Quest

Chapter Eleven

“The Lost”

Pippin struggled to awaken, feeling both the pull of consciousness and the burden of darkness, each beckoning, both strong, opposites compelling him to choose sides. Colours whirled and danced about his eyes and made him giddy. From out of the mad rainbow stream, a voice called to him. He peered closer and realized with a start that faces were forming within the swirling maelstrom, captives in the storm of colour. He drew back in horror although the sight held his attention with morbid fascination. A wounded hand, the stub of its missing finger oozing blood, snaked out and beckoned him closer. Shrinking away, he tried to shriek but no sound came forth. But inside himself he felt the power of his mighty scream reverberating; Shocked, he gave in to his terror and to the absolute darkness, and tumbled ever downward, trapped within an endless cry of pain…

***

Too long, too long…when would this wearisome journey cease? How far had he wandered in this place with no ending? Was it all for naught? Where was here? Who was he? Too much time had passed. In this place of bitter darkness there was no way to measure how long it had been since he had last seen the light. Or recognised himself, his purpose. His beginning, his end, all that he had ever known, was held suspended somewhere, in a place he could not touch, oddly sheltered from this bitter darkness, safe, and yet abandoned by the light. What purpose did this absurdity serve? The shadows of that fateful day when his world had hovered on the terrible precipice of calamity wound in and out of his consciousness, continuing to elude him. He reached out with his mind and tried to touch the shadows, and each time they were whisked away before he could fully remember.

He was rootless, drifting; the thing he sought to destroy hovered always just beyond his grasp, mocking, urging him on, and then squelching himat the last moment. Just as it had the small one now held captive, swallowed by its gaping maw along with his companion.

Yes, it was far too long now; he should rest. It was his right; he had earned it. Yet in truth, not one of his kin knew peace. For a moment he almost remembered. But like the explanation for his wandering, the answer to why he could not cease hovered just outside his reach, tantalizingly close, yet remaining untouchable. There was a purpose to his restless spirit; some reason for his troubled roaming. And now. . .he had known the ground to shake before in this place. . .what was this place?

He had heard the tormented cries. Their desperation called to him, beseeched him for his help. And now, yet another one hurried towards his doom. Was it too late to save them? But he must save them, and all of the wayward travellers! He must not fail this time. He knew this was so, but did not understand why. The trespassers must escape. His spirit ached with the need to rectify the past, to guard the future. He would not seek respite until it was so. Nay, he could not. He wandered further in the place without time or form. There was only the realm of his uneasy thoughts, searching for a way to destroy the monster that held them all in its grasp.

***

The dream became a nightmare, the nightmare melted into another dream. Always one more vision; he was lost, forsaken, utterly alone, his cries unheeded in the darkness. And still he fell. Oh! The pain! Blindness. It was dark here. Always darkness. Where did they go? Once again he relived the maddeningly slow descent into the great mouth that yearned to consume them alive. Remembered tossing the crucial Stone in Frodo’s direction. The recollection caused him more hurt. Merry! Pippin cries were a silent pounding in his head.

He fell. . .fell. . .fell. . .careening into a bottomless black hole where there was no light, no warmth, no tomorrow, no yesterday. There was only now, and the world of his dread. He knew what awaited him there. It meant to kill him, but it wanted him to suffer first. Of this he was certain, for the whispers in his mind told him it was so, as the jeering voice of the entity toyed with his sanity like a cat tormenting a mouse.  

***

The swirling colours tasted bitter; poison in an acid sea. Merry reached out for them and was repelled by the racket as the shades sang first in brilliant hues of red, then orange, then sapphire blue. Each shade of the spectrum was visited in its entire vivid splendour and he was reminded of a great living rainbow stretching across forever. The sound of it was maddening; he glimpsed the farthest reaches of a truth his mind was unable to fathom, and turned away, overwhelmed. He was drowning in the music of colourful, chattering voices.

He extended his hand and glided it across the dissonant view, then shrank back from the resulting discord as the notes assaulted his sensitive ears. Before he could scream in pain, the music trickled into his mouth, tasting like the sweet clear water of the mountain springs. He smiled, pleased, and yearned for more…until the crazy laughter came again, its sharp voice echoing around him, and he quaked in fright. He remembered. They had been captured. Where was Pippin in this swirling madness? He trembled as the mocking, high-pitched laughter grew louder in his mind, and then plunged him into absolute darkness.

