Ravnica

by Cory Herndon

  “Why can’t he just perform it and give them the corpse?” Kos asked.

  “The loxodon victim’s body has proven resistant to the standard array of necrotic tools at Helligan’s disposal. He has sent for a Simic specialist to assist him in his efforts; the specialist is due to arrive tomorrow. Helligan’s exact words were, ‘I am running out of scalpels to break.’”

  “What about the ledev?” Kos asked. “She was right next to the loxo.”

  “The loxodon is the only other fatality,” the nurse said. “There were no other remains.”

  “What the nurse means,” Phaskin said, “is that our witnesses report there was a half-elf female in the uniform of a ledev guardian there, but she’s missing. We believe she fled the scene, but we’ve found no sign of her. She might be involved.”

  “That’s crazy,” Kos said. “I’ve known a few ledev, and I’ve never met one who would give two zibs about his own safety if one of the Selesnya Conclave was in danger. Especially that one. People love him, even those outside the Conclave.”

  “The healers had time to run a spectral wash, by the way,” Phaskin said. “I double-checked it myself to be sure. No ethereal intelligence was detected in the area. Neither the bomb site nor the site of the first homicide turned up anything. No one stuck around.”

  “No ghosts to question,” Kos said. “Perfect. Nurse, if you would, ask Helligan to send word to me as soon as he learns anything else. As soon as I’m able, I want to get down there. Just tell me how long I’ll be stuck here. If you can get me some falcons, I should be able to at least coordinate the investigation until I’m back on my feet.”

  Feather and Phaskin exchanged a look, but the vedalken broke in before either could speak.

  “Animals will not be allowed within infirmary rooms. You may relay any necessary communications through me if you wish. As for you estimated period of convalescence, I regret to say that I was forced to discontinue teardrop therapy,” the nurse said. “Continuation would have violated my oath due to the preexisting conditions about which I have been asked not to speak.”

  “So …” Kos said.

  “So,” the vedalken said, “it will take longer than last time, Lieutenant, at least two days. Longer if this environment is not soon returned to sterility.” The vedalken turned a cold eye on the other wojeks.

  “What are you talking about?” Kos said. “Give me a couple of ’drops and this will knit right up,” he said, weakly waving his broken right arm.

  “Lieutenant, you have entered the last sixth of your estimated lifespan. Despite a long history of regular alcohol consumption, you have repeatedly relied on emergency medication to heal injuries in the field rather than reporting to the infirmary. I refer you to the Officer’s Manual, page thirty-one, ‘On the Subject of First Aid.’”

  “Maybe you don’t understand, but ‘in the field’ you can’t just ask the ratclops you’re after to wait patiently while you slip off to the nurse,” Kos said. “Anyway, why should the, uh, drinking matter?”

  “You are not a young man, Lieutenant. Your organs have suffered a steady barrage of alcohol for decades, leading to a buildup of mana residue in your tissue that borders on toxic. And surely you have noticed that the efficacy of teardrops on your injuries has decreased steadily over time. You immune system has simply seen too many applications. Taken together, this has steadily degraded your ability to absorb the healing mana and has greatly increased the risk that the next teardrop you apply will trigger cardiac arrest, likely fatal. As an academic, I admit that your case, which has developed so long unattended, could lead to breakthroughs in treatment. I have some legal forms that would allow me to use the data I collect from your corpse, if any, to—”

  “Save it,” Kos said. “You can have the whole thing when I’m dead, just—just get that out of my face.”

  Kos felt his ribs scrape together again and considered whether the act of hurling himself bodily across the room at the emergency ’drop box mounted on the wall would make him pass out. More than medicine, he wanted a drink. A lot of drinks. “Look, nurse, is there any reason I have to stay here for two days? I promise I won’t move around any more than I have to, but I need to get to the morgue at least and check out the scene. I’ve got a case to work. I’m wasting time here.”

  “The aura within this room works more slowly than ’drop magic but will heal you much faster than you will on your own,” the nurse said. “You outrank me, Lieutenant, everywhere but here. I will order you to remain here for a week if you insist on protesting my every recommendation. You will stay in this room for two days or I will have you arrested for endangering the life of a wojek officer.”

