Chapter 22 - The Feast

Aliya leads them at a slow pace, for they are tired and weak from their day of fasting and grief. As such, they do not reach the village until an hour and-a-half later, as the sun is sinking behind the hills and the brightest stars are beginning to shine overhead. 

The village has burst into an array of colors since the last time Sauron, Rick, Frodo and Sam had seen it. The drab door coverings on the huts have been replaced with intricate weaves of bright colors and fascinating designs, each one of them unique. Frodo and Sam are now able to recognize a couple of the symbols over the doorways from the genealogical tables and realize the symbols are the names of those who live there. 

The villagers also have turned in their worn clothing, at least for tonight. The men and boys wear loose-fitting pants of white, beige or grey, with plain shirts of yellow, lavender or moss green. Around their waists are bright red sashes tied at their left, the tasseled ends hanging over their hips and down their legs. The women and girls wear vibrant dresses, long-sleeved bodices with high necklines, and voluminous skirts that reach down to their ankles. The colors and patterns are as intricate as those on the door coverings, and finely-patterned head cloths cover their hair. 

The biggest change is the light and brilliance that shines from their eyes and faces, and the ready smiles they wear as they greet the returning villagers and the fortress refugees. The haunted fear is still there for those who can see, but for the moment they forget their worries to celebrate the downfall of the wizards and the beginning of new life.

The visitors are greeted warmly and the women of the company who live in the village disappear to prepare for the feast and change into more festive attire. The refugees and Haradrim are offered cisterns of warm water, washcloths and soap for bathing. They are taken to a bend in the river, where the growing crops hide them from view of the village. The women gather farther downstream from the men, all politely diverting their eyes away from the other group until they are immersed in the concealing water, as is their custom. As they bathe, fresh clothes are brought to them and their old, soiled clothes are taken away for cleaning later. 

Rick and Sauron are shown to the hut in which they had slept before and inside are two wooden tubs filled with warm water. The tubs are so small they will have to bathe standing up; a screen stands between the tubs for privacy. Fresh robes are laid out on the counter and incense swirls near the roof. Rick pauses, looking at the hobbits and wondering what they will do, but Sauron bids him to enter. The hobbits will be taken care of and they are in no danger here.

The hobbits follow Aliya to her hut and she leads them inside. The hut is sparsely decorated. There is a sleeping pad and shelves of clothing in one quadrant and a small kitchen area in another. The wall beside the kitchen is covered with hanging herbs and shelves of pouches and jars filled with medicaments. In the opposite quadrant is a lute of some type leaning against the curved wall and above this on shelves are various effigies carved from wood or sandstone. In the middle of the room is a pillow next to a table, and the earthen floor around the table looks hollowed out and much used. 

There is a smaller room in the back and she takes them there, where they find not a bath but two benches along opposite walls and a fire pit covered with an iron grate in the center of the room. On the grate sits a large glass bowl filled with water and lotus petals. The water is just beginning to steam, sending the heady scent of lotus into the humid air. Standing in the corners adding their own unique scents are burning incenses of jasmine and myrrh. The jasmine is sweet and fragrant but the myrrh is potent and they recognize the scent from the funeral pyres. Frodo looks at it closely and realizes this is the red dust Aliya had sprinkled over the dead.

She speaks to them in a soft soothing voice. They cannot understand her words but Frodo sees well enough what they are meant to do. They are to remove their clothes and sit in the room and let the steam purify them. She will come for them when the feast is ready and they can wash then and dress. They nod to show they understand, then she leaves them to go back outside. Frodo starts undressing first and Sam shyly follows his lead, sneaking furtive glimpses at the flimsy door covering rippling with the breeze, and hopes that Aliya doesn't return untimely. They put their stained and dirtied robes on the ground and Frodo slips the shamaness’s necklace over his head, laying it gently atop the robes.

They slip into the steam-filled room and sit on opposite benches. “So what are we supposed to do?” Sam asks.

“Just sit here and soak,” Frodo says. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. 

Sam does likewise and for a time they forget all else as the various fragrances swirl around them and the steam soaks into their sweating skin. 

