A/N:: Hey, finally a new chapter up. The plot is thickening, for the chef
added too much flour to the gravy. This story will get darker as it goes
on, so be forewarned. Any problems in this story concerning details such
as ages, and stuff like that, will be apologized for before hand (we're
sorry, btw).
Disclaimer: The Dark is Rising Sequence (no, not a series) and characters belong to Susan Cooper, who is a genius. And LotR characters belong to JRR Tolkien, who is a genius, but pays too much attention to detail. Plot belongs to the Authors.
The black mist swirled lazily in front of the black-cloaked figure that stood before the nine Ring wraiths. The lone standing figure's stance was of confidence, almost arrogance, but his face hid hints of suspicion around his blue eyes. Without glancing at the other eight wraiths, he stared straight at the Witch-king of Angmar, whose steed was pawing at the unseen ground restlessly in front of the others.
"You have traveled a long way, Brothers of the Dark, from your world of Ea," the Black Rider said formally, his unblinking eyes not moving from where the Witch-king's eyes would have been, had he been of human flesh. The Black Rider's mouth twisted slightly in bitter sarcasm as he went on. "As you can see, we do not have many…hospitalities to offer you here." This failed to illicit a response from the waiting horsemen, so the Rider abruptly asked, "Why have you come here?"
The foremost figure raised his hooded head, and said levelly, "You and your companions have been banished from the Earth."
"We've noticed," the Rider said irritably. The Witch-king went on as if he hadn't heard.
"We have come to take you back." At this, the Rider blinked.
"What? But the Law of the High Mag-" he began suspiciously, but then he said simply, "How?" The shadows beyond the Rider began to move slightly, as if restless to hear what was to be said.
"You may be a Great Lord of the Dark, but you are far from being the only one. Even in your own world. Our Master has sent us with a proposition for you." The Wraith-Lord motioned with his armored hand to the mist between himself and the Rider, and it swirled into solidity, forming a simple ring of gold, floating in the mist. "This is what we seek, as we ever have. We seek it as you seek to twist the Earth for your own designs. But we do not plan to fail, as you did." The Rider's eyes narrowed until they were only bright blue slits in his shadowed face, reflecting light that did not seem to come from anywhere visible. The shadows behind him writhed in seeming fury, slight hissing seeming to come from everywhere at once, though they did not act upon their anger. They waited as the Wraith went on.
"If we are to succeed, we must find it. It was sent into your world by an old enemy of ours, where our Master may not go. He sent us to find you, who can travel in and among the light to aid us in our search. If you agree to join us, we will take you back into this world of yours."
The Rider took his eyes off the mist-ring, and once again looked at the Witch-King. "But why do you need us?"
"You want your revenge, do you not?"
"What does," the Rider's face twisted, "the Light have to do with this?"
The Witch-King motioned again, and the swirling mists took the form of a blue-eyed teenage boy. "The last of the Old Ones has the ring. We will have a hard time locating the ring without your help locating the Ringbearer. We must dispose of him, and retrieve the ring. And you will be able to take revenge for all your lost aspirations of world dominance."
The Rider's fists clenched and his face darkened involuntarily as the apparition of the Signseeker appeared. "And how," he snarled at the Wraith, "do you propose we do that? You know as well as I that our Brethren of this world may not kill. It is the Law. But kill we must, if our revenge is to be taken. If we are to take our revenge, we are to make the last of the Old Ones suffer as we have, kill his hopes and force his mind into the darkness out of Time! There he will stay for all eternity, as we were sentenced to, as the damned blade of that bastard white crow cut a blossom of mistletoe on midsummer's day!" The shadows beyond him were moving fitfully, whispering among themselves, and expressing their fervent agreement.
The Wraith guided his horse around in a circle, quieting it, and said in a commanding voice that matched the Rider's tone for tone. "You will have your revenge, Rider." The Witch-King took his sword out of his scabbard and tossed it hilt-first to the standing Black Rider, who caught it. "That, I believe, will bend the Law a bit in your favor."
The Black Rider examined the black steel of the Nazgul blade, careful not to touch the edge. If it could kill an Old One, it could just as easily kill him. He asked suspiciously, "Will this blade kill the last Old One? The one you name the Ringbearer?"
"Nothing is as simple as all that. But it will accomplish what you wish for, if used right. Our blades do not kill, yet they slowly drain anyone marked by them, of all that makes them living. They enter the shadow world, where they hunger for eternity, for what they will never have again. They become….servants to our Master's will."
A dark grin that held no mirth crossed the Rider's face. He turned back to the shadows, as if waiting for some answer. But the shadows, which had been swirling throughout the conversation were now still, and the whispers were silent. The Black Rider nodded sharply, and turned towards the Wraiths once more.
With great solemnity, he held up the straight black blade to his forehead in a slightly ironic salute, then tossed the sword back to the Witch-King. His face dropped the solemn quality, and said in a quick, decisive voice, "What must we do?"
***
In the attic bedroom that he had slept in for years, Will Stanton tossed and jerked agitatedly in his sleep, muttering anxiously under his breath.
