For the previous chapter, ''Unforeseen Alteration'',
click here.
The scent
of mortality reminds
of the taste
of foul words
lying on the tongue
and pour stinking over one's lips.
So speak
only pure,
only clear and
only the
truth.
That your mouth stays untouched
by such dire foulness.
Be aware: Bad words
summon bad things.
-Viraïgon,
Dark Elvish Master of Picture and Word
North of Middle-Earth, Land of the Conclave, Upper plateaus, Late Third Age
Cadhalor opened his eyes.
And was surprised.
He had not expected to be able to do something at all, ever again.
Even less, the Dark Elf would have thought to see the ceiling of his own bed chamber again.
I must dream! He turned his head to his left.
It was indeed his bed chamber - and next to him lay his wife Enoïla. She had her eyes closed, her breathing went sluggish.
He wanted to call for her but his lips did not move. Cadhalor felt tired, weak within his entire body. His mind was working slowly as if he had drunken too much wine.
»Father, lay still and calm«, said the voice of his daughter to his right.
Is it still a dream? He was most likely lying dying somewhere in the mud, while the venom of the Kraggash played its last cruel jests with his thoughts.
It was Esmonäe, who smiled at him. Blood stuck to her plain, dark brown garments. Behind her stood Inúr, clothed in a grey high-necked dress, a band of lace before her eyes. Again did she look like an Elf and not like a barbarian. Only the slave band around her neck reminded of her status, of one without rights. She held a bowl filled with water; red drops ran down on the receptacle and over her wrists hung bloodied towels.
The picture blurred before Cadhalor's eyes and he tried to lift his arm.
»No, father. Do not move. You have not escaped death just yet. It will take many more cycles before you can stand up and possess your old powers«, his daughter said calming.
Cadhalor gulped. »How was I ...« His voice denied him service.
»Aitholon found you and the slave during one of his hunting trips. He has killed the robbers that attacked you, brought you to the border and alarmed the guards there. They brought you here under his lead«, Esmonäe explained.
He groaned. Now the worst had come to pass what he could have imagined. Disgrace and shame, from a hero fallen to mockery. With that, Thangrineth's followers, the Comets would have been strengthened. He had not found the being, had not killed Munugash and the Obbôna was still alive; he however lay like a newborn child on his bed. The Conclave would ban him from the land for returning without success.
That all was worse than death.
His daughter seemed to be able to read from his expression what he was thinking. »Nobody knows that you are returned, father. The guards swore to me and mother that they would keep their silence. They are friends of the Stars. And Aitholon would be the last one who would betray you.«
Cadhalor exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. I, the Blessed One, failed.
The thought of that worried and bothered him highly - that he still was alive bothered him. The Dark Elves and the Conclave should rather have believed that he had fallen in the attempt to perform another heroic deed. They would have forgiven failure to a usual warrior, but there was no such thing towards a Blessed One.
»If I die, burn me in secret«, he murmured. »No one may know that I am here. It would throw a poor light on you all.«
»Father, I will not let you die«, Esmonäe replied. She sounded friendly and demanding at the very same time. »As soon as you have healed, you will be able to set out anew in secrecy and make a new attempt. You will bring the mission successfully to an end.«
He forced himself to open his eyes and to look at his daughter. Then he reached with the left hand for her to gently touch her cheek - and starred at his wrist.
From the flesh sprouted a thin vine. It was stuck in his arteries; dried blood dyed the skin around it.
Esmonäe pressed his arm back down. »No, please, father.« Something clicked and he felt that his fingers were strapped to the bed by small metal clips. »You could pull the vine out of you and then mother and you would bleed out.«
»What have you done?«
»Learned from my work. My vines are hollow and very flexible. I have flushed them with the strongest alcohol so that they would not cause any inflammation. Many healers use water, but that cooks the veins and makes them fragile.« She touched his shoulder, squeezed it gently and encouraging. »The slave told me that the Kraggash have poisoned you. So the ill blood had to leave your body. I opened your largest vein on your right leg and at the same time did mother and I replenish you with our fresh blood.« She smiled and stroked over his cheek. »Mother gives you now her last ration. After that, she must stop or she will become too weak.« Esmonäe kissed him on his forehead. »Sleep, father. I will take care that you return as hero.«
Cadhalor closed his eyes. There was no true confidence yet in his thinking, but the pride over his brave daughter brought him a calming feeling.
Inúr listened to every exchange of word between father and daughter, who did not leave his side.
