Future Sight Read online

  Venser was improving. He had only been teleporting without the aid of his ambulator for a few days, but each time he did it the process became simpler, easier, more efficient and accurate. It wasn’t that long ago that he had been obliged to mime the act of working the ambulator’s controls in order to make his own teleportation work, whereas now he was close to doing it at will with no visible effort.

  Golden, yellow energy crackled along the outer edges of Venser’s body. The light flowed down his hand and onto Jhoira’s, where it spread across her entire body. When they were both completely enveloped, gravity seemed to shift, and Jhoira found herself high in the air over Yavimaya with a cold wind driving her hair and loose robes out behind her.

  She looked down as they started to fall, their hands still clenched tight. Jhoira quickly conquered her disorientation and opened her eyes wide to burn as much detail as she could into her memory.

  Then she gasped. From this vantage there was no mistaking the shape of the canopy. The hardwood and leafy green formed a slightly convex plate that stretched across nearly the entire forest. The plate was rounded and broad with a series of thick, hornlike shapes radiating from its center. These braided spires were stacked at least three deep, overlapping each other with the longest at the bottom of the array. As the wind whipped past them and Venser’s grip grew tighter and more anxious, Jhoira identified facial features in the cap that topped Yavimaya—a small, round nose; a wide, square mouth; and a thick eyebrow ridge that bordered two huge knotholes below.

  The face was Multani’s. Every feature was exactly as Jhoira remembered it, only now on a far grander scale. Her friend seemed dormant, perhaps dead. Would Yavimaya construct a monument to its avatar, a forest-spanning bust of its greatest hero?

  Venser’s hand tightened again, and he shouted to be heard over the wind. “Now?”

  Jhoira squeezed back. “Now.” Venser began to work his magic, and Jhoira felt his power crawling across the skin on her hand.

  Just before they disappeared, Jhoira gasped again. As they winked out of existence over Yavimaya, she saw two beech brown orbs roll up into the empty eye sockets, peering up at the interesting insects overhead. She started to speak, but before any sound passed her lips the impact of colliding feet-first with the ground changed her words into a grunt.

  The shock of landing quickly gave way to the shock of seeing what she had seen. She turned to Teferi, who said, “Anything?”

  “Multani’s here,” she said. “And I don’t think we’ll have any trouble finding him.”

  * * *

  —

  Jeska stood and dusted herself off. She turned all the way around to see if the other Keldons would take part, but they were content to stand and watch from the edges of the assembly area. As she completed her turn, Jeska saw the warhost was not just gray-skinned brutes but smaller, unarmed people of various tribes and even elves. She dismissed this as Radha, under her mantle of fire, stomped closer.

  “This was your choice, Keldon,” she called. “I offered terms. You didn’t accept. I will not restrain myself.”

  Radha stopped and snorted derisively. “And what will you do, Planeswalker? Make me disappear? Youth me back down to infancy? Turn me into a sheep?” She spat on the ground and called out to her warhost. “Behold the Pardic way. Pick a fight you can’t lose, then talk your way out of it.”

  Their laughter was rough and much too loud, but Jeska smiled darkly. This was exactly like taking on a local favorite in the pits. So far she felt the Keldons could learn a thing or two about heckling from the Cabalists. “Keep talking,” she said. “If they cheer loud enough you might forget that I just took your best punch unprepared and shrugged it off like rain.”

  “I’m done,” Radha said, her voice sharp and level. She drew her broadsword with one hand and a tear-shaped blade in the other. She cast her arm forward and sent the tear spinning through the air toward Jeska, ready to pounce and slash when she dodged.

  Jeska made a show of looking annoyed. She raised one eyebrow and Radha’s missile exploded in the air only two-thirds of the way to its target. Keldon steel shattered like glass, and the glittering pieces evaporated into steam.

  Now Radha’s face showed exasperation. “Oh, draw your sword,” she said. “I don’t want us to spend all night throwing spells at each other.”

  Jeska held the warlord’s stare for a moment. She nodded and drew her businesslike short sword that seemed woefully overmatched by Radha’s huge weapon. Jeska savored the presumption. Her sword was strong and light, and she had bested dozens of broadswords with it. She held the gladius out so that the torchlight glinted along its edge.

