With strange solemnity, Multani bore Gerrard and Eladamri toward the festive folk.
As they approached, the cheers and oaths quieted. Wine jacks ceased rising to lips, which in turn grew respectfully still. Everyone aboard Weatherlight knew the weight on Gerrard's heart. They knew the boon he would ask of Multani and Eladamri. The crowd separated as the green-man arrived.
Multani lowered himself into the midst of the people and released his passengers.
Gerrard set his boots to the familiar planks. "Below," he said simply. He gestured toward the hatch and led the way downward.
Grim jawed, Eladamri followed. On legs of twining wood, Multani shuffled after. They descended into the ship's deserted companionways, down to a single room that glowed with lantern light. Though it held numerous bunks, all were empty save one. In a chair beside the bunk, Orim the healer lingered. Her eyes were tired beneath black, coin-coifed hair. Tawny hands moved fretfully along the sheets.
Another woman lay beneath those sheets-this one a seeming skeleton. Her face was drawn and bone white. Her closed eyelids were gray. Even her thin lips were taut with pain, making a death's-head grimace.
Gerrard went to his knees as if his legs had been cut from beneath him. He clutched her hand-as light and curled as a dead twig.
"Hanna. Can you hear me? I've brought some friends, a savior and… and a god."
Eladamri's eyes were dark beneath his lifted eyebrows. Multani lingered in silence just behind him.
"They are going to take you to a place where you can be healed. Caves beneath the forest. Thousands were healed there, healed with a touch. They're going to take us down where you'll be made whole again."
Swallowing grimly, Eladamri said, "You must understand, Gerrard, it is a matter of belief. The caves make belief real."
Gerrard's gaze was bright with anger. "I'll believe you. I'll believe anything. Just make her well."
"Yes," Eladamri replied heavily. "If there are greater powers at work in us, she will be healed."
There were no more words to say after that. Multani stooped. Every fibrous stalk grew a sudden silky down across it. His fingers opened in milkweed pods. His arms became a cottonwood blanket. Tenderly, he reached beneath Hanna's still form and lifted her in her draping sheets.
"She is so light," Multani murmured before he could stop himself.
Gerrard's eyes clouded. "Take her ahead of us. Eladamri will lead us-Orim and I-down to the caves. Take her and let the caves work on her. Let them begin their work." A tragic hope lit his face. "If there is justice in the multiverse, she'll greet me herself when I get there."
Wordlessly, Multani bore Hanna from Weatherlight's sick bay. He climbed to the deck, followed by Gerrard, Eladamri, and Orim.
Silence surrounded them. If the three men were the saviors of Llanowar, the woman they bore in their midst- skeletal within her pure white sheets-was the martyr. The ravages of plague were painted plain across her, and yet her former beauty shone through. That she was Gerrard's love was whispered among the prison brigade and the Steel Leaf elves. One by one, the revelers went to their knees-one by one and then ten by ten. They saw on Hanna's face the daughters and sisters and mothers they themselves had lost.
Tendrils sprouted from Multani, catching hold of a nearby network of vines. Without pause, he drew himself and Hanna smoothly over the rail and began his descent.
Gerrard watched, his gaze dipping lower and lower until she disappeared from sight. A shuddering breath moved through him.
A hand settled on his shoulder, startling him. He turned, seeing Eladamri's solemn face-prominent nose and chin, eyes profound and piercing. It was no wonder the elves saw a leader in this man.
"Choose the ten who believe most in you. I will take Liin Sivi and the nine who believe most in me. Their faith will help."
Nodding numbly, Gerrard leaned on the rail, staring.
"I would be… honored to be included in the company," came a solemn rumble at his side. Gerrard looked up to see Tahngarth, no more than a looming shadow in that bright company.
Once, the minotaur had considered Gerrard a spoiled, selfish, and angry young man. Somewhere along the line, the bull-man's opinion had changed-perhaps because Gerrard had changed.
He clutched the minotaur's four-fingered hand. "I would be honored."
"You'd have to drive me off with a stick," Sisay volunteered, coming up behind the minotaur.
"Squee too," the goblin said on his other side. He crouched back from Gerrard's desolated stare, lifting his hand as though he expected a stick to fall any moment.
"Sisay, Squee, Orim, Tahngarth-yes, thank you all," Gerrard said gratefully.
Something massive moved among the kneeling soldiers. They scurried up and back. A gasp went through the group. In their midst rose a steaming specter. Hissing heat peeled away from muscles of silver.
"Would anyone like a shoulder ride?" Karn asked.
Gerrard, Eladamri, and their comrades descended within the Palace Tree. They gradually left behind the sounds of festival. First came the creak of growing wood, then the slosh of subterranean seas beyond the root walls. At last, only stone silence remained.
All the while, the party's lanterns bathed the tortuous descent in flickering light. Ragged splinters jutted from every wall. Giant cobwebs laced the spiraling way. The corpses had been removed, but still it was a haunted place.
Eladamri abjured the company to banish doubt and embrace hope. He sang a cycle of elven songs. His folk joined him, all but the ever-watchful Liin Sivi.
Gerrard and Weatherlight's command crew meanwhile traded stories of their travels-of Hanna steering the ship past the Rathi slivers, of her heroism inside the Stronghold, of her encyclopedic understanding of Weatherlight, of her pinpoint navigation, her shy wit, her laughter. They spoke of courage, strength, and wisdom, not illness or death.
At last, the way opened. Eladamri's songs grew only louder as he progressed beneath a series of ribbed archways and down into the Dreaming Caves. Beautiful visions flowed from the singers' mouths and coiled in air around them.
Eladamri lifted his lantern. The light reached out across the cavern and splashed tepidly over a figure below.
Multani had formed himself into a great, woody altar, cradling the sick woman. Hanna seemed a figure laid on a pyre. It was clear she had not healed a whit.
Gerrard stopped in his tracks, panting. He closed his eyes and stooped, setting hands on his knees as if he had been struck in the belly.
Eladamri approached. "You must bring her back, Gerrard. Bring her into our minds-whole and healthy and happy."
Breath hitching in him, Gerrard stood. A manic light came to his face. He smiled a cheerless smile. He raised the wick of his lantern so that his face glared brilliantly.
"Have I told you, Eladamri, of the woman I love?"
An approving look came into the elf's eyes. "No. Not nearly enough. Tell me about her."
"She has the most beautiful hair," Gerrard said, blinking. "The color of wheat-spun gold. She doesn't ever do anything with it. She just pins it back out of her way. She doesn't have to do anything with it-"
"She puts grease in it," Squee blurted.
Gerrard laughed, a little too harshly. "Yes, bearing grease and engine oil and soot from a coal box-this is her makeup kit. She always looks great." Images of Hanna formed in the air-her smile, her glad eyes, her lithe figure kneeling beside some hunk of hardware.
"Yes," Eladamri said. "I see her. Tell me more."
Gerrard grasped Eladamri's shoulders and said fervently. "Did I tell you she saved my life on Mercadia? She pretended to be an elevator mechanic. Dressed up in Mercadian laborer's clothes. She tried to make herself look fat and grubby, but she's too tall, too statuesque, and even with grease and soot she's about the cleanest looking creature in the multiverse."