The Moons of Mirrodin (3 page)

“Stop it!” shouted Glissa as she scrambled to her feet. Kane threw his own dagger at the fleeing vorrac, but the blade glanced off a horn and clattered to the ground. Glissa sprinted after the beast, which showed no signs of stopping as it neared the edge. The Viridian elf lunged forward and grabbed the wounded beast
by the hoof just as it passed the edge. She slammed down hard onto the green metal, bouncing forward as the vorrac’s weight threatened to pull her over the edge.

“Are you all right?” called Kane as she struggled to hold onto the still-thrashing beast.

His voice sounded as if Glissa were hearing it from within a deep cave. It echoed around her, and his footsteps seemed to go on forever. She shook her head to clear her senses, but then the dim light of the distant moons began to grow cold and black and Glissa fell away into darkness.

*   *   *   *   *

Glissa opened her eyes. The dull green metal of the Tangle trees had been replaced by strange brown trunks. Short green stalks with colorful, soft tops dotted the ground around her, while a golden light streamed down through thousands of bright green petals above. She was bathed in a light and warmth she had never known in the Tangle, where the only light came from the stars in the sky and distant moons that never rose above the treetops. Still, this bright, colorful world seemed somehow familiar
.

Beneath her, the ground was soft and moist, and brown grit stuck to her clothes and face. Glissa stood and brushed the stuff from her clothes and limbs. She looked down at her body and did not recognize herself. Her copper forearms had been replaced by pale, soft skin. Her metal claws were gone, and her legs were pink instead of the pale green of tarnished copper. There was no metal on her body at all. Instead she seemed to be covered in a soft, pink skin that could hardly protect her from the rigors and rough edges of the Tangle
.

Glissa’s vorrac-hide jerkin was gone as well. She was now covered by strands of brown vines woven through green petals to create a flowing blouse and skirt. She ran her fleshy, clawless
hands over the skirt, feeling the softness of the petals against the warmth of her new hands. A word came to her mind unbidden
.

“Leaves,” she said
.

There were no such things in the Tangle, only metal—copper covered by molder, the dull green growth that tarnished all within the forest
.

Glissa surveyed the strange forest, trying to find some landmark she could recognize, but there was a remarkable sameness to this place. Every brown tree grew straight up toward the sky and branched out into myriad leaf-covered limbs in every direction. No terraces swept high in the air; no curved spires marked one’s way; no luminous gelfruit hung from the trees to light the way home. There were leaves and that bright yellow light straight overhead
.

Then she saw it—an odd glow coming through the trees. At first Glissa thought it was the light of the blue moon, but the light was too white, and the blue moon was never that bright so low in the sky. Staring at the glowing light, Glissa began to walk toward it. She didn’t even realize she was moving until she had passed several of the weird, brown trees and the glow had gotten larger. She willed her legs to stop but no longer had control over her body. She stumbled forward through the forest, moving ever closer to the strange light
.

Glissa tried to grab onto a passing tree or branch, but their rough surfaces stung her soft flesh and cut into her palms as her legs pulled her onward. The glow loomed ahead of her. It now seemed to stretch to the tops of the strange trees. Frustrated, Glissa raised her arms up toward the golden light streaming from the sky and screamed. As if in response, tendrils of green energy, brighter than a gelfruit, enveloped her hands and began to run up her arms. Glissa shook her hands, trying to fling the energy away, but it continued to grow and branch, just like the limbs of the trees around her. They consumed her arms and reached up her neck toward her face. Glissa screamed again
.

*   *   *   *   *

Glissa was back in the Tangle. She lay at the edge of the terrace, the squirming vorrac’s leg still in her hands. She could still hear herself screaming even though her mouth was closed. Glissa looked down at the wounded beast and saw green tendrils of energy coursing over her clawed fingertips. She gasped and pulled away, dropping the vorrac, which plummeted to the ground far below. The tendrils of energy remained for a moment on her claws, then discharged into the terrace. She felt a small charge of electricity run through her body. When she looked up, Kane was kneeling beside her, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. Had he seen the energy, too? She dared not even ask.

