Soo...NaNoWriMo was a debacle. Rampant computer issues and two jobs mean it's a miracle I managed to get 41k words written during the month of November.

In any case, I'm finally able to post chapter ten of Birthright! Thanks, as always, to readers and our regular reviewer, AGM. And to my IRL friend GamerDragon13 for lending me her character Dione.

Disclaimer: The usual-I don't own MtG or anything else you recognize here. I just wanted a space-age, high-tech and high-fantasy plane dammit.

Chapter Ten

What it Means to be a Planeswalker

I'm not going to sit around and do nothing.

It'd been three days since Grimoire had been taken by the assassins; sent by this mysterious Inqisitorium, she suspected. It was the only guess she could come up with, anyway.

Which was why she was fastening her katana and wakizashi a her hip, and swinging her sports bag over her good shoulder. She tapped the earpiece she had hooked over her left ear. "Sleipnir, I got a question."

"And hat would be?" The AI sounded like it—he—had just been woken from a nap.

"How many people can you fit?"

A pause. "Regularly, or comfortably?"

"Max."

Another pause. A loner one. Finally, Sleipnir responded. "Uh, normally I've got four weirdos on board; Grim, Ganneth X'vir, and Tone. Five when Nasala's with us."

"What's the size crew you're made for?"

"I can house six crew comfortably. I was built before the aether break, so a lot of the extra engine space has been converted to cargo and extra living space."

"And if you had to pack as may people as possible? Like if you were helping to evacuate a space station or something?"

Sleipnir sighed. "Absolute maximum, I can haul about ten or twelve. It won't be very comfortable, though." He paused. "You're going after Grim."

"That's the plan."

"You don't know where he is."

"No, but I've got a pretty good idea where they're taking him, and I'm pretty sure you know how to get there."

Another sigh. "That I do. Going alone would be stupid."

"I know." She turned the light off in her room and picked up her staff; it was taller than she was, almost six feet of solid ironwood. Celtic runes were carved along its length and it was wrapped with indigo cloth at two intervals for better grip when staff fighting, with a fist-sized, a softly glowing hunk of aquamarine held in place at the top by a wood lattice—one that looked like the staff grown the lattice around the gem. For that matter, Maera wouldn't have been surprised if that was how Allandir had made the staff.

"You've never killed, have you?"

"No."

He sighed. Suddenly, her ancestor looked all two-thousand-plus years of his age. "Maera, mages like you and I...we're protectors. We put ourselves between the defenseless and those who would do harm, both physical and otherwise. And we do so willingly. At some point, all of us have to take a life.

"One day, your summer will end, Maera. It does for all of us who choose to stand guard. You will have to kill...and if in you own time you're anything like what I've seen of you now, you won't enjoy it."

Allandir's words to her had been in her mind ever since Amonkhet. Maera was no stranger to battle, but Allandir had been right; she'd never killed. Maimed, sure. Injured, definitely. But never once had Maera fought with the intention to kill, just to disable her opponents enough to eliminate the threat.

Maybe that's why I got hammered so hard. I didn't go in for the kill.

She pushed the thought aside. Even if she had, as the others had, the result would've been the same. Her grip tightened on the staff; in her gut, she knew her ancestor was right. She'd been a Planeswalker for over five years, and had been a battlemage since the moment she learned she could use magic. Maera knew she'd been lucky so far, being able to escape without blood on her hands.

It won't last forever. She thought.

Allandir passed this staff to me for a reason.

She shook her head and left the bedroom. Her intuition told her that the end of her summer Allandir was talking about was coming, soon. She checked the rest of the apartment she'd been staying in, to make sure she had everything.

Satisfied, she left, locking the place behind her. She started down the hall and tapped her earpiece. "Sleipnir, can you get me the others?"

"Yes."

"Good. We're going after Grimoire."

And if anyone gets in my way, I'll rip their goddamn face off.

-XXX-

With Sleipnir's help Maera and Ganneth plotted the fastest route to the Inquisitorium's home base. It looked like there were going to be several FTL jumps along the way, and some fancy flying as they got closer to the Core, but all in all it would only take about four days.

Sleipnir suspected that that was about how long it would take the Inquisitorium transport, as well. It was faster, yes, but it would also have to stay out of major travel channels so as to avoid any...awkward explanations. Unlike Sleipnir.

Of course, this was all based on assumptions made based on what Sleipnir had in his databanks—which the ship admitted wasn't everything, not by a long shot. They were all flying by the seat of their pants.

Well, it's not as if Maera wasn't familiar with that. That had been the game plan of most of the fights she had been in in the past.

Of course, she also usually had magic at her disposal. Hopefully on her way to this plane's version of Section 32, she'd be able to sort that part out.

"I'll go on a transporter. I'll meet you via Planeswalk. But there is no way in all of the hells on all of the planes that you're going to be able to get me on that metal bubble!"

