by Jess Lebow
Memnarch scowled. “Yes, the Creator.”
“I apologize, Master, but you were my creator. I know no other.”
Memnarch nodded. “Yes, yes. His mind is too weak to understand us. No. No. Memnarch will educate him.” The Guardian gazed into his pedestal.
“Educate who, Master?”
“Do not be obtuse, Malil. You know full well who we are talking about.”
Malil didn’t but went along anyway. “Yes, Master.”
“That is better. Now, let us start with what you do know.” Memnarch looked at Malil. “What do you know?”
“I know many things, Master.”
“Yes, yes, but what do you know about the elf?”
“I know that she came from the Tangle and she has something you want.” Malil stopped there. He knew other things, but they seemed inconsequential at the moment.
“What does she have that we want?”
Malil shifted in place. “I’m sorry, Master, but I’m afraid I do not understand what it is that she has.”
Memnarch shook his finger. “It is enough that you know what we want, not why. For our sake, and the sake of Memnarch’s boredom, we shall explain.” The guardian ambled over to the long window and looked down on the interior of Mirrodin. “Come, Malil. Look out the window.”
Malil did as he was told.
“Tell Memnarch what you see.”
Malil looked out over the verdigris ground, the chrome spires, and the blue-white mana core. “I see Mirrodin.”
“Yes, yes, but what is Mirrodin?”
Malil focused on the ground then on the sky. He followed the path of a leveler as it made its way toward Panopticon, then he shook his head. “I don’t understand, master.”
Memnarch put his hand on the metal man’s shoulder. “We will tell you what Mirrodin is. Mirrodin is perfection. Mirrodin is the creation of divinity. It is the work of a god.”
Malil didn’t fully understand, but he felt it was in his best interest to keep that information to himself.
“What is our job here on Mirrodin?”
“To do the Master’s will,” replied Malil.
“Precisely.” The Guardian turned away from the window. “Memnarch is the protector of divinity. We are the keeper of all that you see below and all that is above.” Memnarch hung his head. “Despite that great responsibility, the honor we have been given, Memnarch is still not satisfied.”
“Why, Master?”
Memnarch looked own at his arms. “Memnarch is imperfect. Yes, it is true. We do not understand it. It was not always this way. No. No. Something happened. Something that changed Mirrodin made perfection imperfect.” Memnarch shook his head. “Mirrodin was Memnarch’s responsibility. To guard and care for the creator’s plane. Despite our best efforts, a plague has stolen past Memnarch and taken root inside of Mirrodin.”
“The elf girl, master? Is she responsible?”
“No, Malil. The elf girl is not responsible, but she can help us cure the plague.” Memnarch stroked the hard scared skin on his fleshy arms. “She provides the key to making us perfect again.” He looked up at Malil, and his eyes narrowed. “She can make Memnarch just like Malil—all metal and perfect—but so much more.”
Malil was confused. “Why would Master wish to be like Malil?”
Memnarch scuttled across the floor over to his servant. His four spindly limbs lifted him high above the ground, and he had to bend down to see eye to eye with Malil. Memnarch touched the metal man’s face, ran his finger over his metallic arm, then stepped back.
“We will show you.” Memnarch lifted a vial of opalescent liquid from a pouch on his belt. He handed it to the metal man. “Drink this.”
“Drink the serum, Master?”
Memnarch nodded. “Yes.”
Malil lifted the stopper from the vial. Swirling it around, he watched the thick substance adhere to the sides of the vessel, clinging as if it were trying to climb to the top and escape over the edge. Instead it sank back down into the vial, sticking to the edges where it had clung, slowly slipping back down to collect in a pool at the bottom.
“Go on,” urged the Guardian.
Malil thought back on all the times he’d seen his master infuse himself with the serum. He thought of the massive containment tanks Memnarch wore and the pressured containers attached to the infusion device on the opposite end of the lab. What he held before him was an insignificant amount in relation to what Memnarch ingested several times a day—a tiny raindrop in comparison to his master’s Quicksilver Sea.
The metal man placed the vial to his lips then lifted the end into the air. The thick liquid rolled across his tongue and down the back of his throat. The sensation was odd. He was unused to eating or drinking as the organic creatures did. He had no need. What was more, he had no idea where the liquid would go or what it would do.
It hit him. A sudden rush of power flooded through his body, and he felt stronger. He looked at Memnarch. His master was gazing at him with great interest, intently watching for something. Then the light in the room seemed to grow brighter. It was as if someone were turning up the lights, over and over again. The light did not diminish, but it never became unbearably bright. Still, Malil could have sworn that the room was constantly getting brighter.
The edges of the tables and beakers became sharper, more clear. The experiments lining the desks and table made more sense to him, their purpose more evident and desired results more useful. The whole world made more sense to the metal man, and he smiled. So this was why his master ingested blinkmoth serum.
In the next second, the world expanded. Nothing inside was as Malil remembered. It was as if he’d left Mirrodin altogether. Where once there was a scrying pool, now there was a towering geyser. Where Memnarch’s infusion device had been now stood a grotesque, metallic juggernaut with long curved tusks and gaping, wide eyes. The creature watched Malil, curious but unconcerned about the metal man’s well-being. Where the windows of the observatory looked out over the interior of the plane were now only swirling colors and lights. It had all become one connected, living breathing creature that refused to take shape or be defined by those who viewed it.
