V
Sheglock
They quickly prepared the patio for their small service, and as they did so, Sheglock told Iarék of his experience in town. The artist muttered sympathetically.
"I can relate completely – such rejection is no more nor less than I receive when ever I dare make a proposal. In all this wide world, I have begun to feel that no one sees the grace and beauty of true art."
"We do," Sheglock reminded him.
Iarék sighed. "So we do, and I suppose such impelled us to partake in the exploit of poetry, for your late friend's sake. Was Ulûrk partial to art?"
"If he was, he would never have admitted it to anyone."
"Why not?"
"He liked to keep a tough demeanour, you know. I guess he wanted to fit in, and act like that typical orc you'd meet on the street. But he wasn't like the rest of them." Sheglock stopped speaking, and stared off into the distance, seeing his friend's face in the low lying clouds that hovered over the unseen jungles of Dorezátz to the east. Iarék smiled at him, and went off to prepare the table, and, in time, Sheglock got up and assisted him, strangely, now more willing to accept that Ulûrk had truly gone on.
They lit several candles and placed those on the small metal table. Sheglock scattered some of the old silver coins around the candles, to symbolise Ulûrk's zeal in the marketplace. "Though he bartered more than he used these," he told Iarék nostalgically.
Beneath the candlesticks Sheglock placed Ulûrk's note – that blissfully naïve promise, "Off to war — be right back" – and the last message Sheglock had received from his friend. With that note they put Morrick's letter to Ulûrk, written from the sickbed in Kâlask's house. It would serve both for Ulûrk's funeral, and for Morrick's.
"Are we ready?" Iarék asked. Sheglock nodded.
"You start," Iarék suggested, stepping back. At first Sheglock was unsure what to do. He began speaking, improvising as he went, and he found that, as he spoke, speaking became easier. He felt a weight beginning to lift off his chest, as though one of the fell beasts of the Nazgûl had been perched on him, and was just now taking off and flying away.
"We are here today to honour Ulûrk, a great orc… He always tried his hardest to do what was right. Even though he acted tough outwardly, his heart was pure… And inside he was caring, accepting, loving… He perished fighting valiantly as a soldier – and that's all he ever wanted to be doing – he had not foreseen death, but his dream had always been to be a soldier, and I'm sure he was happy, even when… My friend, we lament that you are no longer here on this Middle Earth. But today let us not recollect your death. Let us recall your life, and remember the deeds you did which stayed with us all… You stay with us, in our hearts, and will for ever."
"Those are very nice words," Iarék said, softly, when Sheglock had finished. Sheglock felt a tear on his cheek, and brushed it away, as Iarék continued the service.
"From your lps come kind and faithful words, and ones well spoken. Now listen as I read our poem. Listen only, and feel it as it vibrates the harpstrings of your heart. Even though you know it already, perhaps now it will take on new meaning."
Now listen to the din of the town square:
Now listen to the shouting and the screams.
Who do we know will always be down there,
In his face, joy; in his eyes, sparkling gleams?
Ulûrk – mighty trader and conqueror;
Ever present to take in his whole share.
Over the merchants, he's an emperor.
He won't relent until their deal is fair.
Uphold the justice of the trade, old friend,
And never will your mem'ry be darkened.
But lo! with sword in hand, Ulûrk gazed West,
And saw the troubled lands he sought to mend.
So, upholding the Right he lovèd best,
His former craft he was willing to end.
He left the forge to go become a knight,
And though, to us, his deeds at war are black,
Valiant we know they were, and always right.
Ulûrk, kind friend, we dearly want you back!
Sheglock sighed, feeling a curious sense of contentment that, at the beginning of the day, had been the last thing he had expected to feel. He had been worried that the funeral would make him miss Ulûrk more. But it hadn't. It had definitely confirmed Ulûrk's departure, but, in doing so, it had lit his way on to the grand halls of the next life. The last line of the poem, which Sheglock had insisted on adding, despite Iarék's objections, now seemed out-of place. Sheglock finally realised what Iarék had been tying to tell him all along. He didn't really want to drag Ulûrk back here onto this suffering planet. He wanted his friend to remain in the eternal happiness that Iarék had assured him was through death's door.
"Well?" Sheglock looked up. His head had been bowed while Iarék had read the poem. Now Iarék was looking intently at him.
"We need to change the last line," Sheglock said. "I was wrong."
Iarék smiled. "I understand," he said. "There is a difference between being told what to feel, and feeling it in your own heart. But I already have another ending prepared, in hope that I should prove right."
"Let's hear it."
"Kindness and courage never did you lack."
"That works for me," Sheglock said, walking over to the tables. He blew out the candles, and as he did so, he fancied that he saw Ulûrk, smiling, and waving to him, then marching, army-style, off into the sky. "Goodbye, my friend."
