See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.
THE TALE OF MARIAN
Chapter 6: Somewhere I have Never Traveled
The stranger grabbed me and roughly pulled me to my feet, which I
didn't appreciate for three reasons: He scared me, I was stiff and
sore, and I do not take kindly to being manhandled. Besides, I had
already had enough surprises for one day. I was on overload. As he
loosened his rather rude grasp I yanked myself free, trying to decide
whether I should be afraid or just plain pissed off, stepped back, and
looked up at him. And up. He was tall, luminous, beautiful, and
terrible, like an avenging angel, or a wrathful being from a Celtic
legend. He stood erect and indignant, and in no uncertain terms he
told me that no one was allowed to enter the Linluin. Actually he
said something like "None save but by the grace of the Lord may have
leave to set foot in the Linluin." That was fine with me, whatever
the Linluin was. I was just relieved he hadn't killed me or attacked
me ,yet. I decided to cross "axe murderer" and "serial rapist" off of
my list, at least for the moment, although "brainwashed religious cult
member" or "psychotic environmental terrorist" popped into my head as
dangerous possibilities. It was something about his eyes that made me
relax my guard a little, which despite flashing with outrage, were
clear and deep. He had the oldest eyes I had ever seen, made older
still by contrast to his youthful face and form. I regained my voice
enough to demand who the hell was he and what did he think he was
doing, and to call out for Bruno. Where had that dumb animal gone,
right when I needed him?
He looked me up and down accusingly, took a deep breath, and said to
me, in the same terse, long-suffering voice that I used to invoke when
my children, at a young age, had committed a serious transgression,
that I, a mere mortal, had washed myself with SOAP in the sacred
Linluin, and if that was not damaging enough, I had just ruined a
perfectly good flet ladder, and did I not have any idea what serious
trouble I was now in. The Lord would have to be informed, and the
damage repaired. I must come with him and face judgement.
While he ranted and raved at me, I took the opportunity to look him up
and down in return, and decided that "brainwashed religious cult
member" was close to the mark, but didn't do him full justice. He was
dressed in tights, for God's sake! A leather belt with an intricately
worked metal buckle and knife sheaths (with knives in them) sticking
out of both sides were peeking out from behind a cloak or robe of
rough but richly woven fabric whose color shifted from dark green to
red-brown as he moved, blending almost invisibly with the surrounding
forest. This was either his natural garb, he wore it so well, or a
heck of a find from a really upscale renaissance faire. He looked
such a part of the forest, if I hadn't been so scared I'd have had
half a mind see if he had leaves growing out of his ears. But his
long, thick hair hung down all around his face. . . and he was
blond. It figured. Bleached blond, by the look of his dark eyebrows.
JUDGEMENT? MORTAL? Summoning all of the self-righteous sarcasm I
could muster, the pissed off part of me won out. Look, Robin Hood, or
whatever your name is, I said. I told him I didn't care who his
"Lord" was, this was part of a national park, not his personal
property, I hadn't seen any "keep out" signs posted around the SACRED
POND, how dare he watch me bathe, and what gave him the right to build
a fort in an old-growth redwood tree anyway, AND, by the way, he was
not under any circumstances to touch me again, and he could back off
and leave right now.
I didn't catch the subtle signal he must have given, but before I
could blink, there were two more of them surrounding me, all tall,
slender, tight-wearing, long-haired blonds, all pointing arrows at me
inches from my face, not smiling. Yes, arrows. Real ones. I had
landed in some kind of Swedish nutcookie version of hell. It must
have been the self-righteous smirks on their faces that made me dig my
heels in. (I turn stubborn at the worst times, it's a character flaw;
either that or a coping mechanism against dropping to me knees and
begging for mercy.) And then to top it off, there was Bruno,
finally, standing there with them and wagging his tail. Thanks for
nothing, Bruno, I spat at him. He grinned at me and drooled. The
traitor. His name is not my fault, I told Robin Hood, crossing my
arms while he looked at me with raised eyebrows. I proceeded to stare
him down. God, his eyes were gorgeous. I couldn't handle it. Ok, I
was sorry, I said and dropped my eyes to look at my feet. The arrows
dropped, too.
