Part XV
The Stairway
Pippin stepped into a hall whose ceiling was dimly visible, inscribed with picture-writing and bearing the machinery for the opening of the door. Bangshar investigated the mechanism and broke it, leaving the door open. "I think a way out will be less dangerous than letting other people in," he said.
"The danger is already inside," said Maglor. Pippin looked at him questioningly. "I sense the wizard," he confirmed.
Zeah walked ahead. She held out her torch. A few feet from the entrance the floor fell into a chamber. "Be careful," she said to her companions.
Pippin came up next to her. "What is it?" He could barely see the bottom.
"A drainage pit," Zeah guessed.
"And a convenient trap," Bangshar added. He looked around. "No way across."
Pippin pointed at the ceiling, where the ropes for the door mechanism were suspended by a sort of pulley. He called Bangshar's attention to it.
Bangshar had brought a small pack. Glancing up he looked at Pippin, nodded, and produced a length of rope of his own.
"How will we attach it?" Zeah wanted to know.
"So," said Maglor, taking an arrow from his quiver. Bangshar unspliced the end of the rope and tied a cord to the end of the arrow. Maglor drew, took aim, and let fly.
The arrow sped up through the darkness and neatly threaded the bronze pulley with the cord. Bangshar took the free end and, with the practice of a crewman of a sailing ship, coiled the rope several times around the pulley body with strong flicks of his wrists.
He tugged hard and nodded to the others.
"I'll go first," said Pippin.
He took a few steps back and leapt at a run, landing on the other side with a small tumble.
Zeah shouted, "Pippin!"
"I'm all right," he said, picking himself up. "Not quite as graceful as an Elf, I'm afraid." He gestured. "Come on."
Zeah followed, and then Bangshar. The pulley gave a little at the unfamiliar weight being put to it, loosening from its fastening in the mud blocks of the wall. Some plaster crumbled down into the pit.
"Something is moving down there," Bangshar muttered.
Maglor went last. Even as he jumped, the pulley loosened, and Pippin feared it would fall. But Maglor swung gracefully through the air and landed firmly on the far side even before the mechanism loosened completely from the ceiling and fell into the black pit.
They heard a rumbling and a sliding, moving sound in the shadows. Pippin took Zeah's torch and tried to peer over, but Maglor stopped him.
"It is already awake," he said.
"What is?" Pippin wanted to know.
The grinding, moving sound came again, grew loud, and then dwindled, as if whatever was causing it had moved away. "We must go on," said Maglor.
"Agreed," said Pippin, and led the way.
They found their way through a short hall to a wider descending passage. Maglor stopped them. "Wait," he said. "I am certain there is a trap here."
He said to Zeah, "Girl. Throw your veil through the air onto the floor."
Zeah bristled at the Elf's condescension, but unwound her head-scarf and veil and flung it down the corridor.
Darts flew from the walls and embedded themselves in the fabric ere it hit the floor.
The four of them said nothing for a long moment. "Well then!" said Pippin, the first one to speak.
They groped their way down the sloping passage with its tapering ceiling and massive stone blocks, Zeah and Maglor tripping the triggers of the hidden defenses. One was almost too quick for them. Zeah hurled fabric forward, and barely did Maglor say, "Down!" when bronze spikes sprang from holes in the wall, sending each of them jumping in one of four directions.
Pippin leaned on one of the spikes that had just missed running him through. "I'm beginning to truly dislike this place," he said.
They extricated themselves from the only to find the floor studded with more small holes.
"You were saying?" Bangshar said to Pippin.
"We will have to be quick," Maglor said, and went first, gliding over the paving-stones. Zeah followed, and also managed to cross without activating the spikes. They waited on a landing at the bottom of the hall.
Bangshar motioned to Pippin. "You first," he said. "You're more important."
Pippin hesitated, and then went.
His first step was too heavy, and randomly the spikes began to rise up from the floor. "No time!" Pippin cried. "Come on, Bangshar!" And he and the Easterling raced through the trap, as the spikes rose with building speed and frequency. "Ow!" Pippin cried, as his right foot landed on the tip of a rising spike.
"Pippin!" Zeah cried.
Gritting his teeth, Pippin struggled on, but Bangshar coming behind him grabbed him and carried him the rest of the way to the landing.