Except for a few words, she almost understood everything of their dark elven tongue and hoped that her master did not have to die. That he would set out again and help Thangrineth. And for the time being, the gods seemed to let him live. Cadhalor healed more with every dusk that came. The Dark Elf called Aitholon who had rescued them, spoke constantly confidently to him and bid him, to neither give up himself nor the mission. His words and Esmonäe's amazing skill as a healer made him healthy and gave him back the assurance to turn the events to an good end.
That was also good for Inúr, who was fearing for Thangrineth. She told herself ever again that she still lived and did not die from the poison. She estimated Thangrineth to be tougher, stronger than her lord. She would be able to withstand Munugash's treachery and endure until Cadhalor had reached her. The thought that she would lie somewhere dead in the wild, she could not bear. Inúr would give her last drop of blood for an amazing artist like Thangrineth and if she survived, the Dark Elf would take her as her student out of gratefulness.
At the same time, a voice in her inner called her a fool. The two Elves were enemies The last thing that Cadhalor will do is to ram a vine up his arm and give Thangrineth his blood.
»Come«, Esmonäe ordered her. »Bring the towels into the kitchen and let them boil.«
She bowed and heard how the Dark Elf walked before her and opened the door. Inúr had not wanted to tell her that she still missed the orientation in their house. From time to time, she was still lost. Then she would need a little longer to find the kitchen.
Esmonäe laughed. »Now look how foolish I am. Telling a blind where she should be going.«
»I would have found it, milady«, Inúr said. The keys were taken from her and the Dark Elf called a name. Steps sounded up and another slave reported in. »Carry it away«, Esmonäe ordered that one.
Inúr was being grabbed by the elbow and gently led. First she had believed that the slave was leading her to make her better known with the surroundings, but the fresh scent of lilies that came about her nose, revealed to her surprise that it was Cadhalor's daughter who led her about.
»You have held the life of my father in the unending«, Esmonäe said; her voice had suddenly lost all its sharpness. »You are a slave, my father's slave. Therefor it was your duty. But away from all eyes and ears from our people, in the wilds, alone ...« She cleared her throat. »What I want to say; You could have just as well let my father die. Or kill him. Without needing to fear a punishment. And after that, escape would have been open to you.«
»No, milady. Such thoughts are strange to me. I like to serve your people. And I learn much from your people.«
»You liked to serve Thangrineth, who gave you away, as my father told me«, objected the dark elvish maiden. »Since your escape the word came around that you entered her serfdom by your own will. She blinded you and still you did everything that she asked of you?«
»Yes, milady.«
»You felt no hate?«
»No, milady.« She did not find that she was lying. It had been no hate that she had felt, but a deep disappointment that had come after her anger.
»No pride that whispered to you of revenge against her? It was supposed to have been a minor negligence for which she had robbed your sight.«
Inúr did not know where this conversation would lead her. Was she being interrogated? Why? She remained silent.
Esmonäe laughed quietly. »You are the perfect slave, Inúr. Not disobedient, always there to do a service and ever friendly. Between you and me: That makes you highly suspicious in my eyes.«
»Milady!«, she protested and was honestly mortified.
»Do not worry, slave. You are save from me. But as long as you live in this house, I will let every step and every deed you do be observed.« Esmonäe had walked stairs up with her, had walked through two rooms and then it suddenly smelled of alcohol. »Over there.« Inúr was led to a bed and lay down on it. »Let me see what Thangrineth has done to your eyes.«
Inúr pushed the black lace band up unto her forehead. Clearly she felt the air in her empty eye sockets. Soon after, her face was being examined, knowing fingers stroked over her features, the cheek bone and closed in on the empty spots.
Inúr breathed unintentionally faster, deeper. What is she doing?
Next to her it clattered metallic, then tipped objects ran along her eye-holes, the lids were being pulled back and held in place.
»Ah yes«, Esmonäe made absentmindedly and it sounded as if she was smiling. »She stung into your eyeballs. Very precise work, only as deep as required. After that, someone applied a tincture that was supposed to let your eyes dry out.«
»Has it not done that, milady?« Inúr was deadly afraid. Her imagination made her believe that Esmonäe stood above her, handling thin needles. One mistake, one too daring motion and the tip would strike through her ... She forced herself to think of other things. Of nicer things.