Things might have gone differently except that one of the merry men
(or women, it was hard to tell, they were all drop-dead stinking
perfect) spotted something on the ground which he (she?) picked up and
gave to Robin Hood, speaking to him in a low but urgent tone in a
language I couldn't place. I gasped and my hand went to my throat.
It was Jason's ring! The chain must have fallen off my neck when I
went reverse skydiving up the tree. The arrows went up again.
Robin Hood's eyes turn steely hard and he stepped forward to tower
over me once more, dangling Jason's ring in my face. When I reached
out to take it he moved it just out of my grasp. Where did I come by
this trinket, he demanded darkly, and was it mine? His manner
convinced met that it might be wise to tell the truth. It was not a
trinket, I emphasized, it was a family heirloom of great value and
belonged to a dear friend. And where was this friend, he asked, his
eyes never leaving mine so that I felt he might already read the truth
in my face. Looking at him squarely, I replied that my friend was at
home and that his ring had been loaned to me for good luck; I was
entrusted with it and it was my duty to return it safely to him. What
was my friend's name, he pressed. Jason, I said testily, and what,
while we were at it, was his?
He glanced at the others and the arrows dropped again. Then he turned
away from me and to my great irritation put the ring and chain
somewhere inside his cloak. Looking out over the not-swimming hole,
he said he wondered if this was the way I usually cared for valuables
that were in my charge. I felt my face grow hot, but before I could
demand the ring back he turned toward me again and spoke. His name
was Lindir, and he was warden of Methentaurond, which they called this
place. His fellow wardens were Orodren and Gladrel. I was Marian, I
said, and could I please have Jason's ring back. Now, so I could be
on my way.
Lindir stared at me for a few moments, but didn't move to return the
ring. They had been expecting me, he said finally with a nod, and
turned away from me again to speak to Orodren, who placed his hand
over his heart as if in salute, and left. I watched his form quickly
disappear into the trees, all fluid, elegant movement, then I turned
purposefully to Lindir again. Arrows or not, I was getting tired of
being manipulated.
Lindir continued to walk away from me, his other companion still
behind me. It was obvious that he expected me to follow him. I
didn't feel like obliging him. I stood my ground and demanded some
answers, like what was with the arrows and where were we. He turned
and regarded me coolly. Again, he didn't answer me directly, but told
me that we would move but a little farther from the Linluin and camp
for the night. I hadn't realized how late it was, and I was suddenly
very tired and hungry, and he still had Jason's ring, the rat. I
supposed it wouldn't hurt to humor them for one night, and I was
curious in spite of myself.
I went to gather my things from the rocks by the pool, Gladrel
following me. Bruno stayed with Lindir, who he seemed to have taken a
strong liking to. Gladrel pulled a small net from somewhere inside
her cloak (I had decided she was female) and proceeded to quickly and
adeptly catch dinner with practiced movements so economical and
refined that I could barely follow with my eyes. Apparently it was
not ok to swim, but it was ok to fish. Fine with me. Gladrel was
not, however, interested in talking.
I carried my things back over to where Lindir was preparing a fire for
the fish and laying out a type of flatbread he called "lembas." Bruno
lay on his other side, and looked around at me sheepishly like he was
sorry, he liked Lindir better than me. I stuck my tongue out at him,
but the fact that Bruno was not at all upset by these people gave me
some reassurance. I tried some simple "yes" or "no" questions, to no
avail. Sizing the two of them up, I wondered if they were as tough
and reserved as they wanted to appear. I decided that dinner might be
an advantageous occasion to share my wine.