Maglor examined the wound. "It is only a cut, not too deep," he said. "Can you walk on it?"
"I'll have to, won't I?" Pippin replied testily. "More importantly, I can climb on it, and that's why I'm here." Bangshar bandaged Pippin's foot and Pippin got up. "I'm fine," he said, but he couldn't help wincing as he put weight on his injury. "What's next?"
They emerged from the landing into an antechamber lined with life-sized statues of lions with men's heads. "Sphinxes," Zeah said.
"We are near the chamber of the Star," Maglor said.
"What traps await here?" Bangshar asked, glancing around.
Pippin heard the sound of cracking stone.
"Watch out!" he warned.
The sphinxes came to life. Stone eyes flew open, glaring with unnatural red light, as the statues rose up, tails flicking, and leapt off their pedestals.
"Swords!" Maglor shouted.
"Against stone?" Zeah muttered.
"This will be interesting," Bangshar commented, both blades drawn.
The moving statues attacked. They staggered forward, the mouths on their human faces filled with sharp stone teeth. Wind came from their jaws as they roared, staggeringly strong. Pippin scampered among them, hacking at them with his sword, but the blade made only small gouges in the stone.
He slipped on sand, losing his footing. A sphinx leapt upon him, just missing crushing him with its forepaws when Pippin curled into a ball. The sphinx gave a wind-filled growl, giving Pippin a good view of its rows of stone teeth, but then one of Bangshar's daggers struck one of the statue's glowing red eyes, which broke and seeped what looked like blood. The sphinx yowled.
Seeing that, Pippin shouted, "The eyes! Take out the eyes!" and struck out with the pommel of his sword, crushing the red lights. The thing roared and then fell silent, hardening.
The others did the same, and they won their way to the exit, still being pursued. More statues were coming to life: creatures with human bodies and animals' heads, the idols of the gods of the Valley, lions and crocodiles and cats and cattle and birds.
"Hurry!" Pippin urged Zeah, who with Maglor were trying to open the next doorway.
"Do not interrupt me! I am doing my best!"
"I know that; I'm suggesting you do your best faster!"
"I have it!" Zeah finally said, and she pushed against a sequence of symbols upon the doorpost, activating hidden levers and wheels. It began to rise.
Maglor beckoned curtly to Pippin. "Pippin! Come!"
"Let's go," Pippin said to Bangshar, but the Easterling, at the rear facing the coming monsters of stone, shook his head. "You go," he said. "I will take care of these devils, and see that they don't follow you."
Zeah's eyes widened in alarm. "No," she said. But Maglor nodded and pushed her through and now reached out for Pippin.
Pippin said to Bangshar, "You can't face them alone."
"I think I can," said Bangshar, and flung his cloak back to reveal several small pouches with wicks at his belt. "Remember the ambush at sea?"
Pippin understood. "Blasting fire?"
Bangshar nodded. "Don't worry about me," he said. "Go on!"
"Enough argument!" snapped Maglor, and took Pippin by the shoulder. "Come, Pippin!"
"Don't do anything stupid!" Pippin said to Bangshar, as they passed through the door.
They found themselves facing another doorway, filled with shining light, across a sputtering pool of black oil. A narrow footbridge of stone ran across it, only inches from the surface. The heat from the oil made Pippin's face sweat, and at first he couldn't face it for the pain it caused his eyes.
"Is it pitch?" he asked.
"Naft," Zeah said.
"It does not matter," said Maglor, pointing. "There is the bridge, and there is the light of the Silmaril!" Pippin noticed the Elf's finger quivered.
Zeah shook her head. "This cannot be so simple!" she argued.
Pippin stared into the black liquid, drawn by a shift in the slick shiny surface. He heard a sound: the same grinding, crawling sound, like something massive and harsh scraping on stone. The black pool moved. He started to say: "Something's in there …"
With a burst of heat and black ooze, a scaly head, more than five feet long, sprang from the pool, followed by a great stretch of neck that thickened into a limbless, twining body. Black eyes that devoured all light focused on them, and a tongue like a two-headed worm slid out from between the hard armored lips. Then two jaws opened, revealing a black mouth filled with blue teeth like needles, and two immense fangs dripping with grey poison. Coil after coil followed the head and the neck, rearing up to the ceiling of the chamber, as Pippin, Zeah and even Maglor stared at it in horror.
