Venser turned to look at the others.
“What was that?” Koth said.
And then Venser remembered that Tezzeret had mentioned that the Phyrexians in the furnace layer were different.
“The Phyrexians here are different,” Venser said. “The metal-armed one told me that.”
Koth shook his head, watching the form of the glowing skeleton move away.
“What is happening here in this place?” Elspeth said.
“I think those are forges,” Koth said, not able to keep the amazement out of his voice. The vista showed massive buildinglike structures dotting the cavern. The buildings contained the cherry glow of ore, and there were rivers of ore connecting one building to the next. Each building had a veinlike tube attached to its top. Each tube extended upward into darkness.
Forms moved back and forth between the buildings, carrying globs of molten metal. Some of them were large, insectlike forms, picking their way over the rough, slag-littered ground with precise legs. But huge creatures with two legs and arms moved among the buildings as well. They dragged the motionless forms of other Phyrexians behind them toward the ore pools.
“Where is our destination in this place?” Elspeth said.
“I do not know,” Venser said. The terrain was dotted with piles of slag. The glow of molten metal lit the distance, and insectlike Phyrexians moved in silhouette in front of it.
They started to walk. The way was more difficult than the steps, if that was possible. There were no trails, as the Phyrexians seemed to be large enough to mince between the slag piles and canals of ore. But twice Venser almost fell, tripping on hardened slag obscured on the shadowy ground.
Slowly they made their way to one of the buildings. As they got closer, it was clear to them all that it was no ordinary building … more of a Phyrexian on its stomach with a large open maw of teeth. One of the vein canals attached to its head. The bright white glow of molten metal shone from its mouth.
“The ore is coming in through that cord attached to its head,” Koth said, shaking his head.
And it was. They could see the molten ore through breaks in the tube.
“But what is it doing?” Venser yelled above the blowing of the Phyrexian furnace.
“It is melting down Phyrexians for reuse.”
The voice that had spoken was deep. They turned to see an elephantine humanoid standing on its rear legs, with an immense club slung casually over its shoulder. As they watched, six more forms appeared out of the flickering shadow: three humans, an elf, and a lionlike being walking on two legs. Each was armed, but none had their weapons up and at the ready.
“This is where the metal of the beasts are melted,” the elephantine said. “It is a shameful place, but not a dangerous one.”
“Have you ever watched sausage being made?” one of the humans offered.
Nobody said anything, and the elephantine humanoid glanced back at the human who had spoken.
“Well, it’s not something you forget seeing,” the human said. “It’s disgusting. Like this.”
They eat sausage on Mirrodin? Venser thought. He turned to look at his group. Koth was eyeing the strangers warily. Venser turned back. The humans were vulshok, he could tell by their spiky, metal hair. Why isn’t Koth greeting them? Venser wondered.
“Where does your way take you?” the elephantine said.
“That is our own business,” Koth said.
The elephantine one squinted to see Koth, who stood back a bit. “Ah, yes, a vulshok,” he said.
“Loxodon,” Koth said. “Why are you here?”
“We are looking for friends to resist what is happening on the surface,” the loxodon said, scratching its trunk with its club. “Are you friends?”
“We are not enemies,” Elspeth said. “And this one I have is wounded. She needs to lie down.”
“Our assignment is to bring friends,” the loxodon repeated.
“I am Venser and this is Lady Elspeth and Koth,” Venser said. The loxodon’s eyes stayed on the fleshling for a moment before looking back at Venser. “We are friends.”
“Maalan they call me,” the loxodon said, curling his trunk. “Follow me, friend.”
They walked between the Phyrexians that were attached to the ground, receiving the molten ore of reprocessed Phyrexians. The heat was overwhelming. Soon they were all drenched in sweat. Venser’s head was pounding.
“Do you have water?” Venser asked the loxodon.
“Yes,” Maalan said. “For friends.”
“We already said we were friends,” Koth said.
The loxodon took a canteen from a lanyard over his shoulder. Venser, Elspeth, and Koth took turns with it. Koth gulped more of the iron tasting water than the others, Venser noticed.
Maalan led them between the ore reprocessors. Many times large, wasplike creatures larger than themselves stopped to regard them. The creatures seemed to move ore from one processor to the other with willowy scoops sprouting from their thoraxes. The wasp Phyrexians seemed to look through the group. At one point the loxodon shooed a group that was blocking their path.
“Why don’t they attack?” Koth said.
The loxodon regarded him coolly. “As near as we can tell, they do not regard us as a threat, son of Kamath.”
Koth shrugged. “Every other Phyrexian does.”
“That is true,” Maalan said, and walked ahead.
The room seemed larger than any they had been in yet. It went on and on. All along what must have been the edge, Venser could see more of the wasp Phyrexians and other, stranger forms moving. The ore streamed down along the veins into the tops of the reprocessors.
“Where are the new Phyrexians created from this ore?” Venser said.
“That does not happen here,” the loxodon said. “And not in that way.”
“How does it happen?”
“I do not know that, friend. If I knew that I would tell you, I promise you that.”
Venser watched Maalan walk next to him. What he really wanted to know was how the loxodon knew Koth’s father’s name. He wanted to know why Koth said nothing when the loxodon addressed him with his father’s name.
Venser fell back from the group. When the others were some steps ahead, he put his hand under his armor and took out his vial. He held it up to the glow. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw how little was left. Less than a finger in height of the precious fluid glowed in the bottom of the bottle. He carefully removed the cork and took a tiny sip, feeling the energy impart itself into the contours of his mouth and make its way to his brain-causing it to glow, or so he always thought.
He looked at how much of the fluid remained before putting it back into the special pocket he had stitched in the cloth under his armor. There were other times he’d drained a bottle. But that was before he had depended on the distillation so much. And those times were bad. If he ran out down there, in that place, there would be great problems for him. And after his teleport with the fleshling, even his potion did not put his head right. He knew the day would come, but he had doubted it would be so soon. The teleport into the flock of blinkmoths must have exacerbated something. It had made him worse, just as it seems to have affected the fleshling in another way altogether.
He had run out of his potion other times. Once he had been unable to leave his bed for two days. Another time had found him at the mercy of psimortifiers, in their “exploration chambers.” He had prevailed in each circumstance, but only through luck.
And all for what? Venser thought as he patted the bottle where it lay under his armor. For a fluid that really did nothing for him? It actually did less than nothing even before the teleport. It gave him a mana boost at first, and then depleted him later. Venser suspected that it depleted him more than it boosted. The boost was slight, and did not last for very long. But it felt like a large boost. It felt good.