Chapter 51

Healing the Healer

~o~

The Dead Marshes were still a putrid bog of flies and scum but no one stared out lifelessly. Even with his lifespan, he might never see anyone desperate enough to live here. Dagorlad was a waste too, but there was no sense that one was trespassing on bones.

The Elf made directly for Yhammâs Fruhir. There was a clear trail now. Whoever was Bror didn't care. The southern district of Rhûn had always governed itself better than the northern Balchoth lands and paid their taxes on time. The immortal crested the ridge he loved so well and looked down on the complex. It was little changed. He rode to the office and hitched Orlon to the rail, always having to keep himself from thinking of the noble charger as Daisy.

A woman at the desk welcomed him to the facility. He asked if any of the Ghurs were in residence. She said they were but at a Saying just now. Would he like tea? It was warm and satisfying. Nag Kath sat on the bench while the woman stayed busy, occasionally sneaking glimpses at the tall man with his elbows on his knees thinking about who-knew-what. People came here to replenish themselves.

Half a bell later, a man wearing the robes of office returned and spoke to the woman. She nodded towards the guest and he walked over to ask how he could help. Nag Kath stood, an intimidating thing, and said he had been here before. His name was Nag Kath and would like a word with the Ghurate at their convenience. The man blinked and said their convenience was now. He showed the guest into the same conference room and told the woman to attend that at once.

As the other leaders straggled in, the first man stayed in the lobby waiting. Ghur Lhioneg was the second to turn the corner and said, "My heavens! How is this possible? No, no don't tell me. I will wait until the others come."

Four of the five made it within half a bell and heard the whole story. An hour in with questions and answers, Nag Kath said, "I have come to take healing in Hanvas and Nennûrad but I wanted to tell you of the Witch-King. I know you felt the surge a year ago. That was the end of his power. The Dead Marshes are truly dead. The pits are disabled. The Yvsuldor are no more. That is not to say men with hearts just as black will not use earthly powers with the same aims, they just won't get any help from the Witch-stone."

There was finality in that. Those threats were no longer important but now they were finally put to legend. He listened to the Poets and Lorists for two weeks. Things flooded back. When he left, he wished them well from the bottom of his heart. He did not mention Orlo though. The Elf thought him better remembered as a spirit than a kernel of gureeq. There was more to come.

~o~

Hanvas Tur kept to about two hundred and fifty people with the same learning and rest of Rhûn but also with the healing. Ventuub died a few years ago but a new woman of the Nennûrad retreat came two years before that as her understudy. He had her care for his back, stiff after being frozen so long, quietly testing his own color for black and green. Several Ghurs remembered him fondly. He stayed a month and went to Lhûg.

Listracht was nearing seventy and still lived in the old school building. The good habits Nag Kath taught him about not neglecting house-cleaning held. The man came to the door after the persistent stranger said something about flowers. His hearing was not what it was.

It was like he had never left. They limped to dinner. The old Righter got the less lordly details on the battle and stone. Listracht had a long pull of the improving local ale and said, "I always thought you would come back. You haven't met the warg that could take you. Now the dragon; that is a different story!"

"Did anyone ever see him again?"

"Nope. Maybe when you get to Nennûrad. If he flew over here, it was at night."

Chûr and Shaindre both made it to eighty nine. The family kept producing heartbreaking women who married well, one in the Khan's family. Scholar Nenambuul went to Hanvas twice but could never get his niece to go. She was around and the little boy wasn't so little. Listracht had his large circle of friends who he didn't have to spy on anymore. He never told them he did so nothing had changed. He did sell a diamond. The Righter was always frugal.

Listracht had never been to the southernmost retreat. It was a three-week trip on a game leg. They had things in hand. Occasional folk came through here with tidings. There was not much of a right-living component except for ancient lore and poems. Folk there were more concerned with healing. That was Nag Kath's vision. It seemed he got his way.

The Elf was not sure if he would ever be here again. Listracht would have to protect the virgins of Lhûg by himself. This was a hard parting. They had sailed uncharted seas and returned a forgotten nation to the world. No one would ever remember, mostly because those stories had only been told in courtly language, absent saddles sores or nubiles in gauze serving sweetened grain. Barahir might get to it someday.

