The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

The second day on the road was as uneventful as the first. Thankfully, the next rest station’s obelisk was in better shape, and the travelers there thanked her for charging it. It had a minor mana leak, but was functional without repairs. The third day, she saw several traders pointing out to sea as she neared them. When she turned, she saw the thin spines of a leviathan cutting through the waters, dark body the size of a ship just visible on the surface.

That was strange. Leviathans rarely came into the East Sound, and it was rarer still for them to come to the surface. She stopped Desert Rose, and while the eximontar started eying the nearby foliage, Mirian watched the colossal creature swim along the coast. It was a majestic sight from the shore. From the sea, it must have been terrifying. A little flock of fishing boats from a nearby village—sails dwarfed by the size of the spines—tacked hard to shore and beached themselves. She could hear the distant echoes of their shouting far down the beach.

Eventually, the leviathan slipped under the water, and she rode on. It was only the second time she had ever seen one. When she was a child, her parents had taken her on a long tour of the country in an extended family vacation. They’d sailed along the Rift Sea, and they’d seen a leviathan off in the distance. The crew had immediately gotten to work on charging spellward buoys while the sorcerers had gone to starboard so they could watch it in case it approached. Thankfully, it had wandered off, but the whole crew was on edge the rest of the day.

Mirian ate simple lunches of bread and olive oil so she didn’t have to stop. Just after lunch, Mirian made it to the wreck.

Five repair cars waited on the train tracks that lay just north of the road, while about a dozen workers mostly stood around, some leaning on shovels, while two sorcerers worked on levitating steel wreckage off to the side. The spell engine clearly had ignited; metal slag had melted and spilled all across the tracks, then hardened into a shiny lump. The engine car itself was unrecognizable. Two other cars had derailed, though they’d only partially melted in the heat.

Mirian could tell it was no ordinary accident, though. Anyone not an arcanist might have missed it, but there was a hole a few dozen paces from the tracks. It was only about a foot wide, and had already collapsed into itself, but she could still feel the arcane energy lingering in the spot. She paused, then rode over to see it.

“Hey! This is a work zone. Dangerous, yeah? Back to the trail!” one of the workers called.

“Just checking something out,” Mirian said, and dismounted so she could trudge up to the spot.

“Can you—?”

“Yeah I’ll deal with her. Hey!” One of the workers jogged over. “This area’s not safe. You can watch from the road if you want, but we need to keep people from the site. The sorcerers are moving around some heavy stuff, and there’s no telling if everything here is done burning.”

Mirian ignored him. There were enough people standing around it was clear they didn’t think it was dangerous anymore. What they didn’t want was a critical detail spreading. This wasn’t just a spell engine catching fire. One of the magical eruptions must have triggered it.

It’s still so early in the cycle, Mirian thought. And now, she’d looked at the data Respected Jei had given her. She knew that there weren’t even any tests on the Arcane Monument anywhere near this date range. That, and what the Akanan spy had told her all made it clear: something else was going on.

The magical eruption had been a small one, thankfully, or the entire train might have been incinerated and everyone killed. This was the first time she’d actually seen the site of an eruption, though. Naturally, she didn’t have any measuring devices or useful divination spells.

“Did you hear me?”

Besides, this is your break, Mirian told herself. “Sure. Good luck,” she told the worker, and headed back down to Desert Rose, who had clamped her mouth down on a nearby shrub and seemed to be trying to pull it out of the ground by shaking her head back and forth.

“I’m sure you’ll find another just like it,” she told the eximontar. “Let’s go.” She let a trickle of mana distract Desert Rose and led her back to the trail. Then they were off again, trotting down the road.

In the sky above, she watched a pair of two-headed vultures soar over the road, landing on the beach where they started tearing at some washed up carcass. Then she saw a lightning scorpion cross the trail ahead of them, and she realized what she’d just seen. Myrvites, crossing the road like the spellward wasn’t even there.

Of course the spellward went down. The eruptions always disrupt the barrier, she realized. So much for an idyllic ride along the coast; she’d need to watch for the nastier myrvites. The last thing she needed was to be ambushed by a manticore and be stuck full of poison needles just before she made it to the safety of Madinahr.

In the end, it wasn’t a manticore. It was a desert drake, sunbathing in the middle of the road, thick front claws dug into the corpse of a half-eaten man. She rounded the corner of a bluff, and there it was. The corpse’s pack still lay in pieces by the side of the road. The desert drake snapped its head towards Mirian.

The tide was in, and here the bluff was steep enough she couldn’t just go up it. While there was a bit of beach left to the side, desert drakes could move fast, despite their bulky size. There was no way she was just going to go around it.

