Time Spiral

by Scott McGough

  In all the history of planeswalker ascension, Teferi had never heard of one that lasted forty years. Granted, planeswalkers guarded their ascension stories jealously, and when they did talk they tended to embellish. In almost every case he could find and verify, the transcendent moment was explosive, sudden, and violent. His, in contrast, happened slowly, gradually, an accelerated evolution rather than a sudden destruction and complete rebirth. Over the course of decades, every iota of his mortal being was replaced, bit by laborious bit, until his gross physical shell was replaced by the higher exalted presence of an immortal planeswalker.

  Then, as one final bit of irony (and in keeping with the slow nature of his transformation), Teferi went on for another twenty years before he realized how much he had changed. After his rescue, he went back to work as an academy researcher and instructor, oblivious to his newfound status. He aged, he bled, he fell ill, he was physically and personally indistinguishable from any other young man of his class. He had no awareness of or access to his godlike abilities until decades later, when he returned home to Zhalfir and reconnected with his homeland’s rich mana supply. Already an accomplished wizard, Teferi discovered he was far more formidable than he had believed—and had been for quite some time. Then, for the thousandth time, but by no means the last, he cursed Urza’s time experiments and the havoc they had wrecked.

  The pursuit of time had not only challenged him and defined him as a young man, it had literally made him into the being he was today. It was no wonder he was so adept at time spells and tinkering with the temporal flow—he had spent a lifetime submerged in it. A man who spent forty years floating in a bubble of water would naturally become an expert swimmer. How could Teferi fail to become an expert time wizard?

  He thought of the other planeswalkers he’d known. Few had shared the story of their own ascension, but that didn’t stop him from trying to find out. The transformations he had learned about were each as dramatic and unique as his own, though he often had to extrapolate backward from the beings they had become to understand the beings they had been.

  Urza had ascended during the final battle of the Brother’s War, which Teferi had just seen from inside the Stronghold rift. Centuries before he founded Tolaria, human Urza used an incredibly destructive artifact spell to destroy two armies at once. In the process, his spark ignited and he was reborn as a nigh-omnipotent being. Urza Planeswalker had powerstone eyes that were his greatest asset and his greatest vulnerability, for while he saw things as no one else could, he didn’t necessarily see them clearly.

  Freyalise had never spoken of her rise to godhood, but all the evidence pointed to an elf maiden from the Llanowar forest during the early days of elves on Dominaria. She was a worshipper of nature before she herself was worshipped, and her militant antagonism to anything other than elves combined with her love of that species to fuel her own blend of fortifying magic and aggressive combat spells.

  The moment of his old friend Karn’s ascension was easier to single out. At the precise moment the Phyrexian Invasion ended, Karn the silver golem merged with the Legacy, an integrated collection of powerful artifacts. Among these artifacts were several of the most potent powerstones ever created and a mechanical planar portal. Thus Karn, an artificial being without a true planeswalker spark, absorbed planeswalking machinery into his body and became indistinguishable from a flesh and blood planeswalker.

  The transformation of Lord Windgrace, the panther king of Urborg, was unknown and unverifiable, but Teferi had his suspicions. Urborg was home to as many disparate human tribes as it was to nightwalking creatures, even today, but there hadn’t been panther people in Urborg since the Brother’s War. Somehow the pervasive corruption and predation that characterized Urborg gave rise to the noble panthers, who ruled Urborg fairly and wisely for three centuries. Windgrace’s immortality kept the panthers from being a one-time aberration, and though Urborg had long been the stuff of nightmares that parents used to frighten unruly children, the symbol of Windgrace the protector still gave hope to the people who lived there.

