by Jess Lebow
A whistling sound brought Glissa from her reverie. Diving forward, she managed to duck and tumble away from a second leveler’s blades as they came down where her head used to be. Coming to her feet, Glissa pulled her sword. It seemed silly to try to dismantle a device with a sword. She wished she could turn that pointy blade into a pounding hammer.
But this was no ordinary sword. She didn’t know where it had come from, only that she had found it inside the Tree of Tales in Chunth’s chamber. It was more powerful than any weapon she’d ever wielded, and for that, at this moment, she was grateful.
The blade rang as she bashed back the new leveler’s attacks. Sparing a glance to her left, she saw the leveler with Slobad on its back was almost on her. Looking back and leaning in, she lunged for the artifact’s glowing yellow eye. Her blade struck the seam, lodging between the housing and the lens. Twisting her sword, Glissa popped the creature’s eye from its socket, and the device swung side to side, grasping with its arm blades like a blind man trying to catch a thief.
Glissa turned to the leveler with Slobad on its back. The construct brought its arms together, scissoring down on the elf with its razor-sharp grasp. The artifact was close, closer than Glissa had thought. She rolled backward, falling onto her behind and ducking away from the blades. The creature missed her but just barely, and it opened its arms, ready for a second deadly embrace.
Glissa scooted back with little room to move. The leveler behind her still flailed blindly. The one before her leaned down, ready to take her head from her body. The killing device brought its blades together, right down on her. Pushed back against a flailing, blinded leveler, she had no room to move. Glissa cringed, bracing for the impact—but it never came.
The artifact creature veered to its right, turning away from Glissa and lunging at the flailing leveler behind her.
“Kill it,” shouted Slobad from the creature’s back. “Cut it up.” The device followed his orders.
Glissa rolled away and got to her feet. The two levelers cut into each other. Sparks flew as Slobad’s fighter slashed through the blinded monster’s torso. The goblin leaped onto the back of another device, his crowbar gripped in his three-fingered hand.
Bosh smashed devices with both fists. Bruenna froze the oncoming monsters in their tracks or blasted them away with gusts of wind. Slobad turned them against each other or dismantled them as fast as his little fingers could pry them apart. Glissa battled them back with her sword and her magic.
Still, the mass of sharpened creatures came on, endless and unrelenting. The flood of levelers swarmed over Bosh. Their spiked wheels pushed them up his body. Their scythe blades struck him, and his body rang out like a tolling bell. In a matter of seconds, the giant metal man disappeared under a pile of killing devices.
A high-pitched squeal filled Glissa’s ears. Slobad had jumped from one device, and he now rode on the back of another. His arm was buried to his elbow inside the creature’s metal frame, and his face was held tight in a pinched, pained expression. With the fist of his other hand he beat on the leveler’s hide, pushing, pulling, and squirming to get his hand free. Something had gone wrong. Slobad was caught.
The leveler he rode reached its arms back and swiped at the goblin. Slobad ducked, but the tip of the creature’s scythe blade caught the side of the goblin’s head. A chunk of Slobad’s scalp sliced away, and blood spurted down his neck.
Glissa’s heart sank. Her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a bottomless pit, and the hairs along her back and neck stood at attention. She watched as the beast took another swipe at Slobad. The goblin disappeared from sight.
The creatures swarmed in, climbing on each other’s back to reach into the sky and pluck Bruenna from where she flew. Glissa heard the human wizard scream as she was brought back down to earth. The horde of metallic monsters closed in on the elf, blocking out the reflected blue-white light from the mana core.
Thrashing about with her blade held high, the elf fought off one leveler after another. Scythe blades fell to the ground. Eye sockets went flying. Spiked wheels were cut in two. Still, the circle closed down, and there were too many to fight on her own.
Slipping her blade into the crease between two metal plates, Glissa lunged to kill another leveler. As she stretched out, a sharpened claw tore into her side, then a spiked wheel collided with her leg, and the elf fell backward onto the ground.
