As Mirian ascended the steps towards the Tlaxhuacan Prophet, she felt the thousands of eyes staring at her. It wasn’t just the battalion watching, nor the nagual. A huge crowd had gathered. They watched in silence; there was only the sound of the city’s waterfalls.
Mirian glanced behind her. The woman who she’d first talked to was leading Xipuatl away. For questioning, no doubt. One thing was clear: she wasn’t the first Prophet this woman had dealt with.
As she summited the last step, she looked into the eyes of the woman opposite her. On her second soul ascension, she decided. Mirian’s eyes had been gray before. Perhaps hers had been brown.
“And who do I have the honor of meeting?” Mirian asked, bowing slightly. It felt like the diplomatically prudent thing to do.
The woman was silent, looking Mirian over. It was her aura that she’d felt, she realized. She was still examining her. Testing her. Her golden eyes were piercing. Her face held the faint hint of crow’s feet, and there was a scar that ran down her cheek, and another near the collarbone. She had been in her fifties, perhaps, when the time loop had started.
Her feathered cloak was truly a thing of beauty. The feathers had come from myrvite birds, and while the colors matched the green, white, black and red of Tlaxhuaco’s flag, each feather had a depth of color to it. A black feather might have a subtle rainbow sheen, while a red one held five different shades in it, so that the whole cloak was vibrant in the same way that magic-imbued metals like orichalcum seemed more real than the mundane world around them.
“Xecatl,” she finally said. “Welcome, Mirian.” Her Friian was heavily accented, but perfectly understandable.
“We have much to discuss.”
“So it would seem,” Xecatl replied. “We can do so here, in the light. What brings you here?” Her suspicion was obvious, even if her voice gave no outward sign of it.
“I’ve been taking data on the leylines and noticed not just that the energies down here were anomalously low, but that they were getting lower. I came to investigate the why of it. That, and I’m looking for more Elder Gates. If there’s one in Tlaxhuaco, it could extend the cycle even further.” Mirian gave a thin smile. “We might even see Spring again.”
“How many of you are there?”
“The Council I formed has five, including myself. I’d invite the sixth, but he’s incapacitated. There was a seventh but he’s… gone now. I asked Liuan Var to come here and investigate. Did she lie about being blocked by the leviathans and warships?”
“Perhaps,” Xecatl said. “How do you know the Yanez boy?”
“He was a classmate. Who’s this ‘Scebur’?”
Mirian felt Xecatl’s aura dancing around her own. It had a light touch, like blades of grass in the wind. “You really don’t know them. Curious.” Xecatl raised her hand and cast a quick spell. Mirian had trouble identifying it, but there was a burst of green and white light and a floral smell in the air. The nagual relaxed slightly, and the battalion began to disperse. “They’ve been a thorn in my side. They’ve been acting through the Akanans. Then, those attempts stopped. Recently, when I sent people north to see what had changed, those people disappeared. Several times, ‘Scebur’ has tried to infiltrate this island. Only recently have I learned the name.”
“Did Sulvorath try to send people here?” Mirian asked. When Xecatl just looked at her, Mirian added, “He was an Akanan time traveler. He was removed from the loop. We’re not sure how.”
As soon as she said that last part, Xecatl’s gaze fixed on Mirian. “Are you sure you don’t know how?”
Mirian felt the tendrils of Xecatl’s aura again, dancing on the surface of her soul. Now, Mirian was sure the other Prophet could use soul communion. And more, perhaps?
It seemed Xecatl had picked up on the lie, and quickly. “I just met you. I don’t trust you yet,” she said.
Xecatl’s golden eyes didn’t relent. “Trust will only be built by truth.”
“Then let me start with what I will tell you freely, and then you can do the same.” When the other Prophet waited for her to begin, she talked. She told her of Sulvorath’s attempts to curse her and his successful attempts on Jherica and Celen. She discussed her research of soul magic and tri-bonded sequences, of the leyline detectors, and of the Elder Gates. She told her what they’d done with the two Councils, and of the other Prophets. Finally, she mentioned the Mausoleum of the Ominian and the discoveries the other Prophet had made before their coma. “…and Jherica learned from the secret societies the true name of the Ominian: DIVITRIUS,” she finished, and for a brief moment, it was like all the color had been sapped out of the world, and Mirian knew she was being watched.
The moment ended, fast enough Mirian could have passed it off as her own imagination—except Xecatl was looking around. “Don’t say that name anymore,” she said, and for the first time, Mirian heard fear in her voice. The nagual were also looking around. Several had started casting.
