War of the Spark, page 28
The Spirit Dragon shrugged. “Times change. Especially on the plane of Tarkir, where I died. You should get used to the idea.”
“You should get used to the idea that I’m simply going to kill you again in a few minutes.”
“Once you catch your breath?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t think so, brother. Look at yourself, weighed down by mortality. You don’t have the power to kill me in a few minutes or a few millennia. And you no longer have the life span to hold out beyond that. You no longer have your Spark.”
“Then I’ll take yours.”
“Not by force. Not even by guile. Not in a million lifetimes, especially when the quantity of lifetimes you have left is now limited to exactly one.”
“You think you can hold me. I AM—”
“I know who you are, brother. And I’m not ever going to forget it.”
“You arrogant fool…”
The Spirit Dragon chuckled. “I’m an arrogant fool? Really? Look into that Pool of Becoming.”
Reflexively, the mortal dragon did.
The Spirit Dragon said, “Pot, meet kettle.”
His dragon brother burned. He said, “This is my Meditation Realm. My place of power.”
“Not anymore. You forget it was my realm first. It still likes me better. Prefers me. Take a good look around; you’ll see.”
Though wishing to appear defiant, the mortal dragon, despite himself, raised his eyes to the horizon. The first thing he noticed, even with his blurred vision, was that the entire color scheme of the place had been altered since his last visit. Now it sported a distinctive blue tint, the signature color of his twin. Worse, the great horns on the far horizon curved inward—as his did—but then flared outward like his brother’s. The realm was marked, branded as belonging to the Spirit Dragon. Yet another loss.
Somewhat abashed, the mortal dragon shook his head. “This is not possible.”
“ ‘This’ is only the beginning.”
“No. How? I demand to know!”
“You’re not in any position to be issuing demands. Still—”
“My plan was perfect!”
The Spirit Dragon sighed. He shook his head slowly from side to side and said, “I know what you’re doing, brother. Playing for time. Gathering information. Looking for a way to turn both to your advantage. But there’s no need to strategize or wheedle. It won’t help you. You have plenty of time. Not eternity, of course. Not anymore. But time enough to learn hopelessness. And as for information, I’ll grant you that freely, as well. Ask your questions.”
Swallowing his anger—as he still refused to believe the Spirit Dragon’s words, and thus was searching for his moment, his opening, his opportunity to reverse his (admittedly) sagging current fortunes—the mortal dragon said, “How did you get past the wards I placed on this plane?”
“Sarkhan Vol helped me achieve this realm. He’s actually been quite helpful. You must have really ticked him off.”
Ignoring the other’s attitude, the mortal dragon asked, “And what role did you play in my…” He almost choked on the word. “….defeat?”
“A very small role, actually. Mostly, I observed.”
“How? I know you weren’t on Ravnica while I still had my Spark. I’d have sensed you.”
“You never realized that the Spirit-Gem you once so proudly floated between your horns was made from a piece of my own essence.
At the word “once,” the mortal dragon immediately reached above his head and searched for the egg-shaped gem. Unable to find it, he again looked down into the pool. His reflection revealed that it was gone. Gone, like his Spark.
The Spirit Dragon ignored both his mortal brother’s panic and his despair. “Come now, brother, think! Use that mythic brain of yours to reason this out. You found the Gem here, did you not? Admired it so much, you never once thought about its provenance? But again, this was my realm first, and the Spirit-Gem quite literally came from me. You used it without ever realizing you had never mastered it. Once I had returned here I was able to use my connection to the Gem to witness every one of your missteps.”
“I made no missteps!” the mortal dragon sputtered. In his outrage, he straightened to his full height, inadvertently pulling a muscle in his left wing-shoulder. He automatically summoned a healing spell to correct this minor annoyance. No magic came. The shoulder continued to ache, but his lack of power was the greater injury. He struggled to suppress a tantrum.
“All right, fine, what missteps?”
“Well, to begin with, you had so much contempt for Niv-Mizzet—because the Firemind was neither an Elder Dragon nor a Planeswalker—that you didn’t track his spirit after killing him. Relative to you, he seemed insignificant. But Niv was still a powerful ancient dragon, who had done his own share of preparations.” The Spirit Dragon pointed down at a little silver box, open and lying on its side. All its delicate filigree, clockwork gears and crystals were charred and useless now. But they had served their purpose. “Niv’s ghost was stored in that. And Vol brought it here to me, where I could help preserve it until his resurrection.
“Second, you may have protected yourself from Blackblade, but it never even occurred to you to protect yourself from Hazoret’s Spear. Whereas that was a weapon you had forged yourself, using—without giving it a moment’s thought—the tiniest bit of your own essence. After all, you had power to spare. Why not reinforce the weapon with your own limitless potency when you were gifting it to your proxy and thrall? And so you handed a piece of yourself to Hazoret once you had subdued that god to your will and remade Amonkhet. Of course, the bit of you that existed in the spear is exactly what made you vulnerable to it. So I told Sarkhan to find a way to secure it for the Firemind.
“Then there’s your biggest misstep: The way you underestimated the Planeswalkers, their power, their resolve, their capacity for sacrifice, their willingness to do anything to defy you. I know you’d prefer to believe that I’m the one who crossed all your plans, but I never could have managed that alone. The real hero was Liliana Vess. You thought you knew her, thought you could control her through her weaknesses. But I’d been watching her and saw her real strength: a desire for redemption that even she could not see or admit to. I knew all she needed was a chance, an opening. Vol, Niv, the spear and all my planning—they were merely links in a chain that tugged at your attention. They amounted to nothing more or less than a distraction to allow Liliana Vess—and the sacrifice of Gideon Jura—to bring you to your knees.
