Planar Chaos

by Timothy Sanders

  Rest, Venser. Let it take you. Your troubles will soon be over. All you have to do is lie down and die….

  Venser teleported. He shifted himself away from the Weaver King’s probing mind and reappeared behind the screeching apparition. It was difficult to gauge distance or direction in this trackless void, but he no longer felt the sting of wire in his head. Wherever the Weaver King was, Venser had just avoided him.

  That’s the spirit. The more you flex those muscles, the less I’ll have to train them. More icy needles stabbed into his head, digging into his temples, his eyes, the top of his head. The Weaver King seemed to be everywhere at once.

  Pain and panic and his disorienting surroundings confounded Venser. He tried to pull back, to run away physically, but his legs found no purchase here. The Weaver King’s uproarious laughter rang in his ears, more dolorous and humiliating than a thousand silver wires in his skull.

  He did not want to die. He did not want to die this way, in this place, to this foe.

  Silly boy. Haven’t you been listening? I’m not going to kill you. I’m going crawl inside you and wear you.

  Venser started to ’walk, trying to make it back to Urborg, but some of the wires in his head wouldn’t break. He screamed as he started then abandoned his efforts, yanked back into the Weaver King’s clutches like a child’s toy on a string. His left eye went blind. His nose began to bleed, and he inhaled some blood, coughing it back out in a grisly, red spray.

  The Weaver King couldn’t stop him from teleporting—or planeswalking. He could tether Venser to him and prevent his escape, but he no longer had control of Venser’s body. If he had, he would have used it by now. That was the thing that had changed between here and Skyshroud: he understood his true power.

  He was not a titan, nor a goddess, nor an omnipotent wielder of infinite magic, but Venser was both planeswalker and mage. Whatever he had that made him so was an integral part of him, something that the Weaver King couldn’t touch. The rest of his body and mind were fair game, but the ability to move through the multiverse was his and his alone. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was a useful tool, and Venser had been using tools all his life. He needed to figure out an offensive use for this one or he was doomed to become a mindless husk.

  Venser stopped struggling, stopped trying to pull his head free of the Weaver King’s snares. Sometimes tools were not useful at all unless used in concert with other tools. Nothing he had done so far had changed things for the better. The Weaver King was still upon him. Jhoira and Teferi were still at the mercy of a soulless killer. Giving into the Weaver King’s exhortations would not save him, would probably not save Jhoira, but it would give them all a moment of respite. If he stalled long enough, Karn might even return, and so far the Weaver King had always run from planeswalkers.

  Except for you, dear boy. I run toward you every chance I get.

  Venser felt his strength vanish, his body go limp. There was no gravity to pull him down and no ground to hit. Semiconscious, Venser’s eyes rolled up in their sockets, and he listlessly floated, one arm cast awkwardly out beside him and the other jammed into his thick, leather belt.

  Much better. And I like the recent turn your thoughts have taken. You can end this. I will spare your friends and call Dinne off. But you must surrender to me. Now.

  Venser’s eyes fluttered. More of the Weaver King’s sharp, invisible wire burrowed into his skull, further clouding his thoughts.

  Do it, he thought. Do it now before I change my mind.

  With pleasure. But don’t flatter yourself. You don’t have much mind left to change. A new salvo of needle-sharp pain stabbed into his mind. And soon you won’t have any at all.

  The Weaver King giggled as he closed in for the finish. Venser could almost see him through the fog of pain and drowsiness, a skeletal figure with a wild shock of braided, orange hair. His skull-like features were twisted in a slavering grin of hunger and triumph.

  Venser drew his hand from his belt, his fist clenched. He brought the fist up between him and the Weaver King. The Weaver King certainly saw Venser’s action, but it only increased his mirth.

  Oh my, he chortled. It’s come to fisticuffs, has it? Oh dear, oh dear. Whatever will I do when the mighty Venser punches me in the nose? My stars.

  Venser opened his fist, displaying two round, yellow stones. They were his greatest secret, the most valuable things he had ever owned, and he had kept them to himself for all of his adult life.

  A present? A token of your esteem? The Weaver King now struck a fey and feminine tone. But I didn’t get you anything.

  The artificer’s eyes rolled back down and locked on the phantom. Venser smiled. “That’s all right,” he said. “These are for you.”

  He hacked and spat a wad of bloody phlegm into the Weaver King’s face. The gobbet passed through the phantasmal maniac, but for the first time ever Venser heard uncertainty and fear in the Weaver King’s voice.

  What are those?

  Venser concentrated, clearing his mind and focusing on the stones, on the cold facets touching the skin of his palm. He pushed aside the pain and confusion brought on by the Weaver King’s presence in his mind.