It was the third time it had happened. She and Gaius had sensed something similar when Sio Jherica had first said the name to them atop the University tower. Her father’s divination had turned up nothing. She’d sensed the presence again when she’d made her way outside the Mausoleum in the dream and seen the Gate atop it. A glimpse of a hooded figure.
“Is it gone?” Xecatl asked as several nagual approached her. They all began talking rapidly in Tlaxa, and Mirian knew too little of the language to follow. Finally, they departed. “A thousand eyes, and no one saw them. But they all felt it.”
“One of them is watching,” Mirian said, pointing up to indicate the Elder Gods.
“Yes,” Xecatl said. “What worries me is which one. The Ominian is not the only one capable of delegating heralds.” She looked to a group of nagual and made a quick gesture. The spellcasters saluted and formed up behind them. The rest dissipated. “Walk with me, Mirian, and I will tell you what you need to know. Then we will have an exchange of trust. If you are honest, we will continue our work together. If you are not, this will be the last you see of these lands, I swear upon Xylatarvia’s body.”
Mirian nodded, worried about the ‘exchange of trust,’ but she wanted to hear what this Prophet had to say. They began to move through the city, Xecatl’s honor guard of nagual trailing them. Her eyes kept darting to different things in the city. Unlike the Palendurio canals, which were in the caves beneath the city, these canals crisscrossed every part of Uxalak.
Uxalak itself was built on a great hill. The river that fed it had once dropped down a series of cliffs, but the city had reshaped the terrain entirely, and instead, the city resembled the steps of a great ziggurat, with water cascading down each step. Along each canal were lush gardens. Spring might never again come to Torrviol, but here, with the warm air and the blooming flora, she could imagine it.
This text was taken from NovelBin. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“There are two entrances to the Labyrinth here that I’ve found. I reached the Vault in both. I’m looking for more Vaults, farther in the depths. Most of my personal preparations are to reach that end.”
They crossed a bridge over one of the canals and towards another staircase, aiming for the heart of the city. Above them loomed the walls and balconies of the acropolis, and beyond that, the Sacred Tree.
Despite the entire merchant fleet being grounded, there was a great deal of work going on in the city.
“What are they working on?”
“Many things. Research. Plans. A project. Uxalak has appointed me Emperor until the crisis is over. A title similar to Prophet, but one earned, not simply given. Events have proven our policy of isolation was correct. Akana clearly has no intention to stop with Baracuel or Persama. I’ve been rooting out Akanan agents like so many weeds. If the Akanan Prophets want to step on this soil, they’ll first tell me the names of them. Then they’ll give me Scebur’s corpse as a show of good faith.”
“I’ll talk to Liuan about the agents. I know she can do that.” That will be a good test of her loyalty, Mirian thought. “Tell me more of this ‘Scebur.’ You’re aware of the origins of the name?”
“My scholars dug it up for me, yes. They’ve attacked several times. The problem is, they’ve been attacking through proxies. The last attempt, we unveiled the cloaked attacker, only to find it was Archmage Olban.” Noting Mirian didn’t recognize the name, she said, “An Akanan. Lives west of Vadriach City. The other agents haven’t been as powerful, but they’ve all been fanatics. Half of them have killed themselves before we could capture them. The other half have died in captivity before we could get much, and all of them have withstood torture. All of them have claimed to be Scebur.”
“When was the last attack?”
Xecatl asked, “Have you been keeping track of the number of loops?”
Mirian nodded. “As best I can.”
“Seven cycles ago. Loop 214, I believe.”
“Hmm. That was when we had our last Council of Prophets. We would have all been accounted for… at least at the start of the cycle.”
“Accounted for the whole time? Did you track their movements after the councils?”
“No, I suppose not.” She grit her teeth. “It’s stupid. No one should be skulking around. We should have all worked together from the beginning, to the benefit of all.”
Xecatl looked at her. “When have people ever acted like that?”
Mirian shook her head. “I know. A fool’s dream, but a dream I can’t shake.”
For some reason, that made Xecatl smile. “An endearing dream. I’ll tell you, there’s nothing like being appointed Emperor to put to rest your idealism.”
Will I really need to learn to seize control of one of the intelligence networks to keep them to account? Even if she did take control of the Deeps, it might not even work. Liuan had already tried that trick on her. There was also the difficulty of the connections—both formal and informal—between them and the RID. Gabriel would have an easier time dealing with that, but then who would track him? It also could end up being a colossal waste of time. Troytin had spent so much effort tracking Mirian and manipulating leaders that he’d failed to develop his own personal capabilities.