***

No more patience! The little one had betrayed her! His cohorts had interfered. They would die. They’d stolen away the key just as the future was realised! How long she had waited in the dark, waited so patiently for the final member to make her whole. Then, to have it thieved away at the very last! The audacity of the little one, how dare he? The insignificant thing would lament his actions. He would beg for reprieve. And she would enjoy every moment of her betrayer’s suffering. The misshapen sphere trembled with her outrage, its assemblage of garish colours vibrating madly. Fools! She would have the final key, and soon. Summoning all of herlimited patience, she drew within and remembered the day of destruction and a new beginning; and the mindless, chattering fools aboard the ship. She laughed, recalling how the Elven commander had discouraged the curiosity of a few of the men who travelled with his crew. They werethere to rescue the king, not to seek the wisdom of others in faraway lands. She shivered with gleeremembering that statement. How little the foolish Elf had known he had aided her by discouraging their interest.

The sphere grew black as the ink in a writer’s well. Its surface boiled coldly, the antithesis of the heated emotion within its confines as she concentrated. Patience. Focus. As before. Remember. Draw them here. Draw them in, one by one. Deceive them. Use them. And then. . .devour them.

In the other world, the ground began to shake again.

***

Pippin approached the entrance into the darkest area of the long tunnel and peered into it. Holding his torch aloft he squinted at the swirling colors at the far end, maddeningly urging him on. He resisted. The pull increased. He tried to take a step backwards but could not move. Woodenly he stumbled ahead a few more steps and paused again, gritting his teeth against the power that carried him closer. He tried digging his heels into the loose rubble of the cave floor summoning every ounce of his resistance. But it only served to halt him temporarily and the being’s ire grew indignant at his stubbornness. Its pull increased tenfold and something reached out like a cold stabbing tendril of ice to caress his face painfully. Pippin recoiled in disgust feeling oddly violated. The cruel laughter echoed around him and he stiffened in complete horror. Stumbling closer he was at last within the same chamber as the thing that had haunted his every thought all these past weeks.

He stared at the pool in dread and fascination knowing what had whispered his name. What had sung to him in his sleep and coerced him to spurn his companions. The voice beckoned him closer still. Pippin resisted. He felt a fraction of his own mind returning, coming to rescue his reason at last and he breathed a sigh of relief. After so many hours of madness he wondered how this was possible. Yet part of him also sensed his cousins’ closeness and knew it as the source of his sudden comfort.

Anger boiled inside him and spilled over like a waterfall across jagged rocks. Pippin clenched his fists and poured every bit of his strength into resisting. He felt surprise emanating from the entity and then amusement. The laughter started again and rose in pitch and intensity. Pippin’s resentment climbed along with it, a feverish counterpoint to it’s mocking, sneering arrogance.  He heard his name echoing from the cavern walls and the sound grew until it reverberated from every corner of the chamber. Pippin covered his ears with both hands and pressed them ever tighter as the mad laughter danced wildly about him. The racket increased until the powerful being wrenched his hands away and made him listen.

Pippin shattered; a thousand little pieces of his mind careening madly about, stinging and hammering his body as he gave up the fight, piercing his fragile wits and stealing his tenuous hold on sanity. He dropped to his knees, his eyes growing wide as they stared into the strange light trailing from the rock pool. His hand crushed the small fragments of ancient stone so tightly blood trickled from between his fingers.  

***

“Pippin!”

Merry dragged himself to his feet as fast as he could manage it and half limped, half staggered to his cousin’s side. “Pippin? Are you all right? I’ve been looking for you for hours. Please tell me you’re all right!”

His cousin did not look up. His gaze remained transfixed on the pool, his face still contorted in the odd expression. A strange light spilled from Pippin’s fingers as he clenched his hands and held them outward unmoving. Merry waved his hand in front of Pippin’s unseeing eyes, moaning in fear when he spied the rivulets of blood. Frantically he pried the icy fingers apart, forcing the fingernails from the bloody palms. With a cry he noted the shiny Stones that were identical to the pebble he had found in the blanket, save for only one that was larger than all the rest. Merry pulled the Stone from his own pocket and stared at its warm glowing surface. Immediately he felt the pull towards the pool and understood why Pippin’s hands were outstretched.  Merry drew his own hand back and turned again to his cousin. The smaller hobbit remained motionless staring straight ahead into. . .what? Merry saw nothing other than the great rock pool but Pippin was captivated by something. Merry was about to shake him when Pippin spoke at last.

