In Darkness Buried Deep

 
 
 
Frodo is 14 (or about 9 in Man years)
Afterlithe 1383 SR
 
 

Chapter 1 – A Summer Race

“Whose bright idea was it to have races in such abominable heat, is what I’d like to know,” complained Morton Goodbody. He mopped the sweat off his brow with a damp handkerchief and frowned up at the sun. “It’s too hot to run. Just sitting in the shade under a tree is enough to make one break out in a sweat.”

“I’m thirsty,” agreed his good friend Sed Brockhouse, wishing they were enjoying the shade rather than slowly marching up Crickhollow Road on their way to the annual summer races at Hedge Field. They had been cajoled into participating by their parents and they were now regretting it. They were hot and miserable and were guaranteed to put in poor performances. There really was little point in them going.

“Yes, let’s go to the old bell tower,” said Morti’s first cousin Fendimbras Goldworthy, often called Fendi. “At least there will be wind up there. Even better, let’s go to Jumper’s Point.”

“The pond would be favorite,” Sed said.

“We’re committed to do this, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Edon, meaning the races. Edon was Sed’s brother and the eldest of the group at twenty-five. He regarded Sed, the youngest at twenty, and the cousins, who were both twenty-two. “Besides, the pond will be so crowded there will be no water left to jump into, and that rickety old tower is likely to topple over with all the lads and lasses crowded upon it.”

“You just want to go show off for Fuchsia Brownlock,” Sed teased and knew he hit the mark when Edon suddenly flushed a deeper shade of red than could be accounted for by the sun and heat. Fendi and Morti snickered next to him. “Very well then. Let’s go see my wise older brother make a mockery of himself. He has no hope of winning, not with Gil racing, and Fuchsia will never even notice he’s there, but if he wants to make himself the fool, then by all means we should be there to cheer him on.”

Edon wisely did not rise to the bait. He would need all the energy he had to run a decent race as it was. He did have to agree with his friends about the absurdity of having games in the middle of summer. Whoever thought this up had obviously not been thinking clearly, a result of the suffocating heat no doubt. In retrospect, he should have protested more, but as soon as he found out that Madagilus Banks would be racing, he had quickly agreed to the idea, committing his brother and friends to join him by default. Their teasing when he lost would be merciless; they have not forgiven him for getting them involved in this.

They turned a bend in the road and froze in mid-step, for they all heard it in the same instant: a loud rustling in the shrubbery that lined the road. They were still three miles from Hedge Field but Crickhollow was just over the slopes beyond the shrubs. Still, they were alarmed at the crashing to be heard coming through the shrubs, in their direction no less, and they waited to see what was the cause of the racket.

Mere moments passed before another hobbit emerged from the bushes. This new hobbit, not more than a scrap of a teen, dusted off his waistcoat and looked up from his feet, which were tangled in twigs, just in time to keep from colliding into Fendi. He gasped in surprise to find he had an audience and the four friends gasped to see him here, so far from home and alone.

“Frodo!” Edon exclaimed. “What are you doing out here? Where is your Cousin Esmeralda?”

“She’s home,” the lad replied. He looked pale and his eyes were puffy, but other than that, the young Baggins seemed perfectly intact and unharmed. He stood politely before them and waited, but it did not pass Edon’s attention that Frodo had failed to answer his first question.

“Does she know you’re out here?” Edon asked, trying a different approach.

Frodo nodded. “I’m going to watch the races,” he said. Then after a moment’s pause, he added, “I got lost.”

“Clearly,” Morti said.

The four friends looked at each other, uncertain what to do. They all liked Frodo well enough, for all that he was younger than them. He wasn’t afraid to do the things the older lads did and he was good at pinching things from farmers’ fields. Still, the lad tended to cause trouble and Edon had the distinct impression they were currently being lied to. After all, how could anyone possibly get lost going to Hedge Field? The field was right off the road, at its very end near the High Hay, and was designated by a giant boulder sitting upon its northern edge.

Knowing there would be no point in attempting to wrangle the truth from the lad, Edon said, “You may as well join us then. We’re going to the races also.”

“Oh good!” Frodo exclaimed, so happily and readily that Edon suddenly doubted his assessment. Maybe the lad really had been lost. Still, Frodo was also a good one for acting on the spot. All Edon could do was keep his eye on Frodo and deposit him back at Brandy Hall once the races were over. He would then discover by Esmeralda’s reaction if the lad truly should have been out and about. Just because Esmeralda had a bairn of her own now didn’t make her any less vigilant of Frodo, and she would worry if the lad went missing too long.

The five hobbits made their way down the road. Frodo joined them with ease and soon they were talking adamantly about the games to be had. ‘At least they stopped complaining,’ thought Edon and he smiled at Frodo.