"Akek?" breathed Zeah. "The Serpent of Darkness?"
"A creature of Morgoth," cursed Maglor.
"A snake," Pippin complained. "Why did it have to be a snake?"
None of them moved, rooted to where they stood by the giant snake's cold glare. Then abruptly Maglor lowered his sword and began to approach it.
"What are you doing?" Zeah cried.
"Seizing a chance for you and Pippin," he replied.
"You should go with Pippin!" protested Zeah. "I shall fight this creature!"
"You are mortal and have not my power!" rebuked Maglor. He glared at Pippin. "You know I am right," he said. "Go! I shall follow you!"
Then came the sound of an explosion, and dust from the way they had come. Pippin heard it and said: "Bangshar." Zeah's face paled.
Pippin grabbed Zeah's hand. "Come on," he said, and together they began to cross the bridge.
Maglor lifted up his voice and began to sing.
Pippin and Zeah began gingerly, keeping their eyes on Akek, whose gaze was fixed on them. Zeah's hand was cold in Pippin's, but Pippin was perspiring profusely, and not just from the heat of the oil. He truly disliked all scaled creatures, snakes especially, and this one was the essential stuff of all his nightmares.
Akek struck out, snapping at them with his jaws. Zeah screamed, but Pippin was the one who lost his balance and nearly fell. But like a light, so bright it could almost be seen, Maglor's voice passed between the giant snake's fangs and Pippin.
Zeah pulled Pippin from the brink. They looked at Maglor. The Elf was singing, putting forth all his power and might, and Akek turned his head to Maglor, almost swaying, even as the black coils of the great serpent reared out of the black ooze and began to encircle the singer.
"Run!" Pippin cried.
Maglor saw them vanish into the light of the Silmaril. He stopped singing. Akek had coiled all around him. The serpent's face was a few feet from his own. He could smell the sour odor of the snake's poisoned jaws.
Maglor drew his sword, shining Valinorean steel.
"I was born beneath the Light of the Two Trees," he boasted. "I fear no darkness!"
Akek seemed to pause, and then struck.
Maglor struck back.
The light was incredible. Pippin had never seen anything like it. It was as if he had walked upon the decks of Vingilot, as if the air were woven from the locks of Galadriel: golden light, silver light, brighter and older and truer than Sun or Moon. It took a moment for his vision to grow accustomed to the splendor, for him to make out the size and scope of the Chamber of the Star, occupying the heart of the Stairway. In the center of the chamber rose the mast of a Númenórean ship, fifty feet high, the mast of the ship Phazan of Westernesse had sailed to this place, now clad in silver. Its sides were smooth but not impossible for him to climb. It was covered in writing, Tengwar script, smoothed by time but still visible. Other symbols unknown to him covered the sides of the chamber, sloping inwards, slabs of stone polished like glass, reflecting and refracting the light of the Silmaril over and over again, and back into the Jewel, which fed on its own light and grew brighter and brighter yet. The air seemed to singe in the light.
"Holy …" Pippin said.
"It is beautiful," Zeah gasped. "Pippin, you—"
A two-pronged spear struck her and hurled her back against the wall, pinning her to the wall through her stomach.
"Zeah!" Pippin cried.
The spear quivered, and then took flight again, drawn back whence it came. Zeah slumped against the floor.
Through the cloud of light appeared Alatar, his staff once more in his hand. He glared at Zeah, and then gave a dismissive glance at Pippin and turned away.
2.
Rage filled Pippin. Heedlessly he took up his sword and raised it against Alatar, but the wizard saw him. Alatar smiled. He gestured with his staff, and a punch of hard wind slammed Pippin back with a crunch against the wall next to Zeah, knocking him breathless and dizzy. Trollsbane fell from his grip.
Satisfied, Alatar walked a short distance, until he stood before the Noonstar on its pillar. In his blurred sight Pippin made out the crystal orb upon its chalice on a small platform atop the ancient metal mast. He looked at Alatar. The wizard had raised his arms up and begun to chant a spell. Power started to burden the air. Pippin could feel the hair on his forearms tingling and standing on end, along with goosebumps along the rest of his body. There were sparkles in his eyes. He looked up to the opening atop the Stairway, and though perhaps he imagined it, he thought he saw the shadow of the Moon now more than halfway across the disk of the Sun.
