The Darksteel Eye (9 page)

“Yes, my lord.” Marek bowed his head.

Pontifex ran his hand over Marek’s scalp, tracing the edge of his fresh bandage with his index finger.

“Good, Marek.”

Glissa stood alone outside a large building on the edge of a rushing river. The sky was black. None of Mirrodin’s four moons shone overhead, a rarity. Glissa had seen times when more than one of the moons seemed to occupy the same place in the sky. One would cover the other, bathing the Tangle in an inescapable blinding light. Strange things occurred at these times, and it was always one of these convergences that marked the time before a festival or ritual.

Now times of darkness were fewer and far between. If one side of the plane was in darkness, it meant all the moons were on the other side—at the same time. Glissa knew what it meant when two of the moons were in alignment. It was time for the rebuking ceremony, time for all elves to give up their memories. It had been this ceremony that had caused her the most trouble while she had been in the Tangle. Giving up on all the things she’d experienced in this lifetime seemed like such a waste. It had been her decision to forego the Rebuking that had touched off the strange series of events that led her to her present situation.

This darkness was deeper than others she’d seen. This was no simple Convergence. Numerous Rebuking ceremonies had come and gone since she was a child. This time, however,
all
the
moons were lining up—something that had never happened in her lifetime. If the runes on the Tree of Tales could be trusted, it was something that had only happened four times in the history of the world.

That was why she’d come to see Bruenna.

Glissa knocked on the door of the wizard’s tin home, but there was no answer. Pushing aside the chromelike curtain, the elf slipped inside the square building. The entryway was dark, but she could see a faint blue glow coming from a room deeper in the house. Following the light, she made her way to the place where she had first seen Bruenna looking over a series of maps spread out over a large table.

The room was still quite dark, lit by a magically glowing stone that hovered in the air. It cast a perfect circle of light on the floor, throwing the rest of the room into long, deep shadows. Below the glowing stone, Bruenna sat cross-legged, her hands pressed together as if in prayer, and her eyes closed.

Glissa stepped quietly inside the room.

“Hello, Glissa,” said Bruenna, not opening her eyes. “Please, come join me.”

Glissa crossed to the female wizard, circling around the long table still covered in rolled maps. She sat down facing Bruenna.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Bruenna smiled but still didn’t open her eyes. “You’re not disturbing me. I’m doing a meditative exercise my people call
mulla bunda
. It’s a practice to still the mind and heal the body.”

Glissa was a little uncomfortable. She’d never seen anybody sit that still. It seemed like a luxury—and boring.

“I’ll try to be quiet,” she said.

Bruenna’s smile widened. “There is no need. Part of the exercise is to focus while confronted with distraction. Please, talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

Glissa shrugged. “Okay.” She paused. “Bruenna, the moons are aligning.”

“Yes, I noticed. It’s very dark, darker than I’ve seen in my lifetime. This Convergence is different.”

“In the Tangle, when the moons align, it marks the coming of a new phase, a time of cleansing and renewal.”

“I’ve heard of the elf rituals.”

“Well, I’ve never been much of a believer in these things,” admitted the elf, “but until I’d seen it with my own eyes, I didn’t believe that Mirrodin was hollow.”

“And now you’re beginning to question yourself.”

Glissa took a deep breath. “Well, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would,” Bruenna opened her eyes, her smile gone. “I am.”

Glissa felt a sudden rush of relief. “I’m frightened, Bruenna.”

“As am I.” Bruenna lowered her hands to her lap and nodded. “But that fear is comforting.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I would be more concerned—about myself as a human—if I felt nothing during a troubling time. It is natural for elves as well to fear things they don’t understand. The question we must ask ourselves is not whether or not that fear is something we should be feeling but how are we going to react to it?”

“You mean, we should be trying to figure out how to stop the moons from aligning?”

Bruenna smiled. “No. There is nothing we can do about the forces of nature.”

Glissa wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand.”

