INTLING
Being
a New Realm of Faerie,
discovered by the Explorer Eadwine,
whose Path took him thru the Enchanted Isles.
The Flammifer of Westernesse was shining in the evening light.
The prow of Eadwine's wattle dhow was slicing thru the sea-spray.
If you travel near the Enchanted Isles, wear the Saints' names around your neck.
For even Varda will not find you there: wrapped in the shrouds of mists.
Says Eadwine: "Yea, I proceed from known to the unknown.
"Without thought or memory, tide or time.
"I occlude myself, and pass unknown,
"To the Unknown Knower.
"Do not two mirrors put against themselves,
"Tell their own reflection?"
He bears his craft upon the waves,
He mans his oars within the spray,
There is an egret overhead,
It cries three times a keening knell,
He knows the softness of another place,
Dreams transfixed by another time.
Says Eadwine: "I bear no Silmaril on my brow.
"For I have not been named elf-friend."
(To this the Wind and Rain seem to laugh)
"Yet in the name of Varda of the Stars,
"Let me pass thru this place."
Then, like the web of Ungoliant in the deep places in the world withers away at the presence of Elbereth's light, so too did the mist fade (tho they are not of one kind).
And Eadwine saw there INTLING, fair city of the Western Shores, upon which danced the memory of Numenor, unknown unto itself. He saw its shining spires, its white bridges and arches, its aquamarine terraces — more blue than Alqualonde, and as green as the bosom of Yavanna. He saw the roads, strewn with stars. His heart felt the eye of its immortal inhabitants, who heard him, and laughed.
A swan flew from the harbour, and Eadwine heard the voice of Orome, "Come hither, little mariner, while you still fare in the limens of the Western Sea. Come to Intling and make merry, you shall rest with me."
"Have I come then, to the Straight Road?" said Eadwine to himself. "For my star is drawn to Orient, at neglect to Occident." He knew also that illusion waited in these isles; he was not naive to the peril of trial.
But the swan spoke again in Orome's voice: "Dost thou not know? Intling is the city of thy spirit, oh downfallen, oh unknown knower. And I myself am the one for which you seek."
Then she alighted on the prow of his craft and, like Elwing, turned into a woman. Her hair was gold, her eyes were amber, she shimmered in the aquamarine. Her skirt was white, her belt electrum, and platinum gold her ear-rings.
Said she: "For I am Akallabeth, the Queen of Intling, and like you I am Atlantean, but do not know it." She put a finger to her lips. "Come, keep secrets with me, and lead me in, to Intling."
So Eadwine set his hands to the oars, and led his boat to that great harbour. A wind came down across the deep. The mist had blown away, and the Sea was gone to azure. Above, the cerule sky, transfixed by the Sun's light, blazed down. Eadwine hoisted his silver sail to catch the wind. He placed his feet upon the Moon — he rode her as his holy craft. All in service to the Sun, as Akallabeth sat on and laughed.
Merrily, she said, "For, in truth, I have seen this all before — and now, half-remembered, as in a dream, I have come to be with you. Look!" she gestured, "behold the homes of your fellow Atlanteans."
He passed by the harbour quay, and the Lonely Lighthouse, shining bright, whose dome was orichalcum-gold, whose steps were ivory-manicured, and shadow-black, like sorcery.
"What necromancy is here?" said Eadwine, growing nervous then.
"It is but a memory of Numenor, my love," said Akallabeth now, faithfully.
"Am I the knower or the known?"
"Both and," said the woman, "not neither nor. Now come with me, and have no fear: the dark has passed, the light is here."
He pulled into the turquoise quay, which sang in purple, blue and green, and stepped forth on the crystal shores, where the Atlanteans were waiting.
"The New Atlantis," someone called, "is upon you Lord, so have good cheer."
"In the name of Varda of the stars, what good turn has brought me here?"
"Your name is written in our holy books," said Akallabeth upon his side. "So our memory would not forget you."
He stepped forward to Intling, and tarried in the city of green and gold and silver all at once. Its arches and its colonnades, its crystal palaces made of granite and of marble, its streets whose flagstones seemed to come from the evening Sky, its fountains and plazas, its wells and communal baths, its gardens of great delights, and hidden visions, where the beetle helps the Sun across the sky, its great Arboretums whose acres seem to contain whole biomes of the world as in spheres of crystal glass, but free, and open to the Sun. These marvellous places he went with her.
