The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

It took some convincing to get Nurea to cough up her contact in the Syndicate, but with Nicolus’s cajoling, she finally did. Afterward, she gave Nicolus fair warning that someone might be coming after them. Likely, Nurea would have them both out of the Torrviol shortly after Mirian. Hopefully, that would keep Sulvorath even busier.

Mirian spent a few more hours in Torrviol spreading rumors and taking out a loan so she could purchase artifice materials. Based on the travel times of the Akanan airships she’d researched, Mirian was pretty sure Sulvorath couldn’t change how fast he made it to Torrviol, but it also wasn’t something she was going to risk. She boarded the train while maintaining a minor disguise spell, and made sure to avoid the under-cover spy that worked at the train station. No doubt it was obvious she wasn’t staying in Torrviol, but hiding her departure times would make her that much more difficult to track down.

Nurea’s contact was named Ravatha, and Nurea had reluctantly given Mirian a code phrase she could use to get a real conversation with her. Ravatha owned a small pastry shop near the train station. It only took a few minutes to walk to.

The shop was innocuous enough. It had the same colored plaster and wood finish as the nearby buildings, and had two nice planters full of bright flowers in front of it. The inside smelled fantastic, too. It may have been a front for criminal dealings, but they also made excellent pastries.

Mirian told the man working the counter, “Hi, I’m here to see Ravantha. She asked for some information about the seasonal cider from Torrviol.” When the man’s facial expression shifted subtly, she continued. “She’ll want to know the Ton Ton apples are dealing with a scarabite infestation.”

The man at the counter blinked at her, face stony.

Mirian said, “You did hear me, right? Seasonal cider, Ton Ton, scarabite.”

The man sighed and said, “Kid, I don’t know you. Whatever you think you’re doing, you’re in over your head. Go home.”

Mirian’s temper flared. It was so annoying to be treated as a child when she’d led a Gods’ damned battle and won. She placed her hand on the spine of her spellbook to tap into the catalyst, then used raw magic to pull a nearby knife from one of the cutting boards. Gathering kinetic force, she plunged it into the wooden counter about three inches deep, fast enough that a curl of smoke rose from where the blade had entered.

The man pulled out his concealed pistol.

Mirian stared at him. “Try it,” she said.

He took her at her word and tried to pull the trigger. Mirian couldn’t stop a bullet with raw magic yet, but she could use magnetic force to prevent the trigger in the gun from moving. After giving him a few moments to try, she yanked the revolver away from him, then opened it up and poured the bullets on the counter. “I want to see Ravatha. Please,” she spat.

The man looked at the knife, then the bullets on the counter then said, “Yeah. Fine,” and went into the back. A minute later, he said, “Upstairs. Leave the spellbook in that drawer over there,” he said, gesturing at a small desk at the foot of the stairs.

“Sure,” said Mirian with a fake smile, and stuffed it inside.

Ravantha could have been Nurea’s sister, not because they looked all that similar, but because they wore the same stern face and cultivated the same attitude. She wore the wand and pistol at her belt casually, and her steely blue eyes matched her steel gray hair.

“Nurea doesn’t send other people to do her business. Explain,” Ravantha said as an introduction.

“I asked her for your information. She gave it to me because I’m working on a project that will benefit the Sacristar family in the long term, but I have things I need to do first. I need to hire an arcanist.”

Ravantha examined Mirian. “Talk to the arcanist guilds.”

“I need someone who can examine and then disable wards by the Temple of the Four.”

The older woman raised an eyebrow.

“Also, a driver and laborer who can help nab… a body. And keep silent about it.”

“People notice when bodies go missing,” Ravantha said. “Live ones especially, but dead too.”

“Not if they’re dead and scheduled for incineration,” Mirian said. “If everyone plays their part, this operation causes you no problems and has no political repercussions. I get something no one will miss, and the people I’m taking it from don’t even know it’s gone missing.”

Ravantha sat at her desk–moving in such a way that her eyes never left Mirian–and opened up a thick ledger. “How long do you need this crew?”

“The driver and laborer? A few hours. The arcanist? A whole day.” Mirian actually needed the arcanist longer this cycle and didn’t need the other two yet, but she wanted to get a decent idea of the price and what the negotiation process would be like.

“A thousand doubloons,” Ravantha said.

Mirian sighed. “I was hoping we could settle quickly at a reasonable price.”

Ravantha shrugged. “You’re free to find someone else to provide you services.”

Mirian realized what she’d really just been told was, ‘no.’ The price was nowhere near what Nurea had said it would be. “Very well,” Mirian said. There was always next cycle. She wasn’t in any hurry, anyways. Her mastery of soul magic would need to progress significantly before she could disable the celestial runes.