“I’m fine,” she said to the unasked question.

“Did you have another flare?” asked Kane as he offered his hand.

Glissa nodded and grabbed Kane’s arm to pull herself up, but then stared at their entwined limbs as if seeing them for the first time. Her flare had felt so real that the sight of metal growing into flesh and flesh fused into metal seemed somehow unreal. Their arms glinted as the dim light from the moons reflected off the dull, supple metal. Kane’s metallic skin stretched as his elbow bent and his muscles flexed. The metal melted naturally into the soft, pale flesh of the elf’s shoulder—the same skin Glissa had seen covering her whole body.

Why should it seem so odd now to see her metallic parts move that way? Why did the vision in the flare seem more … normal?

“They’ve been coming more often lately,” she said, finally, to cover up the awkward pause. She tried to avoid Kane’s eyes, but was it the strange flare she’d had or the extra tingle she had felt when she and Kane touched that kept her silent?

“They always do as we get closer to the rebuking ceremony,” he replied. Apparently unaffected, Kane led the way along the
terrace. “I nearly fell over on duty in front of the Tree of Tales this morning. One of the troll elders had to catch me as he entered the Tree.” Kane must have seen the concern on her face, because he continued. “They’re nothing to worry about. Flares are just old memories resurfacing. The rebuking ceremony will take care of them.”

“That’s what worries me,” she blurted out. “The flares I’ve had can’t be memories. I’m always in this weird forest with a bright yellow moon above and … and …”

Her voice trailed off as she stared down at her body.
It
was real; the flare body wasn’t. How could fleshy arms and legs be natural? And what about that energy? That had never happened before.

“And what?” asked Kane.

Glissa leaped up and grabbed the higher terrace, digging her long claws easily into the jagged metal as she thought about telling Kane the rest of it—the strange, fleshy body, the magical glow, the tendrils of energy. She shook her head. Kane had been her best friend for over a hundred cycles—her only friend to come back to her after the last rebuking ceremony, Glissa reminded herself.

She’d believed at the time that the ceremony was a conspiracy by the trolls to control the elves by denying them their past and had made the mistake of urging her friends to stay away from the ceremony. In the end, she had gone through the next ceremony just to rid herself of that memory. Most of her old friends, angry over their loss of rebuking, had shunned her—all but Kane.

She made her decision. This time she would keep her thoughts to herself.

“Nothing,” said Glissa after standing up on the higher terrace. “It was nothing. Just a stupid flare, a weird, stupid flare.”

Internally, she continued to press for answers. If flares were old memories overflowing from the rebuked parts of the mind, why did she see a world that wasn’t this one? Why did she keep
seeing herself as a pale, fleshy creature in a soft-hued woods? She had lived her entire life in the Tangle and had never seen anything like that world. There was definitely something the trolls weren’t telling elves, but she would pursue that truth alone this time.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get that vorrac before someone else claims our kill.”

“He won’t be good for much but stew now,” said Kane. “Your mother won’t even need to grind up the meat.”

As the two warriors worked their way down to the vorrac carcass, Glissa thought about the upcoming rebuking ceremony and her decision to avoid it. She knew it was the right thing to do. She needed to retain her memories if she was ever to find the truth about the trolls. Memories were important. Why couldn’t the rest of the elves see that? But if she was going to refrain from the rebuking she needed to learn to suppress the physical aspect of the flares. It would be a long hundred cycles if she fell down every time she had a flare.

Glissa looked at Kane as they dressed the vorrac. Perhaps she should tell him of her plans, though not of the content of the flares. Maybe he could help. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he would even join her and skip the ceremony. On the other hand, he was a Tel-Jilad Chosen—protector of the trolls and Tel-Jilad, the Tree of Tales. What if he informed the troll elders of her plan? They might force her into the ceremony. She would just have to risk it, she decided. She needed to tell someone, and Kane was her only friend. She needed him by her side.

“Why don’t you come over for the stew this evening?” she asked as casually as she could.

Kane pulled his dagger out from the ribs of the vorrac and smiled at Glissa. “Sounds good,” he said. “I’m on duty all night. Some hot vorrac stew will help keep me warm.”

