Note: Thank you, thank you, 2FriedmanFreak and TheBigOne, for reviewing. Reviews are so very nice. I'm now on the third and last book in this story—three is such a nice, round number isn't it?—and am feeling a certain amount of accomplishment.
BOOK III: Irreversible
Incunabulum 16: Behind the Eye
The whole party tumbled out of Mirkwood and found themselves staring down the long road through the Brown lands.
"Here, let's see that elf-detector," said Etwol. The snaga handed it over and they could all see that the red light was no longer blinking.*
"Where'd you find it?" asked Etwol. "It's nice."
"I got it from a dwarf," said the snaga. "Lots of them carry elf-detectors."
Etwol tossed it back and glanced over his small following. "All right, you slugs," he said. "We move fast, we might make Mordor by nightfall."
"We can't go on wivout a blessed rest," said a snaga.
"We're starving," announced a vampire. "We gotta eat something."
Etwol looked apprehensively at the zombies who looked as if they were about to start in on their "Brainz" routine.
"We can't stop here," he said firmly. "We get clear of Mirkwood and we can take a rest. No food until we get to Mordor, though, and that's final. Now get moving and no slouching."
Etwol's estimate was optimistic. Had he been travelling by himself he would have easily reached Mordor by sundown and with only the snagae he might have made it before it was extremely dark, but the zombies could not be hurried and even the vampires, who were usually the fastest, were dragging. The sun was high in the sky on the following day before they reached the frowning battlements of the Black Gate.
They came up, dusty and hot, through the slag heaps before the gate. The snagae were wheezing hoarsely and the zombies groaned from time to time. The vampires were trying to sing a marching song, though unfortunately they had not chosen a good one for marching to.
"Bahdedum bahdedum doodoodoodoo…for a thousand years…doodee doodee doo…"
It was actually slowing them down.
Etwol gazed in fascination at the great gate. For several years now he had cherished hopes of someday going to Mordor. For an orc, Mordor was the land of promise and opportunity. Of course the reality was not so bright when once you got there, as Ghashbug could attest, but Etwol had never been there.
There was a door bell to one side of the gate and an intercom. Etwol went boldly up and punched the bell ringer and a deep hollow note sounded from somewhere on the far side of the wall. Above his head a security camera swiveled around to focus on him.
"What do you want?" said a voice from the intercom, cutting through a lot of static.
"We want to come in."
"Who's we?"
"Two orcs of the White Hand, some Red Eye snagae, a bunch of elven zombies, and some new hybrid vampires." Etwol ticked the list off on his fingers and noticed that his nails needed cutting.
"Were you expected?"
Etwol paused. He had no idea whether Saruman had orders to send them or if he was making Sauron a surprise birthday present. It was the first time Etwol had considered it at all and he began to wonder what would happen to them if the present were unwelcome.
"I fink so," he stammered at last.
"I'll have to ring up the Great Eye. We can't have just anyone waltzing in here, you know."
There was a long pause and then, without any warning, a horn sounded somewhere and the great gate began to slowly open. It opened only just enough for Etwol and the others to file through one after the other and then it closed again.
Now that he was inside the wall, Etwol noticed how steep the mountains were that ringed Mordor. It looked like a giant trap of some kind, as if keeping things in were as important to the Eye as keeping things out. He had scarcely had time to look about him though when a troop of uruks appeared and conveyed them off to a processing station.
The station was a low, barrack-like building with bars in the window. By the door stood a more than ordinarily ugly uruk, both beefy and bald, with his arms crossed.
"Ha! Here's the special shipment we was to watch for, I presume," he said, examining the zombies with interest. "Whom do you serve, maggots?"
"Zauron!" said the zombies.
"Well, they reprogrammed you already," he remarked in surprise. "That's handy."
"They didn't, neither," said Etwol. "These are smart zombies, that's all."
"Shut your trap and step inside!" said the orc. "Or I'll report you."
This was a new threat used exclusively in Mordor, although the Mordorians depended heavily on the two old standbys as well.
Etwol and his following was divided up, much to his consternation. He had for a short while been boss; now he was nobody again. But he had hopes of impressing the Great Eye and getting put in charge of an army. The zombies and vampires were put in a corner by themselves, the Mordor snagae were marched off to some other station, Ghashbug was given a pass and allowed to visit his family, and Etwol was stuck in a waiting room with a magazine.
