“I have offered the ring to Tintallë for her blessing. This is Forodril,” Danel said, showing the ring to Estarfin. “The ring’s stone is made from a rare gem. It has all the colors of the northern sky inside.”
Estarfin leaned close to stare at the iridescent gem, careful not to touch the hallowed stone. “It is beautiful,” he murmured.
“Let me see!”
Danel held the ring under Parnard’s nose. The jewel shifted color from purple, to green, to rose-red, then to no color at all. “It is full of dancing light,” he marveled.
“The Lady of the Starlight loves all silver, so of silver the ring is made. Now put it on,” she told him. “Wear it until this matter is over. It will add to our strength and will, if Zairaphel becomes stronger than expected.” She turned to Estarfin. "We know whose ring you wear. Either of us can call upon him, I think.”
“Who?” asked Parnard.
“Prince Caranthir. Our prince.” She nodded and smiled at the Wood-elf. “At times of need, he would lend his strength to his kindred and close people.”
“Am I ‘close people’?” he asked, a shadow of unease flickering across his features.
“You are a close friend of two of his people.”
“He was ever an enemy of Morgoth and his slaves. That should be enough,” replied Estarfin.
“I would not want to face any of our princes,” announced Curumaito, the Healer of Celondim, who was sitting on a nearby bench observing the proceedings. “Caranthir the Dark was one of the mightiest.” He did not mention that Caranthir was the harshest and the quickest to anger of all of Feänor’s seven sons, and was named for his ruddy face, which was a physical manifestation of his volatile temper. “I shall go now, and keep watch down the road. Drink this.” He held up a small phial holding a clear liquid. “I advise you to lie down, as it works swiftly.”
Parnard slipped the ring on his finger and downed the draught in a gulp. “Now you wear the stars themselves,” said Danel, but he felt no different, and even glanced over his shoulder toward the path leading out of the shrine. “Do not fear. We shall drive her away. Now do as Curumaito said. Lie down and make yourself comfortable.”
He returned his gaze back to the elves. “Here, on the cold stone? Very well.” He lay down on the flagstones and drew the mithril dagger tightly to his chest, hoping that no one would pass by the place to see what it was they were doing. He was trembling, but from the coldness of the stones seeping through his clothing, or from nervous anticipation, the Noldor were unsure. “Let her try to sneak up on me, and see what happens. If she leans her buzzard beak over me - BAM!” Settled in this knowledge of what he would do if the Sorceress dared appear, he closed his eyes.
“What do we do now?” Estarfin said to Danel.
“We wait and watch, and ensure that he does not succumb to any voices other than ours.”
“Right in the face,” muttered the Wood-elf, still tightly gripping the hilt of the dagger.
“It is not a physical battle, but one of willpower,” she reminded them. “Parnard, be at peace, be full of the light of the stars and the flames of bright Anor.” She lifted her head and called out, “Come and test us, if you want him, Servant of Darkness! We children of the Noldor summon you!”
“I hope I am not interrupting anything?” said a familiar voice.
Parnard opened one eye. “Oh, hello, Belegos.”
“Belegos, you have arrived at a timely moment: we draw the evil one to face us. If you could also lend your strength of will, so that we may free Parnard’s spirit?”
The scout’s gaze never wavered. “Of course,” came his immediate reply. “I shall help, however I may.” Somehow he seemed to know exactly what to do, navigating even the most bizarre situations with perfect poise, thought Parnard.
“No weapons are needed; this is solely a match of will.” Danel shut her eyes and refocused her thoughts, Belegos removed his hood and shut his eyes.
“By the Kindler’s grace, we cast our gaze across these lands to find thee. Thou wouldst have Parnard face the dark; we would have thee face the fire,” she spoke in Quenya.
Estarfin began to hum a song softly to himself, thinking only of the Star-Kindler.
Star-queen shines, while waves are calling.
Over these far shores, for you we yearn.
Beleriand our home has fallen.
Valinor's golden heart awaits us.
In the faraway light, swift melody of power.
My heart is one in sorrow.
Parnard’s leg twitched; the powdery, intoxicating scent of white lilies masking a musty odor of decay grew stronger. She approaches, thought Danel. “He is asleep,” she announced. “Be ready!” Then she called out, “Zairaphel! Come face us, mortal.”
Out from the shadows stepped a beautiful young woman. Clad head to toe in fiery orange-red, she wore a long, tight-sleeved robe with a high, peaked ruff. Arcane symbols, worked in silver thread, shimmered across the fabric. Capping this formidable ensemble was a filmy veil, secured by a diadem of gleaming gold and sardonyx. Underneath the veil curls of her golden-red hair peeked out over a broad forehead that was smooth and white as a stick of chalk. Her red lips squeezed into a disapproving pout when she perceived her surroundings, and saw the elves gathered in the sanctuary of Tintallë.
Belegos’s eyes flickered over her for a half-second. “This is she?” he said in surprise, as Estarfin looked at the woman with disgust, then at his spear, but knew it would be useless.