“Once her work was done, all that remained for me was to bring you here to the Meditation Realm—or, as I now call it, the Prison Realm.”
Still in denial, the mortal dragon roared, “No prison can hold the mighty…” He trailed off, confused. He knew his names. The one he had hatched with and the one he had given himself. It wasn’t that he couldn’t say them—
It’s that your names no longer belong to you, thought the Spirit Dragon to his dragon brother. Neither of them. You’ve forfeited any right to your true name and lost the power inherent in your chosen one. You are nameless. Nothing.
“No!”
YES.
To make his ultimate point, the Spirit Dragon straightened to his full height and beyond. He seemed to fill the realm and his brother’s consciousness all at once. The mortal dragon winced and found himself…cowering.
Know this, brother. I am your jailer for what remains of your mortality and will make quite sure you never escape. Your schemes, your machinations…all your little dramas are at an end. The curtain has fallen.
To my high school English professors, Joy Diskin, Beverly Wardlaw, John West, Philip Holmes, Elliot McGrew and Beverly Wardlaw (again). You were confident and encouraging guides into worlds of wonder and intellect that made learning and reading and writing into the epic journey of my lifetime. If I’m a Planeswalker today, the five of you helped me find my Spark…
So many people helped me complete this story. More than I could possibly list. But this, at least, is a start…
At Del Rey, I’d like to thank my editor Tom Hoeler, who’s just been a fantastic champion for this book and my involvement. I’d also like to thank Elizabeth Schaefer, who recommended me for the gig (after we had ourselves a good time at a prior party). Thanks also to Scott Biel, Keith Clayton, Alex Davis, Ashleigh Heaton, Julie Leung, David Moench, Tricia Narwani, Eric Schoeneweiss, Scott Shannon and the rest of the Del Rey team. Thank you as well to Elizabeth Eno and Nancy Delia. And special thanks to Magali Villeneuve for creating our amazing cover art.
At Wizards of the Coast, my thanks go out to the invaluable Nic Kelman, who with Tom and myself formed the triumvirate that enabled me to pull this off. Thanks also to Jay Annelli, Doug Beyer, Jenna Helland, T. C. Hoffman, Daniel Ketchum and Ari Levitch, who all provided invaluable assistance and created or helped facilitate the creation of much of what you’ve read in these pages. Similar props to storytellers Doug Beyer, Nik Davidson, Kelly Digges, Nicky Drayden, Kate Elliott, Cassandra Khaw, Kimberly J. Kreines, Chris L’Etoile, Adam Lee, Ari Levitch, Mel Li, Alison Luhrs, Shawn Main, Leah Potyondy, Mark Price, Mark Rosewater, Ken Troop, Martha Wells, James Wyatt, Michael Yichao and especially Django Wexler, who really went above and beyond the call. Plus all the other Magic writers, who laid the foundations I’ve built upon.
At the Gotham Group: Ellen Goldsmith-Vein, Julie Kane-Ritsch, Gavin Laing, Peter McHugh, Julie Nelson and Joey Villareal.
For putting up with my semi-split focus, I’d like to thank the folks at Young Justice, especially my post-production skeleton crewmates: Brent Anthony, Jay Bastian, Phil Bourassa, Marlene Corpuz, Greg Emerson, Jose Grano Gonzalez, Tiffany Grant, Darren Griffiths, Brett Harden, Brian E. S. Jones, Bruce King, Leanne Moreau, Rebecca Underwood and my partner in crime (or, um, justice), Brandon Vietti.
Last but not least, I’d like to thank my entire family for their support. My in-laws, Zelda & Jordan Goodman and Danielle & Brad Strong. My nieces and nephews, Julia, Jacob, Lilah, Casey and Dash. My siblings, Robyn Weisman and Jon & Dana Weisman. My cousin Brindell Gottlieb. My parents, Sheila & Wally Weisman. My wife, Beth, and my amazing (and very grown-up) kids, Erin and Benny. I love you all.
BY GREG WEISMAN
Rain of the Ghosts
Spirits of Ash and Foam
World of Warcraft: Traveler
World of Warcraft: Traveler—The Spiral Path
Magic: The Gathering—Ravnica: War of the Spark
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
GREG WEISMAN’s career in television and comic books spans decades. After starting as an editor for DC Comics, where he also wrote Captain Atom, he created and developed Disney’s original series Gargoyles, later writing the Gargoyles and Gargoyles: Bad Guys comic books for SLG Publishing. He has worked as a writer, producer, story editor, and voice actor on Sony’s The Spectacular Spider-Man and Warner Bros.’s Young Justice, and as a writer and executive producer on the first season of Star Wars Rebels. His comic book writing credits include DC’s Young Justice and Star Wars: Kanan, and Marvel’s Starbrand and Nightmask. Weisman also wrote the original novels Rain of the Ghosts and Spirits of Ash and Foam, as well as the World of Warcraft novels World of Warcraft: Traveler and World of Warcraft: Traveler: The Spiral Path. He is blessed to have an amazing wife and two fantastic (grownup) kids.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
Greg Weisman, War of the Spark