“Do you see it?  It wants me to come closer you know.  I have something it wants.”

Pippin’s queer laughter sent chills up and down Merry’s spine and he rested back on his heels and studied him. This was Pippin and yet somehow it was not. There was another here, Merry was certain of it. He shook his head trying to clear it. What was happening?

“She’s been waiting here for a very long time. She needs me. I helped her. Did you know that?” Pippin turned his dirt-smeared face and fixed his eyes upon his cousin. “I’m helping her get free.” Merry shuddered at the crazed look and shivered anew when his cousin’s sweet voice rose to a panic-stricken wail.

“They’re all inside me!” His voice fell, hushed for the briefest of moments and then he whispered, “I can hear them all. . .but no one speaks.” Pippin’s voice rose in a sudden sharp cry then settled into quiet weeping until his voice went flat and chill. “They are dead,” he intoned. “We’re all dead, but we don’t know it. . . They’re coming for us. They want to come back and they want me to help them. I have to help them but I don’t want to!”

Pippin fell quiet again. Merry stared at him in disbelief.  “They’re making me do it,” Pippin said at last. Sudden piercing laughter tore from his small form, bouncing crazily off the cavern walls.

Merry pulled back in horror. That laugh, that half-crazed voice was the same one he’d heard coming from the Stone he carried. He took Pippin by the shoulder and shook him. “Pip. We have to get away from here! Come, get up and let’s go!” Merry tried to tug Pippin to his feet but his cousin did not budge. Merry pulled at his arm again but Pippin’s small body was immovable. It was as if he was attempting to hoist up a great boulder, not a youth. But how could that be? He had lifted Pippin many times with ease. Struggling one more time to raise him to his feet Merry was abruptly snatched up and slammed against the far wall with sadistic force. He lay still for a moment groaning, and then sat up slowly just as Pippin released another scream, this one rising into a keening wail. Merry crawled to his feet. His injured leg screamed for mercy but he barely registered the throbbing pain. He stood wavering, pressing both hands to either side of his head as he tried to shut out the mournful sound. He felt his own mind slipping away in the battle for sanity.

“Merry, help me! Don’t let her get me!”

The terror in his cousin’s voice tore at him. Merry staggered to Pippin’s side even as a foul wind enveloped them both, wedging in between them and pushing him away. Merry struggled fiercely and the laughter came again, a thunderous, hateful resonance that bounced off the chamber walls and ricocheted back at them like a great wave. Pippin was wrenched to his feet and although he obviously struggled against the unseen force his body contorted like his sister’s rag doll in the choking windstorm. Together they resisted as they were pulled towards the pool. As he reached the edge at last Merry stared in both horror and fascination at the great jagged sphere that barely peeked from beneath the water.  It not only resembled the Stones they carried, it also pulsated with dark colours and appeared. . .alive.  Every ounce of his being told him so and all he desired was to seize Pippin and flee from it.

“Fight! Don’t let it take you any closer! Hold on to me!” Merry was now able to grasp Pippin’s arm and he shouted to be heard above the ever increasing howl of the wind. He knew they were being dragged to certain disaster. Time seemed to stand still while they were held aloft by the bitter, swirling wind, staring down in terror at what awaited them.

An unexpected voice rose against the roaring storm.

“Stop! Release them!”

Merry forced his head to turn as he dangled aloft in the great wind tunnel, eyes widening at the welcome sight. Frodo stood near the entrance to the chamber holding out the Ring of gold as if it were a weapon, its Elvish script glowing blood red in the heat emanating from the sphere. Legolas appeared behind him.

“Frodo, help us!” Merry attempted to reach for his cousin but could not move.

The mad laughter erupted once more, this time bursting directly from the Rimstone pool.  Merry and Pippin began to sink into the pool of rock, their descent maddeningly slow. The great misshapen orb glowed brighter and its azure tinge increased, as it seemed to rise and meet them. They thrashed about as much as they were able and their horrified screams hammered Frodo’s ears as the wind howled ever more strongly and the ground beneath his feet rumbled and shook. 

“NO!” Frodo rushed ahead as his cousins disappeared into the gleaming hole, Legolas at his heels to restrain him from going further.

