“So you’ve been talking to our enemies!” Liliana hissed, hands on hips.
“No—yes, I’ve been talking, but
they are not necessarily our enemies,” Jor countered, his eyes blazing. Jor-el Galesun, formerly Jor Kadeen, ran his hand through his wayward brown hair. The spiritual leader of the Auriok was sweating bullets in his own office. An office that had been demolished by his fight with Liliana's undead minion "Venser" and that now was wrapped in stifling blackness so the conversation could not be overheard. Jor silently cursed himself for being so vulnerable to this turn of events.
“You figured you’d give them
Melira, in exchange for information?” Liliana said softly, not looking at him.
Melira gasped, looking at Jor with wide, fragile eyes.
“What are you talking about?!”
Jor exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the broken desk. Liliana slid her eyes
sideways and up, meeting Melira’s supergreen gaze.
“Perhaps,” Liliana continued,
staring at Melira only, “Glissa promised you secrets to the inner workings of
this World, if only you’d give her the healer that would stop the plague that
is striking down their armies even as we speak.”
Liliana showed no emotion as
Melira bit her lip, not breathing, not quite believing, looked to Jor-el for a
contradiction, for assurance it was not so.
“She offered that, but—“ Jor
began, then hesitated. The hesitation was all Liliana needed—she snorted
condemnation on cue. Melira lowered her face and broke down in a silent sob,
covering her face with her hands and her flaming hair.
Venser swiveled his head toward
Liliana disapprovingly.
What are you doing? He thought to her.
Working to save our asses. Liliana replied. Quiet.
“I never agreed to such!” shouted
Jor, but the seed was planted. Melira peered up at him with glittering, wet
eyes, her broken heart carved in high relief on every part of her.
“Dear, men do what they have to
do. They will never hesitate to use you,” Liliana said softly. Melira slowly
turned and locked eyes with Liliana. She nodded ever so slightly. Liliana
smiled confidentially, just for the two of them. She reached out an put her
hand on Melira’s shaking arm.
She’s ours. Liliana exulted in her head.
You’re a raving bitch. Venser thought.
You’re a dead man short two balls.
True.
Alright then. Attend to Melira.
“Jor, I don’t fault you for
this,” Liliana was saying silkily. “It’s smart business. Why don’t you and I
talk about it over dinner?”
Jor looked at her coldly. His
gaze slid to Melira, who was standing weakly as Venser helped her put on her
cloak with his one good arm.
“Please?” Liliana said. When
Jor-el continued to stare at her impassively, she walked over to him, standing
open and inviting, trusting, above him. “Please? You should tell me of your
plans, so I can help. I would have done the same in your place, with the girl.
But my feminist loyalties demanded she know the truth…”
“I did not—“ Jor started to say.
Liliana bent down and kissed him hard.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not
becoming,” Liliana breathed. Jor’s hands tightened around her upper arms.
I just threw up in my mouth—a lot. Venser’s one eye flared as he
gently turned Melira away from the scene.
Good thing you don’t have a stomach.
Liliana laughed inside his head.
______
Venser had hoped that after the
brawl, perhaps things would change and he wouldn’t have to endure the inanities
of Liliana’s and Jor’s narcissistic relationship.
To his unsurprised dismay,
however, things only got worse.
Following the confrontation about
Jor’s overtures to The Tangle leadership, Liliana and the Auriok mystic
cavorted around the Furnace Level like blossoming youths at a May festival. They danced, they drank, they laughed, they reveled in each other's good looks. Venser, broken jaw and all, was left to see to Melira.
“He was the first person I saw
when I came here,” Melira was saying. Venser nodded automatically, his jaw
waggling in its jacknifed state (held in place as it was by darksteel
clothespins). His one dark eye socket and his flaring blue one drifted
noncomittally toward the vents of the Furnace Level, where Liliana and Jor were
tasting through an apparently endless array of fine Mirrodin wine.
“I was so scared, and he…he came
over and put his cloak around me…” Melira said softly. Venser the zombie
lowered his head into a skeletal hand and exhaled.
“I felt like I’d come
home…finally,” Melira breathed, her voice trailing off painfully. Venser turned
and looked at her.
She really was quite a beautiful
girl, not in the gods-what-is-that?! way that Liliana was, but in a fey,
youthful, hopeful way—like a sunrise through the fog. The fires of the Furnace
Level were always reflecting off her hair, the phoenix shades cavorting in the
twisted locks that hung down over ivory shoulders.
“Venser?” she said hesitantly,
her expression confused as she caught him staring at her.
Venser
rose, picking up his severed arm in his good hand, and gestured for her to
follow him.
