Planar Chaos

by Timothy Sanders

  “I am at your service, my lord. But our time is short.”

  “Then it will have to stretch. What are you?”

  “I am planeswalker. Though I daresay I am exceptional even in this exalted company.”

  “And why do you have the air of Phyrexia about you?”

  Karn shrugged. “For the same reason you have fur and fangs, I imagine. I was a construct before I ascended. Some of my components were Phyrexian.”

  Windgrace sniffed the air suspiciously. “And you are ready to throw in with this one?” He jabbed his thumb back over his shoulder toward Teferi, who was still trying to make eye contact with Jhoira.

  “I am. Jhoira has been describing the rift phenomena to me. I must concur with Teferi’s assessment. The rifts are unnatural, and they feed on whatever magical essence they come across. Only beings like us can provide the power it takes to satiate them. Only we have the force of will necessary to destroy them.”

  “I see. And what prevents you from exercising your power and your force of will?”

  “As I said, I am exceptional. If we truly intend to seal the rifts, it takes a planeswalker. If we seek to end their temporal distortions, it requires me.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, construct.”

  “According to Jhoira,” Karn said, “there are major rifts yet to be closed. Zhalfir, Otaria, Yavimaya, and Madara. But like me, there is one rift that is unique. The disaster at Tolaria was fueled by temporal flux. I must reserve myself for it.”

  “You Tolarians and your time magic,” Windgrace spat. “Why are you so suited to that particular spot?”

  “Because I was there when it happened. And more importantly, I am the only living thing that has ever traveled through time, and that is what must happen if the Tolarian rift is to be sealed.”

  “You make no sense to me.”

  Karn turned to Jhoira and gestured encouragingly. She fired an angry glare at Teferi before she said, “The rifts’ time distortion has its roots in Tolaria. There was a double disaster there. The time-machine fiasco followed millennia later by a world-class destructive spell. The Tolarian rift has been funneling temporal chaos into the rifts for who knows how long. It will be next to impossible to seal it now. If Karn goes back to a time before the second disaster, there is a chance he can fix the damage before it becomes irreparable.”

  “Which at this point,” Karn said, “it is.”

  Teferi floated up beside Windgrace. “Magnificent, Jhoira,” he said. “You have exceeded my already high opinion of you. But we linger over what has yet to be done at the expense of what must be done immediately. “Windgrace,” he said, “my powers are depleted, but I retain some small residue. I tell you that,” he pointed to the disk, “will soon split, and when it does there will be no hope”

  Windgrace’s ears twitched. His vertical pupils contracted to thin slits, and he said, “Venser has returned.” The panther-god bared his wicked fangs. “And sometime recently he has taken the first step toward his grand destiny. That is hope, Tolarian. A new kind of planeswalker.”

  “Venser has ’walked?” Teferi grinned like a small boy. “That is good news, make no mistake. But Venser does not have what we need.”

  “No? Why don’t we go see for ourselves?”

  “What do”—Teferi said, pausing through a wave of nausea and a fogging of the brain—“you mean? Oh.” Teferi and Windgrace now stood outside Venser’s workshop, where Venser and his ambulator both stood waiting. “This is most inappropriate, my lord. We should be planning strategy with Karn and Jhoira.”

  “Hold your tongue.” Windgrace hunched down, his shadow completely enveloping Venser. “Son of Urborg,” he said, “where is your mark?”

  Venser swallowed but answered in a strong, clear voice. “I lost it in the Blind Eternities, my lord. The Weaver King took it from me.”

  Windgrace bristled. “He still pursues you? I see no trace of him.”

  “He was here.” Venser tapped his temple. “And may still be.”

  Windgrace dismissed the Weaver King with a wave of his massive hand. He was staring intently at Venser. “You’re a planeswalker,” he said.

  “I suppose so. I don’t fully understand it all, but, yes, I went to the Blind Eternities once. Mostly, I just teleport from place to place.”

  “And from plane to plane?”

  “Yes. Though I have not done so yet.”

