PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXXIX: The Double Whammy

I hate spiders. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.

I'm not like Sam. I cannot overcome my fears to be noble and save my friends. My fears are paralyzing. I will stand there, trembling and screaming and refusing to move an inch while spiders swarm over my friends or someone pushes them off a cliff. I'm sorry. They'll have to solve their own problems. That's the way I am. Deal with it. So, when Sam and I sprinted from the cobweb-coated tunnels into the open mountainside pass and saw the giant spider crouching over the body of Frodo, I wasn't the most helpful person to have around.

"Spider!" I turned and prepared to sprint back into the gaping black mouth of the tunnels. "Sorry, Frodo!"

Sam stood his ground. He glared up at the giant spider. The pincers were clacking together, making a sharp noise like two knives being tapped against each other. The pale figure of Frodo, half-wrapped in silver thread lay at the spider's feet. Her massive legs danced around him as she slowly approached Sam.

The mountain path was flat and rocky, about wide enough for three giant spiders to walk side by side. Surrounding the flat area, rising up towards the sky, were jagged, rough rocks, pointing towards the sky like a deadly fence keeping us caged in the spider's arena.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I said, backing away from the spider as far as the rocks would allow me. I leaned against the rock wall, my hands gripping the Sword Breaker tightly. I couldn't flee any further, so I stood there, open-mouthed, gawking at Sam and the bulbous spider.

I suppose I'll just tell you now that the name of this spider is Shelob. She is a creature of the First Age who took up residence in the mountain walls of Mordor and now guards one of the secret passages into Sauron's lands. Why Sauron would want to keep a spider as a pet is beyond me, but he is an evil overlord, so we may just have different tastes.

Shelob advanced slowly, relishing fear that was dripping from Sam and me.

Sam darted forward and scooped up two items from the ground. I squinted, trying to see what they were. Sam stood upright and lifted the blade into the air. It was Frodo's sword, Sting. In his other hand, Sam held a crystal-blue phial. It seemed like moonlight in his hand. The Light of Eärendil, if I remember correctly. Sam glared at the spider and waved the phial above his head. The spider screeched, recoiling in horror from the silver light. Sam shouted and chased the spider back. (It's nice to know one of us was brave enough to fight the spider. If it had been me alone, Frodo would be spider-food right now.) Shelob plucked up her courage and lunged at Sam despite the glowing light. Sam threw himself out of the spider's way at the last second. Shelob reared backwards and leapt again. Sam, who was definitely not a sword expert, waved Sting about wildly.

"Kill it!" I screamed. "Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"

"Help!" cried Sam. He rolled away from the pulsing needle protruding from the spider's behind.

"Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"

"Do not just stand there!" Sam leapt to his feet and sprinted to the other side of the passage. "Help!"

Shelob leapt at him again. This time Sam was ready. He swung his sword and managed to slice open some of her thousand eyes. The spider let out a high-pitched scream and reeled backwards, cringing in agony.

"Yay!" I waved my hands about in encouragement. "You got it Sam! Keep it up! Kill that thing!"

Sam clutched his sword and gasped for breath. "Mister Frodo!" He ran forward, trying to the silver-coated body of Frodo. However, the spider slipped between Sam and Frodo, her pincers clacking together. Sam reeled backwards and lifted the blade into the air.

"Come at me," roared Sam.

"You go, Sam!" I cried. "Keep that spider occupied! Stab it's eyes out! Make it bleed! The more pain the better! Kill it! Kill it! Ki—"

Sharp fingernails embedded themselves in my shoulders. My shrill scream echoed through the passage as something heavy and bony landed on my back. My legs gave out beneath me; I fell to the ground, rolling about and thrashing as Gollum tried to strangle me.

"We gots her, Precious. We gots her!" cried Gollum.

Gasping for breath, I tried to break Gollum's grasp. But he was strong for someone of his size, much stronger than I was.

"We will bites it and eats it and it will be a juicy morsel, yes, Precious? Yes!"