As they sit, Sam imagines he has fallen asleep and in his dream he is walking through a field of wildflowers. At the other end of the field is a hobbit lass and she is crying into her handkerchief, but she is turned away so he cannot see her face. When he reaches her, he taps her shoulder but she runs off before he can ask what's wrong. He pursues her, worried that she might come to some harm, and when he reaches the edge of the field he is staring down the hillside beyond Bag End’s garden. Down below he sees a hobbit lad and lass standing under the oak tree by the Water, the Mayor standing in front of them, a congregation of hobbits sitting behind them. The hobbit lad and lass kiss and the congregation claps. He steps forward and heads down the hill towards the couple but just as he reaches them, he wakens and finds himself staring dumbly at Frodo. 

It is some time before he realizes his master is sitting on the edge of his bench, his hands clutching the wood so hard his knuckles are white, and he is staring blankly at the lotus blossoms floating in the now half-empty bowl. “Mr. Frodo?” Sam says. “Are you all right?”

Frodo shakes himself from his stupor and looks at Sam, forcing a smile. “Yes, Sam, I’m fine.”

Before Sam can argue, Aliya returns. She scratches on the door cover to announce her arrival and waits for Frodo to allow her entry before pushing it aside, just enough to peep inside. She says something about food and they understand that it is time for the feast. 

They stand to leave and are quickly overcome with dizziness, the steam having dehydrated them more than they thought. They wait for the dizziness to subside before carefully making their way to the door and into the main room. They find the hut empty but the table has been prepared for them. Two wooden bowls full of the green cactus juice sit next to four steaming cisterns of hot water, two sets of washcloths and two clean towels. Next to the towels are a box of salt crystals, a bottle of shampoo and two wooden combs. 

The pillow has been set atop the table and placed on top of it are two sets of fresh robes, plain beige for Sam and vibrant red for Frodo. Both the robes are decorated with beads and symbols, the patterns on Frodo’s similar to those on Aliya’s dress. The shamaness’s necklace still lies atop Frodo’s robe, only now two more beads have been added to the strand, so there are eight beads in total, and a third snake fang, longer than the two on the outsides, has been inserted between the fourth and fifth bead. 

“We don’t get tubs?” Sam asks, ever thinking of practicalities first.

“Tub water gets dirty,” Frodo explains as the answer comes to him. He shrugs uncomfortably at Sam's blank stare and elaborates, “A shaman is to remain clean at all times and is not to bathe in impure water.” 

“Well, I suppose that makes sense, though I have to say I never really thought of it that way afore. If that’s how it is, then I suppose we can’t have you getting yourself dirty all over again,” Sam allows, only to meet Frodo’s disbelieving stare. “What?” he asks.

“Sam, don’t tell me you’re starting to believe them about me being a shaman,” Frodo says.

“Of course not, sir. Even if you can do things as no other hobbit can, a hobbit you still are or I’m Mistress Lobelia,” Sam replies. “It’s just, they think you are one so you have to play the part, begging your pardon. Seems to me if you don’t, they’ll lose a bit of themselves, and they don’t have that much to be starting with as it is.”

“But it’s a lie,” Frodo says.

“Not them it ain’t,” Sam says. “Look at it this way. When you were naught but a wee faunt following your dad and ma all over, didn’t you think as they were invincible and that nothing really bad could happen while they were around? That’s a lie too, and you know that better’n anyone, but you need that when you’re young or you’d never get no sleep at night. When you get older, you figure out the lie of it, but by then you’re big enough to carry the truth with you and not let it crush you. These folks here, they’re just faunts in a way, if you take my meaning.”

Frodo sighs heavily. “I suppose you’re right,” he allows. 

“At least you don’t got to be reading them to sleep at nights,” Sam says with a grin and Frodo laughs.

“That is a relief,” Frodo agrees. He grips Sam’s shoulder briefly. “Thank you, lad. You truly are the wisest ninnyhammer I know. Now, let’s get started shall we?”

They drink the juice first and the dizziness slowly fades, leaving their minds clear and sharp, and the last of Frodo’s headache disappears entirely. Once the juice is consumed, they pour the water from the first cistern into the bowls. 

They wash their hair first. The shampoo is a clear liquid that foams easily with rubbing and they discover they need only a few drops to clean their hair thoroughly. Having no other option, they tip the bowls over their heads and rinse the shampoo out, the water dripping down their bodies to soak into the earthen floor, leaving it damp but otherwise no worse than it had been before. 