He was very annoyed at being treated this way. He was already wanting to go back to Isengard. Mordor was no fun. After a lapse of ten minutes an orc entered and called his name (although he was the only one in the room).
"You're Saruman's orc?" he asked. Etwol pointed to the white hand on his face. "I mean, you're the one what just came with the delivery?"
"Yeh," said Etwol.
"Come on, then. The Great Eye wants to see you."
The orc led Etwol out of the building, down a short pathway to a long, wide road. As far as Etwol could see the road snaked back and forth across the plains of Mordor and the whole length of it was choked with traffic of all kinds—foot soldiers, wagons, fell beasts, Haradrim, gruesome siege engines—everything required for massive and total war.
Etwol followed the orc onto the road, doing his best to dodge between the traffic without losing sight of his guide. Finally they came to a less crowded portion of the thoroughfare and were able to run side by side. To the south, near the centre of the plain, lay the huge bulk of Mount Orodruin, trails of lava glowing like red veins on its sides and from its crater a tawny and voluminous cloud of hazardous material pouring endlessly.
"He needs an emissions inspection," said Etwol.
"The only inspection done here is by the Great Eye," said the other orc. "And soon that will be the way it is everywhere."
The road turned round a bend and up ahead Etwol saw the tower of Barad-dur with the Great Eye up on top, turning its gaze this way and that, as if searching frantically for something it had lost. Etwol followed the orc up to the door of the tower, the orc rang a bell, and the door swung open.
"Goodbye," said the orc and ran away rather faster than he had come.
Etwol stepped into the tower and looked about. Torches hung on the walls, shedding an amber radiance on the red carpet on the floor. Between the torches hung modern art paintings and black and white photographs of famous landmarks. An orc sat behind a walnut desk, busy writing something on a clipboard. He looked up at Etwol's entrance and pointed to the back of the room.
"The lift's over there," he said.
Etwol stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the top floor, gritting his teeth and preparing himself for the sudden ascent that he was used to with Saruman's lift. But the lift began to rise slowly and gently and climbed the tower without causing any great disturbance to Etwol's internal organs.
At the top Etwol stepped out into a waiting room of sorts. Over on a bench by one wall sat Grima Wormtongue, looking hunched up and unhappy, while nearby stood a figure draped in black.
"What are you doing here?" asked Etwol in surprise.
Grima looked up. "Saruman lost the war with Rohan," he said. "Sauron brought us up here for further instructions. Yes, I know, we started after you left, but we took a shortcut through Morgul Vale. My friend here gave us a ride up on his dragon."
"Oh, hello," said Etwol, recognising the dark figure. "Nice to see you again."
"Sorry, I don't think we've met," said the figure in black.
"You came to Isengard last autumn," said Etwol, feeling awkward.
"You're probably confusing me with some other nazgul," said the figure. He turned back to Grima and continued some conversation they had been having when Etwol came in.
"I told you you need some better pick up lines. A girl doesn't want to be told she's cold—she wants to be told she's hot. Well, so what happened then? Did she slap you?"
"No, but her uncle threw me out."
"Ha! Ha!" The nazgul seemed to think this very funny. "Ha! I'm afraid you're a little out of it. Next time you need dating advice, come to me."
Since there didn't seem to be anything else to do, Etwol sat down to wait. Soon a door at one end of the room with a red eye painted on it opened and Saruman came out. Behind him came another figure—one wearing black robes and a helmet that obscured all of his face except for his mouth and chin. Etwol stared at him in delighted admiration. Never before had he seen such beautiful scars as those this person wore, radiating from his mouth in stylised lightning bolts.
Saruman seemed to be in a bad mood and rather more harassed than Etwol remembered him looking a few days previously. His voice was raised in complaint.
"Don't tell me Barad-dur is more impregnable than Orthanc. You need to get your lift fixed, for one thing—it's too slow."
"It's not broken, it's just safer than yours," said his scarred companion. "Barad-dur has all the safety features." It was common knowledge that Saruman never bothered with safety features.
"Come on, goon," said Saruman to Grima.
"Where are we going?" asked Grima, getting up obediently.
Saruman was already in the lift, pushing buttons. "To the Shire," he said, as Grima joined him and the doors closed.
The tall person in the helmet turned his attention to Etwol. Etwol expected to be told to do something, but the person only looked him up and down with a malicious smirk.
