by John Delaney
“As for Leshrac,” Bolas said, opening his other hand to reveal the broken mask of Night’s Reach, “you may leave him, and Madara, to me. I made this rift. I dwelled in and alongside it for centuries after I died, and it opened the way for my return. It is mine. And I shall be the one to engineer its closure.”
“Thank you, O Bolas.” Jhoira bowed. “But I must ask why.”
“For my own reasons,” Bolas said. “I have traveled far since we last met. I have been across the length and breadth of the Multiverse. I have peeled back its flesh to gaze upon the intricate mechanisms beneath. The evidence is unmistakable.
“The Multiverse is cracked, but a great mending is ready to begin. Your efforts helped bring this about, but you have not yet achieved it. From here, the fissures will spread and the Multiverse will crumble, or the fissures will be sealed and the Multiverse will adjust to their absence. Either way, nothing will be the same. Those who wield magic will find its very nature altered. Those who wield the transcendent power of the Multiverse will be forced to surrender it back to its source. Dominaria may yet be destroyed and with it countless other planes,” he said. “But I have prepared a suitable place for myself in that eventuality.”
“Will you donate your power to close this rift?” Teferi asked.
“Certainly not. I am power. Even without a planeswalker’s status, I am still a dragon-god, still supreme. Besides,” Bolas continued. “There is no need for me to make that sacrifice. Not when Leshrac has so graciously volunteered.” He brought the mask forward, and Jhoira almost heard the faint, plaintive cries from within.
Teferi shook his head. “He will do no good if he does not act willingly.”
“Wrong,” Bolas said. “He is my creature now. This mask binds him to my will even more thoroughly than the one Jeska wore bound her to him. The Walker of the Night has always forced others to do his bidding and relished their unwillingness to do so. Now he will experience that unique joy for himself.” The dragon scanned the group, fixing his huge yellow eyes on Teferi, Jhoira, and Venser. “And you? Will you continue to save the world?”
“We will,” Jhoira said. “We must.”
“And Madara was to be your penultimate chore, was it not? The only other major rift is in Otaria.”
“That is correct.”
“Then let me leave you with a sobering fact. You insects cannot seal the Otarian rift. The disruption there is too widespread, too fractured, too prevalent. It has no form you can study, no substance to seize. It is as unlike the others you have seen as a planeswalker is to a hedge-wizard. Those who are able should get out while they can.” He glanced at Venser, and the artificer shuddered.
“Thank you, O Bolas,” Venser managed, “but I am going to remain here.”
“Then your new life will be a short one,” Bolas said. “Live to its fullest in the meantime, Little Planeswalker.”
“I’ll try.”
The dragon’s huge head swiveled. “And you, Keldon? My new home will offer combat aplenty for the fierce and the bold. I will not name a champion—such political concerns have turned out badly in the past—but I would hold you among my favorites in the endless battle I shall arrange.”
Radha shook her head. “I’m not done here.”
Bolas’s eyes flashed, and he showed them a sharp, white-toothed grin. “Perhaps you will change your mind one day. Or perhaps I shall grow bored and return for you.” He grinned, his forked tongue flickering across his sharp teeth. “We shall see.
“But now I bid farewell to you all. Soon this will be no place at all, and to those who survive or escape, I also bid you good journey. I doubt we shall see each other again. But the Multiverse is wide and full of endless possibility. I have learned not to underestimate the tenacity of mortals with strong magic.”
Bolas flew straight toward the ruined Talon Gates. As he drew close, the spires Leshrac had torn down reappeared, ivory white and gleaming as they had for twenty-five millennia. Bolas drew up shy of the gateway and hovered there, bobbing up and down like a cork on a gently turning tide.
He raised the mask overhead. Blue-black light glistened along its edges, and it floated in place even after the dragon withdrew his hands. He seemed to be speaking silently, coaxing the porcelain face, guiding it inexorably toward the invisible rift. Even at this distance Jhoira could feel the mask resisting, straining to burst free of the dragon’s power, and she once more heard the faint ghost of Leshrac’s anguished wails.
