The Secretist Page 3

  “Jace, who exactly provided you with this information?”

  Jace picked at the seam of his cloak. “That’s the problem.”

  “Who was it?”

  “The dragon, Niv-Mizzet himself. I saw it, all of this, in his mind. And he may have seen me, too.”

  “Jace …” Kavin squeezed his eyes shut. He pressed his fingers to his blue-skinned forehead until purplish blotches formed around his fingertips, and drew several deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, his words came slow with forced patience. “The answer is no.”

  “I know there are risks. But maybe we can stay ahead of him. Maybe we can get to the bottom of this before they do.”

  “You misunderstand. I’m not just refusing. I’m telling you no. You can’t proceed with this. Neither of us can. It’s suicide.”

  Jace remembered the sensation of the dragon’s eyes, the dragon’s mind, turning toward him, just for that instant. It brought to mind a soul-chilling encounter with the dragon Nicol Bolas. His newfound knowledge about the Izzet’s discovery had come with a troubling cost—the possibility that yet another dragon knew his name.

  “Jace, we’re done with this. Do I need to remind you what happens when the guilds want something? They ruin lives. They use people. We get involved, and we expose ourselves to the worst they’re capable of.”

  “But doesn’t that mean we should get involved? Don’t you think this is important?”

  “Of course it’s important. From what you’re saying, it’s gravely serious. Which is why we’re going to shut down this project, destroy all traces of our research, and leave this district.”

  Jace wanted to contradict him. He wanted to rebel, to forge ahead without Kavin’s help. He knew investigating this maze would put him in danger, and had accepted that. But he thought of his time with the Infinite Consortium, and how he had learned that when he went up against powerful men, those he cared about were the ones who were hurt. He thought of his friend Kallist, who even Jace himself had manipulated in the end. He thought of Kavin—a talented man but no match for the ruthlessness of Ravnica’s guildmasters.

  And he thought of Emmara, who had brought Jace back from the brink of death time and again, and who asked for nothing in return. She had been nothing but a friend to him, and he had brought nothing but harm to her. She had survived an assassination attempt brought on because of him. The more he chased his curiosity, the more she bore the consequences.

  Perhaps all this was nothing. Perhaps this was simply the wild fancy of a capricious dragon—Jace had found nothing in his research to suggest that the maze led to a weapon or something else that would endanger Ravnica.. Perhaps Jace was needlessly endangering himself and his allies by yet again sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He wished he could immerse himself in the layers of secrets, but he couldn’t see any way around the grave risks.

  “So?” Kavin asked.

  Mirko Vosk walked briskly, scanning the night for witnesses. When he arrived at the chosen intersection, the streets were abandoned. So he approached a brick wall and walked straight through it.

  The wall softened into mist for a moment, allowing his passage, and reverted to solid brick after he was through. The abandoned corridors of the undercity branched out before him. He descended a half-ruined staircase, passed under a series of archways, and wove his way through unmarked side passages. Even in the gloom, his eyes reflected like mirrors.

  The corridor widened into a haphazard catacomb. Vosk was surrounded by a ring of crude stone shelves where the skeletal remains of forgotten Ravnicans were interred. He knew he had reached the right meeting place because his fangs descended involuntarily. He could feel his master’s presence like a breath on his neck.

  Vosk turned in a slow circle, addressing the air around him. “I have news, Master.”

  “Of Beleren … Yes, I see,” came the voice—an omni-directional, croaking rasp that echoed throughout the passages.

  “He knows something—something that may be of value to the guild.”

  “Yes,” said the voice. “He may prove to be the instrument we require.”

  Vosk turned, speaking to the walls all around him. “Shall I drain him for you, Master?”

  “Enlighten me on the other one, Vosk. What do your senses tell you about the Selesnya girl?”

  “Trostani favors her, as you foresaw, Master. Her import grows. I can smell it on her.”

  “And what does one call two paths that cross and become one?”

  “Synchronicity?”

