XXI
Kâlask
Kâlask watched Burk and Largg ride off, and saw Firri's disappointment. She seemed to be feeling deserted. And he could understand why. All her friends had either left or fallen into a coma. He noticed how, over the days following the soldiers' departure, she grew steadily more depressed. She began to spend more and more time shut up with Morrick, and rarely interacted with her host. The only things she said to him were simply robotic, please, thank you, good morning, good night, and the like. Kâlask soon became very worried about her health. She had even stopped having meals in his dining room, preferring to eat with Morrick.
He vowed to himself to make the experience as pleasant as possible. He thought it was his duty to keep her from falling fully into depression, before Sheglock returned from Barad-dûr. He remembered how ruinous depression could be – he recalled his friend from the army, Ferkan, who had given up hope after a particularly bad defeat at Osgiliath, back – could it be fifty! – years ago. Ferkan had lost the will to live, and the next time they had marched to battle, he had been easily dispatched by the enemy. Ironically, that battle secured Sauron's hold over Osgiliath, and had Ferkan kept hope, he would have survived to a ripe old age. Kâlask much desired to keep Firri alive, for Morrick's sake, as well as hers.
He pulled her aside one time before supper, a week or so past the departure of Burk and Largg. She had grabbed a meagre portion of dried cow-flesh, and was certainly planning to head to Morrick's room with it.
"Come now," Kâlask said kindly. "Do you care to take more?"
"I'm not hungry," Firri replied abruptly, looking at the ground, not him. Her response was robotic and somehow felt insincere. Kâlask, however, excused her rudeness, as he fully understood her condition. Her answer, however, he also ignored.
"Why don't you sup at the table?" he asked gently. Firmly but gently he guided her to a chair. Surprisingly, she did not resist. Kâlask was most unnerved by this, remembering how strong her will once had been. In his mind, she was more sickly than Morrick. The determination she had once possessed, the gumption, all of it was gone. She was more or less a zombie, not really thinking for herself. Kâlask was displeased with himself. He felt that he should have noticed the onset of depression earlier, and helped her then. Now, it seemed she was too far gone.
"Winter is almost gone, and spring approaches on all sides," Kâlask began. "You should see the flowers of Alzág. Numerous as the stars they are, growing in every nook and cranny. And of every hue the mind can imagine, and more beside. Vivid purples and violets, warm reds and oranges, deep blues. Just outside the door you will find all the colours of the rainbow! To one from Gorgoroth, it must be exceptionally beautiful…"
Kâlask paused. Firri, so far, had said nothing. In fact, she wasn't even looking at him. She was staring toward Morrick's room, leaving her plate untouched. Kâlask sighed.
"I want to talk with you, but you've become so close. I feel as though I speak to the deaf stones, or the silent trees. Speak to me!"
To his surprise, she actually began to speak. "I do want to talk to you… you've done me a great service. And I haven't paid you. Just tell me how much, give me a sum, and I will pay double."
Kâlask sighed again, in frustration, for his brief glimer of hope had flickered away once she mentioned her supposed debt. At least she was interacting with him – that was a start. But he was loath to get on the topic of payment. "As I've told you before, I will accept naught until Morrick heals. I will not take your money if I fail in my job, which is to help your friend. But come, let us talk of more pleasant matters. Shall I read you a poem?"
He got up and crossed over to a bookshelf, selecting one of the numerous volumes. He wasn't sure whether Firri liked poetry, but he decided to try. Maybe, at least, it would distract her from Morrick's illness. He returned to the table, flipping through the large tome. At length he selected a passage.
"Let me read you this; a poem of the Last Battle fought in Mordor, between Sauron and Gondor, when the Elves came to the aid of the Men, and Isildur cut the Ring from the hand of Sauron. Many great deeds there were, and valiant ones, but it is a sad tale. For, as you know, Mordor was defeated and Sauron cast into exile. But I shall begin, with your leave."
"Go on, if you want," Firri said. Kâlask took that as a "yes" and began reciting from the book.
From Númenor great kings arose,
Tall and proud, with shields of gold.
And with the elves alliance made
Back in the Elder Days of old.
-
They marched forward, unstoppable,
And reached the Gate at Morranon.
Then Sauron cast his mighty stroke
And the hosts of Mordor marched on.
-
Outside they met at Dagorlad,
And there a mighty ba'le ensued.
The orcs were strong and proud and brave
And fought the Men, bloodlust renewed.