She spent the rest of the cycle doing just that, and making several refinements to her designs. South of Palendurio, merchants in the market square heard a loud crash, and then a fire broke out above the gearmaster’s shop. Two more strange fires broke out in Palendurio, and another in Cairnmouth on First Cairn hill. Strange debris was found at one of the fires, but the fire had damaged it too badly to tell much more.

***

Mirian entered Ravantha’s shop, this time, using a minor disguise to appear older and used the three words she needed in the code phrase. This time, when the shopkeeper looked her over, he didn’t see a reason to refuse.

“Upstairs. Leave your spellbook and any other weapons you have in the drawer.”

This time, Mirian noticed there were a set of glyph switches underneath the counter as she came around. Ah. So he can send silent messages to Ravantha. By pissing him off last cycle, she’d accidentally sabotaged any chance she had at getting the Syndicate woman to cooperate with her.

“Nurea doesn’t send other people to do her business,” Ravantha said as she had before.

This time, after her explanation, Mirian asked only to hire the arcanist, and kept the details more vague. “If they’re good at breaking or suppressing wards, that’s best,” she said.

“I can arrange that. The rate is ten gold doubloons a day. That provides for materials—within reason.” She hesitated, then said, “What you really want for ward suppression is one of the anti-magic devices in the Labyrinth.”

Mirian raised an eyebrow. “And you… have one? For sale, perhaps?”

“Sadly, no. You’d have to go to the Labyrinth to get one. But I am interested in buying.”

She cocked her head. “You know the location of one?”

“I do. You’re interested?”

“Very.”

“Our ward specialist, the one you’re interested in, has come up with a device. Preliminary tests indicate it will be able to do what you want—at a greatly reduced risk and price for both of us. You are familiar with the Labyrinth’s… interesting properties?”

Mirian was—sort of.

After Ravantha’s explanation, she pretended she was going to accept the job and travel north to meet her contact, but instead buried herself in research on the Labyrinth, using the cult’s contacts to check out volumes from the various libraries in Cairnmouth, or simply getting them to just purchase the books. She was glad the cult was easy to convince of her contact with the Ominian, because they became very free with their money after that.

The Labyrinth had certain rooms that were notorious. Some might simply prevent the ability of a person to cast arcane spells—like a suppression ward, but far more potent—while others could strip away energy from a person’s aura. Adventurous individuals (or suicidal ones) had gone into these rooms on purpose to try and find and take back the devices doing this. However, no one had actually been able to recreate the full effect of the rooms, though it had led to advancements in ward sequence technology.

Mirian didn’t think the Syndicate arcanist’s device would be useful for saving Arenthia, but it would be incredibly useful. The antimagic shockwave from the Divine Monument exploding had taken down the two Akanan airships. What if she could deploy something like that locally? Or better yet, figure out the glyph sequences and turn the ability to strip away an aura into a spell? What were the limits of such fields, anyways?

“You’re reading a lot,” Lecne commented one evening, nodding at the pile of books scattered over Mirian’s desk.

“I’ve recently become very interested in the Labyrinth. We might be able to use it.”

“To save Arenthia?”

“No. To save the world. What if the entropic field generators—the one that can strip away mana—could also suppress the volatility of the leylines?”

“Oh Gods, leyline topography,” Lecne said. “Rather would die than try to have to learn it. So, funny thing. You know who was really interested in the leylines?”

Mirian turned. “A certain high priestess? Perhaps of an unconventional denomination?”

Lecne winked at her.

“I’m progressing nicely on that. A few more cycles, I think,” she said.

With the Cult of Zomalator’s coin, Mirian, wearing a major illusion this time, visited Ravantha again to hire her arcanist for a few days.

After some haggling and swearing several oaths of secrecy, Mirian met him in the shop to talk business.

“Numo,” he said, holding out his hand.

Mirian shook it. “Good to meet you. So here’s what I need: measurements of individual ward strength around the statue of Shiamagoth, with the goal to pin down both the central location of the primary glyph sequences and their effective radii. I will also pay to have these points and circles put on a nice map of the area.”

Numo looked at her. “Usually, people make small talk first.”

Mirian shrugged. “I don’t like small talk.”

The man smiled. “Neither do I. You have a deadline?”

“2nd of Duala,” she said so that she had a bit of time to study the documents. “We can meet back here for the exchange.”

“A pleasure,” Numo said, and they shook hands again and departed.

***

Two more cycles saw Mirian’s ‘seed of chaos’ design grow significantly in efficiency. She reduced the number of glyph sequences necessary, and figured out how to make more of the device out of paper, allowing them to travel farther and take far fewer materials to craft. Numo’s measurements of the wards in Shiamagoth’s plaza were excellent, and soon enough she’d found a spot off to the side where only four wards—three arcane, one celestial—overlapped.

