The tears of the goddess – Part 4
Tears on the hill
.oOo.
From the palace, the view embraced the entire bay of the Raj, bordered by steep cliffs. Powerful currents marbled the crystal-clear waters with an inky blue under a clear sky. The tamarind trees perfumed the sea breeze, which rustled in the large parasols of the pines covering the terrace.
Crown Prince Dayan followed his daily lesson. His preceptress, an elderly lady, grey-haired and serious, mumbled verses that would eventually put her to sleep. The regent, with a compassionate smile, released her nephew by shortening the lesson and ordered a snack.
The little boy had busy days. After lessons from the Maidens of the Goddess, then calligraphy and travel stories every morning, he was taken to ride horses or to follow the physical and martial training of his tutor, Oloye Kibir.
Aunt and nephew addressed a short oration to the Goddess and sat down for lunch. The butler came to announce a visitor.
The young woman cast a sideways glance at the boy:
– "Dayan, I invited knight Thorongil for the meal... do you mind?"
– "Oh no! I like Thorongil: he always tells me about his adventures in countries far from here!"
The young aunt made a movement of surprise, a shadow of spite passed over her beautiful face, quickly erased by a tender smile.
– "Oh yes? Well, you're very lucky!" she breathed as she got up to welcome the knight.
.oOo.
The meal was joyful, simple and lively.
Then Dayan was allowed to go to the bath. He could be heard running down the slope towards the cove, accompanied by the joyful barking of his dog.
The adults contemplated the vastness of the bay, open to the ocean. A dromond descended the estuary with a majestic gait, in the middle of the cutters that shuttled between the north and south shores. Fishing boats at anchor danced on the swell. The waves gently caressed the rocks, in the trailing song of the seabirds.
– "Is not my beloved country splendid? The sky, the still sun, the hills, the shore, everything seems so peaceful."
– "Yes, My Lady, every detail seems to have been placed with care and love, as on a fresco."1
– "May the Goddess, Thorongil, put such harmony in our lives, as She shapes this landscape!"
– "This harmony is a blessing for the lives that are lucky enough to find it. But one must have the courage and the constancy to cultivate it, as one would for a garden."
– "The gardens of the world shelter thousands of roses... but one does not always find there the bud that one would like to cultivate..."
Thorongil did not answer. Luuma observed him furtively. The knight's gaze strayed to the north, far beyond the enchanting banks of the Raj. In his shining mail and his officer's outfit, he had at that moment the allure of an elf lord of legends, lively and terrible, wise and profound.
Luuma sighed and pulled his companion from his reverie:
– "And yet what we lack could be found in a single rose, if only the Goddess would shed a few tears of benevolence on her lonely bud."
Thorongil finally turned his gaze to Luuma, as if he finally understood her. As a veil of compassion passed over the captain's face, she lowered her head, seeming to watch her nephew's games below.
The grace of this vulnerable neck and the solitude of this willful soul touched Thorongil more than he would have liked to admit:
– "Do not let your heart despair, oh my Lady!"
– "The heart, sometimes, finds only dreams... So sweet, but ephemeral and deceptive..."
– "Isn't it better to dispel a deceptive hope?"
– "But how do you know if you will be deceived? Because, Thorongil, it is sometimes improbable hopes that give our dreams the strength to fly higher. Don't you sometimes wish to change your destiny, when everything seems to indicate another direction?"
Thorongil caught the young woman's moved gaze:
– "Yes, Madam, in truth I understand your revolt. For I am myself an exile, doomed to prove myself in the face of an adversity that seems insurmountable. Yet I do not lose hope, since my path crosses that of exceptional Ladies and Lords, such as You and Prince Kibir."
The Regent's face hardened:
– "Thorongil, I know what I should do! But I don't have the strength!"
A crash of broken glass diverted their attention. The Butler lay on the ground, his face purple, his eyes rolled back, his two hands clasped around his throat, from which a black snake was moving away.
A moment later, men in black jumped from the roof.