He felt another presence, and turned his head to see Osyr hovering over Zeah.
"No!" he cried, but the withered body of the Phar raised a bony finger to desiccated lips. Instead he heard Osyr's thoughts:
I can help her.
"What?"
Sehty is feeding the fire of my life to his creations, and using it as the fuel for his machine. Some dark magic. Osyr's eyes were sad. But if you can break his spell, I believe I can give that fire to your friend.
"But that will kill you," Pippin said.
I am dead already. The Phar gazed at him without fear.
Pippin nodded.
The wizard's eyes were closed, his face lined with exertion, his brow scarred with concentration. Sweat beaded his face and dampened his cheeks. The power he was summoning filled the room, bouncing off the polished rock, reverberating along the lines of light coming from the Silmaril, reflected and refracted and focused back into the Jewel itself, and like a living thing, which in many ways it was, the Silmaril fed on the light and grew brighter still. Outside the world was dimming as the Moon passed over the Sun; the Silmaril was soon to shine unrivaled upon the earth. So intent was he upon the spell he wove that he never noticed the hobbit approaching him from behind.
Pippin stepped on a pebble with his wounded foot. He stumbled.
Alatar stopped his exertions, spinning around. "What—?"
With a cry Pippin lashed out with his sword, and cut the wizard along the thighs.
Immediately Osyr laid his skeletal hands upon Zeah's wounds. The light in the great chamber dimmed except for the Noonstar, while instead, the king and Zeah began to glow. Her wounds began to close.
Alatar staggered back. He stared in horror and amazement at his wounds, and then at the sweat-stained, limping hobbit holding the sword that wounded him.
Furiously he turned on his attacker. "Fool!"
Pippin limped forward, and then straightened, inhaled and retorted, "So I've been called—but by a better Wizard than you!"
And before Alatar could raise his staff or mutter a spell, Pippin swept his sword upon him, forcing him back, staggering him, and whether in shock, surprise, or actual weakness in the breaking of the spell, it was all Alatar could do to fend off the swordstrokes falling upon him.
The wizard turned and fled a short way before stopping, his face a mask of anger and real fear. "Who are you?" he cried. "What manner of creature are you that dare lay a finger on one of the Istari, upon a huntsman of Oromë?"
He lashed out with a wind-blast. Pippin threw himself down and let the burst pass over him before getting back to his feet. Another came, and he avoided it again. "If you'd give me … a moment … to properly introduce myself …"
Alatar struck out with lightning.
Pippin ran scrambling, hopping this way and that away from the deadly blue strikes that burst upon the floor as they struck it, until he came behind the shelter of the pillar that held the Noonstar. He leapt back as lightning struck the silver surface, and the Silmaril flashed brightly, taking the power and transmuting it within its holy substance. The Stairway itself shook. Blocks of mud masonry fell at a violent shudder, and when the dust cleared Pippin found himself hidden from the wizard by debris and the pillar itself. Through the hole atop the Stairway, Pippin could see the Sun, or what was left of it—the edge of a ring glaring down upon the world.
Pippin dared to steal a glance in Zeah's direction. Osyr was crumpling like a leaf, but he still held onto Zeah, who was growing visibly stronger with each passing moment. Her eyes were opening.
Pippin seized the moment. "Alatar," he called out. "Alatar, you've got to explain something to me."
"Who are you and why should I care?"
"Oh, right, sorry." Pippin peeked around the rocks shielding him. Deepening his voice, he declared, "I'm Peregrin Took of the Fellowship of the Ring, and I don't know exactly what you're up to, but I'm going to put an end to it!"
And he dashed out of cover throwing stones. Alatar flinched as a pebble hit his cheek. Pippin charged with Trollsbane out. Alatar bellowed and engaged him.
Steel struck bronze, separated, and struck again, clanging and crashing and raising sparks. Lighting arced and hobbit dove, wind gusted and sword sliced; and in Zeah's arms, the Phar grew weaker and weaker, as did the chambers of mirrored rock above the hall.
