Cycle 325

Unsurprisingly, the chthonic needle she’d given to the Ominian was gone the next cycle. That was too bad. Coating the chthonic needles in relicarium was out of the question, because that would link them to her soul. If she subsequently sent the needle to the Ominian, she would be torn apart.

She continued delving the depths of the Labyrinth, looking for yet more Vaults that might contain a second or third chthonic needle.

***

Cycle 329

The leviathans had proved to be difficult to negotiate with. Eventually, she got them to understand that she was ultimately searching—their term—for a timeline where everyone didn’t die. Unsurprisingly, their number one demand was a drastic reduction to the number of spell-engine powered ships passing through their hunting territory.

That was easy enough to promise.

What was more difficult to convey was the nature of what she wanted from them. They seemed to understand the idea of “hostile pod,” but she wasn’t sure they understood that several of the pods only might be hostile.

When that was done, she headed north, using the Mahatan Gate to return to Alkazaria, then flew north.

Here was another battlefield like Torrviol, only, she’d fought a great beast here, not a war. Mirian landed and took a peaceful walk, reminiscing. The terror she’d felt so long ago—she hardly remembered it. The memory that stuck out to her the most was when she had been nearly devoured, only a thin shield between her and the great myrvite, and only her innovations in binding magic had saved her. It had been such a triumph. Ah, how her blood had sung.

She’d hoped the solution to the crisis had been killing the beast suckling on the leylines. How naive she’d been.

Now, after so many years, she was here for a different purpose.

Mirian summoned her soulbound spellbook and placed it on the ground, then walked a few dozen meters away and waited patiently.

There was no way Apophagorga could resist a bait as potent as their own catalyst.

She could see them now, shifting about in the four-dimensional hole they’d dug. They were sniffing about with whatever natural divination spells they had.

Mirian sat down cross-legged and closed her eyes.

At last, they seemed satisfied that Mirian was sufficiently alone. The ground began to rumble as Apophagorga scrambled up through it.

As they burst through the earth, claws and tentacles scrambling for the spellbook, Mirian recalled it to her soul and extended her aura.

We must talk, she told them.

Apophagorga emerged fully from the hole, looking around. Seeing that there really was no army of hunters, no artillery, and no airships, they became more confident. They let out a deafening roar, tendrils fully extended, maw open. A nullifying spell burst from the mouth, hitting Mirian’s hastily conjured black shield.

Mirian levitated up and opened her eyes. NO, she told them. We must talk.

The myrvite titan roared again, then charged in.

This time, Mirian met it with the same lift myrvite spell that she’d used to tear a leviathan from the sea. She lifted the flailing beast up. When they tried to bombard her with spells, she countered them. She shook the titan back and forth, dropped them back down. The ground shook.

SIT, she told it.

Apophagorga didn’t roar this time, they just charged forward.

Mirian raised a hand to the sky, then clenched her fist. By now, Mirian had at last overcome the 200 myr mark with her spells—and that was without her invented Burning Tempest form. From the overcast sky came down a rain of lightning bolts, slamming down in a circle around the Elder titan. The sound of it alone caused the earth to tremble. A thick ring of molten rock ringed the creature.

She narrowed her eyes, staring down the beast. DOWN.

Apophagorga hesitated, touched the burning ground in front of it with a tentacle, then quickly withdrew it. Their mouth closed.

The great beast sat.

STAY, Mirian commanded.

The titan looked up at her with hostile eyes, but they were listening.

We must talk, she repeated.

THIEF. RAGE, the titan sent through its aura.

I took nothing you haven’t been able to replace. You’ve regrown your catalyst by now.

TORMENT, they thought at her.

Yes. It must have been painful. But with your aid, I’ve been able to accomplish much. But there’s more that must be done.

The anger still simmered.

Like all creatures, you wish to live. Tell me, Apophagorga. Have you found the timeline where you live yet? The leviathans haven’t. The gatelings haven’t. Have you?

Silence. Then the Elder titan squirmed uncomfortably in the dirt. It was hilarious to watch—such a massive creature, covered in terrifying armor and spines, for all the world looking like a naughty puppy. That was answer enough.

