Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Eighteen: The Black Tower
"And now he shall endure the slow torment of years, as long and slow as our arts in the Great Tower can contrive, and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he may come to you, and you shall see what you have done."
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Archer did not like this place one bit.
They'd been here for nearly an entire day, searching through the mess of rock and rubble for any sign, any sign at all, of the missing officers. It had grown dark and then light again, and still Archer searched, unwilling to give up the ghost.
Even Trip, more determined than any other crew member to find his friends, had stopped looking. From his position at the very bottom of the crater, Archer could see the top of the shuttlepod, sitting at the edge of the gaping hole. He knew Trip was asleep in it now, having joined Travis in a much-needed rest slightly before dawn. Archer knew he'd be back out here in a few hours, but was rather irked at the fact that Tucker had decided to rest in the first place when there were answers to be found here.
But where were these elusive answers? His eyes watered from the gases, and he stumbled slightly on a jagged rock, feeling his knees tremble ominously beneath him. Perhaps he should go rest, too, just for a little while. But he didn't want to miss whatever it was that was going to happen here at the Black Tower.
With a heavy sigh he sat down—just for a moment, that would be all right—and leaned back against a boulder. To his surprise it shifted backwards and dropped just a little, and he felt a sudden draft of air against his back. Archer scrambled up and stared at the stone; there was a dark hole gaping from beneath the rock! With a sudden fit of strength he heaved the rock away, exposing enough of the hole for him to be able to see inside it. Carefully he shone a flashlight into the dark expanse, laying on his stomach on the bare rock to see better.
There were steps...
A shiver ran along his spine, because there in the darkness was an inhuman skeleton, complete with rusted armor and ragged scraps of clothing and a wicked sword clutched in one bony fist. Archer shot up and away from the hole so quickly that he nearly dropped the flashlight. He bolted and then stopped after only a few meters, suddenly feeling another chill race up his spine, because from the tunnel a voice echoed eerily into the light.
"Captain..."
It was Malcolm; he would know that dry English accent anywhere. For a moment he faltered, staring back and forth between the shuttlepod and the dark stair, and dashed back to the hole, a strange compulsion streaking through his mind. He could not simply abandon his officers; he must go and save Hoshi and Malcolm from whatever threatened them. With a wild cry he leapt for the stairs, forgetting entirely that he lacked a phase pistol or a communicator, and that he had been searching for twenty-three hours without rest. He rushed headlong down the stairs, into the darkness, without looking back.
He cried out as he went, "I'm coming, I'm coming!"
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
How long she had been sitting there she had no idea. No orc nor any other living creature had entered the foul chamber since she had been thrown cruelly inside, with naught but the palantír to give her light. Sauron had assailed her mind four times since her imprisonment here, and each time she had fought him tooth and nail and managed to stay away from the eery glowing stone. If she touched it, all would be lost; she must not touch it and let him use her to call for Enterprise who knew how far in the future.
But she was tired and hungry, and dared not sleep for long lest he sneak into her mind in her dreams. She dreaded another attack, hoping it would never come, but at the same time she wanted the invasion, wanted her defenses to fail so that she could merely die and be rid of this suffering.
A jug of water was in the corner; she had rationed it carefully, fighting the urge to drink it all at once, but it would not last much longer. Then she would start to dehydrate, her tongue growing furry in her mouth and her head beginning to ache. Her mouth would be dry and her legs would not support her, and she would die in a day or two, shriveled and parched like a dried-out desert plain.
With a dry sob she dropped her head to her knees, praying that this trial ended soon, one way or another. She no longer cared about Sauron, Enterprise, or the war raging somewhere else in this strange world—all she wanted was for it all to end.
One way or another, it must end... and soon. She stared at the clay jug, shining brown in the dim light of the palantír.
