Bloodlines

by Loren L. Coleman

  “Gatha is responsible for several of what few breakthroughs we’ve had augmenting the bloodlines,” Urza argued calmly. He lifted his gaze to find Barrin’s. “You know what he did to help bring the Metathran labs on schedule.”

  Yes, Barrin knew. He had assigned Gatha the work, hoping that getting his hands dirty might knock the indifferent edge off of the boy. Instead, Gatha had acquired a taste for it. He dressed in dark clothing these days, not the precise Argivian uniform he had when he arrived at the academy, the better to hide bloodstains Barrin felt sure.

  “The Metathran are our own sin, but you’ve convinced me of their necessity. The bloodlines, though, involve and affect real lives.” Barrin swallowed, trying to coax life back to his cotton-dry mouth. “Don’t remind me that they are all volunteers, because this goes beyond that.” He glanced toward Karn and then continued. “He’s introducing Phyrexian material into the main Eugenics Matrix,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Now Urza paid attention. “How did you find that out?” he asked sharply.

  Barrin stammered at the ‘walker’s reaction, his scalp prickling. The Eugenics Matrix was a Thran artifact that Urza recovered and modified and was the key to genetic manipulation. The Matrix and the simpler devices based on it offered the only real chance for success on the Bloodlines project. They also represented the opportunity for terrible abuse. All new procedures were supposed to be cleared by Urza or Barrin. The mage had heard unconfirmed rumors only but had hoped to shock a reaction out of the planeswalker never thinking that, if true, Gatha could be operating with permission.

  “You knew?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “How else would Gatha get hold of Thran genetic material?” Urza stressed the different name, though of course they were one and the same. Noticing Barrin’s frown of confusion, he said, “Acquired from more recent incarnations, of course, but as descendents of the Thran we can hope to reacquire their better traits.” He brushed the semantics aside with a quick wave. “Where did you hear this?”

  “Karn,” Barrin answered, nodding to the silver golem. “He brought some rumors to my attention which led back to Gatha.” He noticed the golem’s start. Karn began to speak, and then with a confused expression, obviously decided against it. “I’m still investigating,” the mage finished.

  “Then you may stop investigating,” Urza said simply. Noticing Barrin’s look of dawning horror, he continued. “Nothing is more important than the Legacy. We agreed to that years ago, yes?” He waited for Barrin’s reluctant nod. “It does matter that they are volunteers. I would not burden you with such troubles here on Tolaria if they were not. I must have the heir to the Legacy.” Urza’s eyes burned away, and in his illusionary mask of a young face the twin powerstones shown out in their stead. “Someone who can empathize with the Phyrexians enough to outguess them—to understand how to employ the Legacy to defeat them, possibly inside Phyrexia itself. Once Karn has joined with—”

  “Speaking of whom,” Barrin interrupted as soon as Karn’s name was mentioned, talking over Urza’s next few words. “Karn, would you mind finding Rayne? She’s visiting some of the real-time labs. Let her know I’ll be late and help out if she needs anything.”

  “Of course, Master Barrin.”

  Karn bowed stiffly from the waste, the relief in his voice telling how happy he was to finally have an order. The golem exited through the same door Gatha had used.

  Urza had turned back to the report he held as soon as Barrin mentioned Rayne, his intensity of the moment before forgotten just as easily as it had come. This was not the first time Barrin had noticed that Urza seemed uncomfortable around the idea of the mage being married. It nettled him slightly and led him to wonder at the ‘walker’s odd manners.

  “She does worry, sometimes,” the mage said by way of explaining Karn’s mission.

  Looking up from the report, Urza nodded. “I’m sure.”

  To the swamps of Urborg with Urza’s indifference! This chance upon him, Barrin said, “I am married, you know. Her name is Rayne.”

  “I know that.” Urza’s expression did not change.

  “Do you disapprove?” Barrin asked directly.

  “What makes you think I do?” Again no expression, but there was a hint of curiosity in his tone.

  Barrin leaned forward onto the table they shared. “You avoid her, even the mention of her. I’ve noticed before that you take special pains to prevent encounters.” He paused. “I’m sure she notices too, though she will never say so.”