~o~

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~o~

Nag Kath took the Pashir route. The rocks where they were ambushed stood sentinel to the slaughter. He could not help but grin thinking of the bandit with red pants tip-toeing up that hill. The rest of the trip was uneventful. The Elf took two days of leisure in the Khanate capital but did not go out of his way to see anyone. Four days later, he crossed the bridge into Nennûrad-Tujd. He had built the place for people like he had become, never thinking he would need it himself.

The wood lodge had been stained and new buildings added where he drew them but it was like home. The fruit and nut trees were being harvested as he watched from the saddle. What could only be the Nûradi women's area was two hundred paces south. Elf eyes could see the maidens had not gotten any smaller.

Nag Kath tied Orlon/Daisy to the entrance rail and walked up the steps built for a great Khan of Khand. A striking young woman walked over with a bow and said, "Welcome back, best of sirs. Your room has been prepared."

He looked in her eyes and said, "I am sorry, I come unannounced."

She put her hand over her mouth the way Eniecia used to and scurried back over to a desk asking, "Mr. Piers?"

"No, perhaps he is on his way."

"I apologize. How may we help?"

The Elf said, "Is there a Mr. Pedrigs here?"

"No sir. He moved back to Pashir ten years ago so his wife could be with her mother."

"I see. Who is in charge now?"

The woman, an attractive lady nearing thirty, might not have volunteered that information if he hadn't known the former manager and she hadn't mistaken his identity. She stated, "Mrs. Runcith is head of the council."

The northerling ranger who spoke their tongue said with impeccable manners, "Could you take her a note, please?" The woman would go find her, though she could be anywhere on the grounds. He said he would wait on the front porch.

Nag Kath loved this view. The fields were larger and better tended. There was a road from the water's edge along the south creek that turned to what looked like a storage building. Behind the main lodge, bungalows had been created for visitors. It was half a bell before she returned with the head of the complex, Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj's daughter. The woman bowed deeply and said, "I do not know how this is possible, but you are most welcome, best of sirs. You may not remember me. I am Helvadis Runcith. My mother …"

"Oh, but I do remember you. It is always a dangerous business asking after people long left but how is your mother?"

"Old and feisty as ever. She stays in town. This is Miss Nhat-Khiel who will see to your accommodations. Will you be staying a while, Mr. Kath?"

"Yes, I think some time. I was much injured in war and am come to rebuild."

Mrs. Runcith said, "Yes, we heard, though you look fitter than described. Perhaps we can have dinner tonight?"

"Charmed."

~o~

With a bow she was gone and the younger woman said, "Mrs. Runcith said you stayed here long ago. You will not find it much changed. She recommended quarters for you. Please come with me."

Miss Nhat-Khiel took him to a cottage of several rooms that was further south, a bit away from the others. This might be where the lower-lordly came to replenish. Leading Orlon to the building, he hoisted the big bag, art tube and satchel off along with the saddle. The woman said he could leave that for the grooms but he assured her it was fine in the room. The last time he came, diamonds stuffed in a different saddle paid for the place. She bowed and left saying the horse would be taken to the stable shortly.

His lodgings were built behind a rocky outcropping not unlike his house in Dol Amroth with Phylless. It wasn't much of a bump but it gave more of a view down to the lake. Around the back he could see into the forest. They didn't need to clear much timber for building or it had grown back, no Hourns in this lot! In lulls building the retreat, he used to walk back among the trees as Elves of old had done. Visitors kept to the lodge or lower so he was almost always alone.

~o~

Dinner was pleasant. Nennûrad did not have much to do with the Stámöe, mostly because the Stámöe did not have much to do. He told her that the Witch-stone was destroyed. They all felt it. Orlo had succeeded after long, painful fighting. Like the northern Ghurates in their unique ways, this was for what came next. He liked that. She agreed he was not to be celebrated. Who he was would slip out, but he was just another regular. Mrs. Runcith said the place was solvent and current with the authorities. That method of governance was older than Sauron in Khand.