After a pause, where the two orcs bowed their heads in a respectful silence, Iarék relit the candles. It was time to honour Morrick.
Sheglock wasn't sure how he would take this. He could not believe that it would give him the same sense of contentment as Ulûrk's had. He was still unable to comprehend that his brother was gone for good. He tried to look at the facts, to understand what they meant. He would never see Morrick again.
He would never see Morrick again. No, it couldn't be. Some constants of one's life never went away. One's parents, for instance. Or one's brother. Sheglock was not ready to give up hope. He was not ready to make the death final.
Sheglock didn't think he was naïve. But he truly felt that Morrick was still around. And he truly wanted his brother back, for his own sake, more than anyone's.
"Firri," Sheglock head Iarék call into the house. "You coming?"
"No," came the reply.
"Why not?" Iarék asked. They heard a sigh from inside.
"I can't accept that he is gone. I don't think he is."
"Nor do I," Sheglock admitted, relieved that he was not alone. "Let's not do this yet."
"Clearly the wound is still too fresh," Iarék said quietly. Sheglock, as was his custom, grew angry.
"There is no wound. I haven't lost him!"
"I am afraid that it is a little late to go into denial," Iarék said delicately.
"I can go into denial at any time I want!" Sheglock roared at him, not really thinking about what he was saying. He stormed off to the stables, hopped onto Merân, and rode off toward town.
As he rode, his temper subsided, and he was calmed. Riding usually had that effect on him. It was therapeutic – the wind whipping his face was blowing away all the hatred, anger, and frustration. Sheglock felt bad for yelling at his friend, but he still felt his reasons were valid. Iarék was trying to deprive him of the one hope that was keeping him alive each night – that small gem of hope that somehow, despite all logic, Morrick had survived the war. Sheglock could not accept otherwise. He realised that he never really had. To him, Morrick had never really been gone. He was not ready to deal with that loss.
He used the small scraps of meat in his pocket to get by Bokluk, disappointed, as he had intended them to be his snack. He rode on toward the town square, wanting to find a quiet corner of the plaza where he could cool off.
But when he arrived, Sheglock realised that something peculiar was happening. A crowd of orcs was clustered around the fountain, muttering excitedly.
Sheglock uncomfortably pushed his way through them, curiosity conquering his claustrophobia. Right near the fountain he found a filthy orc, covered in dust and grime. He was eagerly washing himself with clean water, drawn from the well.
Who is he?" Sheglock asked the orc to his left.
"Dunno. He jus' arrived here, righ'. He's come from the ba'le at the ga'e, we reck'n."
Sheglock's heart leapt. From the battle at the gate! So there were survivors!
After about ten minutes, the dirt was completely gone, and the orc sighed. "Thank ya. Now, I suppose I gotta explain myself."
"Please," said Sheglock, while others murmured in approval.
"My name's Têrk, and like ya've all been guessing, I've just returned from the Black Gate."
"You fought in the battle?" one of the onlookers asked.
"That's right, Helkor. And ya saw what happened. We don't know how…"
"How do–" Helkor stuttered, "How do you know my name?"
"I lived here, ya know. And I used ta see ya down at the market a lot. Most o' ya I know."
"Creepy…" Helkor muttered in what sounded like an impressed tone.
"How did ya make it here?" another orc asked.
"I ran. When he fell, I ran. And I kept on running…"
"Did they chase ya? Did the Men chase ya?"
"No. I reckon a lot of us escaped them. Though a lot o' us perished on the way back, ya know. We had no supplies… I was lucky ta have grabbed a Man-corpse, and I carried it on my back as I ran. It's a habit fer us army folk. Ya take food when ya can get it."
"You were in the army?" Sheglock asked. "Did you know Ulûrk?"
Têrk scrunched up his face. "Name sounds familiar. My friend Largg mighta mentioned him once…"
"You knew Largg!?" Sheglock yelled in surprise.
"I marched with him fer a coupla days in Ithilien."
"I went ta Dorezátz with him! Did you see him… die?"
"Last I saw o' him, he was perfectly healthy. But then I got injured and had ta stay behind in the Haunted City. Later, I was deported, if that's the word fer it, up ta the Gate, fer the final battle."
Sheglock sighed. He missed Largg. And he knew that there was no chance he had survived. Gondor had eradicated everyone who had gone to Minas Tirith.
But still, Têrk's arrival had given Sheglock hope. It seemed that many of the orcs who had fought in the Morannon had survived. Gondor had not, apparently, charged forward at the time of Sauron's ruin.
There was a chance that Morrick had survived also, and Sheglock felt that consuming hope flare up in his chest.
He left Têrk and the others, hopped on his warg, and bolted toward home, to apologise to Iarék, but, more importantly, to relay the news, and the hope that came with it.
