Chapter 21 - Sacrifice

The Haradrim and Khand stare astounded at the spot where the wizards had lain just moments before. The guard leader falls to his knees, Semira’s scimitar clattering to the floor, and the other guards shake their heads and blink their eyes, doubting what they had just seen. Amros leans over and inspects the bare floor more closely, as behind him Cepros searches the ceiling for smoke or other signs of fire. He finds none. 

Rick is equally astonished and he carefully circles the hobbits, keeping them protected, as he gapes at the floor. He points to the empty manacles, then at Amros and the guard leader. “That… that wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be taken to Valinor.”

“Valinor?” Amros repeats with contempt. “That supposed haven in the sky where no one dies? What punishment would they have found there? They would have been sent back, just like the Eye. These Valar, these so-called all-knowing all-powerful entities, they do not care what happens here, and so we do not wait for them to act. For all we know, they are nothing more than myth. We deal out justice our own way. Now, where is the Eye?” 

“We were going to meet in the entrance hall when the task was finished,” Rick informs.

“Then we shall wait for him there,” Amros declares. He turns to the others and orders them to follow. He gives Semira her scimitar back and leads the way down the stairwell back to the first floor. The Haradrim lined in the passageway behind them push Rick and the hobbits in front of them. Rick bends down and picks up the chain before allowing himself to be ushered down the stairs. The fortress guards follow them, too confused and accustomed to following orders to question what is happening.

They reach the entrance hall and find the girl still waiting there. Twilight spills in through the open door and a cool eastward wind blows through the hall, crisp and refreshing, a pleasant relief from the suffocating heat. The girl sees Frodo and her face splits into a grin before she disappears down a corridor on the other side of the hall, shouting excitedly as she goes. She returns shortly with the women and other children, and there is now chaos and confusion as everyone erupts into questions and half-formed explanations. 

The guard leader quickly silences them and turns to Frodo. He bows before the hobbit in the manner of his people, lying upon the ground with his hands folded in front of him in a v-shape, his forehead resting on his hands. To Frodo’s horror the others quickly do the same, and it is only then that he notices that the shamaness’s necklace has fallen out of his robes to lie upon his chest for all to see. Frodo hastily tucks it back away as the guard leader utters some words that Frodo cannot understand. Frodo looks up at Rick for help though he knows the lad cannot offer any. He next looks to Semira, only now fully realizing the meaning of her presence here, and he gapes at her in wonder as his own questions begin to build. 

She notices him looking and quickly translates. “He says, ‘Great Shaman, I, Cyrus, am your most humble servant. I offer to you my services, such as they are, for as long as you shall be in need of them. My people and I are forever indebted to you, Great Shaman, for coming in this time of need to deliver us from the Blue Wizards’ tyranny, and for that forever will you be honored.’ 

“They are waiting for your blessing,” she finishes.

“My blessing?” Frodo asks, horrified. “But, I’m not a shaman!”

“No, you’re not,” Semira agrees but her next words are less comforting. “I believe he thinks you are The Shaman, the one from whom all mortal shamans get their knowledge and power, the one who the legends say will return one day to end the darkness in the land.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Frodo protests, his horror growing. Being idolized by the Gondorians and the Rohirrim for destroying the One Ring had been bad enough. He does not think he can withstand being credited for being some powerful deity equal to the Khand as the Valar to the Elves. “All I did was distract the wizards so Sauron could destroy the rings.”

“And you brought Sauron, so that he could do this thing,” Semira says, gently explaining the Khand’s viewpoint.

“Sauron brought me!” Frodo cries.

“Is there really such a great difference?” she asks. “If I understand everything I have been told, he would not have come if you had not.”

Frodo is at a loss and for a time he can do little more than to stare with trepidation at the Khand kneeling before him with a growing sense of surrealism. Is this really happening? Not knowing what else to do, he bows to the Khand and says, “I am in your service and the service of your family.”

Semira translates this and Cyrus accepts the gesture and pledge with pride. He stands and the other Khand stand with him. There is a moment when Frodo fears they might expect more of him, but instead Cyrus begins to tell his people all that he has seen and to learn what they know. 