"Are you Sauron?" asked Etwol finally.
"I'm his mouth."
Etwol was slightly confused as to whether the mouth was speaking for itself or for the whole of this remarkable person.
"You're the orc that used to be an elf, aren't you?" said the Mouth of Sauron. "I like elves. They're fun."
"I'm no elf."
"You might be interesting anyway. Have you ever seen an elf die? They sort of—burn out…from the inside."
"I hate elves," said Etwol.
"Well, they are pretty annoying," said the Mouth. "What I like about elves is that they can handle a lot of pain. I'm an expert on pain and torture, you know. I'm writing a book about it—it's called The Ten Levels of Pain. Speaking of which, do you wanna know how I got these scars?"
"I'm an expert on torture, too," said Etwol, unimpressed. "Only I been on the receiving end, so I got the advantage of you there."
"Oh, that's right," said the Mouth. "You were tortured into an orc, weren't you? That ought to be good material for my book. Maybe we should collaborate on a chapter. Here, I've got something to show you that you'll like. Come on."
Etwol followed him through a door—a different door than the one the Mouth and Saruman had come out of—into a dark room. The Mouth lit a torch and began to show Etwol around. The room was full of instruments of torture—similar to many Etwol was familiar with but much more sophisticated. He had to admit that they were pretty impressive.
"You and I should bring up a couple of prisoners some time and have some fun together," said the Mouth. "The other orcs don't really know how to do it right."
There was a sudden buzzing sound and an intercom at one end of the room began to crackle.
"Where are you?" said a voice over it. "I thought I told you to bring in the subject."
"I'm in the torture chamber," said the Mouth. "I was giving him a little preliminary psychological orientation."
"Stop wasting time and get in here," said Sauron.
"It's not a waste of time," grumbled the Mouth, going to the door. "You've got to have some time for goofing off."
Etwol followed him out and through the other door in the room—the one marked with a red eye. They climbed a short stair and emerged onto a wide, round, flat roof, at either end of which tall spikes shot up towards the murky sky. Suspended between them hung the Great Eye, still glancing restlessly about its demesne. When it saw Etwol, however, it turned the whole strength of its formidable gaze upon him. Etwol began to tremble.
"So," hissed Sauron. "This is the twit who didn't know a thing about Mirkwood and yet was able to travel by the secret elven paths and elude an elven orc-hunting party. How was that, worm?"
"You can smell the elves coming," said Etwol smugly. "They put product in their hair."
"Don't tell me about elves. I know their tricks. You may have fooled Saruman, but don't try the same with me, Ëol."
"Etwol."
"You knew how to find the hidden paths all along, didn't you?" went on Sauron, ignoring the correction. "Perhaps there is more you can tell of Mirkwood and the Wood-elves."
"I don't know nuffing. It just came to me, like."
"And the pass code? That just came to you as well, I suppose?"
"I don't know," said Etwol. "The numbers were sort of in my fingers, if you follow."
"You're telling the truth," said Sauron after a pause. "Perhaps it's time you knew the whole truth. Look at me!"
Etwol looked at the Eye. It was a huge ball of fire with a long black slit down the centre and this slit, as Etwol gazed at it, took the shape of a dark lord with a spiky crown.
"You are a creature of shadow," said Sauron. "You shun light. But light is only the illusion, the fleeting gleam. Behind light lies darkness, the reality. The light will pass, the darkness is eternal. They thought they defeated him; they shut him out. But beyond the edge of the world he lingers, awaiting his hour. The world will fall, plunged in eternal ruin, and he will remain, the darkness beyond the world, the darkness that cannot be destroyed."
Etwol looked at the slit and it seemed no longer a dark lord but a bottomless well of ultimate nothingness. It seemed to suck him into itself like a vacuum, as if it desired to swallow up all things in its own despair. Etwol gazed into it, and suddenly he remembered everything—Horthir, Halrodil, the elvenking, the war.
"You hate the light," said Sauron. "You hate it and fear it. But you still fear the darkness. Know then what you fear. The darkness outside the world."
Etwol lurched forward and staggered.
"Rah!" said the Eye.
With a shriek and a clatter of orc armour, Etwol fell to the flagstones of the tower.
* In case you are wondering why it wasn't blinking from the proximity of elven zombies and vampires, detectors don't detect dead things. See The Hobbit: an Unexpected Journey, the riddles scene.