The easiest way to disable the wards would be to physically damage them, but then that leave obvious evidence of tampering. Plus, Numo had discovered a large divination ward that detected problems with any other wards. This ward appeared to be in one of the towers in the Temple of the Four, which was technically forbidden, but she didn’t think she could convince the ecclesiastic denizens that their security measures should be turned off.

The wards seemed to be either in the masonry of the wall or underneath flagstones. They were all easily accessible, in case the glyphs needed to be repaired, but it would be obvious to any bystanders. She continued to consider how she could disable them without suspicion.

By then, she had mapped her soul, according to Lecne, “adequately.” She started with her first adjustments.

“I still don’t understand why I can’t just grow or shrink an inch. It’s just one change, right? Or why are eyes so easy to change and facial features so hard?”

Lecne sighed. “I’m not a theoretician, and I’m certainly not an animologist. I just know how it works, not why.”

Mirian started with the easiest changes. All of what she would do was reversible; the soul had a ‘natural’ shape to it that it sought to revert to without the external bindings she was about to lay down on her soul. First, she changed her eyes to blue, which required modifying eight ‘points’ in her soul. She’d miss their natural stone gray color that her father had always admired. She’d always wondered who in her family last had gray eyes; neither her parents nor grandparents had them, just varying shades of brown. Next, she changed her hair, which the manual described as ‘easy to do poorly, and difficult to do well.’ For a basic change from black to blonde, she needed to change eight different currents. There were more advanced changes that the manual detailed involving the modification of dozens more points, but Mirian didn’t need to win a beauty contest, just make herself unrecognizable.

Even a subtle change to her facial structure—this had required the majority of the time she’d spent studying the magic—took thirty bindings to change. In her mind, she visualized it as black strings that she was laying out to change a current. She carefully applied them, one by one. It had taken killing twelve cockroaches and a rat.

It took an hour for the changes to move from the currents of her soul to her body. Mirian watched with fascination as the person in the mirror became unrecognizable as her. She felt a vague feeling of unease looking at her new reflection.

“Well done,” Lecne beamed. “You’ll probably want to start going by another name, even with us. Hells, next cycle, I won’t even know the difference.”

Mirian thought. ‘Vera’ was compromised. Another name popped into her head. “Niluri,” she said. “I think my dad used to call me that when I was little.” Then she scratched her head and wondered if that was true. Had he? Then she saw the person in the mirror mimicking her motion and jerked her hand away in surprise. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

Maruce, who had only been half paying attention as he was folding laundry, said, “That’s a Persaman name, you know. Means—”

“Lotus,” Mirian said. “My mom’s favorite flower. Well, she liked the ebonbloom, which is the myrvite version of the lotus.”

That made Maruce burst out laughing. “’Course she does! Find one of those and you’re set for life. I doubt anyone’s seen one in five generations, though if you do go to Persama and someone tells you they found one, you should just shoot them because they’re planning to rob you.”

Mirian had been about to say, ‘well my dad got one for my mom as a wedding present,’ but then she closed her mouth. Something about that memory seemed wrong. And—that hadn’t happened at all, had it? Her dad had given her mom the traditional electrum band set with three garnets. She could still picture that ring on her mom’s finger if she closed her eyes.

“Anyways, I like the name, and I’ll actually remember it.”

Lecne said, “Niluri it is.”

Mirian wondered how long the changes would take to go into effect the next cycle. Would it be gradual, as her body adjusted, or would Lily be in for a rude surprise?

“Great,” she said, handing back the focus to Lecne. “Next on the agenda: what banks in Cairnmouth wouldn’t ask too many questions about getting some Florinian ingots?”

Lecne made a face. “You have access to Florinian ingots, and you have us chaining loans around town?”

“Not quite. I have easy access to three counterfeit Florinian ingots.”

The priest raised an eyebrow. “That actually seems harder to do than just getting a genuine one. The Florins only have five sealmakers and they are closely guarded.” He cleared his throat. “Small bit of trivia, not that I ever tried to, you know. When I was younger. Well. Damn. You know, I think I know just the bank….”

***

Thankfully, the physical changes came on gradually at the beginning of a cycle, which Mirian was grateful for. She felt bad for Lily, and missed her friend.

Breaking into Mayor Wolden’s home was easy. Mirian had long since learned what wards he used and how to get into his secret room. The tricky part was that the counterfeit Florinian ingots were about nine pounds each and quite bulky. She had to lug them out without magic so as not to trigger one of the detection wards that was particularly annoying to disable. That got her wondering about if soul magic could be used to increase physical strength, because by the end of it, she could already feel she was going to be sore.