They refill the bowls with the water from the second cistern and add a scoop of the salt crystals into each of their bowls. After stirring the water to dissolve the crystals, they wet their washcloths and scrub away the grime and sweat still clinging to them from the fortress and the funeral fires. The salt water is coarse and scratches mildly at their skin though not uncomfortably so, and as they scrub the salts break to create a soft gel that sits on their skin. They pause for a moment, wondering if this is supposed to happen, but having no one to ask, they decide to simply continue until they are covered in the gel from head to furry toes. 

Sam splits the water from the third cistern into their bowls and they soak the clean washcloths to begin washing away the salt gel. It is an involved process and they have to use the last cistern of water to rinse off the last of the gel they had missed on their first pass. When they finish, their skin all but sings in the cool air of the hut. They cannot remember ever feeling more clean and refreshed, and they marvel at it as they pad themselves dry with the towels and comb the hair on their heads and feet.

The floor beneath them is now a puddle of water, so they remove themselves to other side of the table before dressing. Sam immediately begins to wrap his robe about himself with expert ease but Frodo hesitates, holding his robe in front of him with bemusement. Had they just happened to find such a robe to fit him or had they made this especially for him? The first seems unlikely and the second can only be considered disturbing. What are they expecting from him? 

He glances at Sam questioningly but Sam only shrugs and says, “They’re waiting for us, sir, and you can’t go out in naught but your skin.”

Frodo concedes the point and having no other option, he folds the robe securely about himself. He picks up the necklace but does not put it on. Instead, he carries it outside where Aliya is standing but when he attempts to hand it to her, she only takes it and promptly lowers it over his head. She touches it to his chest and looks at him intently. He doesn’t need a translator or special powers to know what she says next. “It is yours, Shaman,” she says in practiced Westron, her accent softer than Semira’s. She turns and leads the way back to the village center where the feast awaits, giving Frodo no opportunity to protest. 

The villagers, refugees, Haradrim, Rick and Sauron are already lined up around the tables, which are set from end to end with food. The sheikhs stand at the head of the line but they are all waiting for the shamaness and the hobbits to arrive before beginning. Frodo notes that they address Aliya by the title ‘Shamaness’ followed by her name, and though they must by this time know his own name, they proceed to call him ‘Great Shaman’ instead and Sam is simply ‘Servant of Shaman’. He finds this unsettling and he is not assuaged when Aliya takes her place in front of the sheikhs and then places him and Sam before her. 

The wise-man, Amh, begins the feast, speaking in a clear voice for all to hear to announce the purpose of the feast: to honor those who died in the battle against the long defeat of the Blue Wizards and to celebrate the beginning of a new era free of tyranny. Then the wise-woman Khalina speaks, extending welcome to their honored guests and bidding them to remain for as long as they need before seeking out their own homes, should they still exist. Afterwards Aliya speaks, her voice falling into the clear, low cadence of a chant. The Khand grow still as she speaks, listening to her words intently, and when she finishes there is a moment of solemn silence, they're mingled grief and joy as sharp as knives as the Khand hang their heads to remember those who have gone before so that they can remain behind for a little while longer. 

The moment passes and Aliya touches Frodo’s shoulder and beckons for him to take first pick of the table. Sam follows, then Aliya and the sheikhs, and after them come Cyrus, Amros and Semira, and finally Rick and Sauron. After they are served, everyone else forms an informal line and no one eats until everyone is seated, whether that be on the ground, on boulders or the logs circling the cooking pits. The feast does not rival even the most meager table of the Citadel but it undoubtedly is a bounty of riches for those accustomed to so little, for their plates are full and their cups spill over. The tastes of the food explode in their mouths, delectable and invigorating, and the mead spills down their throats in cool, refreshing waves. 

During the feast, the story of the Blue Wizards’ downfall is told again, Semira translating with much amusement for the benefits of the hobbits and Rick. Already, certain details have been changed and Sam can tell this tale will quickly become the stuff of legend. He especially enjoys when Fatima tries to convince everyone that Sauron had shot fire from his eyes to melt the rings and that Cyrus had thrown lightning bolts and Frodo had breathed fire from his mouth to destroy the Wizards once and for all. Sauron, Cyrus and Frodo quickly correct this embellishment, but the villagers clearly prefer Fatima’s version of the events better. 