Thorongil drew his saber. Luuma her rapier.
.oOo.
Oloye Kibir went to the Regent's private apartments. To his great surprise, the guards barred him from entering, as the Regent was giving an audience.
However, he needed to see her urgently: he had been informed that a plot involving someone close to the government was being hatched in the shadows.
His rank forbade him from negotiating or begging from a subordinate. Furthermore, he could not behave as if he were in a conquered country, despite the great confidence that the Regent publicly showed him.
So he stood in front of the door, flanked by his own two guards, and took his time while delving into meditation, a major discipline in the martial arts of Bellakar.
After half an hourglass, he asked:
– "But who is the Regent giving an audience to?"
As he was told that Officer Thorongil had been called, shouts were heard in the apartments.
Kibir, his guards and those at the door rushed in.
The doors were blocked from the inside!
– "Woe to me! I trusted you, You traitorous Stranger!" roared the Oloye.
The five men seized a low piece of furniture, a masterpiece of cabinetmaking from Mîraz, and used it as a battering ram. They had a hard time getting in and eventually realized that opponents on the other side were holding the doors back.
Finally the blocking bar gave way and Kibir was surprised to face a handful of barefoot people. Bandits, probably recruited from the depths of the haven.
The Oloye was in great fury: the swordsmen fell one by one under his violent and precise blows.
His small troop made its way through the apartments, to the veranda.
The blood of the Prince of Bellakar boiled over when he saw the situation:
The overturned table served as a rampart for Luuma; it kept her attackers at a distance with difficulty.
Thorongil fought against half a dozen assassins, and desperately maneuvered to keep his back to the wall.
But one bandit stood out: an immense Variag, with wild eyes, a large Red Eye tattooed on his chest.
Kibir was ashamed of himself, ashamed of his lack of faith in his friend. And perhaps also of this hint of jealousy... This redoubled his fury. He threw himself on the colossus, screaming.
The melee, confused, redoubled in violence. The guard could be heard running into the corridor.
Suddenly Kibir saw Thorongil stumble over the body of a fallen brigand. The knight half recovered, but his adversaries were already upon him. L'Oloye dispatched his opposite number, a big, bewildered man brandishing a mace, and rushed to his aid.
Too late.
The princess, with the fury of a lioness, had jumped on the back of one of the attackers, cutting his throat.
The second adversary's sabre blow never reached Thorongil: the blade ended its course in the princess's side!
Kibir's reason was shaken: his vision was clouded with a veil of blood, he rushed at the thugs, as if possessed by the spirit of vengeance of the furious Goddess.
.oOo.
Luuma was lying on the ground. The faces of Kibir and Thorongil, gray and drawn, said enough that the young woman could not survive her injuries.
Attas Incânus appeared: he was bringing the child.
The old man had protected him from the buccaneers who had attacked him on the beach, simultaneously with the attack on the palace.
The boy burst into tears, but he had the strength for a last hug with his aunt:
– "My dearest little one... I will not say: do not weep, for not all tears are an evil... 2 You will need a lot of courage. I was wrong to stray from duty, even for the time of a dream."
The young woman had a frightening spasm.
– "Seize the blessings that the Goddess grants you. Do not seek what is out of reach... or contrary to the interests of the Kingdom."
She vomited blood.
– "It is time for me. The Goddess smiles at me and holds out her hand."
And she held out hers to Kibir.
– "If you want, dear little one, I will entrust you to Oloye Kibir, who will not only be your guardian, but also your godfather, as well as to the dean of the temple of the Young Goddess."
Dayan shook his head "No", desperately clinging to the neck of the young woman, his last living relative.
Promise me to always obey them. I need it to leave in peace!
The boy made an effort to keep a stern face and nodded, before bursting into tears again.
– "May the goddess preserve your Hope, oh my Nephew!"
.oOo.
The princess was no more.
Kibir performed the Goddess' ritual and delivered a short funeral oration on the deathbed of the unfortunate regent, under the horrified gaze of Thorongil and Attas Incânus.