Bolas suddenly lunged forward, driving the mask before him. He roughly jammed the artifact between the gates, into the rift. The dragon withdrew his arm but continued to hover there, staring fixedly at the phenomenon, whispering and cajoling the mask to do his will in spite of its own or its occupant’s.
Now Jhoira did hear the Walker of the Night’s screams. They didn’t last long, however, and as Bolas spread his wings and rose higher the awful sound stopped.
She turned to Teferi, who nodded. “Madara’s rift is sealed,” he said.
She nodded. “And whatever happens here, whatever happens to us”—she gestured toward Nicol Bolas— “we can be sure he’ll survive. Dominaria will never be forgotten as long as he lives.”
“Small comfort,” Teferi said.
“No comfort at all,” Jhoira replied.
Bolas folded his wings and dived down toward the waves. He banked sharply and slipped between the spires of the Talon Gates. The air between them responded, shifting once more from black to red to blue.
Then oldest and most powerful planeswalker in Dominaria’s history departed, perhaps never to return.
Jeska remained immobile until the dragon had completely disappeared. She felt her power return once Bolas was through the restored Talon Gates. She shattered the rocky mound that imprisoned her and stood facing the others as flakes of debris fluttered around them.
Radha drew one of her blades and eyed Jeska angrily. Teferi stood with a somber expression, his arms folded. No one moved or spoke.
Jeska glanced down at the white mask Bolas had left for her. She could feel her power humming inside, calling out for her to reclaim it. Her hand involuntarily stretched out, but she clenched it into a fist and planted it on her hip.
“I’m sorry,” Jeska said, knowing how inadequate the words were. “For Zhalfir and Yavimaya. For Multani.”
Radha’s eyes gleamed. “Not so much fun when you’re the toy, is it?”
“No,” Jeska said.
“We saw what happened, Jeska,” Jhoira said. “Leshrac had a hold over you. It wasn’t your fault.”
Jeska felt her throat constrict and her insides wither. “Yes it is,” she said. “Leshrac only took advantage of what I was, what I am. He pushed me, but I was weak. I let myself be pushed.” She closed her eyes. “Fiers take me, I liked it. It was comfortable, familiar. Much better than being alone. I was a willing tool, complicit. What happened was my fault.” She raised her head. “And again, I apologize.”
Teferi’s face was stern, but his eyes were soft and clear. “I forgive you,” he said, and he slapped her stingingly across the face. Jeska’s hair reddened, and sparks danced in her eyes. Her jaw clenched, but she maintained her composure.
“Why did you do that?” she said.
“Because you deserve it. These terrible outcomes you regret so deeply were entirely avoidable.” He turned back to Jhoira, smiled thinly, and deliberately slapped himself. “I deserve it too,” he said. “As does Urza. And Freyalise. And the rest of us planeswalkers who destroyed something to save something else. Someone should have been there to slap us every day of our lives.”
Jhoira stepped up and took Teferi by the shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that, old friend. But we must put that behind us now. There is but one rift remaining, and we still need to fix it.”
“Bolas said we couldn’t,” Venser said.
“Bolas is powerful,” Jhoira said, “but not omniscient. He’s been wrong before, and he’s wrong now.” She spread her hands to include t
he entire group. “We are some of the most unique individuals ever to exist on this plane. I believe we can do what has to be done but only if we work together.”
Jeska’s hands unclenched. “I’d prefer to handle this on my own.”
“Why?” Radha said. “That hasn’t worked out so well for you.”
“The Otarian phenomenon is more of a field than a fissure,” Jeska said. “I have seen it and felt its essential nature. Have you?”
“We have not been to Otaria,” Teferi said. “Not in a practical sense. But I can confirm what you say. The rift there isn’t isolated and discrete like the others. Even Yavimaya’s had clearer boundaries. This one is more diffuse, a blanket of stars instead of a single sun.”
“That’s because of Karona,” Jeska said. “Because of me. When I was…when I merged with those others we became the focal point for all of Dominaria’s magic. Mana currents and ley lines that had been functioning forever suddenly shifted. Karona’s creation was explosive, but the mana drain developed slowly over time.”
