Part XI

ON THE BRINK

On the Brink

Zimran seemed docile now. He led them through the woods as though he was a faithful dog. Arun did not trust this appearance of submissiveness. He fully believed that given the chance the Corsair would murder them both, or perhaps worse, lead them into slavery and evil in Mordor. Who knew what other kinship ties he had that might be fulfilled? For his part Arun kept his hand constantly on the hilt of his dagger.

For his part Zimran also had a fear of the boy with piercing eyes that seemed to part his thoughts. The elf was ready enough to believe in him, his relief obvious with their agreement. His desperation was still too near. Still, that wretched boy would get in the way; he was too fiercely protective of that elf. What he needed was to gain their trust.

Darkness had brought them out of the protective shades of Ithilien and into the cold barren land of the Morannon. Legolas shuddered when he thought how many days had been lost since Estel must have stood here. Behind them loomed the Dagorlad the 'Battle Plain' where bodies not grass had formed a carpet underfoot. Legolas shivered in the horror of a past that still seemed present. He felt the weight of the bodies that still seemed to lie there in the dust. Mordor pressed down on him and he once more began to doubt their mission. What if Estel was already gone? Surely he would know? Those words seemed engraved in his thoughts, as though they would immunise him to the possibility of his friend's demise.

"The day is falling away," he whispered, almost to himself.

"Nay," answered Zimran, loudly, as if to dispel the shadow from the air. "Here the sun is always hidden." As he said this he turned his face toward the sky and shuddered in the chill of the evening wind. Now faced with the prospect of the shadowland he feared. It represented a threat of more violence, of mutiny and of worse things that lived in the darkness. He always felt uneasy entering the land, preferred to conduct his business this side of the gate. Alone he feared the Orcs that abode there, one man alone meant nothing to them.

Arun shuddered, cold in the shadow. "That may be, but it is late in the day nonetheless. It will surely not do to enter the land of shadow so surreptitiously. Should they consider us spies, we have no hope." Legolas looked on astonished at the wisdom of this boy, who seemed to have grown in prowess even in the few days they had spent together.

"Aye, we shall wait upon the morn," he sighed.

They sat once more, facing away from the faceless wall; the creaking gate. They were hidden by the foothills of the mountains. To Legolas it seemed insurmountable and now he had come thus far he did not see how they should pass this final deadly hurdle. What lay beyond did not yet trouble him, for he saw only the wall in front; the great gate, stiff and wide.

Knocking at the Gate

Beneath the black wood of the great gate the silence was awful. Arun longed to scream out; not for aid but for the sake of sound. It would serve to lessen the dread of this place. To him the dread of unknown, what was hidden seemed worse than the threat of the land itself. With his young years he could not imagine what might lie beyond the gate that seemed to have been summoning him. One way or another, his journey would end there.

Zimran reached through the silence, and, as he had been delegated to do hammered on the gate before him. It seemed to vibrate through the door and himself. Fear was rekindled, burning stronger even than on his mercenary missions. Now he was illegal, subversive, in company against the Dark Lord. One did not question the authority of the Dark Lord. Who knew how far his power might stretch?

Legolas beheld the knock upon the door with a singular dread. Not knowing what was beyond it seemed easier to believe that Estel might be alive. Now he was to see beyond the curtain he feared more what he was to find. He seemed to stand on the brink of a cliff but a mist had blocked his view.

The knock was loud and terrible. They shuddered in the thin air to hear and dust flew.

Nothing seemed to happen. They heard nothing more.

Arun turned his head toward the elf in the uncertain silence that once more flooded the area. He opened his mouth to speak only to be interrupted by the ugliest voice his short life had ever heard.

Can you hear me calling you?

It seemed not a voice at all but like the sawdust tone of a snake.

"Who dares to face the gate of the dread land of Mordor? The voice seemed to cackle in delight. It mocked those foolish enough to demand entry. It found the fear of those that cowered at the door merely amusing.

Even the piercing eyes of the elf could not burst through thick wood and metal to discover the body of this voice. It seemed as though it floated around them in the air. Peering upward there seemed nothing above, and then, creeping slowly over the parapet of the gate appeared faces, beaming in Orcish delight. Small eyes squinted at the figures so far below and distorted faces were filled with curiosity.

