Planar Chaos

by Timothy Sanders

  “I don’t have much in common with Radha.” Venser said. The barbarian warrior was a wild creature of violent action who wreathed herself in fire and menace. He, on the other hand, was little more than an academic tinkerer from a gloomy swamp.

  Jhoira went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Radha had a strong connection to the rift phenomenon. We should assume you do as well, even though it’s not as apparent.” She interlaced her fingers and stretched her arms out in front of her. “Elder dragons don’t take interest in humans without good cause.”

  Venser experienced a wave of anxiety at the memory. “I see. But how does that help us?”

  Jhoira stepped closer to him, so close that he could see the individual grains of sand on her cheek. She smelled sweet and sharp, like the first wafts of smoke from a cooking fire. “Teferi said there were mana surges along the border where the pieces of Shiv came back together. If you can follow that border, you can lead us out of here.”

  “How? I don’t know anything about mana or spells.”

  “But I do.” Jhoira extended her right arm. “Take my hand.”

  Venser quickly obliged. There was no crackle or surge this time, only the warmth and supple texture of Jhoira’s skin. The Ghitu slowly brought her other hand up and whispered softly. Venser heard a sizzling sound just before a foot-high pillar of flame erupted from Jhoira’s upturned palm.

  “Hold tight,” she said. She shuffled her feet through the sand, slowly pivoting in place. Venser stepped with her, circling the Ghitu, his attention split between the fiery column and his friend’s intent expression.

  Jhoira completed a full circle, then shifted back. Venser noted that the flame expanded and contracted as they turned, flaring up at times and dropping off at others. Jhoira turned back in the opposite direction, stepping left, then right, until she had isolated the point where the flame was brightest.

  “Don’t let go,” Jhoira said. “This spell is supposed to produce a minor spark, little more than a match flame. Something is making it stronger, and it doesn’t really matter if it’s you or the mana surges. Either way, we can use this as a pathfinder.”

  Venser started to speak, but the sensations he was feeling pushed all other thoughts out of his head. He did feel something as they completed their circuit, an ambience that intensified in perfect sync with the flame in Jhoira’s hand.

  “So,” she said, “if you’re ready, we should go.”

  “I’m ready,” he said. He turned his head back behind them. “Are you sure this is the right direction?”

  “No,” she said. “But we have a one-in-two chance of being right.” She treated him to a dazzling smile. “Are you feeling lucky?”

  Venser laughed out loud. “I’ve never had so much luck,” he said. “All bad, of course, but…yes. I do feel lucky.”

  “Then we go.” Jhoira stepped out in front of Venser, her arm trailing behind her, her hand locked in his.

  Together, step by painstaking step, they moved through the swirling cloud of glass behind the flickering beacon in Jhoira’s outstretched hand.

  * * *

  —

  Hours later, Venser saw Jhoira’s flame break through the outer edge of the storm cloud. From where he stood behind her, Venser had a clear tunnel-view over her shoulder and out into the Shivan wastes. He knew he’d never again be this happy to see an endless expanse of blasted, featureless desert.

  They emerged from the glass storm like a bubble surfacing in porridge. The glass still buzzed and whirled around them as they exited, and Venser noted the safe zone around them remained until they were entirely clear.

  Jhoira’s flame-compass had kept them on a steady heading every step of the way. They had also guessed correctly about the direction and so were now almost precisely back at the spot where they’d left Teferi.

  Peering into the bright haze of midmorning, Venser saw the bald planeswalker on a distant dune. Teferi sat cross-legged in the sand with his back to them, but he appeared to be intact and conscious. There was no sign of Corus.

  “Venser,” Jhoira said, “you can let go now.” She turned her head and smiled patiently at him.

  “I know,” he said. “Do I have to?”

  She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and pulled free. “Stage one,” she said, “is complete. Now for the real challenges.” Without waiting for Venser to reply, Jhoira strode forward toward Teferi’s dune. Venser rushed to catch up and fell into step alongside her.

  Teferi made no sign he heard their approach. Venser noted that the wizard’s bald head was still bleeding, and it bobbed slightly as Teferi spoke to himself.