Once that tale is told in full, other legends and myths follow. Aliya is especially effective in telling stories and Cyrus proves to be quite good himself as he tells of the arrival of the wizards into their realm and how they at first appeared to be benign. They had gifted the Khand with trees and plants that the wizards loved dearly, and even after the wizards turned to evil ways those trees and plants still prospered. When he finishes, the other refugees expand upon the tale, recounting the legend as they had learned it in their villages. Older legends are told, as well as brief histories of the once mighty maliks of Khand and the harrowing tale of their final demise at the hands of the Variags, led by the Blue Wizards and the Eye.

Mention of the Eye brings everyone's attention acutely on the Maia sitting amongst them, and Rick takes this opportunity to tell his tale of Sauron's reform in the West and his return to Middle-earth. His storytelling abilities are no less impressive than Aliya's or Cyrus's, even with Semira translating for him, and the Khand and Haradrim alike are soon enthralled as Rick weaves his tale. 

“Long ago in the fires of Mt. Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged the One Ring, and into it he poured all his malice, hatred and will to dominate all life. With the One Ring on his finger, he enslaved thousands of Free Peoples and created armies of orcs, wargs, Uruk Hai, and other devious creatures. For centuries he ruled with a black hand, until he was defeated and his Ring of Power taken from him…”

When Rick finishes, there is astounded silence and some scattered applause from the children. The others speak earnestly amongst themselves, except for Amh, Khalina and Aliya, who consider the Maia shrewdly. Undeterred by this mild reception, Rick launches into another tale, this one of the returned King and his wanderings as a Ranger of the North and his courtship with an elf princess. This tale his audience enjoys much better, and the Haradrim are especially interested to hear that Elessar had been in Harad many years before, his true identity concealed from everyone.

After the feast, the food tables are cleared away and in the main cooking pit a bonfire is lit. The flames leap towards the night sky and the wood crackles merrily. Instruments are brought out from a nearby hut, and those villagers and refugees who know how to play step forth to claim them. 

There are two three-stringed setars, similar to a lute but with a longer fingerboard and a smaller, tear-drop body. Two men share another three-stringed lute called a kamancech that thrills Rick just to look at it. It has a cylindrical fingerboard and a round fish-skin covered body, with a wooden spike sticking out the bottom of the body. As both men are missing their right hands, they sit side by side so they are facing each other and lay the instrument across their laps, one man taking the fingerboard and the other controlling the strings on the sound board. Playing such an intricate instrument in such a manner requires a combined coordination that is to be marveled at. Rick eagerly watches as they tune it and tries his best to understand them as they explain their playing method.

There are also simple oblique-shaped reed flutes called neys, with five finger holes in the front and a thumb hole in the back, easily the most abundant instrument. The injured men, being unable to enjoy their previous pastimes after returning from the War so disfigured, had taken up the ney in their recreational time and have become quite proficient. Also present are two handheld frame drums called dafs, a deceptively simple-looking instrument that can produce a limitless number of tones when hit in the exact precise manner. The fortress guards who play them are quick-handed, driving the beat faster and faster for the others as they warm up. 

When everyone is ready to begin, Aliya brings forth the lute the hobbits had spied in her hut. It is called a tanbur, a three-stringed lute with a pear-shaped belly carved from ancient mulberry with small holes tapped into the bowl of the sound board. Neither Rick nor the hobbits need anyone to tell them that this is a revered instrument, for they can see that despite the various nicks in the ancient wood this instrument is well-cared for. The fact that everyone else avoids touching it tells them all they need to know. 

A hush falls over the crowd as Aliya sits and promptly begins to play, a slow-moving, mournful tune that sounds more like flowing water and a gentle breeze than music. She plays solemnly, a tribute to those who have passed on, as this is their feast first and foremost. Everyone stands, watching and listening with rapture, entranced by the gentle melodies she produces. 

