As the reporter walked back to his car following his encounter with the fellow in the hooded cloak, he was seized by a couple of men, blindfolded and taken to a place more than a half-hour away; and then he was placed on a chair and tied to it. After some time his captors removed the blindfold, and Jack could see that he was in a Gothic-style room filled with strange and ancient-looking artifacts.
Turning his gaze towards the opposite corner of the chamber, he noticed that there was someone standing next to a lamp reading what seemed like an old scroll. He was a robust fellow dressed in a Late Victorian suit and extremely well-groomed, with not a hair out of place. After some time the man looked up at the reporter. "Welcome, Mr. Connors," he said. "You must forgive my servants; their manners are not as refined as I would like."
Jack smiled sarcastically. "Well thank you, sir - whoever you are," he said.
The robust man put down the scroll at that moment and stood up straight. "I am the Prince Rákóczi," he said, with a pretentious air.
The reporter twisted his mouth. Here we go again, he thought, another delusional jackass. "A pleasure, I'm sure," he said, and after looking around the chamber for a few seconds, added, "You've got some interesting stuff in this room."
"Indeed," said the man in the old-fashioned suit. "As you can probably tell, I am particularly interested in ancient cultures."
"You mean like the Sumerians and the Egyptians?" asked the reporter.
"And earlier," replied Rákóczi. "Ancient men were in possession of essential wisdom that was lost to us in the depths of time."
The young man twisted his mouth slightly. "Yeah, I've heard the stories," he said.
The master of the house then began to walk towards his unwilling guest. "It seems to me that you have been keeping some interesting company of late, Mr. Connors," he said.
Given the other man's interests, Jack had a pretty good idea to whom he was referring, but did not feel like being cooperative. "If you mean my fiancée, I agree," he replied. "I think she is a very interesting woman."
"I am sure she is," said Rákóczi, looking casually at the stem of his pipe; but after a moment, he turned his gaze back to the younger man and added in a serious tone, "And so is the one in the grey hooded cloak."
The reporter debated with himself for a moment whether he should reveal what he had been told or not, then he figured what the hell. "He claims that his name is Ingwion," he said.
Rákóczi's aloof demeanor was gone in an instant. His eyes started shifting wildly as an expression of astonishment was drawn upon his face. "The Prince of the Vanyar himself!" he muttered.
Jack's opinion of the other man's mental sobriety was not very high, but he was still somewhat surprised by his reaction. "Don't tell me you believe that nonsense," he said.
The rotund fellow remained silent for some time, seemingly trying to work out the implications of the information he had just received; but at length he drew a long breath, turned his eyes towards an artifact that looked like a cube inside a sphere and said, "Not only is the Universe stranger than we think, it is stranger than we can think." Then he directed his gaze back to Jack and continued, "Those were the words of Professor Niels Bohr, one of the main architects of Quantum Mechanics, a doctrine held most dear by your so-called scientific establishment."
"So?" said the younger man.
Rákóczi walked towards the front of a large oak desk, a few paces from Jack, and leant against it. "Well, you see, my friend," he said in a superior tone, "what Bohr and others began to understand as they looked at the results of their experiments is that the realm of the impossible vanishes as one peers deeply into the fabric of reality: that all physicalist models crumble, that Time and Causality are stripped of all significance and Thought alone emerges as the true binding force."
He paused at that moment, brought his pipe to his lips and inhaled deeply; and after a short while he continued, "And once you grasp the significance of this, you understand that one ought not ask whether Tolkien created the Valar or whether it was the Valar who guided the hand of Tolkien; for once true enlightenment has been gained, such questions are revealed as meaningless." Then he leant forward, bringing his face closer to Jack's and added, "But I need not tell you these things, Mr. Connors, for you have already begun to see."
Just a few days before, Jack would have regarded Rákóczi's little monologue as nothing but a load of BS; but after all of the strange things he had experienced recently, nothing seemed certain anymore. "But even if we accept that something is possible, that doesn't mean that it's actually happening," he said.
