Wait for the Sunrise by Vané Alasse
Chapter Two No Looking Back
An echoing thud reverberated through the air and earth. Voices could be heard in the first circle of the city shouting orders. Another crash follwed another quake. Brethil ran outside.
"No! What are you doing?" cried Falath.
Brethil flashed a smile back at her sister. "They are trying to break the gate. They shall not succeed. Gondor! Gondor!"
"Brethil, come back inside. Now!"
"Curse you, evil monsters! Go back to your lairs! Gondor cannot fail now! This city will withstand you!"
"Brethil! Don't be foolish."
A thunderous boom rolled through the city.
"Gondor! Gond-"
Brethil stopped short. A forth strike fell on the gates. This time a crippling chorus of snapping wood and warping metal followed. Screams rose from below.
Falath leaned out the door. The giant gates shattered to fragments. Fire and smoke plumed through the gaping hole. She froze in terror.
The din of battle, the cries of wounded men, and the rush of screeching orcs were lost under the volume of her heartbeat. All other noise was smothered by its banging. It throbbed against the walls of her head, it quaked in her chest, it pulsed in her fingertips. Vainly she tried to soften it by slapping her hands over her ears. Louder it screamed. Her face burned hot and she felt consumed all over as if by flames.
Brethil's voice came to her as though from many miles away.
"They have riven the gate."
Falath grasped the door frame and pressed her head against it. "What can we do now?"
"I don't know."
Falath looked up at her sister. "You must come inside, at least. Please?"
Brethil walked numbly back through the door, and closed it behind her. The young women looked at one another, and without words understood their mutual contemplation. Do we wait here, then, until death takes us?
"It will not be long in coming," said Brethil.
"No."
The roar of war grew louder as the stillness within the house grew stagnant. The same question was pondered monotonously over and over, until Falath became anxious merely because of its redundancy. What shall we do now?
Shouting could be heard now, coming from not far down the street. Brethil returned to her place at the window.
"What do you see?" asked Falath.
"A soldier is approaching. He is knocking on the doors, and urgently running to and fro between the houses."
"What does he say?"
"I do not know. But it does not matter, for he will soon be here."
Falath waited impatiently in anxiousness. She paced the floor softly, wringing her hands.
The awaited knock came. Brethil walked to answer it.
"Open in the name of the steward!"
Brethil opened the door.
"How many are in this house?" asked the soldier.
"Three," answered Brethil.
"You are asked to evacuate to the third level. Speed is everything. Do not burden yourselves with belongings. Do not linger."
He bowed slightly and turned to leave.
"Sir," called Falath. "Are many killed below?"
He stopped and his face grew grim. "Yes, my lady."
"Will the second gate be breached?"
"Most probably."
"It is that bad?" asked Brethil.
He did not look into her eyes. "Yes."
Quickly he took his leave and continued to relay the ill news to the other houses on the street.
"We should go," said Brethil.
"Yes. You get Atara."
Brethil walked to her mother and explained the situation to her.
She sighed. "I will stay here and not flee to false security."
"But, Atara," said Falath. "We have been ordered to evacuate."
"Then go. Run if you will; beat the surging wave. But the onslaught will not be long in drowning us all. Yes, even the high fortress will be washed out. The tide of war and hate runs deep."
"We will not leave you here," said Brethil firmly.
The noise of battle swelled. Pounding could be heard on the gate. Drums rolled angrily.
"Atara, time will not wait," stressed Falath. "Come with me; that's it. Take my arm. Steady now. Here we go. Brethil, please lead her. I will go first. Haste is needed."
"Shall we go through the front door?" asked Brethil.
"Yes, I think so. The wide street will be easier to maneuver through than the alley," replied Falath.
"We only postpone death," muttered Brethil.
"If we give time a chance then hope may deliver us," replied Falath.
She opened the door and scanned the street. Women and children were moving swiftly to her left, uphill towards the third level.
She turned to her mother and sister, "Let us be gone."
Together they walked outside. Falath paused for one second more, brushing the wood lightly with her fingertips to say farewell. How many days had her bare feet danced upon the threshold of this house? Or how often had her childish hands clapped against the familiar grains in the wood? How many fervent tears had been spilt under the moon's gaze on this step? Within a few hours it would lie in a pile of ashes, trodden by foul feet and destroyed with no regard for tender memories.
Falath pulled once more on the door. It closed with one final thud. She turned from the only home she had known and followed her mother and sister into the way of retreat. Now there could be no looking back.