While the fish was being prepared (I chose not to try and share my
dehydrated dinners, as I was sure they would not be appreciated),
Orodren returned. I followed him over to the redwood with the "flet",
where I watched him casually sight and shoot an arrow with a small
grappling hook on the end up into the tree, then pull the rope that
was attached to it hand over hand until the looped end of the
counterweighted flet ladder was back in its proper place at the base
of the tree. How had he even seen where the rope was, 200 or so feet
up, with dusk fast approaching, much less snag it on the first
attempt? When I expressed my amazement he merely smiled cheekily at
me and walked back over to the camp, blond hair flowing behind him. I
mused that he had been missing for a couple of hours at most, so
wherever he had gone to get the hooked arrow could not be more than an
hour away. I am filing that information away for future use.
I followed Orodren back over to the fire, announcing that I had wine
to share. Not just any wine, but the best old vine Zinfandel from the
best foothill vintage in the last ten years. I seemed to have struck
a subject close to their hearts, as this announcement was met with
intense interest. I dug into my pack, pulled out a fat package - I
had wrapped the bottle in several protective layers of clothing - and
unwound it. When I saw the label I let loose a string of curses that
Ed would have been proud of. That bastard Jason had switched bottles
on me, leaving me with a cheap red table wine! He'd probably had a
great time drinking my precious Zin and laughing at me. I hotly
explained my predicament to my captors (well, they HAD kidnapped
Jason's ring) and they broke into gales of laughter. It was good to
know they had a sense of humor. I had to admit it was well played.
When I get away from these people I will have to get Jason back, but
good!
Dinner has passed and it grows darker. The wine seems not to have had
a tongue-loosening effect on anyone; there was probably not enough of
it to go around. There is no indication that anyone is going to try
to restrain me for the night, but I can't even go to the bathroom
without Gladrel's company. She keeps looking at me writing, I have
been at it so long. I'll keep the journal in my sleeping bag tonight.
* * * * *
1 September
This day has been even more unusual than yesterday, and that's saying
a lot.
Last night as the cooking fire died down, Orodren excused himself and
silently ascended the redwood to the flet, with much more skill than I
had done, needless to say. When I inquired why of Lindir, he actually
answered me - Orodren would keep first watch while we slept. They
usually slept in the trees, but tonight for my comfort they would
sleep on the ground. Why was a watch necessary, I pried, to which he
replied that "those of my kind" sometimes wandered into Methentaurond
and had to be persuaded to leave. Besides, there were other, older
things that walked the night that must be guarded against. I wondered
if my experience in the fairie ring had been one of those things, and
I was suddenly glad for the company, however weird.
As the darkness deepened and the stars came out, Gladrel began to
sing, in that hauntingly beautiful and grave language that I couldn't
place. Her voice was the sweetest soprano I have ever heard. I
imagined even the trees even seemed to pause in their rustlings to
listen. Although her words were unknown to me, something in me
responded. Visions floated across my mind of strange lands and a
longing for that which had passed; then a looking forward, as a
homecoming borne from the sea, to unfamiliar birds soaring in the
sparkling spray of ocean waves crashing before white- walled, rocky
headlands, exotic trees and plants gracing shores that I knew had
never existed.
Petting Bruno, who had returned to my side as if to declare a truce,
and watching Gladrel through sleepy eyes, I became aware that the
luminous quality I had first noticed in Lindir was shared by Gladrel,
and had intensified as the night deepened around us. I turned to look
at Lindir again. A faint, ethereal aura shone around each of them. I
knew people who claimed they could see peoples' auras, like energy
fields around them. Each person's aura was unique and of different
colors, they explained, which changed somewhat with a person's mood.
Lighter colors were positive, while a dark aura warned of evil or
depression. I believed them. Heck, photographers had captured the
auras around leaves and flowers on film; Asian architects wrote about
detrimental or auspicious flows of energy, or chi, of different
arrangements of space, affecting people's fortune and happiness. But
I had never seen an aura around a person before. Was this what I saw,
last night in the dark? If so, these peoples' auras were al the same
color, a pure, lambent white, like the faint glow just outside of a
candle's flame.
Yet, in the light of the morning filtering down through the trees, the
cool breeze rustling through the ferns and the honking of migrating
geese far above us, those images of the night seemed like a dream.
