Heart of the Gemini

Reckoning

Sorin brushed another plant root from his eyes. They were thicker here, in the bowels of the earth, left to feed on hundreds, if not thousands of years of death and magic. Here and there in the dim light of his glow-sphere, he caught sight of the plants moving as though they truly had life of their own. It was a disquieting notion.
Liliana’s scent was stronger now. He no longer had to stop and feel out with his mind to sense her – she was everywhere. Her mana saturated the stones of the long corridors and filled the air like incense. Above all else the sheer concentration of mana told him he was walking into a trap, for Liliana Vess was not one to leave such obvious clues to her whereabouts, unless she wanted to be found.
The trail ended at a set of large doors that seemed constructed of a thousand individual vines. The creeper-door began to writhe and twist as he approached, each strand crawling slowly away from the centre and disappearing into the hollow crevices of the walls. The newly opened entrance presented itself like a gaping wound in the stone flesh of the labyrinth, waiting for him to pass. As he did, he heard the living gateway replace itself behind him, locking him inside. Whether as a prisoner, or a guest, Sorin had arrived at the lair of the Golgari.

Far above the eternal dark of Old Rav, away from the unhallowed crypts of the undercity, the Guilds of White mana reigned over their surface-kingdoms, their great halls shining in near-perpetual sunlight. Of the three, none seemed to exhale light and energy more easily than that of the Selesnya Conclave. Just being near the homeland of the ever-expanding life-guild was enough to make Liliana’s skin crawl.
The Black Original pulled her veil across her mouth to try to mask the stench of unfettered life as she watched the entrance from a distance. She had done well capturing the Orzhov Scion after she had dismissed her White protector at the gates to her holy-city, but a mage like Teysa Karlov could not be kept hidden for long. She would have to move quickly to completely her plan before the Baroness escaped or was found and released.
Liliana watched as various magical creatures from elves to towering tree-elementals, all bearing the insignia of the White-Green guild, flowed in and out of the artificial garden. Given enough time, surely one would appear who would be worthy enough for the task she had in mind. After all, what she had planned was intended for the Guild Master of the Conclave herself.
Several hours passed before she found what she was looking for. A centaur, tall even by their standards, and brandishing several large medals on his armoured chest, was arriving back at the sanctuary amid a chorus of cheers. Whoever he was, he seemed important enough.
Liliana did not hesitate. Reaching down toward her wrist with two fingers, she plucked one of the dancing runes that criss-crossed the skin there and held it aloft. With one soft breath, the enchanted rune left her hand and instantly crossed the space towards the warrior-centaur, before landing unnoticed on the creature’s back, where it promptly vanished.
Satisfied, Liliana let out a hiss to clear her head of the nauseating mix of Selesnyan mana and let the shadows consume her.

