They had ridden as though the wind itself had carried them and now Fairlain and Nimrandir the glade-walker stood on a knoll above the gully where shadow writhed and danced around a crudely fashioned stone hut.
Fairlain quietly loosened her daggers from their sheaths and reached for an arrow from the quiver she carried on her back. Nimrandir drew the slender sword he carried with him. With exchanged glance and a nod the two descended carefully, picking their way through jagged rocks. When they were but 50 paces from the darkened doorway Nimrandir stopped. Fairlain was shocked to see that he had turned ashen white and was visibly trembling. Setting his jaw, the glade-walker made a supreme effort to make his feet move forward but instead his sword clattered to the stony floor and he fell to his knees shaking with sobs. Fairlain looked at him a long moment then turned in the heavy air and grasping arrow and bow with stubborn determination faced the dark doorway once again. She did not rebuke Nimrandir for she recognized the evil that hung in the air and coursed through the earth at their feet; it was terror and malice and pain and she had felt it before in the presence of the Amber Man and in a darkened cave in Eregion.
As her foot touched the door's threshold, her blood turned to ice and she could go no farther. She was once again the small child who cried desperately for her mother ... the wounded prisoner, crushed and broken in a darkness where none heard her cries... the still form buried beneath the leaves of a long dead tree... and she stood there with unseeing eyes as she gasped for breath. Yet deep within the ice her spirit shook itself and answered the accuser. Yes, all of these things were true, but the child had been led back to its mother, the prisoner found and comforted, the still form had been healed again by the voice that had sung all into existence. Though she could not move her body, Fairlain's spirit found its freedom and like a child stretching forth desperate arms to a protecting parent silently whispered "save me".
At first, it seemed as if nothing had changed. The shadows still swirled about her like a beast with slavering jaws. She still could not move, but there came the gentlest of breezes against her cheek. It pushed the shadow laden air away from her face and caressed her lips. She gasped and drew in large breaths of air; her sight cleared and focused. She renewed her grip on the mighty bow in her hands and as she did she somehow felt a light kindling within her, filling her with each breath she took. She took one step forward and the light inside her brightened even more. She felt her mouth forming the words:
I bind unto myself this day the light of the One in fullness of measure
The burning sun and gentle moon
The virtues of the star lit heaven,
The flashing of the lightning's fire
The whirling wind, The stable earth,
the deep salt sea, the mountain's girth.
She stepped into the darkened hut. On the floor was the tall man she had seen in the Lady's mirror, moaning and writhing and beside him in a miasma of darkness crouched the thing of evil that had once been a woman. Fairlain felt the light within her renew itself yet again and taking one more step the words in her mouth became uncontainable song:
I bind unto myself today the true Creator's mighty power
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of His love to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward;
His word and song to give me speech
His heavenly host to be my guard.
Fairlain raised her bow and drew it taut. The priestess screamed and snarled, waving her staff and summoning a choking wall of shadow that seemed to roar against the encroaching light. Fairlain took aim and the gold fletched arrow between her fingers seemed almost to glow as her voice rose higher in triumphant melody:
Against the knowledge that defiles,
Against the heart’s idolatry,
Against the wizard’s evil craft,
Against the death wound and the burning,
The choking wave, the poisoned shaft,
Protect me, blessed One, at thy Light's returning.*
The gold fletched arrow flew true, and as the cursed creature raised her staff to end the life of the man who lay at her feet it pierced the pit of darkness that was her eye and passed through her skull, throwing her backwards upon the rotting corpses of the men she had murdered for sport. There was a deafening shriek as her life left her and the small hut seemed filled with a nauseous whirlwind. Then all was still.
Behind her, Nimrandir struggled weakly through the door, still ashen but with determination in his eye as the colour slowly returned to his face.
Fairlain slung her bow once again over her shoulder and said
"We must get him out of here."
Nimrandir nodded and staggered over to where the Dúnedain lay insensible but no longer in torment. He took hold of the man's feet and Fairlain did her best to support his shoulders as they moved into the clear light of day.
"What of that place?" Nimrandir motioned to the stone hut that was no better than a tomb.
"Let us get this man to safety first." Fairlain motioned to the hilltop where their horses waited.
They carried him up the hill as far as they could but it was difficult moving one of such tall stature. Fairlain rested upon the hillside while Nimrandir sought to bring his horse down to meet them. She placed her hand upon the Dúnedain's forehead; it was colder than ice. He would not wake if he remained so cold. Fairlain thought hard then she remembered something that Dwimmer had done for her and her mother on a particularly cold market day.
She searched around her for a rounded stone and finding one scratched upon it the dwarvish rune that stood for "fire" with the tip of her dagger. Holding the stone in both hands, she breathed upon it and whispered in khuzdûl: "Remember the fire which gave you birth." She thought a moment then added a whispered "please". The stone in her hand began to warm to a comforting heat and she placed it next to the tall man's side. He was shivering in spite of it. In desperation Fairlain set down her bow and, keeping one dagger in her hand, stretched out beside him sharing the warmth of her cloak and herself. His shivering lessened and after a space of time stopped. Fairlain lifted her head as Nimrandir made his careful way down the hill guiding the horses. When She turned once again to the man beside her she was met with a pair of clear grey eyes that widened when they met her face.
"You are an elf!" he said in weakly voiced Sindarin.
Fairlain immediately pushed herself away from the man and stood up. "Im Periniâr" she said, reddening. "If we help you, can you sit a horse?" The man paused a moment, assessing his strength, then nodded weakly.
The glade-walker spoke softly, "There is a camp with a number of this man's brethren not far from here. If we start now we can bring him to Echad Naeglanc before nightfall." Fairlain agreed.
Nimrandir offered the tall man his hand. "I am Nimrandir of Lorien." The tall man reached up and grasped it in return. "I am Adunabel."
"Then Adunabel let us go find your brothers."
When they at last came to Echad Naeglanc, the rangers of the Grey Company immediately recognized Adunabel and rushed to lift him from the horse's back, calling out for their healers to come with all haste. In their concern for their brother the two figures that had walked by his side to keep him from falling were all but forgotten. Quietly Nimrandir and Fairlain mounted their horses and turned towards the secret path that had led them into this haven. Nimrandir said, "Faerlhain, aphado nin. Radathon trî i thraw ne ipostog."
Adunabel's head lifted sharply. "Fairlain?!" he gasped, but the riders had gone.
* Loosely based on St Patrick's Breastplate http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/s/t/stpatric.htm
