Apocalypse

by J. Robert King

  “Urza?” Gerrard called out. “You can see? Of course you can see, with those damned eyes.”

  “I can hear too.”

  Kicking his leg to try to break the tentacle’s hold, Gerrard said, “Use your eyes to blast this!”

  “Killing moggs and killing Yawgmoth are two different things.”

  Gerrard nodded, “Yeah. I’m figuring that one out. How can he get past the white mana beams?”

  “Wherever there’s a hole, he reaches up. Whenever one tentacle gets severed, he grows a new one.”

  Gerrard bellowed toward the speaking tube. “Sisay! Sisay! Roll the ship!”

  Sisay responded, groggy with a fever dream. “What?”

  “Roll the ship!” Gerrard shouted, shaking his leg.

  “What ship?”

  A shout from across the forecastle told that Tahngarth had just gotten lashed too. Weatherlight slipped downward.

  “Karn! More power!”

  “There is no more power. We can’t hold out!” came the silver golem’s rumbling voice. “Not against the mana cascade and the tentacles.” The ship foundered as three more tentacles took hold of the main deck. “Weatherlight is dead, Gerrard. The cascade has destroyed her. I can barely keep the engines running.”

  It was like waking into a nightmare. Dead. The ship was dead. Gerrard’s throat grew raw. “Damn it, Squee! You’re the only one who can draw a bead! Shoot these things!”

  The goblin’s answer was so vitriolic that Gerrard could make out only a string of profanities followed by the word “butts.”

  Squee’s gun spoke. It shouted. The ship jiggled with the discharge. It shook more strongly as the volley cut through two of the tentacles. Squee shouted more epithets. Another tentacle popped, and another.

  “Sisay, you with us yet?” Gerrard yelled.

  “I had the strangest dream—”

  “Just roll the ship!” Gerrard interrupted.

  Weatherlight spun about her axis. The mana that poured across her wings whirled and sliced through the last of the tentacles. The ship lurched upward.

  Gerrard would have whooped, though he hadn’t the throat for it.

  Karn’s voice came from below, “We’re losing the shift envelope!”

  “Take us out of here, Captain,” Gerrard shouted. “High and fast!”

  “Aye!” she called back.

  Weatherlight corkscrewed up out of the column of white mana, keeping her silvery hull toward the killing stuff. It splashed in radiant waves from her gunwales, as if the ship rode atop a geyser. Only when she had cleared the cascade did Sisay roll her upright. Everyone was glad to feel the deck rise up beneath their feet. Gunnery traces creaked as their occupants stood.

  Gerrard opened his eyes. Here, beyond the storm of mana, blackness ruled. The sun had set. Even the stars seemed reluctant to shine. Yawgmoth filled the world with ink. Only the column of fire shone, and it cast Weatherlight’s shadow, huge and spectral, across the darkness.

  Panting, Gerrard went to his knees beside the speaking tube. “Status reports, everyone, from the top down.”

  Sisay was the first. “We’re played out, Commander. The ship’s sluggish. We’ve got a damaged rudder and a bent airfoil.”

  Tahngarth reported from the starboard gun. “Our cannons are down too.” He gestured toward the barrel tip. The last of the energy drooled out. “Mana overloaded the systems.”

  “It’s worse than that,” Karn added. “Mana overloaded Weatherlight herself. There’s nothing left. The ghost is gone from the machine. I can do my best as engineer, but I’m just moving the parts of a corpse.”

  From sickbay, Orim reported, “I don’t need to tell you what standing the ship on end does to the crew. A little steadier flying for a while would help me get some of these bones set.”

  “We’ve got no choice except to fly steadily,” Karn said.

  Gerrard rubbed his forehead and muttered, “Of course, we have another choice—crash.” Out loud he said, “Planeshift is out too?”

  “Yes.”

  After that one word, the speaking tube went dramatically silent. The only sound that came was the sputter of damaged engines and the restless whuffle of the wind.

  Gerrard couldn’t seem to get a breath. Everything was dark, the sky and the world both. Everything was quiet. He’d awakened from a dream of Hanna to find himself alone in the darkness. Yawgmoth had taken over Dominaria, and Gerrard’s ship could no longer even escape the doomed world. She’d have to land sometime, and then Yawgmoth would have them all.