  For several moments both warriors simply stared at each other with their swords extended. Then Radha’s eyes narrowed and she charged, howling like a rabid wolf. Jeska let out a war cry of her own and rushed to meet Radha halfway.

  She felt a sharp shock across her right arm, and too late Jeska realized her mistake. She had seen how fast Radha was with the help of Keldon mana, but she did not realize that Radha also drew strength and speed directly from her soldiers. Jeska had been watching Radha’s mana supply to anticipate the Keldon’s battle magic, but now she knew the bond between warlord and warhost was not mana based. She saw it now, flowing from the throng of warriors and villagers and elves. This was beyond mana. This was an essential, elemental force channeled directly through living beings.

  As she watched the lower half of her arm go spinning through the air and skidding across the rocks, Jeska realized Radha would not assemble her soldiers simply to root her on to success. Their presence and support made her far more dangerous.

  The Keldon elf now stood beside Jeska’s arm. A dull, roaring cheer started among her warhost as Radha casually rested the flat of her broadsword on her shoulder and then slowly, deliberately raised her heavy boot and laid it atop the severed limb. “Come and get it, Little One.”

  Jeska waited for the raucous laughter and abuse to die down. “Don’t need it,” she said. She still had her short sword, which she used equally well in either hand. She was in no danger of bleeding to death or succumbing to shock—as a planeswalker she could reshape and repair her body however she liked. Besides, there was an Old Pardic saying that she’d heard a hundred times in a hundred different ways, from her mentor and her older brother alike: “Cut off my arm and I shall fight on one-handed.”

  Jeska slashed the air confidently and marched toward Radha. The Keldon spat again and kicked the arm aside. Jeska picked up speed as she advanced, and Radha was no more willing to wait than Jeska had been. The Keldon loped forward on her long legs, her broadsword’s tip straight out to skewer Jeska if the Pardic warrior came too close.

  Jeska called on her memories of home, of the iron-bound ridges of Otaria. She used that power specifically to match the boost Radha had taken from her warhost. It was a matter of tribal pride now, and Jeska was determined to use Pardic magic to defeat this Keldon animal. She turned her increased strength toward batting Radha’s long blade aside and her speed to slip past the knife in the Keldon’s other hand. Now inside Radha’s guard, Jeska stabbed upward with her gladius.

  Carefully now, she thought. Mustn’t kill her outright.

  But Radha twisted her torso so that the blade plunged through her upper arm rather than her breastbone. She barely flinched as the tip emerged from her bicep.

  Radha snarled and wrenched her body back, pulling herself off the blade as she also reached down to her hip. Without unsheathing the broken broadsword, Radha rammed down on its handle so that the ragged end stood out straight, and drove the truncated weapon forward into Jeska’s stomach.

  Another roar thundered from the assembly. Jeska was still not in any pain or danger, but she was furious with herself for making these wretched amateur mistakes. She was rusty after such a long absence from the pits, and Radha was expertly keeping her off balance.

  She struggled to push Radha away, but the Keldon pulled her in close. With their faces al
most touching, Radha said, “You’re losing, Planeswalker. How do you like it?”

  Enough. The angry voice in her head frightened Jeska even after she realized it was her own. She teleported away from the battle, just a few feet to get clear of Radha’s blade. Blood still spurted from Radha’s arm until she seized the opportunity to slap a fiery hand over the wound, cauterizing it. Radha smoothly switched her broadsword to her uninjured arm and charged Jeska again.

  But Jeska was no longer playing. Her severed arm reappeared as she dropped her gladius and clamped on to Radha’s blade with both palms. Lightning jagged up from Jeska’s hands, and Radha’s blade melted into a puddle between them. Jeska planted her feet and pressed forward, plowing through Radha’s guard and loudly breaking both the Keldon’s forearms as Jeska latched on to the Radha’s throat.

  The ’host roared again, angry and outraged now. Radha’s eyes disappeared behind a gemstone veneer of red. The hard substance shattered, and Radha’s throat seemed to expand under Jeska’s grip. The Keldon’s tongue lolled, and her face flushed purple as Jeska’s fingers were slowly forced apart. The ’host’s roar became triumphant again.