When the water jug was empty... She would not wait for a slow, lingering death. She drank the rest of the water with a gulp and threw the empty pitcher against the wall, listening with satisfaction and a sudden sense of calm. The light of the palantír dimmed at that moment, throwing her into darkness, but she was not deterred. She crept on her hands and knees in the direction of the broken pitcher, and found the shards of clay scattered about the floor. Now all that remained was to find one that would suit her purposes...
One way or another, it all ended now.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Barad-dûr was even more imposing up close than from a distance. Malcolm could not help gawking upwards as they came closer and closer to the tower's dark heights. He remembered the old adage about tourists in a big city—they're the ones looking up—and understood completely. It boggled the mind; he couldn't imagine how a place as medieval as Middle-earth could have structures so architecturally impressive. How did they get the stones that high?
As he grew closer yet an icy chill permeated his bones. An odd feeling it was, since the radiance of the Eye threw a red light over everything around the Tower, making the atmosphere seem like a fiery inferno. This, thought Malcolm, was what hell must be like, and it was a hundred times worse than anything Dante had ever dreamed up.
He knew the Dark Lord saw him. At random moments he felt a presence nearby, and each time he had looked up to find the force of the Eye fixed completely on him. Pippin had said the Eye spoke to him in the palantír, but it remained obstinately silent to the Black Wizard.
A veritable city stretched around the base of the immense tower, and Malcolm rethought his earlier evaluation. The place looked more like it had simply grown out of the glassy volcanic rock which was everywhere in Mordor. He gagged at the vapors rising from the pits around Barad-dûr and wondered how it was the orcs were not bothered by it.
They crossed the bridge to the gate of the Tower, the orcs flanking him on either side. At the door they were met by a very large orc in well-tended armor with a long spear. "The prisoner is to be taken to the Eye," said the orc. The two uruks muttered between themselves nervously.
"He's our prisoner!" shrilled the smaller one. "We want to bring him up!"
The orc sneered at them, his eyes shining coldly through the apertures in his metal helmet. "You shall receive just reward," he told them, and at that moment the red beam of Sauron's eye swung down onto the bridge. The Tower orc stepped back beneath the gate; the company which had escorted Malcolm let out a cacophony of shrieks and screeches, and before his eyes crisped and burned into dust.
"You. Come," said the Tower orc, totally unfazed by the wicked display. Malcolm followed at once, still aghast at the 'reward' Sauron bestowed on his own servants. He dismounted from the horse once he passed the gate, and took the saddlebag and slung it around his own shoulders. The animal whinnied in fright to be abandoned in such a place, but stayed where it was just in front of the gate. Malcolm doubted the orcs would leave it alone for very long, and felt a flicker of guilt at having condemned the animal to its death.
The orc led him up a long spiraling stairway, so long that Malcolm thought he must pass out and fall before they ever reached their destination. After a while a red glow began to permeate the stair, and the orc stopped. "Go up now," he said, prodding Malcolm with the butt of his spear. Malcolm gulped and went on up, his legs protesting deeply with every step. His mind worried over his plan... he did not want to do it any longer and indeed, he was growing less and less sure of the validity of it.
He intended to offer Sauron his allegiance as Saruman had done, but not in truth; a mere ruse to trick the Great Eye. He would find Hoshi with the trust of Sauron behind his actions, and then escape once he had her. All through Mordor it had seemed as though it would be simple, easy—now he wondered how he had ever thought such a thing.
At last the stairs ended, so abruptly that Malcolm, who had been concentrating on lifting one foot and then the other, tripped and nearly fell when his foot found no stair. The red light was everywhere, and here it was as hot as the light would have one think. He could hardly breathe.
:The Black Wizard,: said a voice in his mind. Malcolm's gut clenched in terror as he looked up, up, up to see the malevolent radiance of the Great Eye himself, wheeling in fiery terror over the Black Tower. He backed away, seeking escape, but the dizzying view from the edge of the Tower stopped him, and he dropped to his knees as the full force of the Eye's gaze met his own.
