The Family of my Mother - The New Eyes of Nitumbu
A mewling cry sundered the hushed air, and a hundred different voices filled in swiftly after. A child had been born upon the shores of Cuiviénen, a new awakening by the water's edge. Many were gathered to hear and see, for though this was not the first, every new life was a wonder to the Quendi, a blessing sent by Those Who Made the Stars and World. Many words were spoken, and with them, new songs were crafted, singing about the joy of birth and the wonder, and the new babe and her parents, and the rich voice of the father that was oft unheard but now went up freely in joy. Chronicles began for the family line, never to be added to, but this displeased not the minstrels who composed them, for a forgotten song would some day require a new one to replace it, and they would be just as pleased to write it when the time came. As the babe was placed into her mother's arms, her cries softened to comforted coos, and she began to take in the wide world with curious eyes.
Now, it is known among the Elves that the mother of a child, as a result of bearing a swollen womb for what would later be called 'one year', is gifted with the powers of foresight. Some among the Wise have this power, and though it is limited, they may look ahead to see what may come to pass. For Elf-mothers, visions of the future may strike them without warning, as if drawn from the morning after a dream, and though disconnected and not always clear, are most definitely true. And as N'im, the self-named First Woman of the Elves, looked down at the child in her arms, she smiled, for she saw in her waking eyes the woman she would become: tall and heart-breakingly fair, with midnight black tresses pouring down over her bare shoulders like the wine-dark waters of a rock-strewn stream curling and splashing, deep, piercing eyes like obsidian glass impenetrable, and blessed in an abundance of waist and bosom. Nitumbu she named her daughter, drawing upon these visions (and the fey of her heart), but other names were later gifted to her by companion and kin: Morifin, Black of Hair, and Elanda, the Far-Sighted, and Weskora, the Watching-Girl, among others.
In her youth she found herself either in quiet contemplation, watching with keen sight and interest the words and crafts of the people around her, or flitting about, like a wayward sparrow seeking the ideal tree for building a nest, speaking to the craftsmen and cheering them on to greater and fuller deeds. For she was a child of two clans, and carried within her breast the greatest gifts from each, yet different as they were akin: the grace of skill gifted by her mother was not of hand, but of word, and her creation was not song or tale, like the kin of her father, but hearts still she sought to move by subtle craft. Thus was honed her artistry: for in her observations she learned to read the nature of those around her with cunning accuracy; sweet and subtle inflections in the voice, movements of the body, the taste of the air about them. But no malice she bore, nor ever once felt the desire to manipulate for selfish ends. She was moved rather by the yearning to see the joy of craft well-wrought in the faces of those who completed them, to hear the gay cheer of accomplishment be cried out, to feel the warmth of the smile of a labor completed. So it was that she would eagerly engage with all folk regardless of trade, from weavers to hunters, and in the gardens of their spirits she sowed her words with great care, speaking fiercely, or softly, or of things unbeheld but within reach, or glory to be had, whatsoever was needed by the ears of her listeners, such that rich fruit would be reaped. Before even she came of age she was held as a great counselor, and many would seek her wisdom and encouragement.
In time she learned to swim and run, though neither as swiftly as her forebears. She grew up strong of body, heart, and mind, and filled her dresses, and her curling locks billowed down her spine until they touched her lower back. It was after she had grown to her full height, but not yet reached the age of adulthood among Elves, that she found herself wandering alone upon the shores, as she often did, for it was in solitude that she was able to clear her mind of her many thoughts. But this time she was not alone. A shadow passed through the corner of her eye, and when she turned to look, there standing before her was a man, stepping as if he had just come out from behind a tree. A gentle smile was upon his lips, and his long, raven-black hair fell down past his shoulders, and he was in strange garb; black it was, trimmed with deep crimson like ripe berries, and embroidered with gold that glittered in the starlight. The skill of metal-smithing was not known to the Quendi at the time, and she marveled and wondered greatly at it, for the ensemble was beyond the skill of the finest weavers in form and colour.
The man spoke with a softness, yet so great and moving that it returned Nitumbu to her senses. Sweetly and rich his words came to her, "Thou shouldst be wary, ere the Rider approaches," he said, and stepped forth with the grace of clouds upon the sky, "I am Thando; by what words may I knowst thou?"
So charming he was that Nitumbu nearly lost her wits again, but the dire warning had taken hold in her heart, for few warnings there were upon the shores of the Water, and in a land of peace without fear, even a gentle warning may strike hard. "Nitumbu," she replied, placing a delicate hand upon her breast and bowing low, for she felt this man held a place of great importance, though she knew not where. "Who is this Rider thou speakst of?"
