The Darksteel Eye

by Jess Lebow

  On the outside, the Eye looked like two three-sided pyramids fused together to form a dark, towering, elongated diamond. One side lay open, providing Memnarch access. But once inside, the door closed, and each of the six surfaces lit up with a magical spell, allowing Memnarch to see into even the remote corners of Mirrodin—all at once.

  In the center of the Eye, a console rose from the floor which allowed Memnarch to adjust what he saw. Each of the mirrors was tuned to the eyes of a particular creature on the surface, or sometimes in the interior, of Mirrodin. By attuning his mind to the Eye, Memnarch could see different parts of the plane, viewing things through different servants’ eyes. Though he had six mirrors, he had many more eyes with which to see.

  One of those mirrors was connected permanently to Malil. What the metal man experienced, so too did his creator. Memnarch looked into that mirror now.

  “He has become more cunning,” said the Guardian. “More violent too. Memnarch thinks he must be fighting the serum. A natural reaction. You remember when we first tried the serum. Yes, yes you do. Memnarch never fought the new power. Memnarch surrendered.” The Guardian scanned his attention across the other mirrors. “He will learn to embrace the gift, or it will destroy him. We shall see.”

  Four of the remaining five mirrors showed him images of the razor grass planes, the swamps of Mephidross, the mountains in the Oxidda Chain, and the Tangle. The pictures darted and moved, projected back to Panopticon through the eyes of the myr, humanoid creatures with birdlike heads and well-articulated limbs. Some of them were made of precious metals—gold, silver, and platinum. Others were made from iron, lead, or even nickel, but all of them were developed by Memnarch solely for the purpose of providing him with the tools to observe his grand experiment. They were programmed to watch, and they did their jobs well.

  The last mirror showed the placid Quicksilver Sea rolling gently around the mushroom-shaped fortress of the vedalken—Lumengrid. Memnarch passed over this image. In time, the fortress would play an important role in his plan. For now, though, his attention was focused on the Tangle.

  * * * * *

  “What!” Glissa ran in a circle around the fallen tree, trying to look for any indication of fresh digging. “How could he be buried under that stump?”

  Al-Hayat explained. “He wasn’t abducted by a leveler, as you thought. He was carried off by a beetle who plans to use his soft flesh to feed its offspring.”

  Glissa’s heart leaped. That’s why she’d lost sight of him. He was underground, but how long could he survive down there?

  Sure enough, as she came around the back side of the brambles, she saw a large pile of freshly disturbed ground. Metal shavings and big chunks of heavy minerals had been discretely piled up behind the stump.

  The elf dropped to her knees, but razor sharp vines hung over the pile, making it impossible for her to reach it without cutting herself to ribbons. Standing back up, she lifted her sword and hacked down on the vines.

  Sharpened brambles parted before her blade, but when she pulled back for another swing, they popped back into shape. Her blade could hold them down or cut off little shreds, but it would never be able to clear them all away. Her weapon was useless.

  A heavy pounding shook the ground. From around a tall tree stepped the iron golem, Bosh.

  A glimmer of hope entered the elf. “Help, Bosh, quick,” shouted Glissa. “Slobad’s trapped under this stump.”

  Without a word the golem took hold of the entire pile of debris, lifting free not only the fallen tree but the brambles as well.

  Glissa dropped once again to the ground and began digging away the piled-up earth. The metal shavings cut the fleshy parts of her hands, but she frantically pawed at the ground. Though she pushed and pulled with every ounce of strength she had, the pile remained nearly the same size. She wasn’t even making a dent.

  “Bosh, help,” she shouted. “He’s going to die if he doesn’t get some air.”

  A large furry paw came from nowhere, knocking Glissa to one side.

  “What the—” The elf looked up at Al-Hayat.

  “Leave this to me,” he said, and the wolf began to dig.