I tried to hit Gollum, swinging my left arm madly. My right arm grasped his hands that were at my throat. I tried to pull him off, but his hands kept a firm grip. I choked and gagged, gasping for some sort of breath.

There was a dull thud, and Gollum released me.

The world spun, drifting in and out of focus. I rolled away from him, across the rough floor of the passage. Then, as the world started to make sense again,. I roughed rubbed my throat.

Sam (my savior) was standing over Gollum, sword in hand, while Gollum lay curled up on the ground, clutching the back of his head and shrieking in pain.

"It hurts us! It hurts us!" cried Gollum. "The fat one hurts us!"

"And there is a lot more where that came from, you stinking, loathsome, treacherous creature!" Sam lifted Sting threateningly.

"Precious, Precious, Precious," moaned Gollum. "We needs the Precious."

At the mention of the Ring, Sam moved between Gollum and the body of Frodo, snarling, "Be gone, you foul thing."

"Fat one cannot understand. Fat one knows not." Gollum rolled over onto his stomach and lifted himself into a crawling position. He never took his eyes from Sam's face.

"Well," I said, backing away. "I can see you two have some serious personal issues to work out. I'll just be going—now."

Sam glanced at me, and then did a double take. His eyes widened. "Look out!"

"Huh?" I glanced over my shoulder and then screamed.

Shelob stood behind me, her pincers clicking together only a yard away from my head. Her thousand eyes, mixed with blood and thick hairs, watched me carefully. The two of us stood face to face for a second. Spider to woman. Predator to prey. Hunger to meal. We stared at one another in mute intensity.

Then, I fled.

Screaming, I sprinted across the passage as far as the jagged rocks would allow me. The spider followed, hot on my heels, her eight legs wriggling madly as she raced after me. I side-stepped Gollum and kept running. Both he and Sam dove out of the way as Shelob mowed past them.

"Don't eat me!" I wailed. "I don't taste good! Eat Gollum! He tastes good! I taste really bitter and gross! Not me!"

'"Use your light!" shouted Sam. "Use your witchcraft!"

Gollum hurled himself at Sam. With a cry, Sam threw up his hands, just in time to protect himself from Gollum's sharp fingernails and teeth. The two of them went crashing to the ground.

"I'm not a witch!" I cried. "It's called technology!"

Still running, my breath coming in heavy pants, I rummaged around in my pocket until my hand grasped the cellphone. I pulled the device from my pocket, using my trembling fingers to switch it on. Shelob was getting closer, her pincers frightfully close to my head. I lifted the glowing phone high into the air.

The spider squealed and skirted away from me. All thousands of her eyes glared at me reproachfully. I raised the cellphone, and the spider quickly looked away, trying to protect her already injured eyes.

"Ah-ha!" I cried, waving the phone madly above my head. "Face the power of technology!"

And—would you believe it?—my phone battery died.

I kid you not. It might have been twenty seconds after I said that, and my phone decided to go and frigging die!

Well, so much for the power of 21st century technology.

Shelob let out a shriek of delight and charged forward. With a scream, I returned to fleeing for my life. I sprinted past Sam and Gollum just as Sam managed to hurl Gollum over his head and down into a crack between the rocks. Gollum shrieked as he fell, tumbling down into the darkness and out of sight or hearing.

Sam gasped for breath as he struggled to get to his feet. The spider came to a halt. She stopped chasing me and, instead, turned her attention to Sam.

"Oh my God." I gasped, my legs almost giving out underneath me. "I'm tagging you in, Sam. I need a break."

Sam grasped Sting and glowered up at the spider. She jumped forward, pincers clacking. Gathering his courage, Sam sprinted beneath her. She lifted her body and brought it crashing down on top of him. Sam lifted Sting into the air just in time for the spider embedded herself on the blade.

A shrill scream came from Shelob. She wrenched herself away from the blade and skirted away from Sam. Her legs flew in all directions as she tried desperately to escape. Her screams pierced the air and hurt my ears. Gasping for breath, I waited on the balls of my feet for her to turn her attention to me. However, the pain of Sting was so great that Shelob dragged herself back into the black tunnels from whence she came, leaving Sam and me alone the mountain passageway.

