The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

Lily was still out when Mirian went to sleep, and when she woke, Lily was asleep, and she didn’t have the heart to wake her. She left a note saying she’d gone to the library.

Mirian had something of a plan. With her letters in her bag, she went to the front desk. “Hi,” she said. “I was trying to send a letter to my brother. He said he was summoned for duty at… well, and that’s the problem, I can’t remember the name of the place! It’s so embarrassing. He’s part of the Baracuel military, and my parents said he just got a promotion so I was going to congratulate him, only, they didn’t say where, so—”

The librarian held up a finger. “I think I get the idea,” he said. “You want the Atlas Room. Basement level one, south quadrant, room S-110.” The man closed his eyes briefly, then said, “I think the maps you’re looking for are on the wall by the door.”

“Thank you,” Mirian said, smiling. Well, even though she’d acted like an idiot, she felt like an idiot too. She’d managed to make it five years and a quarter in the Academy and had never heard they had a map room. Of course they had map room! They had everything! She didn’t even need the ridiculous cover story. It did amuse her to visualize Zayd, all of five years old right now, dressed up in full military regalia with an over-sized hat on.

The map room was empty. That made sense. It was morning on the weekend; only total morons were up doing research. As she read labels and looked through books and rolled up maps, Mirian realized there were a bunch of geologic maps taking up a whole shelf, and an atlas entirely dedicated to documenting topography and rock layers. That was as good as an answer key for the Geoarcanology class she would take soon.

Finally, she found the military maps. Most of them were the kind of thing historians liked—maps of battles, old maps that got things wrong, and maps of weird little kingdoms that didn’t exist anymore. She found one she thought was perfect—it was called Military bases of the Baracuel country—but it ended up being dated 4515, just over 300 years old. That was a strange map to see. Every town had its own fort, and Bainrose was still a military castle, not a library. Outside a few corridors and human strongholds, there was little else. Huge swathes of the map were labeled as “dangerous wilderness.” Akana Praediar was only a small collection of colonies on the western continent.

She rolled it back up and looked for a more recent one. Finally, she found a massive book—nearly two feet wide, before it was open—titled Complete Atlas of Baracuel, and that did the trick. Military bases were included as an afterthought. The nearest one was Fort Aegrimere, near Cairnmouth. Well, that made sense, Cairnmouth was the largest nearby city, and along the river, so it was strategic or somesuch nonsense. She was sure she’d heard that from a history teacher at some point. It was a bit embarrassing how little she knew of the geography in west Baracuel.

There was another fortress near Palendurio, the First Capitol. That was even further south. Too far away from the north coast, she decided.

She made several notes in her journal and a nice little map. There was a stronghold north of Torrviol, but it was too far east. That made sense. Farther north were the frostlands, and that stronghold no doubt kept the worst myrvite monsters from traveling south to snack on villagers. The other cities that were close were in the west corridor, so any castles or forts they had were like Bainrose—now being used for something else. So Fort Aegrimere it was.

As for the Department of Public Security… they had to be in Cairnmouth, right?

It was off to the Royal Couriers next. She figured if the mail delivery folks were in on the conspiracy, she was screwed anyways.

The courier office in Torrviol was south of the market. On a weekend, the market was one of the few places more crowded in Torrviol. Since it was early morning, though, the crowds hadn’t showed up yet; it was mostly just merchants setting up stalls or donkey-drawn carts alongside spell engine wagons. Some people saw no reason to break from tradition. Mirian supposed the donkeys were a lot cheaper; spell engines needed fossilized myrvite, whereas donkeys just ate grass.

The Royal Courier building had the traditional symbol of the lion above the doorway, painted orange on a white background. The couriers had a long and noble tradition they came from. Back when travel was still dangerous and myrvite beasts stalked the roads between towns, there was no job more deadly than courier. It had been the brave and relentless who traveled, and though the roads were now much safer, the profession was still honored in Baracuel. When a courier passed, it was tradition to give a short salute in their direction.

Mirian had been to the office often to mail letters to her family. Thankfully, there was no line. “How does one address a letter to a garrison commander if one does not know their name?” she asked the courier at the desk.