  Glissa got to her feet and dusted herself off. The wolf dug swiftly into the mound of loose earth, tossing it away many times faster than the elf ever could have hoped to. Al-Hayat stuck his great snout into the hole and pulled it back out—Slobad’s limp body dangling between his front teeth. The goblin was covered in scrapes and bruises.

  Once again, Glissa’s heart dropped. “Is he—?”

  The wolf lowered the goblin to the ground, and Glissa rushed to his side. Placing her hand along his neck, she felt for a pulse.

  “He is still breathing,” said the wolf.

  Glissa nodded. “He’s alive, but just barely.” She turned to Al-Hayat. “Can you help him?”

  “Me? What makes you think a wolf can cure a dying goblin?”

  Glissa turned her attention to Slobad’s unconscious body. “Until only a minute ago, I thought wolves were just stories.” She shrugged. “If you’re a make-believe creature, who says you can’t heal a goblin?” She shook her head. “Now I really do sound like a crazy elf.”

  The wolf gave a throaty chuckle.

  “You’re right.”

  Stepping over both the kneeling elf and the prone goblin, Al-Hayat pushed his muzzle into Slobad’s belly. The great beast growled, a deep, resonant sound that shook the ground and the goblin.

  Tiny motes of light coalesced around the wolf’s face, growing in size and number as they circled. The twisting mass of magical energy formed a brightly lit ring that circled Al-Hayat’s head. The wolf went silent, and the ring dropped from the air as if it were suddenly pulled to earth by gravity. The light seeped into the goblin’s skin, and the forest creature stepped away from his patient.

  “I have done all I can do,” he said.

  Slobad’s body jerked, followed by a tremendous hacking cough. Metal shavings and small chunks of mineral sprayed from the goblin’s mouth, and he sat up.

  “Where Slobad, huh?”

  Glissa gathered him up in a huge embrace. “You’re in the Tangle, running from a band of levelers who just attacked the Tree of Tales.”

  Slobad nodded. “Whew,” he said, “Good. Goblin dozed off, huh? Dreamed Slobad eaten by giant bug.”

  Glissa held Bosh’s hand in both of her own. It was so big, she could hardly get all five of her fingers around one of his. Carefully, the elf pulled shards of razor vine from the fleshy parts of the golem’s palm.

  “It hurts,” said the golem.

  “I’m sorry,” replied Glissa. “If I had realized that the fleshy parts had spread so far, I wouldn’t have been so quick to ask you to move that stump.”

  “If you hadn’t, Slobad would have died.”

  Glissa smiled. “You’re right. You did a brave thing, Bosh, especially knowing that you’d get hurt.” She pulled another large chunk of razor vine from his palm. The wound was deep, and Bosh’s hand filled with blood.

  “What is that?”

  “Blood,” said Glissa.

  “What does it do?”

  “It keeps people alive.”

  Bosh looked at it intently, tipping his hand from side to side and letting it swish around. “Does it keep me alive?”

  Glissa thought about it. She didn’t know. In elves, blood coursed through their veins, feeding their body and keeping their insides clean. In a metal golem, there were no veins, no need to feed anything.

  Finally she said, “I’m not sure Bosh, but until we find out, it’s best that you keep as much of that—” she pointed to the pool of blood in his hand—“inside of you as possible.” She pulled the last bit of metal from his flesh. “Let’s wrap it in a vine for now, see if we can’t get it to stop.”

  Glissa went to a nearby tree and pulled down several ropelike vines with wide leaves attached to them. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of Al-Hayat and Slobad. The wolf had curled up on the groun
d, and the goblin had climbed onto the forest creature’s fur. Both seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

  After tying a quick bandage around Bosh’s hand with the vine, Glissa walked over to the napping pair.

  She watched them. This wolf, a creature she had thought all of her life to be something of fantasy, had appeared and saved the day. Had that taken place only a few months before, she might have been surprised. Now nothing seemed impossible.

  Al-Hayat’s ears twitched, and the great four-legged beast lifted its head.

  “You’re awake,” said Glissa.

  “I never really sleep,” replied the wolf. “It’s not a luxury I can afford.”

