Chapter 15
The Imagination of an Orc
Ranien blinked in the darkness and turned, checking again that the three other dark figures were still behind him. Then, once again, he peered into the gloom of eaves and night, trying to make out the swaying line of the path. Shadows of mist seemed to grow out of the impending undergrowth, their soft shapes beckoning invitingly at the four guards.
The Mirkwood elf cocked his head, listening for the familiar guiding sounds of the night, but like before, found none. Though he had been raised among the trees of this forest, he had never been this far south before without companions that were older and wiser than he. His eyes were better adapted to the night than the others', but it was not the natural darkness of night that clouded his vision.
He knew of the evils that lurked in this untamed part of the forest. Creatures of shadow thrived here, and traveling so near Dol Guldur with such a small group was possibly one of the most foolish things he had ever done. He knew, without the protection of the animals, the giant spiders or something worse could attack them at any time. Only armed lightly, they would not survive an attack from a mass gathering of spiders.
"Ranien?" Lindir called questioningly at his unexpected halt.
The other elf held up a hand, but remembered that his travel mates could not see in the dark as well as he could. "Wait," he intoned, and left it at that.
He bent his head again, concentrating. It had been a gift that he had received long ago, taught to him by an old wood elf who had been ready to cross the sea. Now, if he focused, he could hear the thoughts of almost every wild animal and trees. He concentrated on the thoughts of the trees, listening into their very core.
He had done this several times as they traveled before, and Gildor was aware of these lapses of silence. Now, unable to see in a surrounding he did not know, even the oldest elf lord needed a connection to something else. "The trees," he whispered. "What do they say?"
Ranien did not answer.
He had always found it amusing that people assumed that seeing other's thoughts was like reading a book. Perhaps it was that way for the minds of the Free Peoples. He did not know, for he had never been able to listen to their thoughts. But the thoughts of animals and the trees were quite different.
They did not think in words. Their thoughts were clear, unmarred by the impurities of words that the Free People had adopted to communicate their thoughts. When he listened, he heard pictures, saw flashes of movement, and raw emotions that pervaded the being.
He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and listened.
So far the trees had not led him astray.
His mind reached out to the nearest tree, only to be repelled by the tree's dark core. Its thoughts were no longer clear and its intentions were against the members of the small band. It had switched sides to help the Shadow. He had come across too many of these already.
He moved on and touched the next tree with his mind. Suddenly, his thoughts were thrust into another time.
Twilight in the forest. The weak light of the sun was almost not enough to enter the mass of trees to touch the ground, but little patches of gray in the undergrowth showed the time of day. The last dregs of the warmth of the day spread out on its uppermost leaves, barely giving it the right nutrients.
Soon, it would have to close its leaves to avoid losing too much of its moisture.
The earth suddenly pounded. Its roots gripped the dirt, steadying itself as the vibration grew closer.
Flashes of dark figures.
Running feet.
The red flower dancing on dead boughs, climbing dangerously close to its own eaves.
A white face in a sea of blackness.
Peace.
Ranien drew back, mentally as well as physically, with a gasp. If he had seen correctly, Estel had passed this way, along with Orcs and fire.
"What is it?" Lindir immediately asked, his voice prominent against the silence because of its beautiful musical quality.
"This way. They came this way," the Mirkwood elf said, as he lightly stepped forward, quickening his pace. "The trees told me."
The two elves jumped to their feet at Cuiladan's start, and both leaped for the journal. "How?" Elladan asked, astonished, and sitting down on the dried leaves next to the man. Elrohir also quietly sat, the expression on his face asking the same question.
The man bit his lip, still staring at the rows of letters in front of his face. "It did not hit me at first, but then I realized that Morwen must have learned the Tengwar after she learned the Common Tongue. Perhaps she does not speak Sindarin it well, meaning that she also cannot write it. But she can use the Tengwar, and therefore, must have used it to write in the Common Tongue.
"Look here," he pointed at the first line of gibberish. "The basic concept is actually very easy. She just reversed the lúva (bow) on each of the letters." When the elves gave him incredulous looks, he expanded on his explanation. "See, this letter has a telco (stem) that drops down and the lúva is open, facing right. All she did was make the lúva closed and make it face left. Basically, if you line the letters up in their témar (series) and tyeller (grades), you'll see that you can just switch the letters in the first series with the letters of the fourth series.
"So, taking our first letter, which makes a 't' sound, it would become the fourth letter, or a 'k' sound."
Elladan threw up his hands. "Too simple!" he cried, rolling his eyes for not seeing this first. Then, stopping, he added, "But then, everything is when you understand the fundamental idea behind it."
"Good eyes," Elrohir praised Cuiladan, and the man laughed.
"Not really," he replied. "I was actually not focusing on the letters when I first saw it."