Only slightly relieved by this reprieve, Frodo turns to Rick and Semira, and the rest of the Haradrim. “Is someone going to explain what is going on here?” he asks.

“So this wasn’t part of the plan then?” Sam asks, just as confused.

“Not that I can tell,” Rick says, “though it wouldn’t surprise me if Sauron had this up his sleeves the whole time. Well, except for the wizards being killed. He’s not going to be happy about that.”

“It certainly wasn’t on the itinerary,” comes Sauron’s voice from the rear of the entrance hall as he comes down passage from the east tower. 

The Haradrim quickly line up to bar his way, drawing their weapons and holding them to strike. Sauron pauses in the passageway, dripping with blood both black and red, his right hand clutched around some unseen object. Rick exclaims in distress to see him injured but Sauron gives a small shake of his head, bidding Rick to stay back. Behind Sauron come the two guards and the sentry he had locked into the treasure room. They follow Sauron as ones just awakened from a deep sleep to discover the world has changed around them. Cyrus calls to them, and they go to him without question and begin to tell him what has transpired.

“So the wizards are dead,” Sauron continues, nonplussed by his hostile reception. He simply remains in the passageway and looks at them all, his eyes eventually falling on the hobbits. He looks them over quickly, assessing them for damage. They will soon be in shock from their encounter if they aren’t already, but other than that he is pleased to see that they are relatively unharmed. He returns his regard to Amros and Semira. “Who killed them?”

“I did and the guard,” says Amros, pointing at Cyrus. “We beheaded them, and they went up in flame and smoke.”

“Well, that’s one way of making sure they never come back,” Sauron concedes.

“I’m sorry, Sauron,” Rick says, glaring accusingly at Amros. “We tried telling them. Is this going to mess things up for you?”

Sauron shakes his head, unconcerned. “Illúvatar always has the final word,” he says. “That flame and smoke show didn’t come from nowhere. No, it is the Void for them and there they will remain until the end of the world. This way is better, I think. The wizards would have attempted escape before long, unsuccessfully and in vain, but they could have hurt someone in the process, and the Khand now have someone to lead them.” He looks at Cyrus significantly here, but the man, having no understanding of what is being said, only looks back in puzzlement and alarm. 

“Good indeed, and it will be better to do the same for you,” Amros says. “You deserve no better than the wizards.” He raises his scimitar.

“No!” Rick exclaims. He leaves the hobbits’ sides and dashes around the line of warriors to stand between them and Sauron. He holds his hands up in appeal. “No! You promised that if the hobbits weren’t harmed you would let Sauron walk free. They’re unharmed.”

Amros, Semira and Cepros turn to look at the hobbits. Cepros points at Frodo. “He has blood on his mouth and his cheek is swollen.”

“His arm is bruised,” says Semira, pointing at Sam.

Amros faces Rick again and smiles smugly. “And I believe you promised that if they were harmed, we could do as we will with the Eye. Now step aside and I promise to make it quick, though he does not deserve such a mercy.”

Rick has no choice but to step aside. “I’m sorry,” he says mournfully to Sauron.

“You gave them your word,” Sauron says. “You must honor it. I, however, made no such promise.”

“And neither did I,” Frodo says, coming around to stand next to Rick. Sam joins him and they both cross their arms and glare up at these strange men and Semira. Frodo continues, “You will have to go through me first.”

“We have no desire to harm you, Ring-bearer,” Amros says, holding his stance and edging forward ever so slightly. Cyrus immediately draws his scimitar and steps beside Frodo. He holds his weapon against Amros, and the other fortress guards line up beside him, their scimitars ringing as they are withdrawn from their sheaths. 

“Yet harm me you must, if you wish to kill him,” Frodo says, shaken by this display of loyalty from the Khand but trying not to show it. He points his chin stubbornly and wishes silently to whatever Valar might hear him that this may end without more bloodshed. “Sauron goes free. Agreed?”

Amros has little choice but to agree. He sheaths his scimitar with a vicious motion, and his warriors do likewise. Cepros and Semira take longer to lower their weapons, and it is not until all arms are put down that Frodo and Sam relax their stance. Seeing that all has been resolved, the Khand sheath their scimitars also, Cyrus frowning at Frodo, not understanding the exchange or why the Great Shaman would protect the Eye when he allowed the Wizards to be destroyed.

