Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, and all things therein, are the creations of Professor J.R.R. Tolkien, and belong to his descendants. I do not claim to own any of the brilliance that is his work, nor am I making any money off this. All I own is a battered copy of the Elvish-English English-Elvish dictionary and the Franz Ferdinand CD I'm currently listening to.
Author's Note: So, I wasn't able to do as much on "Enting" as I'd have liked before I went away. My muse just wasn't in the mood. Instead, I was compelled to begin my next story, one I've had simmering in my brain for quite some time. It was actually partially written on a floppy disk several months ago, but my disk decided to die on me. In weeks and months past, when I've tried to sit down and work on "Enting", this story kept playing out in my mind. Now, hopefully, having both published will allow me to update on a relatively regular basis.
The brevity of this chapter is to retain the mystery. It's not because I got lazy. Well, maybe it's partially that, but most of it is mystery.
One: The Call
The full moon was rising in the Summer Solstice sky as the bearded old man ascended the hill. By the looks of him, he should have been huffing and puffing, but the man showed no sign of tiring. On the contrary, he set to work at once, arranging nine thick white candles in a large circle around the top of the hill. Setting the tenth candle in the center, he held his arms out, palms upward. One wouldn't know it now, but many years ago, it had been at this place that the great tower of Orthanc stood. The long-dormant power of this place, along with that of the Solstice and the moon, would aid him well in his task, for even a being as powerful as he could not be sure of how far his words would have to reach.
"Silelye i narcal!" He declared, his voice much louder than one would expect, and at once, all ten candles came alight. The air came alive with a crackle of energy, and a slight breeze picked up, making the candle flames flicker, but not blow out. "Alcaratani," he chanted. "Le linnathon. Ortan alcarin coi lyon. Diror a eler! Encuielyer!" He stopped momentarily, letting his words echo over the land. The valley had faded into silence once more, when again he spoke. His voice was in deceptively even tones, hiding the power surging behind his words. As if in a trance, his words slipped in and out of the graceful Elvish tongue he had begun with:"Those who wander, return now
That which was lost, be found
Door that was closed, now open
He who is king, be crowned
Light that was snuffed, rekindle
Those who were blind, now see
Those who were sleeping, awaken
Arise, and return to me."
The haunting words rang out over the land, loud enough that anyone within many kilometers would normally wake up to find out what the great racket was. But, fortunately, no one lived anywhere near this land anymore.
Seemingly satisfied, the old man let his arms fall to his sides. Taking one last look at the perfect orb that was the moon, he took one step, then another, and another, slowly making his way to the edge of the ring of candles. He did not look back until he reached the bottom of the hill, when he turned back around and, in one sweeping motion, swept his hands up from his sides, like a maestro commanding an orchestra into a powerful crescendo. At once, all candles snuffed out but the one in the center. Their separate wisps of smoke floated away as if on a strong breeze, except no two went in the same direction. The central candle, if anything, burned brighter, the flame rising above the waxen body like a welcoming beacon.
He knew he was dreaming. He realized such a thing often when he was asleep, but usually the sudden awareness was accompanied by suddenly awakening. Not this time, however. He knew it was a dream, that he was not standing on the edge of this valley, but still it remained in his vision. He still saw the bearded man standing in the circle of candlelight, heard the words echo across his mind, felt the sizzle of power in the man's words. A part of him wanted to look away, but his eyes remained fixated on this activity in the otherwise deserted valley.
The old man stopped speaking, and left the circle. Was it over? It couldn't be, his mind surmised, because he was still looking over the vale. Wouldn't he have awakened by now if it were over? Indeed, he proved to be right, when the man in white turned back around, putting out all but one of the candles in one swift movement.
Tendrils of smoke worked their way through the air away from the ring. Most seemed to be picking up speed, moving away from the land, but one seemed to be heading his way. This was one realistic dream, he noted, coughing as the smoke entered his nose and encircled his head. It began to solidify in front of him, and take shape into something that resembled a person.
It wasn't himself, but something about the smoky figure in front of him was familiar in that specific sort of way. He faintly recognized the ethereal face in front of him, but could not place it.
The smoke-being held out its translucent arms, palms out as if to signal stop. He could not control his own body, but saw himself reflect the movements as if he were a mirror image of the smoke-figure. The palms of their hands touched, and a prickly shiver went through his body. The smoke-person was disappearing, as if it were being sucked into his hands. He felt his body fill with something, a feeling that was new but not entirely unfamiliar. It was like a bizarre sense of déjà vu. He let himself sink into this feeling of rightness for what felt like ages.
His conscious mind was suddenly alive and ticking again. This is wrong, it said. Something switched on in his head at that. He fought off the blissful fog that had enveloped his mind, and forced himself to wake up.