A/N2:: The next chapter will be up…um…(searches vainly for a word that isn't "soon", then gives up)….soon.
Disclaimer: The Dark is Rising Sequence (no, not a series) and characters belong to Susan Cooper, who is a genius. And LotR characters belong to JRR Tolkien, who is a genius, but pays too much attention to detail. Plot belongs to the Authors.
The black mist swirled lazily in front of the black-cloaked figure that stood before the nine Ring wraiths. The lone standing figure's stance was of confidence, almost arrogance, but his face hid hints of suspicion around his blue eyes. Without glancing at the other eight wraiths, he stared straight at the Witch-king of Angmar, whose steed was pawing at the unseen ground restlessly in front of the others.
"You have traveled a long way, Brothers of the Dark, from your world of Ea," the Black Rider said formally, his unblinking eyes not moving from where the Witch-king's eyes would have been, had he been of human flesh. The Black Rider's mouth twisted slightly in bitter sarcasm as he went on. "As you can see, we do not have many…hospitalities to offer you here." This failed to illicit a response from the waiting horsemen, so the Rider abruptly asked, "Why have you come here?"
The foremost figure raised his hooded head, and said levelly, "You and your companions have been banished from the Earth."
"We've noticed," the Rider said irritably. The Witch-king went on as if he hadn't heard.
"We have come to take you back." At this, the Rider blinked.
"What? But the Law of the High Mag-" he began suspiciously, but then he said simply, "How?" The shadows beyond the Rider began to move slightly, as if restless to hear what was to be said.
"You may be a Great Lord of the Dark, but you are far from being the only one. Even in your own world. Our Master has sent us with a proposition for you." The Wraith-Lord motioned with his armored hand to the mist between himself and the Rider, and it swirled into solidity, forming a simple ring of gold, floating in the mist. "This is what we seek, as we ever have. We seek it as you seek to twist the Earth for your own designs. But we do not plan to fail, as you did." The Rider's eyes narrowed until they were only bright blue slits in his shadowed face, reflecting light that did not seem to come from anywhere visible. The shadows behind him writhed in seeming fury, slight hissing seeming to come from everywhere at once, though they did not act upon their anger. They waited as the Wraith went on.
"If we are to succeed, we must find it. It was sent into your world by an old enemy of ours, where our Master may not go. He sent us to find you, who can travel in and among the light to aid us in our search. If you agree to join us, we will take you back into this world of yours."
The Rider took his eyes off the mist-ring, and once again looked at the Witch-King. "But why do you need us?"
"You want your revenge, do you not?"
"What does," the Rider's face twisted, "the Light have to do with this?"
The Witch-King motioned again, and the swirling mists took the form of a blue-eyed teenage boy. "The last of the Old Ones has the ring. We will have a hard time locating the ring without your help locating the Ringbearer. We must dispose of him, and retrieve the ring. And you will be able to take revenge for all your lost aspirations of world dominance."
The Rider's fists clenched and his face darkened involuntarily as the apparition of the Signseeker appeared. "And how," he snarled at the Wraith, "do you propose we do that? You know as well as I that our Brethren of this world may not kill. It is the Law. But kill we must, if our revenge is to be taken. If we are to take our revenge, we are to make the last of the Old Ones suffer as we have, kill his hopes and force his mind into the darkness out of Time! There he will stay for all eternity, as we were sentenced to, as the damned blade of that bastard white crow cut a blossom of mistletoe on midsummer's day!" The shadows beyond him were moving fitfully, whispering among themselves, and expressing their fervent agreement.
The Wraith guided his horse around in a circle, quieting it, and said in a commanding voice that matched the Rider's tone for tone. "You will have your revenge, Rider." The Witch-King took his sword out of his scabbard and tossed it hilt-first to the standing Black Rider, who caught it. "That, I believe, will bend the Law a bit in your favor."
The Black Rider examined the black steel of the Nazgul blade, careful not to touch the edge. If it could kill an Old One, it could just as easily kill him. He asked suspiciously, "Will this blade kill the last Old One? The one you name the Ringbearer?"
"Nothing is as simple as all that. But it will accomplish what you wish for, if used right. Our blades do not kill, yet they slowly drain anyone marked by them, of all that makes them living. They enter the shadow world, where they hunger for eternity, for what they will never have again. They become….servants to our Master's will."
A dark grin that held no mirth crossed the Rider's face. He turned back to the shadows, as if waiting for some answer. But the shadows, which had been swirling throughout the conversation were now still, and the whispers were silent. The Black Rider nodded sharply, and turned towards the Wraiths once more.
With great solemnity, he held up the straight black blade to his forehead in a slightly ironic salute, then tossed the sword back to the Witch-King. His face dropped the solemn quality, and said in a quick, decisive voice, "What must we do?"
***
In the attic bedroom that he had slept in for years, Will Stanton tossed and jerked agitatedly in his sleep, muttering anxiously under his breath.
A/N2:: The next chapter will be up…um…(searches vainly for a word that isn't "soon", then gives up)….soon.