"She is gone," said Sam.

"I hope so." I shuddered just thinking about those eight black legs. "You don't think she's coming back, do you?"

"There was a lot of blood," said Sam, doubtfully. He spun around and caught sight of the cobweb-wrapped body. "Mister Frodo!"

Sam sprinted across the open area and knelt over Frodo's body. I joined him, staring tentatively down at the pale-faced, unmoving Frodo.

"He cannot be dead," said Sam. "Mister Frodo! Mister Frodo!" He shook Frodo's shoulder, but the body did not stir.

"He's not dead," I said. "Frodo? Die? He's like a frigging zombie. Remember that time that he was stabbed in the chest by the troll, and we all thought he was dead and we were all panicking, but then Frodo was like, 'Hey guys, I'm not dead. I have a magic shirt of chainmail that I got from Bilbo who got from Thorin.' See, Thorin is majestically saving Middle Earth and Frodo's life and he doesn't even know it."

"Mister Frodo!" cried Sam, clutching Frodo's body to his chest. (Sam was completely ignoring me at this point, which was probably a wise idea.)

"He's not dead," I said. "He's not dead. Look, he's going to open his eyes at any moment and be like—I'm just kidding you. See, look!"

Frodo didn't move an inch.

"He's really good at acting…" My voice was hoarse. I refused to believe it, refused that Frodo could be dead. Not after everything he'd been through.

Sam's sobs echoed though the passageway. The jagged rocks loomed over us. One rock was formed in such a way that it looked like a grinning face—two dark holes and beneath them, a deep, jagged indent in the rock. The stone face was laughing at us, enjoying our misfortune.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

The rock did not respond.

"He's not dead," I told the stone face, but even I did not believe my words anymore. "He's not dead." Maybe there was a way to save him. I could Skip to Frodo's side before Shelob attacked him. Except how much use was I against a giant spider? Maybe I could tell Frodo to never take this road. Or at least don't trust Gollum.

Sam's sobs came to an abrupt halt. He made a sound that came out like a mix between a grunt and a sniffle. His eyes widened as he stared down in mute horror at the discarded sword. It was glowing bright blue, vivid against the dark shadows of Mordor.

"Orcs," said Sam thickly. "Orcs are coming."

"What do we do?" I asked, looking left and right wildly.

Sam looked at me as if I was crazy. "Hide!"

I glanced over my shoulder at the gaping mouth of the tunnels. "Nu-uh. That spider went back in there. I'm not going anywhere near that thing again. Nope. I'd rather be captured by orcs."

"Not now, Ana." Sam scooped up the Light of Eärendil and sheathed Sting. He started towards the tunnel entrance, but then did a double take. He stared miserably at Frodo's body for a second. He darted forward, grabbed Frodo around the shoulders, and tried to drag the body towards the tunnel.

"They're coming!" I cried, glancing down the path. I couldn't see the orcs, but I could hear their gruff voices as they spoke in the black speech.

"Help me!" cried Sam.

I glanced at Frodo and then in the direction of the approaching orcs. "There's no time!"

The orcs were closing in on us. At any moment, they would turn the corner and see us.

"Do you not have a heart?" asked Sam.

I groaned. I darted forward and carefully lifted Frodo's legs. The spider web was sticky. It clung to my arms and clothes, refusing to let go. I shuddered. "Ew. Sam. Ew. This isn't working."

"Faster! Hurry!"

We inched towards the tunnel, carrying Frodo between us.

"Sam," I said. "This isn't going to work. We have to leave him."

Sam stared at Frodo's pale face. He glanced at passage where the orcs had almost turned the corner—any moment now, they would see us.

Carefully, delicately, with tears in his eyes, Sam lowered Frodo to the ground. He fumbled at Frodo's shirt collar, pushing the cobweb threads away. Out from under Frodo's undershirt, Sam pulled a silver chain. At first, I didn't know what he was doing—was he robbing his dead friend?—but then, I saw the glint of gold on the end of the chain. The Ring.