  The elf knelt down in front of Al-Hayat’s muzzle. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You just did.”

  The elf smiled. “No, I mean, I grew up in the Tangle, hunting and ranging all around in the forest. How come I never ran into one of your kind?”

  “We have become very good at hiding,” he said, with a sigh. “As well, I am one of only a very few.”

  “Why aren’t there more?”

  “There were,” replied the wolf. “The pack has dwindled with every moon cycle since I was but a pup. Many have been killed by hunters or levelers. Now the remaining few are scattered around the forest, for our own protection. It’s harder to kill us all if we don’t stay bunched up.” The wolf looked down at the sleeping goblin then back at Glissa. “Unlike most other beasts in the forest, wolves stay with their mates for life, so there are fewer and fewer young ones each year.”

  “Where’s your mate?”

  The wolf let out a low growl. “She was taken from me last moon cycle.” The words were obviously painful for Al-Hayat.

  “I’m sorry,” replied Glissa. Her curiosity was piqued, but she didn’t want to push the subject any further. “May I ask you another question?”

  “Ask as many as you like.”

  “Why, if you distrust others so much, did you show yourself to me?”

  “What makes you think I distrust others?”

  “You hide from the elves so well they think you’re nothing more than a legend. If I were only one of a few, I wouldn’t trust anyone either. Better to keep my distance and stay alive.”

  “A wise choice.”

  “Then why did you help us?”

  “Because the fate of the wolves doesn’t have to be the fate of all.”

  Glissa was confused. “You sound as if you’ve given up on your own kind.”

  “Not given up,” replied the wolf. “I merely accept a likely eventuality. I understand that one day there may be no more wolves on Mirrodin.”

  Glissa tried to put herself in the wolf’s place, She shuddered at the thought of all the elves being extinct. What if she were the only one left?

  “That’s a horrible thing to live with.”

  Al-Hayat smiled. “No one said it was easy being a wolf. But you’re right, and that is why I came to you. I tire of hiding, of waiting for the inevitable end. Better to do something, even if I fail, than simply sit still. That’s no way to live—alive but without hope or options.” The great beast let his head fall back to the ground, blowing out air through his nostrils and sending up a plume of dust. “I no longer wish to be afraid.”

  “So I just happened through your part of the Tangle in the moment when you decided to end your hiding?” Glissa scratched her head. “Maybe my luck is changing.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said the wolf.

  A chill ran down Glissa’s spine, and she drew her sword, spinning around to scan the area.

  Al-Hayat laughed so hard he tossed Slobad into the air. The sleeping goblin awoke mid-flight, landing in the soft fur only to be tossed back up again.

  “Hey,” screamed the groggy goblin, “stop that.”

  Glissa scowled. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” replied the wolf, “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

  Glissa looked around cautiously, glancing up at Bosh.

  The iron golem shook his head. “I see nothing.”

  Certain that there were no levelers or unfriendly beasts around, the elf turned back to the wolf. “So what then?”

  “I merely meant that you shouldn’t take my appearance as luck,” said Al-Hayat, still chuckling. “I have been stalking you since you arrived in the Tangle.”

  Glissa sat down hard on the ground. “Why is it that everyone knows where I am and what I’m doing?” The elf picked up a pile of metal shavings and tossed them at a tree. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. I wish someone would tell me where he gets his information. At least then I’d know if I’m on the right track.”

  Slobad climbed off of Al-Hayat and sat down beside her. “Slobad think you on right track, huh?” he said.

  Glissa looked own at the bruised goblin. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Al-Hayat stood up and lowered his face to Glissa’s. “I too think you are on the right path. That is why I am here. That’s why I joined you.”

  Glissa shook her head. “How did I get here? One day everything was fine. I had parents, lived in a village with other elves, had friends.” She threw another pile of metal shavings. “Now I’m on the run, following some destiny that I’m not even fully aware of, looking for the creature responsible for my family’s death, talking to a creature who those same parents had told me was nothing more than the creation of an overactive imagination.”

