Chapter 5

Flight

Lasca could barely sleep that night, for her heart burned hot within her.  The tribe leader's words had been circling in her thoughts.  Perhaps if she was older her heart would have been as hard as his, but as it was she was only fifteen years of age, and in many ways she still viewed much from her own perspective.  The only glimpses of the world outside had been through the tales of Pallando, and she had grown to trust him.  However, she also felt love for her family and others she had grown up with.  A battle of morals was raging inside of her, for she did not know who to give her loyalty to: kinsmen or the hard truths Pallando had told her.  She finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

A while later she was woken by a commotion outside.  Groggily she stood up and pushed through the tent flap.  She saw the light of torches across the camp, and a she felt a twinge of fear, realizing it was where Pallando lived.  Quietly she crept closer to the crowd, and heard angry shouts and low murmurings.  She soon stood at the fringes of the mob, but couldn't make out what was happening.  A tent stood at the edge of the crowd, and creeping around it, what she saw tore a gasp from her throat.

Pallando stood outside his tent, facing off with the tribe leader and several guards.  Glittering in the hands of the leader was a naked blade.  Pallando had heard Lasca, but the others were to intent on him to notice.  Whatever happens, child, do not reveal yourself, Lasca heard his voice speak in her head.  She clutched nervously at the tent, but made no move.  She heard the leader talking.  He was accusing Pallando of corrupting Lasca's mind with dark lies and half-truths.

"You know as well as I do that the Nirnaeth was no lie!" he spoke threateningly.  It seemed to Lasca that he drew himself up imposingly, and a hush fell on the crowd.  A sudden power seemed to radiate from him.

"Do not threaten me, wizard!  I know you lost your power long ago!" the leader nearly shrieked, eyes widening madly.

"The true power of a Maia cannot be lost, you foolish coward," Pallando whispered, though his words seemed to penetrate the minds of all there, save the raging leader.

"The Gods of the West could not overthrow even Morgoth, their very kin, so do not try to scare me, you wizened fool!  Night shall ever follow day!"

"And morn on the heels of night!" thundered Pallando, and it seemed as his words were uttered, the eastern sky lit with the triumph of dawn.  Cries of fear and wonder erupted, and all fled cowering back to their tents, save one.

A look of amazement on her face, Lasca slowly walked up to Pallando.  His once dusty robes were now darkest blue, and his once-gray hair was as black as night. He looked at her and smiled.  She gasped, for his face was now fair and cleanshaven.  However, his blue eyes still twinkled and the wisdom of the ages had not left him.

"You see my true form at last," he said.  "For indeed I am of the Maiar, a race little less than the Valar."

Lasca, not knowing what else to do, made to bow low, but Pallando laughed.  "Nay, young Lasca, do not humble yourself before me, for it was I who was sent to serve the children of Men." Lasca looked up questioningly.  "The Valar sent I and four others to Middle Earth many centuries ago to guide Men to the path of righteousness, though for me it has been a long and fruitless task."

"That is why you wanted me to listen to you.  You were trying to help me?" Lasca asked.

"Yes, and of all those I have spoken to, you alone have truly taken my words to heart, however hard they were to hear."

"I did not want to believe you.  I did not want to believe my forebears were so craven and weak," Lasca said, voice trembling.  Pallando's eyes softened.

"Do not fear, for there is always hope.  Lost honor may be reclaimed."

"How could you stand saving my father, then, for he is fighting under a Dark Lord!"

"Young one, you must understand: I did not cast a protection spell as you were imagining, for I gave up my magic abilities long ago.  No, with the words you received from me, you shall save him in the end." Lasca stood in shock at his words.

"I, I don't understand," Lasca stuttered.  "How could I save him?"

"You will know in time," Pallando said while gazing out towards the West.  From the shadow in the East he could feel a piercing gaze seeking him out.  It had felt him as he revealed himself.  "Now I must leave, for Sauron feels my presence."

"Leave?  Where?" Lasca asked, pleading in her eyes.