A gust of wind threw Pippin on his back. Instantly Alatar sprang upon him with the bladelike tines of his staff. Pippin swung Trollsbane as a shield.
It caught the wizard under his bronze breastplate. "Aagh!" cried Alatar, deeply wounded. He gestured, and sent Pippin crashing against fallen masonry with a blast of wind. Gripping his wounded side, he staggered back to the pillar of the Noonstar.
"Osyr," he moaned. "Osyr, come to me!"
Dazed Pippin picked himself up off the floor. Trollsbane lay five feet away where he'd dropped it. His foot was in agony, and had he now cracked some ribs? He tried to rise, and managed it, and looked for Alatar and Zeah and Osyr. He saw Alatar leaning on his staff before the pillar, while against the far wall, Osyr had fallen against Zeah, the light around them fading. Was Zeah alright?
Alatar let out a howl of rage. "No! Osyr, you have betrayed me!"
In Zeah's arms, the Phar died.
All around them the light began to fade. The Silmaril shone alone. Whatever sorcery Alatar had used to feed the soul of Osyr into the mechanism of the Stairway, now had no source to feed on; Osyr had expended it upon Zeah.
Pippin's heart leapt. "Give up, Alatar!" he shouted. "We've won!"
Alatar laughed, high-pitched and witless. Pippin thought: He's truly crazed now. But when Alatar spoke, his voice was as low and grating as stone.
"'We've won'," Alatar said spitefully. "I have heard that before. I heard that twelve years ago, in my dreams. I was here, in the desert, and I had raised a storm against the marching Haradrim gone to aid Sauron. I had waited in fear and anxiety for word. And then it came like a wind upon the sand: the fall of Sauron. I felt it. I felt his passing and I sang in victory. 'We have won'. And so I awaited the call home. Home, to Valinor … to the woods of my lord Oromë, where I hunted with him for the golden hart of Aman. But no call came! No ship, no Eagle, no word! I waited alone upon the sands and raised up mine eyes to the West and the West heard me not!"
Alatar raised his staff, and it glowed with power: Alatar's own power, his own life and soul. "I will open the Road denied me," he said, his voice rising, his eyes breaking into madness. "I will bring the gods to earth, if I have to shatter the sky and all beneath it!" He clutched his staff as a spear. "I will go home!"
He cast his staff against the pillar, where its two blades bit into the soft silver and the ancient timber, and he cried out words of power. And power spun out from him in a bright swirl into a column that rushed into the staff and up through the pillar to the Silmaril. The crystal globe encasing the jewel shattered; and a beam of light burst up through the hole in the Stairway and pierced the sky.
The heavens peeled apart like a ruined flower, and a storm greater than any mortal storm enveloped the Stairway and all the land around it, the desert and the valley and the city itself, circling around a void in the air. The shaking grew almost untenable; the top levels of the Stairway began to crack, fissure, and then crumble. And the Moon froze in front of the Sun, trapping the Valley in a narrow band of utter darkness.
"Yes!" Alatar said, laughing maniacally. "Behold! The Straight Road!"
Pippin dodged falling masonry and brick, knowing now he had to steal the jewel. Alatar spied him, and said calmly: "Now for you, Peregrin Took!"
In the light, a shadow moved.
3.
The silver surface of the old mast was smooth, but there were just enough crevices and ridges for a hobbit's fingers and toes to find purchase. Pippin made his way up the Pillar, climbing, crawling, shimmying, as if it were the mast of the Sword and he had to work without the stays. But it was excruciating. His foot hurt and his ribs hurt and his hands were sweaty and—
Behind you!
Pippin yelped and let go—and found himself clutching onto the head and ears of the statue of Seht.
The idol's left hand reached up and brushed Pippin, trying to grab him. Pippin let go instead, tumbling down to the ground, landing on his back. Pippin grunted in pain, but struggled to his feet, pulled out his sword, and turned on his assailant, slashing against the black rock of the idol. The statue of Seht swung its mace. It moved simply and brutally, allowing Pippin to evade the swings and blows, but those blows crushed the floor and made craters in the ground. Pippin hacked again at the statue's ankles, and succeeded in creating a fissure, but only small one. He had to find another way, or be killed, or worse, fail.