The man in the old-fashioned suit held his prisoner's gaze for a moment, and then said with a smug expression, "What would you say if I told you that I have in my possession a handful of old Anglo-Saxon records that chronicle the voyage of Ælfwine the Fartravelled?" He paused for an instant to examine the face of the reporter as that piece of information sank in, and then continued, "These writings tell of the appearance of tall figures clad in gray hooded cloaks on the shores of Britannia soon after the return of the mariner to that isle, a fact found not in any of Tolkien's writings."
"What would I say?" replied Jack, "I would say that you have been smoking some of the good stuff."
The robust man ignored that comment and fixed his gaze upon an old-style world map that hung from the wall, and after a moment said quietly, "If the ancient sailor was able to reach the Undying Lands, why should not I be able to do the same?" Thereupon he turned his eyes to the wine glass in his hand and muttered to himself, "And thus taste the sweet vines of everlasting life."
Oh for heaven's sake, thought Jack, this lunatic thinks he is some sort of Ar-Pharazôn.
After a moment Rákóczi turned back at the reporter and said in a commanding tone, "Now you will tell me, Mr. Connors, what purpose brought the son of Ingwë to these mortal lands."
"Well, he literally said to me that his aim was unclear," replied the young man.
The stout fellow then took a step forward and said, "And what, pray tell, is the source of the elf's interest in an insignificant reporter such as yourself?"
Jack did not mind talking about Ingwion, but he was most certainly not going to reveal anything about the strange fragment in his possession to the pompous kook. "I really don't know," he said. "Perhaps he wants me to write a story about him."
Rákóczi drew a long breath. "It seems that I will need to employ different means to get the answers I seek," he said, and then made a hand signal to one of his henchmen. The next thing Jack remembered was waking up on a bench in a homeless shelter with a splitting headache.
The reporter arrived at his home one hour before noon and found Lina sitting by the phone. He didn't want to worry her, and so he said nothing about the kidnapping. Instead, he told her that he had been mugged, robbed of his cash and knocked unconscious; and that he had been taken to a homeless shelter by a couple of cops on the beat.
After reassuring her and promising to be more careful in the future, he decided to tell her about his encounter with the tall stranger. "I spoke to our hooded friend yesterday at the Common," he said to her.
Lina looked a bit shocked. "The one you saw outside of Dr. Boulanger's house?" she asked.
"The very one," replied Jack. "Get this, he claims that he is Ingwion, the son of Ingwë."
"The Prince of the Vanyar?! No way," she said. "Wait til the paparazzi get wind of this."
Jack then recounted to his fiancée his conversation with the tall fellow, and after he had come to the end, Lina said, "OK, so let's assume, just for the sake of amusement, that he is who he claims to be. Why would he be interested in a fragment of an alien craft?
"I seem to recall him saying something like the item is not what I believe," replied the reporter.
"That would mean that it is not a piece of an alien craft," said Lina.
"But the note from the Air Force captain said that he had found it at the crash site," rejoined Jack.
The young woman thought about it for a second, and then said, "What if it was not part of the craft itself, but something that the Aliens were carrying inside?"
Jack stood up at that moment and began to pace slowly around the room. At length he said, "Something that the aliens were carrying, which has Quenya characters carved on it. Hmm… could it be that the thing is actually some sort of elvish relic that ET stole from Aman?"
On hearing that outlandish suggestion, Lina raised her eyebrows slightly and then said, "Well, if those alien crafts can do things in the air that leave even seasoned F-18 pilots shaken and mystified, why could they not also follow the 'Straight Road' to Aman?"
"OK, but coming back to earth," said the reporter, "whatever the item is, it seems to be pretty important to a bunch of different people. I need to figure out what to do with it."
"Can't help you there, love," said the young woman.