Another step he took closer to her, his dark eyes unblinking upon her own, "The Great Rider of the West," he spoke, and now so close he was that his words were hushed in warning, "He is known to steal thine kin. Dost thou not knowst of one, who has gone but not returned?" Nitumbu indeed had heard such tales, though there were many wanderers among the Elves, she not the least, and he saw the recognition alight in her eyes. "Yea, and he shall come for thee, if thou not takest what I offer."
"And what is thy offer?"
"Protection," he spoke, even as his hand reached out to her, "Come ye whither I say, and the Rider shalt not find thee." And she felt greatly that she should take his hand, for he had intended to smite her heart with fear, and his aim was true.
But ever as he spoke, a shadow grew in the Elf-maiden's mind, a subtle realization her keen thinking captured like a thin net: 'I am a wanderer; shall I go with him, then, and be one that dost not return?' This question she yearned to ask, but stayed her lips, for she had guessed at the answer, and knew in her heart she was not intended to know it. Sensing her hesitation, Thando's face grew dark itself, and she at once saw this, for t'was her greatest gift, the very one she had cultivated throughout her youth, honed to a razor's edge. Her hesitation therefore she quickly concealed with cunning fear, the very fear she felt now the man desired her to feel, and she spoke, "But what if the Rider lies in wait whither thou sayst, having guessed your purpose?" she asked, pleading with wide eyes for an answer, "Whilt thou protect me? Dost thou swear it? O Thando, I beg of thee!"
And he could not conceal his grin, though he tried to bend it to a reassuring smile, yet the sharp eyes of the Elf caught it, and her heart sank, for she knew now her dark guesses were all too close to the mark. "I swear it," he spoke, "I swear upon the Lord of the Earth, the Rider shalt do thee no harm so long as thou ist under my protection."
The lie was well spoken, and a lesser mind may have missed the truth hiding within, but Nitumbu was not of that sort. Yet ere the lie fell, she knew there were no words she could trust him with, and her game was afoot. Reaching out, she placed her hand softly within his, and could feel a warmth upon it, but it was not comforting. "Desperately I wouldst like to flee with thee, but o! I am ever so thirsty! And such fear has parched my throat! I feel faint; I cannot hasten without water. Please, my Protector, may I fill my skin at the lake's edge?"
Having spoken his vow, and set on high with such praise, Thando dipped his head, and released her hand. With light steps she retreated, for the shore was near, and knelt down upon the grass, her water-skin removed from her belt. As she dipped it into the clear and cool water, her fingers, concealed by the leather, fluttered and swept, sending forth tiny waves. No message of words they held, but carried with them the semblance of quiet panic, hearkening back to when she was first placed into the water as a child, when her father taught her to swim, and in her curiosity she had ventured too deep. At length the skin was filled, and she returned to the waiting Thando. Together, with him close by her side, they set out into the North.
They had not gone long, and were still in the lands that Nitumbu had known, when she spoke with a shuddering voice, "The air is chill ahead." Her footfalls were stayed, and she gazed in horror at the darkness beneath the trees ahead, upon a land that she had once smiled fairly at. But the man coaxed her on with honeyed words, and they continued for a time. Soon she spoke again, "I fear that way in my marrow!" she exclaimed, hushed and horrified, "Let not our path proceed thence! By left or right or behind I shall go if around we must, but not by that way!" She grasped at his noble tunic and prostrated herself before him, and he relented.
By her direction, then, they turned eastward, for she knew the land well and its safe paths, but she led him not down those. Here the trees grew thick, and there were no straight paths in any direction, and the boughs concealed the stars above. Such was her doing, for she felt the man would be wise enough to notice if they retreated, but proud enough to allow a delay, if hidden behind apprehension of the road. At every tall tree that slept in her path she would skirt about to the southern side, and every hill that rose before her she would take the slope obliquely, rather than direct. "The roots are too knotted," she would say, or "it is far too steep for my toes to cling to, I fear I would slip and fall!" But every distraction to the course proved weary for her companion, and when she saw this, her terror grew, for she knew her time was short, and her game at its maturity. So it was that she softened her delays, and spoke bashful praise to the man, offering him demure gratitude for his efforts, and re-invigorating his spirit. Thus it was that she bided her time, waiting for the most opportune moment to present itself, that she may make her escape.
It was not long before their northward trek brought them to a river; not too wide but deep enough to suit her purposes. Grasping the man by his arm, she pleaded to him, "Good Defender, must we cross this river? I am not able to swim, and I fear in my panic I may drown thee!"
But he smiled to her, and gestured to a fallen tree not far away which spanned the water, "Nay, we shall walk across. Come!" To this they went, but the timber was of old ravaged by some ancient trouble, being before the awakening of the Quendi, and she stayed her course.
"The wood is old; will it not shatter under my feet? I prayst, my Hero, taketh the first step, that my heart may be stilled!"
