by Cory Herndon
There was an expectant pause. Kos pumped his legs, hoping they’d gotten far enough away from the blast to survive. “Perhaps I was wrong about the time,” Pivlic said. “Pivlic is a businessman, not an engineer.” Just then the explosion rocked the ground and all of the City of Ravnica. Pivlic would later estimate that had they departed just a few seconds later, the blast might have killed them all. As it was, the explosion flattened Prahv and sent a fireball into the sky that could be seen from the northwest pole. The shock wave shattered what few windows remained for a mile in every direction; left a crater the size of Thausstorin Arena; and threw Kos, Feather, Fonn, and the ledev guards to the ground—bruised, but alive.
The Schism appears to have faded like a bad memory. Would that the memories of that fateful day the nephilim appeared would fade as fast. But as long as we remain, fellow citizens of Utvara, not even the immortal gods of the past can keep us from forging a new destiny. And your destiny includes half off all drinks at the new Imp Wing Hotel and Tavern, rebuilt and open under new management. Refreshment for the future of Utvara.
—Advertisement, the Utvara Townsman,
15 Paujal, 10013 Z.C.
3 TEVNEMBER 10012 Z.C.
Fonn took her son’s hand and ducked inside the labyrinth. She nodded at the hippogryph guards, who nodded back. They had obviously been told to expect her.
It was over. Feather, with the help of many teratogens, had hauled Rakdos’s body—still alive, but in some kind of suspended animation—into the pit of Rix Maadi. Fonn had gone along for the ride, half-expecting the chance to take out some of her grief bitterly fighting the cultists.
The cultists were too busy fighting each other to fight the intruders. The angel and the teratogens dropped the demon-god into a deep slumber, perhaps for good.
She had requested leave from both the ledev and the wojeks for now. Fonn could no longer rely on someone else to help her raise Myc. But perhaps together the two of them could find a way to say good bye.
Golgari necromancy involved the transfer of a ghostly spirit into its own corpse. This did not return the dead to life, exactly, but retained as much of their mortal minds as the necromancer allowed. And Jarad, the guildmaster, had practiced the arts of Golgari necromancy a great deal since his sister’s death.
Fonn and Myc walked hand in hand down the silent corridors, neither speaking, until they arrived in the center of the labyrinth.
“Hello,” the guildmaster said. Jarad stood, the wounds on his body still evident. Though they had been cleaned up they would never heal now. The Devkarin had accomplished what few necromancers ever had—he forced his own ghost to return to his body and reanimated himself.
“Hello,” Myc said. Fonn could not seem to speak and only nodded in dumb agreement. She had thought she could handle this, but seeing him there, not dead but no longer the man she had known …
“We have come to say farewell,” she said at last. “Myc wanted to—”
“Mom,” Myc interrupted, “Dad. It’s all right.”
“Myc, he’s—”
“I am what I am, Fonn,” Jarad said. “I am not that different than I was. But there are some things that—well, I think you are right. This is farewell for you and me. For now.”
“But not for us,” Myc said, and turned to Fonn. “He’s still my father. Mom, I once said that I wanted to learn from both of you. And in the last few years, I’ve been devoting almost all my time to learning how to be a ledev. I think it’s time for me to learn a little more about being a Devkarin, too. Not the zombie part, no offense, Dad.”
Tears welled in Fonn’s eyes, but she ignored them. She nodded.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes,” Myc said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not eager to wield a ledev sword again, either. Not right away. Not after what I had to do with one.” He turned to the guildmaster and addressed his father formally. “Guildmaster, if you will have me, I would like to learn the Golgari ways. But understand this isn’t a choice. I will serve both guilds. I think that—I think part of the problem with this world is that everyone is so locked into whatever role their guild gives them. Why do I have to be in one guild or the other?”
Fonn looked upon the boy with surprise—surprise that melted into respect.
“He is wise, isn’t he?” Jarad said. His voice had lost whatever warmth it once possessed, but it was still his voice.
“All right,” Fonn said. “Jarad … Guildmaster. Take care of him. And Myc, when you’re ready to resume your training with the ledev, I’ll be waiting.”
She turned and left before Jarad could make eye contact with her again. The temptation to return to him was strong, but Fonn was not free to make the same decision her son had. She had already split her own obligations—to the ledev and to the wojeks. Myc would have to find his own path, and she would be there to help him when he needed it. And Jarad? Some things could not be overcome quickly. She would mourn the Jarad she had known, and perhaps learn to befriend the one that now led the Golgari. For now it was enough that the boy had a father again.