Then I need your help.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

NO.

Mirian had been thinking about why there were so few myrvite titans. She’d also been thinking about what might be on the other side of the storms that surrounded known Enteria. Her conversations with the leviathans had given her some insight. You’re not supposed to be in this part of Enteria, are you?

Again, Apophagorga gave her a glare, but then they looked away.

Ah, she’d guessed right. There is a place for you here. Food and safety, too. I can only give it if you help. Not now, but soon. A few more decades at most.

The myrvite titan considered her. It wasn’t saying “no” this time.

Here’s what I need…

***

Loop 335

The temporal anchors were coming more frequently now. A few more, and Mirian thought she might actually see summer again. Twelve of them now radiated light from the Ominian’s wounds. When Mirian looked at them in the dream, she wondered if the soul-memories of the Prophets traveled with the devices and gave the Ominian a bit of each Prophet’s life. Or perhaps They had known all along from whatever strange link They shared.

This cycle had been another practice run. By now, the leyline regulator could be completed well within the time requirements, and the Prophets spent far more time on break cycles than full attempts. What the Prophets were testing in this loop was what could be done if chaotic effects within a given loop morphed into an uncontrolled crisis that none of them were ready for. Gabriel had gleefully taken the role of “crisis creator” to alleviate his boredom.

Gabriel had developed a sabotage campaign along the route, perpetrated by fanatics who deemed them all false chosen. It was furthering the rift between the western Persamans and the Naasqual in the northeast. That Atrah Xidi’s undead were siding with the Naasqual only fueled the rumors spread by the fanatics that they were combating necromancy and sacrifice.

It was causing a lot of fires that were difficult to put out. One of the possible solutions proposed by Celen was to stoke Baracueli racism against Persamans to prevent the “false chosen” ideas being propagated from spreading. Mirian had taken the position that it wouldn’t just deepen their targeted schism, but might undermine the whole project’s unity of purpose. Worse, it might provoke outright war between northern Persama and southern Baracuel. With such chaos stemming from the project, no authority of any polity had firm control over its people.

Jherica was proposing they spend two loops trying both ways.

They’d turned to Ibrahim, but he’d failed to show up in the dream.

Mirian suspected he was somewhere in Rambalda and flew off to investigate.

Her angular shield cut through the wind as she streaked across the sky. Mirian hadn’t spent a particularly large amount of time in Rambalda. The city was a bit larger than Madinahr. During the Triarchy, it had been a fortress city that protected the northern border from barbarians. That had made it ideal as a trade hub when the Triarchy had collapsed. At some point, it had laid down massive aqueducts that ran from the mountains to the city center. Several wars had destroyed them, but they’d always been rebuilt—until the Unification War. Now, pieces of the stone construction littered the dry ground to the north, a constant reminder to Rambalda of the wound that had been inflicted on them by Baracuel.

The city itself had also been ravaged by the war. A stubby plateau guarded the city’s eastern flank, and there, a few older buildings had remained, including a series of three linked fortresses. The rest of the city had been burned, so while it used older Persaman architectural styles such as horseshoe arches, geometric designs, and red and white stripes, the construction was a lot more modern and had quite a bit of Baracueli influence.

There weren’t any of the grand palaces found in Urubandar. When those had been leveled by artillery and spells, they’d never been rebuilt. Some of the white marble that had once been part of those palaces was now found used in Isheer buildings and nearby dwellings.

The largest Isheer Sanctuary was by the town center. From above, she could see the clear line between the bustling market and the subdued crowds that came to pray or meditate.

Mirian descended, ignoring the murmurs and gasps of the people as they noticed her. She was used to that by now. Ibrahim was easy enough to find; a rector quickly pointed to his meditation spot. When they looked up at the plateau, she could see him, sitting in the lotus position at the edge of the cliff, wind whipping at his robe and hair.

She thanked the rector and levitated up to him and sat by his side.

For a time, they sat there in silence. From this distance, the Southern Ranger loomed over them. Most of the mountains were bare stone, but just enough rain made it to the other side of the slopes that there were outlines of pale green.