  “Something else I wish I had the chance to teach you.” To Teferi, he said, “And what do you say will happen if Venser teleports into the time rift?”

  “Perhaps nothing,” Teferi said. “He doesn’t have the kind of power it takes to affect the rift’s internal energy.”

  “I see. So once again no one can do what you say needs to be done except for people outside your party. Venser is not capable. Karn is too important. It falls to Freyalise and me to die for your cause.”

  “I did it too, my lord, and did it first. And I did not die.”

  “By your own admission, the rift you sealed was less than the ones here and in Skyshroud. Freyalise is gone. And you would have me walk into the center of that storm and let it consume me.”

  “No,” Teferi’s sharp tone surprised his own ears. “You must fight it, Lord Windgrace. This is a battle, warrior, a contest like no other. You must strive against the rift, snarl and snap and tear at it while it tries to drain your life’s essence. It is a fight you can win, a fight you can survive, but only if you have the stomach to try.”

  The panther-god’s body rippled as his muscles tensed. He puffed black smoke from his nostrils and growled.

  Windgrace. The Weaver King sounded heavier, more serious than before. I have returned to take Urborg from you. My army is already assembled. If you dare, bring your swamp rabble and meet me on the battlefield.

  “He’s learned how to take control of the Phyrexians,” Venser said. “How many are there?”

  Windgrace glared from Venser to Teferi. It was rare when Teferi could not think of something to say, but this was one of those times. “I’m leaving you here,” Windgrace said. “Both of you.”

  “Don’t take the bait, my lord.” Teferi looked pleadingly at the panther-god. “Go up to the rift and seal it. An hour longer and Freyalise’s sacrifice will have been in vain.”

  “I am still considering,” Windgrace said. “And while I ponder, I will tear that phantom’s spine out and strangle him with it.”

  “My lord,” Venser said, “please. Tell me where Jhoira is.”

  “Up there,” Windgrace said. “With her planeswalker construct. I expect they’ll come to you once they realize where you are.” His ears twitched again, and Windgrace smiled cruelly. “The archmage draws near,” he said. “Bend his ear with your chatter. Or not. I no longer care.” He began to shimmer and fade. “Good-bye, Tolarian, and good fortune to you, Venser of Urborg. I shall not return for either of you.”

  Venser watched Windgrace vanish with an odd mix of relief and anxiety on his face. He seemed glad to escape the panther-god’s anger but at the same time less than sanguine about their collective future. Then he noticed Teferi inspecting his ambulator, and quiet anger eclipsed all else.

  “Remarkable,” Teferi said. “Do you think you could teach me to use it?”

  Venser gritted his teeth, but before he could speak Jodah came over the edge of the swamp. The tall man was red-faced, and his hair was tousled.

  “Jodah,” Teferi said, “much has happened. Let me give you—”

  Jodah ignored Teferi entirely. He stormed up to Venser and knocked the artificer flat on his back with a strong right fist.

  “You stupid, impudent child.” Jodah’s voice was a low, menacing hiss. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  “I saved you,” Venser said. He cradled his bleeding lip and pulled himself to his feet. “There was no hope in Skyshroud, and you knew it.”

  Jodah hit him again, a short, sharp blow on the opposite side of Venser’s face. The artificer went
down again, sprawling into the icy mud.

  “Jodah,” Teferi said. “Freyalise chose her own path. There was nothing you could have done to change it, least of all punching Venser after the fact.”

  For a moment Teferi thought he might be the next recipient of Jodah’s angry blows, but the rage seemed to drain from the archmage. “This is madness,” he said. He looked down at Venser. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here. I am through.” Jodah turned and strode back into the swamp the way he had come.

  Teferi went to Venser and gave the young man a hand up. “Do you know where he’s going?”

  Venser spat blood and wiped his swelling lip. “He’s got a tunnel he uses. I assume he’s going back wherever he came from.”

  “Can you take me there?”

  Venser’s astonishment blended with his injuries to produce a wholly unintentional comic effect. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. The archmage is a powerful wizard. As we need all the help we can get, we certainly need him.”

