Future Sight

by John Delaney

  She watched the dark berries contend with the holly for a few moments until a new shape began to emerge from the center of the curtain, one of white berries and pale, golden leaves. The shape quickly took on the appearance of a woman in a winged helmet. The plants around her curled and withered as she extended those wings, and for every healthy leaf that died the woman grew more robust and vivid. When the tips of her wings touched both Multani faces, the angel figure suddenly ruptured, its white and gold components separating, drifting out across the holly, and sinking back in to the leafy background.

  The female figure was gone but the color-absorbing effect continued. It centered around each of the Multanis so that the spread of dying gray now crept out from them at each end of the curtain. Through the bare patch at the center, Jhoira saw a single tough, woody vine stretched between Urborg and Yavimaya. Sinister-seeming lumps raced back and forth across this vine like rats under a bedsheet. When that connection at last began to wither and dry, the Multani face on the black berries withdrew and flowed into the vine. It formed a bulging bolus that slowly slid back toward the original face of Yavimaya.

  Now the only recognizable figure, Multani absorbed the bolus. It sprouted a sickly yellow glow from the center of its forehead, but the amber gleam did not draw the life out of the surrounding plants as the angel had. Instead it seemed to feed the leaves and berries, though their growth was now twisted and unnatural. The holly leaves bubbled as if seared by fire, and the berries grew asymmetrically, one side swollen fat and bulbous as the other rotted from within and collapsed. The grotesquerie swelled and spread across the holly until it covered a full third of the curtain. Multani’s motionless, marred features stared at Jhoira and Teferi until the glittering fog drifted back in and obscured it.

  They stood silent in the mist for a few seconds. Then Teferi spoke. “Well,” he said. “A history of Yavimaya from the Invasion to the present. Is that what you saw?”

  Jhoira nodded. “It’s all there. Urborg, Karona. I’m not sure what that last bit meant, but I can guess.”

  “The rift?”

  “It has to be. But the other rifts didn’t distort the landscape. They drained it.”

  “The other rifts weren’t in Yavimaya,” Teferi said.

  “This is maddening. We are no closer to Venser,” Jhoira said. “Or to finding the rift. We have to keep looking. We have to move on.”

  “I don’t think we do,” Teferi said. “I think we’re already here.”

  A stale wind swept weakly across the clearing, barely enough to rustle Jhoira’s hair, but it quickly picked up speed and force. Teferi stumbled as he moved closer to Jhoira, and as he stumbled she caught his shoulder and helped him stay upright. The wind’s ferocity continued to build, peppering them with glittering grit. Jhoira and Teferi clung to each other, each shielding their face against the other’s shoulder.

  The wind died. Jhoira lifted her head. The fog was gone, but the harsh light remained. She could see almost all of the root wall behind Teferi, and she pushed back and turned toward the interior of the arena.

  “The rift is here,” Teferi said excitedly. Then his voice dropped, his tone low and miserable. “Oh no.”

  Jhoira looked up. A massive tangle of plants hung suspended between the trees, thirty feet above the forest floor. It was round, roughly, and in the acrid glow it emitted Jhoira almost didn’t recognize it as Multani’s face. She saw the same layered wood, but this time the mask was twisted, irregular, and riddled with bulbous, blistering tumors. Some below the surface were so large they had cracked through, making it seem as if the only thing that kept Multani’s face loosely intact was the cancerous growth consuming it. Multani’s expression was impossible to read, but one element was obvious—the avatar was racked with pain.

  She faltered as the implications of what she’d seen became clear. Elsewhere, the time rifts distorted and drained the landscape. Here, Multani was the landscape. The entire forest was akin to a single, massive organism, and to Yavimaya the rift must have seemed another wound to be healed, an infection to be fought. Their solution to the rift crisis required a planeswalker’s spark. Yavimaya had no such spark, so it sent the next best thing. Multani was its agent, its last and best line of defense, so Multani was sent out to engage the rift. Now Multani bore the brunt of its devastating impact.