  The story that interested Teferi the most was that of Bo Levar, a planeswalking pirate and smuggler who fought alongside Urza and Freyalise during the Phyrexian Invasion. Levar lived a full mortal life as Crucias, a naval man with an entrepreneurial streak that caused him to quickly fall out of favor with his commanding officers. Discharged from a military career, Crucias became a privateer and a part-time tour guide until he and his ship were caught in the explosive aftermath of the Brother’s War. Crucias ascended in that conflagration and became known as Bo Levar, an interplanar rogue who, for a price, could get you anything you wanted and deliver it to your door. This seemingly unprincipled fellow not only faithfully completed the mission Urza set for his team of planeswalkers, but Bo Levar also sacrificed himself to preserve an enlightened colony of underwater artists and thinkers. In the face of an unstoppable cloud of poisonous death, the cigar-smoking scoundrel literally gave his all to create a barrier that would protect the colony. It cost him his life, but he died one of the greatest heroes of the Phyrexian Invasion, and to Teferi’s knowledge the colony still existed hundreds of fathoms beneath the waves.

  Lately, Bo Levar had been something of an inspiration to Teferi. Bo Levar was a planeswalker as devoted to the sea and sailing as Teferi was to time. Levar had chosen one small corner of Dominaria to defend against the horrors of Phyrexia, just as Teferi had, and even with the supernaturally swollen ego of a planeswalker, Levar still recognized some things as larger than himself, worthy of the ultimate sacrifice.

  Teferi’s mind began to focus. Bo Levar had sailed the ocean and saved part of the world. Teferi himself sailed the seas of time and had also saved part of the world. There were profound similarities between them both, but insurmountable differences too. Long ago Bo Levar had done something glorious in the depths of the ocean; moments ago Teferi had done something foolish in the depths of time, something rash and witless to cap a long string of costly mistakes.

  He started by conducting an impromptu experiment that had too many variables. Teferi didn’t know enough about the rift, the ambulator, or his own newly unpredictable planeswalking to combine them, yet that was what he’d done. He had also become personally invested in the experiment, reacting emotionally when he saw the vision of his younger self. Last and worst of all, he had lost his nerve and tried to abort the process, abandoning the spell half-cast, which turned out to have the same effect on the rift as using lamp oil to put out a kitchen fire.

  Teferi came back to himself, conscious but not fully aware. He felt solid, clothed in the body he always wore, but he was largely insensate. His eyes were open and his ears were functioning, but there was nothing to see or hear. No light, no air, not even empty space. It was as if he were enveloped by a second skin of dark emptiness.

  Teferi had been to and through a great many planar voids, but this was deeper, more still, and more complete than any nothingness he knew. It was not like the endless kaleidoscopic shapes of the Blind Eternities nor the bodiless motion of the Stronghold rift. It wasn’t even the ghostly nonexistence he knew from his own phasing magic. This feeling was not the absence of other feelings, but the presence of a tangible nothing. Teferi had to struggle to perceive and be perceived outside the skin-tight covering. His thoughts, actions, and deeds made no difference at all, as if he did not exist and the ebon shell was actively preventing him from existing.

  It was always difficult for Teferi to admit his mistakes, but in this case he knew the cause of his current predicament and blame couldn’t be placed anywhere else. Trying to staunch the flow of time during a major time disaster from a position of timelessness now seemed a rash and foolhardy act. It also had disordered the multiverse with the paradox that the multiverse had isolated him, sequestered him, removed him from the grand scheme of things entirely. He had broken too many rules and now he was forced to sit out.

  Teferi felt a smile forming on his lips. Jhoira always mocked his tende
ncy to express things in poetic terms, but it was one of the only ways he knew of to make the profound accessible. It was also a way to show off the oratorical skills he’d mastered as an apprentice to Hakim Loreweaver, the greatest storyteller in the history of Zhalfir. If poetical rhetoric was good enough for Hakim, it was good enough for Teferi.

  He wondered absently why his thoughts kept turning to Jhoira. Almost as soon as he asked himself this question, Jhoira’s voice cut through the interference surrounding him and stabbed deep into his mind.

  Please, she said, come back to us now.

  The curious way she stressed the last word caught his attention. When had she said it? Was it still now now, or had Jhoira’s “now” long since flowed into the sea?