  Sleep, Jeska said, using all of her limited telepathic influence to shut the warlord down. She squeezed harder but devoted the bulk of her efforts toward overwhelming Radha’s mind. Go to sleep now.

  Piss off. Radha’s face was still contorted and lurid from lack of air, but her eyes and her thoughts were as clear and sharp as glass. The warlord bent her knees, shifted all her weight onto one foot, and brought her knee up into Jeska’s jaw.

  The force was enough to finally break Jeska’s grip, though she took some of Radha’s flesh with her as she went. Radha staggered back, her arms horribly skewed and bent below the elbow. She glared defiantly at Jeska, unbowed and far from beaten.

  “Fine,” Jeska said aloud. “We’ll do this the hard way.” She gathered more memories of home, of the Pardic mountains as they were, the towering peaks that overlooked the horned-skull outline of Cabal City—

  Radha leaped forward and lashed out with another kick. Jeska stood rock-still and caught Radha’s foot in one hand less than an inch from her face.

  Smoke rose from the leather under Jeska’s hand. The Keldon cried out. Frenzied and in agony, Radha hopped high into the air with her free foot and scissored that leg across Jeska’s face. The planeswalker barely noticed, but she opened her hand and let Radha’s long body hit the ground.

  The Keldon elf remained incredibly lithe and agile, especially for her wounds. Radha half-slithered away from Jeska using one leg. When she was a few yards out she folded her body almost in half to examine the smoking wound on her foot. She glanced up and spat, “What in Nine Hells did you do to me?”

  Jeska’s spine went cold. Radha’s foot and ankle were covered in a bubbling, black ooze that had spread across the length and breadth of her boot. The Keldon kicked at the heel of the boot with the toe of its twin until she pulled her foot free of the dissolving leather.

  Jeska’s instincts were not so rusty that she didn’t know when to press an advantage. She strode forward, noting the dark stain on Radha’s bare heel. She bent down, grabbed the warlord by the hair, and rammed Radha face-first into the ground.

  The warhost gasped. Jeska lifted Radha’s face up and rammed it back down again. Then again. Radha’s body went limp. Jeska slammed twice more. Panting, she stood. She watched and waited for any movement, any sign of consciousness, but at last Warlord Radha was beaten.

  Beaten, Jeska thought. She inspected Radha’s ankle and saw that the stain there was starting to bubble and spread as it had on the leather boot. What in Nine Hells had she done to the Keldon?

  Dassene came forward from the increasingly ugly and unruly mob. Their noise faded quickly as the Ghitu raised her arms for silence.

  “I’m taking her with me,” Jeska said, “by right of combat.”

  Dassene nodded. “As you say. If I thought we could stop you, we’d be at your throat right now.” She nodded past Jeska. “Is Radha dead?”

  “No, I want her alive. And if you want her that way, make that rabble keep its distance. I have to fix things.” She didn’t wait for Dassene to reply but turned and crouched next to Radha’s prone body.

  It was as she feared: The warlord was infected with black mana. Jeska had not employed black magic, not consciously. Were those brief flashes of the swamp below Pardia enough to taint the spell she had meant to use on Radha? Or was there something else, a far more dire and dreadful cause?

  “Fix her,” Dassene said. “Or stand aside and let us do it.”

  “Quiet.” Jeska cleared her mind and focused on the healing magic Karn had forced upon her. She had hated it at the time, but over the decades it had proven a useful tool. A cloud of greenish white mist gathered between Jeska and Radha. It settled on the Keldon like morning dew and quickly evaporated.

  Radha’s body rose off the ground. As she floated and Jeska stared fixedly, Radha’s broken bones straightened and knit. The sword wound through her arm closed and vanished without a scar. The angry bruises on her throat faded.

  Jeska allowed herself a small smile. Her healing magic was better than Radha’s, at least. With the power of a planeswalker behind it, the spell would leave Radha as whole and healthy as she had been this morning.

  Jeska gestured, and a long, rectangular piece of Keldon stone separated from the ground. The piece of rock floated toward Radha. It split into two pieces that folded themselves around her wrists and ankles like uncooked bread, then hardened back into thick manacles of solid stone. She waved her hand again, and Radha’s unconscious body rose vertically beside her, standing upright with her head hung forward.