  She glanced at Teferi, who was still staring in open-mouthed horror. This then was why he couldn’t sense the Yavimayan rift as clearly as the others—it was mired in and half-choked by its titanic struggle with Multani for dominance within the forest.

  Teferi’s words mirrored Jhoira’s thoughts. “He’s losing.”

  Jhoira nodded, but she felt like screaming. They had come to the forest for Multani’s help, but it was the nature spirit who needed them. He had merged with the rift to control or destroy it, but he was being consumed and absorbed in the process. And he had taken Venser.

  “Multani,” Jhoira said. “Can you hear me?”

  Yes. Words…thoughts…difficult.

  She shuddered at the inhuman toll the rift must have taken on Multani’s mind, on his personality. “How can we help you?”

  Hopeless.

  Teferi called out. “Never, old friend. We will fight this together.”

  “Multani,” Jhoira said. “Where is Venser, the man from Urborg?”

  Venser…Venser is with me.

  “So are we. And we don’t see him.”

  “Jhoira,” Teferi whispered. “This may be a blessing in disguise.”

  Still staring at the obscene mass overhead, Jhoira fought back a surge of gallows laughter. “It’s a damned good disguise.”

  “I mean in the long run. I had brief contact with the Shivan rift and it left me in tune with the rest. Multani has been merged with the Yavimayan rift for years, maybe decades. Who knows what he’s learned from that congress?”

  “He’s dying, Teferi,” Jhoira said. “We can’t use what he knows if he can’t share it with us. Apart from that bit of berry theater, he’s barely able to communicate.”

  Teferi’s face fell, but he soon recovered his enthusiasm. “Venser’s with him,” he said. “He was roused to action when our new friend spoke.”

  “So?”

  “That means he recognized there’s something special about him. He singled Venser out.”

  “As a threat.”

  “Perhaps.” Teferi glanced up. “But maybe he sought him as an ally. The forest is a collective, a cooperative. If Venser becomes a part of that, it can only help us understand what we’re up against.”

  “If he survives,” Jhoira said. “If he doesn’t go mad from the strain.”

  “I trust Multani,” Teferi said. “He brought us here to show us things he couldn’t say. He must have taken Venser for some similar purpose. Multani either has something for Venser or wants something from Venser.”

  “Either way,” Jhoira said, “our situation hasn’t changed. We have no real plan and no way of implementing one.”

  “That will change,” Teferi said confidently.

  Jhoira did not share his confidence. With Venser’s life at stake she wished she had more to comfort her than the untamed ego of an unbridled optimist.

  * * *

  —

  Venser awoke in complete darkness. He held perfectly still until he was sure he was intact, then reached out until his fingers pressed into something hard and woody that completely surrounded him.

  Venser’s heart raced. Though he had enough room to move, his chest felt tight, and he could not fill his lungs. The muscles in his arms and legs cramped, and he was seized by an almost irresistible urge to start thrashing and screaming for help. He was completely surrounded, restricted, and confined. There was no way to tell where he was, what his circumstances were. He might be under a hundred feet of solid rock, buried alive beneath the forest.

  He stifled an involuntary sob and fought to calm himself and control his breathing. His cylindrical cage was wooden and smelled of fresh
-cut bark, so it was unlikely he was underground. He remembered falling into the canopy through Multani’s mouth, down into the heart of Yavimaya, and as his panic eased he reasoned he was inside a tree trunk. He had crawled through plenty of hollow logs while scavenging in Urborg, and the only difference here was this tree was alive and upright.

  “Hello?” he called. The sound died against the moist, wooden walls around him. “Who’s there, please?”

  After a moment of silence, Venser heard his words reverberate around the inside of the enclosure, though they lacked the regular rhythm of true echoes. It was as if the walls had absorbed the sound, held it for a moment, and released it again at random. He thought he heard another sound, another voice behind his own, but when the asynchronous echoes died he was still alone.

  He knew he could teleport himself away, but he had no idea which direction or how far. If he erred he might wind up materializing inside a nonhollow tree, which would be bad for the tree and worse for him. He decided to go back to the beach where he, Teferi, and Jhoira had first arrived.

