Mercadian Masques

Chapter 19

"Dryads," Sisay repeated breathlessly, staring at the surrounding thicket of creatures.

Attenuated limbs, oblong faces, features formed of wood grain and patterned bark-the dryads were beautiful, otherworldly. Beneath minimal clothing lurked skin as smooth and tough as birch bark. Their eyes were narrow and a deep green shade, though the color seemed to shift in the dappled sunlight. They sang a song that stilled the rioting forest and the roiling ground. As swiftly as the song had begun, it died away.

Gerrard cleared his throat and edged forward. Instantly, the ground beneath his feet grew soft, sucking his boots down. He was mired to midcalf. The Benalian stopped and held up one hand, palm outward in a gesture of peace. "I'm Gerrard," he said. He indicated the rest of the party. "We come in the name of Ramos."

The creatures made no response. None of the dryads so much as lifted a finger.

Tahngarth brushed a hand over his horns.

His sudden motion alarmed their captors. From one dryad came a single soft note.

The minotaur looked sleepily at his comrades. "Must sleep," he said in a voice filled with weariness. "Tired. Must

…" Without another word, he fell forward on the ground, almost flattening Sisay. He began to snore.

"What the…?" The dark woman leaped back. "They enchanted him somehow."

The dryads regarded the sleeping minotaur stoically.

Gerrard quietly lowered himself to the ground and told the others, "Sit down."

"What?" Sisay stared at him. "Are they enchanting you, too? Chamas, take Gerrard's right hand, I'll take the left-"

"Belay that." Gerrard's voice was low but sharp. "Sit down, all of you."

Slowly, the crew sank to the ground.

Sisay glared at Gerrard, but she too followed suit. "What are we doing?"

"A long time ago, I overheard Multani tell Rofellos that among the tree people sitting is a sign of peaceful intentions. While we were standing, they thought we might attack them."

There was a long moment of silence. Then the dryad who had sounded the note glided a foot or two closer. His eyes were half-closed, as if in concentration. From his lips there came a series of notes, some long and languorous, others sharp and sparkling.

Gerrard bowed his head submissively. The dryad chieftain advanced to within a foot of the Benalian and slowly, tentatively, extended long fingers toward him. Gerrard's hand came out in response, and the two gently touched.

Something passed between their fingers-small, leaping energies. The others in the glade could see the tiny lightnings in the air. Auras roiled up Gerrard's arm and sparked in his eyes. He felt power jagging through his mind, and he suddenly knew this was the way whole forests thoughtinfinitely intricate networks of bough and vine, tangled masses of root, and energy leaping from one to the next. Each tree and plant was an individual being until those minute synapses were bridged, and then, each and all became one.

Gerrard suddenly understood. He understood this place, these people, the guardians of the wood. He rose. His boots pulled free of the entrapping earth.

The dryad chief took a step back. He too understood. He knew of Weatherlight and the Matrix, of the Cho-Arrim and Saprazzans and Rishadans, of the coming rebellion…

"We have reached Ouramos," Gerrard told his crew. His voice sounded oracular in his own ears. "This place was shaped by the arrival of Ramos on this world."

"Ramos…" Sisay whispered in amazement.

Words rolled out of Gerrard in a steady, strong stream.

"Long, long ago, in the wake of the Brothers' War, Ramos fled Dominaria. He had been on the battlefield of Argoth when Urza unleashed the sylex blast. Ramos flew out before it. Naked energy pursued him. It leveled mountains and sank continents. It lifted oceans in killing waves. Ramos soared ahead of them.

"Beneath the waters, he spied merfolk fleeing in terror. Reaching one gigantic hand into the flood, Ramos bore the merfolk away with him. He flew on, ahead of the hand of death. Next, Ramos came upon a great galley packed with refugees. In his mercy, he reached down with his other hand and lifted the ship from the waves. He bore them away, that they too might be saved. Ramos flew on, ahead of the incinerating blast.

