This is a rewrite to the original chapter 21. It seemed to me that the storyline there was not conducive to the overall character of Celebrin. This one I hope will stand better in the long run. Sorry again for the long hiatus, I have been busy with life, school etc. hopefully i may find time to work more on this story and others that I had started and have not yet finished.
None could say how long they had been standing there… hours? … days? Time seemed to hold no meaning then; neither elf, nor man nor aged woman could determine from the face of the young woman whether or not death would claim her. Yet in their silent vigil all enmity seemed to pass away, to the man thoughts of how selflessly the stranger had risked his own life for that of his sister, more how he had found respect in his mistrust. The silence was broken when the aged woman stood, her head gently touching hanging ornaments which hung from the poles that formed the makeshift roof of her tent; tapping the others on their shoulders she led them out into the bright noon sun. Heat rose from the earth in waves of steam distorting the horizon, blurring the line between the heavens and the earth. Surrounding them, scores of villagers looked at the three who had just left the healer's tent, yet did not follow them when they strode on to the bank of the river, where some children, innocent of the evil occurrences played in the shallow bank of the wide yellow river. The aged woman bent to her knees and taking water into her cupped hands washed her weary face and took from the flowing current and unsullied drink of water. With anticipation the man Tal-ano spoke impatiently,
"Well? Why do you torture us with silence woman?"
"What would you have me say Tal-anoku? That she will survive? That she will not be forever in this waking death? Because for that I have no answer, she fights, that is all I know… Unless you think differently stranger?"
She turned to Celebrin who stood looking at the shimmering of the sunlight on the water's surface, its golden sheen playing upon his inscrutable face, illuminating his pitch black hair with rays of golden sunlight. The words of the old woman barely registered in his mind, as his thoughts brought him to another whose face he had seen contort in undisturbed sleep, the sweat of his fever masking the face that was once came so easily to smiling. Looking up at the others his voice softened and he said,
"I agree with you… she hangs on the edge of death and life… the waking death…"
"You have seen this before, stranger?"
The voice of the aged chieftain came from behind them, and they turned to see a man worn by grief. He had torn his clothes in his anguish and his long plaits of graying black hair had been cut to the wrinkled scalp that gleamed pale in the sun. Tears had marred his proud face and his cheeks hung with the sadness of one who lost one so dear…
"Yes…I have…my lord"
"Do not dare call me that stranger…it is not a title I wish for, they alone use it."
The old man sat upon a large brown stone that burned in the baking sun, he seemed older than he had once appeared. Confusion came upon the elf, for in his land it was not only proper but also necessary to treat one as aged and noble with such respect, even if he were mortal. Yet this man's words were sincere and in his native tongue "lord" stung him as he heard it from the elf's mouth. He looked up into those ancient sea-gray eyes and said wearily,
"What…what does it do?"
"It…it burns the soul, like a fire. Only it feels cold to her, like stepping into a … lake that has frozen in winter. The herbs have ceased the spread of the poison, she alone must defeat it."
"Not alone."
These words came from Tal-ano and leaving them in silence he strode off into the distance where a crowd of villagers had gathered by the bank, Jzathi-ma-ala followed him after giving the elf an encouraging look. Before he even could ask the aged man spoke,
" They will try the dance of blood sharing…It is a …ritual we have…they will try to send the force of the tribe into her, give her strength…give her hope."
"Can they do it? Truly ally their spirits with hers?"
"Truth upon my mouth stranger, I do not believe such things… my wife did, long ago, and she died, as they performed that same dance to save her. It is foolish and useless to believe such things stranger. Foolish to an old man like me, who has seen the Spirits fail us time and time again. That is why, unlike my daughter and now my son, I do not believe you to be of the ancient ones…"
"And you would be right in thinking so old man…Ancient I am, but I have no gifts as the ones your daughter told me the ancients ought to have. For if I did I would not hesitate to bring your daughter awake myself, for the kindness she showed me and my companions."
Chuckling in a hopeless way the old man looked to the crowd who began to stir and to the elders who now stood around the ancient healer, apparently receiving orders.
"Then the fools will die, and my daughter with them…hope is lost as a dark cloud gathers on the horizon."
Looking to the West the elf saw indeed a cloud gathering in the distance, yet as his eyes strained to look beyond the sight of men he saw no rain clouds but fire protruding from the mouth of a device atop a large beast, a fire upon a moving mountain. And behind this moving mountain a force moved, with gnarled backs and rude armor.
"That is no cloud old man, but something far more dangerous…"
"Let them come then…we shall all die someday."
"What is more foolish? A people who will try even the illogical to save one they love? Or a man who sees death and slavery coming for him and does nothing to defend himself? My father once told me, that death could be met in two ways, one lying upon your back and the other standing upon your feet… Which shall you attempt old man? Even now your daughter struggles with death, and she is upon her back, will you with the ability to stand lay down?"
And with that Celebrin walked toward he village and found a large crowd gathered around a smoking fire, seven elders stood around it, chanting in a tongue Celebrin could not then understand. He saw the target of his mission standing beside the sleeping body of his sister, saying nothing but caressing the burning face of the woman. Toward this man he walked and silently pressed his shoulder, and into the man's ear the elf whispered,
"An army comes in the distance… you must prepare for battle."
"I must be here for her…besides no messenger has come, how could you have seen it?"
It was then that a rider burst into the village and fell from his horse, blood littered the ground as his fall broke black arrows that protruded from his back. Prostrate upon the ground he cried out,
"Death! Death comes! We must prepare to fight!"
And with that he was silenced, and a great cry went from all the people gathered, as aged men and women tore a their hair and clothing in disbelief. Turning to Celebrin an astonished Tal-ano spoke,
"H... How far?"
