

Behind her, she could hear the Luminate Guards approaching, so she used a telekinetic spell to smash a chair through the stained-glass window behind them and levitated them both out it. There was a smaller balcony on the very zenith of the basilica, and she flew them to it. The tremors were increasing.

“This is the fate of Palendurio, every cycle, until you help me,” she shouted. “All your plans, all your conniving, it comes to nothing!”

She’d timed it perfectly. The leyline rupture began.

By the blinding light of the leyline, Mirian watched as Oculo’s face went from anger to pure terror.

In previous cycles, he had no doubt been in that sheltered dining room, the stained glass letting the light in, but never showing him the devastation. Perhaps he had never bothered to see it with his own eyes, preferring to stay hidden in the palace. Perhaps he had told himself that it was unrelated to what he had done.

Now, he was forced to confront it.

He watched as fissures opened up around the city, and huge portions of the canals collapsed, pulverizing cliff spires and all the buildings on them. He watched as fires broke out, and as spell engines across the city exploded. The basilica dome cracked beneath them, and portions of Charlem Palace collapsed. South of them, they could watch as several of Ducastil’s spires topple. Clouds of dust and black smoke covered the city, and the distant screams echoed up to their ears.

Quiet now, Mirian said, “It is your conspiracy that just caused that rupture. I need to know how to stop it, and I need to know the ninth binding.”

Oculo’s face was streaked with tears, though from the pain of the bright light or being forced to watch the disaster, she didn’t know. “I sought only to reunite the church,” he said at last, voice trembling.

“What you wanted doesn’t matter. It only gets worse from here. In four days, the world ends. All across Baracuel, leylines are breaching, and geysers of arcane energy scouring the land. Everywhere, the spellwards have failed, and myrvites run rampant as they try to escape what’s coming. But no one escapes. No one lives. And yet… there is still time for this all to be prevented.”

“I only wanted… it was going to be the best path for the faithful, in the end.”

Mirian stared at him. “This isn’t about you.”

Then, Pontiff Oculo did start crying, and fell to his knees, shivering as he sobbed.

She watched him, more with contempt than pity. She wondered how long he had planned this all out, and how many people he had killed to get to this point. No doubt, he really had thought himself the hero of the story of Baracuel. Perhaps it even would have worked; if Akana Praediar did conquer Baracuel, perhaps the rift between them and the Church of the Ominian would have healed, though at the cost of how many hundreds of thousands of lives, she didn’t know.

But in the end, the world hadn’t cared about his intentions.

“I need the ninth binding,” Mirian repeated. “I need the secrets of the third and fourth circles. There isn’t much time left.”

At last, Oculo took his hands from his face and looked at her. “I… I will teach you.” The last word, he whispered, so quiet it might have been a trick of the wind: “Prophet.”