Nag Kath wasn't going to ask but she said, "If you remembered me, you probably remembered Mr. Bengarath?"

"Vaguely."

"We thought to form an attachment but he was there and I was here. He married and so did I. Alas, my husband took a wasting and even our ladies here could not save him. Mr. Courdhan is no longer with us as well, though he was eighty three when his spirit joined the others, in a good place I am sure."

Nag Kath would be forthcoming too, "I was injured in battle when I left here, a foe I knew I was returning to face. That was the Witch-stone. I was left frozen in a cave with it for seventeen years until Stámo restored me to life. The stone is destroyed, but I am not what I was. My return is to regain that which I had and learn that which I forgot."

"You really were dead?"

"I think so. If I am still immortal, I have the time to recover. This is my place to do that. Tomorrow I will visit the women of Nûrad for what I am sure will be a painful encounter."

"Yes, they are very good, but do not spare nerves to reach their purpose."

~o~

The very next morning, he was down at the semi-circle of buildings. The new Thourah seemed sharper than the last. He told her of his history, leaving nothing out, and was assigned to Hierhul. She was shorter and broader than the usual and spoke with the rough Khandian heard further into the plains of Nûrad.

One might think that families produced these ladies by blood but they seemed to just come in an ordinary brood. With a deformity or malady, their prospects would have been poor. The strong females were prized if eligible for the further training in this school or the smaller one in Viersh.

Nag Kath repeated what he had told her superior and she had him lay face down on the table with no clothing at all. The woman gently probed the area around the troll-break for quite a while before saying, "This place here. How did it rejoin?"

"Sorcery. It was severed. Someone like you held it in place and I joined it with my own powers."

That horrified Nenwula. This woman smiled with a large gap between her top front teeth and said with glee, "I wish I could do that! No one has been born in ever so long who could bring that healing. I will loosen this today and then we will rebuild strength. That is good?"

"Yes, Hierhul, that is good."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

His back grew stronger. He caught fish. He helped with the harvests and he walked the woods. Some days he listened to the poets and Sayers. Lorists spoke and referred to a good library of texts, some of them donated as spares from the Khagan himself! One of his grandsons had been here eight years ago and must have returned home with a good report.

After six weeks, he sought Torlurn in the city. Miss Nhat-Khiel knew the man was still in the dye business with his family and as good a sort as one could want to meet. The door was answered by a shy lass expecting someone her own size. Her eyes grew large as Florin and she looked around for someone to deal with the towering stranger. Finally she ran off and was replaced by a woman nearing sixty who smiled as if she remembered him. He was shown inside and asked to wait for the man of the house.

Torlurn came around from the kitchen and stopped still. Then he beamed a smile and cried, "I hardly believe my eyes, best of sirs! We heard you came to a bad end!"

"Bad, yes. End, no. I am back for a while and wanted to pay my respects."

"Oh it is good to see you, Mr. Solv … Kath."

"Just Nag Kath now."

"By any name you are welcome. Can you join us for the high meal?"

For working-class Khandians that was the equivalent of Hobbit tea, around the four-bell. Nag Kath said he would be honored.

Hemid Torlurn no longer had the constantly stained hands of his trade. Children and nephews did the mixing and sorting these days. Hemid kept the books and sought buyers for their special blues and pinks. He insisted on showing Nag Kath, and most others, the matching arrow scars on his neck.

The man was a right-liver in the northern sense of the term and had a lot to do with making Nennûrad Tujd what it had become. Couples did not go there to cheat. Language was cordial. Young people were encouraged to gain wisdom through learning and patience. He was all that.

Dinner was a noisy, merry affair with several children, grandchildren and a niece whose parents were gathering plants to the east. The ride to Lhûg was relived and confirmed to skeptical grandchildren. Afterwards it was just the Elf, Hemid and his wife Halah. Hemid said softly, "I worried long about the palace and what lay beneath. There was nothing we could do, but, there is always something one can do. It has never been rebuilt. Will you tell them there will be no more?"

The Elf pondered, "I had not considered that, but it seems only right. Tell me the name of the administrator and I will go in the morning."

"First you will stay here tonight as our guest!"

