CHAPTER IV of the People in your Head
Saruman never mentioned the incident with the Voice.
And Sick didn't give her dream a second thought. In fact she forgot about it, until an episode occurred one day which brutally made her remember.
Sick wasn't allowed to take the library books to her room. She stayed in the library during the day when Saruman was outside -- doing whatever it is that wizards do -- as well as the rare occasions in evenings where Saruman didn't have time to interrogate her. The nights he occupied the study he would seldom tolerate her, but occasionally he was in a decent mood and let her sit in the windowsill behind the bookshelves to read, -- as long as she didn't make a sound.
There was one of these evenings that Sick entered the library when he was already there. As soon as she came in the door, dressed in the same clothes she had worn the previous day, Saruman put his quill down and closed his book.
«Ah,» he grunted.
Sick started. «What is it, my Lord?»
«Come here,» said Saruman and beckoned her with his quill. «… Elf.» He eyed her in a sideways glance as she approached, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. «I want you to explain yourself. You were seen at the stables, both today and two days ago.»
«What?» exclaimed Sick. Suddenly she made a strange, spitting noise and added angrily: «Who said that!»
«You are well aware that you are not allowed to leave the tower!» sneered Saruman. «Explain yourself!»
«It isn't true, my Lord! Look!» Sick ventured to sit down at the table, but Saruman's warning glance made her change her mind. «True, I was in the basement two days ago. There's an exit there that leads to the stables, and it's correct that I looked through the door, because it was open, and somebody there saw me, -- but I didn't go out! And … Today, -- I haven't even been out of my room!»
Saruman seemed suspicious. He stated: «Very well. I will have your room searched for the etymology book.»
Sick's insides went cold with horror. «The etymology book is on its shelf,» she piped. «I have … I've been ill all night and day.» She hesitated. «I haven't been quite myself. I think I have a fever.»
Saruman looked at her -- and it seemed he was going to speak. He leaned slightly over the table. There was a pause where Sick felt quite lost, but then Saruman spoke:
«Sit.»
Sick sat.
«You haven't been quite yourself?» said Saruman. «Why is that?»
Sick was bewildered. «Uh, um I ... I mean I --»
«Don't sit there gabbling.»
«I can't place it,» said Sick. «I have felt a little … Distant. Distant from myself. Oh.» She felt her head spin again. With a sigh she put her hands to her temples and rubbed them.
Immediately Saruman asked:
«What's your name?»
«Shaka Lemira,» moaned Sick.
That's when the memory of her dream hit her like a blow to the head. Instantly she slapped her hand over her mouth, her mind still spinning, she didn't notice that Saruman arose before he suddenly stood behind her.
«Mirah!» she yelled when the wizard took hold of her collar, lifted her from the chair, turned her around and threw her onto the table. She flumped on her back over a heap of parchments, dust flying through the air, Saruman's hand around around her neck. He could remind of a surgeon ready to operate when he held one of the oil lamps in his free hand and leant over the Elf.
He studied her face. Sick was clear-headed for a second and noticed again how the light from the lamp made Saruman's eyes appear dark brown. For a second he didn't look disgruntled, or annoyed, or impatient, as he usually did, at all. He looked curious. «Mirah,» he said. «Tell me what it means.»
«Uh, it doesn't really mean anything, it's only an exclamation,» stammered Sick.
«In what language?»
«It's eldzamian.»
«Say your name again.»
«Akira Shaka Sabina Sekira Lemira.»
Saruman raised his eyebrows; he looked amused. «And where do you come from? Do you remember?»
«Of course! I'm a similite, I'm Zamian! Are you gonna let me go? Get your hands off me.» Sick grabbed Saruman's hand but realized that he was stronger.
«Elf,» he said. «You are certainly not yourself. Either you're something I have never before encountered, or you are completely insane. Sit!» He released her, and she shuffled back into her chair. «Obviously, things would normally make me settle on the latter.»
Saruman went back around the table and took his seat. «But then we have the curious fact that for the last five minutes, your eye color has changed between blue, violet and red.»
Sick blinked.
«Do you have an explanation for this phenomenon?»
Sick just gave a dumb stare. «Changed?» she said meekly.
«I take it that you do not notice, seeing as it changed back to the regular blue right now,» said Saruman, a hint of interest in his voice.
«What? My Lord, I--»
«It would seem to me,» said Saruman as he took out his pipe and filled it. «that you think you're an Elf in one state, and this rude Shaka-person in another state.»