"Good thinking," I said.

Sam apologized under his breath to Frodo and then sprinted towards the tunnel entrance.

"Oh no," I said. "No. No. No. I'll take my chances with the orcs, thank you very much. They only have two legs."

"Ana," cried Sam, "hurry!"

I groaned and slid into the darkness to the tunnel after him.

It was still dank and damp and smelled vaguely of rotting meat. We went just far enough into the tunnel that we were concealed from sight as the orcs arrived. I kept glancing over my shoulder, wondering when the spider would come back for a second try. Sam was not concerned with the spider at all. I wish I could say I had his confidence, but it was hard to be unconcerned when a deformed orc skull kept staring at me.

"What are they saying?" asked Sam. "I cannot hear them."

"Hello, Mister," I said, unable to tear my eyes away from the orc skull. "Can you hear them?"

The orc skull didn't reply. Not that I was surprised.

"I can understand them" whispered Sam. "They've switched to the common tongue."

"Why?" I asked, genuinely fearful.

Sam shook his head. Then, his gaze grew intense. "They are discussing the spider. Her name is Shelob."

"They named the spider?" I asked, incredulous. "That's gross. No. No. No. You don't name spiders. Spiders are meant to be squished, not named."

Sam wasn't listening to me. He peered at the orcs who were inspecting Frodo's body. Sam's brow was furrowed and his expression was one of the upmost concentration as he tried to decipher what the orcs were saying. I peered over the rocks, trying to ignore the empty sockets of the orc skull and trying to keep checking behind me in case the spider returned.

Frodo looked so white and little as he lay at the feet of the orcs. Their dark, purplish skin only made him seem paler.

I'd never actually seen a dead body before. Well, that's a lie. I had seen dead bodies before, but I'd never had a chance to actually look at one. The dead bodies were usually in the middle of a fight or seconds before I Skipped away. There's something so different about staring at the dead body of someone you know.

People seem smaller when they're dead. I mean, I know Frodo is a hobbit; he's naturally small. But he seemed even smaller at the moment. Almost like a baby. His blue eyes were wide open, as if he might blink and get up at any moment. He didn't seem dead, just a little sickly. And yet…he was so still. I don't think I could be that still even if I tried.

Death scared me.

"The spider might come back at any second," I hissed, tugging on Sam's sleeve."

"Shush." Sam glanced back at me. "They will hear you."

I gulped. It was pointless. Sam wasn't going to leave, no matter how hard I begged. "What are they saying?"

"That Shelob has a poisoned needle."

I frowned. "That's what got Frodo?"

Frodo… Could I save him? Could I change time? Or would he end up like Boromir? I'd saved Frodo before, when the Fellowship tried to take the Gap of Rohan. You cannot change what is meant to happen. That was what Thorin had said. But how was I supposed to know what was meant to happen? Maybe I could save Frodo this time. Maybe I couldn't. Maybe he was doomed to die here. Was there even any point to trying? Why was I so useless? Why couldn't I do anything? I couldn't fight. I couldn't help anyone. I couldn't even use the Sword Breaker properly. Was there any point to me even being here?

"He is not dead," murmured Sam.

I stopped mid-pity party and stared at the back of Sam's head. "What?"

"Shelob's poison," said Sam softly. "It puts its victims to sleep. She only wants them alive."

"How do you know?" I asked, leaning over his shoulder and staring out at the clearing. "You're kidding." I let out a soft, hesitant laugh. "You're kidding…"

"I do not 'kid'. The orcs spoke of it."

Sam suddenly tensed. One of the orcs lifted Frodo's unconscious body from the ground and slung it over his shoulder like a flimsy sack of potatoes.

"We will take him back to the tower," growled another orc. "He will wake in a couple of hours."

The orcs cackled. "And when he does, he will wish he had never been born."

I swallowed. "Oh frig."

"Stupid Samwise," muttered Sam under his breath.

I turned to the orc skull and said, accusingly, "Your people suck."