“Frodo!” Pippin managed to loosen one arm and fling something in Frodo’s direction just before he and Merry vanished completely.

Frodo snatched the small projectile from the air and stared at it without comprehension. Understanding finally dawned. It was a large pebble, a piece of the massive Palantír. He swayed and barely kept his footing as the ground began to shake much harder. He clamped his hands over his ears when the maniacal cry erupted again. The crazy laughter melted into a roar of anger this time and the stones around the Rimstone pool imploded and filled its depths. His cousins were lost. Buried alive with the great living sphere. 

The pair fled as the chamber began to collapse.

***

A great silence enveloped him in its soothing arms, its caress as light as the brush of his mother’s lips against his forehead, a fond memory from so very long ago. The darkness comforted him, beckoned with the promise of healing, a cool balm for his aching, troubled mind.  It wrapped him in a soft blanket, a barrier against any further hurt or strife. He did not wish to open his eyes, but only to continue laying here soaking up the kindness of the silence and the sweet untroubled aura of peace that surrounded him. Frodo twitched.  Unhappily, his blanket of peace felt wet now, and cooler than he would have preferred. Reluctantly he opened an eye and immediately closed it as a great drop of water splattered against his nose.

“Frodo? You are awake?” Having heard him stir, Legolas attempted to locate his companion in the darkness.

“Umph.” Frodo struggled to sit up and look around but quickly realised the darkness was not clearing with the opening of his eyes. He felt around with both hands and located his torch lying extinguished in the water next to him.  Stiffening with sudden fear he realised they were alone and lost in this frightful place, and in darkness as black as the most starless night he had ever encountered. He shivered and struggled to resist the urge to whimper.  His resolve failed as his memory returned. He had been unable to save his cousins. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs as he surrendered to stark despair.

Legolas offered him solace. “Frodo, they may yet live. We do not know for certain what has taken them, but we shall certainly continue our search. Do not despair so. You must save your strength so we may continue.”  

Frodo struggled to take a deep breath. The horror he had witnessed had been so like his dream. Over and over against his will the scene replayed in his mind’s eye. He heard the crazy, mindless laughter as he watched them sink past the rocks that surrounded the huge pool of water. He pressed his hands to his ears trying to blot out the terrified screams that echoed in his thoughts. They had begged him to save them.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered and knew how pale and empty those words sounded to his own ears.

“Do not apologise,” Legolas told him, mistakenly believing the act of contrition was directed at him. “Are you well enough to travel?”

“But how are we to see where we are going?” Frodo cried. “The torch is ruined and it is so black here we cannot see our hand before our face!” He gestured with his hand. “I think it likely that we--”

Startled by a rough scrape at his ear he pulled his hand away and stared at the large stone he still clutched. Pippin had flung this Stone away. What did it mean? He peered closer at it, astonished. The Stone was glowing! The light grew steadily brighter as he watched, hearing the Elf draw a sharp breath.

“The Stone emits light,” Legolas observed. “It appears to be growing stronger.”

Frodo studied it and a thought occurred to him. Perhaps its light was sufficient to guide their way? Frodo held the Stone aloft and gazed at their surroundings. The chamber they had fled was entirely blocked now by a great wall of rocks that had fallen when the being, or whatever it was, had caused the ground to tremble and shake. He shivered again thinking his cousins were trapped in there with the evil thing that emitted foul laughter and sought to inflict pain and suffering. His resolve deepened and he got to his feet, staring at the wall of rock. His fingers closed almost absent-mindedly around the Ring he carried on the chain about his neck. He fingered it, pondering his next action. The Ring seemed to whisper to him and he froze. Another thought came to him. Could he possibly use it in some way to help them? Frodo recalled the way he had instinctively held the Ring before him, wielding it like a weapon when he was confronted by the being.

“Shall we try it?” Legolas watched the Ringbearer; Frodo no longer hesitated. He climbed to his feet feeling steadier than he had in hours.

“Yes. It does seem to be glowing more brightly now.”

They crept along the wall together, Frodo holding the Stone in front of him.  Its light was dim but bright enough for their purpose, and they walked until they came upon another small opening. Easing themselves through they continued, listening carefully for any sound. How could they find Merry and Pippin? There had to be another way in. The cavern had multiple tunnels and countless twisting turns. They did not stop to consider they might become hopelessly lost.