-
But they were also strong, and fierce,
And cunning too, as well as cruel.
They broke on through; those evil Men
Desired over us to rule.
-
To Orodruin they marched on high,
The silver tree on banners bore;
But the red Eye would have them not–
Armies issued from Sauron's door.
-
All the might of Mordor came
Against these mighty Kings of Men,
But Elendil they could not withstand,
Nor Gil-galad, his Elven friend.
-
Then Sauron came, and hope returned,
And He with mighty strokes hewed them.
The Men in terror fled His great wrath;
Their courage now was growing dim.
-
But Elendil still had the heart
To challenge Him, Sauron the Great.
He took up sword, and faced the Ring
And there was shaped our country's fate.
-
Narsil gleamed with a silver light
But Sauron's ring was wrought of gold.
The red Eye broke the Silver Tree–
Elendil fell, the Man so bold.
-
Then Mordor dared at last to hope,
And Narsil, shattered, lay destroyed.
The King of Men at last vanquished,
The foes of Gondor overjoyed!
-
Brought Gil-galad the Elven-King
His spear Aiglos to Orodruin.
He sought vengeance for his friend's death
Yet hope he lacked, seeing the ruin.
-
Sauron came forth, and struck him down;
His mighty spear shattered in two.
Fire leapt high from Orodruin,
And Mordor laughed, with hope anew.
-
Too hastily did we rejoice!
Alas, Isildur, son of Kings
Crept up and took his father's sword;
With broken blade challenged the Rings
-
And Sauron laughed, this Man so bold,
How could he ever fight the One?
The ring shone red, the Eye arose,
And Isildur, he stood alone
-
Upward came Narsil's broken shards,
Aimed at His hand, where dwelt His Crown.
The Ring flew high! All Mordor quailed!
Our master, King, now overthrown!
-
Then the orcs ran, in fear and shame,
And Isildur went to Mount Doom.
Elrond then cried "Destroy the Ring!"
And Mordor waited for its doom.
-
But Sauron lived still through the Ring,
And with Isildur long He strove,
Until at last by will He won;
The King added It to his trove.
-
And so someday it still may be
That Sauron may yet rise again,
And Mordor now awaits the day
When over all the land He'll reign.
Kâlask closed the book, sighing. Vividly in his mind's eye he could picture the battle. It was only the Strength of Sauron that saved Him, for if Isildur had destroyed the Ring… He sighed again, focusing on Firri, who was staring blankly at him. He didn't know whether she had even listened to him.
"What do you think of it," Kâlask asked her. She stared a long while before answering.
"I'm not really into poetry," was all she said. Kâlask sighed, beginning to lose hope.
"Well, of what do you desire to speak?" he asked. "We can talk about Mor rick, if you want. I think it will help you, perhaps very much. You have not been yourself lately. I am a friend – tell me what worries you."
"I am worried about him. I'm worried that he won't…"
"Yes," Kâlask agree, "you're worried that he'll die. We all are. But soon Sheglock will return from Barad-dûr, with the cure, or without it. You can do nothing about it now. So don't worry overly about it!"
"It's just that I feel…" she began, fading off into silence. Kâlask decided to prompt her, though he felt uncomfortably like a psychologist.
"What do you feel? Responsible for his illness? Or are you romantically attracted to him? Don't worry, I will not judge you – such is not my intention. I desire only to help you."
"Both," Firri answered slowly. "When we first met, I instantly admired him, even though we were always fighting over who should lead. But then he took me aside, and gave me sort of a wake-up call, you could say. He taught me a lot about responsibility. Then he gave me the chance to make a decision, and I went against his advice. I remember, he even said 'If I die, it's all your fault!' So this is to be my punishment, I suppose. Just when I find how much I like him, I shall lose him!"
"Don't speak that way!" Kâlask cried. He was beginning to understand her better. "Nor should you think that he does not love you, or fell ill to punish you. I think he loves you dearly, and only put you in such a precarious situation because he believed it was the only way to help you. I think he knows how much you care, as you never leave his bed, unless forced to. Don't despair!"
"Perhaps not. You know, if he recovers, I will propose to him. Though, likely he'd refuse."
"Say, rather, 'when he recovers, I will marry him.' Optimism has never hurt anyone."
"You say that, yet you refuse to accept payment until he heals!" she retorted.
Kâlask laughed. She had caught him, for sure. But he was also laughing in relief. Already she was much more like her former self.
