Author's notes: Many thanks to all of you who took the time to read and review the first chapter.
In this chapter, it gets darker.
Warning: Violence ahead. However, despite the chapter's contents no orcs or boys were harmed during the writing of the story.
Regarding the dreams: they are relevant to Sauron's appearances in the Silmarillion. Additional information in the coming chapters.
CHAPTER 2: Of beasts and men.
"…To have a taste of living flesh, of blood that runs aflame.
He weaves a pattern in the air and then he speaks the Name…"
"Tenebrae"
Perhaps leaving Umbar had been a great mistake.
Neither his skill with the blade nor the ease with which he blended in a crowd were of great value in the world outside the city walls. The old, fainted map he had purchased from an aged merchant displayed the main landscape features, but it included little information on the locations of fresh water and animal trails. Bewitched by tales of power and glory and driven by his burning desire to seek out the source of his dreams, he had foolishly packed few useful supplies for the journey in the wilderness of the Southern lands.
He followed the coastline to the north in search of the Harnen river mouth. Unaccustomed as he was to sunlight, during the days he suffered under the merciless blaze of the sun. At nights he sought refuge in the caves along the shore, trembling in his light traveling clothes during the chilly hours of darkness, since most of the times he had little success with staring a fire. He could not recall being as hungry in his whole life. Even as a child living in the back alleys, he would always find scraps of food or fat rats to fill his stomach. But for the past week, after his food supplies had been consumed, he had found himself threatened by starvation.
He dined on eggs of sea birds, on the skinny bodies of the rock lizards, on roots and leaves and sometimes small animals, whenever he had any luck in trapping one of those. Most of the times he ate them raw, struggling to keep the food down despite his revolting stomach, missing badly the taverns of his homeland, the spiced meats and the ale. He was more fortunate with finding fresh water; the few streams marked on his map by the hand of a merchant who had traveled the desert routes countless times proved to be accurate.
And every night, craving the small luxuries of the cheap inns, he wrapped his body inside his thin blanket and dozed off in a restless sleep, hoping that the larger predators would not catch his scent. Every night, the thought of turning back surfaced on his mind.
And every night he dreamt.
The night breeze carried memories of the fire and brimstone that once burned on an island now lost beneath the waves. Although not one pillar had survived the wrath of the Valar, his blood still bore the remnants of the deceitful web that had ensnared those greatest among men. The whispered promises of eternal life, of ancient knowledge and forbidden power, tasted like sweet wine as a mellow voice caressed his ear in what was barely a dream.
Stray from the truth but a little; spice the past with a different perspective of gilded shadows. Play with desires, jest with the fears; weave your words to a veil to cast over hearts and minds until their world acquires the shade of your choice.
When naughty sunbeams warmed his face, he could still hear the eerie voice in his ears, warming his blood like no hearth ever could.
And all thoughts of turning back left his mind.
~*~
He soon reached the mouth of Harnen and turned northeast, traveling along the riverbank. But the man who stared back at him from the water surface, as he knelt to refresh his throat, bore little resemblance to the face he had known. His features appeared rough and his eyes glowed wildly from exhaustion. He was hungry and tired and sometimes his vision blurred, making him stumble as he marched on.
It was the fourth day of his journey along the river when he came upon a clearing amidst a circle of willows. Although the sun was still high, he felt his legs heavy and grasped the opportunity for a much needed rest. Somehow, life seemed to favor him that day. He had luck in catching several river fish that had strayed close to the bank and he was successful in starting a fire. With his hunger partially satiated, he rested his head on the soft grass and almost instantly he fell asleep.
What troubled him that night was no dream. Exhausted as he was, he never heard the orc band approaching and setting a camp close to him; not until it was too late. The smell of the roasted fish that still lingered on had disclosed his presence when he started from his sleep to the sound of growls and metal clatter. Still dizzy, he reached for his blade. But his arm moved a bit too slow; his eyes caught the flash of steel a moment too late and the last thing he knew was the fierce pain as something blunt hit the back of his head.
Then all was darkness.
~*~
He came to under a starlit sky. Feeling his muscles sore and his head a sphere of blinding pain, he stretched his neck to check his surroundings. He could only see rough forms moving close to him and fragments of inhuman speech reached his ears. Testing the ropes that held him down, he realized suddenly that he was held captive by orcs. He had never seen any of their race before, but he had heard tales from travelers and in terror he recalled that they were rumored to favor human flesh.
How does it feel to be eaten?
Some time near dawn, the pain in his head overpowered him and he passed out again.