"Perhaps, though, Ramos sought to save too many. So weighty was the great galley and the host within it that Ramos-great Ramos-was slowed. He could not outrun the shattering wave. It struck him and the ship he carried. Chaos energies and magic vortices enveloped them. Madness dragged at reason. Falsity overwhelmed truth. In the malign irony of destruction, the wave flung Ramos and the ship beyond Dominaria to his former world-to Phyrexia.

"Yes, the great Ramos was himself Phyrexian. He had been brought out of Phyrexia by none other than Urza Planeswalker. Once created to hunt and destroy humans, Ramos was altered by Urza to save them. He had been redesigned to fight the malign leviathans of Mishra and to bear away from battle wagonloads of wounded. When the sylex blasted away the isle of Argoth, Ramos had only followed Urza's design and become a rescuer. Ramos had flown ahead of the blast, seeking someone to save. He had lifted the merfolk and the refugees in the great galley in hopes of saving them-but this was not saving them. Bearing them to Phyrexia was not saving them. In that horrible place, the folk would be mangled and mutated into monsters.

"Ramos knew of another world beyond Phyrexia, a fair place linked to that foul one. Gathering the last of his might-for the blast that had borne him to Phyrexia nearly destroyed himRamos soared through a near-forgotten portal that led from Phyrexia to Mercadia.

"It was truly the last measure of his saving power. Through a portal in the sky, Ramos emerged, bearing in one hand a school of merfolk and in the other a great galley. They all were mantled in fire. The folk Ramos sought to save were burning alive. Seeing their distress, Ramos's heart broke. It cracked away from the core of his being and fell into the sea. There it waited in the deeps, the great artifact called the Power Matrix.

"Hollow hearted, Ramos lowered the hand that bore the merfolk. He released them gently into the ocean. Water hissed to steam, extinguishing the fires that burned the people. As the burning ship neared shore, Ramos reached onto the deck, where crew struggled among blazing lines and masts. He clutched them up and rolled them out on the beach of Rishada. Sand extinguished the fires that burned the people. As the ship soared over Mount Mercadia, Ramos reached into the hold where the refugees of Argoth cowered. He hauled them forth and spread them through the forests of Rushwood beyond. Leaves extinguished the fires that burned the people. When next his hand reached inside, there was nothing but corpses to be found. In his pity, Ramos lifted even them and sprinkled them through the fens of Deepwood.

"Only the ship and Ramos himself remained. Together, they burned like twin suns. Beneath them, the forests and cities flashed away. Buildings were shattered, stones turned to ash, and folk in the hundreds of thousands died. Hundreds of thousands died because Ramos sought to save hundreds.

"It was this last, cruel irony that shattered the core of great Ramos. The immortal's crystalline soul, which had withstood incendiary heat, could not bear the deaths of hundreds of thousands. His will fragmented. The burning ship fell from his hands. It struck ground just behind us, carving out the vast crater there. Fires erupted from the spot and blazed through the forest. Ramos fell into that burning bowlhis own killing sylex. He did not rise. He no longer had the will to.

"Fire is the bane of mortal things but not of things immortal. Ramos was not slain, though every living thing around him fell to black soot. In time, the flames died. Ramos was left alone among ashes. Shards from the shattered core of his being rattled loose within him. Five great pieces had chipped away, and for their lack, he could not muster the will to move.

"If fire is the bane of mortal things, time is their ally. Life always returns. Grass covered the torn earth. Saplings pushed up through the ashes. Black gave way to green. With the rise of life, Ramos rose too. He placed an altar stone at the center of the blast crater, and upon that stone, he set the five crystals that had broken away from the core of his being. He made those stones a symbol for the hundreds of thousands. He made Ouramos a temple, sacred to their memory.

"As the forests around had brought will and life back to Ramos, he brought will and life to them. He enlivened the trees with his spirit. He gathered the dryads from among them and made them into his people. He raised even the dead folk in the Deepwood and made them guardians of his realm. He longed to heal all the shattered world, to make it whole again, but such feats were beyond the ruined immortal. His will, his true power, lay in shards on the altar stone."

Gerrard blinked, seeming to awaken from the oracular trance that had taken hold of him. His crewmates stared at him in wonder.

Sisay approached reverently. "That was beautiful. Did the dryad chief tell you all that? All with a mere touch?"