“She wears a guise, a false form,” Danel said. “It is but a vision, projected from afar. In truth, she is a woman much older than she appears. Her years are stretched unnaturally thin.”
The red-robed woman knelt beside Parnard, and in a musical voice like silver bells, lilted, “What are you doing, High Lord? Are these your friends? They cannot harm me.”
“Begone, sorceress!” Belegos warned. “Your presence is unwelcome.”
Zairaphel laughed. “But the High Lord welcomes me.”
“You are mistaken, Woman,” Danel motioned towards the slumbering Wood-elf. “See how he welcomes you, clutching a Noldorin-forged blade, and wielding a ring that holds the light of the blessed stars of Elentari?”
“He he he!” Zairaphel laughed, and reaching underneath her skirts drew out a long, yellow-green snake. “I, too, have pesky friends,” she said, and draped the viper over Parnard’s chest, covering both the pendant of the Valacirca and the mithril dagger from her sight. “The High Lord cannot hear you. He hears only my voice.”
“You will be abandoned by your master, you know that,” Danel said, stepping closer. “Go away and play your games in the south!”
With a slow, deliberate tilt of her head, Zairaphel coldly regarded the elf-woman. “You expect me to just ‘go away’ -? Why should I quit the game when I am winning?” He is mine.
“Wherefore dost thou bandy words with that vile thing?” Estarfin said to Danel in Quenya.
Belegos spoke in the ancient tongue, “Now and again do I find my thoughts in concert with thine on the subject of Men, Estarfin.”
“None shall keep me from my desires.” Zairaphel swept her hands out, her body rising above the still sleeping form of Parnard, and began to softly chant.
Estarfin reached for his weapons as Belegos yelled, “Cease witch! If thou dost bring him to harm, I shall hunt thee, and I shall kill thee!”
“Utúvienyes Tintallë ar Oromë, men nan-esta-ner minyavë, ar tultan Tamo, i men nan-ista-ner minyavë*,” Danel uttered.
Zairaphel paused, but only for a moment, then commenced chanting again.
“Tultan túre ninyë nossëo, vanwa im i nórë sí enya lema**. You will return to your own lands.”
Estarfin stared at the witch with pure hatred. “The darkness which thou servest is a mere deceit. Thy master was but a thrall of Morgoth, and I saw Eönwë, banner-bearer and herald of Manwë, hew the very feet from Morgoth himself and drag him from his den, once we had unmade all of his evil works.”
Zairaphel’s eyes narrowed to cold blue slits. “Not all of them.”
“Hark!” cried Danel. “We three are those same folk who to Morgoth didst bring war. Thinkest thou that we flinch from bringing war to a slave of his own servant? Knowest thou this signet of the Spirits of Fire?”
Estarfin pulled his gauntlet off, revealing Caranthir’s ring. The crimson gem blazed out in coruscating light that scattered the shadows, a celestial ember with inner fires dancing along its facets. It ignited the heart of its wearer with courage and his spirit with vitality bright as the sun’s heart, as fiery as molten lava, this stone that streaked to earth in a dazzle of sparks when the world was young. The Sorceress drew back, wary of the glowing jewel.
“We shall set down thy name upon the ledger,” Belegos said.
“Pah! What ledger?”
“The roll of scores unsettled.”
“The list of unremembered dead, whose sleep is with the sod,” threatened Estarfin.
“Nay, we shall not be forgotten. We shall be the victors of this land, and compass that which you failed to do, Kin-slayer!” Her voice reverberated though the temple and boomed off the pillars.
“Long burns our anger; long have we sought vengeance,” Danel cried in defiance to the gathering shadows.
Belegos cast a contemptuous look. “Woman, thou art beneath our notice, a servant of nothing. We have fought enemies of greater wisdom and power, and yet here we remain.”
A raw, searing malevolence burned in her gaze. “Insolent worms! The audacity of you to even speak to me, you deserter, you runaway, you refugee who fled from your destroyed homeland, nothing more than a ragamuffin straining to pull a cart. Drifters, all of you.”
The scout faltered and took a deep breath, while Estarfin seemed to have lost the capacity to speak, and could only stare. Zairaphel let out a long, cackling laugh. Her words had struck deep.
Such was the power of the Sorceress, who was descended from a long line of wicked and tyrannical people whose ancestors defied the Valar and established dominion over the native Men of Middle-Earth. Worshippers of the corrupted Vala Morgoth before the downfall of their island realm, they learned black arts from his chief lieutenant Sauron, and practiced human sacrifice.
Then Danel threw her head back and laughed. “We have faced worse than you - the Angulócë and Valaraukar! We were forged in the fires of pure evil and stand here, unbroken. Our light is anathema to you,” she raged, her heart filled with righteous anger. “You will fall, and our final blow will be struck together!”
Belegos rallied, but no longer spoke in Quenya. “We are the rocks upon which you break. Time and again have the waves of evil broken upon our shores. This time will be no different.”
