Chapter Ten
A Bigger Issue than Previously Imagined
High up, an eagle called. High, high above any town, city or village of men, dwarves and elves. High above the land and seas, higher- far higher- than even the clouds.
It was no ordinary eagle.
For one thing it was gigantic, and that was a very big understatement.
And the eagle's eyes saw everything.
As did his master.
The blue gaze of Manwë, Lord of the Skies, King of the Ainur on Arda saw through the eyes of his eagle. Bluer than any sapphire, and hair a mass of gold, like the sun.
"So the game is set," he said calmly, his voice resounding throughout the Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom. "The child is almost ready."
The other Ainur watched him in silence.
"She will be kept safe until she matures. And then, when the time comes, they will find her?"
Many of the Valar visibly stiffened. Tulkas, the mighty champion of the Ainur, leaned forwards on his throne. "Who?" He asked.
"None that shall harm her," the assurance came from soft-spoken Irmo. He had hazy light glowing all around him, and his hair and eyes were shades of hazy gold and dreamy blue.
"They will find her soon enough though," Irmo's voice hardened slightly, a rare thing for the usually serene Vala.
Tulkas suppressed a frown. "What will happen to her?" His voice sounded fearsome- and although he appeared so in appearance, his voice was normally very jovial.
Irmo looked to Vairë, his sister-in-law.
"The threads of time will reveal all, soon. But Estela's daughter, and Gil-Galad's, has a great destiny, like never before."
Vanimelda opened her eyes.
Really, it was all getting ridiculous.
She would have to decide her destiny soon enough.
Whether or not she wanted to be another Lúthien or an Estela.
Or whether to make her own path, as that sounded more appealing.
But she didn't have the Gift of Men of forging her own destiny. The least she could do was to make the best of it, and give people a reason to remember her name.
"I have to learn to fight," she said.
Almarië sighed. "Of course you do."
Vanimelda shakily got up- shakily for an elf, anyway.
She went around the forest gathering things. "I don't have a proper bow." She said.
Almarië raised her eyebrow.
"The one I got is very rudimentary. I need something like the ones the Galadhrim used, in the Golden Wood. I need arrows. Good grief, I need loads of arrows!"
Almarië actually rolled her eyes. "It's about time." She said.
Sapzôr sniffled.
The wench hadn't come back with what she asked for. Typical. She had scarpered, and now even her magic wasn't enough to locate her.
No, as far as Sapzôr could figure out, there was strong, powerful magic protecting the girl- Kráka. Whatever was the source of that power, and who was casting it, she didn't know.
All she knew was that the girl had disappeared.
And so Sapzor wept bitterly. Not because she missed the girl- she would have loved to have consumed her youth and beauty just as she did her other victims! But also because of what she had lost.
What she would never regain.
Few knew of Sapzôr's origins. She was born in Númenor. In the reign of Tar-Telperiën, second ruling Queen of Númenor- though in the last years of her reign. Her early life went straight to the reign of Tar-Minastir.
Sapzôr had been born to a peasant woman, in the fringes of Númenórean society. They were poor, but like many in that age of Númenor, and of the race of Dwarves and Elves to this day, even the poorest had plenty to eat, a truly comfortable and nice place to live and more than enough time and money for leisure or anything else they liked.
Sapzôr's father, however, fell when Tar-Minastir and Gil-Galad went to war against the mysterious evil, now revealed to be Sauron. Her mother succumbed to grief, and despair. Misery clouded her, and soon she remarried to another person- a man- whom she did not love, but did it, because she was weak, unlike the Queens Tar-Telperiën and Tar-Ancalimë, and more akin Tar-Vanimeldë who would come later- something that enraged and disgusted Sapzôr enormously. Although one could point out that her mother was weakened by grief, ultimately it was Sapzôr- or Gimlîth- that was her secret, real name she had been given at birth- who suffered under the abuse of her stepfather, while her mother had slowly withdrawn from the world and her mental health declined. Often at times the girl found her mother staring blankly into space, often for days on end. She eventually stopped speaking. Stopped recognizing her own daughter. And Gimlîth's stepfather began abusing her, forcing her to slave for him and his friends, while they tormented her, and laughed mockingly. Then, they began violating the girl.
