[NoR] - [05] - Black Sabbatical

Impossible. Coincidence.

The words of the cracked priest dove into his mind.

'You point just like that blind Mage…'

Fear briefly flared across his periphery, tainted by the following panic. Mists held in the street, screams ceased, and all was still as time slammed to a halt. Razel turned and leapt from the clouded plaza to the building now scarred by the ball of plasma. Ahead, the frozen dead leaned violently over the soldiers, confined in their terrified positions. To the left, the gaping masonic wound smoldered, a droplet of igneous stone glowing as it hung suspended above the ground. To the right, an alleyway leading to an evident dead end. Behind, a pile of what used to be Dire Bear oozed viscera into the street.

No Blindfold. No Mage.

Appearing at the end of the alleyway, Razel desperately sought a sign of escape. The vapor trailed behind him, itself trapped between moments. Despite the frantic nature of the search, he found nothing.

Just Coincidence…

Not entirely believing his own words, Razel doubtfully looked about himself one last time, the ice receding from his skull to be replaced by natural flesh. With paranoia still ringing in his mind, the Planeswalker stepped blindly into the eternities, not caring where it spat him out. Time returned to its natural flow, leaving a now ruined festival to gather itself back together. With no preference in regard to direction, the emptiness pulsed around him as the inexorable current of nothingness bobbed him towards a random destination. He emerged without ceremony within a small cave, immediately leaving for more familiar ground. The families of small ursine villagers who sought shelter within the cave were noticeably and understandably perturbed by his abrupt arrival and disappearance. A young one reached out to touch the cracks in the air, only to have her paw slapped away by her father.

"So what happens if you try to leave?"

Rokh had looked at me dubiously, as if unsure of why I would be thinking about this.

"You remember the speech the Golem gave you, right? About liability?"

The memory was now old in my mind, as it seemed ages had passed since then. Somehow I found no trouble in recalling the scene with lucidity. I was once again very uncomfortable.

"So...they kill you?"

His molten hands left his work, resting on my shoulders.

"We are here to make sure that reality itself is safe. Anyone who disagrees with us is a liability. The Academy has a zero tolerance policy on liability."

I remember being irritated with him and not knowing entirely why. My instincts were sharper than before, and they seemed to dislike the Academy as a whole. Yet, so far, my keepers had been nothing but kind and generous. I pressed the issue.

"How?"

"How…?"

"How do they enforce this policy? We're Planeswalkers. The blink of an eye and I could be aeons from here."

Rokh looked about suspiciously. He knew something. I intended to get it out of him.

"See...I like you.” His voice dropped a little, and he spoke with a protective zeal."

“I’ll fill you in. If only to help convince you that staying here is the right choice."

Not sure I believed that. Still don’t.

"The Academy, as I mentioned, takes liability very seriously. Every single 'walker that has leaves the Academy without consent is logged, tracked, and dealt with. Most everyone who leaves is seeking power in some way, and they think they can get more of it outside. That makes them unstable, and unfortunately, prone to using said power. Again, liability."

"Tracked? How do you track inter-dimensional travel?"

"Everything leaves a signature, Roz. Every time you 'walk, there is a small wound in the multiverse. It heals, but as with all wounds, there is a telling scar if you know how to look. "

Disconcerting. I was beginning to dislike Rokh’s manner of phrasing.

"Who tracks them?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions? Are you considering something you shouldn't?"

I gaped at him as I decided against my retort. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Roz…?"

In hindsight, hesitation was probably not the best response.

"Of course not. I'm just curious, is all. The Academy teaches us about everything except itself."

His smile seemed more bemused than anything else.

"No, they'll teach you when you’re ready. They just need to know they can trust you first."

“I think they're after me.”

The Golgari Gardener rolled his eyes incredulously, ignoring his guest and tending his plants. The sprouts grew from the corpses laid in rows, each torso caging a vicious shrub. Beams of light craned through the grates above, piercing the dank musk of the room. The pungent stench of mildew emanated from the wet sewer walls. The plant creatures were mid-gestation, and small filaments of mana crept from his fingers as he caressed the leaves, assisting the growths with scavenging life from the dead.

"First you overreact to that oil spill,”

"Garrus, I explained about that, you can't be too careful-"

“-and now you worry that you point like a blind man? You are losing your edge, Inquisitor. If word escapes that you spook at the gestures of the sightless, you'll have a variety of rude signs to deal with before the next festival is over."

“First off, what signs are you talking about? Second, I-”

"Razel, you're scared. Why?"

The Planeswalker shut up. Yes-fear was at the front of his mind. His normal composure was shot, and his reactions tainted. The torrent of overwhelming emotion had hidden itself from him in plain sight, but a forced calm washed over his features as he inhaled deeply. Garrus continued tending blithely.

"Why do you do that if you don't need to breathe?"

Razel glared across the room, finding only apathy in return as the gardener kept tending.

"Because the intent is enough to induce the effect. Now shut up, I'm thinking."

"You worry too much. More than likely this was just some want-to-be, trying to stand up to you. If this is the same festival as last time, he may even remember you from before. I know you; you tend to make an impression. Don't find enemies where there are none."