In seconds she could feel her arms pinned and her legs immobilized. Someone pulled the sword from her grip, and the tip of another blade touched her exposed belly. Spreadeagled, limbs held firm, a deadly weapon pressed against her gut, Glissa thought about her family—and Kane. She was going to die, and with any luck, she’d see them again in whatever place elves went to after they left the horrors of this world.
Even the thought of seeing her parents again couldn’t quell the fear inside her. Life on Mirrodin had been no picnic, but she didn’t want to die—especially not at the hands of a leveler. Over the past few rotations she had come to believe, really believe, that she had a destiny, a greater purpose, but her quest had become a monumental failure. She had traveled to bring her parents’ killer to justice, only to be slaughtered in the same fashion. It seemed tragic.
She wasn’t the only one here. She had friends now, friends who had followed her to this place. Though she couldn’t see them, their faces flashed in her mind: Slobad, Bosh, even Bruenna whom she’d only recently met. They were all going to die.
Glissa’s fear once again gave way to anger, and she screamed. Not a shriek of terror or the startled scream of a little girl, but a feral, predatory screech that dripped of power. She took in a deep breath. The pounding of her heart filled her head, and the grinding wheels of the levelers filled her ears. She looked up at the metal beasts holding her down, and she hated them. She wanted to smash each and every one into greasy bits of scrap metal.
Then something inside snapped. Glissa felt as if a door had been opened deep within. Power flowed out over her body, and all her muscles tensed. A wave of green energy exploded over the battlefield, filling the interior of Mirrodin with a bright flash of light—followed by silence. Nothing could be heard, not the grinding of levelers, not the buzzing hum of the mana core.
All was quiet.
The light subsided. Levelers were flung back. As if a switch had been flipped reversing gravity for a brief moment, the killing devices were launched into the air. Their blades flailed. Their steering sails flapped side to side without result. Just as suddenly, the switch was re-engaged, and the constructs fell back to earth, smashing into other levelers and crashing into a tangled heap.
Glissa was free.
Beside her, Bruenna hovered. The artifact monsters that had pulled her from the sky were thrown away, and the wizard launched herself back into the air—no longer a captive.
The pile of killing devices completely covering Bosh were torn off, tossed to the metal ground like discarded children’s toys. Their heavy carapaces had cracked on impact, sending metallic sinews and glass lenses flying in all directions. Metal torsos collapsed in on themselves, smashing the mechanisms inside. The glowing yellow lights in their eyes went out.
All the climbing devices were flung away, and the great metal golem was revealed. Bosh wasted no time. Stepping over a wall of bent and ruined metal, he reached down and picked up the leveler with Slobad on its back. Squeezing his fingers together, he pinched the beast’s lower back. Its head popped off, and the mechanism’s insides squirted out.
Slobad’s arm slipped free of the creature’s carapace, escaping from whatever had held it, and he climbed up Bosh’s chest, crouching on the golem’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” cried the goblin, holding Bosh’s neck. “Now, run, huh?”
Bosh turned, and his feet resumed their heavy drumming on the metal ground.
From the distance more levelers advanced. Before Glissa, a crescent-shaped portion of the ground was clear of levelers and rubble alike. It was as if the elf’s anger
had created a giant gust of wind that had blown everything back, but it had been more than that. Where her spell had touched a leveler, it had been destroyed.
Bosh reached down and scooped up the young elf where she stood. He continued on, Bruenna flying beside him.
Slobad looked at the elf with wide eyes. “How you do that, crazy elf?”
Glissa looked down at her hands. “I don’t know. I just … did.”
“Think you can teach Slobad that trick? Make taking apart levelers easier, huh?”
“Yes, it would,” replied the elf, “but I still haven’t figured out how to do it myself. It just sort of happens.”
Bruenna swooped down closer to Bosh. “Where to?”
Bosh lifted his face, pointing with his chin. “Just over that rise. There’s another entrance to the blue lacuna.”
Glissa wrinkled her forehead. “The blue lacuna?”
“The tunnel we came down,” explained the golem. “It is called a lacuna.”
