by Jess Lebow
Nothing happened.
Glissa felt the same release she had each time before when the spell had worked. For some reason the creatures she had focused on were unaffected.
It hit her. “They’re no longer metal.”
Each time before, when she had used this mysterious power, she had only been able to destroy levelers or weapons—never flesh. Standing there, empty handed, watching the thresher with Bruenna inside dart away, Glissa felt numb. Her head buzzed, and her limbs felt heavy. She hadn’t realized before how draining that experience had been.
A thresher hit her from behind, knocking the elf face first on the ground. She had time to turn over and see the creature open wide, before she too was swallowed whole.
Memnarch opened the door to the Eye and waved Malil over. “Come. Memnarch wishes to see the elf girl.”
Malil crossed the laboratory and climbed into the Eye with Memnarch. The guardian touched the appropriate controls, and all of the screens lit up. Each of them showed a different scene, each giving a different view of Mirrodin. The plains, swamp, mountains, oceans, and forest of the metal planet were all represented.
Memnarch turned another knob, and five of the six screens changed to a picture of the interior. They were all the same, but each from a different angle. In the center of all five screens, a lone thresher rolled across the open ground.
On the sixth screen was a view of the inside of the Eye—the view from Malil’s point of view. The metal man looked into that screen, and it reproduced what he saw a billion times—like two mirrors facing each other. Malil looked at what Memnarch saw when Memnarch looked through his eyes, and that image layered itself upon itself into infinity, making an endless hallway, surrounded by the interior of the Eye.
An unexpected discovery, thought the Guardian, something he’d have to explore later, when the elf girl was firmly within his grasp.
Malil turned his attention to one of the other five screens, and the view through his eyes too showed the lone device on the interior of Mirrodin.
“Why are we looking at a thresher, master?”
“Because, Malil, the elf girl is inside.”
Memnarch squinted, spotting something heading toward his prize. One of the screens shifted its view, narrowing in on another lone creature, speeding toward the thresher atop a hoverer.
“What is he doing here?”
* * * * *
The inside of the thresher’s body was very dark. It reminded Glissa of the time Bosh had placed her in his chest cavity. Only this time, the world wasn’t spinning. Considering the circumstances, it was a comfortable ride. The chamber was spacious enough for her to sit cross-legged and not have to duck her head, and the sides of the creature were soft.
After having hit the thresher with her fists—and even kicking until she became winded—Glissa concluded that it didn’t feel any pain, at least not from the inside. So she sat waiting.
What a predicament. Swallowed whole by a thresher after having lost her sword. It was a wonder she’d made it this far at all. She laughed at that thought. Slobad had been so worried about what she would use for a weapon once they’d put the Kaldra Champion together. Evidently, it didn’t matter.
She thought about what awaited her at the end of this ride. Was Bruenna being taken to the same place? Would she finally meet Memnarch? This wasn’t exactly the way she had envisioned it.
Glissa felt the thresher slow down. Her heart raced, and she prepared to draw mana. The creature came to an abrupt stop. It jerked backward, then the sharp tip of a short blade cut through the creature’s exterior, nearly punching straight into Glissa’s forehead.
The blade slid sideways, and the thresher shook. Blood poured into the hollow cavity, and light seeped in through the wound. Glissa could only make out the hand and forearm attached to the blade—blue skin.
Another blade struck the beast and punched through. Glissa pushed herself back in the chamber, staying as far from the weapons as possible, then she drew as much mana as she could.
The arcane energies flowed to her, and she cast a spell, growing to nearly twice her size in the blink of an eye. Her body quickly filled the confined space, and her arms were pinned to her sides by the thresher’s flesh. She had known this would happen and avoided just this situation earlier in the ride. Kicking with all of her might, her engorged legs connected with the front of the thresher—right beneath where the blade had cut into its hide.
Flesh tore, and light flooded in. Glissa was free.