  “Opportunity,” rasped the voice. “By applying pressure in one place, we divert attention away from another, do we not?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “And so we may achieve the elf by means of the Cult, and Beleren by means of the elf.”

  “As you wish.”

  “You are my most promising agent, Vosk.”

  Vosk nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Master.”

  “But if you fail me,” said the voice, “I shall have your ribs replaced with shards of wood, so that every breath you take threatens to pierce your heart.”

  “I understand,” said Vosk.

  There was no further response.

  In a sacred grove in the Tenth District, Emmara bowed before Trostani, a being composed of three dryads merged into one. Each of Trostani’s three upper bodies moved and spoke independently, each one a beautiful, foliage-haired woman, each one a powerful voice of the Selesnya Conclave. But their lower bodies converged into a single sinuous trunk, like a mighty tree. Trostani was the leader of the Selesnya, but Emmara knew she was more than that. Trostani was a living symbol of her guild’s belief in unity, the embodiment of the power of the masses bound into one.

  “The wild beings of the world are open to you, Emmara Tandris,” said Trostani. As the guildmaster spoke, the three different dryads wove their speech together, not actually speaking in unison, but blending their words into a single voice. “Your talents as a healer are great, but we desire to see you weave greater magic still. Call on the mighty elementals of nature. They still answer when we summon them, so long as we continue to believe in the world as a single entity, as they do. You are their ambassador now, and they are your guide.”

  Emmara bowed again. “My deepest thanks, Guildmaster.”

  “Your gratitude is well-meaning, but premature. The time of peril approaches. Gather together all that you hold dear, for the day nears that our unity shall be tested.”

  Emmara thought of the Izzet’s secretive project, and of the paranoia among the other guilds. “Guildmaster, is there a way to preserve the guilds without the Guildpact?”

  “Only if we become one,” said Trostani, the words flowing gracefully from the three dryads. “The guilds are an expression of the beliefs of this world, and we cannot survive without them any more than we can survive without belief. But remember, the individual means nothing. Boundaries are an illusion. If you are to mend us, healer, you must dispel barriers. You must not allow the ten to splinter, or we shall all come to ruin.”

  Emmara felt unworthy of this charge. She bowed to Trostani, and the three dryads bowed to her in turn, their trunk-body bending like a graceful willow. Emmara turned to leave the grove, and she knew who she had to convince to help her, whether he was willing to join her guild or not.

  Before she had even left the Selesnya grove a courier ran up to her, clearly seeking her out. “Emmara Tandris?” he asked. When she affirmed, he handed her a rolled-up letter. “I’m told the sender was someone named Berrim.”

  “Thank you.”

  Berrim was the alias Jace had used when he and Emmara first met. She unfurled the letter and read it.

  Emmara,

  I apologize. I understand now why you tried to convince me to join you in reaching out to the guilds. I understand now why the guilds feel afraid and hostile toward the Izzet, and why you and your guild are seeking all the help you can find for the times ahead. But I am afraid I cannot be the one to aid you.
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  My compatriot Kavin and I have discovered clues that led us to the source of the Izzet’s plans. But unfortunately this must be the end of our investigation. I have brought grave danger upon us, and Kavin has convinced me that the best route for us is to abandon our research completely. In fact, I intend to go one step further: I will soon destroy our memories of ever having learned of these matters. If you ask me about any of this at any future meeting, I will not recall these events, including this letter, and I will not understand what you ask. This letter is to inform you of the reason for my future behavior, and to seek your pardon for my reluctance.

  I am sorry. I know this will come as a disappointment to you. I hope in time you will understand my reasons. In the meantime, my friend, I hope you will consider your own safety, and consider abandoning your concerns with the actions of the Izzet.

  Yours,

  Jace

  She crumpled the letter in her fist and whirled on the courier. “When was this sent?”

  “This morning, madam.”

  “Can you call for transportation? I need the fastest thing you can find me.”