But another duty called him: the Variags, from their nomadic camps at the foot of the ramparts, had risen up.
He had Dayan taken to the temple fortress and went to fight the Red Eye.
.oOo.
Whipping the team like a mad coach, Thorongil turned around frequently.
The Elder of all tribes, mounted on Farasi, followed the cart closely.
Their pursuers were gaining ground.
However, at the Good Ogre Pass, Incânus had ordered a halt.
To their right stood, almost vertical, a granite cliff. To the left, towards the north, the rock plunged sheer into the growing darkness.
A very old gate, with a colossal lintel, blocked the road at the top of the pass. Some giant must have built it long ago to collect tolls at the time of the first caravans...
The old man dismounted Farasi, who gave a defiant whinny. Thorongil got down from the cart and came to coax his horse.
In the twilight that bathed the great desert of Harad in shadows, far to the north, Incânus and Thorongil saw a red dot shine, like a blood star fallen to the earth. A will seemed to watch there, ardent day and night, a spirit of malice watching over its servants sent by the world to spread its darkness. Intermittently, it burned with an unbearable flame, as if a malevolent gaze fixed its inquisitive beam on you and tried to pierce you, to lay bare your soul and subject it to its own designs.
Thorondil knew the Red Eye. The Lidless Eye. He had seen its odious omnipresence make the strongest bend. He had served in the companies of the Watchtower, Minas Tirith the White, which defended the citadels of the Free People on the borders of Mordor. He had felt the power of this malevolent and vindictive power, the despair that won men to live under its evil gaze.
The young and the old man had both perceived it. The Eye had turned towards the Good Ogre's Pass. It darted upon them the storm of its hostility, goading its slaves to pursue them.
-"I should have confronted the Fire of Anor, the dark powers of these scoundrels, long ago!" growled Incânus, brandishing his staff.
-"I will not leave you alone!"
-"To each his own role, my boy! I must be able to count on you while I hold them here!"
Under the stormy sky, the old man seemed to have grown up. His imperious but calm tone denoted a mature determination.
Thorongil hitched his horse to the cart.
-"From our first meeting, Incânus, I knew that a hidden power resided in you. I will now obey you, but please, if we escape, think better of me and reveal to me who you really are!"
The old man smiled to himself. The child that Thorongil had once been, had therefore forgotten the old magician, glimpsed during his visits to Master Elrond...
-"We should not speak of such things under the gaze of the Enemy! And now, forward! To the Tell of the Goddess Ancestor! Do not turn around! Nor turn away! You know what to do! It is for this reason, do not doubt it, that we met there long ago!"
The Elder of all tribes stood firm. A cluster of assailants had reached the ancient gate, but seemed to stumble against the old man's inflexible will.
The storm was now raging, casting violent pale lights on the dizzying walls.
Then an imposing figure stepped forward, the Great Ambassador of the Red Eye, splitting the ranks of the cultists with his powerful belly. Bloated, nourished by impure flesh and corrupt knowledge, imbued with power, he leered at Incânus with his squinting, bloodshot eyes, waving a tall scepter of gold and jewels:
– "This time, you've come to poke your nose too far, The Grey!" 3
– "You will not pass!" Incânus shouted in a broken voice.
A flash of lightning thundered. The great lintel split in two, crushing half a dozen cultists of the Eye, starting with the presumptuous obese one.
Finally Thorongil made up his mind: Incânus seemed perfectly capable of managing that filthy crowd...
However, he felt reluctant to leave a friend alone against all.
He saluted with his sword, climbed back into the cart and continued his race.
.oOo.
Thorongil trudged up the hill, carrying with infinite reverence the remains of the Regent, the marred body of Luuma the beloved.
At the shrine of the Foremother Goddess, where heaven and earth seemed to meet, the crypt of the Barcids lay wide open, gaping in the greyness of dawn.
