Well, this was supposed to be the last chapter of them on the road, but as I've said, I rewrote everything in the last chapter and spilled almost half of it into this one. Then this chapter was too long for one and yet too small for two, so knowing that I didn't want to cut anything out I just added a bit in. Then I got poem happy in the dream sequence and I had to split the chapter yet again. Now they'll be on the road until the end of Chapter 6 – well, actually until the beginning of Chapter 7. Never mind it though, this chapter is very nice, or so I think. I hope you'll enjoy it too!
And yet another thing, you might notice a slight change in my writing once more. I've been listening to a lot of different soundtracks while I've been writing the previous chapters, but today I finally got my hands on the TTT soundtrack (hey I live in the sticks, give be a break) and I'm listening to it now, and it's making my writing a little sad and freakish. Oh well, I rather like it this way. It shows more of Cali's sad, ethereal character, which is even better displayed in the next chapter, which I promise will come soon.
***
"Betwixt the 'tween fine silver sheen,
The fair moon's light and breath,
The maiden huntress lies awake,
Her bow the tool of death.
The call of them and morbid fright,
Into her heart does pierce.
And as the stars' rotation turns,
The latter more the fierce.
Upon the mount the huntress claims,
All land in which they dwell,
The charger swift and raven black,
And wards those creeds who fell.
Her arms are spread in blessings bright,
Her hair the very moon,
Yet in her eyes the huntress sees,
How hunters meet their doom.
In words of shivering silver quick,
And with a gentle hand,
The Lady calls upon her now,
The willing to withstand.
"Do not deny my children's lives,
When they your own do spare,
Lay your bow now down to rest,
And arrows keep from air."
And with her comes the raven wind,
And with it leaves her fright,
For now the huntress' eyes have seen,
But through darkness is there light.
The maiden of the silver wood,
Is but a spirit, true,
But should you see her by the moon,
This truth shall come anew.
Hear her voice among the song,
Of wolf and wind alike,
And see her face within stars,
And this is truer sight.
But scabbard not what magic wrought,
For blood-lack is in thy thread,
Nor call 'pon blade thy hand forsake,
Should in turn be key of dead.
Take such oath in matter light,
I scarce can be the thought,
By blade to live, in turn shall die,
Through battles left un-fought.
Such kings shall fall to fallow lands,
Whilst She should pass his way,
And all will cower in her name,
Ere come no break of day.
Should claim your soul the blade forsworn,
Perhaps shall thwart thy plight,
Be wary though of raven black,
Be turn her blade from light.
No, scabbard not, what magic wrought,
Though forsworn be worthy hand,
For sheath 'tis what hath saved thy blood,
Not blade of magic's land.
Shall songs be sung, oh valiant lord,
Whose tale ends now in vain,
Would that you should try her whiles,
Save be her newest bane.
Dwindle now thy blood-shorn form,
Think now of valley home,
In yonder life that drains thee now,
The pool of crimson is thy own.
Yet betwixt the 'tween, fair silver sheen,
A mind there yet exists,
And in her chest there lies a heart,
Which yours cannot resist.
The thorn that pricks may well yet slay,
Un-notched be perilous blade,
And when a hand is lain at hilt,
The life within not stayed.
To aver land is not to sway,
The growth that land should hold,
'Tis same of blade which turns in hand,
Lest in death that averred rules.
Of games the sword once was of use,
War mocked to occupy,
Should it be not that blade doth same,
What say it, you and I?
Betwixt this 'tween, fine silver sheen
Most morose of visions forms,
The strike of steel, the slick of blood,
The dark and battle worn.
A game of chase, she bids no more,
But the huntress not the prey,
A stag for stag, life spilled as king,
She plans no easy play.
Follow She, great champion,
Where e're the winds shall go,
And we may see the truer might,
And learn what we must know.
Bewitched, beware the living air
That creeps beneath your skin,
The silent bird that sits at watch,
Song only sung within.