The Stairway was crumbling. The Straight Road was destroying everything beneath it. A great crack appeared in the south face. Suddenly it broke apart, revealing the tormented landscape outside. Pippin saw men rush up the crumbled brick and stone: Medzhai and Bani and Nekheti.
"Pippin!" It was Zeah. She was sitting up, cradling the remains of Osyr. She pointed. "The eyes!"
Pippin looked up. The statue had red eyes like those of the stone sphinxes. Destroy the eyes.
He got an idea. He sheathed his sword and ran limping.
The idol lumbered upon the cracked floor littered with brick and fallen stone. It threw down its mace behind Pippin, so near Pippin could feel the shock of its blow on the fur on his ankles. He had to lead it properly. He had to make sure it was close enough to serve. He gauged the distance to the Noonstar and its pillar as he ran, clambering over debris and skipping over rocks, pursued by the dark idol. Then he stumbled, or seemed to, bending down low over the ground.
The statue of Seht reared back to land a killing blow.
Pippin whirled around. With a hobbit's practiced aim he flung two jagged pebbles up at Seht and struck its eyes.
Both enchanted orbs shattered, shards melting into a liquid like blood, breaking the spell that animated the statue's stone. Bereft of its magical life, the statue froze, still in its awkward position. Off-balance, it teetered and fell, limbs and head crushing and shattering right where Pippin had hoped it would: the Pillar.
A cheer rose from the onlookers, startling Pippin and causing him to glance at them. "Harekht! Harekht!" Then the ground shook, and Pippin put it from his mind and went to complete his task.
He climbed up the fallen idol of Seht to the midpoint of the Pillar, and proceeded from there, his fingers digging into the indentations of the carvings, his bare arms hugging against the silver surface, the soles of his feet holding fast against the metal. He disregarded the pain. It was only ten feet now; seven; five; three; one—
—and he climbed upon the small platform and gazed upon the naked gem.
Now all around him seemed to still. Pippin knew that the sky was rent above him, that the ground shook and buildings were falling, that below him the Blue Wizard was raging at him; but for the moment none of it mattered. One of the Silmarilli was before him. He was looking at it with his own eyes. He could feel its light strike his skin and pass tingling through his flesh. It was both silver and gold together; it was warm, and came from deep within; it was the light from before all others, the light of Telperion and Laurelin from before the awakening of Men, or hobbits.
Oh, Bilbo, I wish I could tell you what this looks like, he thought. Me, Pippin, silly little Pippin—I see a Silmaril before me, and Bilbo, it's even better than you said it was!
He reached out. The light seemed firm to the touch. The Jewel lay in the pieces of its crystal casing. It was large, about half the size of his palm. As his hand neared it, the sweat upon his skin turned to vapor, shimmering in the light. For a moment he wondered; the light was enough to split the sky, yet it only tingled upon his hand? But that was how it was, and he wouldn't stop now.
One last doubt entered his mind: the touch of a Silmaril would burn all mortal flesh and any evil thing. He thought of Maglor's hand. What would happen to him?
Let's find out.
"Elbereth," he invoked, and then, impulsively, "Eru …." And he took it.
Pippin's body began to glow. First his hand, where he held the Jewel. Then it spread like the roots of a tree, up his arm, across his shoulders, down his trunk to his legs and even the tips of his toes. It filled his face and lit his hair and shone even from between his lips. Pippin did not cry out, did not hunch over in pain, did not do anything but gaze at the jewel in his hand.
Then he looked up, and it seemed to the Nekheti that one eye blazed with the light of the Sun, and the other shone with the light of the Moon.
"Let go of it! Let go of it! Do not hinder me!"
It was Alatar, shrieking madly, spit flying from his lips. His face was gaunt and his whole form withered by the power he was putting forth into the mechanism, the mechanism he could no longer control, whose focus now lay in Pippin's hand. He staggered to a spot beneath the platform, crying:
"It is mine! I will take it to the Valar! They will not deny a Silmaril! Give it to me!"
Pippin appeared on the edge of the platform, holding the Silmaril in his palm.
He gazed down at Alatar.
"Here," he said, and let it go.