After she was clear of his manor, she put them at the bottom of a straw basket with fruit on the top, then used lift object to counteract their weight. This meant she had to carry the basket in a rather unnatural way, and it was a relief when she could finally put everything down on the floor of the private car she’d rented.

When she walked into the bank Lecne had indicated, she followed the script he’d helped come up with. “My client would like to establish a private account,” she told the woman at the counter. “I will be blunt. She has need to sequester a great deal of wealth, and would prefer if any inquiries about it were met with polite but firm denials of its existence. Barring legitimate government inquiries, of course.”

The woman smiled. “We specialize in secure accounts. We’ll need a letter of introduction from a credible backer, the initial deposit, and a few details.”

Mirian produced a letter signed by none other than Alexus Sacristar, would be very difficult to talk to given he was in Akana Praediar. The signet stamp was a legitimate one she’d gotten off of Nicolus, much to Nurea’s dismay. She had a second letter from the Yanez family, but was glad it wasn’t necessary, as she hadn’t had time in Torrviol to do anything but break into his apartment to stamp the seal.

After filling out a few forms, Mirian revealed the ingots, and the woman’s eyes got wide. “That is… a substantial deposit,” she said. “Ah, my associate and I will need to check the validity…”

“Please,” Mirian said. “I would walk away from this establishment immediately if you didn’t.”

The Florinian seals were legitimate, so the magical device they used to check for that confirmed their authenticity. As for the check on the scales, Mirian kept her hands neatly folded on the counter so it was obvious she wasn’t casting any spells. In truth, she’d sewn her arcane catalyst into her belt like Jei recommended and had partially melted two of the glyphs on the wards in the room using raw magic, effectively disabling them. When they weighed the ingots on the scales, she merely had to add a few pounds of force so that the scale read a neat ‘fifteen pounds,’ and the newly modified wards failed to detect any magical interference. This feat required an absurd amount of precision, and Mirian said a silent thanks to Respected Jei for her practice regimen.

“They are genuine,” muttered the banker’s associate.

The woman seemed surprised by this, but didn’t voice it. “There’s a small matter of… you are aware of how banks make profits, yes?”

“You don’t want to become over-leveraged. My client understands. She will guarantee one half of the deposit will stay in your bank for five years, assuming, of course, a small percentage of the profits you make on loans made using her deposit as assets be added to her account. I have the authority to sign an agreement to this effect.”

Mirian waited around while the banker drew up the agreement. It was interesting—if the time loop and apocalypse had both suddenly vanished, she’d be able to live out the rest of her life in luxury that she’d never dreamed of. And yet, with a full 1500 doubloons at her disposal, she felt nothing. Things had stopped mattering to her almost entirely. After all, it all came back, or all went away. It was all just a means to an end.

After nearly two hours of exchanges—and Mirian supervising as the ingots were safely locked away in the vault—the paperwork was finalized. “My client would like to start with a 74 doubloon withdrawal.” Mirian gave an exaggerated sigh. “Her ‘walking around’ money.”

The woman and her associate both gave a polite chortle. It was an absurd amount of money for a normal person, but nothing to a woman who was apparently sequestering fortunes away. Mirian assumed they thought her client was trying to deny some relatives access to her money. Either way, they both left happy. Mirian had secured more than enough money for her heist, and the bankers there were probably ecstatic.

Mirian went through her mental checklist. By now, she knew the location of the wards, and had confirmed that Numo could take care of them. She could secure a focus from the cult, and concoct the devices needed. The last thing on her list was to practice hiring the team she needed for the cart, bribing the target crematorium, and practice breaking the celestial ward.

With her now permanent disguise that required no mana to maintain, Mirian was sure she was hidden from Sulvorath. All the same, she wouldn’t make the mistake of complacency again. She went off to trial the last components of her plan.

The evening of the apocalypse, she and Lecne sat up on the roof. Lecne’s eyes became wet with tears as she said she was ready.

“I’m… I’m so glad,” he said, choking on his words. “It’s always too soon, when they’re taken. I’ll still miss her. But some part of me won’t.” He took a sip of his beer and watched as the aurora in the sky intensified. Panicked shouting filled the streets, and fires had broken out all over town. Some were from magical explosions as most of the glyphs in the city began to fry, but some were just people setting fires. “It’s really happening,” he said. Mirian wasn’t sure if he meant the end of the world or the return of his friend.

She’d gotten used to the shouting and screaming as Cairnmouth erupted in chaos. The columns of smoke, the looting, the desperate attempts of the undermanned guard to restore order even as the Akanan navy threatened Fort Aegrimere—it was a routine now. But it still bothered her.

“Too much pain,” she said. “But one day.” She closed her eyes, even as the sky began to brighten, and a second sun blossomed in the southeast of the sky. “One day.”