This drake was larger than a bull, and while ‘human’ was a perfectly acceptable meal, she knew it could feel the magic radiating off of Desert Rose. It moved forward in little bursts, then froze. Readying to charge, she knew. At least this species of drake couldn’t fly, though it still did have stubby wings protruding from the scales on its back.

Her eximontar made alarmed clacking noises. Mirian quickly dismounted and opened up her pack, digging into the bottom where the spellbook pages were. She snatched out the only two pages that were going to do anything here: a flame beam and force razor spell, each of which were practice spells for novices, not combat spells. They would just have to do. She tossed the pack to the side of the road so it wouldn’t be in her way.

The desert drake crept forward again, eyes darting between her and the eximontar. Mirian shooed Desert Rose back while keeping her eyes locked on the drake. As the beast backed up, the drake froze again, beady eyes watching her.

Precision would be key, she knew. Hitting the drake on the scales, especially with a fire or cutting spell, would do next to nothing. She had to target the vulnerable parts. The closer the range, the more damage she could do, but she also needed to make sure the drake didn’t get its claws into her. One swipe could be fatal.

The drake’s muscular legs tensed.

Mirian loaded her own legs and got ready to dodge.

The desert drake charged forward, huge bulk coming right at her. Mirian started with the strongest force razor spell she could muster and aimed it right at the beast’s eye. Then she flung herself off the road and into the sand to her right. The myrvite let out what she could only describe as a chittering roar-hiss. It started moving erratically, but Mirian finished tumbling down the shallow slope and bounded to her feet, circling around on the side she’d just blinded. The beast caught sight of Desert Rose, who was now galloping away back down the road.

The last thing she needed was the two myrvites chasing each other back the way they’d came for who knew how long. Mirian sent a flame beam into the side of its head near the ear hole, which caused the beast to recoil first, then turn. It made a low growling noise, then charged again.

This time, Mirian was only just able to scramble out of the way as a huge claw came lashing out to smash her. She rolled, then dashed behind it, leaping over the tail as it too tried to swat her. She grabbed a rock from the bluff and pitched it at the drake’s head, then sent another flame beam at it, channeling the spell until she could smell burnt flesh.

The overgrown lizard charged again, but Mirian ducked to her right again on its blind side, so it only swatted at the cliff, sending up a cloud of dust. She froze as the drake did. They have poor eyesight, right? Thanks Professor Viridian, never knew that would come in handy. The drake slowly moved its head side to side. Mirian kept still. When the world’s smallest landslide tumbled down the bluff face, causing the drake to still again and cock its head, Mirian took her opportunity, sending a force razor at its other eye. The blades sunk in deep, and the drake let out another roar, then burst toward her. This time, there was nowhere for Mirian to go. She pressed herself up against the cliff-face and tried to breathe as quietly as she could.

The desert drake came close enough that Mirian could have reached out to touch it. It was scrunching up its face and making a weird sound, then its tongue would dart out. Shit, they can sense heat, can’t they?

As the drake turned towards Mirian, she channeled one more time, pouring as much mana as she could into the spell so that the beast’s spell resistance wouldn’t hamper the cut. As its tongue darted out again, she slashed through it, then sent pulses of fire at it again and again.

The tormented lizard finally had enough. It turned and lumbered off, running from the small but very painful prey. Mirian watched it go, then finally let her breath out. It had come within inches of just being able to bite her in half.

She’d learned two things. One, if she ever wanted to take a break again, she’d still need a weapon. Two, drake breath was horrendously stinky.

Mirian retrieved her pack, then jogged down the road to retrieve Desert Rose, who was staring intently at a little crab on the beach, while the little crab danced back and forth snapping its pincers menacingly. Between over-enhancing her spells and charging the traveler’s obelisks, Mirian’s mana was running low, but she still had enough to encourage Desert Rose to pay attention to the road again.

As they passed the dead traveler—it was absolutely gruesome, the drake had taken several bites out of him and his head was gone—Mirian said a prayer to Xylatarvia. His soul would not find peace she knew. Time and time again, he would die in this spot, time and time again, his body ripped apart, over and over and over and over until—

She didn’t want to think about it. But she couldn’t run from it, either.

Mirian traveled on.

***

The fourth night, Mirian found a village to rest in. With the spellward down, it was better to have actual watchers on alert, and the village was thankful to know where the spellward was down (and why), and that she’d chased off a desert drake. One of the women offered her a bed and refused any of the coins she had, which wasn’t much at this point. Mirian ate at her table with her husband and daughter. While she regaled them with tales of Torrviol Academy (before the time loops), they told her funny stories from the village.

One of the adolescent boys had thought he’d found the mother of all oysters, and was sure he’d bring back a pearl that would make him rich. Instead, he’d stuck his hand into an octopus that had been hiding inside the empty shell, which had panicked and latched onto his arm. He’d emerged on the surface screaming bloody murder about how it was dragging him to the depths for at least a minute before it just let go of his arm and swam off, leaving him thoroughly embarrassed.