  The ‘walker nodded. “So you think I disapprove. Barrin…” His voice trailed off as if he were trying to organize his thoughts or was deciding what not to say. “Barrin, my own experience in relationships does not…I do not claim to have a clear understanding of mortal events. I try to leave well enough alone where my concerns are not needed and my presence is possibly disruptive.”

  It was a plausible answer—slightly evasive—but plausible. “You do approve?” Barrin asked, fishing for a straight answer for once. He held Urza’s gaze, as if he could will the truth from the ‘walker.

  “Life must endure, Barrin,” Urza finally said. “That more than anything defines our purpose on Tolaria.” He paused, then, “I think you have done well. I certainly would not have chosen any other mate for you.”

  Barrin should have known better, hoping for an easy answer.

  Urza stood, gathering up the reports he had been reading. The perfunctory way he went about collecting his papers might have signaled an end to their conversation, and Barrin was willing to let it go. Ending a conversation on a positive note for once would be nice.

  Urza was of another mind. “Why did you want Karn to leave the room?” he asked, pausing half way to the door.

  The ‘walker was not always obtuse to the mortal events around him. Barrin nodded. “You were about to say that Karn would be joined with the Weatherlight, weren’t you? And right in front of him.”

  The planeswalker stared back, waiting.

  Barrin shook his head. “Urza, he isn’t a cog or a gear. Karn is a sentient being, capable of making decisions which affect his life. I doubt you’ve even noticed, but…” The mage trailed off, drawing a strange parallel between Karn’s obvious personal troubles and the previously discussed problems with the bloodlines. Could one be too empathic? Or have too perfect of a memory?

  Urza shrugged indifference to Barrin, either missing or more likely not caring that the mage had interrupted himself. He hovered in the doorway. “The Weatherlight will require a governing mind when it comes time for its grand purpose, as directed by the heir. Karn is perfect for that task. He will complete the Weatherlight.” With that, he walked from the room.

  The planeswalker’s use of the term complete ran a chill through the mage. That was how the Phyrexians described the replacement of flesh with artifice, as the compleation of the body. Barrin slid into a nearby chair, his strength deserting him. In all the years he had known Urza, Barrin could not remember hearing the planeswalker use the term in a similar context.

  Ever.

  Leaving the kingdom of Zhalfir in its wake, hardly a dark smudge set against the graying coastline, the Weatherlight’s crew checked all horizons and called them clear. Karn glanced back toward the ship’s stern. A colorful sunset framed the aft end of the ship. Ilsa Braven, the vessel’s current captain, commanded from the quarterdeck, and she bellowed commands which would not be heard again on the Weatherlight for some time.

  “Rig the ship for sky. Take her up.”

  Crewmen shifted the sail rigging, and engineers brought the ship’s magical engines up to power. Slowly, the sleek vessel rose from the embrace of blue-gray waters and into a sky washed pale red by the dying sun. The skyship’s sharp bowsprit whistled as it cleaved the air. The sails remained full—billowed by magical energies which wrapped themselves about the sky-borne vessel. Most of the sailors and students aboard would agree that this was one of the best moments—when the freedom the Weatherlight offered w
as palpable especially to those who rode the open deck.

  Karn did not revel in that moment, though this would be the final flight of the Weatherlight before security issues forced it to remain in the role of a simple ocean-bound vessel. He remembered other times well enough when he had enjoyed his time on the ship—pleasant moments on deck or down in the heart of the vessel where the silver golem could physically link with the Weatherlight’s powerstone engine and command the ship’s flight with a level of precision no human crew could hope to match. Those were heady times in the golem’s life, good times indeed, now lost.

  Over the last ten years Tolaria had begun to feel like a prison to Karn. His constant movement between the different temporal zones made him uneasy, unable to really know any of the students anymore. They were lost in a mayfly life while the silver man stepped into slow time to assist Rayne, Barrin, or Gatha.