We have spent the entire day still near our camp near the pool.
Lindir says we are waiting, although, in what I am coming to learn is
his typical fashion, he won't say directly what we are waiting for.
Then I figured the typical cult brainwashing sessions were beginning,
because he spent a good part of the morning lecturing me on the
environmental evils of modern society, which I was hard pressed to
argue with except that I was not sure "evils" is the right word.
"Mistakes" would be fairer, I thought, and told him so.
I'm not sure why I felt obligated to argue, except that I had heard
too many such tirades before. They usually began with inflated,
misinformed and purposefully misleading "facts", followed by
assertions that humans were a disease on the earth and we ought to all
just die and stop being a burden on the planet, followed by some sort
of anonymous tree-spiking or factory bombing to emphasize their
mantra. I'm not sure those people included themselves in that theory.
If they did, they were too depressed for me to want to listen to. It
wasn't often that other solutions were proffered, but when they were
they usually took the form of ludicrous plans to destroy technology
and return to the dark ages, or revert to communism. (Of course,
streams were never polluted in the dark ages, and we all knew how
clean Russia's factories were.)
It's not that I was against environmentalism, I clarified, I was all
for it. I knew the earth's ecosystems were in jeopardy, I knew we
were overtaxing the planet. I just thought we were part of the earth;
its steward, not its enemy. I thought we could pull together and make
things better, if everyone just stopped spitting falsehoods on both
sides and agreed to realistic solutions.
Lindir and his companions were not so positive. They thought I was
making excuses for our wastefulness and our greed. Morgoth's message
was at work everywhere, he said, and there was no distinction anymore
between good and evil. We could not see our way; we did not take the
time to stop and listen to what the earth was telling us. He doubted
we could hear it if we tried. We continued to do harm even after we
realized we were doing it. Computers, cell phones, microwave towers,
electronics of all kinds assailed our bodies constantly. We were sick
and diseased and it was of our own making.
Who was Morgoth?
His people heard and saw the sickness in the earth, he confided
bleakly without answering my question, and there was despair among
them. Some of them, even, had become ill. This had not happened, he
said, in all the ages of the earth, and they knew not what to do
except to leave Arda, which they loved, at last.
Figuring he wouldn't tell me what Arda was, I told them that I thought
that if people came to truly understand the problems and see the
possibilities, people would change. Did they hear the geese, I asked.
Thousands of them, migrating south for the winter, thousands more
than anyone could remember. We were preserving the wetlands now, I
reminded him, because now we understood, and look at how many geese
there were now. Look at green design, I told them. Architects were
learning to design buildings that worked with the earth, not against
it, and saving resources and energy.
Yes, we had begun to understand some small things, they conceded. But
cultural change comes slowly: Too slowly for the earth, too slowly for
his people, and perhaps for mine. How many "green" buildings had I
designed, Orodren asked, once I learned how to do it? None, I told
him, but I was trying to get our office culture to change, and yes, it
was slow and difficult. So difficult I had almost given up.
He walked away from me.
I thought about what Lindir had said, later, sitting by the pool and
teasing a squirrel closer and closer to me with bits of lembas. I
knew he was right, and somehow I also knew he, Gladrel and Orodren
were not psychotic environmental terrorists with an aversion to
technology, nor were they bleached-blond brainwashed Swedish religious
cult members.
As the daylight faded, I got up and walked back over to the campfire
where Lindir and Orodren were talking quietly. Gladrel had
disappeared somewhere again. Goodbye work, I decided. Ed would
probably fire me once I was a few days later than expected, if I
hadn't called with an explanation. But I would stay until I
understood who "his people" and Morgoth were, what Methentaurond and
Arda were, and what this was all about.
Tell me, I said.
Tomorrow, said Lindir.
I can't believe I am doing this. I have never been such a sucker in my
life.
