The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

She woke in agony again. Physical, from the curse, and mental, from the horror of having just blown apart her own head, starting with the jaw. The lingering feeling of that squirmed through her whole body. She turned her head and vomited.

“Oh shit!” Lily said. “Oh no. You can’t be sick, it’s exams! Is it food poisoning? What did you eat last night? Should I get the cleric? Wait, is food poisoning one of the non-intervenable phenomena, or is it—oh gross, it got all over my satchel.”

“Don’t get a cleric,” Mirian said, panicked. “Whatever you do, don’t do that.” She spat on the ground to get rid of the sour taste, then tried to catch her breath. “Alright. Sorry, I have to go. And I can’t explain. But… don’t worry. Alright? It’ll work out… in the end.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “So uh… are you delirious as well? I don’t think clerics can solve that one. But they can cure fevers, which cause it. Or was it the other way around? Okay, I’m going to go get some towels from the commons. Stay put, okay? If you’re sick, you need your rest. Ugh, I sound like my mom, don’t I?”

Mirian closed her eyes as soon as Lily left. She wanted to go back to sleep. Every fiber of her body just felt tired, and like a long sleep would make it all better.

She got up, and changed into her set of regular clothes. She took her satchel with her spellbook and coin, and stumbled out the door before Lily could return.

Unfortunately, she was too late. “Mirian, where are you going?” her roommate called, and rushed to catch up with her.

Mirian put her hand on the door to the outside and sighed. Then she turned.

“Gods, you do look awful. We really should get a cleric.”

It was hard to talk without pausing to breathe, but she mustered what strength she could. “Lily, you have been my good friend all these years. Your friendship has meant everything to me. But something has happened, and I can’t stay.” Her hand began to tremble. She thought of all the horrible things the Impostor and this other time traveler, this Sulvorath, would do to her friends and to her beloved Torrviol. But for too long, she’d clung to this place. Jei had been right to warn her. She couldn’t save everyone from what was coming.

Not yet.

“If you have ever been my friend, listen to me now: You need to let me leave. In a few days, someone will come looking for me. Tell them whatever you need to. Tell them I’ve gone as far away from this place as I can. Because that’s what I need to do.” Mirian hesitated. She wasn’t even sure if she was talking to Lily now, or herself. “I’ll be back, someday. I promise.” A tear ran down her cheek, and she swallowed hard.

Lily stared at her, but she didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, in a small voice, she said, “Bye Mirian.”

Mirian left. Walking was hard, she had to focus to put one step in front of the other. People stared at her, but she was used to that by now, even if it was for a different reason now. She made her way to Castner Hall and one of the offices on the upper floor.

The door was open, but she knocked and said, “Professor Marva?”

She had to ask, since Marva’s outfits and illusionary appearances changed so drastically from day to day, and she’d never visited them this early in a cycle. Today, Marva was dressed in simple grays, though they had a single scarlet scarf on that stood out like a torch in the office. “Yes? Can it wait?” They looked back down at a stack of papers they were going through.

“No,” Mirian said, and stumbled inside. “I’ve been soul-cursed by a necromancer, and the Luminate Order won’t help. Can’t help. But you can.”

Marva looked up abruptly, the shock obvious, though they were trying to hide it. “What makes you think that?”

“Illusion is your specialty, and you can maintain enhanced major disguise spells longer than even the Archmage. But I’ve done a lot of calculations on aura capacity and mana drain, and the numbers don’t add up. Even if—” Mirian doubled over wheezing, then held up a finger. “Moment,” she said, then when she’d recovered, continued. “Even if you’ve found a way to eliminate the extra drain from mind-component spells, it wouldn’t add up. And it also wouldn’t let you resist dispelling spells, and especially not an enhanced dispel from someone as powerful as Marshal Cearsia.” Mirian paused again, caught her breath, then said, “I should probably mention I’m a time traveler, so I’ve seen that all first-hand. And that’s why I need your help. It’s my soul that’s moving through time, so the curse is following me. And I don’t know enough soul magic to fix it.”

Professor Marva started tapping a finger anxiously. Finally, they said, “Close the door, please.” When Mirian did, they said, “You realize what you are saying is unbelievable.”

“Oh, I’m quite used to that. But you do know soul magic. If I cast a dispel on you right now, it wouldn’t do anything, would it?”

Marva’s finger tapping intensified. “You have to understand—”

“Tell me no and I’ll walk out the door,” she said quickly.