The courier did not even consult the book. “To the honored commander,” she said.

“And it will be delivered to them?”

“To their staff, most likely.”

She handed the courier the first letter, addressed to ‘The Honored Commander of Fort Aegrimere.’ “Expedited,” she said. That was an entire silver drachm, rather than five coral beadcoins. She couldn’t afford it, but the fate of the Academy was at stake, so she handed the coin over. She would manage, somehow. A letter traveling by general mail might take weeks, and it would only be delivered if the subject went to the local courier’s office. Expedited would assign a courier to hand it to the subject personally, if they could.

“Does the Department of Public Security have a public office in Cairnmouth?”

This, the courier did look up. She hesitated. “No. And I cannot guarantee they will see any letter you address to them.”

Mirian thought. Who else could she write to?

“Who is the governor of Cairnmouth?” she asked.

“The Honored Governor Sire Willhelm Marhurst,” the courier said, without looking it up.

She addressed it to him, and ordered that letter also expedited.

The courier looked at her, but didn’t say anything. They were honor-bound not to discuss correspondence, unless it was treasonous. Mirian considered telling her. But what good would it do?

With any luck, she’d just solved the crisis. Something told her it wouldn’t be enough, though. What she needed—what she really needed—was evidence. Stupid. She’d given the scrolls to that maintenance guy. Well, that building was on her way back. Mirian left, and made her way there. But the building was closed and locked still.

Weird, she thought.

She finally decided to pass the time by working on her scepter for next quarter. That involved a trip back to Bainrose, where she cracked open several books on glyphs and started making notes. Several of the glyphs she’d used last time would work. In fact, most of her glyphs were based on the manipulation of kinetic energy. The soldiers had used special bullets that pierced shields, but she also needed to defend herself against some of their nastier spells. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered being dismembered by force blades. She wondered: If that was the spell the soldiers were using, was that what she should use to defend herself?

Glyph research like this took hours, though she’d done some of the work last quarter (well, no, it was next quarter). She’d still have to wait to do the assembly, as she wasn’t going to be getting a discount on any materials or the metal shop until after the project was assigned.

As she diagrammed out the glyph sequences, she quickly realized she’d have to add another steel ring along the shaft. But that would also simplify the device. In a fight, she’d have to pay attention to one switch: One for a shield, one for an attack. She could then disable the top-most ring with another switch. Professor Torres would no doubt appreciate the attention to safety.

The rest of the spell rod would just be useful: lift and manipulate object spells, a containment barrier for use in alchemistry, and several spells used extensively in craftwork, like phantom sandpaper and shape wood. The problem, she quickly realized, would be money. She had already spent too much on the letters. Now, Mirian realized she’d need a lot more. At least five silver drachms, unless she was going to just straight up starve herself to save costs, and that seemed counterproductive. She was not going to do her best work or learning on an empty stomach. What would her father say to that?

As a student, she wasn’t licensed to practice magic professionally yet, and every person in Torrviol checked that. No one wanted to piss off the Academy, the main economic engine of the town. She could probably pick up some menial job. Or she could open up a line of credit with one of the local banks. She didn’t like that, but hells, maybe the bank would forgive it if everyone found out she’d saved the town from destruction? But how could she prove it?

It all came back to evidence. She needed to figure out more about what these spies were after. She needed to figure out what else they were up to. Mirian tried to think of the books she’d read about spies. Did they have a hideout? A drop-site? Did spies actually do that stuff, or was that just part of the thrillers she read in preparatory school?

Before she went back to her dorm, she decided to visit the Kiroscent Dome.

Mirian had been avoiding it. She didn’t want to be reminded of the carnage that had taken place there, but there was no avoiding it. When she entered, she froze. The memories were still vivid. She forced herself to breathe deeply, and continued to walk.

She repeated a mantra her mother taught her: The past is gone; it has gone through me, and I am still here. I am in the now, where I have control. The past is gone….

People were staring at her as she walked through the rotunda because she was occasionally trembling, but screw them. They could stare.

She made it the statue of Yiaverunan. She looked up at it and wondered, Was it you that saved me? What do I do now?