They had to get Rill on the ship first, though.

That was going to be an...adventure.

"I've got it." Maera told Ganneth, the minotaur nodding with a grunt and a handwave. She stood and strode out of the cockpit—dodging a grumpy aetherborn and OCD Azeran—and down the ladder to the cargo hold and currently-open airlock.

Where Rill was having a rather...heated argument with Szordree and Nasala. Currently, the later was bonking her head against the bulkhead out of frustration. Szordree was standing just inside the hatch, trying to convince the male kor that the ship was, indeed, safe.

It wasn't working very well.

"Look, if you want, you can stay in the cockpit so you can monitor everything the whole time—"

"No. For the hundredth time, no. That metal...contraption is a bubble just waiting to burst, and I am not going to be on it when it does!"

"Oh, fer...Rill, this is no different than one of the airships on Ebberon, or Kaladesh, or Dominaria!"

"The hell it isn't. Those are still in an atmosphere. This thing is floating around in a vacuum!"

"I have a name, you know!"

Rill shot a rude gesture at the ship. "I am not. Getting. On."

"And how are you supposed to get there?"

"Call me. I'll meet you."

Szordree threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."

"No, I'm smart."

The drow blew out a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maera put a hand on his shoulder. "Mind if I try?"

He shrugged. "Why not? You can't do any worse than I've been." Szordree grumbled. "I've been waiting for Tone to come down and ask what the hell's going on. And then probably slug this asshole."

"You are all insane. That's a metal bubble floating in a vacuum. At least on an airship, we won't suffocate if it gets a hole punched in the hull."

"We'll also fall a couple thousand feet."

"You're a wizard; just cast a flight spell." Rill pointed to Maera. "And she's got wings."

"You don't."

"That's what you wizards are for."

"I should feel insulted by that."

"Do I look like I care?"

Maera sighed and rubbed her temple. "Rill, just get on the damned ship."

The kor crossed his arms. "And how, pray tell, are you going to make me?"

Maera planted her fist on her hip. "I'll grab you by the back of your pants and drag you on."

Rill looked her up and down. "I rather doubt you'd be able to do that."

"You really want to bet on it?"

"I'd bet a hundred pounds that you're bluffing."

"Rill, I've hauled asses that weigh more than yours. Gideon, after Nissa drank him under the table comes to mind, for example."

"Dragging a drunk Planeswalker out of a bar and a sober monk into a can of air in space are two entirely different things."

Maera pointed to the ceiling. "I hate to tell ya this, but we're already floating around in a tin can of air in space. It called the entire damned station."

Rill's eye twitched. "Don't. Remind. Me."

Maera smirked in satisfaction. "Point is, you're not really changing anything."

"This place doesn't look like it was thrown together from a trash heap, at least." Rill grumped.

"I take offense to that!"

The kor rolled his eyes. "Does it have a mute button?"

"I have a gender! And it's not 'it'!"

Maera kicked the bulkhead. "Shaddup. Rill's just being Captain Crankypants again."

"I'm not a crankypants!"

"Then why're you bitching about everything?"

"I don't bitch about everything. Just this gods-forsaken plane."

Maera rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Rill. We're haring off into the core of the galaxy to take on...well, their space mafia, basically, and bring back a friend of ours. You already said you'd come with."

"Yes. But that was before I knew we'd be getting there in a tin can filled with air that looks like it's being held together with duct tape and paper clips."

"I can hear you, you know."

Maera ignored the ship. From the looks of it, so did Szord and Rill. "Well, it's either that or 'walk off ad hop that when you get the signal you can actually aim well enough and just happen to show up were we are."

"I'll take my chances."

Maera groaned and bonked her head on the doorjamb. She was about to speak when someone new spoke up. "For Azura's sake Rill, just get on the damned can. Or I'll help Maera throw your cranky ass on board."

She looked up again, and saw another familiar face. Dusky, silvery blue-gray skin, snow-white hair cropped in a short, boyish cut, lilac eyes, and lavender-toned lips. She wore leather armor underneath her traveling cloak, with the pouches of her trade hooked to her belt. Her ears came to a slight, rounded point, rather than tapering to a graceful tip like a full-blooded elf. Her arms were crossed, and her snowy brows were knit in a frown over those lilac eyes.

Dione Desidenius of Nirn was scowling right at Maera. The half-fae's response was a grin, followed by running up an glomping the slender woman. "Dione!"

"Ackgh! Stop squeezing; I can't breathe!" Dion gasped. She held her ribs when Maera let go. "Good to see you, too. I didn't believe Belinda when she said you'd lost an arm. Which brings me to my next question; how the hell did you lose a fucking arm?!"

Maera smiled sheepishly and looked away. "Uh..." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Annoyed Bolas. On Amonket. It went badly.

"No, rally." She deadpanned. "Maera, say still for a moment."

Maera blinked at her. "...why?"

