Time Streams
Page 35
A restless breeze moved among the trees. The crowd turned its attention to the distant deeps of the sky. Something moved there among the lazy clouds of night. Something large. The shape grew rapidly and silently on the wind.
The crowd that had lingered throughout the long, hot day began to draw back in dread. Those lurking in doorways withdrew inside, and, those out in the open pressed back toward doorways. A reddish streamer of flame outlined devilish jowls and a great, rapacious eye.
“It’s a demon!”
“Yes, but one of ours.”
The dragon’s figure was clear now, above the treetops. In moments it soared over the walls and flapped ferociously above the courtyard. Rhammidarigaaz! In his wake, black against the blue-black of night, there came a giant hull. From its sides jutted smiling faces and waving hands.
The Weatherlight.
* * *
It was some months later when Jhoira stood again at the prow of the ship, feeling the sea winds in her hair. She breathed deeply and remembered a time long ago when she stood in her secret spot, on the prow of Tolaria, and dreamed of far-off places and soul mates. Her girlhood dreams had not come to pass and had in fact brought her much pain over the years. Life had been good nonetheless. She was among the greatest artificers in the world, a trusted companion of Urza Planeswalker and, for the time being, the ad hoc captain of the grand ship Weatherlight. She had explored earthly paradises, had run forges in hell, had fought wars in heaven, and had traveled the planes with a silver man and a skyship.
“How are things looking down there, Karn?” she asked through the speaking tube that emerged at the prow.
“The crystal’s supply of energy is limitless,” Karn replied.
His energy had also increased of late. The orphaned child of Urza had at last found his home, at the heart of the ship he feared would be the end of him. The planeswalker had returned from Serra’s Realm chastened by his victory. Unexplainably to anyone, he had begun to show a fatherly affection toward Karn, saying the silver man was formed in his own image. Whether by plan or happenstance, Urza’s first thinking, feeling artifact creature had become the heart of his legacy for the world.
Karn had even learned a little bit about humor. “Is there anything you’d like me to shoot?”
“No, thanks, Karn,” Jhoira said. “Steady as she goes.”
“Aye, aye,”
Yes, it had been quite a life so far. No soul mates, but quite a life—or were there soul mates?
The tip of Zhalfir jutted just ahead, a rocky prominence behind which stretched a broad and bountiful land. The civil wars were concluded, thanks to the wisdom and power of a certain Tolarian wizard, and the country had pledged a tract of land for human refugees from Serra’s Realm. That was the purpose of this trip. Jhoira, Karn, and the crew of Weatherlight were conducting three hundred and sixty-three human refugees to their new home in Zhalfir. Jhoira’s mind, just now, was not on any of those three hundred and sixty-three, but rather on the figure that stood, red-swathed and magnificent on that prominence of stone.
Heart catching in her throat, Jhoira shouted the order that would bring the ship slowly up to hover just above the prominence. Smiling broadly despite herself, Jhoira called out to the man standing there. “Teferi! Excuse me, Lord Mage Teferi of Zhalfir! Good to see you again.”
“And you!” came the genuine reply. With a simple flip of his arm, the man levitated up to the ship board. He spread his cloak in wide majesty as unseen arms of magic lowered him to stand before Jhoira. He bowed low, returned her smile, and set hands on his hips. “I hear you have some new citizens for my nation.”
“Yes,” Jhoira said. “Three hundred and sixty-three.”
“Fine. Fine. I do hope you are planning to help them settle in.”
Jhoira tipped her head regretfully. “I can stay the day. Urza wants his ship back for other…errands.”
Teferi nodded, his eyes darkening in disappointment. “Some other time then, perhaps.”
“Why don’t you come back with me to Tolaria?” she suggested.
“You have lots of friends there. Arty Shovelhead is aboard. He would be happy to see you.”
“I’m lucky to be alive, after all I did to him.” Teferi wore a chagrined smile. “It’s hard to believe a hundred-pound kid would pick on a twelve-hundred pound golem. Still, I’ll have to see him again later. Anyone can fight a war. It’s maintaining peace that takes all the real work.” He looked her up and down. “Well, Jhoira of the Ghitu, let’s take these people to their new home.”
“Yes, my friend,” she replied. “Yes.”
Monologue
I’d really hoped Jhoira and Teferi would get together. After all, a master artificer and a master mage would make natural partners. Oh, well, perhaps it will come in time. And on Tolaria, time is one thing we will never run out of.
—Barrin, Mage Master of Tolaria
At last, Urza is sane.
He remembers battling his brother Mishra, three thousand years ago, and regrets the destruction they caused. He remembers the death of his surrogate brother, Ratepe, and his best friend Xantcha, and is grateful for their lives together. He is capable at last of true regret and gratitude, and that goes a long way. He is at last capable of having true friends.
Urza not only remembers his past, he has taken responsibility for it. He resurrected time-ravaged Tolaria, did penance for Argoth, destroyed a small corner of Phyrexia, and even saved the refugees of Serra’s Realm.
As I write this, I sit with Urza in his high study. The evening winds of Tolaria are hot and pregnant with life. The sound of night-birds has begun, haunting and beautiful. The Phyrexian gorge lies quiet, empty now for nearly a decade. The only other sound comes from the great hall. There is a dance tonight, and a whole new generation of Tolarian students are having fun. I tap my foot absently to the distant sound of rebecs and drums.
The master raises his face from the book he is reading. It is his wife’s account of the Brothers’ War. He has been reading it very gravely during the last month, his thoughtful expression broken at moments into wistful remembrance. The smile that appears on his face now is something different, though.
“How late does the dance run tonight?”
I shrug. “I said they could dance till the Glimmer Moon went down—well after midnight. If the sound is bothering you—”
“No,” Urza says with an off-putting hand. “It’s just that I’ve been rereading this wedding sequence. I remember the dances from that day, long ago. I don’t imagine modem music would quite accommodate the same steps….”
I rise. “Oh, if not, we can teach the players a few of the old tunes.” Yes, Urza is sane. Now, I suppose I’ll see if he can dance.
—Barrin, Mage Master of Tolaria
THE SAGA
CONTINUES
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