Gerrard nodded. "And I have told him many things. He knows-all of them know-about our quest."

"And we know another version of the Ramos myth-"

"It is no myth," Gerrard interrupted. His eyes seemed like mirrors, they were so bright in his head. He gestured toward the crater. "You will see. He invites us to go below."

A chill went up Sisay's spine. "Who, the chief?"

"No, Ramos."

Gerrard turned and walked back toward the great stone crater. The wall of dryads parted to let him pass.

The other crewmen warily watched Gerrard go.

"Well, you heard him," Sisay said. Her voice quavered in the air. "Let's go meet Ramos."

Following Gerrard, Sisay and the crew walked reverently through the gap in the line of dryads. They began a slow, cautious journey down the cracked, broken stone edge of the crater, toward the sandy circle and the altar at its center. The sun's rays seemed to grow brighter, hotter as they went- or was it merely that they had traveled so long in the cool shade of the forest?

Gerrard wiped the sweat from his eyes and stared ahead. It might have been a trick of the heat or light, but to him, the stones around the altar wavered, as if they were emitting some sort of energy. He looked at his companions and saw they too were staring ahead. The very air grew thicker and more forbidding, and the silence more ominous.

He reached the circle of standing stones. Gerrard stepped between two of them. The air was resistant. It was as if he had encountered an invisible wall. He tried again and managed to slip between the stones but with an effort that left him gasping.

Sisay, Takara, and the others followed his example, the minotaur doing so with a great grunt of effort.

They climbed over the sand circle, which was no more than three feet high, though Gerrard guessed its total circumference at perhaps a hundred feet. The altar itself, unlike the ruins they had observed thus far, was undamaged. Its polished surface gleamed in the bright sunshine. In the center of the table was scooped a low bowl, and within it lay the five Bones of Ramos.

Powerstones. Gerrard stared at them, marveling. Before coming to Mercadia, he'd seen only the Thran crystal that powered Weatherlight, the most impressive stone of its kind, and a few smaller stones used to power ornithopters on Dominaria. The stones he had seen in Mercadia were tiny, barely more than gleaming pebbles. But these… each of the irregular shards of crystal was the size and general shape of a hand laid out flat. They glowed with lambent energy.

"The Bones of Ramos," Gerrard said reverently.

Sisay came up beside him, staring with hungry eyes. "I thought we had come to see Ramos himself, not just his bones."

"We have," Gerrard replied. He lifted his gaze beyond the altar.

The ground suddenly shook. The crew were nearly hurled from their feet. The stones that ringed the sand circle trembled.

Sisay grabbed Gerrard's arm. "What's happening!"

"Ramos is coming."

The sand beyond the altar exploded. Up from the ground jutted an enormous head, long snouted, with a sharp beak and lizardlike eyes. Polished metal scales gleamed. Two slender horns rose above a long, sinuous neck. Sand sifted from the gearwork shoulders of the beast, and a pair of enormous claws dragged the massive, winged body from his lair.

Ramos was a dragon.

No, Gerrard realized, even as the word shaped itself on his lips. Not a dragon. Ramos was a dragon engine. Dim memories of Multani's sketchbooks stirred. Dragon engines were the mightiest artifacts in the age of the Brothers' War. Armed with them, Urza and Mishra fought until the land of Terisiare sank beneath them. Ramos had been one of those engines, redesigned by Urza not to kill, but to save…

Gerrard found himself bowing before the great beast. Sisay and the others followed suit.

Meanwhile, Ramos had risen to his full height-a hundred feet tall. He bent his head backward. Metal plates of armor gleamed. Oil streamed. His jaws opened.

Sisay winced, fearing a gout of flame.

Instead, Ramos only spoke. His voice was ancient. His words were barely recognizable-an accent that must have been common on Dominaria when Urza and Mishra walked the land. "Gerrard of Weatherlight-you have come to pillage a temple, to pillage a grave."

Lifting his head, Gerrard replied, "No, great Ramos. We have come to fulfill a prophecy."

