The celebrants were not blind to all they had lost. That knowledge only deepened their joy. The disease had been stopped. One cure had come from below with the Seed of Freyalise, the other from above with the Scion of Benalia. Gerrard had granted immunity to those who were healthy, and Eladamri health to those who were sick. Between the two, they had saved Llanowar.
The feast spread through the eight treetops where once the
Staprion Elfhame had extended. Every last bit of corruption had been scoured away. Many boughs were bared to their quick. Tender new bark struggled to close exposed sections. With the aid of Multani, branches budded, leaves fanned into air. Vine networks sent tendrils to the ruined reaches. Sunlight streamed into the ancient heart of the wood.
What remained of the former palace was pulled down and fashioned into an altar and shrine for those who had fallen. Elves whose hollows were destroyed wove hanging nests of aerial roots. Giant spiders lent their spinnerets to string gossamer highways through the canopy.
Perhaps Llanowar would never be the same. Perhaps it would be better. All of it was because of three foreigners- one from a different forest, another from a different nation, and a third from a different world.
Multani, Gerrard, and Eladamri stood side-by-side on a lofted curve of high bough. The noontime sun warmed their shoulders. Below, in the broad lap of the tree, thronged the survivors of Staprion. On thread-ways to either side lingered the faithful of Jubilar. Other elves, farther out on the adjacent trees, had arrived from as far away as Kelfae and Hedressel. All had come to glimpse the elf rumored to be the Seed of Freyalise and to observe his strange and powerful comrades from afar. All had come to cheer and revel.
The adulation had given the men little chance to trade words. Since reaching this overlook, they had been busy with hand-waving, smiling, and nodding.
Gerrard was unwilling to delay longer. He reached out to Multani, a hand of flesh grasping a hand of vine. The crowd loved the gesture, their roars vaulting gladly up.
Over the uproar, Gerrard said, "I am glad, after all these years, to know that you live, Master Multani."
The green-man smiled, snail-shell teeth showing between rose-petal lips. "It is no easy thing to kill a marosorcerer. We don and doff our bodies as you do your clothes. I will not die, not truly, while Yavimaya yet lives."
Nodding in realization, Gerrard said, "Very truly, then, the last months brought you near to death."
"Yes," Multani replied. His eyes-twin fish swimming in socket-pools-flickered in remembered pain. "The Battle of Yavimaya is won, as is the Battle of Llanowar, thanks to you and Eladamri."
Eladamri turned to his comrades, clasping their hands. Again, the revelers cried out gladly.
"I am only a tool of higher powers," said Eladamri humbly.
"As are we all," Gerrard said with a laugh.
"As are we all," Multani agreed. "Still, Llanowar owes you both a great debt."
Drawing a deep breath, Gerrard said, "I would like to collect on that debt." His two companions looked surprised, but Gerrard waved away their concern. "It is the smallest of prices for you and the forest but the dearest treasure I could beg."
Eladamri stared seriously at his friend. "Whatever you ask."
"Whatever is in our power."
"It is in your power," Gerrard said. "Take us to Weatherlight. I will explain there."
Without a moment's pause, Multani's viny arms reached out around his companions, encircling them. More stalks and stems insinuated themselves through the framework of the nature spirit. His body grew. Long arms branched from his shoulders. Tendrils reached up to encircle boughs overhead. Multani pulled free of the overlook where they stood. Brachiating beneath the overhanging branches, Multani carried the two saviors of Llanowar over the head of the crowd.
Below, the people cried out in thrilled amazement.
Multani seemed a spider dangling from his thousand legs and picking his patient way across the canopy.
Ahead, Weatherlight rested in the broad crook of a quosumic tree. Even at midday, the ship gleamed like a jewel box. In addition to running-lanterns, she had been decked with festive lights for the celebration. The prison brigade thronged the deck, quaffing elven wine and cheering. A contingent of once-xenophobic Steal Leaf warriors had joined them, trading war stories. Above it all, in the noontime skies, the Benalian aerial armada swarmed. They seemed almost living fireworks, circling joyously.
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.