“We have surprisingly little control over our destinies, yet we still manage to accomplish many things in a lifetime. Changing the course of the moons isn’t within our power to control, but how we react to such an event—personally, emotionally,
spiritually—we do have some ability to steer. The question we must ask ourselves now is not what we must do, but are we afraid of our own shadows?” Bruenna leaned forward. “Are you going to let the convergence of the moons stop you in your task? Or will you face your challenges—fearful but unstoppable?”

Glissa did not hesitate. “I must go find the trolls again. They’re the ones who started me down this path. They’ll be able to answer my questions, maybe even tell me more about my role in all of this.”

Bruenna nodded. “I have heard that the trolls are very old. They may know a great many things.”

“Will you come with me? I could use the help.”

The wizard shook her head. “I cannot. My leg needs more healing, and my people need my guidance. There will be much to deal with when the vedalken come.”

It was Glissa’s turn to nod.

“I will promise you this, though—when the time comes, we will fight with you. We will help you free this world and fulfill your destiny.”

“Thank you.”

“No, Glissa, it is I who should thank you.”

*  *  *  *  *

After several long rotations of travel, the trees of the Tangle rose up tall before Glissa, Bosh, and Slobad.

“It’s good to be home,” said Glissa. “It’s been a long time.”

Bosh lifted the pair off his shoulders and set them gently on the ground. “Where will we find the trolls?”

“In the Tree of Tales,” explained Glissa, “deeper inside the Tangle.”

Elf, goblin, and golem made their way through the metallic
forest. As they went, Glissa ran her eyes over familiar ground, bringing back a flood of memories.

She saw clearly her mother, father, and sister, their faces calm and comforting. They drifted away, replaced in her memory by the horror of the leveler attack that had killed them all. She would never forget the terrible sound their scythe blades made. And the blood. Everything was slick with blood.

*  *  *  *  *

Her memories faded, replaced by visions of trees—trees with leaves—and of a world with soft things and a sky of deep blue. A wind slipped lazily through the trees, and Glissa looked to the ground. Patches of green wavered in the breeze. She reached down, and her fingers ran over the edges. She pulled her hand away, expecting to see blood where the leaves had cut her flesh to ribbons—but there was nothing, just smooth, soft skin. No cuts. No blood.

She examined her hand more closely. There was no metal. The blades that extended from her knuckles were gone. She checked her shins. They too had no metal. Her whole body had transformed. Everything was flesh: soft, warm, and forgiving.

She was filled with panic. She reached for her sword, but it too was gone. She was defenseless, with no weapons and no claws. A crash made her look up. Two huge trees cracked in half, each falling away from the other, tumbling into the other trees, smashing away limbs and scattering branches as they hurled toward the ground. Between them towered a gigantic construct. Its gleaming metal chest stood out in stark contrast to the forest and soft plants all around. Its head, arms, and legs were a glowing blue, as if they were formed completely from magic.

The creature stared down at Glissa. She felt very small and
tried to turn away. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The creature took a step toward her, and the ground trembled.

Glissa tried to scream, but no sound came from her mouth. She drew a breath and tried again—still, nothing. The construct took another step then bent down, reaching out. Its huge, glowing fingers wrapped around Glissa’s body, and she was lifted from the ground.

*  *  *  *  *

Glissa came to on the ground, Slobad’s face right above hers.

“You okay, huh?”

Glissa nodded. She had these visions from time to time. They were called flares, and she dreaded them. They were flashes really, pictures that ran in her head. All elves had them, but Glissa’s were stronger, more vibrant, than most. No one knew for certain what they were. Glissa thought of them as waking dreams—the possibilities of her mind showing themselves in brilliant colors.

The elders in her tribe had claimed the flares were visions of the future. Most elves did not believe that. Who could really see into the future?

Sometimes the visions blinked in and out, as if she were opening and closing her eyes while she spun in a circle. Each time her eyes focused again, a different scene filled her vision. It was only for a split second, then it was as if her eyes closed again, and she moved on, looking moments later upon something entirely different.

