The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

They both slept uneasily, waking up whenever they heard loud scraping nearby, or the teeth of some predator sinking loudly into dead flesh. Twice, Mirian woke to hear Nicolus sobbing softly to himself. When dawn finally broke, Mirian was relieved. The myrvites would still be scavenging for corpses, but at least they’d be able to see them and steer clear. Likely, they could avoid being attacked. Most animals preferred easy food, and there was plenty of that around now.

Mirian handed Nicolus her spellbook so he could use some of his own mana to fashion himself a crutch. A metal rod served the purpose, with force polish sanding off the edges. They decided against scavenging for any sort of food. The train cars were now infested with myrvites. Two desert drakes lounged by an overturned car, bits of flesh still dangling from their teeth, and lightning scorpions were crawling over the cars, the cat-sized arachnids clinking over the metal. Several lightning scorpions had started eating the corpses that were in the car with them sometime during the night, and both of them were thankful that they hadn’t decided either of them were food.

They decided to head south first. Mirian knew there was a river that came down from the distant mountains south of them and wound its way north then curved back southeast to Alkazaria. One of those bends was nearby, and they would need the water. Mirian had hurt her knee, which was aching fiercely now, and Nicolus was even slower with his crutch. They walked throughout the day, but slowly, both of them needing constant breaks. Twice, Mirian had drawn her spellrod because two-headed vultures were circling above. Eventually, they moved on, no doubt joining the feast by the train.

In the evening, they finally saw the river. “Oh thank the Gods,” Nicolus said. “A village.”

Sure enough, there was a collection of sandstone houses and a market by the river, a dirt road that paralleled the river going through it. It wasn’t much, but the sentries outside the village spotted them.

The first sentry was a woman old enough to be Mirian’s grandmother. She had piercing hazel eyes and a stern look to her, but she spoke with a protective tone. “The spellward in the village failed. Very dangerous. You saw… it?”

There could only be one it she was talking about. “It was close to us. Derailed the train we were on. I think we’re the only survivors,” she told the woman.

“Gods above. Let’s get you to the temple.” She let Nicolus lean on her as they moved into the village, which was easier than the crutch.

The temple was just a larger sandstone building with a plaster dome on top, but well cared for and with colorful cloth draped about to give it a cozy feeling, and beautiful geometric designs on the walls. Small bronze statues of the Gods lined the halls, and in the side rooms were beds.

“You are… together?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Nicolus said, at the same time Mirian said, “No.”

Nicolus looked at her with pleading eyes. “Mirian I… I can’t be alone. Please.”

“Together,” she said, and squeezed Nicolus’s hand to comfort him. After what he’d lost, she could show him that kindness. She wondered when the last time he was truly alone was, given how close to his side Nurea always was.

“The priest comes once a week,” the woman told them. “Goes up and down the river to each village. He should be here in a few days. Until then, there’s always someone on duty to care for the temple. They can help with food, or there’s a kitchen in the back if you can manage it. You both need to rest. Especially him,” she said. She put a salve on his leg and all over their various cuts to prevent infection, but unfortunately, that was all she could do for them. They both thanked her profusely.

“I have coin,” Nicolus offered, but the woman shook her head. “Worry about that later, when you’re better.”

They had meant to go to Alkazaria, but it soon became apparent they were in no condition for that. Nicolus especially was in bad shape, and started running a fever. Mirian might have made the journey, but she couldn’t abandon him. Home would have to wait.

The next day, two traders got put up in the temple in the room across from them to wait for a healer too. “A myrvite attack,” one said. “Didn’t even know the spellwards had failed.” A manticore had gone after their caravan. They were lucky; it had killed their two camels, but the magic items in their packs had held its attention while they fled. One had gotten grazed by the poison spines the manticore shot, while the other had received a glancing blow to his arm. The arm was broken, and would probably need to be amputated.

“Spellwards didn’t just fail here, it’s all along the road. Travel’s no longer safe, not even by river,” the woman who’d been acting as sentry said. Today was her duty at the temple, and she made a nice hot soup for them, using the proper eastern Baracuel spices that Mirian had missed up in Torrviol.

During the day, Mirian and Nicolus lingered outside on the benches by the market square. It was a tiny market, mostly full of produce and fish. Mirian stepped in and helped a few craftsfolk when she could. Nicolus lapsed into naps throughout the day. Eventually his fever broke, but he’d regained none of his usual energy. She couldn’t tell if it was depression, or his injuries were that bad. Maybe both.

As the days progressed, Mirian marked her mental calendar. Reports came in of other strange goings on. Sea serpents spotted moving up the river. More of those strange geysers. Myrvite activity was on the rise, and one man said he’d seen several desert drakes go into a frenzy fighting over an abandoned enchanted item they were trying to sap the mana from. The villagers started trying to rebuild the old sandstone wall that had once surrounded the village, repairing it with mudbrick reinforced with straw. It was a primitive but tried and true solution. It was also necessary; the two local magi couldn’t get the spellward that had been protecting them working, and it seemed the other villages had the same problem. Mirian helped out where she could with magic, but despite all her academic knowledge, the village magi had two decades of experience on her. Mostly, she cast cantrips to support their efforts and looked up glyph combinations that might help. In the end, repairing the spellward was beyond all of their expertise. Maybe if Professor Atger had known how to teach, she thought when another of their attempted fixes failed.