"They will be here by nightfall."
"Stay with her, I must find the elders."
And so the young man left as the villagers spread out gathering their belongings; the ancient woman knelt beside the elf and spoke in words that seemed more distant that ever,
"They will head to the pillars, we must get her there and there perform the ritual…or she will die this night… If you carry her I shall lead you."
Then she stood and walked, calmly amidst the chaos toward the mountains where Celebrin had first been held captive upon a pillar of rock in the burning sun. Gathering the limp body of the dying woman in his arms he followed the healing woman and in the corner of his eye he thought he saw an old man dressed in black riding into the North at great speed.
Whether he wanted to or not the son of Uial stood, trapped upon a stone pillar in the middle of an unknown land. There were few times in his longs years of life, which he had found himself in a similar position, even then it was with the knowledge of help beyond the horizon. Now no such thing would come to his aid; no elves, no men, nor even dwarves stood upon the horizon ready to break upon the surrounding enemy like a hammer. Yet even in this time hope seemed to not be absent, the people around him moved briskly here and there, never ebbing in their resolve to survive; he felt strangely at home. The woman, Cidhrali, stood upon her own feet, strength it seemed had at last found its way into her body; color once again filled her cheeks. She sent the elf a small smile as he gaze fell upon her; and once again a pain bit at his right eye.
The ritual of soul sharing which the medicine woman had performed still stuck in the elf's mind; he had never seen anything like it before. It was part grotesque and part inspiring. Being a "dark elf" he had seen the green elves perform something like it, and the tribal dances reminded him of those he had not seen since the last Festival of Winter he had celebrated in Doriath…in happier times. But something lay deep within it, something primal, something true…and if the elf were truly honest it frightened him; he had seen the healing arts of the Numenoreans and these were not like it. The chanting of that old woman seemed to take a life of its own as the drumbeats propelled the dancers further and further from reality. He even felt as though his own soul were being ripped from his body; the smell of the harsh herbs destroyed his defenses and he fell into a deep and unsatisfying sleep. Sleep for an elf, being an entirely different thing than for humans, was unkind in not preparing him for the trance state he succumbed to:
In his waking dream he saw shadowy figures of men and women walking in reverent procession enveloping a cold, pale light upon the floor. He walked toward it and as the figures turned to face him they were pushed aside by something that surrounded the elf. In their lighted eyes he saw a pale, silver being occupying the place where he stood among them, and as he gazed at his hands he saw a bright moonlike aura around him. He walked to the center of the grouping and saw a woman veiled in a bright light; a bright white eagle rested upon her shoulders and she beckoned him to sit by her side. She was brighter than the others, but while his light was the brighter it gave way to hers as though one were oil and the other was water, one was stronger, older and more tried, the other though twice as old, and tried in its own right in matters like this it still was young and wild. By the knees of the veiled woman lay a fading white light that struggled to keep its existence. Through these dream eyes the elf saw a great light erupt from the people in front of him, and all their lights mingled in one to form a bright star that blinded him. From it came a white ball of fire that hovered over the pale light, and through its light, warmth filled the elf, and it beckoned him to join it, but something held him back. The warmth swam over the lesser light, surrounding it, cradling it as the light of the veiled woman led Celebrin's to hover over the weaker light. He heard the beatings of the drums grow fainter and the sound of a lone flute or a breeze flowing through a tree sing in the distance. As it grew he could hear the sound of a heart, its pulse growing stronger as his own sense of what was happening began to fade into unawareness. He could hear other instruments flowing through the air and their music, one filled with hope not sorrow, to which he was accustomed, grew in volume and soon he ceased to remember…
When he woke, the girl, Cidhrali, was awake and showing signs of recovery. The village was quiet upon the hill and it seemed as though nothing happened the night before; that was nights ago and now they were surrounded with little to no leadership, and their hope was waning thin.
The elderly men, with whom Celebrin arrived and whom the people had began calling shaman, which in their tongue meant wise one, stood surrounded by elders and healers from all the different tribes of these people. Giving counsel was by far their main concern; for the elf action was paramount to the counsel of old men. He felt old, among all the young men who thought of him as nothing but a few years older than they; despite his relatively short years, he was old in heart. He remembered how Celebrian had often told him he was too young to be so old; she had often feared he skipped childhood altogether…he shook the happier memories from his mind, that was ages ago now. The smell of fire floated up his nostrils and he peered down into the smoky abyss.
Before him lay a vast sea of red flame and dark faces, the shouts of the enemy were dense, and crashed against the sandstone pillar he stood upon. In truth it seemed more like a mountain than a pillar, yet unlike a mountain it did not rise to a peak but flattened and smoothly cascaded toward the valley in a steep slope. For protection it was ideal, for retreat it was fatal, water could not flow up it, nor could any be brought, and for all its size it could be completely enveloped. The sea of flame had not yet surrounded them, but in time it would, and escape would be impossible. The large pillar seemed to not have been carved by nature's hand, at least to the elf it seemed this way; for it was perfectly circular and symmetrical, as though it formed the base of a large tower. The stairs, though weathered seemed carved into the rock face, and perfectly surrounded tower in its climb to the zenith.
Large stones were positioned on its summit, in such an order that they reflected Menelvagor in shape and form. For three of the largest stones lay in the center in perfect alignment, and they in turn were surrounded by three slightly smaller ones and large red stone facing westward; these were then followed in succession by smaller and smaller stones the farther they came from the center. All this the elf had time to notice as day turned into endless night and idle waiting brought the enemy closer to the very gates of the pillar. He did not sleep that night, but kept watch on the valley down below, with many thoughts passing through his head.
Menelvagor- the sindarin version of the constellation Orion.
As always review and critique, all I ask is that you be civil.