  Biting his lip, Gerrard looked out at the black heavens. A few stars, tiny and distant, winked into being. Once, Gerrard would have given anything to stand on a tall ship and feel her heave beneath him and watch the stars. He had never wanted to save the world. Now it looked as though he wouldn’t.

  Gerrard’s gaze fell from the stars to those starlike eyes of Urza Planeswalker. “I suppose it’s too late to try your plan.”

  Urza’s head stared back. “It is too late to turn Weatherlight into a bomb, yes. It is too late to save half the world at the expense of the other half. Too late.”

  Gerrard shook his head. “Karn, how long can you keep us up here?”

  “Perhaps an hour. Perhaps less.”

  Gerrard nodded. He took a deep breath. The air was cold and clean this high up. He spread his hands, feeling the sweat steam away. “I guess I am out of tricks.”

  Urza stared levelly at him. “Close the speaking tube.”

  Irritated, Gerrard said, “What? Why?”

  “Close it.”

  The commander snapped the lid closed over the tube. “What?”

  “There is one more chance. I don’t know if it will even work. Whether it does or not, it will cost us everything.”

  All hesitation was gone from Gerrard. He leaned forward and said, “Tell me.”

  * * *

  —

  After Gerrard had ordered the command crew to assemble, Sisay was, of course, the first on the bridge. She stood at the helm of the foundering ship and stared beyond the windscreen. The sky was filled with blazing stars. The pillar of fire stood to port, joining the sky and the ground. All else was black.

  The aft door to the bridge flew open and slammed against the inner wall. A rangy goblin entered. Squee rubbed his hands together to try to return warmth to them. His feet slapped the tiles as he headed to the helm.

  “Why’d Gerrard call a meeting, do you think? Squee hopes it’s for dinner. This ship ain’t got enough bugs.”

  “I don’t know, Squee,” said Sisay levelly. “I hope it’s got more to do with a safe landing.”

  The fore hatch opened. Up through it ascended Orim. Unlike the chilled goblin, she had been sweating in the crowded sickbay. She mopped her forehead with one dangling edge of her turban before tucking the end in place again.

  “So, what’s Gerrard got up his sleeve this time?”

  “You mean up his craw?” asked Tahngarth behind her. “He and Urza were talking. I asked what they were discussing. They told me I could hear with everyone else.”

  “You can hear with everyone else, First Mate Tahngarth,” Sisay interjected with mock disapproval. “If Gerrard is going to keep me in the dark, he’d damned well better keep you in the dark as well.”

  Gerrard arrived next, seeming suddenly old. Over his customary leather vest, he wore a long woolen greatcoat to keep out the stellar chill. One hand rested on his sword hilt, and the other clutched the head of Urza Planeswalker. All in all, Gerrard seemed more a spectral shaman or necromancer than a ship’s commander. Still, he smiled to see his friends.

  “Hello, all of you. Thanks for coming. I told Karn to stay with the engine so we don’t plummet.” He flashed a brief smile that was returned by no one on the bridge. Taking a deep breath, Gerrard said, “Anyway, Urza and I have worked things out. I can’t promise you our plan will work. All I can say is that if it does, you all should be just fine, and Dominaria too. If it doesn’t work, at least we wil
l have died trying.”

  Tahngarth grunted. “What is this plan?”

  Gerrard waved off the question. “It’s a lot of mumbo jumbo, if you want to know the truth. Suffice it to say that we’ll keep the ship circling up here as long as we can, and when we can’t any longer—which I fear will perhaps be before we’re done meeting here—Urza and I have a little surprise for Yawgmoth.”

  Sisay lifted an eyebrow. “If you’re not going to tell us, what’s the point of calling a meeting?”

  Gerrard reached out his free hand and took hers. “I just wanted to tell you what a fine crew you’ve been. The best. It took me a long time to take my place among you, and a longer time to deserve that place. Once this is all over, let’s lift a glass to this damned fine crew.”

  Sisay took her hand off the helm and embraced Gerrard. She knew what this was. “I forgot to pass on a message. One from Multani.”

  Gerrard pulled back from the embrace and looked into her eyes. “Multani?”

  “Yes,” Sisay said. “When he left for his homeland, he asked me to tell you good-bye.”

  Gerrard smiled tightly, and wrapped her in another embrace.

  Orim was next, her coin-coifed hair jingling beside his ear.