Getting to her feet, the giant elf pulled the remaining bits of the thresher’s corpse from her head and looked down on a vedalken.
“Pontifex.”
The four-armed lord glared back at her. “You have taken from me my god. You have taken from me my kingdom.” He lifted a bloody sword in each hand. “Now I am going to take your life.”
The vedalken lunged at the elf, cutting two long gashes in her thigh before she could react. The wounds would have been much worse had Glissa not been so big, but they were still painful, and the elf gave ground.
Lifting off into the air on his hoverer, the vedalken brandished a pair of matched short swords. Pontifex shot forward, swooping around the giant elf, charging right at her head.
Glissa ducked, shuffling forward and putting her hand to the ground to keep from falling. The hoverer just missed her, tussling her hair as it shot past. Catching her balance, Glissa stood up and turned, keeping the vedalken where she could see him.
Pontifex stopped dead and with a thought twisted the hoverer in mid-air. Its nose pointed at Glissa, he rode at her again. This time Glissa sidestepped to her right, swatting at the vedalken as if he were a buzzing fly. Pontifex anticipated her move and swung the hoverer to his left, bringing the sharp edge of his blade across her shoulder.
The elf hissed at the wound and jerked away from the attack, bringing her other hand up in defense. Pontifex’s mind urged his vehicle away, but he was too close. The elf’s hand swung by him, swirling the air around his hoverer.
Pontifex bounced through the windstream, then the hoverer flipped over and spun, tossing the rider from his mount. The vedalken dropped to the ground.
Glissa lifted her foot in the air, prepared to step on her foe. “I’m going to squash you like a bug.” She lowered her foot, casting a great shadow.
Pontifex got to his knees. One of his left arms had been wounded in the fall, and he held it tight against his body. “I have nothing left to live for,” he said. He shouted a one-syllable spell, extending his two good arms out at the big elf.
A whirlwind of swirling blue energies enwrapped Glissa, whipping her hair about her head and draining from her the magics that had enlarged her to giant size. The elf shrank. The world around her grew larger, and the powers that had made her bigger and stronger were sucked away.
When she reached normal size, the whipping wind released her. The swirling storm glided over the ground, pushing the mossy covering this way and that, headed straight for the wounded vedalken.
Once again the storm enclosed its victim. Pontifex disappeared from view, surrounded entirely in the swirling energy. Then, just as quickly as it had started, the wind died, and the storm stopped, dropping away to reveal the vedalken beneath. Pontifex was fully healed, and he began to grow. His arms stretched and his legs lifted him high in the air. His head, already big for a vedalken, became larger than a troll’s.
The blue-skinned vedalken grew to titanic proportions, towering over the elf.
Glissa put her foot down. “Can we talk about this?”
Pontifex took a giant step forward, and Glissa had to jump to one side to avoid being squashed.
The elf darted away. Spotting a cluster of four or five small mycosynth monoliths, she made for the cover they provided. When she reached the growths, she fell in behind them, putting her back up against a monolith, trying to catch her breath. At least they were sharp, so Pontifex would have to think twice about trying to step on her.
�
��You cannot hide forever,” shouted the giant vedalken.
“Don’t count on it,” said Glissa under her breath.
Pontifex began pacing around the cluster. “Come out and face me.”
Glissa slid behind a different monolith, staying hidden and quiet.
The vedalken got down on his hands and knees, and peered into the middle of the mycosynth. Pontifex’s huge eye glared down on Glissa. Though she tried to scoot down, hiding between two of the metal formations, she couldn’t escape his gaze.
Reaching in with his enlarged finger, Pontifex poked around inside the cluster. He sneered, keeping his eye on her as he dug around for his prize, but the formation was too tightly packed, and he was too big. The sharp edges of the mycosynth cut his skin, and frustrated his attempts to get Glissa.
Finally Pontifex stood up. “Fine. We shall do this the hard way.” Waving his arms in the air, a wisp of blue mana flared from each of his four hands. The vedalken disappeared from sight.