That gave Marva pause. Mirian could see that the secret she’d hit upon meant a lot to Marva. Perhaps they had once been hunted themselves. “I can’t help you—not with a curse. But I know who can.” The professor closed their eyes. “There’s a religious group not sanctioned by the Luminate Order. The Cult of Zomalator. Heretics, by definition. I’m sure that conjures up all sorts of… negative connotations. But they helped me, and they can help you. Go to Cairnmouth, in the southern port market. There is a merchant stand that will have a pennant woven into the tablecloth. An old one, from before Cairnmouth was part of Baracuel. It depicts a gray shrew backed by a red Luamin moon. You will know it when you see it. Tell whomever is running the stand that ‘the tempest is within me.’ That should be enough.”

Then they opened their eyes.

“Thank you,” Mirian said. “I wish…” What did she wish? That there was more that I could do. That no one here had to live through what was about to happen. At least there would be those moments before the invasion, where all felt normal, and life went on. Moments of peace and beauty. Moments of joy and laughter. Those too would repeat, not just the suffering and death from the invasion. She had to remember that. “Thank you,” she said again.

She bought a ticket for Cairnmouth at the station, trying to keep the Akanan agent who worked there from seeing her, though she wasn’t sure if she succeeded. Right now, she was a sick-looking nobody, and hopefully a forgettable one.

Of course, the train’s spell engine suffered its usual problem, so their departure was late. That was fine with Mirian. She did a lot of napping while they fixed it, then fell asleep again once the train was moving.

The usual dreams of the statue returned, though it was one she hadn’t seen in a long time. The statue of the Ominian was floating among the stars, and both the knives and wounds they’d made were missing from its stony skin. Together, they gazed out as the stars began to burst in great flares. When she woke, she thought of that feeling of vastness. The more she dreamed, the more she was sure that the dreams were messages. It seemed arrogant to think they were from the Gods themselves—but what else could it be? She just had to learn to interpret her visions right.

It was late when they pulled into the station and Mirian still felt tired, but she’d rested enough she was sure she could make the journey across Cairnmouth. By now, the market was probably closed, but she could take a room at one of the inns nearby.

She stumbled through the streets in a daze, trying her best to keep focused and alert. The main roads were narrow, but well-lit, though night was also when most of the cart traffic rumbled through the city. The cobblestone lanes were just wide enough for one cart and for a person to lean up against a nearby wall if they didn’t want to go under the cart. After nearly being hit by a cart, Mirian went a street over where the road was narrower and only had the residual light from the glyph lamps. It would be just her luck lately that she’d end the current loop getting run over by an inattentive driver.

Four blocks later, she nearly ran into the group of four people blocking her path.

One of them pulled a knife. “Nice satchel,” he said.

Mirian had heard the crime in Cairnmouth was ridiculous, but she hadn’t realized it was this bad. “Here you go,” she said, and handed it over. She was in absolutely no state to fight one person, never mind four. It was just stuff. Better to sacrifice it than start again.

“What, that easy? What else do you have for us?” the woman next to him said.

“That’s it,” Mirian said. “It’s got my coin and my spellbook. It’s all I have.”

“Search her,” the man said. When the second man in the group moved forward, he said, “Not you, her. We have standards, you know.”

“Right, sorry,” he said, and waited while the woman searched Mirian.

“Nothing,” she said. “Well, be on your way. And don’t bother telling the guards, they’re on our payroll, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mirian said.

The man nearly beamed. “There! Polite and professional. Wish they all could go that well. Have a nice night, lady.”

So much for renting a room, Mirian thought as they took off down an alley and she stumbled on. She was nearly by the port market when two more figures stepped out of the shadows and one put a knife to her throat.

“No sudden movements,” a younger sounding man said, though he was clearly trying to sound gruff. “Give us any coin or any valuables you have.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mirian said. “I just got mugged a few blocks back and they already took everything.”

There was a hesitation, and the knife moved a bit farther from her throat. “Really?”

Mirian sighed. “Really.”

She felt hands moving up and down her clothes from the second mugger. “Damn! Come on, what are the chances?”

“Well, shit. You sure you don’t have a few coins stashed somewhere?”

“Sorry, no,” Mirian said apologetically.

The knife dropped away. “Alright, beat it. Get running.”

“I’m in no state to run,” Mirian said. “I’m sick. Hence the stumbling.”

“Right,” the first mugger said. “Well, stumble on quickly now.” Then to his accomplice, he said, “It’s just our luck. What a night!”

She could just make out the muttered reply of, “Shut up, Thanvil.”

Mirian stumbled back to the main avenue. While the absurdity of getting mugged three times in a row appealed to her, she didn’t want to risk another encounter in case it went poorly. The next inn Mirian found, she stumbled into.

It was late enough by now no one was at the counter and the kitchens were dark. There was a rope by the counter one was supposed to pull to ring a bell in the innkeeper’s room, but she didn’t have any coin so she saw no point in bothering them. Instead, Mirian made her way to one of the benches and just lay down.