*Somewhere I have Never Traveled, Gladly Beyond . . . a poem by
E.E. Cummings
THE TALE OF MARIAN
Chapter 6: Somewhere I have Never Traveled
The stranger grabbed me and roughly pulled me to my feet, which I
didn't appreciate for three reasons: He scared me, I was stiff and
sore, and I do not take kindly to being manhandled. Besides, I had
already had enough surprises for one day. I was on overload. As he
loosened his rather rude grasp I yanked myself free, trying to decide
whether I should be afraid or just plain pissed off, stepped back, and
looked up at him. And up. He was tall, luminous, beautiful, and
terrible, like an avenging angel, or a wrathful being from a Celtic
legend. He stood erect and indignant, and in no uncertain terms he
told me that no one was allowed to enter the Linluin. Actually he
said something like "None save but by the grace of the Lord may have
leave to set foot in the Linluin." That was fine with me, whatever
the Linluin was. I was just relieved he hadn't killed me or attacked
me ,yet. I decided to cross "axe murderer" and "serial rapist" off of
my list, at least for the moment, although "brainwashed religious cult
member" or "psychotic environmental terrorist" popped into my head as
dangerous possibilities. It was something about his eyes that made me
relax my guard a little, which despite flashing with outrage, were
clear and deep. He had the oldest eyes I had ever seen, made older
still by contrast to his youthful face and form. I regained my voice
enough to demand who the hell was he and what did he think he was
doing, and to call out for Bruno. Where had that dumb animal gone,
right when I needed him?
He looked me up and down accusingly, took a deep breath, and said to
me, in the same terse, long-suffering voice that I used to invoke when
my children, at a young age, had committed a serious transgression,
that I, a mere mortal, had washed myself with SOAP in the sacred
Linluin, and if that was not damaging enough, I had just ruined a
perfectly good flet ladder, and did I not have any idea what serious
trouble I was now in. The Lord would have to be informed, and the
damage repaired. I must come with him and face judgement.
While he ranted and raved at me, I took the opportunity to look him up
and down in return, and decided that "brainwashed religious cult
member" was close to the mark, but didn't do him full justice. He was
dressed in tights, for God's sake! A leather belt with an intricately
worked metal buckle and knife sheaths (with knives in them) sticking
out of both sides were peeking out from behind a cloak or robe of
rough but richly woven fabric whose color shifted from dark green to
red-brown as he moved, blending almost invisibly with the surrounding
forest. This was either his natural garb, he wore it so well, or a
heck of a find from a really upscale renaissance faire. He looked
such a part of the forest, if I hadn't been so scared I'd have had
half a mind see if he had leaves growing out of his ears. But his
long, thick hair hung down all around his face. . . and he was
blond. It figured. Bleached blond, by the look of his dark eyebrows.
JUDGEMENT? MORTAL? Summoning all of the self-righteous sarcasm I
could muster, the pissed off part of me won out. Look, Robin Hood, or
whatever your name is, I said. I told him I didn't care who his
"Lord" was, this was part of a national park, not his personal
property, I hadn't seen any "keep out" signs posted around the SACRED
POND, how dare he watch me bathe, and what gave him the right to build
a fort in an old-growth redwood tree anyway, AND, by the way, he was
not under any circumstances to touch me again, and he could back off
and leave right now.
I didn't catch the subtle signal he must have given, but before I
could blink, there were two more of them surrounding me, all tall,
slender, tight-wearing, long-haired blonds, all pointing arrows at me
inches from my face, not smiling. Yes, arrows. Real ones. I had
landed in some kind of Swedish nutcookie version of hell. It must
have been the self-righteous smirks on their faces that made me dig my
heels in. (I turn stubborn at the worst times, it's a character flaw;
either that or a coping mechanism against dropping to me knees and
begging for mercy.) And then to top it off, there was Bruno,
finally, standing there with them and wagging his tail. Thanks for
nothing, Bruno, I spat at him. He grinned at me and drooled. The
traitor. His name is not my fault, I told Robin Hood, crossing my
arms while he looked at me with raised eyebrows. I proceeded to stare
him down. God, his eyes were gorgeous. I couldn't handle it. Ok, I
was sorry, I said and dropped my eyes to look at my feet. The arrows
dropped, too.