“Agreed,” says Amros grudgingly. “He may walk free from this place, but he must still answer for his crimes against my people.”

“And I shall,” Sauron agrees. He gently motions for Frodo and Sam to stand aside so that he may face Amros and Semira directly. Again, he glances to Cyrus to include him in what he says now, switching to Southron so that all may understand him. “The day will come that I shall stand before your courts to be judged for my crimes, but know this: That day will not come to pass until I have fulfilled my sentence to a court higher than yours, that being the court of Manwë on Taniquetil in Valinor. My duty is to him, first and foremost, and it may bring me into your lands again as I am ordered to undo the evils I have wrought upon this world. I do not ask for your assistance on these occasions, only that you do not heed me.”

“You ask too much,” Amros says.

“Perhaps then you would be willing to send a small escort whenever I am in your lands, to make sure I do not step out of line,” Sauron offers. “It is an arrangement that has proven successful already.”

Amros studies the Maia long before he answers, almost as though he is challenging him, “You may have an escort to keep you in check, but only if the boy stays in my custody whenever you are in my lands.”

“The man has a mind of his own, and he can be quite stubborn with it at times,” Sauron says, smiling fondly at Rick. “He doesn’t always listen to me and this is not a decision I can make without discussing it with him first.”

“There are many decisions to make,” Semira says, “but I think it would be unwise to proceed until things are resolved here. We shall call a truce and discuss things further when we have returned to the village.”

“A truce?” Cepros says, disbelieving that she would suggest trusting their mortal enemy for longer than it would take to kill him.

“We need to learn what took place here,” Semira says, “but for now it seems that Sauron was good on his word and destroyed the rings of the Blue Wizards as Rick had told us he would. They were already defeated when we found them, otherwise I doubt we would have been able to kill them so easily. He has earned a truce for now, even if he does not yet deserve our trust.”

They all agree to this and shake hands on it. Cyrus bows to Sauron, a look of pure confusion on his face. “Great Eye,” he says, “why do you include me in these discussions?” 

To answer, Sauron holds out his clutched hand and opens it, turning it palm upward to reveal a small, thick golden disc, roughly circular with a misshapen hole in the center. Next to the disc are the amethysts. Once a deep reddish-purple, the heat of the sun magnified through the blue diamond had turned them a rich golden yellow. 

“These are all that remain of the rings that the Blue Wizards used to enslave your people for so many centuries,” Sauron tells him. He hands the disc to the man. “They have been stripped of the spells put upon them and are harmless once more. Take this and use it as a reminder that your people, once enslaved, are now free to live as they wish.”

“But why do you give this to me?” Cyrus asks without taking it, more curious and confused than ever.

“Because you are meant to lead your people now,” Sauron says. “They will be needing a leader. When they will hear of your deeds here today and the hand you played in destroying the Blue Wizards, they will name you their malik, their king, and rightfully so. You will soon enough begin the work of rebuilding your mamlaka into the prosperous realm it once was, though it will be for others to finish the task.”

Cyrus’s eyes widen at this but he accepts the offering all the same. He stares down at it in wonder and tests the weight of it, as a soldier accustoming himself to the burden of his armor and weaponry before setting out on a long trek. He clutches his hand around it, accepting his fate even as he doubts the truth of it. He supposes only time will tell what is to become of him. He opens his hand and the nearest guards peer at it curiously. He hands it to them so they can inspect it and pass it on, and waits patiently for Sauron to continue. 

Sauron next extends the amethysts to Amros and Semira. “These too have been stripped of the spells upon them, though you may want to have someone other than me confirm it for you. Nienna was wise indeed to separate the moon from the sun. When they come together, they create a force that is not to be reckoned with. Take these for yourself and your fair wife as symbols of the combined strengths of sun and moon and the good that they may do when aimed towards a just purpose,” Sauron says and Amros accepts them, looking at them as though they might bite him. 

Sauron then slides the scimitar off his back and holds it towards Semira. Its blue diamond is secure in the hilt once more and the blade has been cleaned of the black blood that once covered it. “For you, Sultana, the scimitar of the House of the Moon.”