“I know that, but you said the ‘blue lacuna.’ Are there different colors?”
“There is a red one and a blue one but no green.”
“How you remember all this stuff, huh?” asked the goblin. “Dross finally leak from your rusty head?”
“The Pool of Knowledge,” interjected Bruenna, nursing her injured leg as she flew. “The pond we jumped into that led us down here.” She grimaced. “I told you, my father was right. The vedalken have a way of putting all of what they know—everything every single one of them knows—into the serum inside. Our swim through must have revived Bosh’s memories.”
“Yes,” replied the golem.
“Wait.” Over Bosh’s shoulder, Glissa watched the surviving majority of the leveler battalion start to regain their composure and line up behind the strange metallic man. “We can’t go back into the tunnel … the blue lacuna. The vedalken are inside.”
“This entrance should bring us back to where the tube spilt into two paths. If we are lucky, we will avoid them.”
Bosh headed up a slight incline, and Glissa turned. Just ahead, barely visible in the near distance was the opening to the tunnel the golem spoke of. She looked back to the levelers.
“Better hurry,” she said. “They’re gaining again.”
Malil sat atop his leveler, stunned. How had the elf done that?
Memnarch would not be happy.
“Form up,” he shouted.
The broken line of levelers obeyed his command. Despite the spell the elf had cast, most of Malil’s army was still intact, if scattered. In a few moments, the killing devices were in formation and ready to roll.
Someone else emerged from the blue lacuna.
“Pontifex,” said Malil. Spinning his leveler, he once again ordered the pursuit. “After them.”
The mob of metallic creatures rolled on. Malil, atop his killing device, stayed put. Instead of the sound of wheels tearing at the metal soil he heard the voice of Memnarch inside his head.
“Bring the vedalken to us. We want an audience with Pontifex.”
Here, inside the interior of Mirrodin, the Guardian could speak to Malil, no matter where he was. From what the metal man could tell, Memnarch could see through his eyes as well. No doubt the Guardian had been watching the whole encounter with the elf. There was no way for Malil to be sure of this, no indication inside that told him when this was happening. For all he knew, Memnarch could be watching constantly. Malil behaved at all times as if this were the case, just to be safe.
Malil urged his leveler forward—toward the opening of the blue lacuna.
* * * * *
Pontifex stepped from the tunnel. With the head of a broad-tipped spear, the tall, slender vedalken shielded his eyes from the mana core’s glow. Bright purple spots clouded his vision.
A team of warriors filed out behind him.
“Marek, where is that elf?” he shouted.
The four-armed bodyguard shrugged. “I don’t know, my lord.”
Pontifex had to catch that elf. He needed that elf.
The spots began to fade, and for the first time he saw the leveler horde. The killing devices rolled up and over a curved pile of wreckage, speeding off into the distance.
“Follow them,” he ordered.
The army of skinny, blue-skinned, four-armed beings behind him took off double time without a word, the heads of their spears gleaming in the preternatural light.
To Pontifex, the interior of Mirrodin was a wondrous place. He had been here many times before on official visits to Memnarch, but this time was different. This time he came as the newest leader of the Synod. This time, he hadn’t been invited.
The thought of being chided by Memnarch tugged at the back of his thoughts. The freedom he took in coming here with his warriors was exhilarating.
As if his thoughts had been broadcast across the interior of the plane, Malil, Memnarch’s personal servant, appeared, riding his leveler toward the vedalken.
Malil was new. Memnarch had created him some time between the last two blue moon cycles and the current convergence, and Pontifex had only encountered him once before. Still, there was no mistaking whom he served. Atop his lithe metal body, Malil had the face of his creator. From the shoulders up, every curve, nuance, and gesture was replicated exactly.
Talking to Malil produced mixed emotions for Pontifex. Malil was a servant, but he looked so much like Memnarch that it was hard to look him right in the eye. Though he was unsure if it were true, Pontifex assumed Memnarch could hear everything Malil could. Certainly, the guardian of Mirrodin could see everything on the plane from inside Panopticon. Why wouldn’t he be able to hear what his servant heard?