And everywhere they met the Atlanteans, alike to Gnomes, yet not Gnomes, arising from the architecture arrayed in silver and purple to meet them. For the light of the Sun beat down heavily on the city of Intling, and these people were of every colour in the world.
"Oh good people," said Eadwine, "tell me, why do you dwell here in this place in memory of what has fallen?"
"Ah!" said they, "so that we might not Forget!"
He turned to Akallabeth, for she was his guide, she his Evening Star - "And what mean they by this?"
"For the rhythm of the world is preserved in the tale's telling. It is not history, or memory, for which we do it." She put a finger to her lips and held a finger to the sky. "It is to keep Him going across the sky."
Eadwine beheld there the Sun, and he saw that with the Sun in the sky was a procession of Maiar. And these Maiar were walking and singing many songs, drawing the Sun in a chariot.
"If we do not remember," said Akallabeth, "they will die out. It is our duty to remember."
So Eadwine tarried there in Intling, and lived with the people of that town, in memory of downfallen Numenor. He ate of their food, and drank their cup of wine - dangerous to do in Faerie, but he saw that they were his soul-kin, and he had nothing to fear. For the Unseelie Court had passed, and now all was Endless Day.
He lived in a house by the Sea with Akallabeth, by white shores covered with round stones, set off in the emerald green. There they received many visitors, and he did not think to return to his former life, either in the West, or in the East.
One day, a priest of Intling came to call on them. Now this priest was in a trembling aspect when he came to them, and he was afraid. "Eadwine," he said. "Akallabeth."
"What troubles you Lord," said Eadwine. "Please, sit by our fire."
"The Great Fish," said the priest, gratefully kneeling by their fire, "is in the harbour, and it is taking mariners from our ships."
"The Great Fish?" said Eadwine.
"Yes," said Akallabeth, "the soul-debt of the survivors of Atlantis."
"This Fish has been away for many centuries," said the priest of Intling, "but now it has returned, and it is eating all who dare to go out and venture upon the Sea."
"Why does it eat us?" said Eadwine.
"The Fish says that this is the tithe for those of us who escaped the drowning of Atlantis," Akallabeth replied.
"Then you want to know," said Eadwine, "whether I can do something?"
"Oh Eadwine," said the priest, "it is true that you are renowned as wise. But more you are a mariner, and it is on this count that the people of Intling thought you might have a better chance with the Fish than others."
"Then go," said Eadwine. "Fetch me my wattle-dhow, and make it ready. I will duel this fish in the harbour of Intling itself."
"Love," said Akallabeth, "are you not forgetting something? The sword that you received from the Lady of the Lake."
It was true: on one of his Journeys to the East, Eadwine had retrieved the sword. It had two edges. One of steel, and one of silver, perfect for fighting monsters with.
"Yes of course," he said. "Fetch me the sword, and I will confront this Great Fish."
So the day came and Eadwine went down to the harbour, and all the Intlings were there watching as he took his dual sword and mounted the prow of his wattle-dhow. The seamen pushed him out into the deeps, and Eadwine hoisted his silver sail in memory of the Moon. He placed his feet upon the Moon - he rode her as his holy craft: all in service to the Sun.
And those who were watching would swear that a star was shining on his brow after all.
Eadwine sailed his vessel out parallel to the Lonely Lighthouse, at the line where the edge of the quay met the Open Sea. Here he saw the dark fin rising from the deeps, he saw the jaws of the deeps open before him, he looked into the eye of the monster.
"Lo!" said Eadwine. "You will not get me so simply or so easily." And he stared into the Eye-of-Evil.
With one swipe of its tail, the Great Fish destroyed Eadwine's wattle-dhow. It broke the prow of the Moon in two, and all the Intlings on the shore moaned.
Eadwine went down into the sea carrying only his dual sword. The nose of the monster came — he sliced it with the steel side of his sword, but this only made it more enraged. It lashed out with its tail and hit him in the back with his fins — it was a cutting blow.
The nose of the monster came again and Eadwine punched it with his left hand. It turned away, hurt, but now Eadwine's blood had made it incensed. It came a third time and opened its jaws upon him. Eadwine swung the silver edge of his sword. It met flesh, and cut off a row of the monster's teeth. It screamed, but Eadwine saw in horror that there was row upon row of teeth waiting behind it, like silent soldiers, ready to devour.