Jack pondered on the matter for a few seconds, then let out a sigh and said, "Perhaps I should just hand it over to the authorities, as I really don't have any use for it. Besides, it doesn't look like Joe is going to let me write a piece about it." And after a brief pause, he added, "I think I'll just give it to Fred."
"Fred, your friend from the FBI?" asked Lina.
"Yes," replied the young man. "I'd rather have the item go to the Justice Department than let it fall into the hands of the generals, the spooks or the crazies."
Following that Jack pulled out his cell phone, called his friend and told him that he wanted to give an important item to him. He had left the piece in a safe deposit box in Back Bay, and not wanting to carry it with him too far, he told Fred to meet him on the Charles River Esplanade.
When the reporter arrived at the rendez-vous point, however, the FBI agent was nowhere to be found; and so he decided to take a seat on a nearby bench and await his friend.
"I am afraid that your friend will not be joining us, Mr. Connors," said a voice behind him.
Jack stood up and turned around at once, and a few paces from him, he found the stout figure of Rákóczi accompanied by one of his henchmen. "What have you done to him?" said the young reporter.
"I do not think that we need to involve the FBI in our little affair," said the robust man.
"Is he OK, though?" asked Jack.
"Do not worry, my friend," replied Rákóczi, "he should be waking up soon in a cozy little motel room." Then he pointed to the pathway and added, "And now, if you please."
The young man was taken to a small apartment in South Boston and tied to a chair. "Now we will talk about that item that you intended to give to the FBI," said the supposed European prince, as soon as his servant was done binding the prisoner.
"I don't know what you are talking about," replied Jack.
Rákóczi then shot a commanding look at his henchman, who immediately began to frisk the reporter. After a short while, the big fellow pulled a flat metallic bar, about five inches long, out of the young man's coat pocket and handed it to his boss.
Upon seeing the item, the robust man's eyes widened as his face turned deadly pale. Then he muttered somberly to himself, "Varya Nolmë!," and a few seconds later, he turned towards Jack and said with extreme fear in his voice, "This should not be here!"
The man in the old-fashioned suit then took a couple of steps back as the item fell from his trembling hands; and following that, he slowly raised his timorous eyes to a drawing on the wall which depicted a dark towering gateway guarded by a pair black stone dragons. And with his enthralled gaze fixed upon that dreadful image, he began to recite in low, dull voice, as in a trance, "By ways unforeseen it shall come to the ends of Arda. And in that hour the light of the stones shall mingle anew and the great seal shall be broken; and passing through the Door of Night, Melkor shall come forth again into the world to claim his ancient throne. His servants of old he will gather to himself; and in forms dark and terrible …"
He fell silent at that moment, seemingly unable to go on. Then he lowered his gaze and cast one last glance at the mysterious object on the floor, whereupon he turned towards the door, and in a not so dignified manner, stumbled out of that place with flailing arms and in great haste.
After watching the prince scamper away, Jack turned his attention to the strange item that lay a few feet from him and gazed at it thoughtfully for a while. At length, with his eyes still fixed on the mysterious object, he said to Rákóczi's henchman, "So, what do you think - a sort of key, perhaps?" But the ogreish-looking fellow just shrugged his shoulders and stomped out of the apartment without a word, leaving the reporter alone.
After struggling for several hours, Jack was finally able to free himself from the rope that bound him to the chair. He picked up the item, placed it in his coat pocket and then went out of the building to hail a cab. As he waited, however, he noticed two men in black suits standing on the corner across the street. Then, turning his eyes towards the opposite corner, he saw a big black SUV parked with its engine on, and knew at that moment that he was being followed.
To attempt to shake off his pursuers, he turned around and headed south, and at length crossed Day Boulevard and reached Carson Beach. As it was the middle of winter, the place was deserted, which made the reporter even more anxious; and so he decided to call his friend Fred for advice. After getting Jack's exact location, the FBI agent told the reporter that he was going to go there to pick him up, and following that added, "By the way, Lina is here; she got worried when you did not return. I'll put her on the phone."