The lad’s enthusiasm was infectious and it was made all the more so for the fact that he was rarely seen in such good spirits. Not until a year before, when Meriadoc had been born, had a smile ever graced Frodo’s lips since he was first brought to live at Brandy Hall. The transformation in the lad had been almost instantaneous, from a glum and reckless teen to a bright-eyed and proud “older brother” to his little cousin. Even so, the lad only seemed to smile when his cousin was around, so seeing him smile now was a treat.

Still, there were times, such as when they first met upon the road, when Frodo seemed to have slipped into his old ways. Edon wasn’t terribly worried about it though. As long as Frodo stayed with them, he wouldn’t get into any trouble. Or at least, not too much trouble.

A half hour later, they came to the field. The High Hay, or the Hedge as most folk called it, loomed tall and grand in the distance, and on the field, upon and around the boulder, were spectators of all ages, though mostly teens and tweens. The lasses wore bonnets or carried parasols to keep the sun from their eyes, and the lads sat in the shade of the boulder, ready to jump up and join the games when they were called. Four lads of about twenty-five years or so were currently racing from one end of the field to another, and the cheering was so loud and riotous that no one noticed the newcomers’ approach.

They joined the other lads sitting upon the ground but were obliged to sit in the sun; they had arrived late and all the best spots were taken. When they were settled and arranged so that they could see what was going on with the races through all the heads in front of them, Edon looked about and found Gil standing near the front of the boulder with his friends, speaking with Fuchsia and her friends.

Fuchsia was a comely lass, who had caught Edon’s eye the moment he had first met her. She had flecks of gold in her dark brown eyes and springy curls of soft saffron that framed her face quite prettily. She’d never had a harsh word for Edon, unlike most other hobbits when he and his family first moved here, and she had been the first of the gentry to welcome him. But that had been long ago and she never looked his way anymore.

Now she sat beneath a pine green parasol, laughing at something Gil said. She nudged him on the shoulder and responded to whatever his comment had been, much to the delight of the crowd standing about listening to their banter. Edon swallowed his jealousy and strained his ears, trying to catch a snatch of Fuchsia’s sweet laughter through the rest of the din. Sed was right; he would humiliate himself running against Gil, and Fuchsia wouldn’t even notice he was there.

“Edon!” Morti called, his tone exasperated. He had been calling Edon for a while.

“What?” Edon asked, snapping his attention back to his friends.

“Which do you think is more likely: being frozen solid in a blizzard or being carried away by a strong wind?”

“Blizzard!” Sed answered.

“Strong wind,” Fendi countered. “I was nearly pushed off the ground once by a strong wind.”

“In this heat, I’d say it’s more likely that we’d melt,” Frodo put in distractedly. He was digging in the dirt, looking at the rocks he found there, and didn’t seem to notice as the others laughed.

“Frodo has it. We’re all going to melt,” Sed agreed.

The current race ended, with a tween from Newbury winning the match. The Bucklebury crowd clapped good-naturedly while the Newbury crowd whistled and hollered. The next heat was again four racers, two from Bucklebury, one from Crickhollow, and one from Bridgefields over the River. The cheering reached a deafening roar as the race neared its end, the two tweens from Bucklebury in a neck-to-neck lead. The race was declared a tie to keep the peace and the next heat was announced: another lad from Newbury, one from Stock, and Gil and Edon.

“Good luck, Ed,” Morti said, and his friends and Frodo echoed the sentiment.

Edon and Gil met at the starting line, which was simply a piece of string fastened to the ground on either end by wooden pegs. A similar string at the other end of the field marked the turn-around point. They greeted the other racers sportingly before turning and regarding each other coldly.

“Hallo Eldon,” Gil greeted, deliberately getting Edon’s name wrong as he always did.

“Good day, Gully,” Edon greeted back, returning the favor.

They did not shake hands as the other racers had and the tension between them was palpable. There was no love between these two racers and everyone knew it. Everyone also knew there was no way Edon could win against Gil. Gil was taller to start, with long legs that moved him forward at a much quicker pace than the younger tween. Still, Edon managed to keep up for the first half of the heat, along with the other racers, but he was using all his reserves, while Gil was merely striding along. On the last half, Gil bolted and left his competition far behind.

After the race, Edon walked back to the boulder, defeated and demoralized, and watched as Fuchsia threw her arms around Gil and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good match, Ed. You only took about twice as long as I figured you would,” Sed teased when Edon, breathing hard and sweating profusely, joined them again.

“You were supposed to be running, Ed, not standing still,” Fendi put in.

“Really, even Frodo could run faster than that,” Morti said. Frodo looked up from his growing pile of rocks at the sound of his name and looked at them in confusion.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Edon said and threw another glance at Fuchsia and Gil, who were still celebrating the latter’s victory. Why had he come here?

