am-books Chapter 70 - Limits
Chapter 70 - Limits
When Mirian woke, it took her a moment to overcome her disorientation. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes. The wand of levitation was still lying in a patch of dirt where it had rolled. She could tell she'd have a nice handful of bruises. When she stood, her vision briefly narrowed, and the nausea hit her again. She stumbled forward and braced herself against a nearby tree, the tactile sensation of the rough and cold bark grounding her.
She pocketed the wand, then slowly made her way back to town, occasionally stumbling as she walked.
What is going on? she wondered. Is it the time loop? Something with whatever is in my soul? She needed to talk to someone about it. But who?
The most obvious place was the hospital. The priests knew soul magic, even if they called it something else, and more importantly, they knew the soul magic of people, not just of plants like Xipuatl. She made her way there. Something about her must have looked awful enough, because after talking to the desk attendant, she didn't need to wait long. She met with Cleric Marovim in one of the ritual rooms, a younger man who she'd seen before at the hospital, but never properly met. His dark hair and olive skin marked him as south Baracueli, and both of them were happy to speak Cuelsin. Northern Baracueli rarely bothered to practice the language much, but it was the language she knew better.
As he pressed his hand to his heart, Mirian was pleased to discover she could feel the faintest signs of him working soul magic. It was much like the subtle tingle she felt at arcane magic, but different. As with arcane magic, it was an entirely different sense that defied easy description, but she thought of it as having a different color.
Cleric Marovim closed his eyes as he worked, hands hovering over Mirian. After a moment, he opened them. "You have Soul Destabilization Syndrome. Probably the worst case of it I've ever seen."
Mirian wracked her mind, but came up with nothing. "What's that?"
"Your soul is... chaotic. Parts of it are breaking loose. The soul, mind, and body are all linked in the holy triarchy. Disrupting one causes the other two to suffer. This is why healing the soul also heals the body. However, the reverse is true, which explains your symptoms. Frankly, I'm surprised you were able to even walk here."
"Oh," said Mirian, fear gripping her. That sounded bad.
"There are several causes. One, you have been attacked by a necromancer. They may not have used an actual 'curse' spell, but rather just attacked the soul. I don't suppose that's it?"
"Certainly not," Mirian said, though as she said it, her own self-doubt crept in. Were there any necromancers hanging around Torrviol? Had one of them secretly attacked her? It seemed like the sort of thing she would have noticed, though.
"The next likely cause is the over-consumption of mana potions," Marovim said, and immediately Mirian thought oh shit. The look on her face must have been enough for the cleric, because he said, "Ah. That would be it, then. How many mana potions have you had in the last few days?"
"Two a day. Well, sometimes three, if I'm doing extra practice."
Marovim's face went white. "Per day? And how long...?"
"Two months." She wasn't sure how the time loop affected that, and she was sure the cleric didn't either. "I was only drinking one every few days before that..."
"Xylatarvia certainly smiles on you, then. You must have a strong soul. Most people would be dead. Soul-death is... not a pleasant way to die, I have heard."
"Oh," said Mirian again, feeling the floor drop out from under her. Could the time loop even save her from that? It felt like one of those things she shouldn't try to find out. "It's A-class mana though, just like what our auras make. Why...?"
"I heard of a man once who died from drinking too much water. Everything is dangerous if you have enough of it."
"Right. Uh, how many mana potions is safe to drink, for future reference? I must have missed the day they talked about it in class...."
"Two per week. Per week," Marovim said, adding raised eyebrows to the emphasis. "Some people tend to do okay with three. Usually, it's not a problem because no one needs that much mana—or has the money for it. You'll want to lay off the mana potions for a few months."
"And can I cast spells? Is that dangerous?" Mirian wanted to ask about using soul-magic, but that wasn't likely to go over well, or get an answer.
"I would lay off the spellcasting for at least a week."
Eugh, Mirian thought. That was going to be annoying. "Is there anything you can do to help?"
"Usually, yes. But at this level of destabilization, it would be dangerous to do anything. Sometimes, time is the best healer."
Mirian thanked him, then went to rest. She'd need it; tomorrow she'd be meeting with Mayor Ethwarn and the militia preparations would begin.
Mirian shrugged. "I guess it works then. Kind of an asshole move by your dad."