"This." She headslapped the half-faerie upside the back of he head."

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?!"

"Whatever mess you've managed to get yourself ass-deep in. "Also...She headslapped Maera again.

"Ow, dammit! What's that one for?!

"That is from Belinda. She thinks you're an idiot too, by the way."

Maera blinked owlishly at the half-elf dunmer. "I know. She told me over the phone."

"Good. Then we're on the same page." Dione started past Maera and towards the ship. "Now let's get this over with so we can get back home. I'm already not a fan of this plane."

Rill jabbed a finger at Sleipnir. "You're still not getting me on that can."

Dione rolled her eyes. "Maera, you think you can handle his right side?"

"Positive."

"Good." Dione strode up and grabbed Rill by the armpit. "You're coming."

Rill scowled. "You aren't dragging me onto that thing."

Maera looped her arm under his right one, catching him in a clamp. "That's exactly what we're doing."

"Ohhh, no. No, nope, this is not going to happen. Hells no—" The kor dug his heels in, or at least tried to; unsuccessfully. Maera and Dione dragged him over to the ship and up the ramp. "I'm not—there is no way you're getting me on that thing! Put me down, damn it!"

"Szord, lock the door!" Maera called once the two women had dragged Rill—kicking and screaming, literally—aboard the ship. The drow nodded and keyed the lock, and the hatched cycled shut and locked. Rill heard it and stopped, to shoot a murderous glare back at the drow behind him. Szordree just smiled and waved.

"I hate you all." Rill grumbled. He didn't continue resisting, so Maera and Dione let him go. "You kow that? You're all evil. Pure evil."

"Love you too." Maera grinned. A face poked down from the ladder; it was X'vir, with his oversized ears twitching. "What's up?"

"We're getting ready to shove off. Ganneth and Nasala're in the cockpit getting permission from flight control to head out." The diminutive Azeran surveyed the quartet. "This everyone?"

"Yep. We can do introductions upstairs."

"Great. Now get up here; I need someone to act as a buffer, because Tone's getting their panties in a knot about the state of the medbay."

"I do not have my panties in a knot!"

X'vir raised an eyebrow. "See what I mean?"

"Yeah, yeah." Maera waved her hand at him. "We're coming up, so scootch."

X'vir gave a jaunty salute and disappeared. "Well, looks like we're about to clean up another mess you've gotten yourself into." Dione sighed. "Do I even want to know?"

Maera shrugged as she started up the ladder. "Not really, no." She replied.

Behind her, she heard the dunmer let out a long-suffering groan. Followed b Szordree saying, "Don't worry. It could always be worse; you could've been the one with your arm blown off."

Maera kicked her foot out at him. "You're no helping! Now get your drow ass up here! And drag Rill, while you're at it."

"I can hear you."

Rill's protest was ignored as Szord said something rude in drow. Maera just blew a loud raspberry down at him as she ascended to the upper deck.

-XXX-

Unlike the last time she'd tried leaving a station—almost a month ago now, when she'd first arrived on Etrides covered in her own blood and missing an arm—their departure from Saiyani Spaceport went smoothly, and now they were cruising at FTL in the aether highway.

For now, there wasn't much to do other than sleep, surf the 'net, or (in Rill's case) argue with the ship's AI.

Maera entered her quarters on board, dimming the light to candelight-level. She wished she could have actual candlelight right now, but he doubted it would be a particularly good idea to have an open flame on a ship where a good many things were potentially flammable. As well as the fact that, as Rill had pointed out (vehemently), they were indeed in a floating bubble of metal surrounded by vacuum.

She unbuckled her belt, setting her katana Icefire and her wakizashi Black Ice in the alcove next to her bed carefully, so she'd be able to grab the quickly if she had to. The tantô in her ankle sheath she undid from its strap and slid under her pillow, and she perched herself cross-legged on her bed. She laid her staff across her knees, closing her eyes and letting the tension in her body relax, leaning against the durasteel of the wall behind her.

Meditation wasn't exactly something she did regularly—or, for that matter, at all. But right now she had nothing but time, ans she wasn't going to get anywhere if she kept on chasing thoughts around in her head, hoping that if she went over everything enough a solution to her predicament wold magically appear. She had to do something, and she figured taking Rill's advice to look inside herself and see where that led. She had no idea if it would work, but whatever came of it had to be better than the butkis she'd come up with so far.

So here she was, siting on her bed with eyes closed, telling all the thoughts running around to get lost so she could focus on...nothing. She let the rumble of Sleipnir's FTL drive lull her into a zen-like, semi-awake state, focusing on it and her breathing.

And, for the first time in a long time, she ignored her head...and followed her heart, wherever it led. O find out what it meant to be a Planeswalker.

And entered her inner world.

Hopefully, I'll get chapter 11 up before the new year. No promises though XP

Keep reading!

~Hikari Hellspawn