The path she follows is her death,
But for destiny she fights,
And for her life have naught to fear,
If you stay within the Light."
Caliasar shivered as the words of a song tore through her mind like a river made new by much rain. At first the somber flow of words had seemed welcome, almost, and then suddenly with vehemence they became harsh as if the heavens had found no solace in their gentle tears and began to savagely pummel her mind with their sorrowful misgivings. Blackness was about her like a veil woven too thickly to stifling wool, and as she struggled to be free of that great and panic-worthy weight the words were lost to her ears, but their song remained, embedded in the corners of her mind to be drawn back when the time had come to fear premonition once more.
The darkness eased. A light was cast into that abyss, the feeble tongue of a candle as it hungrily drank the air. Two more pinpricks of light joined it suddenly and at once, but they were only a mockery of that truer light, two fell mirrors reflecting their poisonous glow by that flame. They were eyes – yellow eyes as if two spheres of gold had been given life and set into a creature's face whose features she could not yet see.
Who are you? her heart and mind screamed to beg, her skin crawling with the frustration of that adamant command's failure to be done. It was as if that candle had ignited her flesh, burning with the desire to do as she willed herself to do, and being time and time again denied. She was tearing, she was cracking, she was bursting with the brutal ache to make her lips move, to make her fingers curl into the fists that should have formed. She trembled with her pain, muscle set against muscle as those leering eyes bore into her. She had never felt such fear, such fear that she could not find what this creature was. She wished suddenly to flee, no longer giving heed to her desire to know who it was whose yellow glare had set her to such madness.
And then the voice of those eyes began to chant once more: "Bewitched, beware the living air, that creeps beneath your skin, the silent bird that sits at watch, song only sung within…"
A step was taken forward, and it was a woman who stood before her. She was tall and dark, if even she had not been standing within the shadows. But her every feature was still shrouded by obscurity, though the candle was in her hand. It was not on a post, but bear, its molten wax flowing like water down the candle shaft and over her hand. She continued to walk forward, and Caliasar could see how her skin bubbled and blistered with that fiery liquid. Why did she not let down the light?
"The path she follows is her death, but for destiny she fights, and for her life have naught to fear…"
Caliasar tried to back away, but she could not. Her heart had climbed her throat, there beating so loudly it seemed certain to burst. Her blood beat wickedly against her skin, her every breath tore like sand in wind against the flesh of her lungs. She is Karshega, she is the Maiden of the Blades…She is the failed Protector of the Light…And I am the new…
Yes, my pain is thine to feel in time…Your hour grows short, your candle burns high – beware of that flame, but do not let it fall, for my fate is yours, to dwell eternally in the Night! The fetch of Karshega, her ancestor, drew ever near. Caliasar's quaver renewed, giving all thought to closing her eyes. But they would not yield to her. Again the graceful stride of her tormentor thrust out again, and she stopped. With her steady hand, though boiling under her skin, she drew the candle up.
Caliasar had known what she would see, but never could one prepare to behold such agony. The woman's face had once been fair as new fallen snow and beauty had once dwelled upon her living flesh. But that skin lived no more. It was twisted, it was maimed, it was blistered and charred by the fire of her light. Her flowing black hair was now alike to brushwood being scorched long by fire. Her eyes were indeed of a golden hue as they had always been, but they were lain bear by burnt flesh, filled with ever-flowing tears that dried before they could touch her tortured skin, and with her eyelids seared to her brow she was unblinking. Her flame had once been strong indeed, for all of her was of this like, but now the candle burned low with little light, and soon it would go out. "…if you stay within the Light."
Her hand reached out, offering the candle to Caliasar. The youth stared into that flame, not willing to look upon the face of one whose beauty she had long admired in many a painting of books now faded of text. "The Light is yours to bear. I have failed…"
Caliasar flinched at her ancestor's words. "You have not failed, you have but taken the path as it was lain at your feet, and you have traveled it well. Let the Light go out – its time has ended. What good could cause such pain? The Night will heal what fire has caused…" Caliasar did not wish to touch the skin of this being. She did not wish to hold that candle, if all her life for that choice was forfeit.