Semira takes it with wonder and fingers the diamond and hilt, and the silver sheath etched with oliphaunts and the runes of her people. She reads the runes, her wonder growing to distress and anger. “This was my grandfather’s,” she says. “So it was you who took him, as we guessed all along. How long you did torture him before you killed him?”

“Long enough for him to forget the just and honorable man he once was,” Sauron replies, grieved at the memory, “but I did not kill him. I had other uses for him. I took him into my service and he became my most loyal ambassador, my grand vizier. He lives still, if the rumors I hear are true, though he no longer resembles the man he was before. It may be that now he can only be saved by death, but I will do what is in my power to save his soul before sending him to his next life.”

Semira nods, still fingering the runes on the sheath. Then quick as lightning she draws the scimitar, its mighty blade singing and shining soft as moonlight, and she presses the blade to Sauron’s neck as a single tear spills down her cheek. They stare at each other across the glinting blade, Sauron remaining still as stone. After a time, Semira nods again and lowers the blade. “You will need my help to find him then,” she announces.

“I will, but I didn’t want to ask,” Sauron says. 

“We will come also,” say Amros and Cepros at once. 

“Your sultanate needs reordering and the House of the Eye must be dismantled once and for all,” Sauron says. “Yet I think we might find that these two tasks can be accomplished together with my own. But as we agreed, we will hold all discussion until work here is complete.” He turns again to Cyrus. “For starters, there are a dozen Variags slaughtered in the west tower.”

Cyrus’s eyes widen again at this announcement but he only nods. “We can dig a pit and dispose of them there.”

“I will do that,” Sauron says. “Just tell me where to dig. There are others more dear to you that you must worry about laying to rest first.”

Cyrus nods. “There are bodies in the dungeon and more at the bottom of the lake. Those we cannot recover for the lake is deep but those in the dungeon can still be purified. They must be sent off to the next life and we can speak the rites for those in the lake at the same time. We are also missing a man, Rakmahnesh. He is one of the sentries, but he is not here. Fatima says he would not leave his post when she brought the others to the kitchens at Great Shaman’s bidding.”

Sauron’s eyebrows quirk upward at this honorary title but he simply looks down at Frodo and waits for the hobbit to return his gaze. Frodo looks up at him reluctantly, almost as if he senses what is about to be asked. “Frodo?” Sauron asks gently. “The other sentry, the one who took you and Sam to the dungeons. Where is he?”

Sam answers instead, putting a supportive hand to Frodo’s shoulder. “He helped us escape from the wizards. He held them up so we could get away. They killed him, just outside the dungeon.”

Frodo nods in agreement, the shock now settling in quickly as the guilt he has been bearing overwhelms him and his head begins to pound. He sways where he stands, and Rick quickly takes the hobbits to sit against a pillar as Sauron informs Cyrus of what Sam said. Cyrus nods in heavy acceptance of this and bids for the other sentry and two of the guards to collect the body and store him in the dungeon until the following morning. 

The women prepare a grand feast that night while the injured guards have their wounds attended to by Cyrus. Their wounds are surprisingly mild, the worst being a dislocated knee and a broken nose of the two guards who had received the worst of Sauron’s assault. When Cyrus next offers to look at Sauron’s wounds, the Maia dissents, opting instead to search the fortress for clean robes to wear until the following morning when he will bury the Variags. He cleanses and wraps his wounds himself, noting with grim relief that they are already beginning to heal and fade. 

Over dinner, with Sauron and Semira translating, the full story of the Blue Wizards’ downfall is told and the final pieces fall into place. It is quite a tale, made longer by many interruptions as questions are asked and translations made. Everyone is very impressed by Sam’s account of the events in the torture chamber and Frodo’s mental battle with the wizards. This seems to confirm the Khand’s belief that Frodo is indeed The Shaman returned, and they keep refilling his plate so that by the end of the meal he feels ready to burst. 

When Rick asks, Sauron admits to having known that Semira is the Sultana of the House of the Sun ever since Rick told him of her tattoos. 