When she finishes, each of the Khand bend down, gather a fist of dirt and throw this onto the bonfire. The fire leaps and spits and in the next instant, all the musicians are playing a lively, heart-thumping tune and the women begin to dance. Rick attempts to join them, causing the other men to laugh and Sauron to quickly reach up and sit him back down. 

“Men don’t dance,” Sauron explains to a flustered Rick.

“That’s a relief,” Sam whispers to Frodo, who nods in agreement. 

They sit back with the men and children and watch in fascination as the women dance. Each dance seems to tell a story as the women spin and slide across the ground, their hips shaking enticingly. Yet the story is told mostly in the positioning of their arms and hands, and their arms sway and flow through the air as they twist and turn, creating a fluid of movement as tantalizing and mesmerizing as the rhythmic, driving pulse of the music itself.

The women dance in groups of four or five, so that they all have time to rest in between sets. The girls too get their chance to show off their talents, the spectators clapping and cheering encouragingly. While their movements are not as polished as the women, the girls show they are already experts in the art and they entertain the spectators with their innocent tales. When the girls finish, a few of the women take turns for solos and there is silence among the spectators as they watch entranced by the beauty of the artist performing before them. 

After the solos, a few of the men stand to sing and Cyrus even steps forward to sing a rather long ballad of the first Malik of Khand and his valiant pursuit of his true love, a woman of poor means, not thought worthy to sit beside him on the throne. It is an often sad and sometimes joyful lay, and Cyrus’s voice rises above the soulful lament of the tanbur, filling the night air with tremulous tones and raising goose pimples on his audience. Halfway through his ballad, when he begins to sing of the poor woman’s plight against the nobles, one of the village women joins him with a heartbreaking dance of despair and deepest strength, and by the time the lay comes to its tragic end, the Sultan weeping over the body of his lost love having never held her hand in marriage, the audience is weeping.

To cheer them up again, the women follow this performance with a series of heart-stopping, feet-pounding dances, working their simple magic by the sheer beauty of their movements, complimented by their colorful dresses and golden head cloths that seem to reflect the dancing flames of the bonfire behind them. For the last set, Semira joins two of the village women for a particularly intricate and enticing dance that appears to have no other purpose than to enrapture the watching men. The cheers now are more like catcalls and the dancing women encourage the men to further heights of excitement by weaving through the audience, and while they come very close to the men on many occasions, the men respectfully keep their hands at their sides, never once daring to reach out and touch what is not theirs. Even when Semira dances for Amros, the mighty sultan merely sits still, watching with an appreciation and adoration so complete that no one can be left in doubt of the love between them. 

As the night wears on, the children fall asleep where they sit and are carried away by their parents or caretakers. Some of the men and women pair off and disappear into the concealing darkness of the forest, and shortly after her dance, Semira slips away with Amros, a fact that does not go unnoticed by Rick. He turns away so he does not see which direction they go, and he tries his best not feel envious and to continue to enjoy the festivities. One of the women from the fortress notices his glum mood and guesses at the cause of it, having watched all the visitors closely since the downfall of the wizards. She comes to dance for him for a while, occupying his attention so that he might forget his hurt for a time.

The celebration goes long into the night. When the women tire of dancing, more of the men stand to sing or the musicians take turns for solos or duets. After a time, some of the couples who had slipped away begin to return and Rick cannot help but notice when Semira and Amros come back from the woods, their faces flushed and glowing, their eyes filled only with each other. He looks away quickly before they can notice him watching, only to come eye to eye with Sauron. The Maia says nothing, but gently reaches out and squeezes the young man’s shoulder in silent empathy. 

When the moon has passed its zenith and is sinking towards the earth once more, the music stops suddenly and the dancers one by one end their final tale. Then the mournful chords of the tanbur ripples into the air and is joined by the sonorous voice of Sauron as he brings to Middle-earth the song of the Valar, of the world's beginning and of Nienna’s tears, of Varda’s starlight and of the brilliance of the Two Trees, and lastly of the gift of Illúvatar and of the Halls of Mandos. When he finishes a silence fills the air, thick with grief and joy, and everyone lies down where they are and promptly falls into dreamless sleep. 

To be continued…

GF 7/21/07

* -  The instruments mentioned here are actual Persian instruments. You can see read about them and others and listen to solos of each instrument here.