“And yet you have already failed, each of you in your own way,” she hissed at the Noldor. Her lip curled in a snarl of pure disgust. “I reject the lifeblood of the Elves! Such weak hearts are unworthy of our line. We will be victorious and reign supreme, and you will be utterly destroyed: this I vow!” She hurled a small glass orb to the floor, and in a puff of acrid smoke vanished, her voice echoing, “A gift for you.”
The shattering glass disrupted Parnard’s perfect stillness, dragging him unwillingly up from the depths of the deepest sleep he had ever known. He opened his eyes. There on his chest was an ugly thing, something with mismatched parts, all over armored with a hard shell, like a crayfish that had gotten too big. Two vicious claws waved and clicked in his face, close enough so that he could see small bristle-like hairs clustered on their tips. Then he saw the menacing tail of the creature curving over its body, its hooked end resembling an upholstery needle. A viscous droplet oozed from its tip, promising the most exquisite pain. He made a low cry in his throat.
“Do not move,” he heard Danel said. “This thing comes from the deserts in the far south.”
“Is it dangerous?” Estarfin asked.
“It can be, if it stings,” she answered.
Parnard felt a sick lurch in his stomach as he listened to the Noldor calmly discuss the dire matter as though they were critiquing a fine wine. “Get it off me!” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, afraid to even blink. Belegos drew his long knife in one fluid motion, driving it deep into the crevice where the creature’s head joined its armoured body. The dagger was out before the creature could react. Its legs jerked back in a frantic spasm, its stinger flailing impotently, then it sagged into a lifeless heap.
“Ai!” cried Danel. She had been entertaining thoughts of sending the arachnid safely home on a southward-headed ship.
“Ugh!” The Wood-elf shoved the loathsome carcass from his chest and rolled to his feet. “How did that get on me?”
“Zairaphel put it there,” said Danel.
He whirled around. “Where is she?”
“Gone.” Estarfin held out a leathern flask of brandy.
Parnard looked at the flask, then at the dagger in his hand. “All of this has been very confusing,” he said, returning his gaze to the husk of the dead creature. He took a swallow from the flask as Belegos, the elf utterly unmoved by any calamity, cleaned his blade with a swipe of a rag and tucked it away with a casual grace.
“I did not wish to kill it,” admitted the scout. “It was not an evil creature, only one that was put to misuse. Were the sorceress before us, she would not feel so confident at the end of Estarfin's spear. She is a coward.”
“In truth, she is old, and worn out with her machinations,” Danel told them.
“Surely she will be bones and ash before we know it.”
“Yes, Estarfin. That is why she despises us. Life can be extended only a little while for Men, but it passes swiftly, and they soon fade, despite all their efforts. She said she has no need for us, or for any Elf, anymore.”
“Her words were empty."
“I put no stock in witches’ words,” agreed Belegos.
The elves passed the flask around, drinking in moody silence. When it was drained dry, and returned empty to Estarfin, he ran a hand through his thick hair and said, “Did we succeed?”
“For now, yes, meldanya.”
Parnard stooped over the dead scorpion to examine it, avoiding the venomous barb. “We cannot leave it here - can we?” he asked, his voice catching. He desperately hoped someone would agree to leave it.
“We succeeded, for now, but if she wishes to try again, she best do so soon. Time is on our side.”
Estarfin somberly regarded Danel as she said these words, then gave a slow nod.
“Well, it is stone dead, and she is gone, so I suppose we should go home,” said Parnard.
Belegos shook his head as he pondered the matter over. “It seems odd to me that she would give up so easily and change her mind on a whim, as she did.”
“Perhaps she got bored,” ventured the Wood-elf. “Or maybe - ! Maybe she was afraid of you Noldor.”
Danel smiled. “That is what I suspect, Cousin. Laughter is a most potent weapon. I laughed at her.”
“Ah, no one can withstand that,” Parnard said, smoothing his hair back, and he even managed a faint chortle, despite the scorpion scare. “And did you laugh at her too, Estarfin?”
“No. I found little to amuse me.”
The elves grew quiet again, then Belegos said, “Stay vigilant, Parnard.”
“Why! Did she threaten revenge?”
“It is as I said. I hope that is the last mischief she makes.”
“It felt as if she departed because she wished to leave, not because of any coercion from us. I think all is well, for now,” said Danel. “What do you think, meldanya?”
Estarfin frowned. “I do not know the mind of mortals. Yet it is as Belegos says. We did not drive her away, she chose to leave.”
“Then let us hope she stays far away, and turns her affection to other folk. Mortal inclinations are as fleeting as a snowflake in June.” After saying this, Parnard considered his comparison and decided it wasn’t very good, but it was the best he could come up with at that moment. He motioned toward the dead scorpion's carcass. Its black ichor was leaking across the flawless white marble of the temple floor, an oily and repugnant stain. “I hope the groundskeeper will not be annoyed,” he said. This time the Noldor took his hint, and they left.
*: “I call upon the Star-Kindler and the Hunter who first found us, and the Blacksmith, who first taught us.”
**: Gone from these lands, yet who remain in memory.