  “Wojek offi—All right, fine,” Kos said. Two days. In two days, whoever had bought the Rakdos goblin and sent it on its one-way mission might be on the other side of the plane. Gods, they might already be there. Maybe he’d have better luck with the captain.

  “I shall leave you to rest, but I will return within an hour,” the vedalken said and turned to regard Feather and the wojek captain. “At that time, anyone other than you will be gone, I trust?”

  “Of course, Nurse Yaraghiya,” Feather said diplomatically. “Thank you for your assistance.” The angel pulled the door open and gestured to the vedalken that she was welcome to exit. The nurse did so with one final, disapproving glance at the trio.

  Kos turned to the Phaskin, who had taken a seat near the bed and was fiddling with a pipe that infirmary regulations wouldn’t let him light. “What happened?” Kos asked. “Whose goblin was that, and why—That was Saint Bayul, wasn’t it?”

  “The goblin, we believe, was—” the angel began but was cut off by Phaskin.

  “I’ll handle this, Constable,” he said gruffly. Phaskin had always seemed to resent the angel, Kos had noticed. Angels were the most powerful forces in the Boros Legion, the guild of which the League of Wojek was perhaps the most visible part. Even a demoted angel had more moral authority in her pinky than Phaskin had in his whole body. “Lieutenant, you’re lucky to be alive.”

  “But I am alive.”

  “Don’t interrupt—”

  “I’m the one with all the broken bones and you’re in my sickroom, so just shut up for a second,” Kos said, making Phaskin’s face flush red with anger. “This is my case. You know this is my case. The manual backs me up. The vengeance statute backs me up. So let’s get that out of the way right now.” Kos raised his good hand when Phaskin opened his mouth again. “Sir, I’ve got the right, plain as day. Borca was a ’jek, and like you just said he was my partner. Even if he wasn’t the primary target, that’s the most egregious crime here according to the law. You’re the only one who can overrule Argh on this one. You have that authority. Use it.” To the captain’s surprise and his own, Kos added, “Please.”

  “I expected you to say that,” Phaskin said, finally giving up and tucking the pipe into a pocket under his leather armor vest. He ran a hand through thinning, curly hair that revealed a few ace-shaped scars atop the wojek captain’s scalp. “And I agree with the vedalken. You’re going to stay here for a couple of days and rest. Stanslov is already on the investigation, but it’s going nowhere.”

  “Stanslov? He couldn’t find a ratclops in a bowl of ratclops soup.”

  “When the nurse says you’re ready,” Phaskin growled, “you can assist as Stanslov sees fit. Period. That’s an order from the commander-general, not just me. You’re too close to this, Kos. Until you’re healthy you’re not an active-duty ’jek. You’re a surviving victim, an injured bystander, and our best witness. The only reason I’m telling you the details is because the brass are still set on promoting you after the convocation. You missed the original ceremony, so you’re going to have to be content with entering the next millennium as a mere lieutenant. But there’s another one scheduled a week after the convocation ends.”

  “What?” Kos asked. “I missed the—How long have I been in here?”

  “The explosion took place t
hree days ago,” Phaskin said. “You’ve been in a coma.”

  Kos’s headache began to pound fiercely. “Three … days?”

  “Yes,” Phaskin said, and coughed less than convincingly. “Er, there’s one more thing. The missing ledev—the one that might be involved.”

  “What?” Kos asked. Phaskin winced, and Kos turned to the angel. “Feather, what about the ledev?”

  “Assuming the woman you saw was the same ledev assigned to ensure the protection of Saint Bayul,” Feather said, “it was a guardian wolf rider by the name of Fonn.”

  “No last name, huh? So she was a—Wait. I know that name,” Kos said. “Why do I know that name?”

  “Fonn was—is, assuming she’s still alive somewhere—Myczil Zunich’s daughter,” Phaskin said.

  No wojek officer shall engage in routine patrol duty within the Golgari territory of Old Ravnica until further notice.

  —League of Wojek General Order 13,

  the “Undercity Rule” (8986 Z.C.)