“Noblewomen are not marked until after they marry,” he explains to Rick, Frodo and Sam, “and the tattoo on her thigh indicated she was married. The markings on her shoulder are the Haradrim symbols for Sun and what we would call Queen, identifying her as the Sultana of the House of the Sun. So it could only mean that she was married to the Sultan of the House of the Sun. The jasmine brooch that she wears is also a symbol. Jasmine is the flower of the House of the Moon, so that is how I knew she was born to that sultanate.”

“And you knew she would follow us here,” Rick prompts.

“They are two of the Three Faithful Houses, and I have long been their enemy,” Sauron says. “Now the Three Faithful will grow in power again and take their rightful places as the dominant sultanates. Their alliance with Khand will be renewed, and they will remain together in friendship for countless generations to come, much like Gondor and Rohan.”

“That’s all well and good, but just answer one question. Is this your idea of sharing the plan?” Rick asks, crossing his arms.

“I promised I would tell you all the details of the plan and now I am,” Sauron says. Rick scoffs at this and opens his mouth to argue further, so Sauron says, “Did I mention that it was hearing your voice that allowed me to let go of the rings?”

Rick shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. “Flattery won’t work this time, my friend. You should have told me.”

“I tried to!” Sauron says, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “You’re the one who kept insisting that Semira wasn’t a spy! You wouldn’t hear a single word against her! Why would you have believed me if I told you she’s married?”

“That’s not the point,” Rick says.

“Oh, really? Then what is the point?”

“You made a promise and you should have told me.”

“And I’m keeping that promise. I never said when I would tell you all the details of the plan, just that I would,” Sauron points out.

“Oh, you know perfectly well that isn’t what I meant!” Rick argues.

Cepros smiles at this exchange and leans towards his brother, who is looking back and forth between Rick and Sauron with much bafflement and amusement. “They sound just like our parents, yes?” he says and Amros grunts in agreement.

After the meal, the children run about the fortress, choosing rooms to bed in, their caretakers following with some trepidation, still not quite believing that they are free to go where they please. The Haradrim are housed on the third floor rooms, and Cyrus shows Rick, Sauron and the hobbits to the grandest of the guest rooms on the fifth floor. Frodo does his best to keep up with the others as they climb the tower steps, but he soon tires and lags behind. At one point he almost falls backward as a wave of dizziness hits him particularly hard. He attempts to protest but quickly submits to Rick carrying him the rest of the way to their rooms. There, Cyrus bids them good-night and again kowtows to Frodo. Frodo bows and Cyrus rises gracefully and leaves them.

Once they are alone, Sauron takes the hobbits to sit on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of them. He looks them over thoroughly, inspecting their injuries, grateful they are so minor. He searches their eyes, which are slightly dilated from the shock, Frodo’s more than Sam’s. He touches Frodo’s head, causing him to wince. Frodo had said nothing during the feast but his dizziness on the stairs had spoken volumes. 

“Your head is still bothering you,” he states.

Frodo laughs and says lightly, “Only if feeling like your skull has been split open by one of Gimli’s axes can be considered bothersome.”

Sauron lightly presses against the pressure points on Frodo’s head to alleviate some of the pain. “You didn’t say much about your encounter with the wizards,” he says casually.

“Sam told it quite well,” is all the response he gets. 

Sauron looks at Frodo sharply, studying the light that shines from him like a beacon. For a while he does nothing more than kneel there, or so it seems, until he drops his hands and finally rises. “A good sleep is what you need, I think. That and rest. I want you to take it easy for the next few days and if you feel any disorientation or weakness, you are to tell me immediately.” He lifts an eyebrow at Sam.

“He will,” Sam promises. 

“The same goes for you Sam.” He waits for Sam’s nod before continuing. “You both did well today. Be proud of what you accomplished and do not be sad for Rakmahnesh. He gave his life willingly for yours, as you would have done for him. Such things are required in war. There is no guilt here.”

Frodo and Sam nod, hearing what he says but not yet fully able to accept it. They are left to wash and dress in clean robes, and Sam is asleep within moments of clambering into the massive bed. Frodo sits beside him for several hours, staring in the blackness of the room as the visions the wizards had put inside him creep out to mock him. At last he gets up and retreats to the window sill. He sits against the cold stone alcove, looking out over the lake and the hilltops and up at the stars and the moon overhead. He does not recall falling asleep but when he stirs in the predawn hours he finds that Sam has covered him in a thin sheet before curling up in the chair next to the window. Frodo watches as Sam sleeps and wonders what fate has planned for them next. 