Teferi nodded. “Karona characterized the rift, in a manner of speaking. Her voracious nature infected the entire rift network and turned each of the phenomena into mana sinks like her.”
“It wasn’t Karona’s voracious nature,” Jeska said quietly. “It was mine.”
“Composite beings are often quite different from their component parts.”
“Thank you for saying so, but that doesn’t change the reality. Otaria’s rift is mine, my responsibility, just as Madara’s rift was the dragon’s.”
“That may be,” Jhoira said. “But it doesn’t have to be yours alone.”
Jeska tossed her head. “Just let me do what I have to do,” she said. “I am not afraid to die.”
Jhoira made a scolding, maternal sound. “Are you willing to die for no gain? Because I don’t believe our method of directly sacrificing your spark will work.” She looked to Teferi, who nodded in silent assent. “Neither is your indirect method. Not by itself.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know more than you, young lady, because I pay attention. Each rift we’ve sealed has strengthened and changed the ones that remain. Otaria is the final rift. It will contain elements and characteristics of all the previous ones. It’s not a job for a single individual no matter how exceptional.
“Think this through before you act, Jeska. You are tied to Otaria, tied to the rift, and you are a planeswalker. Your participation will be crucial to a successful outcome. But don’t discount the rest of us. Teferi was a planeswalker and still retains much of his knowledge and experience. Venser is a teleporter and a planeswalker, and he’s tied to the rift network.”
“And I,” Radha said, “have a big knife.”
Jhoira sighed. “Radha’s contributions should be evident to you most of all. She is equally bound to Dominaria and the rift phenomenon.”
“But don’t toy with her,” Radha said. She drew her broadsword and waved it teasingly, almost playfully. “Big knife.”
Jeska glanced around the group. “And you, Ghitu?”
“I used to think my job was to keep the rest of you on track,” she said. “We all tend to forget that this world belongs to the mortals who have to live in it. They’re the ones who are most affected by what we do.” Jhoira glanced at Teferi quickly, then back to Jeska. “Now I see things differently. The events swirling around us are larger than life. There is no perfect solution. There isn’t even a way to predict exactly how our actions will affect things.”
Jeska closed her eyes, trying to sort through it all. “But if we do nothing…”
“I’m not saying do nothing,” Jhoira said. “I’m saying do the right thing…or as close to the right thing as we can get.”
“But what is that? What is the right thing?”
“I don’t know,” Jhoira said. “But I know we can find out together.”
“I won’t involve anyone else in my mess,” Jeska said. “I’ve done enough damage.”
“This mess belongs to us all,” Jhoira said. “And you can’t fix it by yourself.”
“I have to. I need to.”
“But you can’t and you won’t. Do you really believe you act alone even if you leave us behind? This will be the last link in a long chain, a chain forged by Teferi, Karn, Freyalise, Windgrace, and Multani. They will all be with you. And so will we.”
Jeska shook her head. “I can’t allow it. Everyone who has ever relied on me winds up dead, utterly destroyed. If I take you with me this time, there will be no one left. I’m sorry, Jhoira, but you don’t know more than me, not about this. Karona’s presence and personality are the source of this problem, and I am Karona.”
“You were Karona. You are Jeska.”
“And who is that? I haven’t been Jeska for a long, long time,” she said. “I was Kamahl’s sister until he tried to kill me. I became Phage. Then he did kill me and I became Karona. Karona fell and I returned not as Jeska but as Jeska Planeswalker. I was Karn’s pupil for a time. That was all right. But as soon as he left me, I became a monster again.”
“Karn left us all,” Jhoira said. “To save us.”
“But he said good-bye to you. I heard it.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so very tired. I just want it all to end.”
“It never ends,” Teferi said gently. “Not for planeswalkers, not for anyone. The things we did or didn’t do have consequences and rewards that continue even after we’re dead.”
Jeska looked from Teferi to Jhoira. They were both far older than she was. Both had seen and done amazing, world-changing things. “How do you stand it?” she said.
Teferi’s eyes were wise and sad. “I had help.”