  “And you have friends,” boomed Bosh.

  “Yes,” added the goblin.

  Glissa looked up at the wolf. “You too?”

  Al-Hayat smiled. “I’d be honored to be your friend.”

  * * * * *

  Malil sat atop his leveler. The wind whipped around his head. Arrayed before him, traversing the plains of Mirrodin, was the remainder of his leveler squad.

  They were headed to Mephidross.

  What a dark, dank place that was. Malil didn’t know when he started feeling this way about the swamp. He didn’t remember having any opinion of the place at all when he’d been introduced to it.

  Things had changed.

  Not in Mephidross but inside Malil. Things were different now. He couldn’t say for certain exactly how, but they were. It wasn’t so much that there were specific obstacles he faced, things that made his life more difficult. No, it seemed to him that everything looked the same, felt the same, but now the edges were blurred.

  Before, he had known exactly where his loyalties lay. He had been created by Memnarch. He owed his life and his allegiance to his creator, and simply serving the Guardian had been enough. Now, though, Malil felt … well, he wasn’t sure exactly how he felt, but he knew it was different.

  Things seemed clearer than before. He understood how the world and the systems within it functioned as a unity. But with this new knowledge came more confusion. He didn’t understand his own place within Mirrodin. Would he forever remain the servant to Memnarch? Was that the entire purpose of his life? Or was there … something more.

  For all his new-found clarity, Malil felt more confused. Maybe with more serum, he’d be able to figure all this out. The dose he’d taken had only scratched the surface—cleared away enough of the debris to capture his interest. But now the glimpse of the bigger picture he’d been given was driving him mad. He needed more.

  That was the problem.

  The only place he could get more was Panopticon. But if he went back to the interior, he’d have to report to Memnarch. To do that he needed to have the elf girl.

  How could he be expected to concentrate on finding the elf girl if he didn’t get more serum?

  Malil repeated this mantra to himself as he and his levelers approached Mephidross.

  * * * * *

  The open plains stretched out before Bosh, Slobad, Glissa, and Al-Hayat. To the iron golem, the rolling hills, pieced together from huge sheets of colored metals, had always seemed a hospitable and welcoming place. Everything fit together in an overly orga
nized fashion.

  Bosh liked that.

  Lines made sense to him. It was the curves and the unpredictable creativity of flesh creatures that he didn’t understand. Better that things fit inside a box, made sense, followed strictly designed rules.

  Now it no longer worked that way. Once the creator had left—was compelled to leave really—everything went to the nine hells. Now Bosh too was turning to flesh.

  Bosh looked out to the East as the group walked. The wind whipping through the tall razor grass made high-pitched whistles that rode off into the distance. In some places, the iron golem recalled, you could hear that sound from miles away. Up close though, when the blades of grass touched each other, you could hear a subtle, tinkling chime. Combined with the whistling, the two sounds together created a noise unlike anything else on Mirrodin—an unintentional music.

  The group of friends traveled in the valleys of the sloping hills. This time of year the moons were nearly aligned, so if they weren’t in the sky, they were on the other side of the world, leaving parts of Mirrodin black and cold. The alternative wasn’t much better. When all the moons were overhead, color began to wash out. The metal plates of the plains reflected back black, white, blue, and red, making everything look brown and ugly.

  During a convergence, it was hot as well. All those moons—or suns, as the leonine persisted in calling them—pouring light down onto the open ground made a metal golem uncomfortable, especially those parts of him that had become flesh. Now was one of those times. The exposed fleshy bits on Bosh’s arms and torso were turning a bright red, and they tingled.

  “Is flesh always so bothersome?” he asked, scratching a patch of skin.

  “You get used to it, huh?” replied the goblin, who was riding on his shoulder.

  “Does it get easier?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Glissa, riding on the back of Al-Hayat, pushed a finger into the reddened flesh near Bosh’s collar. “We should cover you up. You’re getting moonburn.”

  “Moonburn? What is that?”