Why, then, had no one else done it? "I will go see what I can do."

A light pierced the terror of the elf's face. He seemed to breathe for the first time since he had spoken. He bowed deeply. Eladamri could hear the burned skin on his shoulder crackle with the motion. The man's grateful breath quickened.

In utter darkness, even the faintest ember seems a beaming sun.

Eladamri was that faint ember. His glow had drawn nations, and as they bowed, their hopeful breath stoked the fire in him. They needed a savior. They were making a savior. He could only receive their adoration and use it to save as many as he could.

Perhaps that was all a savior ever was.

"Lead me to them," Eladamri said, catching the elf's hand and lifting him from his bow. "I will go where you lead. Take my lantern. Let it guide you."

The elf shook his head. "Keep your lantern. I want them to see you. I want them to see who I have brought." He squeezed his thanks and turned to lead Eladamri away.

Lifting his lantern, the Seed of Freyalise strode along a ledge of stone at one side of the cavern. Most of his folk slept in contented clusters. A few remained awake. They watched in quiet admiration, their eyes reflecting his light.

"They will not suffer your absence long, Eladamri," Liin Sivi said behind him. "They will come looking for you."

As he followed his guide down into a narrow shaft of slanting stone, Eladamri answered, "Let us hope we are not gone long."

"I cannot keep them back, you know," Liin Sivi said. "My toten-vec can keep back foes but not friends. That was Takara's job."

Eladamri's breath caught. The bombing of the palace had been chaos-the flight downward, the terror of collective nightmare… He had forgotten about his companion. "She didn't-"

"No," Liin Sivi replied simply.

Eladamri steadied himself, setting a feverish hand on cold stone. The rock drank his heat. Before him, the passage descended to deep darkness. Chill air crowded past from spaces below. It seemed Dominaria was breathing. It seemed her breath was cold.

"Just a little farther," the elf assured. He was small and surefooted, like a cave cricket.

Eladamri and Liin Sivi picked their way across a rubble field where hunks of stone had calved from the encroaching ceiling. Beyond, the passage squared up, seeming almost a mine hewn from rock. Eladamri's footsteps echoed in whispers all around him. At the end of the corridor, the elf stood before a vast cavern. Eladamri's lantern barely shone in the blackness.

He stared at the lantern. Its wick was little more than a nub. Reaching to the neck of his robe, Eladamri grabbed the collar and hauled hard. The fabric ripped easily free. He opened the lantern, lit the strip of material, and fed it down into the wick slot. The collar filled with oil. Fire flared. Eladamri closed the panel and lifted a blazing lantern.

Its light shone out over a cavern filled with crouching figures. Their eyes gleamed. They looked not to the light but to the light-bringer.

"Let's go down to them," Eladamri said. "Yes," the elf said, scrambling down the slope. As Eladamri descended, Liin Sivi spoke, "We should go back." "I cannot go back," Eladamri said. "They have glimpsed hope. It would kill them for me to leave."

"You cannot just sing to these people and make pretty speeches. Look at them, Eladamri. Look at them."

He did. His heart went cold in his chest. It was not merely darkness that swathed them. It was death. They were rotting. Their flesh boiled off their bones. Teeth showed through rags of lip. Eyes wept in lidless sockets. Breath raked into and out of riddled windpipes. Shoulder bones showed white through sloughing flesh. "They are still alive," Eladamri said.

"But for how long?" Liin Sivi replied, clasping his shoulder. "You cannot save them."

Eyes hardening, Eladamri pulled away from her. "These are the Dreaming Caves. I cannot save these folk, but their dreams can."

He descended the final pitch of the hillside and was among them.

Eladamri lifted his lantern, peering in gladness across the hordes.

"Behold, children of Staprion-dread has fallen from the skies, but hope rises from the world. Gaea has not forgotten you. Freyalise has sent me to you. She wants you to rise, whole, into the light. Come to me, brothers and sisters. Come. Believe. Be healed. We will rise. We will save our homeland. Come!"

Liin Sivi stood on the slope, her hands sweating on the hilt of her toten-vec. She would not cut down allies, certainly not plague victims. She could only watch as they surrounded Eladamri, pressing on him, swallowing him in their rot. In moments, he was gone. Even the light of his lantern was eclipsed in that clamor of heads and hands.

There was only darkness now, darkness and death and the wails of the dying.

Suddenly, the lantern beamed forth again. It rose, clutched in a healthy hand. Its rays spilled out over more healthy flesh. Where there had been scaly heads and skeletal arms now there were flowing locks and young muscle. Where there had been rot there was now vitality. It was as though light itself healed them-rebuilding bodies, renewing spirits.

At the center of that glow was Eladamri. His robes seemed lit from within.

Hands reached for him, touched him, and came away whole.

Liin Sivi released her weapon. She rubbed fists in her eyes. Was this another delusion of the Dreaming Caves?

Waves of power, of belief, swept in visible rings from Eladamri.

This was no dream. This was truth.

Mouth agape, Liin Sivi dropped to her knees.

Eladamri sang gladly to his people:

Though death has guile and killing power,

Though bloodlust rules the steaming tides,

It's life that wrestles hour by hour

And finally abides.

O forest, hold thy wand'ring son

Though fears assail the door.

O foliage, cloak thy ravaged one

In vestments cut for war.

Chapter 24

Orim's sick bay seemed a menagerie. Rats and flying squirrels paced in makeshift cages. Mounds of what seemed fish eggs occupied airtight vials across her desk. Four dead Phyrexians lay nearby. They seemed giant, overturned cockroaches. Only one true patient remained- Hanna. She languished in feverish sleep on the far side of the room. It was for her that the menagerie existed. It was to save that one human that Orim had worked so tirelessly over Phyrexian corpses.

From those corpses, Orim had tapped every fluid she could find-glistening-oil, green bile, saliva, gastric juice, venom, lymph, cerebral-spinal fluid, even cardiac liquids. Gladly these vat-grown creatures had no reproductive fluids. Using a centrifuge and Cho-Arrim water magic, Orim separated each fluid into its component parts. The lymph and blood contained many of the disease-fighting compounds, and comparing the materials common to them allowed Orim to narrow the immunity substances. Then, it was a matter of applying distillations of each part on plague-infected flora and fauna from Llanowar.

The Benalish aerial armada had proven itself quite intrepid in gathering test subjects.

The immunity substance, as it turned out, was a black platelet suspended in glistening-oil. It could not reverse the disease, but it prevented its spread. Uninfected leaves treated with the substance were made immune to the plague. Infected leaves did not worsen but neither did they improve. No cure, this, it would at least prevent the disease from spreading, flesh to flesh and person to person.

Squee had gathered rats from the bilges-healthy beasts that had feasted on hardtack and ale. The black material was gobbled greedily by the beasts. In mere moments, they proved immune. Infected flying squirrels from the forest also liked the taste of Phyrexian immunity, and their disease ceased its advance.