“We can help you, too,” Jhoira said. “You’re free of Leshrac’s influence now, free of the darkness that made you Phage. You can do this if you’re wholly dedicated, if you’re not distracted by self-doubt.”
Jeska scanned all of their faces, searching their expressions of hope and fear, of determination and sadness. She wrestled with Jhoira’s logic, so unlike her own, but she saw its value even if she didn’t agree with it. “You’re all mad,” she said at last. “But if you insist on helping me, I’m grateful for the company. Dying alone gets harder each time I do it.”
She gestured, and the discarded mask of Night’s Reach rose to her hand.
“What are you doing?” Venser said.
“Following good advice,” Jeska replied. She held the mask out with its face toward the others. “This is who I was, who I am. But it’s not all I am. I can’t do what needs to be done, can’t do anything, unless I am whole and in control.” She turned the mask to face herself. “I have been shattered and rebuilt too many times to be confident. I can’t decide on something this important without being sure that it’s me making the decision. All of me, not just part. If I don’t consume this doubt here and now, it will consume me when it matters most.”
She concentrated on the mask before anyone could object. It was still steeped in Phage’s corrosive magic, and Jeska could feel the power squirming within the half-inch-thick piece of polished porcelain. The dark, arcane energies yearned for release.
Jeska was determined to oblige. She focused her power, and the mask shattered into dust. Venser let out a yelp as a near-invisible plume of force billowed out of the sundered artifact and settled around Jeska like a shroud. She felt her body reclaiming the power, absorbing it. Her hair shifted from bright red to dusty crimson to coal black. She felt the almost overwhelming urge to lay her hands on everyone and everything around her, to spread corruption and decay, but she swallowed it down and held it fast within her.
The hungerlike pangs slowly diminished. Jeska watched the ends of her black tresses shift back to their vibrant, Pardic red, and only then did she exhale. She could not fully relax, not as long as the seductive lure of black magic was alive within her, but she allowed herself a moment of relief. She was whole again and more clearheaded than she had been since Karn disappeared.
The hunger was still there, calling her, urging her toward darkness, but it was muted now. She could keep it contained, even use it to her advantage in the short term. But the short term was all any of them had left.
“Is everything all right?” Jhoira asked.
“Not everything,” Jeska said. She smiled. “But it’ll do. I’m ready now.”
“That’s good.” Jhoira looked relieved. She turned to Radha and said, “Warlord, we will need your help in Otaria. Will you join us?”
“I need to get back to Keld.”
“Warlord,” Jeska said, “remember how Freyalise reacted when you told her Keld was more important than Skyshroud. Put yourself in her place and prepare for an uncomfortable truth: Dominaria is more important than Keld.”
“Not to me.”
“Then look harder. You’re not just a Keldon. You’re connected to Yavimaya now, the last link to Multani. If you turn away you will negate every noble, selfless thing he did for you and for Dominaria. If you’re truly determined to preserve your home and your people, this is your only real chance. Otherwise you’re just another Freyalise, doomed to exhaust your power against the inevitable decline and ruin of the entire world.”
Jhoira felt a surge of renewed hope. “Multani is still alive?”
“I don’t know,” Jeska said. “But he imbued Radha with the power of Yavimaya, and she is able to employ it. The forest is still alive.”
“Then Multani could be as well,” Jhoira said. “He could return someday.” She turned to Radha. “It would be fitting if there was a world for him to return to. Will you honor him? Will you repay the gift he gave you, the one that allowed you to defeat the shadow cutthroat?”
Jeska stepped up to Radha. “We know each other better than either of us would like to admit. We both know you don’t owe me anything,” she said. “I used you and abused you, and you have no reason to help me now. But your help is what I’m asking, what I’m begging you for.” Jeska held Radha’s eyes, then dropped them, bowing her head. “I’m afraid to do this alone. I’m afraid of the consequences. I don’t think you’ve ever been afraid of anything. That’s as important as your connection to the rifts—at least to me. Lend me your strength, Radha, and your bravery. My power alone isn’t enough.” She raised her head and locked eyes with Radha again. “Help us.”