Chapter Two No Looking Back
An echoing thud reverberated through the air and earth. Voices could be heard in the first circle of the city shouting orders. Another crash follwed another quake. Brethil ran outside.
"No! What are you doing?" cried Falath.
Brethil flashed a smile back at her sister. "They are trying to break the gate. They shall not succeed. Gondor! Gondor!"
"Brethil, come back inside. Now!"
"Curse you, evil monsters! Go back to your lairs! Gondor cannot fail now! This city will withstand you!"
"Brethil! Don't be foolish."
A thunderous boom rolled through the city.
"Gondor! Gond-"
Brethil stopped short. A forth strike fell on the gates. This time a crippling chorus of snapping wood and warping metal followed. Screams rose from below.
Falath leaned out the door. The giant gates shattered to fragments. Fire and smoke plumed through the gaping hole. She froze in terror.
The din of battle, the cries of wounded men, and the rush of screeching orcs were lost under the volume of her heartbeat. All other noise was smothered by its banging. It throbbed against the walls of her head, it quaked in her chest, it pulsed in her fingertips. Vainly she tried to soften it by slapping her hands over her ears. Louder it screamed. Her face burned hot and she felt consumed all over as if by flames.
Brethil's voice came to her as though from many miles away.
"They have riven the gate."
Falath grasped the door frame and pressed her head against it. "What can we do now?"
"I don't know."
Falath looked up at her sister. "You must come inside, at least. Please?"
Brethil walked numbly back through the door, and closed it behind her. The young women looked at one another, and without words understood their mutual contemplation. Do we wait here, then, until death takes us?
"It will not be long in coming," said Brethil.
"No."
The roar of war grew louder as the stillness within the house grew stagnant. The same question was pondered monotonously over and over, until Falath became anxious merely because of its redundancy. What shall we do now?
Shouting could be heard now, coming from not far down the street. Brethil returned to her place at the window.
"What do you see?" asked Falath.
"A soldier is approaching. He is knocking on the doors, and urgently running to and fro between the houses."
"What does he say?"
"I do not know. But it does not matter, for he will soon be here."
Falath waited impatiently in anxiousness. She paced the floor softly, wringing her hands.
The awaited knock came. Brethil walked to answer it.
"Open in the name of the steward!"
Brethil opened the door.
"How many are in this house?" asked the soldier.
"Three," answered Brethil.
"You are asked to evacuate to the third level. Speed is everything. Do not burden yourselves with belongings. Do not linger."
He bowed slightly and turned to leave.
"Sir," called Falath. "Are many killed below?"
He stopped and his face grew grim. "Yes, my lady."
"Will the second gate be breached?"
"Most probably."
"It is that bad?" asked Brethil.
He did not look into her eyes. "Yes."
Quickly he took his leave and continued to relay the ill news to the other houses on the street.
"We should go," said Brethil.
"Yes. You get Atara."
Brethil walked to her mother and explained the situation to her.
She sighed. "I will stay here and not flee to false security."
"But, Atara," said Falath. "We have been ordered to evacuate."
"Then go. Run if you will; beat the surging wave. But the onslaught will not be long in drowning us all. Yes, even the high fortress will be washed out. The tide of war and hate runs deep."
"We will not leave you here," said Brethil firmly.
The noise of battle swelled. Pounding could be heard on the gate. Drums rolled angrily.
"Atara, time will not wait," stressed Falath. "Come with me; that's it. Take my arm. Steady now. Here we go. Brethil, please lead her. I will go first. Haste is needed."
"Shall we go through the front door?" asked Brethil.
"Yes, I think so. The wide street will be easier to maneuver through than the alley," replied Falath.
"We only postpone death," muttered Brethil.
"If we give time a chance then hope may deliver us," replied Falath.
She opened the door and scanned the street. Women and children were moving swiftly to her left, uphill towards the third level.
She turned to her mother and sister, "Let us be gone."
Together they walked outside. Falath paused for one second more, brushing the wood lightly with her fingertips to say farewell. How many days had her bare feet danced upon the threshold of this house? Or how often had her childish hands clapped against the familiar grains in the wood? How many fervent tears had been spilt under the moon's gaze on this step? Within a few hours it would lie in a pile of ashes, trodden by foul feet and destroyed with no regard for tender memories.
Falath pulled once more on the door. It closed with one final thud. She turned from the only home she had known and followed her mother and sister into the way of retreat. Now there could be no looking back.