An hour later, they were departing the racing field with all the other hobbits in one big clump back down the road. Those going only a short distance walked upon the outside of the road, while those going farther rode on pony-back or in carts down its cents. At Crickhollow, a large group of hobbits veered off and headed north, some heading for their nearby homes, some going further north to Newbury, but the majority remained on the road and continued west.

There was more room to walk now and the crowd shifted as the swifter walkers made their way to the front and the slower walkers stayed behind. Edon and his friends were soon walking near the middle of the group, and had returned to their debate on blizzards and winds, when suddenly from behind them they heard another group approaching, and the unmistakable tones of Gil Banks telling a tall tale.

“It’s true, I tell you,” Gil was saying. “He went into the Old Forest, climbing that very Hedge, and the next thing you know, we can hear this deep groaning, unlike any sound a hobbit can make. The next moment after that, Tim was screaming for mercy. We tried to get to him, but it was no good. The Hedge was too high, and by the time we reached the top, his screams had stopped. We looked and looked for him, but never a trace of him was to be found. He was eaten by the trees, I tell you.”

“How horrible!” Fuchsia exclaimed as Gil’s group surrounded and started bypassing Edon’s. Gil walked by Edon so closely that he knocked the younger tween in the shoulder – hard.

Gil turned then and looked surprised to see Edon standing there. He stopped to regard the younger tween. “I’m sorry. Didn’t see you,” he said curtly.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Edon muttered, glaring up at Gil.

“You know, Eldon, I don’t know who taught you to run, but you are actually supposed to pick up your legs and move them faster than normal walking speed,” Gil continued. “In case you didn’t know.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Gil and his friends continued on their way then, and Edon refrained from rubbing his shoulder. Morti, Fendi and Sed glared at the older tween but knew better than to speak up against him; a riled Gil was a force best not reckoned with. They were more than willing to let Gil and his friends gain a lead on them, but suddenly at Edon’s left side, a small voice was heard saying, “That isn’t true, about the Forest.”

Everyone stopped and looked down at Frodo; they had forgotten he was even there. Frodo came forward to stand slightly in front of Edon and he looked up at Gil with unwavering azure eyes. Gil glanced down at the teen, a look of amusement in his eyes. “Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying it isn’t true,” Frodo said.

“So you were there I suppose,” Gil said, still amused. “That’s how you know it isn’t true, is that it?”

“I wasn’t there, but I do know you’re afraid of heights,” Frodo said. “You wouldn’t have climbed the Hedge.”

Morti and Fendi snickered at this, as did some of Gil’s friends, but Sed and Edon look horrified. Edon grabbed Frodo by the shoulder and pulled him to stand at his side once more. Gil, who had thus far taken Frodo’s interruption good-naturedly, now narrowed his eyes at the teen. “As if I’m going to let my fears get in the way of helping my friends,” Gil said. “I, unlike some others I could name, actually care about my friends.”

“You would have helped him better by not letting him climb the Hedge in the first place then, or so it sounds to me,” Frodo persisted. He crossed his arms in front of him and looked up unblinking at Gil.

Gil laughed, then leaned down so he was eye-level with the teen. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t know any better, seeing as you have no friends,” he said. “But I did go into the Old Forest, boy, at night, which is more than could be said for you. Everyone knows you’re afraid of your own shadow, waking up at nights screaming like a faunt in the dark. Everyone can hear you, you know. You have about as much courage as Eldon does speed.”

“Gil, leave him alone,” Fuchsia said disapprovingly and pulled on Gil’s arm, turning the tween around. “He’s just a child. Let’s go.”

“Sorry, sprout,” Gil said, then the group started walking again and were soon far ahead of them, laughing and talking as though nothing had happened.

“You shouldn’t have done that Frodo,” Edon said. “Gil won’t forget the humiliation soon.”

Frodo shrugged. “He was rude to you,” he said in answer, his voice soft and tight.

“I appreciate the concern, Frodo, but let me worry about Gil in the future,” Edon said.

They started walking again and soon the four friends were once more debating the fierceness of snow and wind. Frodo dropped out of the conversation, as he did more times than not. If anyone had taken care to notice, they would have seen his pensive expression and the tense set of his shoulders. They would have seen him looking back over his shoulder, back toward the High Hay, now far behind them and no longer visible. They would have seen him play anxiously with the rocks in his pockets and shuffle his feet through the dirt. But they were concerned only with reaching Brandy Hall, and they were wrapped up in their own affairs.

When they arrived at Brandy Hall, Frodo left them quickly, dashing off in the direction of his cousins’ apartment. Edon let the lad go. There was no point now making sure he was brought to Mistress Esmeralda, as that was clearly where the lad was heading, and whether Frodo really was supposed to be at the races or not, his guardian would have everything in hand as soon as he walked into the apartment.

Edon and Sed followed their friends to the dining hall and soon forgot about the long, hot, miserable day as they were served tea.
 
 
 

To be continued…