"Garrus, you don't get it. These people-"

"-who you can't tell me about for my own protection-"

"-are great and terrible. They will never stop."

"You said you slipped them ages ago. You haven't so much as mentioned them in over a century."

"Precisely why this worries me so!"

The gardener looked at him, incredulity and irritation merging in his ancient features.

“Accept that you're over-reacting. Words sown in madness reap only madness. "

A slight rattling stole their attention, the small plant assassin creeping through the grate at the top of the wall, creaking as it went. It clambered over to an empty body, snugly placing its roots within the soil beneath. Garrus trudged over to gently place a hand on the saproling, his mind reaching out to the simple neural pathways of his creation and absorb its experience. Visions of sugared death danced in his head as the creature's skewed perceptions seeped into him, filtered to remove the hallucinations and learn how its mission had genuinely transpired. Razel took a step closer.

"Success, I'm to assume?"

The gardener nodded, patting the thing gently on the head before walking over to his guest.

"As always. Now, I think you need to get away for a while. Take a break from the Inquisitor. Having a day job working for the Syndicate can't be good for your paranoia."

Razel frowned as he ran it over in his mind. A sabbatical was certainly appealing, but there were too many things he had to consider. He shook his head as the idea dissipated.

“No, I do too much for the Church. I can’t just go. My Debts will build, and-”

“Aught.”

Again the ‘walker paused, taken aback by the suggestion.

“You...I…Why?”

“If your issue is that nobody will do your job, then follow the Aught process and let loose a second. When you return from your ‘recess’, the absorption will ensure you missed nothing in your absence.”

Possibility fermented as he considered the option. Assuming it didn’t go rampant, the idea could work. This, unfortunately, was assuming a lot.

“I can’t. The process is too unstable...there are too many variables, and on top of that, it creeps me out.”

A casual shrug was the gardener’s reply.

“Think about it.”

My studies exposed me to a great many things. After a point, following the ideas of others began to lose its luster. Inevitably, I would try my hand at the art of spellcraft. One of my first such projects was my attempt to take multiple classes simultaneously by creating a duplicate of myself.

It seemed like a good enough idea – who wouldn’t want to be in several places at once? If I could find a way to re-absorb the simulacrum, I could theoretically regain all the knowledge and experience it had accumulated, allowing me to make MUCH better use of my resources. My studies took a turn for the multiple. I dug for every manner of copying, cloning, splitting, re-creating, absorbing, and countless other actions. The final process was relatively quick, and would use my own essence to create the copy. Absorbing it would be as simple as plunging my hand into it and…well, absorbing it. An extensive, indeterminate amount of time was spent preparing for the first test, including a number of possible emergency measures. As soon as I felt comfortable with the ritual, I cleared a space in my abode.

The room was colder than normal, evidenced by my visible breath. My chamber was mostly empty, save the glyphs I had carved into the floor. The diagrams are within my mind, and I can still see them if I focus. The first chant started the sloughing. Gelid tendrils crept from my hands, shaping themselves into a crass reflection of my crouched form. The features sheared into focus, cracking loudly until I was facing…myself. I think the circle got slightly smudged as I scrambled for the scripting I had prepared.

“You are me. I am you. I am me. You are you. You are an extension of my self. You are ‘Aught’, the first.”

Within moments, I saw the realization slowly blossom. Wasting no time and feeling hesitant revulsion, I buried my fingers in his…my… face. My second body gasped as it began to unravel, the rimy flow reabsorbing into my limb. It said nothing.

I felt the last couple minutes flow into me, and I lived the memories in that moment. I saw myself, but from a different perspective. I heard my words. I felt the fingers pierce my eyes, and then the flow of experience ended. It worked, even if it was not exactly appealing. I designated this new capability the ‘Aught Process’ in memoriam of my first. Many conclusions were cleverly drawn from the experience, leading to a further refinement of the steps involved. I knew that the double would retain my memories, yet have a limited magical repertoire. I knew that the transfer of knowledge worked superbly, and the brief moment wherein I experience it all simultaneously was probably a phenomena not noticed by the outside world. Overall, general unease aside, the first was a success. I began preparations for my second.

Worlds away, the Blind Mage stepped into a small room, his nose tingling at the faint aroma of sulfur and oil.

“It was him.”

The response came from the far corner.

“Are you certain?”

A nod.

“At the very least, he’s one of us.”

“Excellent. Did he notice you?”

“He ignored my flames and threw me into a wall.”

“Then he considered you unworthy of his perception. This works in our favor. Did you follow him?”

A strained pause.

“We tried. He ‘walked blindly, and without intent, we can’t set a trail.”

The voice was not amused.

“And nothing came up when you surveyed the local planar cluster?”

“There was a possible trail to Ravnica, but the scar was of indeterminate origin. There was another which led us back to the festival, although that also lost intent. Everything else is too old to be of use.”

Footsteps met the Mage’s ear as his superior stepped up to him, heat radiating off of the powerful form. The reply was firm and final.

“We know he’s been to the City-Plane, but there’s too much traffic to properly track anyone. Have our Cell in the Tenth District remain vigilant. Else-wise, re-open the other path.”