  “I’m not going anywhere near him,” Venser said. “Not until he’s calmed down.”

  Teferi tried to contain his enthusiasm. “Well, then,” he said, “would you show me how to use the ambulator so that I can go after him?”

  Venser eyed him suspiciously and said, “No. No, if it’s that important to you I’ll take you there myself. But I’m staying out of arm’s reach.”

  “Fair enough. Thank you, Venser.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” the artificer grumbled. “And don’t look to me when he knocks you down. Come closer.”

  Teferi obligingly sidled up beside Venser. To his bemusement, the young man sat down in the mud and extended his arms. He moved his fingers over two invisible stringed instruments and took deep, measured breaths.

  “What are you doing?” Teferi asked.

  “Shut up,” Venser said. “I’m teleporting.”

  This time Teferi felt a gentle breeze and a slight tingle between here and there. The trip was over before he fully realized it had begun, and now he and Venser were on the edge of a small copse of trees. Jodah was there as well, making sharp gestures at a pool of liquid suspended over a hole in the ground.

  “He’s all yours,” Venser said. “I will come no closer.”

  Teferi went out alone. He called, “Jodah,” from a safe distance in case the archmage lashed out again.

  But Jodah barely responded to the sound. Instead he kept working with his tunnel transport and kept his back to Teferi.

  “Jodah,” he said, “we need to talk.”

  “No we don’t.” The archmage did not turn.

  “There are trials ahead that you could help see us through. We need you.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “We do. I need you, Venser needs you…Jhoira needs you.”

  Jodah did turn now, and Teferi was grateful he had kept his distance. “You astound me,” Jodah said, rage steaming from his words. “How low will you go?”

  Teferi smiled blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you are as manipulative a creature as I’ve ever met. Everything you say is designed to produce an effect, but worse, it’s also designed to conceal the effect you’re after. You’re a liar who lies about his lies to himself.”

  Teferi drew himself up to his full height. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you were the kind who didn’t shrink from hard work when it was worth doing.”

  Jodah stopped. He didn’t turn, seeming to argue with himself, and said softly, “Urza.”

  “What?”

  Jodah stood and faced Teferi. “I said ‘Urza.’ I am descended from the Brothers. Did you know that? I am descended from Urza’s family, the one he had before he ascended.”

  “I had heard that about you, but it never seemed important enough to mention.”

  “I’m mentioning it, you pompous fool. Because I may have the blood, but you are heir to Urza’s mantle in ways I will never be. You are exactly like him, Teferi, a glib, patrician, elitist, all-knowing and all-powerful high muckety-muck who thinks everyone should simply get in line and follow his lead. You believe that yours are the only answers that work, that your plans are the only ones worth following. But Urza was often wrong, and people always suffered for it. You are often wrong, and people around you suffer for it.”

  “I only asked for your help.”

  “That’s all you ever ask for, and it’s never all you mean. You don’t want my help. You want my total dedication. You want me to do what you can’t because you believe it needs to be done.”

  “That may be,” Teferi said. “But in this case, I’m right.”

  “And it doesn’t matter. Don’t you get that?”

  “No,” Teferi admitted. “No I don’t.”

  “Then try harder.” Jodah turned back and waved his hand over the tunnel one last time. He stepped back and walked past Teferi toward Venser until the artificer started to withdraw.

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” Jodah said.

  “You seemed angry,” Venser mumbled, his swollen lips distorting his words. “But I’ll get over it. I’m sorry I pushed you into the tunnel.”

  “So am I. I know that you’re right, there was nothing I could have done except die alongside Freyalise. But it was my decision. You should have let me see it through.”

  Venser’s looked pained. “Freyalise died?”

  Jodah laughed, shaking his head in amazement. “You didn’t even know, did you? It’s all so absurd.”

  Venser did not reply, and Jodah did not wait. He turned back, marched past Teferi, and stepped into the tunnel.

  “Is there a message you would like to send to Jhoira?”