He gladly accepted their hospitality. This was healing too. Nag Kath had to remind himself that the trudge to Lhûg and back with a bandit attack was the journey of Hemid's life. He could let the man savor it. The Elf said, "We must keep a few more secrets. I will tell the administrator that the object calling fell beasts is destroyed, but not that we knew the dragon was down there."

"Oh no, I have kept that to myself. Your contribution to those harmed helped them. I worried that folk might have left, but who would have believed us?"

~o~

With deep bows and offers to visit either way, Nag Kath strolled off to visit Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj. She knew he was here and was glad to see him. When tea was served, he told her of the Witch-stone. She clapped her hands together and said, "You put us out of business well before that, Mr. Kath. With the dark ones gone we had to look inward. You intended that and so did the wise ones from the north. It worked. I cannot travel to the retreat now, but my dear Helva visits me often."

"Hemid asked me to tell Administrator Phemgeri that the stone is destroyed if they want to put something in the ruin."

"That is wise. Brave children dare each other to look down that hole until their parents learn and punish them. It was trolls in Rhûn?"

"Just one, two in Pelargir."

"One is enough. Our dragon was safer. I would not have thought that."

After tea he thought he would be a brave child himself. The Elf inched to the hole in the stout floor and looked down. About ten feet across, it wasn't as smelly as a troll-hole. Nag Kath walked to the market and brought several pitch-torches back to the pit. Lighting one torch with his fire-glass, he let it fully glow and dropped in the hole. It landed about thirty feet down and sizzled in a puddle. The next hit dryer ground and showed where water drained but there was no system of caves where others could be lurking. He didn't want to tell the local man it was safe if it wasn't.

Satisfied, he went to the same office as before and asked for a private word with Mr. Phemgeri. It wasn't long until he was shown back, cutting in front of irritated supplicants who had been waiting since eight. The fellow could have been the son of the last man. He folded his hands on the northern-style desk and said, "My assistant said you have information about the palace, yes?"

"Along those lines, sir. Did you feel a terrible surge of power here a long year ago?"

"Certainly, we all did. People were frightened."

"That was the destruction of the talisman that called the dragon from his slumber. There had been others hidden by Sauron as well but they are now gone."

Why do you tell me this, Mr. Kath?"

I am visiting the retreat for healing and thought if the Lord Khan has use for the property, he can now proceed with confidence."

"You have no interest in that restoration?"

"No, best of sirs. I am just telling you because I can."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Nag Kath grew stronger. His thoughts were more ordered. In the forest he tested his magic and it was more potent than before the ice cave. His sense of color was returning. He settled into life in Nennûrad Tujd and worked simple tasks. In what others took as a wild gesture, he began training with slow swords again. Folk joined him, often former warriors who could not find peace after the Southron wars. The retreat woodshop made stout beater swords from the dense wood found towards Alagoth. Women watched and could join, but never did. Khandian sword movements are trained differently than straight-bladed western weapons but this was not a course in battle. As many as eight attended, enough to need a different time so they weren't clacking their beaters during meditative Sayings.

Autumn came and went. Nag Kath was tempted with women here, including the alluring Miss Nhat-Khiel, but he waited. He knew he would not be here long. That seemed Elvish.

The winter of Fourth Age 120 was cold and wet. Huge avalanches from the peaks above would rumble in terrible thunder but never got this far. One happened in daylight as white upon white rolled down in a cloud and was silent minutes later.

Nag Kath started swimming again. The lake was cold in any season and folk thought him mad. It was a pure exercise for him. As he grew healthy, he realized that times of stress or concern may well have been the Witch-stone. The chest pains before the dragon and in Angmar showed he was not immune to its pull. In his original form, he could not have been that different than the beasts waiting for the servant's call. He had felt none since.

Nor had he felt what the Elves described as the pull to Valinor. The Woodland Elves who chose to stay described it was as if pieces of them too small to imagine were taken from the body. It was not painful. Frodo wrote that Galadriel called it diminishment. He looked an Elf. Perhaps the parts were reassembled incorrectly in the dungeon.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

That spring, a train of merchants came up from deep in Nûrad carrying loot from the great Chey city, perhaps of Nenambuul's drawing. They tried the Middle Passes of the Ered Harmal but heavy snow closed it and they had to take the long way around. Three men, two women and two youngsters were offered rest after having to eat one of their donkeys above the pass.