A huge sound answered that, the ominous rumble of metal on metal. It was a fearful racket, though it could have been nothing but a laugh. "You forget, Gerrard of Weatherlight, that those prophecies are fictions about me. I am Ramos, whom you have come to raise. But I cannot rise, or I would have already. Your ship's arrival in this world-through the very portal I took from Phyrexia, now moved to Rath-only coincidentally resembles my own arrival. Both of us crashed upon this world. Neither will rise again."

Gerrard felt his insides sinking. Ramos knew everything. The dryad chief had conveyed it all to him. Ramos saw the masquerade and the truth that lay beneath it. Why ever would he allow Gerrard to take the sacred stones that had calved from his own power core?

"You are Ramos, yes," Gerrard replied, "but perhaps Weatherlight truly is the Uniter. Perhaps the prophecies are not mere whimsy."

"You do not believe in prophecies, Gerrard of Weatherlight," Ramos scolded. His voice had the timbre of shivering metal.

"No, I don't," Gerrard allowed. His eyes remained riveted to the dragon engine's. "But I do believe in hope. That's where these prophecies came from. Hope. The people who believe these stories remember how you brought their ancestors here. They remember that horrible day so long ago. They remember the death and destruction, but they have transformed horror into hope. They remember Ramos, yes, but they hope for the Uniter. No, these aren't prophecies, foretelling what was destined to happen. These are only hopes, wishes for what must happen."

Ramos's metallic eyes peered deeply, sharply into Gerrard's soul, but the dragon engine did not speak.

Gerrard continued. "You built this place as a memorial to the dead, but what about the living? You long to heal the hurt that you brought to this world, and here's your chance to do it. You've mourned the hundreds of thousands you killed, but mourning is not enough. What about the hundreds of thousands even now who suffer? The Bones of Ramos are only selfish relics lying here. Within Weatherlight, though, they can raise the Uniter. They can bring the world together. They can save those who are doomed."

Gerrard had never spoken with such passion in his life, and the tone of his own voice suddenly struck him as ludicrous. He began to laugh. At first, he only snickered, but attempts to stanch the giggles only made them worse. Soon, he guffawed, slapping his leg.

Ramos glowered at him. "What do you find funny about all this?"

Gerrard smiled through his laughter. "It's just that… it's just that I used to be like you, Ramos. People decided I was a Uniter. People said I had a Legacy, I had a mission to fulfill. They told me I was supposed to save the world. For a long time I dragged my heels. How does one man save the world? But then I gave up fighting. It was too hard to fight destiny. It was only just now, as I heard my own voice talking to youit was just this moment when I realized my destiny had caught up with me. Without even knowing it, I'd become everything everybody said I was supposed to be." His explanation ended in a belly laugh.

A great shiver moved through the dragon engine. He seemed to slump in resignation. "You are right to laugh, Gerrard of Weatherlight. All of this is absurd. You have come here because of a myth that misremembers me and makes you something you are not. You came seeking these five simple stones, broken millennia ago from my power core. They cannot save you. They have power only because they lie here beside me, in the midst of my forest. Beyond the crater, they will be nothing." Ramos gestured dismissively. "I understand hope and know it does not die easily. You will not give up until you see for yourself. I will allow you to take these stones as far as the dryads' grove. There, you will see what I say. They will darken beyond the crater. They will be nothing more than useless shards of stone."

Bowing his head in thanks, Gerrard said, "I will take them to the dryad glade, great Ramos-but you are the one who will see. Hope can enliven even dead shards of stone."

"They cannot save you, Gerrard of Weatherlight. I cannot save you. And you cannot save Mercadia, or your own world."

Despite the dragon's words, Gerrard gazed down into the bowl at the center of the altar. There the Bones of Ramos rested. The central facet of each rough shard bore a resemblance to a body part-Skull, Eye, Heart, Horn, and Tooth.

Reverently, Gerrard lifted the Skull stone. It was warm to his touch, and its blue light glimmered on his palm. He turned and presented it to Sisay. "Keep this safe." She nodded her head and backed away, allowing the next crew member to step up. Gerrard picked up the rest of the stones, one by one, and presented them to his dear companions-Tahngarth, Takara, Chamas, and Dabis.