The brothers quickly scrawled a key, exchanging the first series of letters for the fourth, and the second for the third, for quick reference when reading the notebook. After a few cursory flips, they saw that every entry was written in this cryptic code, and were very relieved that they did not have to waste time figuring out another.
Finally, they turned to the last page, hoping it was the most pertinent, and set down to write the translation.
This was what they got:
April 15, 2950 of the Third Age
My Dear Lord,
I have not written for fear of discovery.
Today we are near level ground. The Misty Mountains have proved to be a safe passage into Wilderland. The two elven brothers have no suspicion of who or what I am, and the rest are all too trusting of me. They still believe that I am a slave of Rohan and that I can only speak broken sentences of the Common Tongue.
Cuiladan and Estel are still a mystery. They have said nothing that gives a clue to their birth, yet they call Elladan and Elrohir "brother." I have seduced the elder of these brothers, and perhaps, through this, he may tell me of his origin.
There has been no word of an Arathorn III in all of my travels. If he is indeed alive, his secret is well kept and those that know of him are either dead or mute. I will continue to follow this band of travelers, for I already know their purpose. I will carry out my duty as soon as I speak with my other Master.
Your servant always,
M. of L.
Though Cuiladan had known that Morwen was working for another, he had to read this twice before he fully grasped its meaning. Then, when he did, he felt a plunging sensation in his chest, and suddenly, could hardly breathe from the pain.
The others were silent as well, until Elrohir said quietly, "Well, there you have it, Cuiladan. She never really loved you. She pretended to all along just to wheedle information out of you." The man closed his eyes, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood, but the external pain did nothing to quench the pain within his heart.
Elladan furrowed his brows, feeling sympathy for the man, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Softly, but firmly, he counseled, "I know it grieves you to learn of this. But we must put that off until later." When Cuiladan showed no signs of hearing or moving, he exchanged a glance with his twin and put another hand on the man's other shoulder so that he was facing him fully. "Cuiladan, forget this pain for now. There are other matters more important at hand. She mentioned an Arathorn III."
"Which means that the Shadow must know of your existence," Elrohir cut in. "He may not know yet who exactly you are, but he knows that there is an heir to the throne of Gondor. That is too much of a threat to his power for him to ignore. Morwen was sent on a mission to find out who Arathorn III was."
Cuiladan still did not respond.
"Cuiladan," Elrohir warned. "You are Arathorn III. You cannot deny it any longer."
Elladan hesitated before adding, "And now, they have Estel, and they may as well torture the information from him if they already suspect that you are the heir."
At this, Cuiladan opened his eyes, their dark pupils full of fear. Flashes of torture chambers and blood came to his mind, and for a moment, Morwen was forgotten. Like lightning, he sprang up and snatched the notebook from the ground. "There has to be something in here about where he might be!"
"Oh, he'll be able to run and wield a sword after I'm through with him," the Orc snarled and grinned. He advanced with no precaution, knowing that Estel had no other forms of defense.
"Just don't forget to unwrap him first," another Orc told Snaga, distorting his words with sarcasm and ridicule.
Snaga growled and unsheathed a knife, coming towards the boy. Estel stifled a scream and tried to scramble away from his attacker. The Orc growled, and stepped behind the squirming human and cut the bonds that bound his feet.
Not knowing why his captors would try and free him, and unnerved by the silence of the Voice, Estel again tried to gain ground. This time, it was easier, as his feet were apart and his boots touched the dirt of the cave.
However, he had not even gotten to his knees when a meaty hand grabbed his shoulder and slammed him onto his back. His head hit the floor with a loud thunk, and his vision blurred, as his throat went dry. "Don't even think about it." Hot, putrid breath hit Estel full in the face, nearly sending him into unconsciousness. Snaga was now directly on top of him.
With sheer will alone, the boy forced his eyes open. The glint of the torches reflected off the thin blade in the Orc's hand. Snaga lowered it, as if going in for the kill. Not able to hold in his fear any longer, Estel screamed, a burst of air flowing from his lungs. His legs tried to scramble free from the weight of his assaulter, but Snaga only laughed.
"Hold still, boy, or I may have to cut off the useless piece of equipment between your legs."
Estel was so stunned that he actually stopped moving, giving the Orc ample time to pull the knife across the drawstrings of his pants. With a swift motion, as if he had done this many times before, Snaga ripped away the remnant of the cloth around his legs.
Suddenly, Estel understood. The Orcs hungered for flesh in more ways than one, and while he was not going to be used to satisfy their need to feed, the Voice had said nothing about not introducing him to the carnal knowledge of these foul creatures.
TBC...
If you have any questions about the Tengwar code that I mentioned, feel free to ask me and I will try and answer your questions to the best of my ability!
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