Chapter 9th: Aliens from Outer-space
A chapter where Legolas shows up nowhere, and a new theory is tabled.

Starving in a forrest, unusual people . . . probably all dead . . . were there really spiders that big . . . four days . . . I think . . . and then here . . . miserably sick, lying in the dark . . . I don't know how long . . . and now . . . hallucinations, probably. Anna McLeod, aka me, lunatic. The thoughts went around my head like a load of laundry in the washing machine. Scrape, scrape, scrape.

I had pried a piece of metal off my shoe and was now chipping little pieces out of the wall. Scrape, scrape, scrape. It was dark. It was cold. It was smelly. There was already a mark on the wall. It was impossible, I knew . . . I think . . . but it seemed like a very good idea at the time. Me and a shoe-tag, against solid rock. . . rock-solid rock. For some reason I thought I would have a hole. And it would get bigger, and bigger, and then I could tunnel out. . . Scrape scrape.

I heard an unnatural "Ahem" behind me. I spun around, my heart pounding, sure I was going see a murderous lunatic, who'd proceed to smash my head in. . .

The door was open, and there was an angel standing there saying,

"Come, come along." Oh no, I though, it's going to happen again. First I would be so happy about leaving, and then it would go very bad and something terrible would happen and then I would wake up here again. . . I couldn't remember falling asleep.

I looked at the angel and swallowed. Probably the whole place would light on fire, or the walls collapse. That would be suitably bad.

"Stand up, and come along!" It was just like in my last dream. It was going to turn awful in a minute. My heart still pounded, and I couldn't think clearly. Do I try to run off? Try thinking positive thoughts about fuzzy teddy bears and bunnies? Ok, yes . . . think bunnies. Fuzzy happy bunnies. . . The angel looked down at me, his expression changing. I felt a hand grab the back of my sweater and pull me out the door.

"Our king is very just, and makes allowances for mentally insane humans . . . mental incompetentness . . . that sort of thing. You are to travel to Laketown with some barrels in a months time. At least probably you will." He looked at me to see if I had absorbed any of his speech. Seeing that I didn't . . . really didn't . . . he continued on in some incomprehensible string of gestures, tapping his head a number of times meaningfully.

Pulling me after him, he marched through a great number of progressively better lit rooms. They were probably important, but they passed by me in a succession of blurry streaks that left only a vague general impression of stone halls and torches on metal brackets. I blinked back a few tears, so I could see better, and whiped my drippy nose on my sleeve. There was passages and enclaves all around. The walls were all stone, and of course the torches. And the ceiling, stately dome-arches, black from smoke. A draft blew by, and I heard the faint sound of running water. Rushing water, more-like, but muffled.

We kept on walking. My stocking feet making pit-pat sounds, the scarf dragging behind. . . the angel did make the slightest sound with his foot falls. Finally the he stopped, opened a wooden door and entered. More stone. It was not as light in this room, compared to the halls. There was a something spluttering and burning to one side.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. The angel pointed firmly at a half barrel of water in the middle of the room. The angel looked like it wanted an acknowledgment, so I nodded. The angel walked to the door and out.

I took a hesitant step into the room, unsure what to do now. It was not a very big room. There was a bed. There was a small table with the sputtery burning bowl on it, and a few other things, who knows what. And a lingering hint of herbs and spices. I turned and eyed the door. . . wood with metal setting. I pushed on it, but it didn't budge. I tried moving the metal piece, and it went easily. I threw open the door, but the hall was instantly black by the shapes of . . . now two angels? Make that three.

The first angel l began again talking and gesturing away. There was obviously something I was supposed to understand, as if his unusual gestures were supposed to have some universal meaning. Some of the others suggested a few things. I stared, highly fascinated and confused. He concluded by putting his hand on he face, shaking his head, and entered the room.

Picking up a piece of evil looking soap, he began acting out something. It took me a minute to realize he was acting out a tutorials of what soap was. The barrel of water was a bath? Realizing I finally understood, the angel tossed me the soap and left.

Very suddenly I woke up lying on my bed. Of course I would. I began to cry. How I hated these dreams, even though nothing dreadful had happened in this dream, it had been too real. Much to real. I didn't want to wake up back in a nasty horrible prison.

I moved my hand. I felt different. I realized what it was. My hand was drooping over the side of the bed. ???? I thought. I rolled over expecting to roll into the nasty, but familiar wall, but instead a great deal of nothing met me. . . . I woke up mid-fall. . . . Thud. I was now very awake.