  Teferi’s mind drifted. He waited for Jhoira’s voice to come again, so he could ask her what she meant. Also, he might be able to get a fix on her position and ’walk there. He’d like to disappear out from under the Teferi-shaped shroud that covered him. He’d like to bring it with him and display it as a unique, unnatural side-effect of his favorite type of magic.

  It was not Jhoira’s voice that came again. Instead, a strong, malevolent voice said, Now. How am I to reward such useful insects? with an eagerness that disturbed Teferi to his very core. The voice was arrogant, but it was also elusive, impossible to single out and examine.

  He recognized the threat that voice represented and the recognition came with overpowering dread. Planeswalkers were the only beings with the kind of power he sensed, and only a few planeswalkers had the presence of mind to conceal it, as this one had, from all but the most scrupulous observer.

  Teferi stopped trying to reach past the barrier surrounding him. Instead, he turned his thoughts and his energy inward, focusing his entire being on one simple truth. As his mother had borrowed the basics of a Zhalfirin folk tale to educate and amuse her precocious child, Teferi borrowed a mantra that his old friend Karn once told him about. It was a simple phrase that, when repeated in the face of overwhelming adversity, allowed the silver golem to persevere and prevent catastrophe.

  “Jhoira is my friend,” Teferi said. He pictured her face, her skin, her long hair gathered at the nape of her neck, her wide almond-shaped eyes. “Jhoira is my friend.”

  In his mind’s eye, Teferi saw the image of Jhoira expand, pulling back to reveal the rest of her body, the ground below her, and the landscape nearby. She was standing with her back straight and her eyes wide, troubled but not despairing. He could see her mind working behind her placid expression, searching for a solution, waiting for a reply.

  “Get away from her,” Teferi said, his voice level and strong. The image of Jhoira blinked as if she’d heard. The look of earnest relief that crossed her face touched him. Like Jhoira herself, it was honest, immediate, and came freely, without condition.

  Jhoira is my friend.

  There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he should never have said. Why was he worrying about this now? Why wasn’t he rushing to help his friend, as she had asked him to?

  He thought of Radha, whom he had brought along for good reasons but also in part to distract Jhoira. A Keldon, even a Keldon elf, would not have dissembled the way he had, would not have hidden his true goals. He knew for a fact that in all the recorded history of Keld, there wasn’t a single berserker who had torn himself apart with self-doubt the way Teferi did every day. They were far from admirable beings, those Keldons, but they were not without their virtues.

  Teferi concentrated, summoning his full force to him. Instead of vanishing out from under the dark veneer, Teferi let the magic build up inside him, holding it in check. When it began to glitter and scintillate across his body like a rain of diamond dust, Teferi let out a cry that would have done Radha proud and explosively released his built-up eldritch power.

  The black sheath burst like an over-filled balloon. Oily scraps and tatters of smoke vanished in the blue-white shock wave. As the obstruction between him and the multiverse disintegrated, Teferi felt his full faculties come streaming back.

  Get away from her, he sent, his tone calm and menacing. Without waiting for a reply, Teferi planeswalked straight to Jhoira’s side, as full of purpose as he ever had been, more determined and clear-minded than he’d been in decades.

  Jhoira is my friend. He would not leave her again.

  “Please excuse my colleagues,” Jhoira said. “We are a quasi-military unit and they are accustomed to letting me answer for them.” Radha harrumphed, and Jhoira was grateful she at least kept her mouth shut.

  I see. And I reckon you and the young man beside you are the “quasi-” part of that equation.

  Jhoira bowed demurely. “I prefer to think of us as the command element.”

  Excellent, but tell me, commander, why is your fellow quasi still trembling?

  “This is his first mission with our unit,” Jhoira said smoothly, “and as you say, he is from Urborg, therefore wary of mind to mind contact.”

  Ah, of course. Perfectly understandable, but you seem quite comfortable, my deceptively young friend. What is your name?

  Jhoira swallowed. It didn’t matter how well they guarded their thoughts, not at all. He was learning too much about them too quickly. She decided to come clean before her dissemination annoyed the unseen presence.