  Jodah regarded him with open contempt. “I’ve said all I have to say, to her and to you.” With one final nod toward Venser, Jodah completed his step and melted into the curtain of thick liquid.

  * * *

  —

  Karn wanted to stay and examine the Stronghold rift, so he sent Jhoira back down to Venser’s workshop. The ambulator was still there, but Venser, Teferi, and Windgrace were nowhere in sight. Uncertain of what to do, Jhoira ascended the dais and inspected Venser’s machine. To her surprise, the twin powerstones that powered it had been removed.

  She smiled wryly. Venser must have been here, and his habit of keeping the stones with him was a hard one to break.

  The air shimmered in front of Venser’s door. Venser and Teferi appeared, Teferi standing upright and Venser sitting down with his arms half-extended. The artificer was bleeding slightly from a split lip, but otherwise he seemed his normal, preoccupied self.

  “Venser,” she said and was rewarded by a warm but weary smile.

  “Freyalise is dead,” he said.

  “I know. I’m glad you’re not. Is Jodah…”

  “The archmage lives,” Teferi said. “But he has gone back to his home. I offered to bring you his message, but he demurred.”

  Jhoira looked at Teferi, then back to Venser. The artificer nodded. “He was angry about Freyalise. And because I wouldn’t let him stay to help her.”

  “And I’m wondering,” Teferi continued, “if you will continue to ignore me no matter what company we’re in.”

  “We’ll talk later,” Jhoira said, “in private, when this is all over.”

  “Optimistic,” Teferi said, “yet somehow dire. I can wait, Jhoira. I only hope we’ll both be available when this is all over.”

  “Where do things stand?” she said.

  “Unchanged. Windgrace has gone out to rout the Weaver King, but he still must seal the Stronghold rift—in the next hour, if we are to take any benefit from it. After that…let me first say that I support your theory. Karn must attack the Tolarian rift before it became so unstable. If we are to stop the spread of Phyrexians and frigid weather, we must remove time from the equation. How did you intend to send Karn back?”

  Jhoira wrestled with her frustration, stamping it down for the time being. “He has an idea. I thought your exper
tise would be valuable before we made the attempt.”

  Teferi bowed. “I’m flattered,” he said.

  “Don’t be. Be useful instead.”

  “I shall endeavor to be nothing less.”

  “I will signal Karn.”

  Venser stood, slightly shamefaced. “Do you need to use the ambulator?”

  “No.” Jhoira shook her head, her eyes kind. “He’s close enough now to hear my thoughts.”

  “Oh,” Venser said. “Good.” He glanced at Teferi, then back at Jhoira. “Can we wait inside? I haven’t eaten for days.”

  “Certainly. Go on inside and fix yourself something. I’ll be in directly.”

  “May I join you?” Teferi scampered after Venser. He opened the door and went inside as Teferi went on. “I’m out practice when it comes to eating, but it’s a hobby I’m eager to resume.” He patted his belly. “The sooner the better.”

  Venser was already inside, but he left the door open for Teferi to follow. Jhoira watched the bald man slip into the workshop. She climbed up the ambulator and settled into the chair.

  Karn, she thought. We’re almost ready to begin.

  Thank you, came the immediate reply. I have one last survey to make. Then I will join you.

  Hurry, she thought. Please hurry.

  Lord Windgrace looked down upon the Phyrexian horde below. They were as numerous as grains of sand on the beach, all tightly packed into a single, rock-hard mass. They were waiting for something, and he was certain he was that something.

  His hackles rose, and his fury mounted. The Weaver King had challenged him to a full-scale war, a clash of armies. He was done with armies, however, done with sending his own people to battle the Phyrexians’ latest invasion. The Weaver King was an insect, an insignificant pest who didn’t deserve to spill any more of Urborg’s blood. Now, Windgrace thought, I will show you how a planeswalker makes war.

  He spread his mighty arms and descended, dropping faster than a falling star. He gathered his mana to him, his power surging in his chest like a roar waiting to erupt. Then he did roar, a thundering, explosive sound that drew the attention of every Phyrexian in sight.