"Yeah, he's usually not that bad. He just had these terrible visions of me refusing to take my role in the family because I was going to go be a farmer and overreacted. Even smart people can be really dumb. Turns out, absolutely no risk of me becoming a farmer, I would die first. Way too much grunt work. What about you? What were you like as a kid?"
Mirian looked out the window, out where the wind was stirring up white caps on the lake. "I had a terrible temper. For the longest time, certain things would set me off and I would just snap and start screaming or fighting. Like when someone would slam a door open, or when another kid took a toy I was playing with. My parents got a specialized cleric to work with me. That's basically as early as I remember. Not nearly as funny."
"Any hilarious toddler stories?"
Mirian thought back, letting her eyes wander around the room. There was an old mechanical clock in the corner that neither Nurea or Nicolus had bothered to wind. All the tables were finely carved, with glass ornaments embedded in the swirls of wood. The curtains that were drawn to the side were embroidered with the winged eximontar of the Sacristar family. As her eyes carelessly brushed past these things, her mind found nothing. "My parents never talked about what I was like when I was a toddler," she said. "I had a really bad dream once. I remember the cleric and I talked about that for a long time, and he helped me forget it."
Nicolus made a face. "Really? A bad dream?"
"I dunno. It's all fuzzy. I guess I just don't remember. Any other details in your uncle's letter I should know about?"
"Not really. He scolds me for not going down to the Palendurio estate with the rest of the family and says I need to get caught up on the rest of the family plan. Only, I don't know how he thinks that's going to happen, because the family plan was to move to Akana Praediar. Even illusion magic couldn't save me, I don't speak a lick of Eskanar. Oh, and 'invest in secondary war industries,' thanks Uncle Alexus, like I couldn't figure that one out. Not that the Palamas and Corrmier families would ever allow us to get a controlling stake." He sighed. "Not as helpful as I was hoping. I suppose we'll have to experiment with phrasing. And if you start our alliance earlier, maybe we can get two letters back and forth."
Mirian was silent. She'd gone back to looking out at the lake.
Nicolus looked out with her, tossing the letter onto a nearby side table. He took a deep breath in. "Have we ever... you know...?"
"We held hands, as the world ended," Mirian said. "You were... in pain."
He didn't say anything to that. The wind had ceased, and the white caps on the lake had faded. They could see patches of light scattered about where there were breaks in the clouds, mixed up with the patches of snow that still remained from the little they'd gotten. "I suppose it's true that you start to realize what really matters when you don't have much time left." He looked at Mirian and gave her a sad smile. "In some ways, I envy you. In other ways, I don't. It all rests on your shoulders, doesn't it? How much time do you get?"
"I don't know," Mirian said. She still wasn't even sure if she was getting older or not.
"That's the normal state of things. No one ever knows how much time they have left, until they do. When they find out, some take it well, some don't. I should have talked to you years ago. I always had an excuse, though." He shook his head.
Mirian looked at him. "Wait... really? Am I really that oblivious? You had a crush on me, all this time? But you didn't even try to learn my name?"
Nicolus sighed. "You can't really be blamed for missing it, because I hid it. I could list all the reasons I made up in my head. A lot of them were great, really convincing. Like I didn't want to get you entangled with Calisto—she can be a real nasty enemy to have—and I didn't want to 'distract' myself from the path I was going to have to take. My parents want me to marry some rich Akanan. So I thought, why even begin something that has to end? I told myself it would only hurt you, and hells, I didn't even know you, not really. You were just that smart, cute girl in class."
"I... I don't know what to say."
"Then don't, until you're ready. For me, it will always be ephemeral. For you, it'll last for... as long as it lasts. It's up to you now."
Mirian swallowed. "That's not fair," she said, choking slightly on her words.
"Life never is," Nicolus said.
"We'll... talk later," Mirian said, rising abruptly. "I need some time."
He smiled, though it was a sad smile. "You know where to find me. And for the record... I'm sorry."
Mirian left, and wandered about Torrviol. By now, she had minders who had joined her as soon as she left the Sacristar apartment. Together, they inspected the defenses of the town, though Mirian's mind was fully elsewhere.
By chance, the clouds had parted so there was a gap in the sky above. She could just make out the faint outlines of the Divir Moon, hanging above them all like a sword.
In two days, the Battle for Torrviol would begin again.