"The Flame will burn, but the Light is not of the Flame. And yet in these times it is all that we have left to us, for the Light has passed and Night has come already long ago. But true darkness has not yet fallen. I have saved this last Light from the days of old – would you extinguish your last of hopes? The Night brings not healing, but great sorrow and greater hurt. Perhaps your deeds shall kindle this fire anew, and it will be for a time as if the Light has returned…"
"I will not bear it."
"I call upon you, Daughter of Light. You alone can conquer the abyss, be it for only a stolen season, you must restore the Memory of Light." Ever Karshega held the candle out to Caliasar, and the wax continued to spill away and boil the flesh of her hand. "Take it, or die in the Void, guilty of treason, guilty of sacrilege, guilty of your own weaknesses. That is what you fear? Death and pain hold no sway upon you. It is failure – but you have already failed, if you do not take the Last Light. My line has failed. The world hangs here this morn…"
Caliasar still gazed into the flame, entranced by its radiant dance, all words flowing over her as a river flows over long-worn stone. Failure…You fear to fail them…Her hand rose as if time itself bore down upon her flesh. With quivering fingers she reached forth, and as her grasp neared the candle it suddenly reversed its spell, as fallen wax at once was gone into the earth, and new like the stem of some fair flower grew upon the shaft, cast high and beautiful once more.
The flame grew tall and bright, and as her fingers closed about the smooth wax there was a blinding luminescence about all. She looked up, and where the flame-seared woman had stood there was a creature of youth and beauty once more. She smiled, and turning toward the shadows again was gone.
Caliasar was alone then in the darkness, with only her single light, which now in her solitude seemed but a feeble ember dying into cold ash. Like a whisper of remaining evil there came a new thread: "See the darkness round about, but be not of its spell…"
Suddenly a drop of wax fell upon Caliasar's hand as the candle began to burn down once more in its slow and all so finite eternity. She flinched as she felt her skin burn, but could not move to cast the candle away if even her heart would let her.
And again came that voice, though now it seemed her own, and alike to the terrible hiss of a beast long without the light of day upon its face. "Stay in the Light!"
***
With a suddenness that shook her very core to waking alarm Caliasar felt a hand fall on her shoulder. She flinched to consciousness, but found no slavering beast before her. It was the figure of a man, and his fair face was drawn ever fairer with a smile, soft, as if he did not think that it was appropriate to smile, at least not right then. No, it was not a man, but an elf, whose name soon followed in thought.
Glorfindel narrow his eyes as he looked upon her, almost as if he was trying to see if she was well. "They have stopped talking, more than an hour ago." She had been murmuring as if in recorded reply for much longer than even that, but her voice was the words of a strange and desolate song, chanted rather than sung, but whispered so softly by her sleeping lips that only he had been capable of deciphering her words, if the others had even heard her speech in their weary stupor.
Caliasar did not appear yet fully arrived to the present. Her eyes did not look past the elf, but rather through him, and she swayed as one drained of blood. For a moment he thought that she would fall and made ready to catch her, but she steadied at once, and blinking the glaze from her eyes seemed to truly wake once more. "I must have fallen asleep…" her lips hardly moved, and her voice did not seem her own. But then, he was not sure exactly what face of her she truly was.
Suddenly Caliasar smiled, and gazing up to let the pale light of dawn flow over her face she sighed, warmth slowly returning to her death-pale skin once more. Then she laughed as she often did, that laughter of clear rain fallen gently within the wood, bringing each leaf that she touched to singing joy.
Given leave to merriment once again Glorfindel was swift to join her newest temper. "You sleep even as you walk?" he said, and his eyebrows arched incredulously, or perhaps only in amazement, if there was any end in her ability to amaze.