Glissa stood up. She peered around the edge of the monolith. No Pontifex. Craning her neck, she looked the other way. No Pontifex.
Grabbing a handful of the mossy ground cover, she tapped into the flowing mana here in the interior and forced some into her hands. The sticky substance bent to her will, elongating and weaving itself into a long thin fiber. Folding over one end to make a thicker handle, Glissa gave her makeshift whip a quick flick. The end shot out and snapped with a loud pop. She nodded. It would do. She took a deep breath and burst into the open, guessing at where Pontifex must be.
Coming out from behind the cluster of monoliths, the elf lifted her whip for a quick, surprise strike—only there was no Pontifex. Spinning around, she scanned the area—still no Pontifex.
“Looking for me?” came a voice.
Glissa’s head darted. She looked up, down, side to side, but she couldn’t see anything. Dropping into a crouch, the elf spun a slow circle, trying to be prepared for anything.
Behind her, she heard the mossy ground shuffle, and she turned—too late. Something hard hit the back of her head, and the world spun. Glissa dropped her whip and fell.
* * * * *
Pontifex stood over the incapacitated elf. She rolled around on the ground, holding the back of her head, finally turning over on her back and looking up at him.
“That wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be.”
Glissa’s eyes were nearly crossed from the pain. He’d hit her hard. It was a wonder the blow hadn’t killed her outright.
But he was glad it hadn’t. He wanted this to last a while. He wanted to torture her as much as she had tortured him.
Dropping to his knees, he straddled the elf’s chest, pulling her arms down and pinning them under his legs. Then he grabbed her chin in one of his hands and examined her face, holding his matched short swords near her throat with two others.
“What is it that Memnarch sees in you?” Pontifex roughly shoved her head from side to side. “What is it you have that I do not?”
Glissa remained silent, her eyes mostly closed, her lips curled in a grimace of pain.
Pontifex shook his head. “How is it that such an insignificant creature could take my place at his side? Look at you. Your body has yet to evolve past having only two arms. What use is a creature such as this?”
Glissa’s eyes were beginning to clear. Though she was hardly lucid, it was evident that the pain in her head was beginning to subside.
“It’s no matter, really. Once I’ve killed you, Memnarch will have no choice but to take me back. He’ll see that I was the only choice and understand the folly of his thinking.” The vedalken nodded, decidedly convinced of his own words. “The only question now is how swiftly will your death come.”
The glowing blue blade of a vedalken halberd slipped up under his chin. “It will not come at all,” said a voice.
A cold chill ran down his spine, and Pontifex lifted his chin as far as it would go, touching the top of his head to his back. Another vedalken came into view.
“Marek,” he said, relief replacing the fear. “You startled me.” He reached up and put his fingers on the halberd blade, pushing it away.
Marek pressed back, and the blade sliced into Pontifex’s fingers.
“What is this?”
“I won’t let you kill her, Pontifex,” said Marek, his eyes narrow.
Pontifex tried to lean forward. Marek held his halberd tight against Pontifex’s throat, unmoving.
“After all I did for you …” said Pontifex. “To do this to me now …”
“Yes,” said Marek, “I owe you my life.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because I have a duty to the Vedalken Republic.”
“Vedalken Republic? Don’t tell me you buy into all that nonsense Orland is spouting about representation for the people.”
Marek nodded. “Yes, Pontifex. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“Please, Marek, we were friends, partners.” Pontifex swallowed. “You helped me hunt this very elf. You, as much as anyone, wanted to see her head on top of that pike, and now you can have it. All that work. All that time we spent chasing this prize, and now she is within reach.” He looked back into Marek’s eyes, the back of his head still touching his shoulder blades. “Please. Release this blade and let us talk about this … as friends.”