«Shaka? That's not my name,» said Sick. «My name is Silmariël. Though, Shaka gave me the name Sick, she knows no better.»
Saruman took the pipe from his mouth and chuckled. «That's enough for today,» he said dryly.
«No, my Lord, oh I just remembered!» exclaimed Sick. «I remembered my name!»
«Congratulations,» said Saruman. With that, the conversation was over.
Saruman ignored her, smoking in peace. But Sick noticed that he hadn't chased her away as he usually would. She sat still in her chair, peering at the wizard from the corner of her eye. He looked peaceful, concentrated, well-groomed, his white hair lying over his back, not a strand out of place. What if--
«Elf,» he said without looking up. «Stop staring.»
«Oh,» piped Sick, perplexed. «I just … My Lord, could I not have a try at your pipe-weed?
He looked up.
«Let's make a deal, shall we. I will give you a full pipe on one condition: You shall smoke the entirety of it -- within the hour.» There was a nasty twinkle in his eyes.
Sick brightened. «So be it, my Lord!»
Saruman gave her an overbearing glance. He went to one of the old cabinets by the door and came back to the table, a beautiful long pipe in his hands. It was made from black wood and inlaid with hairthin silver strands.
Sick stared at the fine workmanship. «Let's have it like this,» said Saruman as he filled the pipe. «That if you manage, you will have both the pipe and all the weed you could want. Best of luck to you.» He handed her the pipe and a tinderbox to light it.
But Sick removed the glass tube from the oil lamp and lit the pipe nimbly with its flame, her eyes flashing violet for a split second. «Ah,» she sighed and sat back. «Oh yes.» She'd had a craving for Saruman's weed since she first smelt it, and although this weed was strong and different from what she was used to, whatever that was (she didn't remember), it certainly hit the spot.
She noticed that Saruman, although he had returned to his books, glanced at her from time to time. But Sick finished her pipe well within half an hour, and indeed, when she withdrew for the night Saruman didn't speak when she took the pipe and his pouch of weed with her. Perhaps he didn't notice, but he certainly was ill-tempered when she left.
Sick felt heavy-headed and frightened that night, lying in her bed in the darkness. She couldn't fall asleep. Senseless thoughts of Saruman or his guards banging on her door to drag her out, toss her off the rooftop, or throw her to the Uruks, was haunting her for no reason. Her imagination was working at top speed, but so was her reasoning mind. At last she realized that Saruman's weird pipe-weed was to blame. She decided then to stay off it, -- but knew deep down that she'd smoke even more of it the next evening in the library.
She was thinking about that dream, facing her concerns this time. The woman. Shaka was her name (Sick assumed it was Westron; it certainly wasn't Elvish): First of all there was her claim to be inside Sick.
Although common sense contradicted this claim, current events pointed towards its validity, -- for example Saruman noticing that Sick's eyes changed between red and purple, or was it violet, or … Sick didn't know. It didn't matter! Her eyes were blue. Pale blue; azure. They always were.
But the woman in her dream had red eyes. Sick rolled up under her sheets.
Standing in the library today she had watched Saruman sitting there before the tall windows. His back straight, eyes fixed on her, telling her off for going out, and she had reckoned that …
Sick had a realization and sat up in her bed. That's it!
See, Shaka expressed distaste for Saruman and that -- as she saw it -- that Sick didn't mind the wizard.
Nothing in the lines of that had occurred to Sick. But there was today. In the library, when Saruman told her off, she had studied him, his long hair and posture, and she'd thought: Valar, … When he was young, he was beautiful. That's when Shaka kicked in on her! Her own eyes changed color from blue to red! Shaka didn't approve with Sick's decision on the other man's appearance, and tried to take her over to stop it!
Sick flung her sheets aside and rose. Her feet patted over the cold floor to the windows, and she opened them. The air cleared her mind somewhat, and she was determined: She could remember Shaka's compelling nature; this woman is used to being in charge. However, Sick's mind was not anybody else's to take in charge. Whatever way Shaka had gotten into her head -- Sick wanted to find out how, and get her out.
Certainly, she thought as she returned to her bed. As long as she regocnised the signs of Shaka approaching, she could block her out like she blocked Sauron, and Saruman's voice, out.
Eventually she fell asleep, feeling the most comfortable yet. She dreamt lively that night, but the next morning she couldn't remember their content, thank goodness.