Future Sight

by John Delaney

  Jeska’s body became like rock, immobile and unyielding. There was no force holding her still, no spell that prevented her movements. She simply couldn’t summon the impetus to move.

  “Now…we’re going to wait here for a short while. When the time comes, you will serve me with passion and without hesitation.”

  Jeska’s mind and voice were still hers. “That will never happen.”

  “It has happened. You’ve been my agent all along. I didn’t even have to push you very hard.” He strolled toward her and conjured the white, porcelain mask he’d shown her earlier. “I thought I’d have to make you wear this to bend you to my will, but you did nearly all that I desired without it, of your own volition.”

  Leshrac’s lilting voice kept her immobile. Jeska tried to stop listening so she could focus her will and her strength.

  The sallow-skinned planeswalker now stood directly in front of her. He extended his hand so that the white mask floated before Jeska’s face. “For your information,” he said, “and just to set the record straight: That vision of Kamahl didn’t come from me. It didn’t come from Multani either. It came from you, from your own deeply hidden fear and hatred of your dear brother.”

  “Lies.” Jeska spat. “All lies.”

  Leshrac nodded. “Perhaps. But I find it very rewarding that you’ll never know the truth.” The white mask drifted forward, and Jeska felt it sinking into her face, bonding to it like a second skin. She lost what little control she had left as body and mind both fell into a somnolent, near-comatose state.

  The mask coaxed a darkness out from deep within Jeska. She felt the baleful, malignant force rise through her body and flow toward her head, toward her face. It was exquisite, the sensation of a thousand different pains and pleasures all happening at once, unbelievable delights and dalliances for her and her alone. She had tried so very hard to forget this sensation, to resist its lure, to contain or ignore it. It had never died, however, and now it was loose, running large and rampant within her.

  Jeska struggled, anger and pride straining to overcome her hunger for that exotic darkness. As her resistance crumbled, Jeska’s mind went completely blank except for a small, somber shred of sorrow and shame. She had failed utterly, and not because the task was too great but because she was too weak.

  The tang of salt in the air became sharper in her nostrils. The joys that tempted her drained away, leaving her strangely empty, hollow, and listless. Leshrac approached her, his crown spinning merrily. She would have flinched or cursed or spat if she had been able, but all she could do was stare as the jubilant monster took hold of the mask.

  “Remember I told you I didn’t want Phage to return?” he said. “That’s only partially true. I don’t want Phage. I want Phage’s power.”

  The mask came free. To Jeska it felt like Leshrac was pulling her entire head off, with her brain and spinal column trailing after it. She blacked out for a split second, and when she came to, the white, porcelain face was floating over Leshrac’s hands.

  “There we are,” he said. The mask vanished. “I’m sure that will prove most useful.”

  “The rift,” Jeska said. Her thoughts were fleeting and hard to grasp, but she tried to salvage what little she could from this disgraceful defeat. “Seal the rift.”

  “Hm? Oh, certainly not. The fissures have had such a wonderful destabilizing effect on things. Random bits of the past bubbling up, mana diverted from its natural course. The fundamental order of the Multiverse is breaking down thousands of years before its time. I, for one, am curious to see how it ends up.” He smiled brightly. “Entropy on a grand scale is a passion of mine. I find it exhilarating.”

  “You’re foaming mad,” Jeska said.

  “So I’ve been called, and worse. But only I know if it’s true. And you, Jeska? Are you mad? Do you even know?”

  “You’re in danger too. The Multiverse will end,” she said. “All of it. No safe place, not even for planeswalkers.”

  “That’s what everyone says. I remain unconvinced. I think only Dominaria and a few other realms will be affected.”

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  “Maybe. Maybe the Walker of the Night is mistaken, blinded by ego, or stubbornly deluded. Maybe everything everywhere will collapse into itself as Teferi believes.” Leshrac leaned in so that his nose was almost touching Jeska’s. “Maybe I just don’t care.”

  The sallow planeswalker straightened and turned his back to Jeska. “Your friends are here,” he said. “Rather, your friends who bear a terrible grudge for what you did to Zhalfir and Yavimaya are here. I’m tempted to let them watch. It will please me to see them helpless as all their efforts come to nothing.”