4 Tevnember 10012 Z.C.
At the edge of the devastated Utvara township, Crixizix the goblin stood silently. She had been here for almost a day, waiting and watching for some sign of the help she had called for to arrive. The containment team had never shown up, but the goblin had other resources.
While she waited, she stared at the capped caldera Niv-Mizzet had created before flying off into the unknown. Crixizix had felt no contact from the Firemind for days. Wherever Niv-Mizzet was, he did not want to be disturbed.
Utvara, however, would survive, despite her earlier dire predictions. Already some who remained had built simple shelters, while others had cleared out ruined homes and buildings, starting the cycle of civilization all over again. Eventually, they would need power, water, and all of the things a master engineer of the Izzet could supervise.
By the time the goblin saw the private yacht zeppelid break over the horizon, she had already reconstructed half of the Cauldron in her head. When Pivlic and the baroness touched down, she would be ready to begin rebuilding Utvara for good.
12 CIZARM 10014 Z.C.
“Welcome back, Kos,” Feather said. “We were not entirely certain that would work.”
“Feather?” Kos said. “Who am I—Where am I now?” It was a place at once familiar but different. Little things out of place, others gone entirely. People. And a sense that he’d been away, and not just because he’d been welcomed back.
“Look for yourself,” Feather said and guided him to a tall mirror.
The face, the body, and clothing were that of Agrus Kos. All three were slightly translucent and carrying a soft, pale glow that came from no natural light source—well, except glowspheres, which were known for it.
“That’s me,” he said and heard his own voice. It echoed a bit more than Feather’s in the guildmaster’s office. Yes, that’s where he was. This was the central sanctum of the Boros guildmaster in the heart of Sunhome, the Boros fortress that had been completely rebuilt—seemingly overnight from Kos’s perspective. “Feather, what’s going on?”
“It is a gift,” Feather said, “from the new Azorius guildmaster. He has taken the name Leonos II.”
“I don’t care if he’s taken the name Goblin H. Krokt—I don’t want this,” Kos said. “I’m—Don’t you get it? I’m done. No more giant monsters, mad scientists, ancient shadowy villains. No conspiracies, no dromads, and no more dragons. I don’t care what it is this time. I’m done. I am dead. Please accept it.”
“Are you?” Feather said. “Done?”
“Feather, I don’t know where I’ve been, but I daresay you’ve become glib.”
“And a bit more diplomatic,” the angel admitted. Then her expression became more serious. “Listen to me. No diplomacy. No glib. This form—your current and, if you like, permanent incarnation—is a gift, no strings attached.”
“What made you think I wan
ted to go on living?” Kos asked.
“Can you honestly tell me you didn’t?” Feather asked. “When you were merely an Azorius agent, you fought for your life just as hard as you did when—”
“I was borrowing those,” Kos said, but even as he did he realized it wasn’t really true. He hadn’t been trying to save Obez’s skin, nor the virusoid’s. Maybe Wenslauv’s, but they were old friends. Certainly he hadn’t cared whether the god-zombie lived or died. Still … “All right, you’ve got me,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean—I mean, how does this work? Who can see me?”
“Everyone can see you,” Feather said. “In fact,” she added, tossing a dindin fruit from a bowl on the huge oak desk that dominated the room, “you can pick up, touch, and use any object you like.”
Kos caught the dindin in one hand by reflex. He closed the fingers around it, and except for the fact that he could still see the skin of the fruit through those fingers it felt solid. He felt solid. He drew a breath.
If it was the illusion of breathing, it was close enough to his memory of the real thing.
He tossed the fruit back to Feather.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Kos said. “You may be getting better at diplomacy, but I’ve known you too long.”
“Well,” the angel said, “I do have a—we have—an offer for you.”
“A job,” Kos said. “I knew it. What, has Niv-Mizzet decided to turn Vitu Ghazi into a scratching post?”
“What? No, Niv-Mizzet has left for—” the angel said. “Oh. That was a joke.”
“Not a very good one, either. Now out with it,” Kos said.