  “Don’t step there,” Jhoira said. She gestured to patch of sand near Teferi that had been fused into an irregular sheet of glass. Venser was tempted to step closer and examine it, but Jhoira was making straight for Teferi.

  She stopped a few paces short of the dark-skinned wizard and folded her arms. Oblivious, Teferi continued to bob until she said sharply, “Teferi. Get up, old friend. It’s time to go back to work.”

  Teferi’s head slowed. He craned his head back over his shoulder and fixed his wide, vacant eyes on the pair.

  “Hello,” he said. “Where have you two been?”

  “Corus attacked us,” Jhoira said. “Drove us off. It took time to find our way back.”

  “Good, good.” Teferi turned back toward the sand in front of him. “No harm done, I take it?”

  Jhoira’s lips curled back over her teeth. “A great deal of harm, actually. Now if you’ve recovered from your headache, you need to get up and help set it right.”

  “Recovered?” Teferi rocked forward and almost lost his balance. He made his unsteady way to his feet and turned to face them. “I feel fine, thank you for asking. A bit dizzy, maybe…”

  “Where is Corus?” Venser said. He kept glancing back at the small pondlike patch of glass, scanning around it for signs of a warrior lurking below the sand.

  “Who?” Teferi struck a pose, attempting to lean on a staff that he did not have. He overbalanced and stumbled, but he stayed on his feet.

  Jhoira stepped in and peered deeply into Teferi’s eyes. “Corus,” she said softly, “the last of our retainers. He was in a murderous rage when we left. Did he try to harm you?”

  “Hm? Oh, no. I think I heard him shouting about his mana star and something being all my fault. But I didn’t hear him clearly.” His unfocused eyes wavered. “I assume he left when I didn’t reply.”

  “Jhoira.” Venser’s curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he now stood on the edge of the glass pond. “You should see this.”

  He wasn’t sure if the irritation in her face was due to the interruption or Teferi’s maddening detachment. She paused, apparently considering another rejoinder to the planeswalker but instead came over to Venser.

  Venser pointed, unsure how to prepare Jhoira for what she was about to see. The fused chunk of glass wasn’t simply a plate on the surface of the sand but a broad chunk of crystal that sank deep into the ground. The view through it was murky and unclear, but Venser could definitely see the broken remains of a mana star embedded in the crystal column.

  Corus was suspended inside the crystal just below the mana star. His arms and legs were spread wide, frozen in place, and his powerful jaws were opened in either pain or anger. Half of the viashino’s outer scales were missing, exposing the raw muscles and nerves beneath. The rest of his body was charred almost black by unimaginably intense heat.

  Venser’s hand shot to his belt, to the pouch where he kept his own powerstones. They were inexhaustible batteries but were perfectly safe and reliable as long as they were intact. He inspected his stones daily, searching for cracks and stress fractures that could lead to an explosive release of energy. Venser had only calculated the devastating results of such an event, but Corus seemed to have actually experienced it. If the viashino had vented his fury on the mana star instead of Teferi, if he had cracked the stone in his powerful hands, he had killed himself as
surely as if he’d climbed into a dragon’s jaws.

  Jhoira stood and stared. Except for a slight hitch in her breathing when she first stepped up, she did not react at all to the grisly scene.

  “Corus,” she said sadly. Then, louder, without turning toward Teferi, she added, “What happened here?”

  Teferi started and swooned a bit as he turned toward her. His blank expression was entirely guileless. “What happened where?”

  Jhoira huffed angrily through both nostrils, and Venser quickly spoke up before she lashed out. “Corus is dead,” Venser said. “He ruptured his mana star and it killed him.”

  “Oh my.” Teferi took a step toward them, staggering slightly. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

  Jhoira stomped her heel down on the surface of the glass chunk, cursing in Ghitu. The fact that the glass did not crack seemed to magnify her rage.

  “New plan,” she said. She stepped close to Venser, and her voice dropped. “We have no means of getting off Shiv without Teferi’s help. So we’re going to have to help ourselves.”