Things might have gone differently except that one of the merry men
(or women, it was hard to tell, they were all drop-dead stinking
perfect) spotted something on the ground which he (she?) picked up and
gave to Robin Hood, speaking to him in a low but urgent tone in a
language I couldn't place. I gasped and my hand went to my throat.
It was Jason's ring! The chain must have fallen off my neck when I
went reverse skydiving up the tree. The arrows went up again.
Robin Hood's eyes turn steely hard and he stepped forward to tower
over me once more, dangling Jason's ring in my face. When I reached
out to take it he moved it just out of my grasp. Where did I come by
this trinket, he demanded darkly, and was it mine? His manner
convinced met that it might be wise to tell the truth. It was not a
trinket, I emphasized, it was a family heirloom of great value and
belonged to a dear friend. And where was this friend, he asked, his
eyes never leaving mine so that I felt he might already read the truth
in my face. Looking at him squarely, I replied that my friend was at
home and that his ring had been loaned to me for good luck; I was
entrusted with it and it was my duty to return it safely to him. What
was my friend's name, he pressed. Jason, I said testily, and what,
while we were at it, was his?
He glanced at the others and the arrows dropped again. Then he turned
away from me and to my great irritation put the ring and chain
somewhere inside his cloak. Looking out over the not-swimming hole,
he said he wondered if this was the way I usually cared for valuables
that were in my charge. I felt my face grow hot, but before I could
demand the ring back he turned toward me again and spoke. His name
was Lindir, and he was warden of Methentaurond, which they called this
place. His fellow wardens were Orodren and Gladrel. I was Marian, I
said, and could I please have Jason's ring back. Now, so I could be
on my way.
Lindir stared at me for a few moments, but didn't move to return the
ring. They had been expecting me, he said finally with a nod, and
turned away from me again to speak to Orodren, who placed his hand
over his heart as if in salute, and left. I watched his form quickly
disappear into the trees, all fluid, elegant movement, then I turned
purposefully to Lindir again. Arrows or not, I was getting tired of
being manipulated.
Lindir continued to walk away from me, his other companion still
behind me. It was obvious that he expected me to follow him. I
didn't feel like obliging him. I stood my ground and demanded some
answers, like what was with the arrows and where were we. He turned
and regarded me coolly. Again, he didn't answer me directly, but told
me that we would move but a little farther from the Linluin and camp
for the night. I hadn't realized how late it was, and I was suddenly
very tired and hungry, and he still had Jason's ring, the rat. I
supposed it wouldn't hurt to humor them for one night, and I was
curious in spite of myself.
I went to gather my things from the rocks by the pool, Gladrel
following me. Bruno stayed with Lindir, who he seemed to have taken a
strong liking to. Gladrel pulled a small net from somewhere inside
her cloak (I had decided she was female) and proceeded to quickly and
adeptly catch dinner with practiced movements so economical and
refined that I could barely follow with my eyes. Apparently it was
not ok to swim, but it was ok to fish. Fine with me. Gladrel was
not, however, interested in talking.
I carried my things back over to where Lindir was preparing a fire for
the fish and laying out a type of flatbread he called "lembas." Bruno
lay on his other side, and looked around at me sheepishly like he was
sorry, he liked Lindir better than me. I stuck my tongue out at him,
but the fact that Bruno was not at all upset by these people gave me
some reassurance. I tried some simple "yes" or "no" questions, to no
avail. Sizing the two of them up, I wondered if they were as tough
and reserved as they wanted to appear. I decided that dinner might be
an advantageous occasion to share my wine.