~*~
Night had fallen when the orc approached the unconscious prisoner. Most of his comrades were gone, continuing the raids at the nearby settlements, but due to a recent injury Kraug had stayed behind to prepare the meal for the war party. He felt the human's flesh under the dirty clothes and frowned. This one must have been on the road for some time now, Kraug thought, and his muscles have hardened. There is hardly any soft meat left on his bones. Cooking a decent meal from this kind of prey would be a test of his skills and patience, but in the wilderness he had little choice.
At least the human was still unconscious. He preferred freshly killed prey but the screaming and cursing bored him; not to mention that it spiced the flesh with a bitter taste that no culinary skill could conceal.
Grinning, Kraug reached for the ropes that held the human securely bound on the tree trunk. The captive's head hung over his chest with strands of dirty black hair veiling his face. The orc cut the ropes one by one so he could start dividing the meat to portions before cooking it. Absorbed in thoughts of recipes and spices, Kraug never sensed the change in his prey. He never saw the lids that parted to reveal the inhuman glow of the insane; neither did he see him baring his teeth in a hungry grin.
He only felt the sharp pain in his throat as the human's jaws closed on his flesh, severing nerves and arteries. All sound was drowned in black blood as he fell back, bleeding to death.
Kraug died in the wilderness between Umbar and Mordor, feeling little pain but great wonder.
Why had no one warned him about orc-eating humans?
~*~
How he found himself covered by black blood he would never know. With the coming of the dawn he stared around him, still dizzy. What was once a serene river clearing now resembled a slaughterhouse. The stench of death surrounded him and at least three mutilated orcs were lying on the ground. He blinked, unable to understand what had killed his captors. All he could remember was the strange visions of the past night.
Blood, fresh and warm harvested under a full moon. A cord woven from the hair of children that died in their sleep. A pelt of a black wolf, thrice blessed under the dark of the moon.
With bloodied fingers make your skin a scroll of old enchantments and scribe the howl of the wolf upon your body and soul. Toss the pelt over your head and shoulders and tie the cord around your waist, opening your heart to the lust of the hunt.
Bite, tear and claw, sever the flesh from the bones and feast on warm blood and fear, rejoice free from the boundaries of the human conscience.
Eat, drink and mate, wolf-kin, and bless the name of the Wolf-Lord.
The man shook his head to clear his mind from the strange images. Stumbling, he made his way to the water to clean his body from the dried blood. How much of it was his own he could not tell, but he felt the sting of countless wounds under the crusts. He had to clean himself and leave this place of death, before the rest of the orcs returned. Or, worse, before what had killed them came back.
Clenching his teeth, he stepped into the water. But the pain of a thousand burning stings blurred his vision as the cold water touched his broken skin. His knees could not support him any longer and he fell on the river bank, unconscious.
~*~
"This one is still alive."
This is no orc, he thought, still not completely conscious. The first human words he had heard since he left Umbar were accompanied by the sounds of horses and feet treading upon grass and pebbles. He strained to open his eyes, but his lids refused to comply. Unable to see the people around him, he focused on the conversation and tried to understand their words.
They spoke in a dialect he had heard few times before, but many words were common among the desert tribes that occasionally visited Umbar. There was talk about orc raids and a battle during the night that had resulted in casualties among the men. He assumed that the rest of the orcs had either fled or had been slain and these riders had pursued the rest of the party. However, their intentions regarding his fate were still unclear.
His mind was drifting between blackness and lucidity when he felt someone rolling him on his back and pulling him out of the water. Hands traced his skin, feeling bones for fractures and flesh for deep injuries. When those hands examined his head, a low moan left his lips and he passed out again.
He regained consciousness under the roof of an unknown building. Uncertain of how the residents of this place would treat him, he risked a glance at his surroundings. It appeared that he was alone in a small, dark room. There was a window above his head and a thick cloth kept the sunlight out. The shapes of several everyday objects became clear in his eyes, as his vision adjusted to the dimness of the room. There were a couple of stools and a low table; a cabinet against the wall and a mug and two cups beside it. But although his sight was still weak, his nostrils were filled by the lingering smell of herbs and flowers.
The sound of footsteps alarmed him and he closed his eyes, pretending to be still asleep as someone walked in the room and approached the bed he was in. A soft, cool hand cupped his forehead and another draft of scented air surrounded him. And all of the sudden he was overwhelmed by the strangest of feelings, one that made his heart flutter like never before.
He felt safe.