The orc skull stared at me. It seemed as though his half-formed jaw was smirking, so I flipped off the skeleton

"Ana," said Sam, gawking at me. "Are you talking to a skeleton?"

I pointed violently at the orc skull. "He started it."

In protest, the skeleton lost its place in the spider web and tumbled forward. Right. On. Top. Of. Me.

I threw my hands up to protect me from the falling bones. His skull made contact with my left hand, and one of my fingers was shoved through his left nose hole. His rib cage banged against mine. We went crashing to the ground and—Skip—we landed on the forest floor. A tree root pressed against my back and I cringed in pain. The orc skull was inches from my face. It leered at me, eternally laughing. I screamed and batted the skeleton away. The head came free from the body and skirted across the forest floor. His bony fingers still clung to me, causing me to shriek and thrash about, trying to separate us.

"What did I do to deserve this?"

I leapt to my feet and the bits and pieces orc skeleton fell to the ground, its crusty ligaments tearing apart. I stood there, panting for breath, at the base of a fat oak tree.

"And this is why I don't befriend orcs," I said, kicking the bones with my foot.

When I looked up, I saw that I was surrounded by unfamiliar trees in a familiar forest. The bark was thick and layered, like dry, scaly skin, and the knots in the trees roots burrowed into the ground, digging deep into the soil. Twisted sticks, dead leaves, purple mushrooms, decaying fungi, gray moss, and jagged rocks covered the forest floor. The woods had a heavy, sickly air that did not belong to the wild.

"Mirkwood." I sighed. "I'm back."

The trees did not stir.

"Yeah, I missed you too," I said dispassionately.

I stepped backwards, careful not to trip on any roots. The trees here were tricky. They only pretended to sleep, but always, always they were watching. They were mean-spirited trees; I don't know how the elves can stand them. The trees wait and watch, and when they think you're not paying attention, they devour you.

Man, I didn't like Mirkwood—still don't—but, at least, I thought as I wandered through the trees, there weren't any giant spiders here.

I shuddered. No giant spiders. No skeletons. No orcs. No balrog. No dragon. No potential boyfriend who now avoided me. No parents who want to talk about my feelings. No best friends who say insensitive things about my predicament. The only thing here I had to worry about in Mirkwood were the elves. And I could handle eves. Sometimes.

One of the trees groaned, a deep creaking sound, I nearly jumped out of my shows. My heart was racing, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. Someone had to be around here somewhere. Maybe the Company. I didn't usually end up in random places for no reason anymore.

I turned around.

And I found the Company.

They were hanging out in the trees. Literally.

Silver threads were wrapped around their bodies, mummifying them. Only their faces were exposed. (I choose to believe that the reason the spiders did not cover their faces is because the spiders are truly evil and vile creature who wanted the dwarves so see their doom approaching in the thousand icky eyes in the spiders' heads.) The dwarves' eyes drooped, sluggish from the poison injected in them, and they dangled from the thick tree branches, staring down at me in mute horror. None of them spoke. I don't think they were capable of speaking at that point.

I felt useless standing on the forest floor. I wanted to help them—after all, they had helped me out so many times—but I didn't know how. The Company was all there. I counted them off usng my fingers. Glóin, Bofur, Bombur, Kíli, Balin, Óin, Ori, Fíli, Dori, Thorin, Nori, Bifur, and Dwalin. Thirteen. Bilbo was missing.

I didn't have time to look for Bilbo, since, right then, the predators revealed themselves. Spiders. Dozens of them. Giant spiders. Not as big as Shelob, but damn they were huge. And black. And hairy. With eight legs. And a hundred eyes each. And pincers that were clacking away. They watched me. Never taking a single eye away from me. With silver threads they lowered themselves from the trees, preparing to add another meal to the pile.

"Ana…" Bofur managed to speak. He voice came out as little more than a croak. "Help…"

The spiders were drawing closer.

I took one look at their legs, screamed, and ran in the opposite direction.

Sorry, Bofur. I love you. But you're not worth spiders.