  Against his better judgment, Karn remained Gatha’s friend—the tutor’s only friend, it seemed. Other academy staff avoided him. Many of the students who worked under the tutor were afraid of him. Gatha did not seem to mind the lack of human contact, content in his work and a periodic acquaintance with Karn. That Karn needed something more came to a head when, during one of those visits to slow time, the golem missed one of Jhoira’s rare appearances on Tolaria. The silver golem did not hold resentment for Gatha’s summons, but it did cast him into a personal depression which only Barrin and Rayne had noticed and finally worked him through with a few kind words and gestures.

  It was Gatha’s continued use of Phyrexian material in the bloodlines that finally convinced Karn to seek a leave of absence from Tolaria. So many of his subjects were born malformed, and nearly all of them, so far, turned malevolent to some degree as they matured relatively quickly in fast-time environments. The golem had found himself unable to reconcile his friendship with Gatha and the revulsion he felt toward the man’s practices. Karn remembered the years of fighting against the small Phyrexian community that had once infested Tolaria. He remembered the terrible creatures that repeatedly rose in newer, more hideous forms and the many good lives lost because of them. He easily recalled their grotesque features—artifice and flesh intermingled—and the caustic scent of the slime and oil that they called blood. He could still hear the screeching cacophony of noise that was their speech and screams. Worst of all, he remembered his own empathy for the black nightmares—that tiny spark within him which recognized Phyrexians as kindred.

  Karn knew of the black powerstone which gave him true life—Xantcha’s Heart. It had been first tied to the life of Urza’s former companion, a Phyrexian newt who turned against her old masters and old world. It had retained its powers after she gave her life to defeat the Phyrexian Gix, and so Urza had bound it to the golem and brought about his first sentient artifact. The powerstone responded to Phyrexians still. The principle of similarity, Barrin had called it, trying to relieve Karn’s anxiety with an explanation. Like must recognize like, but Karn had felt that same spark of empathy for Gatha’s creations, and it frightened him. He did not want such feelings confusing his true friendships with good people like Jhoira, Barrin and Rayne. Upon hearing that Rayne and the forest spirit Multani would lead an embassy to Yavimaya on the Weatherlight’s next tour, its final flight, Karn volunteered to help crew the vessel in hopes of reliving a few of those better days and so reclaim some hold on the present, except that hadn’t worked.

  Karn heard the Weatherlight’s call to him even now. That deep hum of power that bled up through the polished wooden deck—a sound so bass it was felt more than heard. It was different this time; missing were the other people who had made those times alive for the silver golem, mostly Teferi and Jhoira. Always back to Jhoira, for whom, Karn admitted now, he had made this entire trip. He wanted to talk to his first and best friend, but neither she nor Teferi had been in Zhalfir—the ship’s first port of call—and no one had been able to say where they might have gone off to and whether alone or together.

  There would be no absolution on this journey, only the hard, cruel truth the golem now faced standing alone on the ship’s deck. He had tried to run away, but his past would never allow that. It followed him, tormenting and tireless. Right then Karn wished it all away.

  Never once did he consider what such a wish might cost him.

  * * *

  Multani moved to the edge of the quarterdeck, away from the tight knot of academy observers whom Captain Braven had invited up into her domain for landing. The nature spirit gripped the rail. He could feel the life in the ship, a life which was still as much a part of Yavimaya as a being of its own essence, much like himself.

  Even from a distance, Multani would fail to pass for a human or one of the more humanoid races. His trunk exactly that, a medium-sized bole too thick and cylindrical to remind one of a body. His arms and legs were thick branches, very knobby at the joints and his fingers and toes rootlike extremities. Barklike skin covered the backs of his hands, forearms, and the tops of his feet, and his face seemed to sprout from the top of his trunk. Hair the color and texture of spring moss fell back from his scalp and upper shoulders, the mane tumbling halfway down his back. He had chlorophyll eyes, green irises staining veins into the white, and a leaf-shaped pattern tattooing the left side of his woodgrain face. He was created from the essence of Yavimaya, the sentient forest packaged in humanoid form.

  Now, after better than a century away, he was leading a Tolarian embassy and Llanowar ambassador back to his homeland.