"To the West," he said simply.  "For my task is completed." Lasca stood for a moment, then bowed her head, understanding what he meant.  Unknowingly tears had begun to well up in her eyes, and she furiously began wiping them away.  In the short time she had known Pallando, she had become fond of him, for all his quirks and orneriness.  A strong arm came behind her back and drew her into his embrace, and she let her tears fall.  "I do not think I shall see you again, for I do not know where Men pass on to," he whispered, "though I should like to give you a gift, before we part."  Drawing away from her, he put a hand atop her dark head, and suddenly Lasca felt something pouring into her mind.  "I give you the gift of Westron, the tongue of the North.  May you use it well, for it is the last of my magic."

  Taking another step back, he closed his eyes, and his figure began to glow with the mingled light of silver and gold.  Slowly it faded, until it disappeared, and nothing was left in the shadow of the tent.  Lasca wasted no time in getting back to her tent, and found her mother standing outside.  Feeling as if she would burst if she did not talk, she poured her heart out to her, and all the events of the night before and that morning.  Her mother was shocked to hear what Pallando had told her, though she had heard whispers of a similar tale whispered among the men.  She had not wanted believed it, however, for she was loath to concede her people were truly evil. 

"…and I do not know what I should do!" Lasca finished.  Her mother gazed at her for a long while.

"Daughter," said she quietly, "I cannot choose for you, for much of what you said I still do not understand.  You must decide yourself.  What do you wish to do?" Lasca said nothing.

"…I wish to reclaim our dignity, for I do not think I could bear myself if I did not, though I know not how." She sighed.  "I also do not understand how I am to save father."

"…Go to the North, Lasca." Said her mother finally, though there was a strain in her voice.  "I do not know much of the world, though I do know honor cannot be found here.  Though I should beg you to stay for love of you, I know that to reclaim honor for the Haradrim, you must face the North." She bowed her head.  "I also fear that our tribe shall cast you out for your dealings with the wizard.  For your sake you must also flee."

Lasca gazed at her, stunned at the bold words her mother had spoken.  She thought about leaving her home and everything she had known, and suddenly felt small and fearful.

"Yes, you are right… though when it comes to it… I am afraid to leave." She paused, biting her lip, when suddenly an image of her smiling father flashed in her mind.  "…Nonetheless, I shall go, if just to see father again." Looking up, she saw her mother smiling through her tears.

"Yes, my brave Lasca.  Go and reclaim what was lost.  Make haste, for you should leave before all are awake." With that she hurried into the tent. 

Though still unsure of herself, Lasca hurried over to where the tribe's horses were picketed, now few, for many of them had been ridden off to war.  They were small and fleet, as were all horses of the desert.  Lasca had ridden many times in her childhood, though less as she came of age, for chores took up much of her time.  She walked slowly over to her family's mare, Malak, a clear bay (1).  Men of the desert almost always preferred mares to stallions when riding, for they were calmer and more manageable.  Malak was no exception.  She stood still as Lasca unhitched her and led her by her headstall back to the tent.  Despite her misgivings at Lasca's sudden departure, her mother had been quick to pack food and water skins into saddlebags. 

Lasca changed from her light robe into shalwar (2) and a peasant blouse usually worn at celebrations, but they would be easier to ride in.  She saddled and bridled Makar, and was ready to depart.  She stood beside the mare, wearing a cloak over her clothes to ward off the sun.  Giving her mother one last embrace, she mounted and slowly jogged off northeast towards the Harad Road.  She did not yet know how she would reclaim respect for her kin or save her father.  The immense task she had given herself cast a shadow of doubt on her heart as she skimmed the desert sands.

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(1) A bay is a brown horse with black mane tail, lower legs, and muzzle.  A clear bay is generally lighter brown (almost gold in some cases).  I'm basing Malak's appearance on Sham's in Marguerite Henry's King of the Wind, a book about the Godolphin Arabian, one of the founding sires of today's thoroughbred racing horses.  I still love horses today, but when I was younger I was hopelessly crazy over them ^^

(2) Shalwar are harem pants (pants with really wide legs, usually low-fitting)

Well, Lasca's officially off and running.  I hope it didn't take too long for you ^^; (Sorry, I stress over pacing.  Pacing is a beautiful thing, as are commas and Spellcheck) The next two chapters will probably come in the next couple days, but after that it will be slower, especially this week with finals and midterms (curse them).  I also have to read the whole pre-AP English summer reading list in one week…moving to a new state is such a pain in the butt…