Bolstered by her praise, he lighted upon the wood and stepped out over the river. Thus was her chance come to her, and summoning her strength, she pressed upon a branch which sprung up from the trunk and rolled over the log, with the dark man upon it. Straightaway his feet fell from below him, and bodily he fell into the shallows and upon the rocks, and Nitumbu turned and fled, following the water-course in direct line to the South, to her home, where with her kin the man could do no harm to her. But she reckoned not Thando's true form, and only a few swift steps she had taken before a flash of light like flaming rope lashed out toward her, wrapping around her knees and pulling them out from underneath, and she fell upon the grass. Thando stood, and gone was all semblance of his noble air; a fire burned now in his eyes, and the flaming whip hung from his hand, causing a pillar of white steam to issue up from the water rushing over it, the hissing and bubbling of the river filling the forest as if crying out in bitter agony.
"Thine game has ended," the man spoke, his voice crackling like fiery coals and shaking the earth beneath his feat while waves of stinging swelter flew from his lips, "Now shalt thine body follow me, bereft of its spirit!" As the hateful words flew from his lips his intent was made clear: raising his hand upon high, wisps of yellow-glowing cloud gathered into it, and arranged themselves as a sword of flame, the terrible light blinding the stricken Elf and casting Thando's body into shadow.
But the sword did not fall, for it seemed to Nitumbu's eyes that a great wind flew out of the forest and like thunder struck her foe, whose weapons faded back to whence they came, and his body tumbled once more into the rushing stream. Sitting up he faced the wind, but it was not a wind: standing over her daughter was N'im, the First Woman, and there was such rage of dark flame in her eyes that Thando, spirit of fire and shadow though he was, quailed in its sight. But he stood, for Elf-kind she was, and he was of greater sort, and he faced her, and spoke, "So comes another, and thy both shalt be brought before my Master, if living or dead, bound or free!" The weapons of fire he summoned to his hands again, but even as N'im dared to accept his combat, a hand reached out from behind, and pressed upon her shoulder. She knew it at once; broad and strong it was, and Nitumbu was joyed to see her father, but her silent cheers turned to cold dread when she saw his face. N'im too turned to meet his gaze, but she saw not the kind face of her husband and the father of her child, but he appeared to her as if the water he loved had frozen. Thus it was for the only time that N'im felt fear in her heart, and she drew her daughter away, as Ramyanen stepped forward in her stead.
"And a third," Thando spoke, taking little heed of the wrath he had awoken. With unnatural flight he stepped toward his foe, the flaming brand shining upon all the trees in the clearing and setting the water to glow like gold. But swift and agile Ramyanen was, and he crouched, bringing up his hand, touching the side of it to Thando's wrist, and guiding the weapon harmlessly past him, sending Thando stumbling upon the grass. This only served to enflame his anger, and he turned, again rushing toward Ramyanen like a tide of heat and fury. Twice more the blows were deflected, twice more the once-proud man was insulted with impotence, and with each defeat his form lost its fairness: his eyes glowed with the fires of a hell then-unknown to the Quendi, flaming limbs like thin, webbed fingers burst from his back, and his flesh was burnt ash-black from the heat of his rage. With a roar, more beast than man, he set again to Ramyanen, cracking with his whip and rending the air with his sword, but the fey of his quiet foe had been unleashed, without sound but with fury, and like water bending between rocks and roots he avoided Thando's strikes, yet gave ever back. Once at the water's edge, Thando felt at last he had cornered his foe, but lo! Nitumbu had espied her Father's strategy, and quickly whispered to her Mother, who flew again to her husband's aid. Her feet like drums thrust upon the earth, and Thando raised his sword to turn and strike, but his arm was held by Ramyanen, who drew it down even as N'im struck Thando from behind, and the wretched enemy tumbled over the strong back of Ramyanen, and was thrown into the river.
A terrible hiss rose up about him, cooling his body with great pain, but when he pushed the mist aside and stepped through it, all three Elves were gone: N'im had lifted her daughter in her strong arms, and ran like wind unchained through the forest, and Ramyanen rode the swift currents of the river alongside them.
Alas, not all was lost for Thando, for as the family returned to the Shores of Awakening, they told of the story of the man who wielded fire and walked through shadow, and of his Master, the Rider. Thus even in failure did he succeed in the greater and more hurtful lie, and the fear of the Rider was sown deeper among the hearts of the Quendi.
In the years to come the family would learn just what it was that they faced that day, but the knowledge that they had stood to and defeated a Maia, a Balrog of he who would be called Morgoth, served only to bolster their courage, and rarely did any of that family venture forth without another of their kin to aid them, or without consulting the wisest of their house, the woman known as Nitumbu.