  Leshrac turned back to Jeska, stroking his long chin. “Still,” he said. “I should send them a proper greeting, something to do while we wait. Teferi was ineffectual even when he had his spark, but ineffectual can still be disruptive.” He prodded Radha with his foot, smiling as she swatted at him and grumbled through half-closed eyes. “Wake up, Warlord. I have a game for you to play.”

  Radha groaned loudly and began to stir. Leshrac glared at Jeska, and his magic robbed her of her voice. He strolled closer to the warlord and said, “Hello. I am Leshrac. I have absolutely no use for you beyond your value as entertainment. I need a minor distraction.”

  Radha blinked and sat up. She looked at Jeska and held the Pardic woman’s eyes before turning her attention toward Leshrac. “You’re a planeswalker, aren’t you?” As she spoke Radha quickly ran her hands along her belt, counting the number of tear-shaped blades she had left.

  “I am.”

  “Are you trying to close the rifts?”

  “No.”

  She considered this. “So you’re not going to turn me inside out and throw me aside like a used towel?”

  “No. Not in aid of closing the rifts anyway.”

  She motioned to Jeska and said, “What about her? What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing she wasn’t already doing to herself.”

  “Well, stand aside then. She and I have unfinished business.”

  “That won’t happen.” Leshrac shook his head. “For so many indisputable reasons it is not worth listing them.”

  Radha showed Leshrac a square-toothed smile. “You’re in my way.”

  “Yes I am.”

  “Move, or I’ll move you.”

  “I think not. I think you have even more important unfinished business with someone else. You remember Dinne il-Vec?”

  Leshrac waved his arm, and black fog swirled up from the pebbled beach. A hazy figure formed within the column. A familiar armored figure stepped out into the evening sun, his white eyes fixed on Radha.

  Jeska felt the Keldon’s reaction even in her addled state. Radha still loathed her, but that was nothing compared to the hate now coming off the warlord in waves.

  “You’re right,” Radha told Leshrac. “This is more important.” She drew a tear-shaped blade and her broken sword.

  “Not here, please. I’m expecting company.” Leshrac tilted his head, and Radha vanished. He turned to Dinne and said, “She’s on the cliffs above us. Kill her however you like. Take as long as you need. When you’re through, kill the other three who are already up there.

  “This will be your last service to me, Dinne,” he said, and Jeska recognized the lilting tone of a lie. “Perform to my satisfaction and I will set you free.”

  Dinne nodded. The fog swirled around him again, and he was gone.

  “Servants must be motivated to perform properly.” Leshrac clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms against each other. “Even if you don’t mean it. Now then. I may not get the chance later, so let me say it now: Thank you, Jeska. It’s been a true pleasure meeting you.”

  Knowing she couldn’t answer, Leshrac turned his back on her once more and stared out at the Talon Gates.

  * * *

  —

  Jhoira, Venser, and Teferi stood on the cliffs overlooking the M
adaran shore. The figures were small and indistinct from this great distance, but they had spotted Jeska, Radha, and one other on the beach below.

  “It looks like he’s got Jeska,” Venser said, “the same way Jeska had Radha.”

  “Who could manage that?” Teferi said. “She’s a planeswalker.”

  “Another planeswalker,” Jhoira said.

  “He’d have to be a formidable fellow.” Teferi peered harder.

  Venser said, “Could it be Bolas in disguise?”

  “Highly unlikely. He’s far too proud to hide himself.”

  Jhoira continued to watch silently. She was familiar with almost all of the titans who had frequented Dominaria over the centuries. As the male figure’s head flared up, wreathing his skull in flames, she felt her heart sink.

  “It’s Leshrac,” she said.

  “The Walker of the Night?” Teferi sounded impressed and a little bit frightened. “He hasn’t been seen or heard from in almost a thousand years.”

  “He’s back now.”

  “Well, we can be sure he’s not here to help with the rifts.” Teferi drifted off, distracted. “Not willingly.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Jhoira said. “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything outrageous,” Teferi said. “But we still need planeswalkers.”