***

The wizard reached out with his mind as they hurried along, seeking any clue to the whereabouts of the missing. Gandalf was vexed. He’d not felt such a malevolent power in many a year. The energy surrounding this creature reminded him of another demon of the deep, and yet differed in an important way. That beast of the deep was an evil of the shadow world. The creature that pursued them was born of the wickedness of the world of men. “The only difference is the origin of the shadow, and the profundity of its intention,” he muttered.

Aragorn hurried along at Gandalf’s side, his face grim. He glanced at the wizard, but did not inquire of his cryptic statement. Sam followed closely on his heels while further behind Gimli struggled to keep up. No one broke the silence until they had gone a fair distance. At last, the winded dwarf called out to them.

“Here now, have a care! I’ll not be able to keep up this pace much longer.”

The others slowed and Aragorn turned long enough to notice the panting hobbit and much farther back, a stumbling Gimli. Reluctantly, he stopped.

“Besides, you were the one always telling us to slow it down lest we fall into yonder dark abyss, Aragorn,” Gimli leaned his hand against a rock and panted for air.

Sam chuckled in between his own efforts to catch his breath. “Aye, that you did, Strider.”

The Ranger gave them a little smile. “So I did, Sam.” He studied their surroundings, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the gloom. Aragorn leaned forward lifting his torch to better inspect an outcropping of rock a few feet away. He gave a derisive snort. “And it’s well that we did. Once more I am made rudely aware of my folly!”

“What?” Gimli made his way to Aragorn and his eyes widened.

The wizard had already begun inching forward cautiously, with a hand outstretched to inspect the walls ahead. Gandalf held his torch aloft for all to see. The passageway before them was riddled with more of the sharpened stone, this time covering the floor of the caverns as well as walls. The pass narrowed further down the way until the opening disappeared altogether.

Aragorn blew out a harsh breath and shook his head. “It is a trap. We must be getting closer, however we can’t continue in this direction.”

Gimli eyed the rocks and agreed. “Top to bottom, it is. There’s naught even room for a hobbit to crawl through.”

“Then Mr Frodo couldn’t have come this way,” Sam said.

“Nor Merry, or even Pippin,” Boromir added.

Aragorn lifted his torch high turning first to his right, then his left. Clearly aggravated, he gestured back towards the way they had come. “We shall have to go back and take one of the other passages we saw. There does not seem to be any other choice. Come,” he gestured with his free hand and started to lead the way.

“Och, I’m beginning to feel like a wee creature being led through a labyrinth,” Gimli snorted.

“We are,” muttered Gandalf under his breath.

“Aye, at this rate we’ll be running about these corridors forever and not be getting anywhere a’tall,” Sam muttered. “Far too much time has passed! However are we ever going to find them? That, that thing is after them and it means to harm them, I know it as sure as I know my own name.”

“Samwise, do not despair. We will find them,” Boromir assured him.

“And just who was it that created all these traps and honed all these razor sharp rocks to hinder our way?” Sam’s frustration at the delay was apparent.

“Hush, Sam,” Boromir said. “I do not know the answer to your question, but fear not, we shall eventually find our way.”

Sam tried to smile but his expression turned into more of a grimace. He nodded, then bowed his head with a sniffle and hurried forward lest the Man’s kind eyes notice his tears.

“Aragorn,” Gandalf spoke quietly into the Ranger’s ear so he would not be overheard, “I believe I may have reasoned out what the power is that lurks here, and its intention, at least in part.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow in question, as he hurried along beside the wizard. “Mithrandir?”

“There is an ancient legend--”

“You mentioned that earlier.”

“Yes, so I did. It is a story that I have heard told by some of the people of the old civilizations that once lived amongst these mountains. I have been contemplating the tales for some time now. I admit I have been reluctant to bring myself to consider the possibility the legend contained very much truth, if any.” He smiled dourly. “And yet, all tales of the past have at least some basis in truth, in the beginning of their telling at least.”

“Quite true. Tell me, is this the same legend you made mention of before, when we were considering the reasons behind Pippin’s odd behaviour and the growing uneasiness amongst us all?”

Gandalf nodded. “And also, the voice that Legolas was convinced he’d heard.”

Aragorn slowed just slightly while he listened, mulling over the many incidents since leaving the shelter of the woodlands and heading up into the mountains towards the Pass of Caradhras.