  “I am Jhoira of the Ghitu, from Shiv. My companions are Aprem and Dassene, also of the Ghitu; Skive and Corus, of the viashino; Radha of Keld; and Venser, who as you know is from Urborg.”

  A definite pleasure to meet you all. Truly. A special pleasure to meet you, Venser, and you, Radha. In truth, I’ve never seen anyone quite like either of you. You’re quite unique, even from each other.

  Radha stood stiffly, her hair blown straight back by the wind. She squinted out over the edge of the cliff, sniffing the air. Her eyes were narrow and she did not speak.

  How is it you all have come to my beach, Jhoira of the Ghitu?

  Jhoira thoughts raced as she answered. “We were brought here. Our guide and captain lost control of his vessel. We were separated from him and wound up here.”

  Most unfortunate. I trust you are none the worse for wear after your … high-spirited interaction with the nekoru.

  “It was a simple misunderstanding. We are glad no permanent damage was done.”

  You are too generous. They say all dragons are vain, but nekoru are particularly self-absorbed. I imagine the prince will never breathe a word of his rough treatment at your hands. He’ll most likely claim to have grown bored and flown away, omitting any details that don’t support his own high opinion of himself. He certainly would never admit that he sensed me coming and decided to leave.

  “The prince may tell whatever tale he likes,” Jhoira said. “We hope to be on our way shortly and may never return.”

  Oh? That would be an unhappy turn for me. I am enjoying this conversation, and we’ve hardly begun. For example, you haven’t even told me what your purpose was before you were detoured here.

  “With respect, sir,” Jhoira said. “You are still a stranger to us, undeclared. We must be circumspect at least until our captain returns.”

  An admirable policy. I myself value circumspection quite highly. I trust that will help explain the unforgivable oversight of remaining anonymous. The voice paused, and Jhoira imagined wherever he was, he had just bowed. Jhoira of Shiv, I am Sensei Ryu. It is not a name but a title. I lost all claim to my name and identity when I died.

  “You honor us, Sensei Ryu. I regret that you cannot be here among we living.”

  Indeed. Alas, I was destroyed in mind, body, and spirit by an organized campaign of betrayal. Now I am little more than a memory of a ghost, the last lingering residue of a long and noble life.

  The regal voice paused. I trust that now we are on strong enough terms for you to tell me why your unusual band has come to Madara.

  “I would if I were able,” Jhoira said, “but I am not at liberty to say any more. Please excuse me.”

  Of course.
Since you cannot answer my question, I shall answer it for you. You were all falling headlong through a network of cracks in reality. You flew through time and space, bouncing from here to there, from then to now. Your progress stopped suddenly, so I steered you here and gave you a push.

  Jhoira inhaled deeply. “You did, sir?”

  Oh yes, for I have developed a great interest in those cracks you navigated. As I am dead and bound to this place, I have little beyond my present surroundings to occupy my thoughts, and my present surroundings include such a crack.

  “There is a time rift here?”

  Jhoira forgot to be frightened, her mind digging furiously through the details of their jaunt through the rifts. There had been a shrine, a river, and two huge pillars of stone.

  Yes. It cannot be seen easily, but I have seen it. It cuts through this realm there, between the spires of the Talon Gates.

  She turned and saw the great pincers of rock that rose up from the sea. Teferi had not mentioned a rift at this site, had not even recognized the place. They all saw the Talon gates, but did he not see the rift, or was its existence just another one of his secrets?

  “What is the crack?” Jhoira said. “The rift? Do you know? Do you know what caused it?”

  I know it is … troubling. I have been dead here for a long time and lived far longer before that. This schism is older than the oldest histories of Madara, but it is not older than me. A great upheaval caused it, one of the first things to ever happen on this world. No wonder Dominaria’s history is so full of conflict—this initial defining event itself was violent in the extreme.

  “Sensei,” Jhoira said quietly, “what was the event?”

  The particulars are complicated and abstract. I have no interest in recounting them for you now. I’m speaking of the result, of the so-called rift you mentioned. Did you know it pulls the life-force of the land to it as surely as sunlight melts the snow?

  Jhoira nodded. “Did it always?”