"It is a habit, long in possession and slow in discarding," she shrugged slightly. "One can only travel for so many years in the same company before one begins to learn how to ignore that company, and how to benefit from the time in which one ignores them."
At this he too laughed, though the sound was controlled and soon extinguished. "We must halt now, for our hobbits do not have such luxuries as walking slumber, though stopping is not at all to my liking. Take what further rest you may, for soon our haste shall be even more."
Caliasar cast her gaze about once more as the elf-lord strode away. The skies were dark, yet pale with the gray morning, as was all the land that surrounded her, as if under a great cloak of shadow. It must have been no more than an hour or so after the break of dawn, and even as she watched the hobbits stumbled to the ground and were asleep. Aragorn, as well, cast himself down in the heather but a few yards away from the roadside.
She shivered in the dimness and the chill, for it was not a true cold, but rather a breath of ice that drew to the very bones and made one seem all the colder for the lack of that truer cold. Glorfindel had glimpsed that raw upwelling within her eyes, had his own or his words not belied it. The pool of crimson is thy own…
Resigned to the tire of evil dreams and their bitter wakings, she too lay down, though sleep was slow to come. Glorfindel had set himself to watch as they slept, which was more disquieting than it was comforting, though she did not understand their fear as his lingering glance did not comprehend her torments. He could well enough see her pain, as she could see their trepidation, yet neither knew the other's mind. There was the guess of silence about them, two powers of two worlds made distant by their very evils. His eyes then turned to the road, and her eyes drew inward to her own decipherings once more.
The Memory of Light… Many times had this dream come to Caliasar as she slept, most often at such unlikely times. With each vision she was a different face of a woman, some obscure relic of the past, some shield maiden of a great people, some vagabond of a lowly state. And each time also was the face of her tormenter different than the last. But this day – this day she had dreamed of Karshega, of all greatest beings! And she had been her own face, so many masks of so many women as her own mentality was. In all other times it was as her hand had hardly neared the candle that some waking savior would be sent, and yet this day the dream had almost run its course. How close had she come to that terrible beast that was her tortured self… How much closer would she come? This world does me ill that the pains of my own should reach with sharper blades the further I flee their worry.
No color more than pale gray came to the skies, though she was most certain that without all of those sinister mantles of cloud the dawn would have been a most beautiful sight. At last, no longer able to bear such foreboding silence, she let herself fall to sleep. There was no use wasting what little time of rest she had.
It seemed only a moment latter that Glorfindel awakened her, and indeed, it had only been a few hours. The day was breaching noon, and though she herself felt more awake than she had for many days, the hobbits and even Aragorn stumbled through the sunlit hours as if they had not slept at all, and there was little talk of any kind. Frodo seemed far worse than he had, and the fear that seemed so distant but a short time ago seemed now so real to Caliasar that the memory of her own troubles, a world apart, seemed as a feather to the weight of the shadow that bore down over the poor hobbit's shoulders. They rested little that day, and when darkness came, they were once more forced to halt. They could not go further that night, no matter if all the forces of evil were now in their pursuit.
And it was then that Caliasar glanced to her hand and found a small, circular burn.
***
Recap: Cali has a dream about one of her ancestors. I'm not telling you anything more, because when in Rivendell and afterwards she explains the whole thing. Mwaha.
Oh, before I forget, this might be a good time to tell you something about Cali's world. You may have noticed that she doesn't seem very worried about all that's going on in Middle-earth, even if she is a little confused about exactly what is going on, and that is for a good reason. When she does seem worried it's always when she is thinking about her world. That's because all that's happening in Middle-earth has basically happened already in her world. In fact, one of her ancestors failed in a quest much like Frodo's, and her planet is in essence trying to win back its freedom from a "Dark Lord" once more after "he" rose to power again. She'll explain it better in Rivendell, but I just thought that you should know why she doesn't seem very worried. She's seen it all before.