Far below on the road to the Tower it had been unsettling. This close, the Eye's effect was devastating. He could hardly think, hardly move; deep in his mind he cursed his arrogance, thinking he might be able to dupe such a power as this. All he could do was listen to the sinuous voice snaking through his mind. Fire and smoke and shadow exploded through his mind, the pain shooting like lightning through his entire body. It took him a moment to realize the screams he heard were his own, echoing out across Mordor.
Agony deepened as Sauron dug deeper and deeper, wresting control of his mind with a frightening ease. His recent activities flashed in front of his eyes. The battle at Helm's Deep, the ride to Isengard, Pippin and the palantír, the ride to Minas Tirith and Faramir's injuries, and at last the days of the journey through the Black Land. He struggled mutely but to no avail; all his secrets were open to Sauron to flip through as easily as one flips through a book.
:Pitiful,: sneered Sauron, and dimly Malcolm felt his legs move beneath him. He fought to regain control of his limbs but they carried him away, back down the stairs and past the waiting guard. Down and down he went, though he himself was hardly aware of anything around him, until he came to a heavy black door, studded with iron spikes. A faint glow exuded from beneath the door; the part of Malcolm that was still conscious cried out with fear. An orc darted around him and opened it; he went in and heard a startled exclamation from its occupant and a tinkling like a shard of glass or clay dropping to the floor.
That voice—it sounded familiar, but he could not place it...
He could not stop now, though; he must complete his task. An unerring sense of purpose filled him, and he moved quickly to the gleaming palantír in the very center of the room. The door shut behind him as his hands wavered over the stone, part of him dumbly obeying and part of him fighting to resist.
"No, Malcolm, no!" screamed the voice, and a pair of hands gripped his arms, dragging him down and away from the palantír. He stared at the face dumbly, feeling he should recognize it, but the image of the stone burned in his mind so brightly that he could not call up any memories. With a shout he pushed the stranger away and leapt for the palantír, casting out his senses to the far future and the man he found there.
"Captain..."
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
More to come soon!
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Eighteen: The Black Tower
"And now he shall endure the slow torment of years, as long and slow as our arts in the Great Tower can contrive, and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he may come to you, and you shall see what you have done."
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Archer did not like this place one bit.
They'd been here for nearly an entire day, searching through the mess of rock and rubble for any sign, any sign at all, of the missing officers. It had grown dark and then light again, and still Archer searched, unwilling to give up the ghost.
Even Trip, more determined than any other crew member to find his friends, had stopped looking. From his position at the very bottom of the crater, Archer could see the top of the shuttlepod, sitting at the edge of the gaping hole. He knew Trip was asleep in it now, having joined Travis in a much-needed rest slightly before dawn. Archer knew he'd be back out here in a few hours, but was rather irked at the fact that Tucker had decided to rest in the first place when there were answers to be found here.
But where were these elusive answers? His eyes watered from the gases, and he stumbled slightly on a jagged rock, feeling his knees tremble ominously beneath him. Perhaps he should go rest, too, just for a little while. But he didn't want to miss whatever it was that was going to happen here at the Black Tower.
With a heavy sigh he sat down—just for a moment, that would be all right—and leaned back against a boulder. To his surprise it shifted backwards and dropped just a little, and he felt a sudden draft of air against his back. Archer scrambled up and stared at the stone; there was a dark hole gaping from beneath the rock! With a sudden fit of strength he heaved the rock away, exposing enough of the hole for him to be able to see inside it. Carefully he shone a flashlight into the dark expanse, laying on his stomach on the bare rock to see better.
There were steps...
A shiver ran along his spine, because there in the darkness was an inhuman skeleton, complete with rusted armor and ragged scraps of clothing and a wicked sword clutched in one bony fist. Archer shot up and away from the hole so quickly that he nearly dropped the flashlight. He bolted and then stopped after only a few meters, suddenly feeling another chill race up his spine, because from the tunnel a voice echoed eerily into the light.
"Captain..."