Ibrahim’s face was tear-streaked.

“When you didn’t show up to the dream council, I got worried,” Mirian said gently. “You never were one to talk much, but if you need an ear to listen, I’m here.”

The old dervish inhaled deeply, but stayed silent.

It wasn’t hard to guess at what was tormenting him. “If it helps, I’ve been through something similar. Not the same, of course, but… similar.”

Ibrahim’s voice caught as he spoke. “I don’t—I don’t love her anymore.”

This time, Mirian stayed silent.

“I… those first few cycles were a dream. We traveled the world, had a hundred feasts, and made love beneath the stars more times than I can count. That was always her favorite place to be—under the stars, beneath a blanket of a warm dessert night.” He swallowed. “Then… it happened gradually. I iterated, just like I iterated on the war. I didn’t even realize I was doing it at first. I found what made her happiest, and I repeated it. Found what brought her sorrow, and avoided it. I found the optimal path for her life—and then…”

Ibrahim choked on a sob. “Then I realized I was moving her through the cycle like a puppet. And once I saw that, I couldn’t unsee the strings. She moved to my whims. I had done this to her, and yet… how can I respect an automaton? And how can I love what I don’t respect?”

“I understand. It’s hard to keep love alive like this. My best friend in the world… I can’t see her the same anymore. Not when I can get her to do whatever I want, think whatever I want, feel whatever I want. It’s not so bad when you see the strings of your enemies, and can pull them around how you want. But for friends and family…”

The dervish shook his head. “Now… now I wonder if her death was a mercy. I was full of sorrow and rage, but they were fueled by my love for her still burning bright. If I bring her with me each cycle, my love dims. Will it dim further if I abandon her to death, knowing that I could have saved her? Can anything bring it back?”

Mirian looked at Ibrahim. His eyes gleamed with inner light. “I think you can. When I want to love Lily more, I push her in some unexpected direction. Get her to do something or go to some place that changes how she sees things. They can’t be free if you control them.”

“Are any of us free? Or is God making us dance with our own invisible strings?”

She’d thought about that. If there were a time loop within a time loop, she imagined that a Prophet could be made just as predictable as any of the people they manipulated. There was no way the gatelings or the Ominian couldn’t comprehend a mere 335 timelines, so she wondered if the Ominian or another of the Elder Gods had done something like that. “If we didn’t have free will before the time loop, then we don’t have it now, either. But we can only act as if we do. If we see the strings that move people, it just means we have a greater duty to act with wisdom based on what we’ve understood. Have the sunsets become any less beautiful because we can predict them?”

“This place,” Ibrahim muttered, quiet enough it was almost lost in the wind.

“The world’s beauty hasn’t diminished. We see the threads of fate now, and have seen the paths others might take, but just because we know them so well hasn’t taken away the beauty of all these lives. Yes, there are the monsters. The ones who abducted children from Falijmali. The ones who sought to bleed Persama dry. The ones who sought war. The ones who can’t love people, only gold. We’ll make sure they see justice. But the rest… when called, look how many people do march towards a better tomorrow. Look how many people answer the call, ready to dig into the soil with bare hands so that their family and children will have a future. For one of them, hardship might be a brutal job that pays a pittance. Another might be enduring an abusive father. Another might be struggling to find meaning through tragedy, just as you, but in a different way. I’ve fallen in and out of love throughout this journey, but that’s not unique to me; only the reasons have changed for us. We all have our own trials to endure. Our blessing comes with just as much torment, but once we understand that, we need not keep suffering. Those joys you experienced with her—hold them tight. They were still real. “

Ibrahim sat there for a long time. Mirian let him. She knew him well enough now. He liked the peace of silence, but he liked companionship in it.

As he sat there, she thought his eyes might have gotten a little brighter. His soul was stirring.

“I need some time,” he said. “But then… I’ll rejoin you. We will endure.”

Mirian flew away. She had helped, but she couldn’t help but feel he still didn’t understand. Life was not something to merely be endured. But I can’t find the beauty in it for him. Only he can find it for himself.