The knight descended into the sepulchre, the sound of his breathing and footsteps seeming muffled by the solemnity of the place.
He found the alcove intended for the Old King. Did the Valar themselves know what the cursed order of the Eye had done with his remains, those of his son and his daughter-in-law?
Crushed by grief, the knight cleaned the tomb, delicately placed the princess's body there, arranging her clothes and carefully combing her hair.
He went back up to collect ashes from the plain, saltpetre from the cemetery and water from the well of souls. Patiently, he made the mortar and sealed the Regent's catafalque, while memories of moments of grace, shared hopes, confidences on the shaded terraces of the palace came back to him.
In the hands of the Princess, Thorongil first placed the offering of Oloye Kibir, a small silk package, which he had promised to keep sealed. Then he put a lock of her beloved nephew's hair on the heart of the deceased. Finally, on her forehead, he placed a small bronze falcon, the heraldic sign she had chosen for herself.
He sang a song to the glory of the departed woman's exploits, as his own people did, in the distant forests of Eriador. Returned to the bosom of her creator, Oloya Luuma had taken with her sacred names, her pledges of a fiery and free life.
Thorongil left the crypt, his heart heavy.
He could not shake the feeling of having failed, of having broken his word. His role had been to watch over the Regent, yet it was Luuma who had saved his life by sacrificing hers...
Farasi, who was waiting for him, came to rest her head on his shoulder.
But as the knight closed the stone doors with a final prayer to Mandos4, a blue moon rose, radiant as a maiden's face. A light rain began to fall, shrouded in a strange nocturnal rainbow, with the serenity of a soft lapping on a familiar roof.
Rare, miraculous in this place, the Tears of the Goddess seemed dispensed by her handmaiden, a testament to the kingdom's respect and sorrow for the beloved Regent.
The knight stood still, letting the blessing of the rain soothe his sorrow and wash his soul.
It is said that this omen blessed the entire realm of Bôzisha and extended to Bellakar. The open struggle against the Lidless Eye had just begun. But this night would always resonate, in the hearts of Harad, as the promise of renewal for the righteous.
.oOo.
The big hyena wouldn't let go of him.
Thorongil had used up his arrows a week ago.
And his supply of wood, last night.
He couldn't stop any more, without giving a fight.
And the monster wouldn't let go.
She followed at a good distance, her tongue hanging out, signaling with her sinister yapping at the crowd of her cubs that followed in a disorderly horde.
"Cubs", the biggest of which must have weighed sixty pounds... with frightening mouths foaming as hunger mounted.
Yesterday, he had passed the edge of the dunes. Hyenas usually didn't hunt in the dunes, especially with a band of cubs at their breasts. Filthy offspring... The beast with the crazy eyes was perhaps finally going to let go of the piece...
The oasis of the Goddess' Smile must have been twelve hours' walk to the northwest. Farasi and he had water, fodder and food. They could make it.
.oOo.
The mother hyena had sensed that her young were exhausted. She had attacked, with her nearly grown sons.
Two males lay in the sand. One, his spine broken when Farasi had rolled on the ground to free himself from the animal clinging to his back. The other, his belly slashed open by Thorongil's sword.
The two sides had called a truce.
The hyenas were digging into the viscera of their fellows. Only the mother remained in the background, attentive, without feasting on her slaughtered offspring. Maternal instinct?
The warrior cleaned his wounds and those of Farasi with fig alcohol. A gift from Oloye Kibir... Invaluable present!
He had to run away, he knew, but mount and rider were exhausted.
.oOo.
The mother hyena let out a long, high-pitched and anguished cackle. The cubs, alerted, raised their bloodied muzzles from the kill.
A horde of men were approaching. The monsters fled.
At the top of a dune, the nomads appeared, miracles out of a nightmare, half-merged with the purple sky that he surveyed. At the head of the caravan hurried the men veiled with red, perched on their dromedaries harnessed like battle chariots, swaying to the jerky rhythm of the racing animals. Behind them trotted the goats assembled by adolescents armed with spears. The women brought up the rear, dark odalisques cutting their sculptural silhouettes, flanked by young children and draft animals. With calculated slowness, Mezror advanced his war dromedary to Thorongil.