While the fish was being prepared (I chose not to try and share my
dehydrated dinners, as I was sure they would not be appreciated),
Orodren returned. I followed him over to the redwood with the "flet",
where I watched him casually sight and shoot an arrow with a small
grappling hook on the end up into the tree, then pull the rope that
was attached to it hand over hand until the looped end of the
counterweighted flet ladder was back in its proper place at the base
of the tree. How had he even seen where the rope was, 200 or so feet
up, with dusk fast approaching, much less snag it on the first
attempt? When I expressed my amazement he merely smiled cheekily at
me and walked back over to the camp, blond hair flowing behind him. I
mused that he had been missing for a couple of hours at most, so
wherever he had gone to get the hooked arrow could not be more than an
hour away. I am filing that information away for future use.
I followed Orodren back over to the fire, announcing that I had wine
to share. Not just any wine, but the best old vine Zinfandel from the
best foothill vintage in the last ten years. I seemed to have struck
a subject close to their hearts, as this announcement was met with
intense interest. I dug into my pack, pulled out a fat package - I
had wrapped the bottle in several protective layers of clothing - and
unwound it. When I saw the label I let loose a string of curses that
Ed would have been proud of. That bastard Jason had switched bottles
on me, leaving me with a cheap red table wine! He'd probably had a
great time drinking my precious Zin and laughing at me. I hotly
explained my predicament to my captors (well, they HAD kidnapped
Jason's ring) and they broke into gales of laughter. It was good to
know they had a sense of humor. I had to admit it was well played.
When I get away from these people I will have to get Jason back, but
good!
Dinner has passed and it grows darker. The wine seems not to have had
a tongue-loosening effect on anyone; there was probably not enough of
it to go around. There is no indication that anyone is going to try
to restrain me for the night, but I can't even go to the bathroom
without Gladrel's company. She keeps looking at me writing, I have
been at it so long. I'll keep the journal in my sleeping bag tonight.
* * * * *
1 September
This day has been even more unusual than yesterday, and that's saying
a lot.
Last night as the cooking fire died down, Orodren excused himself and
silently ascended the redwood to the flet, with much more skill than I
had done, needless to say. When I inquired why of Lindir, he actually
answered me - Orodren would keep first watch while we slept. They
usually slept in the trees, but tonight for my comfort they would
sleep on the ground. Why was a watch necessary, I pried, to which he
replied that "those of my kind" sometimes wandered into Methentaurond
and had to be persuaded to leave. Besides, there were other, older
things that walked the night that must be guarded against. I wondered
if my experience in the fairie ring had been one of those things, and
I was suddenly glad for the company, however weird.
As the darkness deepened and the stars came out, Gladrel began to
sing, in that hauntingly beautiful and grave language that I couldn't
place. Her voice was the sweetest soprano I have ever heard. I
imagined even the trees even seemed to pause in their rustlings to
listen. Although her words were unknown to me, something in me
responded. Visions floated across my mind of strange lands and a
longing for that which had passed; then a looking forward, as a
homecoming borne from the sea, to unfamiliar birds soaring in the
sparkling spray of ocean waves crashing before white- walled, rocky
headlands, exotic trees and plants gracing shores that I knew had
never existed.
Petting Bruno, who had returned to my side as if to declare a truce,
and watching Gladrel through sleepy eyes, I became aware that the
luminous quality I had first noticed in Lindir was shared by Gladrel,
and had intensified as the night deepened around us. I turned to look
at Lindir again. A faint, ethereal aura shone around each of them. I
knew people who claimed they could see peoples' auras, like energy
fields around them. Each person's aura was unique and of different
colors, they explained, which changed somewhat with a person's mood.
Lighter colors were positive, while a dark aura warned of evil or
depression. I believed them. Heck, photographers had captured the
auras around leaves and flowers on film; Asian architects wrote about
detrimental or auspicious flows of energy, or chi, of different
arrangements of space, affecting people's fortune and happiness. But
I had never seen an aura around a person before. Was this what I saw,
last night in the dark? If so, these peoples' auras were al the same
color, a pure, lambent white, like the faint glow just outside of a
candle's flame.
Yet, in the light of the morning filtering down through the trees, the
cool breeze rustling through the ferns and the honking of migrating
geese far above us, those images of the night seemed like a dream.