As they regained their health, Nag Kath talked to them about faraway places. He thought he would go into Nûrad until the clue stopped short here in Nennûrad. The traders were of mixed blood from Khand and the original Cheyans who lived along the eastern Harmals, the only place with water now. The greatest of the mountains in this range were nearly a hundred miles across, creating the massive river that was the only water for eastern Harad. On the opposite side it flowed to the ancient cities through hundreds of leagues of sand.

When the winter was miserable in the southern mountains, it was cool enough to raid the old city for trinkets. The good things were long gone but with so little rain, iron did not rust quickly. They had copper bracelets and beads or combs that ladies would wear in their long hair. In one bag was a dirk with etchings of some fierce god known only to those who lived there. They sold to collectors in the cities of Khand

The women would only speak to other women. They always wore scarves over their hair. The older one had permanently tattooed a fine black line into her eyelashes. Sometimes Khandian pleasure ladies used a fine ink but it wore off, a lesson he learned as the black-braided Dunedain scholar.

~o~

After a week, the folk were feeling better and nervous about getting a bill they couldn't pay. They paid it in full measure when the annoying tall one kept asking questions. The oldest man, an uncle of some sort, said when they had to eat the donkey, they abandoned writings. Pressed, he explained they were loose sheets of different colors and sizes, about two inches thick, some with pictures. None of them could read so they didn't know what they meant, but those were left just above the middle pass.

The Elf asked forcefully, "How much for everything you carry?"

That required a combination of counting, inflating and wondering what the market would bear. The man came up with a number, doubled it and said, "Twenty three silver coins."

Nag Kath said, "I will give you that and a Florin more if you will go get those papers when you are well."

His sister, the woman long past effective eye adornment, waddled over and spoke sharply in their tongue. The fellow explained the offer, seemed unsure and she gave him everything short of a slap on the ear explaining that they would certainly go get that and everything else the donkey had. Since she couldn't tell the tall blonde busybody, he said, "That will be acceptable."

The old man, the children and their mother would stay. The rest would go in another week after provisioning and getting another donkey. One of the higher staff people softly complained that the northerner was conducting business here, a violation of protocol. Mrs. Runcith implied they had an understanding, which was easier than explaining that the blonde one owned the retreat and everything on it.

A made-man, and free of his beloved sister, Mr. Fanug-kûk, started enjoying life. The young woman and children kept to themselves for a week and then the little ones played with other children under eagle-eyed supervision. Fanug-kûk liked a taste of ale after his meal. Then he and the curious tall man talked at length about the lands these people were saving their coppers to leave for good.

In his rooms, Nag Kath made a large map of all the places he had been. It was a collection of smaller maps he remembered but had never put them together. Allowing vast slop for estimates, the seas claimed to be east of Thân zîrân would be about four hundred leagues south of here. The traders had to backtrack about a hundred of those to get what they left. It seemed a spurious notion to go there just to find water one couldn't drink, but the Elf also realized that with immortality, he might eventually think a fifty year trip was better than baking Lembas every day.

Fanug-kûk had heard stories of lands like here with trees and growing things long past where the two great rivers of Nûrad met. He had never been even near the confluence, but traders talk with traders. They lie about prices and quality but stay close to truth about distance and water. Good as his word, the ranger gave him two little gold coins as the down payment for the trip and twenty three silver coins for the goods piled in his storage room. Fanug-kûk could see uses for soft paper but not stiff, sandy paper.

A hundred leagues there and a hundred leagues back on foot takes a while. Fanug-kûk hoped his sister, her husband and his brother returned safely and was glad to share even more of what he received. But he had taken his last long trip of shaking barbed-tailed spiders out of his boots. As far as he was concerned, he could spend the rest of his days in a village outside of Alagoth they visited ten years ago. If that meant talking with the stranger, he would manage.

