Chapter 7
Ulmo, Aragorn decided miserably, had not been listening. He stared at the mist ahead, the cold droplets of suspended water merging with the boat's spray to hit him in the face with every dip of their ship over the high waves. If anything the weather had gotten worse.
They were four days out of Pelargir now, had come about half way according to Callon's careful calculations and still matters seemed to decline rather than improve. Could their luck continue on this downward spiral?
The sky overhead was an oppressive gray, dark clouds merging together to cast everything beneath them into an unnatural twilight, bringing the illusion of impending dusk though they should be eating the midday meal. Not that there was much of a feast to be had aboard their ships. The cooks continued to hand out hot soup or broth, and with the cold and wet weather, that was all the sailors demanded. Something that would allow them to warm their hands and bellies against the lingering chill of the open sea.
They were heading south, should be heading towards warmer waters and a gentler climate. Yet, if anything, early spring seemed to want to remind them that winter's chill had not yet given up its hold on them. Even so, the cold was not the worst they faced, for mingled with the icy winds was a nameless sense of dread, a heavy weight that laid itself over the spirits of any man aboard the ships, filling their hearts with fear and their souls with doubt.
How long would they be able to trudge along, with their spirits oppressed by the continuing gloom and the unerring onslaught of malevolence from the eastern shore? Already he could see cracks forming. Men grouping together but shutting others out, fights breaking out over matters of little consequence, voices raised in discontent. He could see the worry on Callon's face, but Aragorn had enough experience at sea to see the signs of an impending mutiny himself.
As if conjured by his thoughts, Callon stepped up beside him, his face grim as he glanced ahead. "I don't like the looks of those clouds, Thorongil. If I didn't know any better I would think your mission was forsaken by the gods."
"But you do know better," Aragorn replied carefully, sensing what Callon wasn't saying. "What of the men?"
Callon sighed. "The men do not know better. They seem to think we're cursed, some," he paused briefly but soldiered on, "some seem to think your elven companions are the cause."
Aragorn was silent for a long time. The words rang unpleasantly true - he had heard those very concerns whispered by disgruntled men. And he knew that Callon would have heard much more ill-content voices, the men less guarded around him than around "the Minas Tirith Captain".
"What do you suggest?"
Callon shrugged, "More ale, better food for a day or two. You can't convince a sailor of simple truths, but you can certainly bribe him to forget his suspicions for some time." He chuckled, but the laughter sounded forced to Aragorn's ears and he could see that worry still gnawed at the sea captain, for all his attempts to hide it. And truly, what were their options?
He nodded. "Let us try."
As Callon moved away, Aragorn glanced ahead again at the dark clouds on the horizon. It seemed there was more than one storm brewing for their fleet.
-o0o-
When the storm broke at nightfall it did so with vicious force and relentless anger. Hail rained down from the sky, big as an arrow tip and with edges just as sharp. Cries went up from the men on board the bigger ships around their dhow, sounds of pain and panic amid the booming thunder and torrential rain. Already the wood under his feet was turning treacherously slick and Elrohir fought to hold on to the rain drenched rope in his hands as the wind tore mercilessly at their sail.
He hauled again, giving Egrahil and Elladan the chance, finally, to throw themselves onto the folded mainsail and tie it down with thick rope, hopefully eliminating the immediate danger of a loose beam striking anyone on board.
But that was only one of the dangers. Giant waves rocked their boat, tilting it from starboard to port in dangerous swirls, mocking them with the constant danger of toppling the small dhow entirely. Elrohir swore and gripped the rudder closer, making sure to keep a tight grip on the rope support that he had wound around the base of the wheel to steady himself against the raging winds. Tying himself to the ship entirely was too great a risk in this weather, for he had no wish to go down with Elladan's tiny dhow.
Out of the sleeting rain, Elladan appeared at his side suddenly, his gaze on the Shakalzagar, his voice raised to shout so that Elrohir could hear him over the sound of the roaring storm. "They are changing course! I think they are making for the Bay of Harnen."
Elrohir glanced up as well, though he could not see the deck of the caravel from here, he could see the big hull looming closer, its path crossing dangerously close to their own.
Throwing his weight on the rudder to force the sluggish ship left and out of the way of the much larger caravel, Elrohir just missed being struck by one of the dangerous lumps of ice still falling with the rain. The jagged edge of the hail missile cut a long streak across his cheek before it cluttered noisily to the deck.
Wind howled, and within it, invested in the very rain that was falling around them, Elrohir could feel the touch of the úlair. Its voice, the shrill, otherworldly scream that still haunted his dreams, came over the ocean, wrapping itself around their fleet, spinning the storm in its power.