  “Leshrac is one of the most dangerous and capricious planeswalkers ever. We have no chance of enlisting his help and no chance of forcing it.”

  “Jeska does.”

  “Except for the fact that she’s already helpless,” Venser said.

  “Yes, but if we could free her, and if she could defeat Leshrac…”

  Jhoira considered. Once again there were too many “ifs” involving too many planeswalkers. Once again she had to make a terrible choice based on gut instinct alone.

  “Venser,” she said, “we talked earlier about your teleporting in and taking Radha so Jeska couldn’t use her. Could you do the same for Jeska? Bring her up here, or somewhere far away from Leshrac?”

  “I think I can.” Venser shifted uncomfortably. “It’s risky, isn’t it?”

  “Very. It’s not a good option, but it’s an option.”

  Venser looked down again, uncertain. He blinked and leaned over the edge of the cliff. “Radha’s up. She’s arguing with Leshrac.

  “That won’t go well for her.”

  “He’s summoning something. It’s a man, a man in armor.” Venser went pale and his voice dropped. “Oh, Hells.”

  “What’s wrong?” Teferi said. “Who is it?”

  Radha appeared behind them before Venser could answer. The Keldon had two blades drawn, and she carried an aura of rage about her that was nearly palpable.

  “He’s mine,” Radha said. “Anyone who comes between us gets their throat cut.”

  Venser took Teferi by the shoulder and Jhoira by the hand. “He’s all yours.” He backed away as he spoke, pulling his friends with him.

  Jhoira started to pull her hand out of Venser’s when a plume of black smoke sprouted from the rocky ground. The familiar figure of the Weaver King’s cutthroat stepped out of the smoke, deliberately eying all four of them from under his helmet.

  Jhoira’s hand went involuntarily to her throat, and she saw Teferi touch his shoulder. They had met Dinne before, and it was only Venser’s defeat of the Weaver King that had prevented the Vec raider from murdering them both.

  “Mine,” Radha said again.

  “All yours,” Jhoira agreed. She pulled her hand free of Venser’s and continued to back away to allow the warriors plenty of room.

  Radha and the Vec squared off as a peal of thunder rolled out from the Talon Gates. The air between the spires shifted, slowly changing color from blue to black to red.

  Teferi shot Jhoira a nervous look. “I’m afraid that looks familiar to me. Was anyone just thinking how things could possibly be worse? Because I think we’re about to find out.”

  Leshrac savored the giddy excitement he felt as the Talon Gates came to life.

  Nicol Bolas. The name had been spoken in terror or dread from the moment there were spoken languages in which to whisper. Bolas was the oldest and most powerful of the elder dragons, a planeswalker, and as ferocious and unstoppable as a primal force of Nature, with the keen and savage instincts of an apex predator. He had lived for twenty-five thousand years, and during those eons he had honed himself into an unmatchable combination of physical, spiritual, and magical power. He had traveled to all ends of the Multiverse, forging a trail of conquest and bloodshed and carving a vast empire, feasting on its choicest magical treasures. His victories were innumerable, and his defeats could be counted on a three-fingered hand.

  Leshrac’s pale eyes gleamed. Defeating such a foe would be rewarding in and of itself, but besting Bolas and wresting his mantle from him would be Leshrac’s crowning achievement, the capstone to his long, storied life. He would be supreme, the greatest and most powerful entity that ever lived, both in reputation and in fact. Whatever the Multiverse became in the wake of the time rifts, Leshrac would be its king.

  Leshrac. Jeska’s voice was distant and fatigued, but she spoke steadily and did not falter. You are a fool.

  “Am I?” Leshrac spoke aloud without turning toward the Pardic woman. “Strange words from someone in your position. Isn’t a fool’s captive a bigger fool?”

  A fool fights for gains he doesn’t need. Takes risks he ought not take.

  “Then I am a foaming-mad fool. Thank you for showing me the light, my dear. I have no reason to be as confident as I am. It’s not as if I’ve already humbled an infinitely powerful planeswalker and bent her to my will. The careful preparations I’ve laid out have done me no good so far, have they?”