In a streak of sparkling light fell the Noonstar of Nekhet, the second of the Three, sister and mate to the Evenstar of Eärendil and the Morningstar of Melkor that Maedhros in despair took to the fiery iron heart of Arda; the Jewel of the Sea. Alatar uttered a strangled noise and rushed forward to catch it. As it fell into his hands, its hallowed substance touched the mortal flesh in which his spirit was housed.
Alatar howled. The Silmaril's light raced up his arms, cutting, fracturing. The awe-full light filled his body, shooting through his tendons and flesh and bones, bursting through his eyes and ears and mouth, shining, shining, until the wizard was like a jewel himself. Then, with a final cry, he vanished in a flash of dust and mist and vapor that rose up into the rent sky and scattered away.
Pippin hurried down the Pillar as fast as he could. He felt alive, incredibly so, and his mind was whirling. He looked up and saw the rift beginning to close, as the Moon regained motion and began to pass from the Sun.
He got down onto the ground, calling "Zeah! Zeah!" as he ran to where the Noonstar lay. He bent down and once again picked it up, marveling at it. "Zeah," he called again, "you've got to come and look at this!" But it wasn't Zeah who answered.
"Halfling." Maglor's voice was tight and tense. "Give me the gem."
Pippin turned. The Elf stood before him, sword drawn, his clothes rent, hands bare, covered in black slime and gore. His hood was thrown back and his dark hair disheveled and dirty, wild over his eyes, glittering with desperation.
Pippin took a step back. "What do you mean?"
Maglor advanced on him, holding out his scarred hand. "The jewel. The Silmaril. It is mine. It belongs to me."
"Maglor …"
"The jewel is mine. Give it to me," Maglor insisted tautly. "Give it to me or Mandos as my witness I shall slay you and all who keep it from me."
Pippin shook his head. "You don't mean that. I know you don't. You've changed."
The sword quivered as Maglor trembled. "The oath has not changed," he said bitterly. "The oath cannot change!"
Pippin replied, "But people do."
He hesitated, and looked down. The Silmaril shone with its holy light, unstained despite all the harm and wickedness it had to have witnessed in its history. From the ruin of this day, all the long road back to the nethermost dungeon of Angband and its setting in the Iron Crown. Evil simply was not enough to dim its light for long. It lay in Pippin's naked palm, on his skin, and lit him up from the inside.
He nodded. "You're right," he said to Maglor, and approached him. "Take it, then."
Maglor nodded tensely. "Put it in a cloth and hand it to me," he said.
"No," said Pippin, holding out his palm. "Take it, yourself, with your own fingers."
The elf's eyes went wide. "Do not mock my plight!" Maglor cried, stricken.
"But I'm not," Pippin said, filled with pity. "Take it, Maglor. Take what your father made."
Maglor dropped his sword. He stepped back, frightened by the small, bright figure offering the radiant jewel. "No," he said. "I cannot. No …"
He tried to pull away, but Pippin took his hand. Gently, firmly, he pressed the jewel into Maglor's grip.
Maglor gasped and closed his eyes.
Nothing happened.
Maglor opened his eyes. The Silmaril shone in his hand, nothing more. Speechless, he fell to his knees.
"See?" said Pippin cheerfully. "I told you. People change."
The light of the Sun returned to the sky. The Moon passed from totality and an orange dawn from the zenith appeared over the world. In the sky, the rent was still visible, but its winds had died greatly, and the shaking had stopped. In the eye of its luminescent mists shone glimpses of a faraway land.
"The True West," said Maglor.
Pippin nodded. "My cousin's there, or close to it."
"He must be great indeed," said Maglor. "As are you, halfling."
"Not like him," said Pippin. Then he smiled wistfully. "But I've done my best."
He looked again at the Silmaril the Elf held. "It really is beautiful," he said. "What are you going to do with it, now you've got it?"
Maglor gazed at it momentarily. He rose to his feet, took a few steps, and looked up into the dimming opening to the Uttermost West. Then, with a mighty throw, Maglor hurled the Silmaril up into the hole in the sky. It gave a mighty flash, and vanished.
Slowly, like a folding leaf at dusk, the rift came shut. In its place was a milky sky lit by the half-disk of the Sun.
Maglor looked down at Pippin's gaping face. "Did you have another fate in mind?"
Pippin only shook his head, still gaping at the healing sky. "That, was great."