The distance to the dead donkey and back was more like one hundred sixty leagues and the troop straggled back two and a half months after leaving. They presented the rich, stupid lordling with a box of papers and a few more odds and ends. As promised, he paid them an additional twenty silvers on the spot. They would rest three days and be on their way to Alagoth, an easy eighty miles with their new donkey.

The writing looked the mating of Khandian and Dwarvish. He could parse-out some words. The maps were why he wanted this. There more than he thought, mostly army maps, possibly for the out-of-town Yvsuldors, showing rivers, cities and concentrations of subjects at the time. Perhaps someone in Minas Tirith or the Numenoreans could make sense of the rest. He also dumped bags of junk the traders had scavenged in the fallen city. Most was worthless to him but some pieces repeated script or symbols found in the writings or engraved daggers. He separated items into two piles and told the traders they could have the much larger one if they wanted to take it. They did.

By the time all this happened it was summer of 120 as he measured the years. Having a project stimulated his mind, which was what he really needed. Walking the west and having people fear or pity him, or listen to stories they did not believe was dull. He started drawing and painting again. He did an ink sketch of the silver dragon in Nennûrad. Might he still be alive? Nat Kath went to town more often. Orlon needed the work. He threw himself into building projects and healing with both the herbalist and the ladies of Nûrad. They kept the name though they were now in Khand. He showed them some of his breathing techniques for mindful rest. Humans have a terrible time purging unwished thoughts, but sometimes they could drift away for a few minutes.

When winter approached and he wanted to sing Syndolan songs, he realized he was nearly restored. He would leave next summer.

~o~

Unlike the west, there were no courts or places of adjudication other than whoever ran your part of the world. They did have the equivalent of notaries, generally scribes, who drafted petitions, wills and agreements. Since so few people could read here, those documents had to be kept by reliable folk who could produce them at need.

Mr. Xub was one such notary and this morning he got an unusual request. The tall, blonde man was Nag Kath Solvanth, agent for Kathen Properties west of the Great River. In that capacity, he wanted to make over all his interest in the land and possessions of Nennûrad Tujd to Stámöe Partners for the sum of five groats. The careful scribe said that presented no difficulty as long as the property was current on its taxes, which he would check as part of his service. It was. Three copies of the transfer were signed by the parties involved; one for each and one for the administrative office, proof that diamonds weren't worth what they were.

Mrs. Runcith was preparing to retire too. Management of the retreat was going to be more in the Ghurate style with a council of elders. They were the same council with new titles and this was planned before Nag Kath arrived. Mrs. Runcith would move in to care for her mother. The new fellow was Mr. Yourdish who reminded the Elf of Tumlen.

Nag Kath enjoyed the spring, worked the summer and said his goodbyes in August. They were dear people here. After so many years of courage in the face of daunting odds, they had earned peace. He urged Orlon over the bridge and made for Peshir, stopping only to have an ale or two with Pedrigs.

There were rumblings of conflict in Nûrn so he took the horse-track along the northern Ered Duath range. That meant six days to the mouth of Mordor where the bandits attacked and then skirting around the Eastern Desolation to the little towns popping up in the headwaters of the Súrûbeki. It was clear at these elevations and not a hard ford. There was indeed a road but not good for wagons. It hugged the foothills from those peaks with dozens of streams that had not existed in the dry of Sauron. Those joined others heading for the rising Rhûn.

~o~

Crossing that stream he knew he was in the west. Right living had changed now that Mordor and Angmar and all the other places were free of their vestigial blights. Men would equally cruel, be they ruler or father, but they could summon no more than their own wrath.

The adherents of Orlo were glad to know they succeeded. Somehow, one sole at a time, Orlo kept many people of those lands from the service of Sauron. Most were pressed and died. Some suffered for their faith, but enough got far enough away from the Yvsuldor that their heirs did not stand at the gates or back the line when the Rohirrim were stretched near to breaking.

It was not even a measurable contribution. It took all everyone else had; Hobbits, men of Dale, Dwarves in their thousands and, of course, the men of west. But every man of Khand and Chey who was not there meant one more western man standing in the smoke when the dead army finished their scouring. Nag Kath would never think that even the smallest effort was wasted.

~o~

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~o~