“The Guildpact as you remember it is gone,” Feather said, “but we have signed a new accord. We are attempting to put something similar in place, an agreement that works on true interdependency, negotiation … in short, what the Guildpact was supposed to be but which the paruns felt had to be reinforced with magic. When that magic fell apart, so did a civilization that had grown used to relying on it.”
“So the guilds? …” Kos said, curious despite himself.
“They are fewer in number by one,” Feather said. “There is no need for a House Dimir to oppose the Guildpact’s power because the power of the new accord is not in its magic but in the document. I must say I’m quite proud of it, though most of the credit should go to the baroness.”
“Our baroness?” Kos said. “Teysa?”
“Yes, she composed most of it and helped me negotiate much of the rest,” Feather said.
“You still haven’t gotten to the job,” Kos said.
“Yes,” Feather said. “First, let me tell you something.”
“Another something,” Kos said.
“This one’s simple,” Feather said. “It has been two years since the Parhelion was destroyed, and the spell Augustin IV cast to anchor you to Obez faded with it. And in that time, there have been more changes than just the new accord. Step with me to the window.”
Kos followed the angel to the edge of a large curtain that the angel swept aside with a flourish.
“What is that?” Kos asked, translucent mouth agape.
“That is Agyrem,” Feather said.
“But that’s a—” Kos had been about to say “myth,” but the proof was before his eyes. It almost looked like the City of Ravnica had been copied and placed imperfectly atop itself. Translucent towers and busy, pale specters cut through the reality of the original central metropolis, mingling with the world of the living.
“It’s not cut off from the rest of the world anymore,” Feather continued. “The Schism is gone, but Agyrem remains here, a reality merged with ours, in a way, but also not there. I’m told it had something to do with the quietmen coming back, but whatever the cause it is done, and does not seem to be changing. Honestly, for the most part it’s become just another neighborhood to most people these days, even if the inhabitants are somewhat transparent. But we—that is, the living—cannot truly interact with it, not physically.”
“And …”
“And I need someone to establish the new Agyrem Leaguehall,” Feather said, “someone I trust, with enough experience to hit the ground running. Someone who can not only see Agyrem, but can see and interact with its denizens.”
“No strings, huh?”
“It is yours to refuse,” the angel replied. “Your future is your own. And if you do wish to return to … nonexistence, it can be arranged.” It was an offer, not a threat, but the word “nonexistence” gave Kos pause. He’d just spent two years not existing. And the more he thought about it, the less he liked the idea.
“There’s still something you’re not telling me,” Kos said. “I can smell it.”
“True,” the angel said. “And that is why we need a Leaguehall in the city of ghosts. There is no longer an official tenth guild, but Szadek, and the Dimir, survive, in a way.”
“In there,” Kos said, pointing at the ghostly spires intermingling with the familiar towers of his home.
“Yes,” Feather said, and looked somewhat ashamed. “He—his ghost—weathered the explosion in Prahv. It may be that this was his plan all along—he is in his element among the dead. It appears that there are too many ghosts for him to control them all, but he is gaining strength. And he is elusive. My forces cannot find him, let alone oppose him. For the sake of Agyrem, to say nothing of Ravnica, Szadek needs to be opposed.”
“By me.”
“By someone,” Feather said. “And I can think of no one else more qualified.”
“I’m a ghost.”
“So is he.” Kos eyed Feather skeptically then looked back out the window. Agyrem was huge, and from this vantage point he could not see where it ended and the “normal” city began. Indeed, many of the spectral towers were distorted imitations of the originals. He thought he could even make out a ghostly Vitu Ghazi not far from the solid one.
“Well,” Kos said after several long, silent minutes. “It looks like I’ve got work to do.”
About the Author
Cory J. Herndon is a freelance writer and editor currently providing content for Xbox.com and the official STAR WARS® RPG web site, among others. He has edited numerous STAR WARS role-playing game books and is the author of The Fifth Dawn; Ravnica; Guildpact; MAGIC: THE GATHERING® Starter Game Strategy Guide; the MAGIC: THE GATHERING® Official Encyclopedia Vol. 5; the short story, “Like Spider’s Silk” in The Secrets of Magic anthology; and the STAR WARS role-playing game title Ultimate Alien Anthology (with co-author.)
MAGIC: THE GATHERING, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast, Inc., in the U.S.A. and other countries. ©2006 Wizards. Star Wars is TM and © Lucasfilm Ltd.
