The Moons of Mirrodin Read Free Page A

Tree of Tales this morning. One of the troll elders had to catch me as he entered the Tree.” Kane must have seen the concern on her face, because he continued. “They’re nothing to worry about. Flares are just old memories resurfacing. The rebuking ceremony will take care of them.”
    “That’s what worries me,” she blurted out. “The flares I’ve had can’t be memories. I’m always in this weird forest with a bright yellow moon above and … and …”
    Her voice trailed off as she stared down at her body.
It
was real; the flare body wasn’t. How could fleshy arms and legs be natural? And what about that energy? That had never happened before.
    “And what?” asked Kane.
    Glissa leaped up and grabbed the higher terrace, digging her long claws easily into the jagged metal as she thought about telling Kane the rest of it—the strange, fleshy body, the magical glow, the tendrils of energy. She shook her head. Kane had been her best friend for over a hundred cycles—her only friend to come back to her after the last rebuking ceremony, Glissa reminded herself.
    She’d believed at the time that the ceremony was a conspiracy by the trolls to control the elves by denying them their past and had made the mistake of urging her friends to stay away from the ceremony. In the end, she had gone through the next ceremony just to rid herself of that memory. Most of her old friends, angry over their loss of rebuking, had shunned her—all but Kane.
    She made her decision. This time she would keep her thoughts to herself.
    “Nothing,” said Glissa after standing up on the higher terrace. “It was nothing. Just a stupid flare, a weird, stupid flare.”
    Internally, she continued to press for answers. If flares were old memories overflowing from the rebuked parts of the mind, why did she see a world that wasn’t this one? Why did she keepseeing herself as a pale, fleshy creature in a soft-hued woods? She had lived her entire life in the Tangle and had never seen anything like that world. There was definitely something the trolls weren’t telling elves, but she would pursue that truth alone this time.
    “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get that vorrac before someone else claims our kill.”
    “He won’t be good for much but stew now,” said Kane. “Your mother won’t even need to grind up the meat.”
    As the two warriors worked their way down to the vorrac carcass, Glissa thought about the upcoming rebuking ceremony and her decision to avoid it. She knew it was the right thing to do. She needed to retain her memories if she was ever to find the truth about the trolls. Memories were important. Why couldn’t the rest of the elves see that? But if she was going to refrain from the rebuking she needed to learn to suppress the physical aspect of the flares. It would be a long hundred cycles if she fell down every time she had a flare.
    Glissa looked at Kane as they dressed the vorrac. Perhaps she should tell him of her plans, though not of the content of the flares. Maybe he could help. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he would even join her and skip the ceremony. On the other hand, he was a Tel-Jilad Chosen—protector of the trolls and Tel-Jilad, the Tree of Tales. What if he informed the troll elders of her plan? They might force her into the ceremony. She would just have to risk it, she decided. She needed to tell someone, and Kane was her only friend. She needed him by her side.
    “Why don’t you come over for the stew this evening?” she asked as casually as she could.
    Kane pulled his dagger out from the ribs of the vorrac and smiled at Glissa. “Sounds good,” he said. “I’m on duty all night. Some hot vorrac stew will help keep me warm.”
    *   *   *   *   *
    Kane stood in the doorway, looking uncomfortable in his sentry uniform. It was made from slagwurm plates and cut higher on his neck and lower on his thighs than his hunting leathers. The plates interlocked and rattled slightly as