“The story apparently emerged sometime after the sinking of the ship carrying two of the palantíri away from Middle-earth. I have heard perhaps a dozen versions of it recited by as many different people over countless years. Of course, stories have a way of gaining some embellishment over a period of time when passing through so many generations. I found the legend curious, and noted many aspects of it changed in the telling.”

“Yes, I imagine it hardly bears a likeness to the original by now.”

“However, a few elements did remain consistent, and they were of course some of the more peculiar ones.”

“That does not surprise me.”

The wizard nodded. “As you may recall, the ship had arrived at last to rescue King Arvedui and his men, and it foundered upon the ice in the Bay of Forochel, and sank. All those aboard were lost. Another palantír fell into the River Anduin during the civil war of the Kin-strife, when the Dome of Stars in Osgiliath was destroyed. Yet, both of these tragedies have similarities in cause.”

“How so? The ship was ruptured on the ice and sank, taking the palantír with it; the other Stone plunged into the Great River. The circumstances were completely different, and many years apart.”

“Were they? Do not be so eager to readily dismiss the similarities, Aragorn. One must look deeper into the accounts. And if part of the legend is in some way true, it could explain many things that have happened along our way, including the voices Peregrin and Legolas heard, and the hobbit’s apparent random finds of the Stones in the waters. And why it chose him, rather than his cousins or Sam, or any other of our company.”

“What are you talking about, Gandalf? And, what do you mean, it chose him?”

“I am referring in part, to the people. To start with, the palantíri were lost in both incidents as a result of battle, although somewhat indirectly in the case of the ship. But there were considerable similarities between both groups of men, with one significant disparity.”

“Yes? And what is that?”

“The Elven ship sent by Cirdan carried a Maia.”

Aragorn stopped in his tracks, nearly causing his companions to collide with him. Gandalf raised a bushy gray eyebrow at the startled Ranger and brushed past him, taking the lead.  

***

They moved further into the dark, craggy tunnels of the cavern. The air was growing sticky again. Legolas wondered aloud whether they were nearing a body of water. The Stone continued to provide a soft light. Not much, but enough for them to make their way without stumbling. Frodo paused to wipe the profuse sweat from his brow and squint at their surroundings. A narrow passage opened into a large room, which seemed different than any of the other areas they had visited. But what was it that set it apart? He wrinkled his brow and realised how much his head still pained him. Trying hard to refocus his thoughts and ignore the ache, he entered cautiously Legolas close at his side. Together they began a careful search of the chamber.

There was something Frodo couldn’t quite put a finger on, that made it dissimilar from other areas of the cavern they had visited, and he said so aloud. “I agree. This place does have a different quality – both to the air and the surrounding stone,” Legolas said as he peered as deeply into the gloom as his eyes could see.

“But there is more,” Frodo insisted. “Just what, I am not certain.” He felt his way along as if his sensitive fingers sought an answer from the rocks themselves.

They continued their way about the area, examining the walls, seeking another opening. Frodo tripped over a sharp outcropping of stone and then regained his balance just in time to prevent stumbling into another of the cracks that were so difficult to see with their faded light. Breathing a sigh of relief, he crept around the bend in the wall, slowly, ever vigilant. The atmosphere grew more oppressive and it was more difficult to draw air into his lungs. They hesitated, listening, straining their ears as one; but there was nothing. The chamber was as silent as the grave. Frodo shivered at his analogy, exchanging a look with the Elf. He chuckled nervously, recoiling at the sound ricocheting back to him from the far corners of an antechamber.

“Well, you’d best not do that again, Frodo old lad,” he whispered. He’d thought it would be comforting to hear the sound of his own voice. Instead, it sounded unnatural and threatening. The ache in his head grew along with the tension in his body. He started walking again, massaging his temple while he held out the Stone of light. A sudden racket from the passage to his right made him jump and he dropped the Stone as the ground shifted and rumbled beneath his feet.

“No!” Frodo dropped to his knees and began a frantic search. “What was that?” he muttered as his hands swept across the rocks seeking the Stone as his weary mind raced over the possibilities. Were Aragorn and the others nearing at last? Or, was it Merry and Pippin? “Light, I need the light,” he growled, using his resentment as an anchor for his sanity.

Legolas had also gone to his knees. He searched quickly, efficiently, offering no comment while Frodo gave vent to his frustration.