The spike of power and enhanced mental capacity had pushed Malil into a new arena, one that he had never before seen. It was a place so out of control and ominously large that Malil feared for his own life. He hadn’t chosen to come here. In this place everything made sense. It was all connected, everything working in concert to become so much more than the sum of each of its parts. In that moment, Malil realized how terrifyingly little he actually knew.
He had traveled all over Mirrodin, but he hadn’t even scratched the surface.
Dropping to his knees, the metal man curled up, holding his legs to his chest.
“Please,” he said. “Help me understand.”
The gargantuan Memnarch crossed the room, no longer walking but stretching his body so that he encompassed the space between where he had been and where he was now.
“Now that you have tasted Memnarch’s burden,” said the Guardian, placing his hand upon Malil’s shoulder, “you can never go back. We are sad for you. With true understanding comes the lose of innocence. Funny thing perfection. Only the imperfect can see it for what it truly is, and those who possess it are too blind to appreciate it.”
Malil reached out to Memnarch. “Master, please help me.”
Memnarch chuckled. “You will understand, Malil. Trust us. You will be fine.”
* * * * *
Pontifex rose through the Pool of Knowledge aided by a simple magic enchantment that propelled him effortlessly toward the surface. He did not have to hold his breath. Vedalken had developed gills that could not only remove oxygen and nitrogen from not only water but nearly any liquid—even liquids as thick as blinkmoth serum.
His head breached the surface as he reached the inner sanctum inside Lumengrid.
“What in the name of the Creator happened here?”
Lieutenant Marek stepped to the
edge of the pool and extended his hand. “The human warriors from Medev, Lord Pontifex.”
Pontifex reached up and took hold of Marek’s hand, lifting himself from the pool in a practiced motion. “The humans happened?”
“No,” replied the lieutenant. “A fight happened. The humans caused it.”
Pontifex looked straight into Marek’s helmet. “What happened to you?”
Marek put his hand to his face shield, partially covering a crack in the glass. “It’s … It’s nothing.”
“I didn’t ask you what it was, I asked you what happened. I’m not playing word games here, Marek, I’m trying to ascertain what went on in my absence.”
“Of course, my lord.” Marek stood to his full height, straightening his back. “We encountered the elf and her companions in the lacuna, but they managed to pass us.” He pointed to the crack in his helmet. “This is a result of that encounter.”
The halberd in Pontifex’s hand glowed a deep blue, and the vedalken lord blew out a breath, forming bubbles inside his face mask. After a moment, he began pacing, tapping the end of his weapon on the floor as he walked.
“You can give me the details later, but tell me this: How long ago did they get away, and have you sent someone after them already?”
“When I arrived, they were already gone. That was nearly an hour ago.” Marek lifted his chin. “I formed a sky glider team, and they will be leaving in pursuit shortly.”
Pontifex tapped his fingers on the glass of his face mask. “Call back the gliders.”
“My lord?”
“Call them back,” snapped Pontifex. “We will go after her in due time.”
Marek nodded. “As you command.”
Pontifex smiled. “Good, Marek.” He placed a finger on the crack in the lieutenant’s mask. “I’m glad you’re all right. Give the orders then go get this fixed up and meet me in my chambers. I have something I would care to discuss with you.”
* * * * *
Pontifex paced in his chambers. The damn elf had gotten away from him, but it was no matter. He would get her. He would find her, and he would deliver her to Memnarch. For now, there were other matters to take care of, matters a little closer to home.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter.”
The door to Pontifex’s private chamber slid open, and Marek entered. The commander of the vedalken elite guardsmen had removed his helmet and was now dressed in simple, functional robes. A sterile-looking bandage covered his forehead—an almost imperceptible dot of blue blood staining its surface—but otherwise the warrior appeared unfazed by his earlier ordeal.
Marek went down to one knee, bowing his head.
“Lord Pontifex.”
The vedalken leader admired the supine warrior’s neck.
“Rise, Marek. Do you have word of the Synod? Have they managed to enact a ‘Special Assembly’?”
“I do not mean to be presumptuous, Lord Pontifex, but wouldn’t you rather hear about the elf girl?”
Pontifex smiled. “All in good time, Marek, all in good time. Right now, I’m more concerned with the other council members. They will not be pleased that a human, the elf, and her companions marched into our fortress—into our holiest shrine, and entered the Pool of Knowledge.” Pontifex crossed the room, his woven metallic robes grinding against the polished floor. “They will try to hold me responsible.”
“My lord, you are the head of the Synod. Surely you can convince them that you—that we did our best to capture the elf and—”
Pontifex cut him off with a wave of his hand. “What you say makes sense, Marek, but I’m afraid there is much you have to learn about the politics of rulership.” He touched the warrior on the arm. “Despite our best efforts, there are those who will point to this event as evidence that I am not fit to rule the Synod. They will try to use it to their advantage. This ‘Special Assembly’ the other councilors are calling is nothing more than a grab for power. Anything they perceive as a weapon, including the escape of the elf girl, will be used.” He looked into Marek’s eyes, nodding his head. “Power has just shifted hands. At no time after this will my grip on the Synod be less secure. The other councilors are smart enough to recognize this, and they will not hesitate to make a move with whatever means are at their disposal. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.” Marek bowed his head.
