Chapter Fifty-Seven
~ Estel ~
The Paths of the Dead were scary.
I conceded that within the first ten minutes I spent there.
But I steeled my mind and told myself to keep going. For one thing, it wasn't like I could go back now; we were too deep into this for me to run away and expect no retaliation. For another, making that decision would worry Legolas all the more – on one hand, he would want to see me safely out; but on the other, he didn't want to abandon Aragorn to whatever we would face here.
So I stayed. Besides, it wasn't like I wanted to leave Legolas or abandon Aragorn either.
As we moved past piles of skulls that grinned dreadfully at us, Legolas suddenly stiffened, his eyes narrowing and body tensing.
Gimli beat me to the question. "What is it? What do you see?" he demanded.
"I see shapes of men and of horses," Legolas answered tightly.
"Where?"
"Pale banners like shreds of cloud. Spears rise like winter-thickets through a shroud of mist," Legolas continued, almost like a prophet about to deliver a dreadful verdict. "The dead are following. They have been summoned."
"The Dead? Summoned?" The tiniest bit of unease tainted his voice, but he recovered quickly. "I knew that. Very good. Very good. Legolas!"
As he spoke, strange white-green mist started circling around us. It took the shape of arms and torsos, but undefined – like long-dead souls reaching out for purgatory, but neither here nor there. And then they started reaching for us, almost as though they were grabbing at our hands and legs and, in Aragorn's case, sword.
Aragon brushed them aside with his sword, wary but confident.
Legolas backed up, almost as though waiting for them to give up, but they followed and he had no choice but to swipe them aside.
Gimli just blew at them.
Then they reached for me as though they intended to squeeze the life out of me.
Then the Elessar suddenly burned white-hot at my neck. I choked in surprise and pain, scrabbling at it, but my fingers could find no purchase on the gem and it was too hot to hold. The emerald flashed brilliantly, lighting up the entire passage for a second, and the mist retreated angrily and at once from me in a wide circle, as though the Elessar had burned it somehow.
"Estel!"
Legolas was suddenly at my side. His hand flitted to my neck as well, but the Elessar was no longer hot or glowing. It lay deceptively calm, as though nothing had happened.
"~What was that?~" he asked urgently.
I shivered. The Elessar had never done anything like that – not in my memory, and not in any of our stories.
"~I don't know,~" I answered shakily.
He must have heard the fear in my voice, for he placed his arms around me tenderly. "~It's all right,~" he soothed. "~It's gone.~"
I stayed in his arms for one quick second, holding the memory of his musical voice and the warmth of his embrace in my mind. It was precious to me. But then I pulled away. Now wasn't the time for comfort and protection.
Legolas understood; he brushed my cheek once, his eyes solemn, and then whirled away.
Just then, Aragorn said suddenly, "Do not look down."
I was just looking at him in surprise when there was a sickening snap under my feet and the ground gave me. With a surprised scream, I nearly fell, unable to find my balance or regain my footing. My mind was a blur of confusion; I couldn't figure out what was wrong or what do to.
And then the ride came to a sudden halt as arms swept me up.
I looked up to see Legolas holding me close to him, his eyes filled with fear as he gazed at me.
"~I'm fine,~" I told him.
His tight expression eased somewhat. "~What happened?~"
Against Aragorn's advice, I looked down, seeking an answer for the both of us. And then I blanched.
Skulls.
Thousands of them.
"~I – I must have slipped on one,~" I said, and now my voice was no longer calm.
His lips twitched, as though he was about to smile, and his shoulders relaxed. He shifted me to better hold me against me. "~Perhaps I shouldn't let you down until we reach solid ground. You seem to have a great deal of accidents when not on it, Estel.~"
I stuck my tongue out at him, but I didn't object. For now, the safety of his embrace seemed better than risking my neck again.
~ Legolas ~
I set Estel down gently when we reached a huge cavern, almost like an underground hall. It was solid ground now, and if it came to a fight, I couldn't be holding her.
I was surprised that she hadn't objected to my carrying her. But perhaps the two incidents there had scared her more than I thought. It wouldn't surprise me that they had; for all I knew, the Elessar had never flared up like that, and slipping and sliding on the skulls of dead people wasn't exactly the most fun experience.
Still, I kept a careful eye on her now.
"Who enters my domain?"
Estel jumped at my side as a raspy, arrogant, creepy voice echoed across the cavern. I drew my bow, just in case.
A ghost appeared as the echoes died away, white-green like the mist that had come upon us. He was dressed in the most bizarre assortment of old royal styles and patchwork armor. Even worse was the fact that some of it was eaten or rotted away, baring sections of bone.
To his credit, Aragorn held his ground. "One who will have your allegiance."
"The dead do not suffer the living to pass," the king said, his voice buzzing like a pack of angry bees.
"You will suffer me," Aragorn declared.
The king threw his head back – and laughed. As the echoes of that awful laughter spread all over the cavern, it seemed wherever the sound traveled more mist appeared. The mist outlined a marvelous city, complete with terraces and barracks and towers and everything else. And from the city poured thousands and thousands of dead soldiers, whose appearances were very similar to the king – well, minus the royal attire.
Done laughing, the king rasped, "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead. And the dead keep it. The way is shut." He paused. "Now you must die."