  MIND SCULPTING

  Jace looked out the window of a cheap tower hostel, the Cobblestand Inn, just a block away from the unremarkable brick building that had been his sanctum. He had requested a room that was on one of the upper floors, in view of the sanctum building, and had led Kavin up the stairs, coaxed him into the room, and shut the door.

  Kavin ran a hand over his smooth bald head. Kavin had the nearly hairless blue skin, blunted features, and lucid mind typical of his vedalken race, but little of their characteristic patience—for which Jace liked him all the more. “Now you’ll tell me what we’re doing here?” he asked.

  “You’ve brought no documents with you, right?” asked Jace. “No stashed notes? No diagrams or translations of the code?”

  “What? No. I left them all in the sanctum, just as you requested.”

  “Good,” said Jace.

  With that, Jace delivered a mental command to the mercenary he had hired, a champion warrior of the Gruul—a guild of brutish, anarchic outcasts. Jace had chosen a two-headed ogre named Ruric Thar, the most belligerent-looking and least intellectually curious warrior he could find, to demolish the sanctum.

  You may proceed, he thought to his hireling, and the only response he heard was a pair of wordless mental roars.

  Outside, sounds of smashing glass and splintering wood came from the sanctum building.

  “What is going on?” asked Kavin.

  “I’ve seen to it that all our research will be destroyed,” said Jace.

  “I thought you and I would take care of that.”

  “I’m not sure we would have done a thorough enough job. I know at least I would have been tempted to spare some of my notes, and that I would be drawn into the project again. Couldn’t take that chance.”

  Kavin nodded slowly. “But then who’s destroying the work? Should we just be leaving it there?”

  “I’ve hired someone to destroy our work for us. And the building with it.”

  “But shouldn’t we get out of here? I expected to get far from the Tenth—certainly farther than the Cobblestand Inn.”

  “After today, you can still flee the Tenth if you’d prefer. But after today, we won’t need to.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know that even when all our research is destroyed, it still won’t be gone. There will still be remnants of it left, remnants that could be taken from us and used against us—in our memories.”

  Kavin’s hands rose slowly, almost of their own accord, into a defensive position. “Wait, Jace. What exactly are you suggesting?”

  “You’re right that it’s too dangerous to pursue this research. But as long as we know what we know, we’re at risk, and everyone we know is at risk. I won’t have us dragged into a dragon’s conspiracy just from what’s in our minds. I won’t be a pawn, or have you used as a pawn, by those with more power than conscience. Not while I have the power to fix it.”

  “You never told me you could do that. I don’t know if I want to be fixed.”

  “I won’t have those I care about be used. Believe me, I know how that feels. You think Ravnica is a big place. But even if you left home now, and left the Tenth District behind you forever, those who crave power would find you. You’d be part of their game, simply because you showed curiosity in something, simply because you cared enough to explore a secret. They would use your thoughts against you, and track you down using them.”

  “Is that even possible? Could anyone actually even do that?”

  Jace didn’t meet Kavin’s eyes. “I could.”

  Kavin was quiet for a long time. In the near distance, through the window, they both watched smoke rise from the sanctum building. Flames flickered inside the building. Jace thought he could make out the shadow of a large, two-headed figure thrashing around inside.

  “If I give up my knowledge of the code,” said Kavin. “I’ll be giving away my only weapon. Surrendering my only advantage.”

  “No,” said Jace. “You’ll be refusing to be a weapon.”

  There was a screeching cry outside. Jace and Kavin turned to see a griffin bearing two riders flap its way to a landing in the middle of the street. The rider in the front kept hold of the reins, controlling of the unruly griffin, while the rider on the back slid off the creature’s back. The griffin took off again, pumping its wings and heaving into the sky.

  Jace recognized the figure immediately. It was Emmara. She was pacing back and forth in front of the smoke-plumed sanctum building. “Jace!” she screamed into the blazing front door. “Jace!”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. Not now.” Jace threw open the window. “Emmara!” he called, waving. “Emmara, up here!”