Yiaverunan was silent. The gray statue simply loomed above, hourglass, star, hammer and wheel still in her four hands. Mirian searched for answers in those symbols, and ran her hand down the polished stone. Well, what did she expect?

She went to meet Lily for dinner.

They had a table they normally sat at, near the edge of the dining hall. Today, the cooks had made red curry sauce that they draped over roast duck and vegetables. She got a plate, but their table was empty. She looked around for Lily, but she couldn’t see her. She couldn’t see anyone she knew very well at all, really. A few classmates that she recognized, but had never talked to. Making friends had always been hard for her, and it seemed harder still at the Academy. Most of the people who attended came at least from the province, but Mirian was the only one who had come from Arriroba, or anywhere near it.

The building was beautiful, with its ornate wood ceiling and marble pillars. The atmosphere was inviting, with so many students relaxing or joking about with their friends. The food was splendid. And yet, the flavor and joy of the place was sapped away by her feelings of dejection. She was just about to leave when she saw Lily enter. Relief flooded through her. Then she saw the look on Lily’s face. Mirian could tell her roommate was trying to keep it together, but she looked terrified.

Mirian watched, concerned, as Lily got her food, then slowly made her way to the table. A group of third years was blocking the main aisle, so Lily made her way through the various scattered tables before joining Mirian.

“What’s wrong?” she asked her roommate.

Lily said, “I should be asking you that. What is going on?”

“Why?” Mirian asked, going cold. “What happened?”

“Some maintenance guy finally came to properly repair the hole, except he came alone, and didn’t have the tools he needed to fix it. When I told him you were out, he said ‘give her this, then,’ and gave me this letter. Well, that was creepy as the five hells, so I opened it.”

She passed the letter to Mirian. The writing was in a near illegible cursive, but Mirian could just puzzle it out. It read: Sent two over to Myrvite Studies building on Fourthday. They never came back. Guards say they’re looking, but are stone-mouthed about it all. Maintenance building was broken into last night. Supervisor is also missing now. Leaving town. Stay safe.

Mirian looked at Lily. What she wanted to say, really wanted to say, was, I told you so! But she had too much sympathy for what Lily must be feeling right now, so she just explained. She kept her voice a low hush so it wouldn’t carry, leaning in to tell her. “There’s been break-ins all across campus. I think the guards are in on it, at least some of them. You might see some strange people wearing dark clothes, hiding on rooftops or going where they’re not supposed to. They’re spies. I don’t know what they’re looking for, but it has to do with the attack I told you about. On the 28th of Solem, Akana Praediar attacks the Academy. I have to stop it. We have to stop it.”

Lily sat there. “How?”

“Gods, I wish I knew. The people who really need to know are the Department of Public Security. They do spy stuff.”

“Who?”

“The Deeps. You know. Secret police and all that?”

“Oh, right, them,” Lily said. “How do you contact them?”

“No clue,” Mirian replied. “That’s half the problem. What’s supposed to happen is you tell the guards and if it’s big, they tell the Crown Bureau. But if the guards are in on it and there’s no Bureau in Torrviol, what do I do? And the bigger problem is I don’t have anything that can prove it. Should I just flee back home?”

“We have classes! I need my degree, or what am I going to do?” Lily said. “My parents would… well, I would not be welcome home if I failed a quarter.”

“Mine would, but I’d never hear the end of it. But we might have to run. I sent some letters to the military and a governor. But why would they believe me?”

“We need evidence,” Lily said, and Mirian was relieved to hear her say we, that she did believe her, at least somewhat. “But… how?”

“I don’t know, and the problem is if we screw up… well, I don’t think anyone is going to find those maintenance people.”

“Mirian,” Lily said. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I wish I knew,” she said. Part of her was glad to see Lily so spooked, because now, someone understood her. Part of her felt guilty for dragging her into it. But they were all going to get dragged into it in the end, weren’t they? “Keep your eyes open, and we keep trying to figure this out,” she said.

Mirian looked out the window. The stained glass distorted the campus, already shrouded in the early twilight hours of autumn. In the glimmer of the glyph lamps, she could see the silhouettes of townsfolk and students wandering about the streets. As she watched, her mind wandered. “Well,” she said, finally, “I think I have an idea.”