*   *   *   *   *

Kane stood in the doorway, looking uncomfortable in his sentry uniform. It was made from slagwurm plates and cut higher on his neck and lower on his thighs than his hunting leathers. The plates interlocked and rattled slightly as Kane shifted his weight back and forth. It was distinctive armor, a dull red in the Tangle’s sea of green. No other warriors except those who guarded the Tree of Tales were allowed to wear it, but the plates gave the armor a particular stiffness that Glissa felt would restrict a warrior’s movement. She told Kane that was her reason for turning down the post when it was offered to her. The truth of the matter was something she was sure Kane probably didn’t want to hear.

She smiled at her friend and said, “Come in. You don’t have to wait at the door like a stranger. Dinner is almost ready.” As he passed, Glissa noticed that Kane had combed his short, black hair since their hunt and had polished his arms and legs. The copper relief of the etched runes he had received when he’d become one of the Chosen shone in the gelfruit light hanging in the main chamber.

Another tingle ran down Glissa’s spine. She wondered if the polish was meant to impress her, her mother, or the trolls. Probably all three, she thought, even though she hoped it was only meant for her.

She ushered her friend into the main room and sat down with him at the table. Glissa knew that Kane had always been in awe of her house. It was larger than most Viridian homes. The main room seemed like a huge knothole cut from the Tangle tree. The circular opening led into a room that was big enough for kitchen, dining room, and parlor. Familiar spires exited the room at odd angles, forming bedrooms and storage rooms.

There were only four of them—Glissa, her mother and father, and her little sister, Lyese—but Father was an important figure in the Tangle and would never give up the comfort or the safety
of this house, even if it was too big for their needs. They were near the center of the Tangle and high up in the terraces where the levelers never ventured. Glissa loved the house and the family position that allowed them to live there, although the stress of being her father’s daughter had often kept her apart from her peers.

“Where is everyone?” asked Kane, pulling Glissa from her reverie.

“Putting on their formal attire just like you,” said Glissa. She was still wearing her hunting jerkin, but she had found time to cull the tangles from her hair. Mother had even allowed her some of their precious water to wash the blood from her hands and face.

“I … er … I’m going on duty right after dinner,” said Kane. “I had to wear …”

Glissa poked Kane in the ribs and laughed. “Don’t be so defensive,” she said. “You’re too easy a target when you get like this. Mother’s out getting more water from the rain basin, and Father had some important council business. Lyese
is
up in her spire making herself pretty. I think she likes you.”

Kane blushed. “She’s half my age. She’s never even been through a rebuking ceremony. I—”

Glissa was laughing again. “Don’t worry about her. She’s still a girl. She doesn’t realize there are more important things in life than men.”

Kane looked as if he were waiting for Glissa to laugh again, but instead she pulled her chair closer to his.

“Listen,” she said. “I’m glad we have a moment alone. I have something serious to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” said Kane. A tentative smile formed on his lips. “Is there someone …?”

Glissa put her hand up. “No,” she said. “It’s not that. I’m not ready be anyone’s mate, not yet. I’m a warrior, not a wife.”

“Then why didn’t you join the Chosen?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, truthfully. “I’ve always felt my path led somewhere else.”

“I know,” said Kane. “Someplace where no one else can follow. You live your life apart from the world, Glissa. When are you going to join the rest of us and live here in the Tangle?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Glissa. She looked down at her hands and remembered the flare, the pale skin, and the magical tendrils of energy. “I’m not going to attend the rebuking ceremony.”

“You’re
what?
” cried Kane. He stood up, nearly knocking over his chair.

Glissa looked up at her friend. “Why do we have the flares?” she asked.

Kane snorted at the simplicity of the question. “We have them because the memories are too painful to keep inside us any longer,” he said. “That why we need the rebuking ceremony: to purge those memories and remove the pain.”

Glissa reached out and pulled on Kane’s hand to get him back in his chair. “That’s what the trolls tell us, but why do the trolls not attend the ceremony? Why do they write down our history on the Tree of Tales? If memory is so painful, why record it?”