  Emmara turned to look back at them and came running toward the Cobblestand Inn.

  “Don’t do this,” said Emamra, breathless from bounding up the stairs to the room. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Kavin, this is my friend Emmara,” said Jace with mock etiquette. “Emmara, we have to. You are not stopping this. I won’t wander into a guild conflict just to satisfy my own curiosity. And I won’t let Kavin be used as a pawn in a dragon’s game. You remember my previous employer, Tezzeret. You should understand why.”

  “You’re crucial to this effort, Jace,” she said. “You’re the only one who can help me. Please don’t turn your back on me. Not after all the times I stitched you together, not after all the trouble you got yourself—and me—wrapped up in. You can’t abandon me when I need you. When we all need you.”

  “I’m not getting involved because of all the trouble I caused you. Tezzeret sent his men to kill you. I can’t let something like that happen again. I won’t let it.”

  “Excuse me,” said Kavin, “but you’re Selesnya, correct? What stake does your guild have in this? How does this affect the Conclave?”

  “It affects all of us,” said Emmara. “Or it will, soon enough. Whatever the Izzet are planning, it comes at a time when the guilds are especially distrustful of each other. Niv-Mizzet is very old and very covetous. The dragon could be planning something dire. He could be making a play for power that could never have been possible—not until the Guildpact dissolved.”

  Kavin’s eyes widened. “A coup. You’re talking about a coup.”

  “Even if he isn’t planning it, don’t you think the other guilds will be expecting it? They’ll arm for a guild war. We have to pull together. This is the time for us to reach out to everyone. And I need your help.”

  “No. I won’t be part of it.” Jace shook his head. He could see where this was going. He would be recruited into a fight with the promise of enforcing the peace, then be used as a tool by powerful individuals to wage their private war. The more he knew, the more value he had to the dragon, and perhaps to others. And as long as he was valuable to them, he could envision how those powerful individuals would see his friends. Kavin and Emmara w
ould be no better than bargaining chips, commodities bound to what was between Jace’s ears. He didn’t like to surrender to the whims of this dragon, or to abandon his research. But that’s not what he was doing, he told himself. The last thing he wanted to do was to destroy information, to erase hard-won knowledge—but he had no choice. It was better for no one to know it at all.

  “Talk some sense into him, Kavin,” she said, making a frustrated gesture toward Jace. “Tell him that this is going to boil over and hurt many, many people. Tell him that this isn’t the time to back away.”

  “I can’t, Emmara,” said Jace. “I can’t. Not this time. Kavin, please sit.”

  And with that, he began the spell to destroy memories.

  Jace was at home inside another man’s mind.

  He had been a mind mage for as long as he had wielded magic. He had explored the contours of consciousness and plumbed the murky depths of memory. He even had some experience in destroying minds entirely. When he worked for Tezzeret’s Infinite Consortium, an interplanar cartel of planeswalkers and thugs, he had reduced multiple men to drooling, mindless simpletons, on the justification that it was better than killing them. He wasn’t proud of the psychic harm he had caused. But the fact was that he was good at inflicting it when he needed to.

  He assessed Kavin’s mind, his inner eye soaring over the vedalken’s mental realm like an eagle at sea. He peered into his compatriot’s memories, tracking glimpses of those weeks during which he and Kavin had worked on the code. Jace used his own consciousness as a scalpel, slicing through those pieces of the past, tearing them free of their bindings like glittering cobwebs. The memories took time to dissolve completely; as he passed through Kavin’s mind. Jace set off specialized tremors of mental destruction, letting his efforts ripple into all the associations, metaphors, and mental juxtapositions that might have led Kavin back to those thoughts again.

  After a time that felt like days, Jace pulled back from Kavin’s thoughts. He could not locate any other scrap of memory that pertained to the code, their research, or the maze. The obliteration was complete. Kavin’s mind was intact, but it contained no trace of knowledge that could bring him harm. Jace let his consciousness slide back to his own mind.