This annoyed Pontifex. He was the most respected researcher on Mirrodin, and now he was the leader of the vedalken Synod. Why should he have to speak to an intermediary? He hadn’t before. Now, instead of talking directly to his lord, he had to get past a mere servant. The whole process was humiliating.
Malil pulled up and stopped his leveler. “Greetings, Lord Pontifex.”
“I have no time for pleasantries, Malil,” replied the vedalken lord. “Where is the elf?”
“She is headed for the second entrance to the blue lacuna.” The metal man who looked so much like the Guardian of Mirrodin pointed toward the receding column of levelers.
Pontifex spun toward his army. “Halt,” he shouted.
The order worked its way up the line of marching warriors, the words echoing in different voices all the way to the front. The line stretched out and finally stopped. Marek returned to Pontifex’s side at a sprint.
“Your orders, my lord?”
“They’re headed back up the lacuna, through the other entrance,” Pontifex snarled. “Go back up this way and cut them off at the break.”
“Yes, my lord.” Marek spun and ran back to the other soldiers, shouting orders as he did.
Pontifex turned to the metal man. “Thank you, Malil, you’ve been very helpful. Now, if you’ll excuse me I—”
“The Guardian has requested your presence,” interjected the metal servant.
“The Guardian has frequently requested my presence.”
“The Guardian has requested your presence now.”
Pontifex narrowed his eyes at Malil. “Surely my lord has seen that I am in pursuit of the elf.”
“Yes,” replied Malil, “but now he requires to speak to you. He has sent me and the levelers to capture the elf. Your help is no longer needed.”
“My help is—” Pontifex cut himself off. Gripping his four hands into fists, he took a deep breath then continued. “Of course, I’ll report to his lordship at once.”
“I shall escort you to Panopticon.”
Through gritted teeth, Pontifex said, “As you wish.”
* * * * *
Malil led Pontifex up the lift. The two rode in silence. When they reached the observatory, Malil spared a glance out the window. In the distance, he could see his levelers, a column of rust rising into the
air marking their progress.
The metal man and the blue-skinned vedalken climbed the curved entranceway to Memnarch’s laboratory at the top of Panopticon. Beside the door stood a rectangular pedestal, which rose from the floor to the height of Malil’s waist. Embedded in the top, a triangular red stone pulsed with a soft internal light. This was the portal to the laboratory, and only Memnarch and Malil could open it.
Malil placed his hand on the stone, and the door to the chamber slid open.
Turning to the vedalken, he indicated the door with a wave of his hand. “You are free to enter.”
Pontifex glared at him as he brushed past into the laboratory.
Inside, Memnarch gazed out over the interior of the plane. From behind, the Guardian of Mirrodin looked like a four-legged metal crab. His rounded abdomen rested on the floor. His long, pointy legs were bent, the joints poised above him ready to lift his bulk with a thought.
“Pontifex,” said the Guardian without turning around. “So good of you to come to see us.”
The vedalken researcher fell to his knees, lowering his face to the ground and spreading his arms in an elaborate bow.
“Of course, my lord.” He lifted himself then bowed again. “Forgive me for the intrusion. I know I was not invit—”
“Enough babbling, Pontifex,” interrupted the Guardian. “Memnarch will forgive your incompetence.” The crablike creature turned away from the window, scuttling around without lifting his midriff from the floor. “We forgive your intrusion.”
“Thank you, great lord.” Pontifex stayed prostrate on the ground, though he raised his head enough to glare at Malil again.
The swollen joints in Memnarch’s legs whirred into action, and the Guardian lifted his girth from the floor. Once his weight was up and balanced on his legs, he moved with a smooth grace that belied his size. He headed across the laboratory to his scrying pool. Pontifex shifted himself on the floor as Memnarch moved so that his head pointed toward the Guardian.
“We see that you brought your warriors,” said Memnarch.
“Yes, my lord. We were chasing the elf.”