It was nice to relax and laugh a little. Mirian thanked her hosts profusely before she set off again in the morning.

She reached Madinahr just after sunset, only to find the gates closed. At first, the gate guard wouldn’t let her in.

“It’s too late,” he said. “Rules are when the spellward is down, the gate stays closed.”

“Then why does the city bother manning the gate at night if you’re just going to tell everyone to go away?” Mirian snapped.

The guard hesitated. “Your accent is very good. But it is quite suspicious for a lone Persaman to be entering the city at night, is it not? Especially with the revolt going on down by Rambalda. Spies are not welcome in Madinahr.”

Mirian gaped at him. “You think I’m a spy? I was born in Arriroba! My father teaches the school there and we traveled to Madinahr once a month for years! I went to Madinahr Preparatory School!” Mirian looked at the guard. It was dark enough she hadn’t recognized him at first, but now she did. “And so did you. You also did dueling, yes?”

The guard’s eyes went wide, and he blushed. “Oh shit. You’re… oh. Sorry. We’re… uh… a little on edge here, what with the sabotage on the train tracks and the army being pushed back. Really sorry about the mixup.”

As he opened the gate, he continued to apologize, mixing in rambled comments about the ‘revolt in Persama’ some more, and Mirian wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to worry, it’d be suppressed in a few days if it wasn’t over already, but that would lead to too many questions and she was too tired for that. She promised she wouldn’t report him or anything, which made the man relieved. Here, at least, guards can actually be held accountable. Not that it mattered much.

Mirian sold the rest of her inks and her scribing pen at the night market, then used her coral beadcoins to get a hot meal at one of the taverns by the docks. While raucous sailors drank and told tall tales, Mirian let both the sound and the smells of the kitchen wash over her. The fresh-caught fish prepared in a proper spicy sauce was divine. She’d missed eastern cooking so much.

Madinahr had several inns scattered about the town, and Mirian picked the familiar One Horse Open Stay since she’d been there before and, as the name suggested, it had a stable for Desert Rose. That left her with about two silver drachms and a string of beadcoins, but money had stopped mattering to her. If she needed more, she could take out a loan or sell Desert Rose. She’d only sold her artificing supplies because it was convenient, and the banks didn’t open until morning.

The next morning, old memories came flooding back as Mirian started up the road to Arriroba. The spellward on that route was intact, and because there was no train to Arriroba, the road was well maintained. It was a two day walk to her village, but now that she was so close, Mirian had no urge to hurry. The trail’s familiarity was already putting her at ease. Each curve in the trail, each farm, each mill, even the grooves in the road—it was all familiar. She remembered walking along it so many times with her parents.

She waved to the locals when she saw them. A few she recognized, like one of the older men tending his olive trees, or a woman who ran one of the mills by the river, though she didn’t know their names.

Her final stop before her home was Altrukyst’s Warm Candle, the inn she and her parents always stayed at whenever they needed to travel to or from Madinahr. The innkeeper, a middle-aged woman named Pardia, greeted Mirian with a smile when she walked in. “Mirian! Now that’s a surprise.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Thought you’d be in school. Everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just taking some time off. I’ll take the usual.”

Pardia smiled and took the silver drachm Mirian slid her. ‘The usual’ was whatever Pardia decided to cook and a room. She and the other guests ate with Pardia at the large dining table, and Mirian was content to listen to how the countryside had fared since she’d been gone. Only once did her smile falter as one of the men mentioned a strange sight one night, like a little fountain of light bursting out of the ground.

Giddiness seized her the next day as she approached her home. She knew it by the way the river bent, knew it by the western bluffs, knew it by even the smell of the soil.

Home.

She got a few stares as she trotted into the village, but she just waved. She used a mana thread to get Desert Rose to go run off to the grazing field where the eximontar could spend the night with the horses and camels. When she got to her family’s apartment, the one above the weaver’s shop, something felt wrong. The windows were dark, even though the family always had a glyph lamp on—Zayd didn’t like the dark, and both her parents loved reading in the evening.

When she tried the door, it was locked. Now that was really strange. They rarely locked the door. It was Arriroba—no one locked their door. A thousand thoughts raced through her head. Did something happen? She feared the worst.

Mirian channeled, tapping the tumblers in the lock into place, then walked in, heart pounding. She tread carefully, like the floor was delicate. “Hello?” she asked.

But all the rooms were dark. The sheets were neatly tucked in on the beds, the kitchen tidy, the living room books all neatly shelved—but it was empty.

Her home was empty.

A single thought in her mind eclipsed all others: Where is my family?