  27 ZUUN 9999 Z.C., AROUND NOON

  Fonn opened her eyes. There was a kink in her neck, wet smoke in the air, and no sign of her mount. Biracazir the goldenhide wolf had been with her since she’d become a full-fledged ledev guardian, and his sire was Voja himself. She felt his absence like a wound. She lay on her side with her arms still tied behind her back. Her legs might have been bound, but she couldn’t tell as they’d gone numb.

  The fire was little more than a pile of coal and warm ashes surrounded by soot and charcoal from her aborted escape attempt. The only light in the malodorous little room came from a guttering torch, but it was enough to reveal the pale figure crouched on a block of broken marble on the opposite side. The elf’s mask was pushed back onto the top of his head, and he had one hand pressed against the floor. He hummed an melancholy tune, and Fonn saw something small move up one arm and onto his shoulder. An insect of some kind. Still humming, the elf cocked his head to one side as if listening to something.

  She hadn’t moved yet, and he faced away from her. Fonn was fairly certain—well, less certain than hopeful, really—that he didn’t know she was awake. It was insane to try to start a fight after an undetermined period of unconsciousness while bound, with no feeling in her legs. But she might never get another opening.

  With agonizing slowness she drew her feet up and bent her tingling, aching legs. The elf remained frozen, his head cocked. Keep listening to that bug, Devkarin, nothing to hear on this side. After what felt like an eternity, she had managed to silently twist at the waist and put the soles of her boots on the floor. Though bound at the wrists, this position let her get her hands flat on the floor at the small of her back.

  Just as she was about to kick off against the floor and attempt to flip over backward onto her feet—the most direct way off the floor she could figure out—the elf spoke and gave her a start.

  “I wouldn’t, ledev,” the elf said without turning to look at her. “I guarantee it will hurt more than you think.”

  “What?” Fonn rasped, her throat dry after who knew how long lying in this dank, smoky room.

  “You’ve been too busy staring at me to notice them,” the elf said. “Look up.”

  Fonn stared at the ceiling and tried to focus in the shadows. Something moved against the dark—No, the dark itself moved. And crawled, squirmed, and clicked together tiny sets of hard black wings.

  “Those are pinchbeetles,” the elf continued. “A few can sting. That many could remove all of the flesh from your body in—well, it’s said to be three minutes, but I think they could do it in two if they applied themselves. If you’d like to settle the dispute, by all means try to flip yourself or whatever you had in mind.”

  The ledev relaxed against the floor, but her heart pounded in her chest and she fought the grip of panic. The bugs on the ceiling clacked their wings, and with effort she pulled her eyes away from them and back to the disinterested elf. “You can hear them?”

  “Can’t you?” the elf said, turning to her for the first time. His unmasked face was surprisingly striking, and in other circumstances Fonn might have even called him handsome. Black charcoal ringed his solid black eyes in a way that mimicked the painted mask pushed atop his tangled black dreadlocks.

  “No,” Fonn admitted.

  “The Selesnya Conclave says it speaks for all life on Ravnica,” he scoffed. “Yet you ignore the tiniest, most numerous life all around your feet.”

  “There are those who can. I’m a warrior, not a priest,” Fonn said. “I can’t believe I’m arguing about this. Who are you? What is this place? Why am I here?”

  “I was wondering when you’d get to that,” the elf said. “In order: I am Jarad, huntmaster of the Devkarin elves. This place is a safe one, known only to me and a few others I trust.”

  “You mean insects,” Fonn said.

  “For the most part,” Jarad said. “As to why you are here, you are here because the matka wishes it.”

  “What’s a matka?”

  “The Devkarin high priestess,” Jarad said. “Only the single most important spiritual figure in the Golgari belief system.”

  “I don’t get down here much,” Fonn said. “Can’t imagine why.”

  “Typical,” the hunter replied. “If it does not whore itself to the sunlight, it does not exist to you.”

  “Touchy subject?” Fonn asked.

  “You feel the bonds on your wrists, yes? You realize you are a prisoner?” the elf said irritably. “You would be wise to watch your tongue. I answer your questions out of boredom, nothing more.”