Seeing the tribe again, our hero would have cried with joy. But he greeted soberly and then asked:
– "How are you looking for me? I thought you were in the forests of Mîraz!"
With an affected detachment, which bordered on fatalism, the nomad answered:
– "The Elder of all tribes refused to tell us a story, until he had found you! So we have been looking for you..."
Attas Incânus approached his dromedary, a little amused smile at the corner of his lips.
.oOo.
Epilog
Thorongil and Mezror stretched out on the goat-hair cushions: the lamb confit with prunes had been sublime, they couldn't take it anymore...
Incânus finished his tale, his attentive eyes fixed on the audience that was leaving its reveries, like a large beast coming out of the warmth of hibernation, a little reluctantly...
With his staff, the wizard lit his pipe and those of the two friends.
In the silence of the desert, all three contemplated for a long time the gems of the goddess, Elbereth Gilthoniel, sparkling on the velvet of the firmament.
Mezror spoke, with a tone of nonchalance that announced a trifle:
– "I followed your advice, Stranger!"
He took a long puff from his clay pipe.
– "... I took a wife! ..."
The air absorbed in his thoughts, the nomad exhaled a cloud of smoke even more slowly, in a silence that heralded a profound life lesson.
– "... It's very tiring!"
THE END
.oOo.
If you're having trouble making the connection with The Lord of the Rings, here are some clues …
– « You shall be betrothed to no man's child as yet. But as for Arwen the Fair, Lady of Imladris and of Lórien, Evenstar of her people, she is of lineage greater than yours, and she has lived in the world already so long that to her you are but as a yearling shoot beside a young birch of many summers. She is too far above you. And so, I think, it may well seem to her. »
Thus had Elrond spoken, wise among Elves and Men. Perhaps it had not only been his father's heart that had spoken... Haunted by dark omens, draped in mourning, the Lord of Imladris had summoned Aragorn to the Hall of Fire and told him that the time of labor had come for him:
– «Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Lord of the Dúnedain, listen to me! A great doom awaits you, either to rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil, or to fall into darkness with all that is left of your kin. Many years of trial lie before you. You shall neither have wife, nor bind any woman to you in troth, until your time comes and you are found worthy of it. »
Aragorn had gone, bitterness in his heart, his impossible young love anchored in his soul. He had ventured into hostile territory, probing hearts, observing men, fighting the enemy.
The Lord of the Rings, Appendix 1, Fragments of the story of Aragorn and Arwen
.o.
– « My son, years come when hope will fade, and beyond them little is clear to me. And now a shadow lies between us. Maybe, it has been appointed so, that by my loss the kingship of Men may be restored. Therefore, though I love you, I say to you: Arwen Undómiel shall not diminish her life's grace lot less cause. She shall not be the bride of any Man less than the King of both Gondor and Arnor. To me, even our victory can bring only sorrow and parting - but to you hope of joy for a while. For a while. Alas, my son! I fear that to Arwen the Doom of Men may seem hard at the ending. »
The Lord of the Rings, Appendix 1, Fragments of the story of Aragorn and Arwen
.o.
– « Mithrandir we called him in elf-fashion, said Faramir, and he was content. Many are my names in many countries, he said. Mithrandir among the Elves, Tharkûn to the Dwarves; Olórin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten, in the South Incánus, in the North Gandalf; to the East I go not. »
The Lord of the Rings, The two towers, The Window of the West.
.oOo.
1 Inspired from The charterhouse of Parma, Stendhal
2 The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King, The Doors of Night, Tolkien
3 Incânus means «one who bears grey hair» in latin.
4 Mandos, in Tolkien's mythology, is the Lord of the Dead and the guardian of the souls of Elves and Men after their death. He is also known for his great wisdom and his role as a judge.
9