"There is dark magic in the air." Elrohir shouted and he could see from his twin's face that Elladan could feel it, too.
"The bay might help." Elladan did not sound convinced, and he did not elaborate, saving his breath for the wind tore their words from their lips as soon as they spoke them.
And what choice did they have? They could not remain on the open sea, where the force of the wind and waves would eventually tear them apart. Their dhow first, followed by the larger caravel of Gondor. Already the wood under his feet was creaking and groaning, the ship was protesting the forces that played with it like an unloved toy.
He grit his teeth. Harnen at least would lessen the force of the waves. The bay was vast, large enough that its walls would not become a terrible threat to the ships, but small enough that the ocean could not keep up its unfestered strength either, confined as it would be by the outlet of the Harnen river.
There was only one concern - making for the bay would put them closer to land, closer to the very evil that was coming for them. The ringwraith had been following them since Minas Tirith and would surely await them. Nazgûl feared the waters and would not dare to cross them without a bridge, but what did that avail them if the úlair could force them to come to him?
The ship groaned as another wave crashed upon its hull, tilting the deck dangerously to the side. Elrohir reached out to catch Elladan before he could be thrown overboard, his wet hand barely in time to grasp a fistful of his brother's soaked clothes. The support rope cut into his other hand with the force of the pull, of trying to stay on board when the ship was bucking like a maddened gelding. The rudder spun wildly.
The truth was they could not face this storm.
Their priority now had to be not to drown. If that meant they had to face the úlair, so be it.
Elrohir set his face in a determined scowl as he accepted the truth - and found that he welcomed it. He was done running away. The constant pressure on his mental defenses, the sense of dread and failure that had tracked him since Minas Tirith, he would set an end to them all. It was time to see just how effective Glorfindel's teachings could be.
With the triangular storm jib, their only raised sail, beating furiously ahead, with its threads straining under the colossal force, he propelled their dhow forward and towards Harnen. They rushed past the Shakalzagar, taking the lead in easy strides as the smaller ship cut through the more shallow waves with an ease that the larger caravel could not match. Ahead of them, through the sheets of rain and hail, the bay became visible – a dark, gaping hole in the coastline of Harad where the shore receded to make way for the river.
Wind and water continued to pound them and their dhow rocked in the wild waves like a drunken rider on a bucking horse. But the wind was in their favor, the tormenting onslaught came from the sea, pushing them forwards towards the coast and the bay, herding them onwards towards what Elrohir knew was nothing other than a trap. The wind was pushing them right into the waiting arms of the úlair. Already he could see the shore looming closer. If the wind kept pushing them northeast he would have to be weary of running the dhow aground on unseen undepths. And the large Gondorian caravels would be at even greater risk. He only hoped Ulmo would not forsake them now, would balance the magic of the foul creature that hunted them.
Lightning struck overhead and thunder boomed instantly, deafeningly. They were in the very heart of the storm now. Through rain, hail and spray it was hard to even see where they were going anymore, though the air seemed charged with an unholy blue glow, lending an eerie cast to the ships as they strove for the safety of the bay, as they sought to escape the torment of the elements unleashed.
Another crack sounded, but not from the heavens above. It was closer, more terrifying, and it was accompanied by screams. A rope must have snapped aboard the Shakalzagar. Whipping his head up to see through the pelting waters, Elrohir could make out its coiled form whipping over the side of the deck, tossing men and barrels aside like flies. To his mounting horror the main sail sheared loose. Bereft of the support of the rope that must have constrained it, it tore free of the mast and broke upon the quarter and the main deck. As it crashed down it tore out railings and timber and tossed men over the side of the ship like dolls.
Elrohir's heart froze. He recognized one of the men.
"Estel!" Elladan had recognized their little brother as well, and unencumbered by the task of steering their ship, he wasted no time to leap into the waters.
Elrohir cursed.
Another gust of wind rocked their ship, straining the sail and pushing the dhow forward, away from Elladan and Estel in a heartbeat. The younger twin desperately kept his eyes on the water, searching the surging waves for any sight of either of his brothers, but he saw nothing.
"Egrahil!", he shouted at the lieutenant who had rushed to the spot that Elladan had jumped into the waters, but the man looked back at him and shook his head in mute terror. He could not see Elladan either.
Cursing once more, he grabbed the rudder tighter. "Hold on!" With a mighty push he turned the dhow into the wind, heading straight for shore. The sail groaned as it strained against the full force of the wind that now caught it and the boat leapt forward. Once Elladan had found Estel, he would make for the shore – he had to.