They remain in the fortress three more days. 

The next morning, Sauron dresses into his soiled robes and with the help of the guards and the Haradrim warriors he carries the bodies of the Variags out of the fortress and follows the banks of the lake to a wide, secluded beach between two hilltops on the eastern side of the lake. There Sauron sets to digging, wishing no help from the others so they return to the fortress to help with the cleaning of the dungeon. He remains there all day, bent to his task, only stopping when Rick or one of the women bring him food to eat. By the time night falls, he has dug a hole deep enough to hold the fallen Variags and he places them there and covers them with grim satisfaction.

The hobbits spend the day on the second floor in the Hall of Records, a massive library directly above the entrance hall. Many tomes and scrolls litter the shelves and tables and spill onto the floor. Some of the documents are in Westron, histories of the wars between East and West, and genealogies of the Kings and Stewards of Gondor. The genealogies are not written on family trees in the fashion they are accustomed to but rather in long lists of names and dates that often repeat themselves as varying lines are followed on different scrolls. The other documents are in the odd symbols of the Eastern dialects and they can do little more than look at the pictures and try to make sense of them. They find more scrolls that are similar in fashion to the genealogies they had found earlier, but it is not until Fatima joins them and figures out what they are doing that progress begins to be made. She reads the names aloud to them, pointing at each one, and in this way they begin to recognize the groupings of symbols for the names that repeat the most. 

For lack of anything else to do, and on orders to take it easy and stay away from the bustle downstairs, the hobbits with Fatima’s help begin to arrange the genealogies into some semblance of order, starting with a sheath of parchment that appears to outline Cyrus’s lineage. By the time luncheon is announced they have traced Cyrus’s line back ten generations. They show their findings to Cyrus when they go down for luncheon, and he can only stare at the parchment in amazement, trying to make sense of his newfound lineage.  

After luncheon and without bidding, the shamaness Aliya arrives with a handful of women from the village with food and goods. The women go through the fortress top to bottom looking for spare cloth and climb over the hilltops searching for wildflowers and brush as Aliya follows Cyrus to the dungeon to begin the purification of the corpses there. As each is purified, the guards carry the remains away to be wrapped in cloth and stored for the time being in the cells in the passage behind the dungeon. 

There are many remains to be accounted for and named, and the process takes them long into the night, so that they are just finishing when Sauron returns. He stands inside the doorway watching silently as they clear out the last few cages, his expression impassive, and then follows them into the passage to the last rooms that remain empty. He disappears for a time into the torture chamber and when he emerges he asks softly where the hobbits are and what they have been doing.

“They’ve been in the Hall of Records all day,” answers one of the guards. “Great Shaman is discovering our lineage. He is quite extraordinary, is he not?”

“He is,” Sauron answers and says no more. He turns and leaves the dungeon, and is not seen again that night.

The following day, the men, including Rick and Sauron, begin work on building pyres for the corpses along the beach, and the women and children make wreathes from the wildflowers and brush gathered the day before. When the wreathes are completed, Aliya sets them to making many little reed boats, four twigs tied together with rails on the sides to hold tinder on the decks. 

The hobbits again remain in the Hall of Records. Now that they know what to look for, they are able to comb through the remaining genealogies on their own and they find that they can now even recognize most of the names as they repeat again and again on various scrolls. It is quiet and peaceful work and gives them a sense of familiarity in otherwise foreign surroundings. 

Frodo’s headache fades to a dull throb and for the most part he is able to forget it so long as he does not stand too quickly or overexert himself. Aliya brings him tonics to drink and makes him lie down for a half-hour every four hours, lighting healing incense and closing the curtains to keep the sunlight from disturbing him. She gives Sam the same treatment and they soon learn to understand “lie down”, “drink this” and “clear your minds” in Khand, adding these phrases to their growing vocabulary of family titles, relationships, years and months, and customary greetings. 