  Blue-green waters rolled up to a thin outer arc of beaches which alternated between light yellow to reddish browns and the intermittent green of coastal growth. The beach territory quickly faded toward pale washes of rainbow color as the Weatherlight moved inland. That was new. The forest green had once stretched from one side of the island to another, before Yavimaya had begun some…changes. The interior remained a dense canopy of greens, interrupted only by a few dark mountain peaks. The canopy rippled in places, as if by an intense wind that no one else could feel.

  He felt the forest’s anticipation and just a trace of concern for allowing so many outsiders access to its lands. The nature spirit sent back a soothing call.

  “It’s wondrous,” Rofellos said, the Llanowar elf bounding up to the rail beside him.

  The young warrior’s dark, unruly hair fell in a tangled cascade down his back. He leapt up onto the narrow rail, leaning far over with one arm looped casually through nearby rigging. The bottom hem of his leather tunic waved in the moderate breeze created by the ship’s passing. His sword dangled from a rough leather belt—an item he never set aside no matter the company or situation.

  Multani had moved aside to avoid the others, especially Rayne with whom he had already spent so much of this voyage in conference, but Rofellos, for all his energy and rough ways, was welcome. He was one of Gaea’s forest-born, though more violent than most, but then the same could be said of most Llanowar elves. That was the reason Yavimaya had asked the Llanowar warrior clans send an ambassador. Perhaps the Llanowar might learn from Yavimaya something more of harmonious living.

  Respectful as always to Multani’s slightest comment or movement, Rofellos jumped back down to the deck. “I’m sorry, Multani. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  So close to home, Multani doubted that much could truly disturb him. Soon, he promised himself, he would know the forest’s soothing touch again.

  “Do not worry, Rofellos, Yavimaya welcomes you.

  Rofellos drew himself up proudly at the recognition, whether from Yavimaya or Multani himself the nature spirit couldn’t be sure. In reality, it didn’t matter. Perhaps Rofellos could not fully appreciate the unique creation which was Yavimaya yet, but certainly he stood in slight awe of the nature spirit. Multani watched the elf carefully as, still racing the wind at a good clip, the Weatherlight flew over the island perimeter.

  The elf started only slightly. “No beaches?” He grinned, obviously enthralled by the prospect. “No sand or rocks,�
� he said in wonder, “only Yavimaya.”

  “You will find no sand,” Multani promised. “None safe.”

  Below them the beaches had been consumed by a tangle of thick, thorny rootwork. The roots extended out from the small copses of coastal growth, then curled and bunched as they ran across the open space and finally dived into the ocean shallows. A few last tips stuck out like huge spikes, as if to impale landing ships. When Rofellos mentioned this, the nature spirit nodded.

  “They are meant to do just that. You see years of patient growth at work here. Though Yavimaya’s defenses will tend to spread from the heart outward, an initial perimeter guard was deemed of great importance.”

  The elf forced on himself a moment to consider this, a sign of extreme patience in a Llanowar. Finally he asked, “Does Yavimaya tell you this?”

  “I simply know it to be true. Yavimaya speaks through me. It has no need of speaking to me.”

  As the coastal root network and isolated copses fell away, the Weatherlight crossed over what had appeared at first to be painted desert. The air chilled and quickly turned to an intense cold. The nearby humans chattered excitedly, and Rofellos continued to stare over the side, oblivious to the temperature. Multani shivered in his physical shell, turning his face upward to stretch toward the sun’s warming rays.

  “More roots, thinner ones, blanketing the ground.” The elf fell silent for a few seconds. “Writhing over…are those dunes?”

  “Trees,” Multani whispered without looking. “The boles of ancient trees, centuries old, which Yavimaya shaped and then recently fell here in perfect order so that no gap remains. The ground here reflects no heat. The warmth is pulled into the decomposing trees so that the root desert may grow faster.” The spirit looked ahead, at the high cliff of wood that barred their path. “Captain Braven, you may rise above those trees, but slow your speed. Your landing area is near.”

  The captain barked out the appropriate orders.