Eventually, Gimlîth had had enough. She stole a kitchen knife and slaughtered her stepfather and his goons as they lay wine-sodden. She was caught for the crime. When all was explained to them, they took her to the King's House- the royal palace in Armenelos, the capital of Númenor. Tar-Minastir had listened and even pitied the girl and understood her reasons. And there was support for her, for what they did was evil in the eyes of any race in Arda. Still, one of her stepfather's boorish friends had been a wealthy and powerful noble. And his widowed mother had denied all accusations against her son. She was forceful, that woman, Sapzôr remembered. And powerful and wealthy, for money buys influence. Tar-Minastir saw Gimlîth as the victim in this, but the woman and her influence on some others, kicked up such a fuss that the king, unable but desiring to avoid more conflict- decided that Sapzôr was to be given a mild punishment- she was to be banished to an isolated island off the coast of Númenor, she would live in an Abbey, secluded in prayer for a number of years. Her mother stayed silent and blank throughout the entire sentence.
But what the King didn't know- for he had never set foot upon that island, nor did many people, including the members of his court- was that the Sisters of the faith, were living in the worst of run-down conditions, and that they had witches in their midst- they were under a spell and they were cursed. So Gimlîth, bitter and afraid, had been preyed upon by them. First, after seeing the awful, conditions, the poor meals, thin, ragged clothing, the filthy cells and vermin lying around. Disease was rampant, even for those who had the strong constitutions of the Númenóreans. So it was easy for the dark witches- remnants of Morgoth's evil who had been taught dark and unnatural arts (no doubt many like them as well as Sauron, influenced the King's Men), to draw young Gimlîth into their apparently warm and loving embrace. They added strength to her rage and hate. And soon she became the most powerful of all.
Powerful enough to seek revenge.
When she returned to the mainland, she began her work with the ones who had banished her. She set curses and spells, chanted dark magic, brewed evil potions, and spilled her own blood as well as that of animals and the ones she wanted to curse. She cursed the noblewoman who had caused her banishment. And the ones who supported her.
The noblewoman grew hideous and a terrible stench aroused around her with her illness. Same with all her kin. The children of her son all suffered and died of the plague. People avoided them. Their lands would not grow, and soon they suffered their own personal famine. But soon the magic proved too strong- like Gimlîth's hate- and the famine spread throughout a great deal of Númenor. Crops stopped growing. The ground grew cracked and dry, drained of moisture, and domesticated animals weakened and died. People starved.
And Tar-Minastir sought help from the elven sorcerers, like Elrond, his distant ancestor- a great and noble elf, mighty in his ways- and the great Gil-Galad, the High Elvenking. They sought out the root of the cause. The magic, they claimed, lay in a particular, vengeful sorceress- Gimlîth, now known as Sapzôr.
Realising belatedly, she had been hunted. The root of the magic drawn out, and then they realised the ones who taught her, were the former minions of Morgoth. Tar-Minastir ordered the Abbey burnt and the site re-blessed- a new Abbey was built. The witches were killed, and Sapzôr- who did not even know that her teachers were, in fact, Morgoth's minions in hiding- fled the mainland of Númenor.
She grew stronger, more bitter and vengeful. And she called on all the knowledge of her dark powers, and the essence of a particularly fair, deceased elf maiden- and created a potion. A dead elf's heart, and a number of ingredients including drops of her own blood mixed with milk. She drank it. And she received the source of her power. Beauty.
"My, my," a voice said. "Feeling sorry for yourself again, are we?"
Sapzôr looked up.
A burst of very pale, and very weak light appeared. It was very, very weak, and very, very faint, so weak in fact, it was transparent and not really there at all, but Sapzôr saw it.
She paled. "What- what do you want? Do you want to kill me?" She whispered through cold lips.
The figure, invisible to most mortals, within that unnatural light, chuckled softly. The voice was very faint.
"Now what use is that to me?" He sounded amused. "Especially when what you have is so close within your reach?"
"Please," she whispered, begging him. "Please, my lord. I- I have tried to bring you the girl, I- I r-really tried."
"And yet you sent her to the Dark Elves," the voice continued. "And now she has disappeared. Are you trying to make excuses, witch? Excuses why you would prefer to use the girl, to suck out her youth and beauty as you did your other victims- or consume her heart like you did the first time?"