  Afterward, Gerrard clasped Tahngarth’s hand. The two traded a grave, respectful look and a nod.

  Last of all was Squee. He crouched by the back door, his hand on the knob in preparation for flight. “Squee know what you up to! Squee not let you do it!”

  Gerrard spread his hand innocently. “What are you talking about?”

  “You throw Squee at Yawgmoth. Squee can’t die. Squee fight and fight and die and die and last of all kill Yawgmoth.”

  Tahngarth rumbled, “The idea has merit.”

  Desperation welled up in Squee’s green eyes. “You not gonna!”

  “Of course we’re ‘not gonna,’ Squee,” said Gerrard dismissively. “That’s not our plan. It’d take a genius to come up with that plan. Do we look like a couple of geniuses?”

  Embarrassed relief came to Squee’s face. “Of course not. Give Squee hug!” He darted across the bridge and grabbed onto Gerrard’s leg in much the attitude of an overeager dog.

  “All right, Squee,” said Gerrard, patting the fellow’s warty head. “That’ll do.”

  “Squee just so happy he don’t fight Yawgmoth.”

  “Yes. That’s fine now. Okay. You can stop.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you—”

  “Squee!”

  “Right,” the goblin said, slinking back. His hobbling gait was made all the more unsteady by the sudden sinking of the ship. It slipped perceptibly downward, slowing in its turn. With a shudder, the engine started up again.

  “That’s my cue,” said Gerrard with a sad smile. “Thanks, all of you. It’s been great.” With that, he turned and descended through the fore hatch.

  Sisay and the others simply stood dumbfounded as Gerrard left, taking the Urza head with him.

  The engine stalled a second time. Weatherlight jiggled, as if gently shaking them from their reverie.

  “You heard the commander,” Sisay said, her voice both quiet and authoritative. “Prepare for an emergency landing. Battle stations, everyone.”

  The others nodded and headed to their respective posts.

  Tahngarth lingered a moment. He and Sisay had been the core of this crew long before Gerrard, yet both had grown to rely on the man.

  Tahngarth rumbled quietly, “What do you think he has planned?” Sisay shook her head. “I don’t know, but it’ll be good.”

  * * *

  —

  Karn knelt beside the massive engine. He felt as though he were kneeling in prayer. He should have been.

  It had been one thing to imbue a machine with his intelligence, his soul. It was quite another to keep a brain-dead body going as long as possible. Karn grieved for Weatherlight. He shuddered to move through her corpse, but unless he did, the ship would fall from the sky.

  Gerrard and Urza at last arrived. They entered the steamy murk of the engine room and approached Karn. Gerrard knelt, setting the head of the planeswalker beside his knee. From Urza’s strange eyes streamed a weird light.

  “Hi, Karn,” Gerrard said in just the way he used to as a boy. “How’s the engine?”

  Karn lowered his gaze, seeing readouts scroll across his eyes. “Failing,” he murmured softly.

  Gerrard gave a tight smile. “Well, do your best. We have an idea—something that might save us all.”

  “I’m game,” the silver golem responded.

  Gerrard lifted Urza’s head. “Tell him.”

  Urza’s eyes twinkled. His mouth opened. Through blood-rimed lips, he spoke. “In my first battle against Yawgmoth, I became a planeswalker. In truth, I had been at war with my brother, Mishra, but when I discovered that he had become a minion of Yawgmoth’s—a Phyrexian—I slew him with a fireball, and slew half the world with the sylex blast.”

  “Every child knows these stories,” Karn said, his jaw gritting as the engine shut down yet again. The ship sagged in its orbit. It pitched to port, cutting a sharper line toward the mana column and Urborg. As he struggled to restart the machine, Karn said, “Forgive my tone. I did not mean to offend.”

  “You have not,” Urza assured. “And though every child knows of the Brothers’ War, few know that the Weak- and Mightstones that drove my brother and I in fact joined in the sylex blast in my head, making me a planeswalker. Fewer still know that these stones were once a single crystal, cleft to open a permanent portal between Phyrexia and Dominaria. And fewest of all know that these stones bear the personality of Glacian of Halcyon, the genius who had opposed Yawgmoth’s rise to power. Glacian is imprinted in the crystals, the two halves of his bifurcated mind instructing me and Mishra in artifice. He knew from the start who Yawgmoth truly was. He shut Yawgmoth away for five thousand years. He empowered me to shut him away for four thousand more. If I sacrifice these two stones, make them part of Weatherlight’s power matrix, it will produce such a blaze of power that Yawgmoth himself will be unmade.”