  Then Venser teleported, careful to take only that portion of the stones in direct contact with his skin. He had to be quick. He had to be precise. Venser was both.

  As the titanic energy contained by his powerstones spilled out into the Blind Eternities, Venser disappeared. He felt a surge of heat and force, and he heard the Weaver King scream as enough raw mana to level a city exploded in his face.

  Venser reappeared roughly ten miles from the blast by the physical world’s measurement. In the Blind Eternities he had no way to gauge how far away he was and so had no idea how large the great yellow ball of seething energy was. He watched and waited, mopping his bloody nose until the blast had paled and dissipated into the void. Then he returned to precisely the same spot he had been, blind in one eye and in utter agony from head to toe.

  In his hand he held two flat facets of powerstone, the coinlike remnants of his most treasured possessions. He clutched them tight in his fist, waiting for the insipid giggling to start again or for a new icy needle to stab through his skull.

  There was no sound, no pain, and no Weaver King. Venser let his body go limp, and he floated, unable to anything more than breathe, ache, and worry about his friends.

  * * *

  —

  Dinne was still half-throttling Jhoira and waiting for further instructions when he felt the Weaver King vanish from his mind like smoke in the wind. He blinked, his blank, white eyes flickering in the shadow of his visor. Jhoira coughed, and Teferi groaned.

  Dinne looked at them without recognition. The bleeding man on the floor and the woman in his grasp meant nothing to him. He opened his fingers and dropped Jhoira to the floor. She curled up and wriggled away from him, coughing all the while.

  The Vec raider checked his belt to make sure the spike he had thrown into Teferi was his once more. Then the shadow warrior turned and melted through the wall.

  * * *

  —

  Karn followed the shoreline, gouging a deep, wide furrow in the Phyrexian horde. He quickly realized that the normal course of events would cover up any trace of his actions here today. Barrin’s spell would leave nothing but bedrock and ashes, and history would never know how many Phyrexians had been already dead when that spell took effect.

  Karn could not bring himself to witness Barrin’s final moments firsthand. The master wizard had been good and kind to him, but he had also come here bearing the body of his daughter Hanna, a hero of the Invasion and a much-admired fellow crewmember of the Weatherlight. Karn could not and would not intrude on his old mentor’s grief. Barrin meant to carry Hanna’s plague-stricken corpse to the grave of Rayne, the woman who had been wife to him and mother to Hanna. Barrin meant to die here, wanted to die here. He chose Tolaria as the place to build a grand pyre for his family and throw himself on it.


  From the terrible upheaval that shook the island, Karn reckoned he had to act quickly. He stared up into the sky and spotted the rift, the time-steeped phenomenon that Barrin’s last act would enlarge and expand beyond all control.

  He knew what to do, but now that he was here it seemed perfectly obvious. The rift itself was like an explosion, and one sure way to stifle an explosion was with a larger explosion. The Tolarian rift at this stage was small and shallow compared to the nightmare over the Stronghold. Karn didn’t think it would take all of his power to seal it, perhaps not even most of it. Still, he knew it was not a matter to take lightly.

  Karn teleported directly into the center of the Tolarian rift. The fissure tugged and pulled at him like quicksand, but he asserted himself and shook off its clutches. He would survive this. Diminished, perhaps, but he would survive. He looked deep within, bringing forth the power of the world-stone that he contained as well as a significant measure of his own near-limitless might.

  Like the Phyrexian dog that had latched onto his arm, the rift snapped at him, sank its fangs into his being. He gave the rift similar treatment to the beast-dog: He balled up his transcendent energy into a fist and rammed it down the thing’s throat.

  Though he was prepared for the struggle, Karn was still caught off guard by how difficult it was. The rift did not die easily, choking back each new wave of magic and mana with which Karn hit it. He felt his essential being draining away, his power flowing into the crack in the multiverse, filling it like mason’s mortar. He was nowhere near the end of his reserves, but he knew he was weakening. He hoped he had enough strength to planeswalk back to Venser before Barrin’s spell took the entire island.

  Karn? The artificer may have responded to Karn’s thoughts, or vice versa, but either way Venser’s timing was almost perfect.

  I’m here Venser. I am almost through. It has not been easy, but—No. Urza’s eyes, no!

  Karn? What’s happening?

  The silver golem felt the rush of corruption spreading out across his body and into his deeper self. This could not be happening. This was worse, far worse than any of them could have imagined.

  Venser, he said. I have to go now. I won’t be back. Tell Jhoira I’m sorry.

  Karn? Karn! What went wrong?