»It dried out your left eye, yes. The right one still holds its essence.« The dark elvish maiden seemed to take up new instruments. »Maybe I can make something out of it. The other is lost.«
»What do you mean, milady?«
»You said that you learn a lot from my people. So do I wish to give you the possibility to learn on your own body. I do not promise you anything, what I cannot hold. But there is a distillate that is very strong and is able to kill if it is handled wrongly«, Esmonäe explained absentmindedly and something metallic clicked again. »This said tincture is able to restore dying, but not dead flesh and return it to a healthy state.«
Inúr understood vaguely what the Dark Elf said. »Milady, you mean ...«
»Indeed. This tincture is probably capable of returning your right eye to you.«
Inúr had to make a great effort not to clap her hands together of sudden frivolity and repress her loud laughter. She would be able to draw and paint again what she saw, and not what she had to take from her memories and scratch it unto parchment! And I can see Thangrineth again, learn from her art. »What would I have to do that I ...«
Esmonäe laughed up. »O, you would only need to say that you want it. Usually I do not ask the slaves whether they want to or not, but do with them what I like. But because you have saved my father, you shall decide over your fate yourself, Inúr. Over the experiment on you. For the tincture has never been used on an eye.«
Inúr did not hesitate. »Milady, try it one me. Please.«
»It delights me to hear that.« Esmonäe was shaking a bottle as the gurgling sound was revealing. »But hearken to what may happen to you.« Her voice became darker. »If the tincture enters your blood, you will die. In two cases have those barbarians that I applied it to lost the remains of their meager mind. Your eye could also grow and grow and break forth from your head. Or it grows and yet you will see nothing at all. It could ...«
»Milady«, Inúr interrupted her impatiently. »Do it! It is all the same to me what may happen. I must have at least tried it.«
»Did I mention the unspeakable agony?«
»No matter, milady! I will bear them.«
The shaking ended, a cork was removed. Quietly slurping a dropper was being filled. »You are a strong barbarian, Inúr. We will soon find out just how strong.«
Inúr imagined to hear the drops that came forth from the slender end and fell on the remains of her eye. Nervous she awaited what may happen. A few drops had gone awry and ran down her cheeks.
»And?«, Esmonäe asked curiously. »Does it take effect?«
»No, milady«, Inúr answered disappointed.
»Then I must bring it into the encapsulated rest.« There was a metallic click again, followed by a grinding sound and then slurping.
An ardent pain shot through Inúr's head. Acid filled her eye sockets and she turned her head in a reflex to the side. The tincture spilled unto her nose and ran down.
»Curses!« Esmonäe drew the slave band tighter. »Lie still, you hear?«
Inúr could not breathe anymore. Wheezing she tried to gasp for air. But the Dark Elf had set the buckles unto the tightest spot. Her mind drifted into unconsciousness, her limbs were without power and the pain in her eye became less.
There the band was loosened. Quickly she drew in breath and her awareness returned. And so did the vanished agony.
»I have inserted the distillate into your eye«, Esmonäe said angrily. »I have wasted too much of it as you moved, slave. Do you have any idea how precious it is? You will have ten strikes with the stick for it.« She called again for another slave, who came immediately into the room. Inúr had not understood her name. »Ten strikes on the naked stomach for this one«, she ordered harshly and sounded unrelenting like when they first met. »Out with her.«
Inúr was pulled to her feet, without consideration she was being dragged through the rooms and down the stairs. Suddenly she stood in the cold air, amidst the slight rain.
A harsh hitch and her torso was being exposed.
Inúr did not defend herself, screamed only after the third strike. The pain of the punishment overshadowed the acidic burn in her eye and with the tenth strike she collapsed into the mud. Blood ran down her sides and her belly felt as if it had been torn open.
»Come, Inúr«, said the other slave friendly. »You have it behind you. I have gotten a very good healing salve from the lady. Not even scars will be left.«
Inúr cried and groaned, held the maltreated spots. A woman washed her with warm water and dabbed her carefully dry; then Inúr felt a cooling salve on her ardent hot skin. Someone led her to her bed, a room where ten threefold-beds stood and helped her to climb unto the highest level.
She listened to the quiet conversations about her, some slaves let the day end with tales and stories. Several times Inúr perceived her name.
She touched her stomach. The salve was excellent: The pain was as good as gone, the swelling reduced. She thought about how many barbarians had to die to investigate its exact effects.
And again did the quiet voice in the back of her head came up that indicatively pointed at the cruelty and despotism of the Dark Elves. That demanded to flee. That complained to have been punished again for a vanity.
Inúr appeased the voice by imagining to see again one day.
She inhaled deeply and exhaled again, drew the lace band from her forehead and laid it under her pillow as she ever did before going to bed.
Impatience spread in her before she fell into sleep. The return of her ability to see could not happen too fast for her. Esmonäe had invoked hope in her and now they had to become reality.
Under all circumstances.