There was no other option Elrohir was willing to consider. His brothers would reach land – and he would be waiting for them. Ready to berate Elladan's recklessness and to patch both of them back up.
-o0o-
The world was swirling, heaving chaos. Elladan had plunged into the waves without much thought, fixing his gaze on his adopted brother, hoping that he would not lose this line of sight in the fray of the churning waters.
It had been a vain hope.
Behind him the dhow veered suddenly as it was grabbed by the wind once more and was out of reach in a heartbeat, but that mattered little. Another wave crashed just ahead of him, dragging at his feet as it passed him, trying to suck him beneath the waters. But he moved forward. He had lost his line of sight, but he was still swimming in the right direction – or so he hoped. Estel must be close.
Surprisingly, the water was not cold. Drenched as he was from the falling rain, the sudden absence of the howling wind actually made the water seem warmer than the boat had been.
He saw other shapes floating in the water now, broken wood, lopsided barrels, men. Most of them were swimming, flailing their arms as they fought against the weight of clothes and boots, but making their way slowly either back towards the Shakalzagar or towards shore. The latter was probably the safer option, given how the large caravel was still teetering in the winds, and Elladan would attempt the same once he had found Estel.
Estel. There was still no sight of him, and increasingly Elladan's worry mounted, threatening to choke him more efficiently than the salty water that kept splashing in his face.
Finally, his sight caught on to the mess of unruly hair he knew so well. Estel's curls were drenched and lacking their usual stubborn bounce, but Estel himself was awake, looking back at him as if he doubted his own sanity. He awkwardly clung to a piece of broken timber with one hand while his other arm dragged in the water behind him.
As Elladan reached his side, holding on to the other end of the broken piece of wood, Estel opened his mouth as if to say something but then shut it and just shook his head, exasperated.
"I am happy to see you, too, littlest brother." Elladan lilted with a grin.
He grasped the wooden beam beside Aragorn and together, with both of them kicking their legs to propel them forward, they cleared the waters around the Shakalzagar, heading miserably slowly towards the shore. The waves were in their favor now, rising them up and pushing them on, always towards land. It was a good thing, too, for it seemed that Aragorn's arm caused him significant trouble. He winced whenever the waters grabbed a hold of it and hissed softly through clenched teeth.
Of his other brother there was no sign. Even though Elladan tried to pierce the heavy shroud of falling rain, looked around repeatedly scanning the waters as far as he could see - there was no sign of their dhow. No sign of Elrohir.
And the storm continued to thicken. Impossibly the rain fell harder, the wind blew stronger, as they approached the beach. The waves towered high, pushing them ever faster, and Elladan and Estel washed up on the beach sooner than he had expected. Yet he found no comfort in that. The winds swirled around them, a shrill noise, as the unnatural voice of the ring wraith mingled with the howling of the wind and the thunder of the surf.
They gained their feet and Elladan dragged Estel further from the water, mindful of his obviously injured arm.
"Dislocated, I think." Estel supplied between heaving breaths. The plunge from the Shakalzagar and their swim for shore had left him winded. And Elladan noted dismayed that he was visibly shaking in the icy winds.
He probed his brother's arm, enough to confirm Estel's own assessment before taking a gentle hold of his younger brother's shoulder and wrist. "This will hurt."
Estel glanced at him, his lips pressed together in a tight line but his gaze steady as he nodded. "I know. Especially when it's you who – ah!"
Elladan let go of his arm again, grinning despite their situation. "It is always best to wait for the patient to be witty, there is less of a chance of them biting their tongue that way", he intoned what did not sound like a medical lesson of their father's.
But the moment of levity was quick to pass, as Elladan kept scanning the beach, trying to pierce the curtain of rain, to spot any sign of their ship or Elrohir. With the oppressive force of the storm still raging, with its supernatural dread still clouding his senses he could not be sure, but he thought he felt a growing sense of trepidation from his twin. Something was amiss.
Sand shifted beneath his feet as he stood to his feet, nudging a recent memory.
Black sand shifting, a sudden hurry, a horrible dread - and a black shadow given shape, wielding a jagged knife.
His blood ran cold.
"We need to find Elrohir!"
-o0o-
A/N: And we're back to our regularly scheduled ... schedule :D. I'm still not 100% restored but I'm getting there slowly and I will do my best to stick to my Monday posting routine from here on out (fingers crossed). I loved writing this chapter!
And I dearly hope you'll enjoy reading it. If you do or did, please let me know.