Pontifex ran his hand over Marek’s scalp, tracing the edge of his fresh bandage with his index finger.
“Good, Marek.”
Glissa stood alone outside a large building on the edge of a rushing river. The sky was black. None of Mirrodin’s four moons shone overhead, a rarity. Glissa had seen times when more than one of the moons seemed to occupy the same place in the sky. One would cover the other, bathing the Tangle in an inescapable blinding light. Strange things occurred at these times, and it was always one of these convergences that marked the time before a festival or ritual.
Now times of darkness were fewer and far between. If one side of the plane was in darkness, it meant all the moons were on the other side—at the same time. Glissa knew what it meant when two of the moons were in alignment. It was time for the rebuking ceremony, time for all elves to give up their memories. It had been this ceremony that had caused her the most trouble while she had been in the Tangle. Giving up on all the things she’d experienced in this lifetime seemed like such a waste. It had been her decision to forego the Rebuking that had touched off the strange series of events that led her to her present situation.
This darkness was deeper than others she’d seen. This was no simple Convergence. Numerous Rebuking ceremonies had come and gone since she was a child. This time, however, all the moons were lining up—something that had never happened in her lifetime. If the runes on the Tree of Tales could be trusted, it was something that had only happened four times in the history of the world.
That was why she’d come to see Bruenna.
Glissa knocked on the door of the wizard’s tin home, but there was no answer. Pushing aside the chromelike curtain, the elf slipped inside the square building. The entryway was dark, but she could see a faint blue glow coming from a room deeper in the house. Following the light, she made her way to the place where she had first seen Bruenna looking over a series of maps spread out over a large table.
The room was still quite dark, lit by a magically glowing stone that hovered in the air. It cast a perfect circle of light on the floor, throwing the rest of the room into long, deep shadows. Below the glowing stone, Bruenna sat cross-legged, her hands pressed together as if in prayer, and her eyes closed.
Glissa stepped quietly inside the room.
“Hello, Glissa,” said Bruenna, not opening her eyes. “Please, come join me.”
Glissa crossed to the female wizard, circling around the long table still covered in rolled maps. She sat down facing Bruenna.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Bruenna smiled but still didn’t open her eyes. “You’re not disturbing me. I’m doing a meditative exercise my people call mulla bunda. It’s a practice to still the mind and heal the body.”
Glissa was a little uncomfortable. She’d never seen anybody sit that still. It seemed like a luxury—and boring.
“I’ll try to be quiet,” she said.
Bruenna’s smile widened. “There is no need. Part of the exercise is to focus while confronted with distraction. Please, talk to me. Tell me what you need.”
Glissa shrugged. “Okay.” She paused. “Bruenna, the moons are aligning.”
“Yes, I noticed. It’s very dark, darker than I’ve seen in my lifetime. This Convergence is different.”
“In the Tangle, when the moons align, it marks the coming of a new phase, a time of cleansing and renewal.”
“I’ve heard of the elf rituals.”
“Well, I’ve never been much of a believer in these things,” admitted the elf, “but until I’d seen it with my own eyes, I didn’t believe that Mirrodin was
hollow.”
“And now you’re beginning to question yourself.”
Glissa took a deep breath. “Well, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would,” Bruenna opened her eyes, her smile gone. “I am.”
Glissa felt a sudden rush of relief. “I’m frightened, Bruenna.”
“As am I.” Bruenna lowered her hands to her lap and nodded. “But that fear is comforting.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I would be more concerned—about myself as a human—if I felt nothing during a troubling time. It is natural for elves as well to fear things they don’t understand. The question we must ask ourselves is not whether or not that fear is something we should be feeling but how are we going to react to it?”
“You mean, we should be trying to figure out how to stop the moons from aligning?”
Bruenna smiled. “No. There is nothing we can do about the forces of nature.”
Glissa wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“We have surprisingly little control over our destinies, yet we still manage to accomplish many things in a lifetime. Changing the course of the moons isn’t within our power to control, but how we react to such an event—personally, emotionally, spiritually—we do have some ability to steer. The question we must ask ourselves now is not what we must do, but are we afraid of our own shadows?” Bruenna leaned forward. “Are you going to let the convergence of the moons stop you in your task? Or will you face your challenges—fearful but unstoppable?”
Glissa did not hesitate. “I must go find the trolls again. They’re the ones who started me down this path. They’ll be able to answer my questions, maybe even tell me more about my role in all of this.”
Bruenna nodded. “I have heard that the trolls are very old. They may know a great many things.”
“Will you come with me? I could use the help.”
The wizard shook her head. “I cannot. My leg needs more healing, and my people need my guidance. There will be much to deal with when the vedalken come.”
It was Glissa’s turn to nod.
“I will promise you this, though—when the time comes, we will fight with you. We will help you free this world and fulfill your destiny.”