  “Really? How?”

  Jhoira’s lip curled again. “We’re going to build our way out.”

  Venser felt another small thrill. Building was something he could understand, something he could contribute. “When do we start?”

  “Right away.” As she spoke Jhoira loosened her outer robes.

  “Here?”

  “No. We’ve got more walking to do.” Jhoira slipped out of her outfit’s outermost layer, stretched it tight between her hands, and tore the square bolt of fabric in half. The Ghitu native offered half of it to Venser, who silently took it.

  Jhoira stepped away and wrapped the other section of cloth around Teferi’s bald head, shielding his face from the wind and sun. She motioned for Venser to do the same.

  “We are two days’ hike from Ghitu territory,” she said. “If we can avoid being swallowed by the desert or savaged by its creatures, I can take us to safety and find us a place to work.” She paused, and her face softened at Venser’s clearly dubious expression. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It may not look like much, but my people know where to find Shiv’s resources. All we have to do is find my people.”

  Venser was not heartened. “And they’ll help us?”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But even if they don’t, they won’t attack us. They may even give us a safe place to stay while we plan our next move.”

  Venser nodded toward Teferi and whispered, “What about him?” Shrouded by Jhoira’s cloak, Teferi was a faceless cipher swaying in the sandy breeze.

  Jhoira turned back toward her old friend, then faced Venser once more. “We’ll bring him along,” she said. “When his mind clears—if it clears—I will demand a fuller account of what happened to Corus.”

  Venser paled. As he tucked the ends of his makeshift turban into his collar, he decided that he never wanted Jhoira to speak of him with the same venom she now employed, with the same expression she now wore when she spoke of Teferi. For Venser hated being thought of as a liar, and, more, he feared the repercussions if his lies caused Jhoira to lose faith in him.

  “Let’s go,” the Ghitu woman said. Venser wasn’t sure if she was talking to him, or Teferi, or both of them together.

  Without another word, the two men assembled behind Jhoira, and the strange trio marched off into the wasteland.

  Venser developed an entirely new level of respect for Jhoira as they hiked. She showed no signs of being affected by the heat. In fact, she repeatedly told him that it was far cooler than normal. She talked about days- and even weeks-long treks through the desert, comparing their current journey to a Ghitu child’s aimless wandering. After only a few hours on his feet, Venser believed not only that Shiv was killing him but that it was doing so actively and aggressively, because it hated him and wanted him dead.

  The late afternoon sun was not even visible through the hazy ceiling of clouds, but it punished Venser with every step he took. Hot, salty sweat ran into his eyes, which were almost swollen shut. The native cloth Jhoira provided hung limp across his face and the back of his neck, soaked through and crusted with windblown sand. When its corners brushed against his skin, they seared as if they’d been steeped in bleach. The cloth kept most of the larger sand particles away from his breathing passages, but it didn’t protect him from the stinging pain as grit blew across his body. Even through his clothes, Venser felt he was being skinned alive one layer at a time.

  They had nothing to eat or drink, and his stomach was starting to cramp from hunger. Not that Venser could taste anything anyway—his mouth and throat were coated with dust. As awful as that was, it was actually preferable to breathing the volcanic fumes and stale, hot air that clung to the surface of the sand like a fog bank.

  Feverish, his mind began to wander. He had been solitary in the marshes of Urborg for most of his life, yet here in this place and in this company he felt more alone than ever. Except for Jhoira, every native he had met in this alien landscape had tried to kill him. Jhoira, who so far had been kind and patient and communicative, was now completely consumed by determination. She hadn’t spoken in hours, and when she had it had been to shush him. “Every time you exhale you lose water,” she said. She led them not as a guide, or as a member of the party, but as a stern taskmaster whose every body posture said, “I will leave you behind if you lag.”

  Teferi, for his part, was still half-besotted from his injury. The planeswalker muttered as he brought up the rear. Venser strained to hear Teferi over the wind but was rewarded only with barely audible, incoherent gibberish.