  “You know this?” asked Karn flatly.

  “I believe this,” replied Urza.

  Karn nodded grimly. “Whether or not Yawgmoth is unmade by it, you will be, Urza Planeswalker.”

  “Yes, that is a certainty. As will you and Gerrard. He must remove the stones from my skull and place them within your chest, to complete, at last, the Legacy.”

  Karn looked up at the man he was sworn to protect. “Why must Gerrard do it? I could pull the stones from your head.”

  Urza blinked placidly. “Because he is not just the heir to the Legacy. He is a part of it, just like you. Engineered of flesh instead of metal, but an undeniable part. He is the spark that will catalyze the whole reaction. When he places the stones within you, the Legacy will be complete, and it will generate a field that will annihilate Yawgmoth…and all of us.”

  Karn turned his eyes on Gerrard. “What choice have we?”

  He smiled. “Only this choice. The choice of heroes.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Death Meets Death

  It was midnight over Urborg, a moonless midnight, thanks to Weatherlight. Even the cascade of white mana had ceased, absorbed in rocks and seas. It had been an easy thing for Yawgmoth to withdraw his presence while white mana encased all of central Urborg in a sarcophagus. Now, he closed over it all, he closed over the world.

  Yawgmoth’s hold on Dominaria was complete. His armies had taken Benalia, New Argive, Hurloon, Koilos, Tolaria, and Urborg. Yawgmoth had taken all the rest. Under his dark presence, it was midnight everywhere across the globe. Now to tighten his grip.

  He descended slowly on them—every elf and minotaur and dwarf, every goblin and dragon and human—to slay them all, to save them all. None but his own children, his Phyrexians, would survive the night. All would be Phyrexians by morning.

  There was but a single dissident—the burned-out goddess who had tried to sl
ay him. Rebbec drifted above Urborg, a wandering planet, a dying star. She had killed herself in trying to kill him. Now she hovered, fearing the inevitable embrace. She could not remain aloft forever, and once he had slain all her world, he would turn his attentions to vaulting up the heavens and ripping her down.

  Ah, but she came to him. With furtive side-slipping motions, Rebbec descended. She came with the coy movements of a faithless lover, seeking forgiveness. Yawgmoth would grant it to her, forgiveness and mercy. In grace, he would kill her, rend away her faithlessness, and raise her anew in him.

  Ah, here she came. He would wait. When she was near enough, his tentacles would snatch her from the sky and crush her against his core.

  * * *

  —

  “We’re losing lots of altitude,” came Sisay’s voice from the speaking tube. Her words wrestled with the sounds of the engine. “I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to stay above the cloud. Whatever you’re going to do, you’d better do it now.”

  Sweat prickled across Gerrard’s forehead. “Yes, Captain. We’re doing it now.”

  He lifted the head of Urza Planeswalker and stared into that ancient face, those strange eyes. The lines of this visage had been etched into the minds of Dominarians for forty centuries. Fabled Urza Planeswalker had always been the world’s mad protector, the strange guardian of Dominaria. Soon, he would be nothing at all.

  “You must hurry,” said Urza solemnly. A jolt from outside and a sudden whine from the engine underscored his words.

  Through the speaking tube crowded Sisay’s words. “It’s a tentacle! Another tentacle! Tahngarth’s chopping at it with your soul-halberd—but hurry. There will be more.”

  Gerrard nodded. Clutching the back of Urza’s head in his left hand, he lifted his right hand for the horrible operation.

  Positioning two fingers on either brow, nails digging in just above the eyelids, Gerrard said heavily, “Good-bye, Urza.”

  “Good-bye, Dominaria,” responded the planeswalker.

  Gritting his teeth, Gerrard rammed his fingers into the man’s eye orbits. The lids folded back under that insistent pressure, and fingertips curled along the interior of the sockets. The smooth facets of the stones gave way to sharp jaggedness behind. Strength-enhanced fingers closed on the crystals. Gerrard pulled. Urza’s lips drew in tight agony over clenched teeth. With one more grisly yank, the stones came forth.