"Fewsteem, I want you to lead the march back up out of the crater."

"Yes, Cap'n."

"I'll bring up the rear." Then, turning back to Ramos, Gerrard said, "We thank you for this gift, great Ramos, and for the chance to prove you wrong."

"I dearly wish you could do so," the dragon engine said.

"Perhaps you can prove yourself wrong. Perhaps you can be united with the Uniter," Gerrard said.

"Perhaps." With that single mournful word, the ancient Phyrexian dragon engine coiled back into his nest. Wings flapped, stirring storms of sand to settle over him.

The crew of Weatherlight turned and started back across the bowl.

As they ascended the side of the crater, Ramos's warnings were borne out. One by one, the inner light of the stones guttered and failed.

Sisay's stone-the Skull of Ramos-flickered tepidly, its blue gleam disappearing by the time she stepped from the crater.

"It's dead, just as he said," Sisay muttered, sadly shaking her head.

The others gathered, showing similarly dark stones.

Gerrard joined them, staring down.

"Well, that's it," Takara said bleakly. "We've come all this way, chasing a lie."

Gerrard patting her and Sisay on the back. "No. It's not a lie. This morning I would have had doubts but not now. We'll camp with the dryads tonight. I need a night to think. The answer lies here somewhere."

Takara sighed angrily. "Well, while you're holding on to hope, I'll hold on to hate." She gestured toward the bloody ground where Ilcaster had died. "We'll be sleeping among the folk that killed your crew, Gerrard. I forgot how skillful you are at burying your friends."

The rest of the day was spent burying the remains of Ilcaster and holding a memorial for him and Tallakaster. Gerrard and Weatherlight's crew made their camp in the dryad glade nearby. All the while, the tree folk watched them, hemming them in lest they should try to escape with the stones.

When night came, the dryads simply faded away into darkness. Gerrard had a vague impression that somehow they were absorbed into the trees themselves and remained there until they had renewed their energy. Only the elders of the wood folk remained visible-standing in a line at the edge of the clearing.

While the rest of the crew bedded down, Gerrard approached the chief of the dryads. He lifted his hands in a sign of peace and sank to the ground cross-legged. The chief imitated him, though the others remained standing.

The Benalian took the Heart of Ramos from his breast pocket. Holding it up, he pointed to it and tapped it sharply.

The dryad chief stretched out a slender, long-fingered hand. Gerrard held out the powerstone, and the chief took it. He held it up, closed his eyes, and made a sound that resembled a single, clear note of a bell. The tone resonated until it filled the air. The trees themselves seemed to vibrate.

The dryad lowered his hand. In its center was the powerstone, and within its heart there now glowed a distinct spark of energy.

Gerrard gave a whoop that brought the others running.

The dryad sprang back in alarm.

Weatherlight's commander gestured frantically to the others. "Sit," he hissed. "Look at this."

Sisay gasped. "It works. How did you-"

"I didn't do anything. He did it." Gerrard jerked his head in the direction of the dryad, who had now been joined by several of his fellows and was looking nervously at them. They conversed between themselves with the soft musical tones that served as their speech.

Tahngarth was examining the powerstone more closely. "It is fading," he observed.

Sure enough, the glow within the stone had diminished appreciably. Even as they watched, it flickered, flared briefly, and then went out. Gerrard held out the stone to the dryad again and spread his hands in an interrogative gesture. The creature carefully picked up the stone and made a sweeping gesture toward the forest, accompanying it with a low quiver of sound.

Chamas spoke up. "I think he means to say something about a circle-a gathering."

Sisay asked, "How do you know?"

"I've been watching them and listening to them," the woman replied. She extended a hand toward the dryad, two fingers outstretched in a V. At the same time, she gave a ululation ending in a kind of squeak.

The dryads watched attentively and replied with a series of motions and trills.

"What did you just say?" Sisay asked.

"I think I said thank you," returned Chamas. "It's an odd language. They've developed a relationship between words and gestures. I'm not sure, but I think if you make the same sound but match it with a different hand movement, it will have a completely different meaning."

Gerrard said, "Everybody, pull out the stones I gave you and give them to the chief."