The darkness was total and Frodo allowed himself the brief indulgence of panic when they did not locate the Stone right away. “I need the light!” he shouted. Balling his hands into fists he stood and raised them high, shaking them at the unseen enemy. “I will find them! They are not lost! I will! You cannot have them!”

“Frodo, do not despair. It is here and we will locate the Stone shortly,” Legolas quietly told him. “It will do you more harm than good if you let go of your sensibilities.”

Frodo nodded with a sigh, although the Elf could not see him, Legolas sensed the change. He resumed the search with renewed urgency, easing along the perimeter of the wall. They stopped just short of creeping out onto a ledge of smooth stone that had at first appeared innocent enough. “Stop!” Legolas reached back with one arm to prevent Frodo from going any further. They listened as some loose rock spilled into a sharp drop between a crevasse in the stone. Shaking like a leaf, Frodo dropped back onto his heels. Legolas drew a deep breath to calm himself. Turning slightly, Frodo spied the Stone at last, nestled innocently inside a crack of rock, its pale glow beckoning. With a cry of relief he pounced on it, falling back against the ledge, laughing aloud. This time he didn’t react to the rumbling sounds of his voice as it was thrown back at him. “Thank you,” he breathed and scrambled to unsteady feet.

They had not taken more than a few steps when they felt a dank breeze wafting up from below. Another passage. Carefully, they crept closer to the swirling air to discover they stood at the top of a staircase that had obviously been hewn into the stone by the hands of those whose time had come and gone many years before. It was obvious this was an ancient place, untouched by eyes from the outside world for ages. This had been a home once upon a time; now it was a tomb. 

Another wave of lightheadedness threatened. Frodo clutched at the wall, afraid he might tumble down into the depths that beckoned him. Legolas drew him carefully back from the edge. They could see the long stairway vanished into the nether regions of the caverns below.

Frodo stared into the abyss attempting to summon his courage. He was certain they must proceed in this direction. Frodo recoiled when the sound of laughter met his ears. He looked quickly at the calm face of the Elf and felt encouraged. The creature was mocking them, perhaps daring them to learn more? Frodo straightened his shoulders. “Very well,” he said to the darkness.  “I accept your challenge.” He spoke with more confidence than he actually felt.

Clutching the Light Stone in shaky, sweaty hands Frodo held it out again, beginning the descent. The pair made their way down the long stairway, pausing once to look around as Frodo swept the Stone about. All was still. Too still. They reached the bottom after several minutes and entered a large chamber through a narrow entryway.

Frodo gave a cry of surprise, sprawling against a wall as the room came alive. But the inhabitants paid them no mind. Gradually Frodo recognised the scene for what it was. A vision of the past, not real, these were the shades of those who had existed here long ago.

He felt himself floating upward as he was drawn into their world. Frodo studied his transparent hands in surprise, and then looked down upon his shimmering form; he was one with them in spirit. All around him the voices of the long dead conversed in soundless whispers. They did not speak aloud, but he perceived their voices, long silenced, in his mind. He tilted his head, fascinated, and listened to their story, sensing first their surprise, and then their dismay when the being had revealed itself and made its intentions clear. By then, it had been too late. Their trust had been the downfall of their society.

He understood at last; this place had been their dwelling. That was what set it apart from the rest of the caverns. And they had perished here, in the darkness, fighting the same creature, so very long ago. And the same would happen to him, and his fellow travellers, unlesshe was able to prevent it.

The vision shifted and Frodo beheld a great battle. The people fought an unseen enemy, but their valor had been futile. He spied the palantír in the background, animated as if with a will of its own, brilliant with swirling, burning colours. Its misshapen skin bore more resemblance to a corrupted horror of nature than the magnificent Seeing Stone it once was. Though very large, it was smaller than the one he had glimpsed as it drew his cousins into its glowing depths. He was uncertain if the orb was in the process of helping or harming the warriors. What part did it play in their confrontation?

Ever so slowly, the vision faded. Frodo gasped and felt the cold moisture of the cavern wall dampen his shirt as he emerged from his reverie feeling spent. The vision had depleted him. His trembling legs weak beneath him, he sank to the rocky floor and leaned back, exhaling his breath as a sigh. Drawing in several deep breaths, he concentrated on gathering his strength. A few minutes later he rose and carefully inched his way down the steps holding the Light Stone before him. Merry and Pippin were here somewhere, huddled in the darkness, with an angry creature that sought to destroy them all. He refused to believe they were lost to him.