  Venser concentrated, but his teleportation magic did not flare, and he was not surrounded by a golden skin of light. He struggled to summon his power, to coax or drag it up from deep within. The ability to teleport was still his, but it was separate, distinct, walled off from his mind. It taunted him with its proximity, like a starving man’s view of a fine meal enclosed in a brick of solid glass. Wherever he was, he’d have to find another way out.

  Then Venser heard a new sound. It was faint, a low-pitched, droning hum. In Urborg he had seen a traveler play a strange musical instrument made from a leather bag and a series of pipes. The sound he heard now was like the sound of that minstrel squeezing the bag, forcing air through the pipes as he prepared to play a tune. A soft chorus of thin, ethereal voices joined in, singing one sustained note over the low moan of the pipes. The song captivated Venser and encouraged his mind to wander as he became lost in the music.

  Then the voices began to sing.

  Cleave to us, O marsh-reared child.

  Join with us to full restore

  Freedom’s strength and Nature’s sway.

  Break the chains, ope wide the door.

  Thwart the aberration’s grip,

  Answer now our folly’s need.

  Cleave to us, marsh-reared walker.

  Pluck the fruit and plant the seed.

  “What?” Venser said. “I’m sorry, hello? What’s going on?”

  Instead of a reply, the song started again.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. He understood the words but not their meaning. Though he could feel his breath pressing back against this face as it rebounded off the wooden walls around him, the singers sounded as if they were miles away.

  The song continued. Venser tried harder to make sense of it, but it remained frustratingly obtuse. The verse repeated over and over again until he had every word and cadence memorized, but even that did him no good. Some of it seemed to make sense, but on the whole he was mystified. Was he meant to free himself from the forest, or the forest from something else? And how was he to do what the song asked?

  The verse came to its end and started over. Venser fixed on one of the last words, and he had a flash of inspiration. “I’m not a planeswalker,” he said, “not as you understand it.”

  The song continued. Venser waited until it started over and he said, “I don’t have much magic. I’d like to help you, but I don’t think I can. Not by myself. You have the wrong man.”

  The song cut off in midverse. The hollow was quiet for a second, then a dry, wizened voice said, That remains to be seen. But I do see you more clearly now, and it seems I have blundered again.

  “Who’s there?” Venser scanned the lightless interior of the tree, scoring the back of his head against the rough wood. “Hello? My name is Venser. Who are you?”

  Come forth, Venser, the voice said. I understand. Now you must. Step out and let us reason together.

  The bottom dropped out of Venser’s cell, and he yelped as he slid down a long, chutelike tunnel. The smell of moss and loam was strong, and the walls of the chute were slick and grassy. Though he felt himself moving with great speed, Venser did not have the sensation of falling. He felt inexplicably calm, unconcerned about the end of this strange, sudden journey. It was hard to be anxious when he didn’t understand any of his predicament.

  Then Venser was surrounded by light and the scattered remnants of a glittering haze. He dropped several yards until his feet sank into what felt like loose dirt. The impact of his landing knocked him off balance, and he fell onto his side.

  “Venser!”

  He blinked. Jhoira’s voice was the sweetest, most welcome sound he could imagine, but he was careful not to celebrate until he saw her in the flesh. He glanced behind himself and saw a man-sized cage of roots and vines. The cage had been split into equal halves, straight up the middle. Venser felt friendly hands on his shoulders as Jhoira and Teferi helped him to his feet.

  “Are you well, Venser?”

  Jhoira stepped closer. “What happened?”

  “He sang to me,” Venser said.

  Jhoira blinked. “He what?”

  “He sang a song. He wanted me to rescue something. He thought I was a planeswalker like Teferi.”

  “I see,” she said. Venser searched her face for any sign she was humoring him, but she was completely in earnest.

  Teferi said, “How did the song go?”

  Venser shook his head. “I…I…”

  “You don’t have to sing it,” Jhoira said. “Just tell us what you remember.”

  “Break the chain,” Venser said, his eyes narrowing. “Open the gate…pick the fruit and plant the seed.” He shrugged. “He kept mentioning me and asking for my help. And he called me a ’walker.”