There would be no news of it after that leyline eruption, but when the 28th of Solem arrived, Mirian thought about Torrviol. She wondered if Lily or Xipuatl had gotten out before the attack, or if Torres had spotted the advancing army and sounded the warning in time.

That night, neither Mirian or Nicolus could sleep, so they walked out to one of the benches. “What is happening?” he said, probably for the hundredth time.

“I wish I knew.”

“Will you be able to… will you be able to go back and stop it?”

Mirian was silent. Above, they both watched as a faint line of arcane energy danced across the sky. In the distant mountains to the south, a fissure of green fire had opened up and was belching a strange smoke into the air; they could just see the emerald flames dancing, which meant that the fire had to be miles high. At last she said, “I don’t know. How do I stop… this?”

There was a distant cry from some beast. A manticore, maybe. “We should go inside,” Nicolus said, and reached for his crutch. Mirian and one of the villagers had made him a proper wooden crutch with a cloth pad.

“I’ll try, though,” Mirian said. “I promise.”

Nicolus smiled at her, though it was a pained smile.

***

The next leyline eruption they saw from a distance. At first, Mirian thought a second sun had lit up the western horizon, but no, the explosion was just that bright. The crackling line of violet and orange energy burst from the ground and writhed about in the air, leaving demented looking clouds before it finally smashed back down into the ground. It left behind a fissure that belched dark smoke. It took at least a minute for the earthquake to reach them. Most of the houses were well constructed, reinforced with wooden beams and a few glyphs, but one of the older houses near the outskirts collapsed. Mirian rushed over with the villagers to help clear the rubble, but the man who had lived there was dead when they unburied him. The wall had fallen on his head.

For two more days, the eruptions continued. Some were so distant that they could only see the flashes of light beyond the horizon, while others were close enough to shake the earth. Strange colors danced about in the sky, not just at night, but during the day as well.

Something spooked the myrvites, too. They’d stopped attacking people, and had started fleeing. The scary thing was, they were all going the exact same direction: northwest. One afternoon, Mirian and Nicolus held hands and watched a swarm of lightning scorpions moving past the village, while overhead some fifty vultures all flew together.

One of the sentries had seen an entire herd of desert drakes moving together, which was especially strange because unlike the fire drakes up north, desert drakes were solitary animals. Mirian could sympathize. Her arcane sense had been tingling nonstop for days now. It was as if someone were casting spells right next to her. Strong ones, too.

Everyone was on edge, but no one knew what to do. That evening, the priest finally stopped by the village. He looked exhausted, but he dutifully worked his blessings on those in the temple. By then, two villagers had joined the wounded—attacked by passing myrvites.

The next day, the village gathered to discuss what to do.

“We should follow the myrvites,” one of the village elders said. “They know something we don’t.”

“They’re probably running to where the magic is strongest. We should go the opposite direction,” another said. Most, though, agreed that it was best to stay in the village. There was no sense abandoning their homes when they didn’t know where anyone would be safe.

A few hours later, though, a group passing through told them of a different calamity approaching. “There’s a fissure spreading from out west, a mile a day. It overtook four of the villages upstream. The cracks keep spreading in all directions. It’ll reach the river soon.”

The village still voted to stay, but when the river suddenly dried up, they joined the groups of refugees heading east toward Alkazaria. The going was slow, which was fine by Nicolus, who still was walking with a limp. By now, Mirian spent most of her days in silence, simply watching and remembering. That ominous feeling was still building inside of her. They camped by the river with groups from several other villages, then departed.

By then, it was the 4th of Duala. It had been eleven days since she’d left Torrviol. The line of refugees snaked along the river, and all Mirian could think about was how she’d escaped one horrible exodus simply to join another. She had simply replaced the raw panic with a creeping dread. That evening, they spotted Alkazaria in the distance, the white spires just visible. There was talk of safety at last, and that the Luminate archbishops there would certainly know what to do to appease the Gods.

Then the sky brightened.

It was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud, but the sun was already out, and the sky was clear. In the distance, two more leylines breached the surface, sending thunder roaring across the scrubland, then vanished—then another appeared just after. Murmurs passed through the crowd, and then someone said, “Look!”

The crowd looked up, and a collective gasp ran down the line.

It was the Divir moon that had brightened. It usually wasn’t visible during the day, but now it was—and it was getting larger and brighter. Some people wailed, some ran, but most fell to their knees and prayed. It got larger, and larger, until it burned larger and brighter than the sun, a coruscating ball of orange and violet light, the magical energy so intense even at this distance that Mirian felt as though a hurricane was passing through her, scouring away everything.

Mirian stared, slack-jawed as the moon descended. Before, she had clawed and screamed for life, but here, she could do nothing but stare in silence. She couldn’t even feel despair, it was so far beyond that. She felt Nicolus reach for her hand and squeeze it tight. Mirian squeezed his back. She could do nothing to stop this, but she could provide that little bit of comfort for him, here at the end of the world.

The light above them grew, the fireball that was the Divir moon filling the sky until it was blinding, and then past that—she could feel the heat of it on her soul. In those last moments, as Divir came crashing down to Enteria, Mirian finally understood what she had to stop.