The Great Fish bit Eadwine's sword-arm off, and swallowed it and his magic sword whole. Eadwine howled in pain. Then the fish bit off his left leg. Then it bit off his right leg. Then it bit off his left arm. Finally there was only Eadwine's head left, and Eadwine cursed him saying, "Do it, fool." So the Great Fish bit off Eadwine's head and swallowed him whole.
When the Intlings saw that Eadwine did not get up, a great sadness came over them. Akallabeth wept, and there was no one who could console her. Many went back to their houses, convinced now that the Great Fish would continue terrorizing Intling until all had gone down to the depths like Atlantis itself.
But Eadwine was not dead. Drawn and quartered, and in the Belly of the Beast, Eadwine's limbs spoke to each other, limb speaking to limb.
"I have the left side of the sword," said his right arm.
"I have the right side of the sword," said his left arm.
"I am resting on the fish's left breast-bone," said his right leg.
"I am resting on the fish's right breast-bone," said his left leg.
"If we push," said his head, "we can strip him, head to tail, and make our way out of here."
So the right hand and the left hand came together, and they made Eadwine's sword whole. And the left leg and the right leg came together, and they repaired Eadwine's body. Then as one, all four limbs moved — the legs pushed down on the breast-bones of the fish, and the arms pushed up and sliced with the silver edge of the sword thru the spine.
The Great Fish began to writhe and scream, trying to get the nasty morsel with the sting out. Maddened, with red vision, it floundered its way thru the harbour, writhing its fins above the waves.
The few Intlings still upon the shore cried out in fear. They thought the Great Fish was going to beach itself in a Great Wave, and devour them all. Only Akallabeth looked on, hoping beyond hope.
Then the Intlings saw the silver tip of Eadwine's sword poking thru the top of the creature. They saw the body of the fish split in two as it came to shore, and Eadwine rise from it, full formed, drenched in blood. He rode the body of the Great Fish like the Moon, he rode her as his holy craft: all in service to the Sun.
The Intlings cheered. Those who had gone home came out of their houses to see what all the fuss was about.
Then Eadwine sat at the side of the shore and built himself a new wattle-dhow from the monster's body. He made the rigging from its teeth, and the prow from its skull. He made the body from its ribs and breast bones. He fashioned a new silver sail from the great fin. Thus Eadwine had made a wattle-dhow more beautiful and powerful than ever before.
They came to him, amazed. "I have passed between the Sun and the Moon," he said. "But now, I must slumber here."
Then they beheld there was something wrong, for his limbs were not together, and at that moment, from the strain of killing the monster, they fell in a heap on the ground. The people cried out.
But Akallabeth came thru the fray, singing her magic songs. She came thru the crowd, and she put the body parts of Eadwine in a basket. She carried him home, and she sang her magic. In this way, she, lady of seamstresses, stitched Eadwine's body back together again. Then, at the behest of Eru, she breathed the breath of life back into him, and made him live again. Thus was Eadwine healed by the magic of Akallabeth, and the people of Intling rejoiced.
For many years they were happy, for with the freedom of the Sea and Eadwine's new boat, the mariner was able to return with many pearls and priceless things from the Sea. But eventually Eadwine grew old, and he began to long for the East.
He said to Akallabeth, "I must go now, and leave Faerie."
"Ah," she said. "I will miss you. But I will await you from my Lonely Lighthouse, for I know that your heart loves the Sea."
"My love," said Eadwine, "you know I am a wanderer."
"Then take this," said Akallabeth, and she held out for him a mantle, and he saw that it was the mantle of the Sea, with all its colours, creatures and kingdoms embroidered in it. "For although I cannot name you Elf-friend, I can pass this mantle on to you, so that you might always return here whenever you wish."
Then Eadwine took the mantle of his goddess and left Intling to return to the twilight of his unknowing, and he sailed forever in the Enchanted Isles, guardian of their waters — never to reach Aman.
that is the story of INTLING, as it was told by Eadwine, the Lost Mariner:
last realm of Numenor, hidden in the twilight of the Enchanted Isles,
between the Sun and the Moon.
Go in Peace.