  “Multani is…overwhelmed,” Teferi said. “He’s harder to reach, harder to understand. He may have instinctually singled you out because you are a planeswalker.”

  “But I’m not. Not like that. Everyone keeps saying so.”

  “Because you have done what only one in ten billion can do,” Teferi said. “You breached the barrier between planes and stood tall in the Blind Eternities.”

  “I just followed Karn,” Venser said.

  “And with practice you can do much more.”

  “Discuss this later.” Jhoira shot a warning glare at Teferi. “Multani is asking for our help.” Both men turned to her, and she said, “He asked Venser to release something. He showed us how he and the rift have grown together.”

  “But what does it all mean?” Venser said.

  “It seems obvious to me.” Jhoira folded her arms. “I think Multani wants us to cut him free.”

  Leshrac quietly tracked Jeska to a small, rocky reef just off the west coast of Jamuraa. It took the Pardic woman less than ten minutes on foot to personally inspect every square yard of it. Leshrac could have saved her some time. In his eye, no amount of close examination could make this dreary place anything other than what it was: an ugly and forsaken piece of rock.

  Keeping Radha subdued was proving much easier than subduing her in the first place, and now the Pardic warrior effortlessly kept her captive floating nearby, several paces back and out of sight. Leshrac took the opportunity to study the Keldon as Jeska pensively looked out on the rough waters of the Kukemessa Sea. Radha was fascinating in and of herself but more so for bearing the recent effects of Jeska’s magic. Jeska herself seemed oddly satisfied. The island was completely devoid of native life, so with Radha unconscious and Leshrac in hiding Jeska at last had some solitude in which to think.

  Leshrac moved forward. A balanced and clearheaded Jeska did not suit him at all. He had been making such excellent progress with her, and he was not willing to let it slip away.

  “Hail, Jeska.” She turned and saw him standing casually on a sharp wedge of wet rock. His crown glowed cheerfully, and his face was calm and composed.

  “You’ll notice I omitted
the honorific,” he said. “It didn’t seem to please you.”

  “Leshrac. What do you want?”

  “My goals have not changed. I wish to offer a gift and my active help in achieving our shared goals.” He nodded past her, toward Radha. “I think now you are ready to receive it.”

  “We have no shared goals,” Jeska said. She paused, and Leshrac felt her strengthening the spells that held Radha aloft and insensate. “And I don’t want your gift. I want an answer.”

  Leshrac bowed, keeping his eyes on Jeska. “Ask.”

  Jeska capped the hilt of her sword with her palm. “What did you do to me?”

  “Me?” The sallow-skinned planeswalker made sure to seem genuinely confused. “I did nothing.”

  Jeska waved, bringing Radha swooping forward. The Keldon slowly rotated so that her back was to Leshrac. Jeska pointed to Radha’s still-bare foot. “I nearly killed this one with black mana.”

  Leshrac saw. “And how is that my doing?”

  “I didn’t use black mana, not consciously. But I did talk to you right before it happened. And now you’re here again…to inspect your handiwork?” She jabbed her finger at Leshrac, and Radha’s body swept up so that the Keldon’s heel was at eye level.

  Leshrac stood calmly, hiding his glee behind Jeska’s captive. He had expected this to take longer, that encouraging Jeska’s ruthless and consumptive tendencies would require a sustained effort of chipping away her personal misgivings. He even stood ready to field counterarguments to the drivel she’d hear from Teferi and the others, but Jeska hadn’t even bothered to consult with them. Now she stood on the shores of Zhalfir, apparently ready to act on her own, according to his will, with only the slightest subtle push from his corrosive influence.

  Leshrac smiled. It had taken little else to bring her this far: a strong whiff of Otarian mana, the seed of an idea, and a spot of arranged conflict against a provocative opponent with more power than brains. No, the Pardic planeswalker’s darker tendencies didn’t require much encouragement. In fact, bringing the Phage out of Jeska was about as difficult as nudging a severed head from its torso.