We have spent the entire day still near our camp near the pool.
Lindir says we are waiting, although, in what I am coming to learn is
his typical fashion, he won't say directly what we are waiting for.
Then I figured the typical cult brainwashing sessions were beginning,
because he spent a good part of the morning lecturing me on the
environmental evils of modern society, which I was hard pressed to
argue with except that I was not sure "evils" is the right word.
"Mistakes" would be fairer, I thought, and told him so.
I'm not sure why I felt obligated to argue, except that I had heard
too many such tirades before. They usually began with inflated,
misinformed and purposefully misleading "facts", followed by
assertions that humans were a disease on the earth and we ought to all
just die and stop being a burden on the planet, followed by some sort
of anonymous tree-spiking or factory bombing to emphasize their
mantra. I'm not sure those people included themselves in that theory.
If they did, they were too depressed for me to want to listen to. It
wasn't often that other solutions were proffered, but when they were
they usually took the form of ludicrous plans to destroy technology
and return to the dark ages, or revert to communism. (Of course,
streams were never polluted in the dark ages, and we all knew how
clean Russia's factories were.)
It's not that I was against environmentalism, I clarified, I was all
for it. I knew the earth's ecosystems were in jeopardy, I knew we
were overtaxing the planet. I just thought we were part of the earth;
its steward, not its enemy. I thought we could pull together and make
things better, if everyone just stopped spitting falsehoods on both
sides and agreed to realistic solutions.
Lindir and his companions were not so positive. They thought I was
making excuses for our wastefulness and our greed. Morgoth's message
was at work everywhere, he said, and there was no distinction anymore
between good and evil. We could not see our way; we did not take the
time to stop and listen to what the earth was telling us. He doubted
we could hear it if we tried. We continued to do harm even after we
realized we were doing it. Computers, cell phones, microwave towers,
electronics of all kinds assailed our bodies constantly. We were sick
and diseased and it was of our own making.
Who was Morgoth?
His people heard and saw the sickness in the earth, he confided
bleakly without answering my question, and there was despair among
them. Some of them, even, had become ill. This had not happened, he
said, in all the ages of the earth, and they knew not what to do
except to leave Arda, which they loved, at last.
Figuring he wouldn't tell me what Arda was, I told them that I thought
that if people came to truly understand the problems and see the
possibilities, people would change. Did they hear the geese, I asked.
Thousands of them, migrating south for the winter, thousands more
than anyone could remember. We were preserving the wetlands now, I
reminded him, because now we understood, and look at how many geese
there were now. Look at green design, I told them. Architects were
learning to design buildings that worked with the earth, not against
it, and saving resources and energy.
Yes, we had begun to understand some small things, they conceded. But
cultural change comes slowly: Too slowly for the earth, too slowly for
his people, and perhaps for mine. How many "green" buildings had I
designed, Orodren asked, once I learned how to do it? None, I told
him, but I was trying to get our office culture to change, and yes, it
was slow and difficult. So difficult I had almost given up.
He walked away from me.
I thought about what Lindir had said, later, sitting by the pool and
teasing a squirrel closer and closer to me with bits of lembas. I
knew he was right, and somehow I also knew he, Gladrel and Orodren
were not psychotic environmental terrorists with an aversion to
technology, nor were they bleached-blond brainwashed Swedish religious
cult members.
As the daylight faded, I got up and walked back over to the campfire
where Lindir and Orodren were talking quietly. Gladrel had
disappeared somewhere again. Goodbye work, I decided. Ed would
probably fire me once I was a few days later than expected, if I
hadn't called with an explanation. But I would stay until I
understood who "his people" and Morgoth were, what Methentaurond and
Arda were, and what this was all about.
Tell me, I said.
Tomorrow, said Lindir.
I can't believe I am doing this. I have never been such a sucker in my
life.
*Somewhere I have Never Traveled, Gladly Beyond . . . a poem by
E.E. Cummings