songweaving

The echoes of hammer on stone rang clear down to the Undercity’s halls, in a rhythm that almost seemed synchronized. It was this beat that allowed Z’arith and her planeswalker compatriots to locate the maximum security prison being constructed by the Azorius, using its own prisoners as its laborers.

“Right here.”

“You can hear it clear down here.” One woman, with goggles and flaming red hair commented. “How many are there…?”

“Thousands, surely, from every guild but their own. Even the suspect ones. Izzet chemisters, Golgari sporemages, Gruul anarchs and Orzhov advokists are beating on the same rocks as Rakdos performers, Boros sergeants, Selesnya healers and Simic biologists. Even the guildless, snatched away from friends and family for trivial crimes. Rumors say it might end up being one of the biggest constructs in the city. Ravnica City spans the entire plane. That’s saying a lot.”

“What do you plan to do about it? To break in would be to be arrested yourself. We are unable to step in, we are persona non grata.” Another man, much larger than her, in shining armor quipped.

“The arrested masses far outnumber the guards, and only their guild differences are stopping them from rising up and overwhelming even the most powerful lawmages. I’m not going to incite a riot by just walking in there myself and screaming ‘hey everybody, let’s riot’. That’d be fun, it’d also be stupid.”

“… Are you sure?” The red-haired woman asked.

“I’d love to light it on fire too but that might not be the best idea in the here and now.”

“Got it.”

“Then what are you going to do?” The larger man tilted his head inquisitively at the half-dragon.

“If the only thing stopping them from being a legion far greater than the Azorius is their guild differences, and the Azorius are encouraging that by sequestering them off and keeping them segregated, then the first step is to unite them. Crowdthink is powerful. All it takes is to implant the same idea in all of their minds, get them to speak with one voice despite their differences.”

“… Are you a telepath?”

“Nooo, no no no. I’ve tried to learn just for the utility of speaking without a voice, but I find it difficult. And implanting thoughts by force is something I wouldn’t want to do anyway. What I plan to do is use a trick from my home.” She began to tap on the mossy wall she leaned against, in the same beat as the sound of the hammers and tools above.

“I am intrigued.” He nodded respectfully.

“If the whole crowd sings the same song, then for that brief moment, they’re united. They’re the same mind. On my home plane, one of the most signature magics of my country is the magic of song-crafting, and I’ve noticed that the lawmages can’t trace magic from other planes like they can with native Ravnican spellweaving.” She continued to tap on the wall, and indeed, it began to resonate throughout the hall like a drumbeat. “We were artists and bards, and our magic reflects that. Even I really wanted to be a musician, not a queen. I was always good at it. And one of the most basic tricks a song-mage can learn is the power of the ear-worm.”

“… That sounds gross.” The woman made a face.

“No no no, not like an actual ear-worm. It’s a term for a song that gets stuck in your head really easily. It burrows in like a parasite and stays there. It can bother someone for ages, or it can be used to communicate an idea and make it stick.”

“You’re… going to get a song stuck in their heads?”

“It just so happens that learning the Chrontomian leylines made it easier for me to see the crossing leylines of other planes even though they’re nowhere near as clean or accessible. Right now, they’re building a prison on top of a nexus of blue and white leylines, clearly their own territory and mana. What they haven’t noticed is that lines of red also cross here. They’ve been choked and buried by the Azorius’ heavy use of law magic, but they haven’t rotted completely. They can be brought to the surface and flourish, if you tapped into them the right way.”

“Go on?”

“Law magic is dispassionate. They rely on it to keep order. The passion of the people will invigorate the red mana again, and weaken the iron grip the Azorius have on this place. Just watch. Listen and watch.”

The tapping had reached a full, resonant drumbeat by now, and the two planeswalkers noticed that the hammers above had brought themselves into rhythm with it. They could feel a weak pulse of magic, invoking the mental acuity of blue, the unity of white… and, indeed, the passion of red. The air began to vibrate gently with the sound of music. The plucking of a guitar, the whines of a violin.

And then she began to whistle.

In minor key, the melody was very simple, but it echoed through the chamber in a way that mere whistling shouldn’t have been able to do. She repeated the melody once or twice more, then kept up with her beat and looked up to the ceiling. Slowly but surely, the small group could hear more and more voices begin to hum that same little tune, as it began to carry down here.

Then, one man began to sing, the magic carrying it down into the Undercity. The lyrics were improvised, but fit the cadence of the melody well. More and more voices began to join him, building to a crescendo that she conducted in the private of their seclusion. Her accompaniment began to feel the ruined halls heat up, as the red leylines beneath them began to wake again.

When she stopped tapping, the beat remained from the hammers above, the humming continued, the singing continued. Thousands of voices, united as one, held together by passion, unity and clarity.

As that song gave way to a melodic cacophony of disquiet, the members of the Gatewatch looked sincerely impressed.