Marek’s eyes focused on the distance, his mind somewhere else. Pontifex watched, hoping that his words had gotten through. His neck hurt from craning back so far, and the skin on his throat was tight against his Adam’s apple, making it hard to breathe. If he got out of this, he would kill the elf, and then he would kill Marek for this betrayal.
Marek’s glassy gaze came back to Pontifex, and he shook his head. “I owe you much, but if I let you go through with this, let you betray Memnarch in the name of the Vedalken Empire, you will doom us all. Your actions will cast a shadow on all that we have accomplished. Your greed and petty jealousies could be the downfall of the greatest revolution in vedalken history.” Marek’s eyes grew soft, sad. “I’m not about to let you do that.”
Pontifex rolled backward, away from Marek’s halberd, bringing his twin swords up and thrusting at his attacker as he tumbled. Each blade bit deep, puncturing skin, bone, and lung.
Completing his somersault, the one-time vedalken lord came up to his feet, the front of his robes drenched in blue blood.
Marek stood for a moment longer then dropped to his knees. The lengths of Pontifex’s matched blades were buried to the hilt in his chest.
“Mar—” Pontifex tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t work, and a sharp pain ran down his spine as he tried. Touching his throat, he felt a long gash where Marek’s halberd had been. Looking down at himself, he realized that the blood on his robes was not Marek’s. It was his own.
His head felt light, and the mana core seemed to grow brighter, nearly washing out all color, turning everything to a hazy white. Marek toppled forward. Pontifex could see the ends of his blades protruding from his back.
The head of the vedalken elite guard shuddered once then fell still.
Pontifex slumped down beside his one-time friend, his vision narrowing, his thoughts drifting away before he could finish them. A warm, soft buzz filled his whole body. It seemed to brush aside the pain in his throat and the anguish in his heart.
What have I done?
Slowly, the last leader of the vedalken Synod lowered his head to rest on his friend’s shoulder and closed his eyes.
Glissa awoke to someone poking at her head. The elf sprang to her feet, spinning on her attacker, mana already drawn.
“Whoa, crazy elf!” shouted Slobad. “Take it easy, huh?” He waved his hand in front of her face. “Slobad.” The goblin flashed her a toothy grin.
Glissa relaxed, funneling the mana into a rejuvenating spell that immediately found the throbbing pain in the back of her head.
On the ground beside her lay Pontifex and Marek. Their bloo
d mixed and pooled together below them.
“What happened? How did Marek get here?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” said Bosh. “They were both dead when we arrived.”
Glissa shrugged, feeling the back of her head. Her spell had significantly reduced the bump, but it hurt when she pressed on it. “I had a fight with Pontifex. The last thing I remember was getting hit on the head.”
“Maybe Marek saved you?” said Slobad.
Glissa smiled. “Not likely.” She looked around. The Kaldra Champion stood behind them, towering over the other three. “Where’s the other wizard?”
“He went after Bruenna.”
In the chaos, Glissa had forgotten. Immediately she felt the urge to give chase, go find her friend and rescue her from whatever fate awaited her when the thresher stopped and let her free. But Bruenna’s image arose in her mind. Glissa could see her shaking her head, saying, “Finish what you have started—for the good of all.”
Bosh handed Glissa her new blade. “You might need this.”
She took it, gratefully. “Thank you.”
Grabbing hold of Pontifex’s hoverer, she hopped on. “It’s time we paid Memnarch a visit.”
* * * * *
In the distance, a four-legged, bird-headed creature stalked the elf and her companions. It crouched low behind a mycosynth monolith. From its hiding place, the myr could see where they headed, but it did not pursue—not yet.
Also in its field of view were several other artifact creations just like itself. They were a pack. Five in all, they hunted the elf.
Back in Panopticon, Memnarch watched her through the Eye as she headed to his palace.
* * * * *
As they approached the glistening tower, Glissa couldn’t help but be amazed. Though she knew it was made of steel, aluminum, and titanium, parts of Panopticon looked like sparkling crystals.