She changed the topic. “Will you join us for a Council meeting? You can meet and talk to the other Prophets.”
“No,” Xecatl said quickly. “My work is here.”
“Yes, whatever you’re doing with the leylines. I want to know if we can extend the effect northward. If the excess energy could be redirected south and fill in the void you’ve created, it might give us time to properly prepare devices to regulate the ones in Persama.”
“The effect here can’t be moved. It is, by necessity, localized. If there’s a Gate, we haven’t found it yet.” She didn’t elaborate.
They reached the top of another staircase. There were fruit trees lining the streets. “Another reason I came here was to learn about how your society functions without spellward barriers and other spell engine technology. The other countries will begin to move in that direction if we have any hope of preventing a second crisis.”
“I can have my nagaul show you how the system works. Did the Yanez boy teach you about spirits?”
“He referenced them. He’s been focused on Baracueli glyph magic, so he couldn’t explain them. Besides, it seems to be the sort of thing that is better shown than discussed.”
“Quite true.”
They continued onward, moving toward the palace. The stone walls of the palace were short and sloped, indicating they were designed to repel magical cannons, unlike the older curtain walls of a castle like Bainrose. Mirian noted the walls were also covered in vines. “Is that silverthorn vine?”
“No. Another, similar myrvite. Its roots grip the stone, keeping it together in a bombardment. They also give the entire structure slight magical resistance.”
“Clever.”
The gates to the palace cracked open as they approached. The soldiers in charge of the gate stood at attention as their group passed through it. Mirian noted an aqueduct running through the citadel. “The acropolis is higher than the river. What sort of pumping scheme are you using, if not a spell engine?”
“A spirit-construct,” Xecatl replied, which didn’t explain anything.
Intensely curious, Mirian began embracing her soul-sight. Whatever a spirit-construct was, there were no clear boundaries like with a soul. Is it some kind of aura connection? Then she glanced over at Xecatl and her eyes grew wide. “You don’t have a temporal anchor,” she said.
“I don’t.”
“Then you’re… a proxy? Who’s the Prophet here?”
“I am the ‘Prophet.’ In a sense.”
Mirian’s heart leapt. She thought instantly of Jei. “Then is there a way to add more people to the time loop?”
“No. Believe me, we tried. In the end, it was… either luck or foresight by the Ominian. My circumstance has to do with the exact moment that the loop started.” Another set of gates was opened for them, leading to the vast courtyard in the middle of the citadel. There, towering above them, was the holy tree of Tlaxhuaco. An honor guard stood around it, and there was a great deal of commotion as carduk turtles—one of the rare domesticated myrvites—dragged carts and loaded saddlebags to the tree. Dozens of attendants were working hard to unpack the supplies.
What are they doing?
“The answers to most of your questions are found in one thing. Our sacred tree: Ceiba Yan,” Xecatl said, gesturing. “Gaze upon his majesty, and you will begin to understand.”
Mirian approached the tree, then closed her eyes and brushed the bark with a single fingertip.
The power of the soul before her took her breath away. It was more resplendent even than Apophagorga’s. The energy from it billowed out into a vast aura, one that had settled over most of the city. And yet, it brushed the world like a gentle breeze; it had none of the suppressive power of an auramancer. She could sense its soul deep beneath the earth, too, great roots burrowed deep into the bedrock. Unlike Apophagorga’s soul, which resisted her, this one invited her to see. It spoke, not with words, but like so many of the myrvites she’d talked to did. Look, it seemed to say, and she could sense its roots touching something indescribable. The Labyrinth, she realized. It’s actually touching the Labyrinth. That should be impossible.
Then, her attention was drawn to a place in the trunk. There was a distortion in the soul, and when she examined it more carefully, she realized there was a void there, deep inside. The tree had done its best to veil the hole, but it was there.
There was only one thing it could be hiding. A temporal anchor.
Xecatl wasn’t the chosen Prophet here. The Ceiba Yan tree is.
The other woman, seeing from Mirian’s expression she understood, said, “Now, we will have an exchange of trust. Ask your question first, and I will tell you an absolute truth, with no evasions. But then you must do the same for me. Do you accept?”
Mirian looked at the tree before her. Looked back at the city full of new magic to learn. The signs from the Ominian were clear to her; no single person would solve this crisis. It didn’t even just rest on the shoulders of humanity. “Very well,” she said.