  Jhoira stopped. Venser might have bumped into her if he’d had any strength left in his stride.

  “Slag it,” she said.

  “Who?” Venser croaked. He tried to blink, but his eyes were too dry. He saw Jhoira turn, with both fresh concern and fresh annoyance in her face.

  “Stop here,” she said. “You’re about to black out.” She put her hand on Venser’s shoulders and eased him seat-first onto the ground. Venser allowed her to position him without complaint or resistance, as pliable as an infant.

  “There used to be a spring.” Jhoira’s breath danced across his ear, tickling slightly, but her voice sounded miles away. “I don’t know why I thought it would still be here.” She sighed.

  Venser fought to open his eyes. The wind eased up, and he heard Jhoira sharply call Teferi’s name. Unable to see what mischief the dazed wizard had uncovered, Venser simply stopped trying. His eyes fluttered as they closed, and he felt himself falling.

  He never landed. Venser’s languorous descent continued long after his face should have hit the sand. Dreaming or dying, he thought, and either is better than another moment in this damnable desert.

  “Venser!” Now Jhoira’s strident tone was aimed at him. He no longer cared. He would simply continue to fall, to drop out of this world and into the next.

  Strong, small hands took hold of his shoulders and shook him until his teeth rattled. The veil that had descended over his eyes did not lift, but he heard Jhoira’s voice more clearly than ever.

  “Hang on,” she barked. “Rest. Stay with us another hour, maybe two. Once the sun starts to set, the heat and the wind will die off. We can look for water then.”

  “Water,” Venser agreed. He would say anything to get those hands to release him, to drift once more. Shiv hated him. Shiv was killing him. You win, he thought. Venser yields to Almighty Shiv. Just let me leave here and never come back.

  His wish was partially granted when Jhoira cried out for Teferi once more. Her iron fingers disappeared from Venser’s shoulders, and he heard running footsteps in the sand. His moment had passed, however. Jhoira had shaken him out of his lethargy enough to trap him painfully between half-consciousness and complete oblivion.

  With an agonizing pop, Venser forced his eyelids to open. He saw Jhoira trying to keep Teferi in a sitting position, but the planeswalker was still struggling to rise. Venser caught glimpses of Teferi
’s face under the shroudlike cloth he wore and wondered if he looked as desperate and clumsy as the planeswalker.

  A few more hours, Jhoira said. They could look for water when the heat leveled off. Until then…what? Were they to sit here and bake in the evening sun?

  A tiny mote of irritation began to grow in Venser’s mind. He was little more than a passenger on this journey, “luggage,” as Radha called him. He had followed Teferi, who led them to death, betrayal, and failure at every stop. He had followed Jhoira, who led him to a massacre of broken glass before leading him out into the desert to die. He was tired of following. He was tired of putting his life in others’ hands only to be shocked at how carelessly they carried it.

  They didn’t need him. Teferi was a god…or at least had been like a god until he sealed the Shivan rift. Jhoira didn’t seem to need anyone, and if Venser’s suspicions were correct it was only her benevolent nature that prevented her from abandoning them and making her own way across the wastes. She would certainly have a better chance of survival without two helpless, addlepated children to look after. Radha was right, Venser realized: he was luggage.

  And yet…Jhoira said there was something special about him, and Teferi had said the same. These two, who lived on a grand scale and shared a purpose no less than the salvation of the entire world, came to him, had sought him out. Could he abandon Jhoira as Radha and the others had? Could he turn on her as savagely as Corus or fail her as utterly as Teferi?

  Venser struggled to hold himself upright. The irritation within him grew, expanding from a tiny speck to a towering monument. He could not let this happen. He could not become another disappointment to Jhoira. He would not allow himself to be mere luggage.

  Venser coughed, sucked in sand, and coughed again. He forced his eyes to open and shut twice more. He reached out and dug his hand deep into the sand, ignoring the searing sensation that enveloped his fingers. He sank his other hand into the ground and pulled, clawing his way onto his knees. Fresh beads of sweat popped from his forehead, and he paused to catch his breath, his lips mere inches from the surface of the sand.