I was in the room. It had not been a dream! I wiggled out of the cocoon blanket which had gone to the floor with me and stood up in a daze. It was all real! I could see lights coming from around the door. I looked down, and I was defiantly wearing the unbleached white dress. . . sack . . thing they had given. I put my hands up in frount of my face inspecting them. The soap might not have floated, and it might not have made any bubbles, but it defiantly did its job, which after who knows how long of reeking, made me very happy. I looked around. The room was darkish, but not pitch.

The walls reverberated with faint singing. I had heard something like it before in the forrest, but there I had not liked the sound. Actually I was still not sure if I liked it, but it was beautiful. I walked to the door over the cold floor, and open the door, blinking at the light. Sitting in the doorway I listened to the sound of the singing, even though I was still very tired. It was so beautiful that it made me feel sad inside. I closed my eyes, and it felt as if all the things around me were a part of the song. A very confusing song.

I woke up again. I was still the doorway, but the singing had stopped, and was replaced by faint creepy laughter. I looked down the hall but I couldn't see where it was coming from. It was the same creepy laugher as I had heard in the forrest, but unlike the singing, I was very sure I did not like the laughter.

I wondered if I would be able to find my way to the toilet. The angels had shown me where it was last night too. It seemed like something from a castle. Basically a hole in the floor. I suspected a direct line to a sewer . . or into a river. But beggars cannot be choosers, and I really had to go right now.

I tried to guess at which way it had been . . . but after a few turns it was becoming clear that my guesses not been right. I walked through yet another room. They were all evidently some kind of storerooms. Dried herbs from the ceiling, dried meat, whole rounds of cheese, mostly empty baskets, bunches of onions, and lots of barrels. Lots and lots of barrels. I considered a little pilfering, but though better of it.

I walked inside the nearest open door, and straight away bumped into a bunch of dried green stuff. I started at the sound. A few leaves fluttered to the ground, I swallowed a few times, stilling the swinging bunch with my hands.

I couldn't see anywhere else to go in the crowded room. Turning around I started again, for there was two angels standing to one side of the door.

"What are you doing here?" stated one of them, eyeing me. I felt my heart pounding inside me again.

I had thought angels were supposed to make you feel better, and tell you stuff, but all the angels I had met so far . . . didn't quite fit the stereotype. A disturbing conclusion-theory weaseled into my thoughts. Maybe they weren't angels . . .

"Get out of here and stop nosing around." said the other one.

Not angels? Actually I'm not sure I ever really believed they were, but they did not seem really human either. But a human who had never been in the sun? No way. Or at least, they would look extremely unhealthy. . . severe vitamin D deficiencies, and I know not what . . . rickets, or something . . .

One of the angels turned to the other.

"They say they doesn't understand the common tongue, and are . . . well . . . mentally troubled."

"I heard about that," said the other meaningfully.

It had taken a little desperate sign language on my part, but eventually they had understood, and had show my to where the toilet was. And now I was back in my room sitting on the bed, with my feet hanging over the side, wondering what to do now, and what it was exactly I had been following around.

Human would be the easiest answer . . . but humans do not ever have such perfect uniform features. They always have something, like a biggish nose, or crocked teeth, or scars . . . zits . . . bruises . . . moles. . . a tan . . . and no one, NO one, ever, ever, ever had perfect skin like that. Maybe it was just the lighting. . .I pondered that one. What if I looked like that too? Actually that wouldn't be bad.

Looking down I myself, I disproved that inviting theory. I look worse that I usual did. What I could see was covered in scratches, and scabs. My one foot looked especially bad. The bruising was pale, but my foot was a scabby mess. No wonder it had hurt when I walked. Yuck.

And besides they walked without making noise. And they were really . . . graceful. Where they perhaps . . . unn . . I had never in my life even in the slightest believed in them . . . but were these . . . aliens from outer space. The thought that those really bad old science fiction movies about "highly advanced aliens" could be true sent a shiver up my spine. Besides they always wore really shiny clothing with large diamond shaped collars, spoke english . . . or were out to destroy the Earth . . .

I glanced up. The bath barrel was upside-down, and in a corner drying, and I could see there was something on it. I walked over, and illuminated in the light burning in the hall I instantly recognized what was on it. All my clothes were lying, washed . . . and patched up with a great deal of care. I examined my socks more closely. The holes had been patched up with wool thread, and since white was apparently not a practical colour for feet, or they couldn't match the colour, they had dyed them. There was something else. Sitting to one side was a pair of shoes. I lifted them up. They were beautiful, but more beautiful was the gesture. I instantly felt bad for ever thinking anything ill about these . . . aliens . . . or whatever they were.

The Notes: I'm going to figure out away to get the italic etc. etc, to actually show up, but until then, it is as you see.

P.S. thank you to all those who have reviewed.