It was Malcolm; he would know that dry English accent anywhere. For a moment he faltered, staring back and forth between the shuttlepod and the dark stair, and dashed back to the hole, a strange compulsion streaking through his mind. He could not simply abandon his officers; he must go and save Hoshi and Malcolm from whatever threatened them. With a wild cry he leapt for the stairs, forgetting entirely that he lacked a phase pistol or a communicator, and that he had been searching for twenty-three hours without rest. He rushed headlong down the stairs, into the darkness, without looking back.
He cried out as he went, "I'm coming, I'm coming!"
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
How long she had been sitting there she had no idea. No orc nor any other living creature had entered the foul chamber since she had been thrown cruelly inside, with naught but the palantír to give her light. Sauron had assailed her mind four times since her imprisonment here, and each time she had fought him tooth and nail and managed to stay away from the eery glowing stone. If she touched it, all would be lost; she must not touch it and let him use her to call for Enterprise who knew how far in the future.
But she was tired and hungry, and dared not sleep for long lest he sneak into her mind in her dreams. She dreaded another attack, hoping it would never come, but at the same time she wanted the invasion, wanted her defenses to fail so that she could merely die and be rid of this suffering.
A jug of water was in the corner; she had rationed it carefully, fighting the urge to drink it all at once, but it would not last much longer. Then she would start to dehydrate, her tongue growing furry in her mouth and her head beginning to ache. Her mouth would be dry and her legs would not support her, and she would die in a day or two, shriveled and parched like a dried-out desert plain.
With a dry sob she dropped her head to her knees, praying that this trial ended soon, one way or another. She no longer cared about Sauron, Enterprise, or the war raging somewhere else in this strange world—all she wanted was for it all to end.
One way or another, it must end... and soon. She stared at the clay jug, shining brown in the dim light of the palantír.
When the water jug was empty... She would not wait for a slow, lingering death. She drank the rest of the water with a gulp and threw the empty pitcher against the wall, listening with satisfaction and a sudden sense of calm. The light of the palantír dimmed at that moment, throwing her into darkness, but she was not deterred. She crept on her hands and knees in the direction of the broken pitcher, and found the shards of clay scattered about the floor. Now all that remained was to find one that would suit her purposes...
One way or another, it all ended now.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Barad-dûr was even more imposing up close than from a distance. Malcolm could not help gawking upwards as they came closer and closer to the tower's dark heights. He remembered the old adage about tourists in a big city—they're the ones looking up—and understood completely. It boggled the mind; he couldn't imagine how a place as medieval as Middle-earth could have structures so architecturally impressive. How did they get the stones that high?
As he grew closer yet an icy chill permeated his bones. An odd feeling it was, since the radiance of the Eye threw a red light over everything around the Tower, making the atmosphere seem like a fiery inferno. This, thought Malcolm, was what hell must be like, and it was a hundred times worse than anything Dante had ever dreamed up.
He knew the Dark Lord saw him. At random moments he felt a presence nearby, and each time he had looked up to find the force of the Eye fixed completely on him. Pippin had said the Eye spoke to him in the palantír, but it remained obstinately silent to the Black Wizard.
A veritable city stretched around the base of the immense tower, and Malcolm rethought his earlier evaluation. The place looked more like it had simply grown out of the glassy volcanic rock which was everywhere in Mordor. He gagged at the vapors rising from the pits around Barad-dûr and wondered how it was the orcs were not bothered by it.
They crossed the bridge to the gate of the Tower, the orcs flanking him on either side. At the door they were met by a very large orc in well-tended armor with a long spear. "The prisoner is to be taken to the Eye," said the orc. The two uruks muttered between themselves nervously.
"He's our prisoner!" shrilled the smaller one. "We want to bring him up!"
The orc sneered at them, his eyes shining coldly through the apertures in his metal helmet. "You shall receive just reward," he told them, and at that moment the red beam of Sauron's eye swung down onto the bridge. The Tower orc stepped back beneath the gate; the company which had escorted Malcolm let out a cacophony of shrieks and screeches, and before his eyes crisped and burned into dust.