Unwilling to break the spell he was caught in, he dared not move or speak or even breathe faster. He surrendered to the sense of a kind hand tending his injured body, having lost all memories of death and dark dreams. But his body had needs that would not obey his heart's longing and the pressing urge of his lower abdomen finally made him move. His first exchange with the healer of the river clan proved to be rather embarrassing, for he lacked the proper words to make her understand his need. She chuckled, he grinned nervously but then she left so he could relieve himself in the pot she handed him.
And his heart still fluttered.
~*~
Each day of the months that followed held a new surprise for him. Having grown up in the streets and depending on none other but himself, he had never experienced this kind of unselfish acceptance. Those who lived at the banks of Harnen and traveled the desert trading routes were straightforward people and their ways were simple. They were men of few words and women with warm eyes and lines on their faces, having seen many of their sons, brothers and mates riding out to the desert to never return. He was accepted as another child of the desert, wounded in fight against the orcs that raided the villages that did not pay homage to the Dark Lord.
He feared that, had they known of his past, he would be driven out. So he never spoke of his days in Umbar letting them believe that it was his hand that had slaughtered the orcs by the river. Soon, friendship bloomed between him and the healer's family; her son Dabir and her brother Abar. Safa's husband had been killed while the boy was still a babe and ever since she had lived with her brother, using her skills to help the people of her tribe. And the man from Umbar found a home under their roof, a simple but safe bed to sleep in and eyes that did not greet him with suspicion.
During the times when his head still troubled him, he assisted Safa with her chores, gathering and drying the herbs she needed for her brews. In the cabinets of her room dozens of pots and pouches were stored, leaves from the river plants and desert flowers that blossomed only after the rare desert rains. Dabir showed him around their household, how to tend to the chickens and the horses. His hands had never been trained in anything but theft and killing; now they learned how to feed and heal. His life was serene and his heart still fluttered, for the dark dreams no longer troubled him.
It was the calm before the storm.
~*~
"What have you done?"
He raised his head, confused, as the night became suddenly darker and colder. What icy grip had seized his heart and ended the warm fluttering? Perhaps it had come with the blood that covered the earth around him, with the torn remains of the slaughtered birds and the broken body of the hound who whined pitifully across the barn, still holding on between life and death. Perhaps it was the presence of evil that had fallen over the peaceful village during the night lusting for blood.
But perhaps it was the memory of the dark dreams that had reclaimed his soul.
Feel the night wind as it soars over plains and valleys, its howl the lament of countless lost souls. Invite the wind into your soul; embrace it, until wind and man are made one. Taste the wrath of the damned, feast on the spite of the lost and rejoice as the lust ignites forbidden desires.
Then fall on your prey like fire from the heavens.
"What have you done?"
He blinked and his hand moved to his brow, to remove something that irritated his sight. Blood; blood and feathers and pieces of torn flesh. He traced his skin with his fingers, feeling the outline of a face he no longer knew, for it bore the marks of a beast. Yet the eyes, the brows, the nose were his; but the bloodlust that curled his lips seemed alien to this place and this life. The blood-red awakenings of Umbar belonged to another man; a man who had never known of family and home.
But the boy who stood on the doorway thought otherwise.
"What have you done?"
Dabir was staring at him with horror written on his drawn face. For the past week, the village had suffered the attacks of wild animals during the night, presumably foxes or wild cats that had killed livestock. But the real beast lived among them. And the man from Umbar realized in horror what had killed the orcs that had taken him captive all those months ago. As fragments of suppressed memories passed behind his eyes, for a fleeting moment his horror was mingled with thrill.
He shook his head. That life was behind him. Safa would teach him the lore of the herbs and how to dispel his nightmares. The way her head bent sideways when she looked at him, the twinkle in her eyes when he accidentally touched her arm had given him the ephemeral promise of family and love. He had earned the respect of the men and he rode with them. Perhaps one day he would even lead them.
He would not lose that.
Wild beasts could easily be blamed for this night's incident. If needed, he would chain himself on his bed to prevent anything similar from happening again. But then he met the cold accusation in the boy's eyes and all his plans fell in pieces.
Dabir would tell them what he had seen that night. They would know him for the monster he was and hate him. They would spit on the ground in disgust and drive him out in the desert, leaving him to die under the scorching sun, his body prey to the desert beasts until nothing more was left of him than a pile of bleached bones. In anguish, he clenched his fists.
He could not allow that.
~*~
A soft crack as a boy's neck was broken; a sigh that made the night breeze to tremble as a soul was released, while human jaws closed on human flesh for the first time.
In the depths of Dol Guldur, the Dark Lord rejoiced.