They did, and the chief received them, beginning a keening song.

In the cold, clear night all around, dryads shifted. They emerged from the trees and gathered, adding their voices to the song of the chief.

Gerrard and his crew remained where they sat. He felt Sisay shivering and heard her teeth chatter. Earlier, she'd wanted to light a fire, but Chamas had warned her against it.

"What are they doing?" Sisay whispered.

"I don't know." Gerrard turned to Chamas. "Any ideas?"

She shook her head.

Soon, dryads surrounded the crew in a dense thicket. The tree folk seemed to root themselves. They stood unmoving, their faces lifted to the stars that shone brightly down from the cloudless sky.

The dryad song fell away into a low humming noise, so faint at first Gerrard thought it was the sound of night insects. Then it grew in intensity, a vibration that made the ground quiver. It was as if they were at the center of an enormous drum, its tense surface trembling with suppressed power.

From the north, Gerrard felt an answering call. With a start, he realized it came from the dragon engine. Unutterable loneliness infused the sound, as if Ramos had waited an eternity for this moment. For millennia, he had been alone, truly alone. Phyrexians had built him, and Urza had given him a purpose, but for eons, Ramos had dwelt beyond any purpose. He had waited. The folk he had saved remembered him in myth, not truth-the folk he longed to help lingered forever beyond his reach. The cry of the dragon filled Gerrard with overwhelming sorrow.

In other parts of the forest, new minds awoke. Ramos's loneliness gave thought, being, to the forest around him. Animated by visions of the dreaming dragon, the denizens of the forest were woven together in a pattern of increasing complexity, drawing their power from the land itself. Trees became individual neurons in a great mind. A circle of wolves lifted their throats in howling. Flora and fauna raised a single song of many voices, swelling into a triumphant anthem.

A new light awoke. In the hands of the dryad chief, the Bones of Ramos were beginning to glow. Dimly at first, then brighter they shone. Light splashed across the circle of dryads, across the waiting crew. Sun bright, the stones beamed.

Gerrard turned his face away. He saw his companions shielding their eyes, their faces bathed in the brilliant light. Waves of power surged from the stones, far stronger even than fluxes from the Thran crystal at the core of Weatherlight.

"Ramos is joining us!" he shouted to Sisay through the omnipresent song. "He is joining himself with the stones. He is joining the Uniter."

The stones were linked to the dragon. None could function alone for long, but when joined together by the power of Ramos, they formed an inexhaustible source of energy. It was as if five unique worlds had been united in the stones, and each universe within the stone was a part of the greater multiverse.

Suddenly, Gerrard knew with certainty that the struggle he was engaged in-the enemies he faced on Rath and here in this reality-were part of a cosmic struggle that was being played out across the entirety of existence. These stones connected him and Ramos to that struggle. Each stone was a cosmos, and within each cosmos were myriad worlds.

The song of the dryads slowly faded. As it did, the glow within each stone lessened. When the music ended at last, the powerstones each retained some portion of their inner fire.

Silence settled like a blanket on the grove. A hush extended across the land for miles, a stillness that embraced every living creature. For a long moment, it stretched outward. Gradually, normal night noises resumed.

Gerrard found, to his surprise, that he was breathing rapidly. Beside him Sisay sat, head bowed to her knees. When Gerrard touched her arm, she stirred and looked at him, her eyes dark pools in the night. Tears glinted on her cheeks.

"Did you hear it?" she whispered. "Did you?"

He nodded.

The chief dryad approached, laying the stones at Gerrard's feet. Twiglike fingers reached toward the Benalian. He held his hand out as well. Small, snapping surges of power arced between them, and Gerrard once again understood.

"Ramos has given us his blessing," he told the crew reverently. "Ramos has joined the Uniter. Within these stones, he will return with us to Mercadia."

While Gerrard spoke, the dryads faded into the trees that ringed the grove. The crew rose to their feet. No one said anything else; nothing was needed. Gerrard gathered the Bones of Ramos, placing them in his pack.

"We will remain here through the night," Gerrard said quietly, "and hike out for Mercadia in the morning."

By morning, the pack, the bones, and Takara all were gone.