_________
Once, a metal man thought he was
akin to a god.
Once, a metal man thought he
could create a world with a narrative so perfect that it would exist in harmony
for ages unending.
Little did he know that his grand
plan would be undone by a smear of something on his foot.
So long ago, Karn had made
Argentum from his best creative instincts. He had imbued the perfect metal
world with all of his passion for peace, beauty, and harmony. He hoped the new
plane would be a reflection of the best parts of himself.
And it was. It was also a perfect
reflection of his pride.
As he gave Memnarch his final
instructions, a little bit of crap slipped from Karn’s silver boot onto the
surface of Argentum. Memnarch, a golem created in the image of his master, was
left alone with a perfect world and a tiny pile of poo.
The pile
of poo, however, was Phyrexian poo.
And after
Karn had left, and battled, and traveled, and schemed, and then returned again
when he felt the Phyrexian plague touch his heart as he closed the rift over
Urborg—he discovered, to his horror, that his metal Eden had been corrupted—
By that
little bit of Phyrexian shit. And everything stunk.
_________
“STOP.” The hordes of black and
blue turned their heads at the bellow.
“That was good,” said Slobad’s
hand.
“Thanks,” said Karn.
Jin-Gitaxias clicked his head in
the direction of the intruders. There was a large, impossibly shiny silver
golem with a goblin hand on his shoulder. The hand appeared to be whispering
things into the golem’s ear. This was irregular.
“Excuse me, but can we get on to
whatever’s next? I’m losing feeling in my tail,” Sheoldred said as she dangled
upside-down over a Mimic Vat.
“Silence,” clicked Jin-Gitaxias.
“How rude!” hissed Sheoldred.
“You don’t remember me?” Karn
said, his large eyes sad and heavy as he looked at Jin-Gitaxias.
“SHOULD
I?” clicked the Praetor, but no one understood him.
_______
“Jor, we need someone who can
build what we need.” Liliana was strumming her fingers impatiently on the head
of the metal dog that attended her.
“I told you that we don’t have
such here, not that I’ve seen.” Jor inserted his nose deep into a bulbous wine
goblet and inhaled deeply. Venser saw Liliana clench her teeth in annoyance and
narrow her eyes. The zombie limped forward with Melira at his side. The healer
beamed hopefully at Jor-el as she patted her smoothly combed hair.
“Yes?” Liliana snapped, turning
toward them. Venser shrugged, his bright eye flaring innocently. Melira ducked
her head and blushed visibly.
“I’m sorry, we didn’t know we
were intruding,” she said.
“Unless you have a way to get the
five suns of this godforsaken plane to realign in the center of the world and
then somehow miraculously drift back to their places in the sky, then yes, you
are intruding,” Liliana sighed loudly, draining the wine that Jor had carefully
poured for her in a very unladylike gulp.
“Mmeeeeeeeeeeee,” Venser
whooshed, standing beside Melira in a protective stance that annoyed Liliana to
no end.
“Excuse me?” Liliana rolled her
eyes at him. “Jor and I have been talking for
hours about how to find some talent on this plane that can create a
construct to do what it is we need done. I need to move suns, Venser, my dear. Suns. You have something to offer?”
The zombie took hold of his
broken jaw in his hand and tilted it up in semblance of a smile.
Really. He heard Lilana sneer in his head.
“What was your previous
occupation?” she said aloud, curiosity piqued. Jor-el deigned to grace him
with a full-on look, brown eyes skeptical and distant.
“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtificsheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer,”
whooshed Venser.
Liliana froze, wine goblet halway
to her lusicous mouth. Jor-el raised an eyebrow.
Are you a walker? Liliana’s voice resounded in Venser’s
head—pulsing, throaty, desirous, passionate.
Aren’t you? Venser thought to her in return.
Mmmmm, clever minion…
Liliana replied. Aloud, she said,
“Melira,
my dear, wherever did you get such a fine silver comb as that one?”
“Uh,
um…he gave it to me?” Melira indicated the zombie with a flash of her green-blue eyes.
“Ah. I
see,” said Liliana. Venser cringed. Maybe he shouldn’t have given the healer
one of the necromancer’s baubles. But then again, Melira had nothing beautiful
to enjoy.
He’d done
the right thing.
The right thing and the wise thing are not
the same, my love. But, I am glad you
made her happy for a moment…A comb is a comb—your disloyalty is what interests
me.
Venser
let the sultry voice echo around his psyche for a few moments. Then he thought
back:
Your soulless dark heart is what interests
me.
There was
no answer.
To be continued.