"You. Come," said the Tower orc, totally unfazed by the wicked display. Malcolm followed at once, still aghast at the 'reward' Sauron bestowed on his own servants. He dismounted from the horse once he passed the gate, and took the saddlebag and slung it around his own shoulders. The animal whinnied in fright to be abandoned in such a place, but stayed where it was just in front of the gate. Malcolm doubted the orcs would leave it alone for very long, and felt a flicker of guilt at having condemned the animal to its death.
The orc led him up a long spiraling stairway, so long that Malcolm thought he must pass out and fall before they ever reached their destination. After a while a red glow began to permeate the stair, and the orc stopped. "Go up now," he said, prodding Malcolm with the butt of his spear. Malcolm gulped and went on up, his legs protesting deeply with every step. His mind worried over his plan... he did not want to do it any longer and indeed, he was growing less and less sure of the validity of it.
He intended to offer Sauron his allegiance as Saruman had done, but not in truth; a mere ruse to trick the Great Eye. He would find Hoshi with the trust of Sauron behind his actions, and then escape once he had her. All through Mordor it had seemed as though it would be simple, easy—now he wondered how he had ever thought such a thing.
At last the stairs ended, so abruptly that Malcolm, who had been concentrating on lifting one foot and then the other, tripped and nearly fell when his foot found no stair. The red light was everywhere, and here it was as hot as the light would have one think. He could hardly breathe.
:The Black Wizard,: said a voice in his mind. Malcolm's gut clenched in terror as he looked up, up, up to see the malevolent radiance of the Great Eye himself, wheeling in fiery terror over the Black Tower. He backed away, seeking escape, but the dizzying view from the edge of the Tower stopped him, and he dropped to his knees as the full force of the Eye's gaze met his own.
Far below on the road to the Tower it had been unsettling. This close, the Eye's effect was devastating. He could hardly think, hardly move; deep in his mind he cursed his arrogance, thinking he might be able to dupe such a power as this. All he could do was listen to the sinuous voice snaking through his mind. Fire and smoke and shadow exploded through his mind, the pain shooting like lightning through his entire body. It took him a moment to realize the screams he heard were his own, echoing out across Mordor.
Agony deepened as Sauron dug deeper and deeper, wresting control of his mind with a frightening ease. His recent activities flashed in front of his eyes. The battle at Helm's Deep, the ride to Isengard, Pippin and the palantír, the ride to Minas Tirith and Faramir's injuries, and at last the days of the journey through the Black Land. He struggled mutely but to no avail; all his secrets were open to Sauron to flip through as easily as one flips through a book.
:Pitiful,: sneered Sauron, and dimly Malcolm felt his legs move beneath him. He fought to regain control of his limbs but they carried him away, back down the stairs and past the waiting guard. Down and down he went, though he himself was hardly aware of anything around him, until he came to a heavy black door, studded with iron spikes. A faint glow exuded from beneath the door; the part of Malcolm that was still conscious cried out with fear. An orc darted around him and opened it; he went in and heard a startled exclamation from its occupant and a tinkling like a shard of glass or clay dropping to the floor.
That voice—it sounded familiar, but he could not place it...
He could not stop now, though; he must complete his task. An unerring sense of purpose filled him, and he moved quickly to the gleaming palantír in the very center of the room. The door shut behind him as his hands wavered over the stone, part of him dumbly obeying and part of him fighting to resist.
"No, Malcolm, no!" screamed the voice, and a pair of hands gripped his arms, dragging him down and away from the palantír. He stared at the face dumbly, feeling he should recognize it, but the image of the stone burned in his mind so brightly that he could not call up any memories. With a shout he pushed the stranger away and leapt for the palantír, casting out his senses to the far future and the man he found there.
"Captain..."
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
More to come soon!