  Jeska spoke to Dassene, but loud enough for the assembled warhost to hear. “You’re free now, you know. There’s no one to serve. I don’t have to bring her back soon…or here…or at all, if you’d prefer.”

  Dassene nodded curtly. “As you say.”

  Jeska waited for Dassene to go on, but the Ghitu remained stoic, inscrutable. “Do you understand?” Jeska said. “You and the others don’t have to be afraid of her, don’t have to take her orders. You all can do whatever you want.”

  Dassene nodded again. “I myself will stay here. Keep the ’host together as best I can, keep training the boy.” She turned and addressed the host. “Anyone interested in deserting while the warlord is away?” She waited for exactly two beats of total silence before turning back. “We’ll wait.”

  Jeska searched for something familiar in the Ghitu’s demeanor. Exasperated, she said, “I bet the elves outside the perimeter have a different answer.”

  “Go ask them then. They came to us for charity, so they can bugger off any time they like.” She crossed her arms. “The rest of us are staying here.”

  Jeska shook her head, disgust turning her mood even more sour. “Are you that afraid of her?”

  “It’s not fear,” Dassene said. “And it’s not something you need to understand. Leave now, Planeswalker. Unless you’d like to make things even worse for us before you go.”

  “No,” Jeska said, a hard edge in her voice. She said, “I’m done for now,” even though she knew in a much larger sense she was just getting started.

  Jeska stole a glance at Radha’s heel to confirm no trace of the bubbling black stain remained, and she disappeared with her vanquished foe in hand.

  After Jhoira described the view from above the canopy Teferi insisted that Venser show it to him too. Seconds later, Teferi and Venser were back, disheveled and wind chilled, but the bald wizard’s face was alive with excitement. The three of them had arrived and located their old ally without incident. All they needed to do now was to catch Multani’s attention, or at least catch Yavimaya’s in such a way that it sent Multani to greet them instead of predators to eat them.

  Speaking to the forest and its avatar was proving difficult. Yavimaya seemed to have maintained its strong collective consciousness, and while that was an effective meth
od of communicating within itself it was also a serious barrier for anyone outside. Without any planeswalkers or telepaths, Jhoira knew she, Teferi, and Venser had their work cut out for them.

  Venser remained quiet as Jhoira and Teferi considered the problem. He had been upbeat and engaged after his powers proved useful, and he demonstrated ever finer control. Now he was deep in thought.

  “We should find the rift,” Teferi said. “It’s impossible for me to believe that Yavimaya isn’t aware of its presence. At least part of its collective attention has to be focused on the phenomenon, so if we go there we’re likely to be noticed.”

  “Getting there will be dangerous,” Jhoira said.

  “Not if we teleport past the danger. I can’t sense the rift’s exact location, but it shouldn’t take us more than two or three jaunts to find it.”

  “Fair enough. But once we get there, simply being noticed isn’t any safer than strolling through the jungle. We should contact Multani first so the forest knows we’re coming.”

  “I agree. But how? Any time we spend figuring that out means less time to find a way to seal the rift.”

  “I don’t have an answer.” Jhoira glanced at Venser. “Maybe we could build something? Another signal device?”

  “This is Yavimaya,” Teferi said, “a place of natural forces. Nature abhors artifacts, and so does Yavimaya. Half of what we see here was probably grown to destroy Phyrexian machinery. The forest might consider any artifice hostile.” Now Teferi turned to Venser. “Like the gladehunters back in Urborg, eh?” Venser did not reply, and Teferi said, “Venser? Any thoughts?”

  Venser was staring at the impenetrable jungle. “Still thinking,” he muttered.

  “We should build a fire,” Teferi said. “A signal fire. Except we aren’t signaling ships at sea. We’re signaling our inland friend.”

  “A fire would be as provocative as an artifact,” Jhoira said.

  “Fires happen in forests,” Teferi said. “It’s entirely natural—lightning strikes and the like. Hells, I’ve seen compost heaps burst into flame from their own internal heat. I’m sure Yavimaya deals with small fires all the time.”