  “Guess I was right,” Fonn muttered. “All right, I’ll learn to love the bugs and bless the fungus, all right? Just tell me why I’m here. My charge is unguarded, and—”

  “Bayul is dead,” Jarad said matter-of-factly.

  Some part of Fonn had known this was true, but hearing the elf put it so bluntly felt like a kick in the chest. “You were there. The bomb, you—You’re the one who knocked me down.”

  “And saved your thankless life,” the elf said. “Believe me, had I not been ordered to do so …”

  “Thanks, you really know how to make a girl feel special,” Fonn said. “So what now? You going to kill me? Sic another spider on me? Sacrifice me to your dark bug-god? Turn me into a bug? Make me eat bugs? It’s going to have to do with bugs, isn’t it?”

  “Now, we wait,” Jarad said. “At day’s end, I expect word from the matka as to your fate.”

  “So you are going to kill me.”

  “Not necessarily, or you’d already be dead.”

  “She wants me alive?” Fonn asked.

  “You’ve heard enough,” Jarad asked. “And I grow annoyed. Figure it out for yourself while the pinchbeetles keep you company. I’m going to track down something to eat.”

  Fonn eyed the bugs nervously. “They won’t, er, fall, will they?”

  Jarad stood and looked at the ceiling. He shrugged. “Good question. Let me know when I get back with dinner. I imagine you’re hungry.”

  “You’re not hunting vegetables by any chance?”

  The elf rolled his eyes. “I’ll find you a mushroom or two. Now stay put. I don’t want to waste another spider bite.” He popped his neck, and the beetle on his shoulder scuttled under his dreadlocks and disappeared. “And no screaming or calling for help. It’s pointless, and it might attract deadwalkers. This door’s sturdy, but enough of them can eventually claw through anything. Savra wants you alive for another few hours, so don’t get yourself eaten. I’ll be back soon.”

  Jarad turned and unlatched the heavy wooden door with a three-pronged key that he secreted away in his tangled hair, pulled the skull mask over his face, and twisted the knob with considerable exertion until it clicked. He swung the door inward, which let a cool breeze waft into the room and gave the hovering harpy in the doorway a chance to kick him in the chest with both feet.

  The elf staggered backward, and Fonn caught a glimpse of bright red slashes across his pa
le skin. The harpy screeched and flapped into the room at full speed. The bird-woman slashed at the stunned Jarad until he stumbled backward over the lump of marble he’d been using as a seat and crashed to the ground.

  A few seconds later, two more harpies had joined the first, and the cramped room became a flapping mass of feathers, screeched vulgarities, and flesh-ripping talons. The two new harpies went after Jarad while the first made a beeline for Fonn. The bird-woman flapped overhead and flashed a gap-toothed grin. “Delicious,” she croaked.

  Fonn had relaxed, but her feet still rested against the floor and her palms pressed against the stone under her back. Her response to the harpy was probably more physical than the bird-woman had expected.

  With the feeling back in her legs, Fonn was able to kick off the ground and into the air in a gymnastic backward somersault. She caught the harpy in the jaw with one boot on the way around, knocking the flapping teratogen up and back, and landed with a thud on both feet.

  The harpy screamed in surprised pain as a swarm of tiny pinchbeetles rained down from the ceiling and enveloped her in a writhing, clacking black cloud. The weight of the swarm pulled her from the air, and a few seconds later the bleeding, screeching mass of flesh, feathers, and chitin plopped to the floor.

  Fonn backed away to avoid the beetles, but the insects were in a feeding frenzy and no longer paid her any heed.

  One of the two harpies who pecked at the Devkarin’s struggling form saw what had happened to her sister and snarled a vengeful curse against the ledev. The bird-woman launched herself from where she sat, vulturelike, over Jarad’s prone form and charged across the room at Fonn, talons splayed.

  The ledev tried to dodge the harpy’s charge but only succeeded in tangling up her own feet and falling sideways. One of the harpy’s claws ripped a hunk of leather from the shoulder of her uniform, but otherwise the fall had been as effective as anything else Fonn could have tried. She let her body roll twice and twisted so that she ended on her feet once more.