"I do not intend to accept payment from you, at any time, under any outcome. So drop the subject and be merry. Shall I pour you some wine with dinner – I see you have not yet eaten a single bite. Come now, that won't do at all!"
"I can't. Not while Morrick lies there, near death!" She pointed in the direction of his room.
"Do you truly believe he would want you to be unhappy?" Kâlask asked, pouring two glasses of wine. "Were you sick in his stead, what would you rather – that he mourn tirelessly, or that he be merry?"
"I guess I see your point," she said, reluctantly taking the wine.
"That's right," Kâlask said. "We'll just wait for Sheglock. Until then, be cheerful. And when Morrick recovers, we'll throw an enormous party, just the four of us!"
Over the next few days Firri seemed to take Kâlask's advice to heart, and returned to her usual self. Kâlask found her more often out and about, and less in Morrick's room. She dropped the subject of payment altogether, for which he was grateful. Instead, she would talk to him of many different things – old battles, or about Dorezátz, or about his past. He also learned much from her – Firri had been raised in Erranór to the south, near Minas Morgul, and one of her uncles had died in the war with Osgiliath. He could sympathise with her on this account, having also lost numerous friends in battle.
A week had passed since Kâlask had taken Firri aside at supper, when Kâlask spotted a figure riding up rapidly toward his house. He called to Firri, who was in Morrick's room. "It's Sheglock!" For he could now recognise the face. Firri ran out into the hall, joyous.
Less than a minute later, they heard him enter and leave the stable. Moments later, a knock came on the door. Kâlask opened it, and Sheglock stood there, a worried look on his face.
"You're back!" Firri cried, moving forward to embrace him. But Sheglock walked right past her.
"We'll celebrate after we get this to my brother!" he cried urgently, shaking a small phial of white liquid. He hurried over to Morrick's bed, Kâlask and Firri following behind. Sheglock leaned over his brother.
"Morrick, can you hear me?" he asked. Morrick turned and groaned, but did not open his eyes. Grimacing, Sheglock forced the flask between his teeth. Instinctively, Morrick swallowed the concoction.
"Now we wait," Sheglock said, sighing. "Nice to see you guys," he added, embracing everyone.
That night they all dined together, and Sheglock describe his journey to Barad-dûr. He explained that they would have to travel back there. "I gave my word," he said.
Kâlask was disappointed. He had hoped to get to know Morrick better, but it did not seem like there would be time. "Well, this is ill news to me, but if it is the will of Sauron, so be it," he said.
Sheglock nodded. "I don't really want to leave either, but it was the only way."
"I understand," Kâlask said. "But let us get to bed. Who knows the tidings the morning may bring." With that he rose, cleared the table, and the three of them went to bed.
The next day was not too different from the last. Morrick continued to sleep, and did not seem, to change much, though his fever did lessen somewhat by the afternoon. It was with a heavy heart that they went to bed that night. The cure seemed to be entirely ineffective.
But the next day Firri woke everyone early with as loud cry. "He's awake!"
"Hush," Morrick's voice said from his room. "They don't need to be able to hear you from Barad-dûr. Speaking of that, is Sheglock going soon?"
Kâlask and Sheglock got up and rushed to the room (though Sheglock, in his youth, made it much faster).
"It's great to see you, bro!" Sheglock yelled, hugging him.
"Oof," grunted Morrick. "Not so hard! I feel much better, though I still feel weak. But you all act like I've been gone so long!"
"You have," Kâlask responded. "Your brother has journeyed to Barad-dûr and back, and found you a cure."
"But that would have taken weeks!" Morrick cried in disbelief.
"It did," Firri replied. "And they were long and weary weeks. But now you're healed, and we can celebrate!"
"Give me another day or two," said Morrick, "and I'll gladly join you. Every minute I feel better than the one before!"
"Right," Firri said. "Tomorrow, then we'll celebrate your recovery, and Sheglock, who made it possible."
"And Sauron!" Morrick added. "Don't forget that it is only by His mercy that I live. I am forever in His debt!"
"A toast," cried Sheglock. "Kâlask, grab some wine , if you could!"
Kâlask obliged and hurried to the pantry. He selected one of the finest wines, and four glasses. Then he quickly returned to Morrick's room. He gave everyone a glass, and poured it.
"To Sauron!" Morrick cried, raising his glass. "To the Great Eye!"
Firri, Sheglock, and Kâlask all raised the glasses along with his.
"To Sauron," they all repeated.
Sheglock turned to Morrick. "Glad you're back," he said.