  I did, Karn thought. Long ago. An enemy I created has finally destroyed me. Then, to Venser, he sent, Never give up, Venser. Nothing is impossible. You have much to do. I regret that I will not be there to assist you.

  Karn? Wait! Tell me what—

  If you see Jeska, Karn said. Tell her not to follow me. None of you should. Not ever.

  Who’s Jeska? Karn? Karn, please!

  Karn did not reply. Instead, he fled Dominaria as fast as he could, flickering in and out of the Blind Eternities so that no one would ever be able to pick up his trail.

  Seconds later, Barrin set off his spell, and Tolaria died by fire, never to rise again.

  Two days later, Venser teleported back to Urborg under his own power. He had revisited the threatened places he had been with Teferi and Jhoira, to the rift sites at Madara, Otaria, Yavimaya, and Zhalfir. He had been back and forth across the globe, from the edge of the Blind Eternities to Skyshroud and Shiv, and finally back to the empty, silent Stronghold. There was no sign of Karn anywhere.

  Jhoira and Teferi waited for him outside his workshop. Jhoira had kept herself busy with the ambulator, refitting the powerstone couplings to accommodate her mana star. The machine would work again as soon as she adjusted the power flow, perhaps better than ever.

  Teferi wore his arm in a sling, a bloody stain over his shoulder. Dinne’s spike had cut deep and Teferi was taking a long time to heal. Jhoira’s throat was much improved, and after two days she was finally able to swallow without pain and speak above a whisper.

  Jhoira wiped her hands on a rag and came down off the dais. “Anything?”

  Venser shook his head. “There is some good news. The thaw is here as well as in Keld. I think we’ve avoided another Ice Age for now.”

  “Always count your blessings, no matter how small,” Teferi said. He spoke through the searing agony in his arm. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. My vision is almost completely restored and my headache’s been gone for a full day now. I think I’m almost fully recovered.”

  “Good news. Excellent news.”

  Venser cleared his throat. “I was wondering,” he said, “now that we’re all almost fully mended…and since we can go anywhere we need to, between me and the ambulator…where do we go next?”

  “Zhalfir,” Teferi said. “My home. It was always meant to be the second stop on our journey, but as you know…other matters took precedence.”

  Venser nodded. “This is the other continent you phased out?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Teferi said. “But yes. Zhalfir and Shiv were both my doing.”

  Venser noticed the Ghitu was deep in thought, and he said, “Jhoira?”

  “Hm? Sorry. I was just wondering where we’re going to find more planeswalkers to help us from here on. I used to think I knew too many, but it seems we don’t know enough.”

  “There are more,” Teferi said. “Some will help willingly. We just have to find them.” The wizard stepped out between Jhoira and Venser, his orator’s voice rising. “I have something to say. I’m sorry. I’ve been acting more like the kind of planeswalker I’ve always despised—which is ironic because I’m technically no longer a planeswalker. I swear to you both: No more secrets, no more hidden agendas. We need more planeswalkers to seal the rest of the major rifts, but we also need each other. I would be honored if you would continue to accompany me.”

  “Accompany you?” Jhoira said. Her face was mild, but her tone was arch. “Who says we’re going to let you accompany us?”

  Teferi laughed, but Jhoira did not.

  “I accept your apology, and I’m grateful to get it,” Jhoira said. “But too much has happened to sweep this aside with pretty speeches. Venser and I have talked, and we’re still dedicated to our purpose.”

  “As am I.”

  “No doubt. But our purpose has not always been yours, Teferi. If you wish to keep us together as a team, you will have to live up to your promise. Just because we need you doesn’t mean we can’t do it without you.”

  “Of course. And I look forward to restoring myself to your good graces.”

  Jhoira nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Agreed,” Venser said. “So when will we be ready for Zhalfir?”

  Lightning flashed from the clear sky, stabbing down into the ground beside the ambulator. A cloud of smoke and dust billowed up. Venser could see a figure moving inside, and he stepped over beside Teferi and Jhoira, within arm’s reach of them both.

  The woman was short but fierce, with thick, red hair. She was dressed in dusty, leather armor and she wore a short, thick sword. She stepped out of the cloud and took them all in with a firm, defiant stare.

  Venser muttered from the side of his mouth. “Planeswalker?”

  Jhoira kept her eyes on the wild-eyed woman. “Almost certainly.”

  Teferi nodded. “Definitely.”

  The woman put her hand on her sword. “My name is Jeska. I’m looking for Karn,” she said. “And I know this is the last place he came. Where is he?”

  Venser clenched his fists and teeth tight. His life had indeed been much simpler before he met Jhoira and Teferi.

  THE SAGA

  CONTINUES

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