He – or it – approached Aragorn, baring an ancient sword. Within seconds, my bow was up and my arrow was flying in warning . . . but it passed right through the king's eye and clattered to the floor in the distance.
"I summon you to fulfill your oath," Aragorn said.
The pack of angry bees became an angry screech of warning parent birds. "None but the King of Gondor may command me!"
Then the ghost swung at Aragorn.
And missed.
Aragorn had parried the blow with the Sword of Elendil.
In a spectacular move, he whirled the swords around – sending the ghost's sword to the ground – and reached out to seize the king's throat.
"That line was broken!" the ghost screeched.
"It has been remade," Aragorn hissed, but not in anger. In triumph.
He shoved back the ghost king, who fell back as the soldiers shifted, surveying the scene in front of them.
"Fight for us, and regain your honor. What say you?" Aragorn called.
The dead didn't answer.
"What say you?" Aragorn repeated more loudly, surveying the soldiers. He even walked among them, but they parted before his sword with hardly a word, the mist hissing like whispers among the trees wherever he walked.
"You waste your time, Aragorn!" Gimli said. "They had no honor in life; they have none now in death."
The ghost seemed enraged. "Honor?" he rasped in rage. "What say you of honor when you bring that to the Paths of the Dead?"
The ghost was pointing at Estel.
~ Estel ~
I stepped back.
The ghosts swirled around me, the whispers of mist angry now. The ghost king approached me, slowly, one step at a time, teeth bared in an awful leer of a smile.
"You!" the ghost seethed. "You dare bring that – that witchcraft in here!"
My fingers leaped automatically to the Elessar.
"It is no witchcraft!" I retorted. "This is the Elessar, the symbol of the line of the Kings of Gondor and Arnor! If anyone is to declare at witchcraft, it should be you!"
The ghost screeched, and I released the Elessar to clutch frantically at my ears. Perhaps I had pushed it a tad too far. . .
"Our enslavement is bound to that!" it screamed in rage-filled fury. If it was still alive, I guessed it would be foaming at the mouth and red in the eyes now with rage. "Abomination! Witch! Half-breed! Kill her!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Legolas spring forward – but it was already too late.
The ghosts surged forward, the mist covering more ground than even Elven speed could. Within seconds, they were on me, around me, against me. I couldn't bat away all of them. Something shoved at me, and I slammed into the ground so hard I was lucky nothing broke and that I wasn't knocked unconscious. But still the ghosts swirled around me, and already cold was creeping into me.
Not normal cold, the kind you could chase away with warm fires and heavy blankets.
This was the cold of the dead, the kind that crept into your joints and paralyzed you until you lay helpless at its mercy.
The cold reached my heart, and without thinking I screamed.
And the Elessar burned.
~ Aragorn ~
When Estel screamed, I saw how it impacted Legolas. The Elf went wild in his attempts to reach her, disregarding any notion of self-preservation. He was willing to die for her; I could see that now. He would do anything to save her.
Luckily, he didn't have to.
Emerald light suddenly blasted out, shining around the ghosts. It illuminated her entire figure – every strand of her long hair, every curve of her clothes, every line of her skin. The light seemed purer than the last time it had lit up, and also far more powerful. When it fell across me, strength seemed to rush into my veins and my mind seemed to clear.
It had quite a different effect on the ghosts.
They screeched, almost like in pain, and scattered as the light fell upon them. Even the ghost king fell back, screeching in horror right along with the rest.
Within seconds, Estel was free from the ghosts.
The light dimmed slowly, but the gem remained bright, as though ready to protect her again if need me.
At once, Legolas was by her side, his arms around her in an instant.
She, in return, immediately buried her face in his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt as though she never wanted to let go of him. Her shoulders shook, but quietly; she wasn't crying, just terrified.
But she wasn't hurt – Legolas would have gone crazy if she was.
I decided to capitalize on the ghosts' fear of her. After all, I had the Elessar too.
"I am Isildur's heir," I announced loudly, letting the ghosts know for certain who was who. "Fight for me and I will hold your oaths fulfilled! What say you?"
The ghost king smirked and started to laugh. This time, instead of the city appearing, it vanished, as did all of the ghosts.
Desperate, I shouted, "You have my word! Fight, and I will release you from this living death! What say you?"
"Stand, you traitors!" I heard Gimli roar.
The ground shook ominously.
I whirled to the doorway – and to my horror, millions of skulls were rolling out of it.
They want to kill us, to break the line of Isildur.
With that thought, I shouted, "Out!"
We ran, dodging skulls and trying our best not to be swept away by them. It was harder, for the skulls were slippery and round, able to neatly dislodge out footing or whack us hard and momentarily daze us. However, eventually, we made it to the nearest tunnel and found ourselves outside.
Black ships sailed on the river.
I fell to my knees, despair taking over me. Even all together, we couldn't take all of those ships down.
There was the strangest sound behind me, like whispers between the trees, and I rose and turned.
The king of the dead had appeared from the wall.
Estel flinched and recoiled from the king, fear flickering in her grey-blue eyes. Legolas slipped to her side, planting himself in front of her with warning flashing in his blue eyes. Gimli hefted his axe threateningly.
The ghost ignored all of it, coming to stand right in front of me.
"We fight."