After making sure that her fiancée was fine, Lina said, "Alright, sit tight. We'll be there soon."
"Ah no, you are not coming with Fred," replied Jack.
"Oh yes, I am," she rejoined, and hung up the phone.
As the reporter was putting his phone back in his pocket, he espied two men in black suits running across the boulevard towards the beach. Without delay, he turned around and began to run away from them, but as he did this, he tripped on a fallen tree branch and fell to the ground, hitting his head against a rock. As he lay on the sand in a semi-conscious state, he saw the two approaching men suddenly stop a few dozen feet from him, then slowly step backwards, and finally turn around and run away from the beach. And following that darkness took him.
But something, a sense of danger perhaps, soon awoke the young reporter. His eyes were drawn at once towards the eastern sky, and there, high aloft, he saw an orange point of light appear slowly in the distance. And suddenly there was silence, as if an invisible barrier had descended about him, and neither the rumbling of vehicles nor the grunting of seagulls could now reach his ears. Soon the small circle of light began to widen; and as it grew brighter than all around it, it seemed to the young man as if the very air about him had become suddenly foul and heavy.
And then things became stranger yet; for after a short while, the young reporter saw the orange light suddenly morph into three white beams arranged in the shape of a triangle. He could now make out a form behind the lights, and soon realized that it was some sort of odd-looking craft that was moving slowly towards him. Before long, he began to feel paralyzed and constricted, as though a great weight was bearing down on his chest, and utter dread fell then upon his heart.
But then a quiet sound, soft and pleasing, began to tear through the smothering silence; and as it grew in strength, the young man began to perceive that something was different, as if a swift rain had come and washed away the foulness that had filled the air. After a while he began to notice a white glow out of the corner of his eye, and so he turned his gaze in that direction; and in that instant he was astounded and awed by the luminous presence that was revealed before him.
And there stood the Prince of the Eldar upon the shores of the sea, an image of the splendor of the Elder Days, tall and lordly under the dying sun and bearing the light of Aman upon his face. And the strength of his chant swelled, so that it seemed as though many were singing with one voice; and even the flows of the great sea in that hour appeared to sway to the silvery cadences of his song. And even though the young man could not understand the words of the elf, the very notes of his melody aroused in him thoughts of resistance, and of snapping chains and strength like a tower. And Jack wondered with amazement if he was hearing in that moment the actual words of an old fairy tale, those sung by Felagund long ago, during his ancient duel of chants of power.
Soon the strange craft began to move in an erratic manner, as if attempting to avoid some unseen peril. Then its bright lights began to flicker and dim gradually; and at length, no longer able to strive against the power that opposed it, the object began to drift away slowly, and vanished at last into thin air. And following that Jack laid back his head and drifted again out of consciousness.
When light returned at length to the reporter's eyes, he found Ingwion hunkered down by him with his hand on his forehead. He was amazed to see that a bright but gentle glow lit the tall one's eyes, and he smiled and shook his head in disbelief. After some time he reached for his coat pocket and noticed that it was empty, and in much dismay, he said to the son of Ingwë, "The item - it's gone! What will happen now?"
The elf lifted his head at that moment and turned his gaze towards that far-off line where the sea meets the sky. At length he said gravely, "Varya Nolmë has passed hence; it is now beyond their reach. But what shall betide hereafter, none can say."
At that moment Lina arrived at the beach and began to run at once towards Jack; but as she came within a few paces of her fiancée, she stopped suddenly, and with her wide eyes fixed upon the elf-lord, said with astonishment, "But you are …"
Ingwion arose at that moment. "He shall be well," he said to her. Then he turned his eyes back to the young reporter, brought his hand to his chest and said, "Farewell, Jack Connors;" and thereupon he pulled his hood over his head and set off for the Ancient West.
After a few seconds, Lina turned her eyes to her fiancée, and pointing towards the departing elf-lord, said excitedly, "Oh my god! That was…that was …"
"That was weird," said Jack.