Remaining in the Hall of Records is also a good way of keeping out from under foot. Every time Frodo makes an appearance for meals, the Khand kowtow with enthusiasm and fuss over him like a gaggle of mother hens, and Sam soon comes to understand that they consider him to be Frodo’s right hand, not a shaman but a mortal chosen to do the Shaman’s bidding. This apparently gives him quite a high status as far as the Khand are concerned, and it doesn’t help that he cannot argue their judgment of him being Frodo’s servant. But to think that being a servant somehow puts him in high standing is simply too much for Sam to wrap his head around. 

Cyrus comes to examine their genealogy work that night, being now greatly interested in their findings. He combs through their lists, pointing out errors as they occur, either in the original documents or in Frodo’s carefully drawn family trees. The genealogies that are correct he takes to the other Khand to whom they belong, or keeps them if that person should not be known to him or else killed by the wizards. 

The next morning in the predawn hours, everyone files out of the fortress and stands upon the beach by the pyres. The men carry the corpses out of the fortress and set them upon the pyres. It takes many trips and by the time the sun is high overhead, the beach is lined from end to end with the bodies of the victims of the Blue Wizards. The women lay a wreath over the breast of each body as it is laid down, while the children fill the little boats with tinder. As Aliya sprinkles red dust over each boat, Cyrus follows her, lighting the tinder with a torch, and the children push the boats onto the calm surface of the lake. When all the boats are released and bobbing on the water, Aliya walks to the edge of the lake and recites the Rite of Passing, blessing the journeys of the deceased to the realm beyond. 

The dead in the lake now atoned, she walks to the first pyre and sprinkles red dust over the wreath of the first body and spreads more dust on the cloth-covered brow. She recites the chant again and repeats this process all the way down the line, Cyrus waiting until all are finished to light the pyres. 

The sentry Rakmahnesh is the last in the line, being the last to die, and when she reaches his body Frodo steps forward. No one else has uttered a sound or word since the ceremony began but now he bows and says, “Please,” requesting to be the one to honor the man who sacrificed himself so that he and Sam may live. The shamaness grants this request without hesitation and hands Frodo the clay bowl of red dust. Rick helps Frodo onto the pyre and Frodo looks upon the form of his victor with sadness and a guilt so great it nearly crushes him. He sprinkles the dust over the wreath and on the man’s forehead, then recites by ear and without flaw the chant Aliya has been repeating all morning. Rick helps him back down and at Aliya’s signal, Cyrus lights the first pyre and comes down the line until all the pyres are aflame. The fire leaps with a mighty roar into the humid air and the smoke spirals upward towards the sky, sending forth the souls of those who have passed. 

The mourners retreat to a safe distance and the women begin to wail and moan in an eerie song of mourning. The children soon join them and it is not much longer until the men begin to cry also. The Haradrim kneel with their hands over their hearts in respect of the dead. Rick, Sauron and the hobbits stand aside. Tears stream down the faces of Rick, Frodo and Sam, and Sauron watches the flames with sorrow. Semira joins them and places a comforting hand on each of the hobbit’s heads. 

“From the ashes are we born and to the ashes must we all return. May the wind carry your spirit to a place of rest and there may you find joy,” she says, translating the chant for them. Then she kneels in front of Frodo and Sam and says, “The Khand do not believe in sacrifice, not as you do. Rakmahnesh did what he must to protect you and in doing so he entrusted you with his unspent years. You each now hold a part of his life so that it may be lived to its fullest. It is to them the most noble way to die, for it is a mercy to those left behind as well as a gift to the one who goes ahead. Lay aside your guilt and shame and be honored that a man so great has entrusted you with his life. Do not do him the dishonor of not living it.”

Frodo gulps as his tears renew, each one spilling one burden to be replaced by another. He nods in acceptance of this new burden, and Sam slips an arm over his shoulders, hugging him close, the only protection and comfort he can offer. 

They remain there long into the afternoon until the boats and pyres have been consumed by the fires. The funeral over, Aliya invites everyone to return with her to the village, where a feast has been prepared in their honor. It is not until she mentions food that everyone realizes that none of them have eaten yet that day. They accept her invitation and after gathering what possessions they have in the fortress, they return outside and follow the shamaness away from the fortress. None of them look back.

To be continued…

GF 7/14/07