Sapzôr could not look at the light. She felt herself trembling.
"Remember, we invented lies and deceit," the voice mused. "And we are powerful and far greater than you foolish mortals can ever hope to be- even you who have bargained for immortality."
Sapzôr shakily went on her knees. "Please. P-please, my lord-"
"Get up," the voice hissed. And one might have thought this was not a voice suited for any form of amusement. "Your work is not half-done. For while I am still in this form, yet while I am slowly gaining strength, my patience is limited. You have no idea of the importance and power of the girl, foolish witch, to you, she was yet another potential source of nourishment." The person paused.
"Perhaps this will give you incentive to do better," it mused once more, and seemingly a hand fashioned out of slightly-thickened air, reached forwards and touched Sapzôr's face. Sapzôr screamed.
The side of her face seemingly seared white-hot and the flesh around it became mottled and wrinkled, flesh and skin drooping, turning old as well as ugly. It spread outwards, over her cheek, her eyes, her hair, which thinned and turned an uglier colour than before.
It radiated outwards and her body became as Vanimelda saw it for the first time. Except that it was much, much worst. More hideous and grotesque.
Malformed even, for the magic had seeped into her flesh and bones.
She collapsed in a heap of black cloth, sobbing and weeping.
"M-master," she sobbed. "Please."
"Get up." The voice responded. "You have treated this carelessly and disobeyed me. You have failed completely."
"Master," she sobbed hysterically, more insistently. "Please!"
"Only in the short-term," the voice hissed, musing. "Never in the long-term. Did you ever think, Sapzor, what you could have achieved in the long-term? Did you ever have any dreams apart from what you will achieve in the next month at the very least? Or do you never think to take your dreams and glory to the next level? You who have lived for hundreds of years… You disappoint me."
"Please, master," Sapzôr insisted, her hideous face, lifted towards the light. "Give me another chance. Let me try again."
"Failed," the 'master' sighed. "Failed and useless. I gave you this power, and yet you do nothing with this- nothing to accomplish for me,"
Sapzôr cried out, "Master, please!"
"Utterly useless. You have given nothing to me in return. Do you build up armies? Do you forge weapons? Do you seize territories? No, you only engage in petty squabbles within the human world. Do you breed orcs? No, you only look uglier and uglier after the power you drained wears off. Perhaps I should take it from you?"
"Master!" She screamed. "No!"
"You have proven worthless to me Sapzôr," the voice said coldly. "Do you know what happens to a human after hundreds of years? Even beyond the lifespan of Númenóreans? You stupid, little fool. What makes you say that you are of any use to me, especially now that you've let that little girl slip through your little fingers?"
There was a silence, except for Sapzôr's sobbing.
"Too late now," the voice continued. "You are worthless, useless and inefficient. Even a fool could see that. No. Go to the regions of the north of Arnor. Await my servants' coming, little witch, and perhaps I may change my mind about letting you possess great power- though you do not seem to want it."
"Master!" Sapzôr cried. "Please! I- I do want it."
The whole forest clearing was flooded with darkness and the thing- whatever it is- surged towards her. No longer light, but something dark- an orb of darkness, of malevolent, dark power.
"Then prove it," the voice hissed. "You were fooled by the girl, Sapzôr. I would not trust you with more information regarding her- yet. Make yourself useful, however, and I can return and trust you with greater power than a mere minion.
"For now, we lie patient. Waiting."
Truly sorry about the very long wait. I had a writer's block and I was seriously discouraged as well. The name Gimlîth means "Star-Lady" in Adûnaic. Tar-Telperiën and Tar-Ancalimë were the first two- and greatest ruling Queens of Númenor. Tar-Vanimeldë was another ruling queen, but she was more interested in arts and fashions than in ruling- she gave all that to her husband. As we can see, Gimlîth/Sapzôr may have a grudge against the male sex. As for the discussion of Abbeys, the Númenóreans must have had some form of prayer- the elves, humans (apart from Dark Númenóreans who worshipped Morgoth) and dwarves must have had a form of practiced religion. So I imagine it, like in Tolkien's works, to be medieval. Like the Faith of the Seven in A Song of Ice and Fire.
And yes, it's a short chapter, but the next chapter Vanimelda stops running and starts fighting. More action, finally!