“No golem,” Glissa said.

“No golems?” Bosh seemed concerned. “Are there no golems allowed in the Tree of Tales?”

The elf shook her head, dazed. “Uh … no. That’s not what I was talking about. I’m sure they’ll allow you in.” She stood up. “They’d had better let you in.”

“What you talking about then, crazy elf?” asked Slobad.

“I had another flare.”

Slobad stood upright and looked at her with wide eyes.

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“What did you see?” asked the big golem.

“I saw a different world again. A world without metal.”

“A world without golems?”

“No. There was a golem, or at least what I thought was a golem.” Glissa shook her head, trying to clear it.

“It mean something, huh?”

“I don’t know, but it seemed like a nice place.” She looked at Bosh. “All except the part about the golem. I’m not sure it was a nice golem—” she touched Bosh’s arm—“like you.” She shrugged. “There were soft things there, like the blankets and beds we stayed in at Bruenna’s village. Even the grasses and bushes were soft.”

The goblin gasped. “Soft razor grass?”

“It wasn’t really razor grass. It just looked like it.” She straightened and headed deeper into the Tangle. “It was nothing. Get going.”

The trio walked on in silence for some time. The closer they got to the Tree of Tales, the more memories crept into Glissa’s mind. She thought of Kane, wearing the armor of the Tel-Jilad Chosen. A deep sadness filled her chest. It felt heavy, as if a vorac were standing on her chest. A knot in the bottom of her stomach moved and fluttered as if she’d swallowed a live bird.

A voice brought her from her reverie. “Glissa.”

Glissa looked up from the ground. The figure before her
wore the red ceremonial armor of the Tel-Jilad. For a moment, Glissa saw a different face.

“Kane?”

The elf looked at her sideways. “No.”

Glissa looked around. While she had been thinking of her best friend, she had walked right up to the front of the Tree of Tales.

The guard stepped to one side, indicating the side of the tree with a sweep of his hand.

Glissa stared at him, confused. “What’s this? You’re just going to let me inside the Tree.”

The Tel-Jilad nodded.

Slobad sidled up to her. “You sure ’bout this, crazy elf? Last time we here, they think you kill old troll, huh?”

Glissa nodded. “They haven’t attacked us yet,” she said. “Besides—” she looked up at Bosh—“we’ve got a golem.”

Slobad threw up his hands and the three of them headed toward the tree.

Glissa stepped between the roots, pushing through the rounded vines that hung down, obscuring the entrance to the Tree of Tales.

Inside the tree, the trio were greeted by a large, imposing troll. His face was round and covered in warts, and his shoulders were slouched forward, as if his head were too heavy to be held up by his thick neck.

“Young Glissa,” said the troll in a deep rumble, “we were expecting you.”

“Do I know you?”

“No,” said the troll, “but Master Drooge knows
you
. He is awaiting you upstairs.”

The elf eyed the troll. His manner was controlled and introspective, the exact opposite of threatening, and he appeared harmless—harmless for a troll. He carried no visible weapons and moved with a swiftness that belied his great size.

“Who is Master Drooge?”

“He is the eldest,” said the troll. “The newest leader of the trolls.” With that, he bowed his head and stepped aside, indicating with a flourish of his hand the stairway leading deeper into the tree.

Glissa looked at the other two. Slobad sighed but nodded, and they headed up.

The steps were cut from from the tree itself. Circular scoring, covering every inch of the tarnished steps, formed a pleasing pattern. It almost seemed as if someone had polished the shape of the stairs into the metal, leaving a series of tiny circles. None of the circles was complete, each having a vague beginning and ending that seemed to flow into the one beside it. At the top of each step, the linked swirls bent at the edge and continued up, wrapping from the side of one step onto the top of the next. The interconnected circles formed a collection of chains that led up and around the spiral staircase.