  Jeska did not respond, but Leshrac could hear her fuming.

  “There’s a good little vessel. We can continue this discussion while I make the last of my preparations. Does that suit you?” Leshrac glanced up and shot into the air. He spread his arms out so that his robe fluttered around him as he swooped and spiraled like a mad jay toward the Talon Gates.

  This is where it all began for Bolas, he said, and where it will end. There’s a fascinating story behind this place, one that I don’t think you’ve heard. You are still thinking about sealing the rift, but you don’t even understand its import. Haven’t you been wondering how this rift was formed. Shall I tell you?

  Go to Hell.

  Which one? But to my point…Madara’s is not the largest rift, nor the most dangerous, but it is the oldest. Twenty thousand years ago this was the site of Dominaria’s first-ever duel between planeswalkers.

  Leshrac’s voice became grand and sweeping. How I would have loved to have seen it for myself, but alas it predates even me. A mighty dragon on one side, a demonic leviathan on the other. They met and fought here, two powerful planeswalkers. Did you know Madara’s coastline used to stretch all the way to the outlying islands? The duelists shattered over a third of the continent in their struggle. In my more reflective moments, I think it’s no wonder Dominaria’s history is so violent and combative—one of the first things to ever happen here was a battle to the death between gods.

  They fought for a full month, but in the end it wasn’t force that decided the outcome. The dragon attacked the leviathan’s mind with his magic, and shredded it like tissue paper. Overwhelming size and strength mean nothing without the will to employ them.

  With his foe helpless, the dragon gathered his strength for a final blow. Tenacious to the end, the leviathan responded in kind, summoning up its ultimate effort in an instinctive bid to take its foe into oblivion with it. They struck as one, breaking the foundations of reality here and creating a fissure that stretched deep into the Multiverse.

  The duel ended, but the victory had only just begun. He didn’t understand the full ramifications of the rift, and dragons are always hungry, so he set about consuming his conquered foe. Bolas was well on his way to setting a new standar
d for greed and self-indulgence, but this meal went beyond simple gluttony. The leviathan’s corpse lasted for almost a year. Its flesh and bones were still steeped in arcane power, and Bolas gorged himself for weeks at a time, pausing only to digest. His power increased as he dined in the shadow of the fresh rift, and even I cannot say how the dragon and the phenomenon affected each other during that time.

  What I do know is that when the dragon was through, all that was left were a few scraps of blubber and two gigantic talons. Bolas made these into a monument, framing the rift that marked the site of this historic event. Then he left Dominaria, to prey on other realms, to prowl the wide, wild universe in search of sustenance and glory. He would always return to Madara to exercise his authority over his first and most cherished holding, and to gorge himself on the rich blend of Madaran mana.

  Leshrac swooped back into view and settled onto the beach in front of Jeska. “The dragon is coming back here as he always does, as he is bound to do. He has grown ever more powerful than he was back then…But I am no leviathan. Nor am I a fool. I have studied this dragon. I know his history, his methods, his strengths and weaknesses—the weaknesses are very few, by the way—and I know how to turn his strength against him. Which, my dear, is where you come in.”

  A braided stream of colorful energy leaped from the Talon Gates. Its forward end stopped halfway between the spires and the shore and swelled to enormous proportions as the rest of the beam flowed into it.

  “Come, Jeska,” he said. Leshrac soared up into the sky, towing the Pardic woman behind him. “You’re about to become an important footnote to this fundamental shift in the Multiverse’s hierarchy.”

  A giant dragon’s head emerged from the sphere of swirling color. The orb coalesced behind and below the head, taking on the shape of a winged monster large as the Talon Gates themselves. Lightning flashed out from its body, completing the journey from raw magical energy to flesh and bone. Broad, batlike wings spread wide, and the dragon floated freely, staring at the two human figures hovering nearby. The tide kicked up behind him, sending plumes of salt spray into the air, sizzling into steam as it wafted near the monster. His scales glittered, and waves of distortion scintillated around him, creating a blurred aura in the air around his giant form.