“Disease?”
“We can. We see the degradation of perfection.” The Guardian sidled over to the window. “Come.”
Pontifex followed.
“Can you see the mycosynth?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know what causes these blemishes?”
Pontifex thought for a moment. “Why do you call them that?”
“Because that is what they are. They were not here when Mirrodin was created.”
“No?”
“No, indeed. At first we thought they were no more than a little tarnish, nothing that a good polishing could not fix, but they have grown to what you see now. Towering monoliths of disease. They are a symptom of Mirrodin’s sickness.”
Pontifex had always thought of the mycosynth as something much like the trees in the Tangle or the razor grasses of the plains. They were simply part of the plan. But if they weren’t … The vedalken lord followed back the path he had taken from the blue Lacuna to Panopticon. It was littered with mycosynth.
A chill ran up his spine.
“So the mycosynth are killing Mirrodin?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“What does this have to do with the elf girl?”
“She has something we need. Something inside her,” explained Memnarch. “We must have it.”
“What does the elf girl have, my lord?”
“A piece of divinity,” said Memnarch, not looking away from the window. “A gateway to another plane of existence. Memnarch wishes to cross over, to acquire this gateway.”
“You wish to procreate with her, my lord?”
“No, Pontifex,” scolded the Guardian. “We wish to make her part of our being. To use her to become more.”
The vedalken’s jaw dropped. “Please, my lord, I beg you. Take me.”
“What?” Memnarch turned to glare at Pontifex.
Pontifex dropped to his knees. “Please. You must. I will do anything. I will sacrifice myself and all of the vedalken on Mirrodin if that is what it takes.” He grasped at his god’s crablike legs. “I am ready. My Guardian. Use me. Make me part of your being.”
Memnarch stepped back, and Pontifex fell forward, landing on his belly without the Guardian’s limb for support.
The Guardian looked down with a disgusted look on his face. “For all that you vedalkens cherish knowledge,” he said, “you have such a limited understanding of how things work.”
Pontifex let his forehead rest on the ground. His world was crumbling. First the Synod and now his god had lost faith in him.
CHAPTER 8
Glissa was surprised by the speed at which the leveler made it through the trees. The heavy underbrush was making it difficult for her to run. She very nearly fell flat on her face a number of times. It seemed ages since she’d been on a hunting party.
Even with her rusty recollection of how to move through the Tangle, she kept up a good pace. How then could this leveler outpace her?
Deeper and deeper into the mass of metal trees they flew. As the canopy grew thicker, Glissa had been forced to let Bosh fall behind. He could take care of himself. Slobad was a different matter.
For the past several minutes, Glissa had been steadily losing ground, relying on long clearings to give her a glimpse of where the metallic beast was heading. Here, though, near the deep center of the forest, such clearings were few and far between. The elf wondered if she’d lost the trail.
Leaping over a stump and ducking around a tangled bramble of razor vines, Glissa stopped to listen. Closing her eyes, she slowly isolated all the sounds around her, tuning them out one by one as she had done while hunting with the other elves. The sounds of wind and rustling foliage went first. Then the scampering of vermin and small game. With an uncanny accuracy, Glissa pinpointed two larger creatures within just a few yards from where she was standing. From what she could tell, one was a vorac, walking on three legs with a limp. The other-
Glissa’s eyes popped open. “A wolf.”
Gripping the hilt of her sword, she slowly turned to stare into a pair of brilliant yellow eyes, slit down the center by brown, almond-shaped pupils. The creature took two casual steps toward her, coming up within an arm length.
Glissa looked up at the beast. The bottom of its jaw started where the top of her head left off. Its shoulders, neck, and legs were covered in dappled brown and gray fur. Its face and shins were much like her own, covered in tarnished metal that ended in spikes, several of them broken or worn completely to a nub. Patches of pink skin showed through bare spots and along what Glissa assumed were the remnants of old, healed wounds. Four very large, very sharp tusks jutted from the creature’s mouth, each tipped in silvery metal.
“Looking for something?” asked the wolf.
Glissa was amazed. “Who are you? What do you want? You talk?”
The wolf began to circle the elf, still keeping an eye on her as it moved. “Yes,” it said. “So do you.”
“I’m an elf,” replied Glissa. “You’re a … a-”
“A wolf.” The creature completed her sentence.
“My father used to tell me tales about wolves, but I’ve never seen one. At least, not until now.” She followed the creature around as it circled, keeping her shoulders squared to the beast. “Are you real?”
The wolf chuckled. “Yes. Very much so.”
“I thought wolves were just made-up creatures. Things parents told their children about to keep them good.”
“Well,” observed the creature calmly, “either you’re having some sort of hallucination, or I’m really here.”
“Did Memnarch send you?”
“Who?” The wolf continued to pace.
“Or the vedalken?” Glissa gripped her sword, ready for a fight. “Did Pontifex order you to kill me?”
“No one orders me to do anything.”
Glissa narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have time for this. If you’re going to try to kill me, get on with it.”
The wolf cocked its head. “I haven’t decided yet if you deserve to die or not.”
Glissa drew her blade from its sheath. “That doesn’t help me.”
“I don’t suspect it would.” The wolf stopped its pacing. “Why are you here?”
Glissa’s fear and awe of the mythical creature standing before her gave way to another kind of terror. “Slobad! I’m trying to find my friend. A goblin who was abducted by a leveler.”
“A leveler? You couldn’t catch a leveler this deep in the Tangle?”
Glissa scowled. “Listen, I don’t have time to discuss with you the finer points of forest tracking.” She held out her sword. “If you’ve seen him, now’s your chance to tell me.”
The wolf stepped back in surprise. “Are you threatening me?”
“Only if you’re threatening me.”
The wolf tilted its chin, looking across its long nose at Glissa. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Al-Hayat.” The wolf made a shallow bow with its front legs.
Glissa stared. “Al-Hayat. That was the name my father used to give to the leader of the wolves. You can’t be …” She shook herself. “My name is-”
“Glissa. Yes, I am aware of who you are.”
“Look, Al-Hayat, if that’s really your name, if you know where my friend is, then please tell me. If I don’t get to him soon, he’ll likely be dead.”
The wolf nodded. “You know not how true are your words.” Al-Hayat pointed toward a mound of tangled brambles around a fallen tree. “The goblin has been buried. He is under that stump.”
* * * * *
Memnarch unhooked himself once again from his infusion device. Serum flowed freely through his body, and he was at peace again. This was the third time he’d taken the serum on this day.
The Guardian crossed to where his scrying pool had been. The events in the recent past had spurred him to improve upon his viewing techniques. One pool would not be enough to keep track of the comings and goings of all the players.
So far, everything was on track, but he needed to collect more data, so he had recently installed this new device-the Eye.