Zimran, reacting to the threat of Arun's dagger embedding itself in his back, called back. His voice but a thin whisper, he hoped they would not hear him. He waited, but the ground refused to open and engulf him.

"We are Corsairs of Umbar," quivered the thin voice. Legolas shuddered at the thought; it had come to this, to be counted a corsair.

"We come to meet others of our company and to negotiate terms for the capture of more slaves." Orcish eyes squinted in the blood red sun, eager to get a closer look at these travellers that came in so small a number.

The voice, whose owner they could not see, writhed once more in the air, "To whose company do you belong?"

Legolas panicked, he had no answers. Was his quest to be over before it had barely begun? He had not expected it to be easy to cross into the land, but their luck had held and they had found Zimran. Now he saw the dangers of this man that might lie, or merely hand them over to Orcs given any chance of release. Looking toward the man's eyes he thought he saw the spark of possibility alight within.

His voice quivering, Zimran gave the answer he feared to give. "We are of the company of Zuliman," within his eyes burnt the flame of fear. Sounds of begrudging approval drifted through the grey air toward them. With a terrible regularity they heard the footfalls of trolls, as they began to wind the gate open. Once more he felt upon the brink of some terrible destiny. His body forcing hesitation upon him, feet wishing to be rooted to the ground, he shuddered as he heard the first creak of the great hinges. All three pairs of eyes squinted into their future with trepidation in their minds.

Legolas looked ahead and muttered; "Estel – I come." The words fell silently away into the wind.

The Man without a name

The sun had risen and set once more, and not another word had passed between Aragorn and Sador. His captors, unwilling to release him from another day of work; Aragorn found himself forced, unready, into the shock of slavery once more. If anything they were more stringent with him now than before. He found himself cut off from the other slaves, as though his very presence might tip them into rebellion.

But the fire, so hot, that burned within his eyes seemed to have died and his eyes lingered now a little closer to the Earth. Within the lined face there seemed now no chance of that rebellion that but two days hence had spread fear into the hearts of Orcs. He craved the contact that he had lost with the dregs of humanity around him. Even the dim eyes, blackened limbs and crooked backs might have given him hope – but now nothing. They knew…

They knew now what he craved, knew that alone he was nothing – once more the man without a name. There was no Bellas, his strength was gone. Like his life he thought it had slowly been sliced away from him until coming closer it seemed to touch his bear skin. Fear and death were neighbours now – jostling to take him first.

With exhaustion, in the heat of the fire over which he stood his hand strayed too close. It slipped into the dancing flame and he reeled backward in pain. His feet left the ground and his back connected instead. Shocked by the pain, back into the world of feelings, for a moment he sat mesmerised, like a child, by the expanding redness of his skin. Then a shadow raised itself above him. For a moment he thought death had come to release him. It stood, not comforting as he thought, but menacing and deadly. But death did not have a voice he remembered. In the dark recesses that Mordor had emptied, something flickered…. He knew

"So" a voice, like bitter steel, sounded above him as he tried unsuccessfully to heave himself from the floor. "You have not changed since we left you. You still refuse the call of the darkness and the Earth."

Aragorn had thought that they knew him. He thought they saw in his eyes what he feared the most: the blindness and empty ache of a world without memory. He knew, (it was all he knew) that it was this emptiness he feared the most. But this face, large and dark, with the eyes that seemed like a wall – they thought he would fear this more.

Visions flashed through his empty mind – random and dangerous. He saw – green and blue sky. H He saw the eyes the faced him now, upon him before. He remembered the smell; that which threatened to suffocate – a smell he feared. He heard the monotonous tread of boots – footfalls lighter than the orcs. More colours he saw – black, brown, a hint of green. He heard the creaking of hinges of a great door… Peering far, perhaps a hint of grey eyes, golden hair and further still dark eyes and raven…

The face above was riddled with hatred of him; he ought to fear – but death was no burden. This… this was something he could still fight.

But most of all – he remembered…

End of part XI