She woke to someone poking her. She groaned as she opened her eyes. A larger woman was looming over her, glaring. “Hey. Hey. You can’t sleep here. Buy a room or leave.”

Mirian closed her eyes again. “My train was delayed, I got sick, then I got mugged twice. No coin.”

The woman stopped poking her. “You do look… awful.” For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she said, “I have an empty room. Just this once. And don’t go spreading the word this place is a charity. We can call a cleric in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Mirian said, glad to finally have something break her way. “Don’t bother the cleric, though. It’s non-intervenable.”

When she got to the room, it felt good to splash water from the basin on her skin, and even better to lay down in the fluffy blankets. She fell asleep instantly.

***

She woke in the morning, more out of habit than any sense of refreshment, and headed for the port market. When a man tried to pickpocket her just before the plaza, she had to roll her eyes.

The reason there was so much crime soon became apparent. The neighborhoods near the station were fine enough, but the closer she got to the docks, the worse it got. Several clusters of shanties clogged some of the streets near the river, and north of the castle, more were set up. Shabby clothes and neglected buildings betrayed the fact that more people were living near the edge of poverty.

It was one of those things that had never made sense to Mirian. Her family had never had much, and they were always finding ways to stretch their silver, but at least in Arriroba no one went hungry, and everyone had a roof over their head. Certainly no one was forced to live in dilapidated shacks, and down there, the Luminate Order took care of beggars, they didn’t leave them to suffer on the streets. However, Mirian had also been a party to enough discussions in which her outlook on this had been labeled ‘ignorant’ that she tended not to speak her mind when the topic came up. While her talks with Nicolus had taught her something of economics, they’d focused more on the political maneuverings of money, and not why this all seemed to be the inevitable result.

Like so many things, it bothered her. But there was little enough she could do about it, especially now.

Two guards each stood at the edge of every street that fed into the large plaza. Well, that’s where they all are, Mirian thought. The market itself was packed, with every possible good being sold, from imported silk to bags of flour from the mills by the river. As she approached the market though, one of the guards put out a hand. “No drunks and no vagabonds.”

“It’s a limp from a childhood injury,” Mirian said as steadily as she could. “My grandmother needs her medicine. If I may…?”

The guard thought for a moment if he cared, and clearly decided he didn’t. He lowered his hand and jerked his head toward the plaza.

Her love of Cairnmouth plummeting to a new low, Mirian started sweeping through the market looking for the right stall. After an hour, she had to sit down for a while. The place was absolutely bustling, and just keeping herself from being jostled to death was an effort. She let her eyes sweep over the crowds of people. It was much like the Cairn River; places of fast currents where people swept through in droves, and eddies where forlorn merchants watched the crowds barely acknowledge them. She thought the person she was looking for might be more out of the way, and certainly not in one of the central spots that probably took more coin to reserve. Mirian took a deep breath and set out again, this time keeping to the edges of the plaza. Near the edges, where fountains ringed the market, there were smaller stalls and less people.

At last, she found it. It was a little stand, with the pennant sewn into a cloth just like Professor Marva had described it. The cloth was draped over the stone lip of a fountain so that when the ocean breeze kicked up a soft spray drifted over the items. The man appeared to be selling packets of herbs and various elixirs, though Mirian only recognized a few.

“Hi,” she said.

The man looked up, apparently surprised to actually have someone stopping by. Like many of the people in Cairnmouth, he had dark hair and olive skin, though something about him looked out of place. He was wearing gray clothing, the design of which had probably been inspired by someone reading the entry for ‘nondescript’ out of a dictionary. He had a sad look about him.

“Uh, ‘the tempest is within me.’ That mean anything to you?”

The man looked at her, then surreptitiously glanced about to see how many people were nearby. With his wares by the fountain, there was noise that drowned out their conversation. He leaned back, stroking his chin with one hand while folding the other across his chest. It seemed like a casual movement, but it was the exact kind of thing every priest did when they wanted to access their focus.

Mirian waited.

“That’s quite interesting,” the man finally said, then began folding up his cloth across his wares so that it formed a bag. “I didn’t particularly want to sell anything today anyways. I’d ask you to help carry things, but given the state you’re in, I’m surprised you’re walking around. How are you walking around?”

“Stubbornness, I think. And maybe a little bit of spite and righteous fury.”

“You’re not trained in…? Hm. I suppose you wouldn’t need my help if you were. Now that is interesting. You should probably be in a coma. Come on, let’s go somewhere safer.” He swung the now bagged up wares over his shoulder and picked up a satchel with his other hand. “Lecne, by the way. No titles if you please.”

“Mirian,” she said. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She followed him, still exhausted, but she let herself have a small smile. She’d escaped.