Sorin tugged again at the vines holding his wrists. The enchanted plants had wrapped themselves around his limbs the moment he had stepped into the chamber. Now he could feel their sinister spellcraft working to its full effect: they were draining his mana. Bit by bit he could feel his magical energy being sucked away but the constricting tendrils.
A loud noise from the darkness in front of him drew his attention away from the vines. All at once a dozen or more plant roots came alive, sending out a green glow that added to the gloom more than it banished it. The noise, Sorin realised, had come from a door opening at the far end. Not a vine-made entrance like the one he had used, but a large stone door pushed manually aside by an enormous troll-like creature. The troll let loose a low grunt, then watched silence as another far smaller but immediately more terrifying creature entered the room.
The necromancer-elf Jarad moved slowly on his petrified limbs, taking each step with careful precision towards the captive Sorin. Everything about his long-expired body reflected the cruel magic that had been used to prolong his existence, exemplified in the harsh glow of the illuminating vines. For the briefest of moments, Sorin almost pitied the undead Guildmaster.
“You were foolish to come here, Lord Markov.” Jarad’s voice was as dead as the rest of his body, a rasping hiss, but nevertheless retaining the authority of the position he commanded. “None enter the Golgari uninvited and live. You think yourself so powerful, so untouchable, that you can come as go as you please?”
Sorin felt the vines tighten further around his wrists and his chest. He did not have long. “Where is she?”
Jarad shook his head once. “I had hoped you would not follow her here, I really did. I had hoped for your sake you could forgive your pride and just… let her go.”
More seconds, and more precious mana lost. “Where is Liliana?” Sorin growled.
“Her fate is no longer your concern. Nor is it mine. The agreement has been struck, and our ties summarily severed. Your fate, however, should be of great concern to you, particularly now.”
As though sensing the command in their master’s rasping voice, the vines redoubled their efforts. Sorin’s mana was disappearing quickly now.
“What did she promise you, Jarad? Whatever it is, it is a lie. She’ll never deliver it.”
Jarad laughed an empty, hollow laugh. “She already has, Markov.” In his hand he held up a small crystal, black with a glowing core. Sorin recognised it immediately as a powerful spell, captured at the point of casting by a powerful mage, to allow another to finish it for their own purposes. If Jarad wanted it, it could only be one thing: the spell to summon himself a new body. The Black Original had bought Jarad’s loyalty, and with it the power of the Golgari Swarm, with something he could not have found on all of Ravnica. In that crystal was the means to transcend necromancy entirely, the chance to truly live again.
Jarad examined the crystal with hollow eyes. “It is almost… maddening, to think what this small object represents. My people have come so far in their magics – like my dear sister, Savra. And yet, we are as children compared to you Planeswalkers. You, who do so little to deserve your gifts.”
Sorin could feel his strength slipping. He had to put an end to Jarad’s pontificating before it was too late. “That’s what you would go to war for, Jarad? A new body? Who’s to say you don’t lose it, and much more, if the Guilds attack?”
“Oh they will attack, that much is a certainty now. All that remains to be seen is who feels the brunt of their wrath. And I have every intention of seeing that it is not us.”
“You cannot trust her Jarad. That spell will make you mortal all right, at the exact moment your life is in the greatest danger.”
“It was your mistake to trust her, Markov!” Anger was quickly replacing amusement on the undead Guildmaster’s face. “You, who have stood in her presence for what, a decade?! Even by the lives of humans that is no time at all. The Originals have been in existence since before the Guildpact, and yet you think somehow you know her mind?”
The zombie-elf spat at Sorin’s feet. “You will die here, Markov. You will die here so that I may try and undo the damage Liliana Vess is inflicting on my world. With you gone, the Orzhov cannot start their war. Without you, her plan will fail.”
Sorin felt the shock ripple through his senses. The Golgari Guildmaster was not working with Liliana after all: he was betraying her.
“We can still work together…” Sorin managed. His mana, and with it his strength was almost spent. It was getting harder to speak.
“No, Lord Markov. This is how it must be. Farewell.”
The zombie-elf turned to exit the way he had come, when he heard Sorin yell to him.
“Wait!” In his hand, Sorin held up the object he’d been carrying since he first stepped foot in Old Rav. Pressing it against the glowing vines, he let the undead elf examine it.
Jarad’s petrified eyes squinted as they tried to make out the strange canister. When the realisation landed, he recoiled with well-deserved fear.
“Impossible!” he shrieked. The Guildmaster cursed Sorin, first in Devkarin, and then again in Ravi. “You would bring that here?!”
Sorin grinned a weak, triumphant grin. “A little insurance,” he laughed.
“No,” the necromancer bit back, “you are mad. You’ll die if you use it, as a sure as you’ll kill the rest of us.”
“True,” Sorin replied. “But then, I’m dead either way.” Tenderly he fingered the skull-shaped seal at the top of the large canister. Why was it that any time he faced a Guild leader on this plane they inevitably tried to kill him?
Both of Jarad’s stone-cold hands flew up to the level of his chest. “Stop! That’s enough. You cannot release that here!”
Waving his arms, the Guildmaster released the vines holding Sorin’s wrists in place. The Planeswalker fell to the stones, barely landing on his feet. The Black mana of the Golgari tasted foul to his senses, but he drank it in gratefully, like a man breaking the surface on the verge of drowning.
“Now,” he said, meeting Jarad squarely in the eyes, and still holding the canister of Chandra Nalaar’s fire between them. “Tell me what Liliana is planning.”