The Sacred Cave

At sunrise, Jarin summoned Wan on top of the cliffs over Mil Nahara. The dragon seemed refreshed and full of mischief.

“So have you and the Archseraph been gallivanting in the taverns while I broke down with exhaustion?”

“Sure, we quaffed the night away.”

“And no doubt you want me to ferry you onwards while you sleep off your hangovers?”

“Shsh, Wan! You can speak like that to me, but not to the Archseraph!”

But Hamûjil wasn’t even listening. He looked out over the bay where the morning mist still drifted on the waters. The sails of an approaching ship could just about be seen. Hamûjil narrowed his eyes, but there was no telling how deep it lay in the water, or indeed where it came from. It might even be a pleasure boat – elves came down to Mil Nahara sometimes to share stories and songs; they had a reputation for being rather rambunctious on occasion, though never a real nuisance.

“Archseraph? We are ready to leave.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

The second part of their journey would be somewhat shorter than the first and would take them further north-east, over the woodlands and into the mountains. The groves of stronggrass and leafy trees, some already with touches of autumn colour, gave way to pine and larch as they moved higher up into the hills. The sun had devoured the morning mists, the air was crisp and still, save for the rush of the dragon sailing through it.

These hills were more sparsely populated than the wards of Plain and Shore or the southern parts of Wood. The folk who lived here were for the most part foresters, goatherds and charcoal burners on lonely homesteads in the clearings, although along the road to the mines of Hill some larger settlements could be found. As noon approached, they came to the edges of the woodlands where ridges of grey and red rock pierced the canopy. Far ahead, the snow-clad mountains rose up, up, their peaks lost in clouds. Beyond those mountains lay a vast flat land of forests and rivers, many times the size of Kûz, but the Kûzeen did not travel there, as the mountains were exceedingly high and the forests exceedingly wild and the forest people exceedingly rustic, or so the stories said.

The Sacred Cave lay on the near side of the mountains, not too high up, and close to a small mining town that also enjoyed a little business on the side providing rooms and supplies for pilgrims. Wan landed on the square, much to the excitement of the local people, but he was gone before anyone could come near. Jarin and Hamûjil secured rooms at the inn and then set off on the footpath to the Sacred Cave.

The path at first was hemmed in on both sides by high banks of mossy boulders, but soon it bent east and wound its way up alongside a lively rivulet that tumbled from the higher slopes. Bracken and hardy grasses grew among the rocks; they glittered with moisture and a musky scent rose from them. Then the path reached a ledge that led off to their left where the view was now open to the hills falling away below, while on their right the mountainside rose steeply. They had been climbing for about an hour, and they felt hot and out of breath in the clammy air.

“Wan couldn’t land up here,” said Jarin apologetically.

“I know,” replied Hamûjil. “Do not worry, I have been up this way before.”

They went on, and after a while Jarin said, “You didn’t tell the landlord that you are the Archseraph.”

“He didn’t need to know.”

“But…”Jarin hesitated. But what? It was unlikely that the landlord would have had it in his power to offer them better rooms, or better fare. Or even if he had, she wasn’t sure now that Hamûjil would have taken them. It seemed that the Archseraph could discard his splendour like a hat.

“There is the cave,” said Hamûjil and pointed. Jarin saw nothing but a dark opening, no sign that the Guardian abided here or that somewhere inside was hidden the Unquenchable Light. As they drew nearer, she noticed a figure sitting by the entrance. It was a young woman clad in deep blue garments.

“That is Uilara,” said Hamûjil. “She is the Guardian’s apprentice. You will meet her brother Aluir, too. The Guardian always trains up a pair of twins, brother and sister, to become leaders in the Houses of the Powers.”

“I know,” said Jarin. “I live in the Houses.”

“So you do.”

Uilara had seen them and risen. She made the gesture of greeting.

“Archseraph,” she said. “You are welcome to the Sacred Cave. Who is your companion?”

“She is Jarin, the lungi who brought me here. By your leave, it is her desire to see the Unquenchable Light.”

“We will be glad to show her. But I assume this is not the reason for your visit?”

“No. I wish to consult the Guardian about this.” He indicated the lacquered box. “Is he within?”

Uilara shook her head. “He is walking on the higher slopes. Come, refresh yourselves, and await his return.”

She led the way into the cave. They had to duck a little to enter but inside was a wide, lofty chamber, gently lit by a number of light shafts in the ceiling, and furnished with benches and rugs. Several passages led from here further into the mountain. Uilara bid them sit and went into one of the passages, whence she returned shortly afterwards with a repast of bread, cheese, dried apricots and small cakes.

“Wine or water?” she asked.

“Water, if it pleases you. We are weary from our journey and wine would only make us sleepy. Don’t you think so, Jarin?”

“I rarely drink wine anyway. It goes to my head too quickly.”

They heard steps approaching, but it was not Alatar who came into the cave, but a striking young man, no doubt Uilara’s brother. Jarin averted her eyes.

“I see I arrived at an opportune time,” he said, laughing, and reached for a cup. “We are honoured by your visit, Archseraph. But this not the Seraphine…?”

“This is Jarin Dragonrider,” explained his sister. “The Archseraph seeks advice from the Guardian.”

“He is not far behind,” said Aluir. “We came down the path together, but he stopped to take in the view. I, on the other hand, was eager to get home. Do not scold me for my impatience, Uilara. There he is now.”

Alatar showed no surprise at seeing the Archseraph. He sat down on a bench and stretched out his legs.

“The hills are delightful today,” he said, “but the paths are …so rocky! My feet are aching now. You wisely came by air, Archseraph. Did he drag you all the way up here, Jarin, or were you eager to see how an old man lives in a cave? Oh, no need to answer that; I did not mean to embarrass you. Is Wan around?”

“He left us in the town.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Well, what brings you here, Archseraph? What’s in that box you have there?”

Hamûjil lifted the box from the floor and placed it on his knees.

“It is something I bought from a trader who found it in the river lands. I desire very much to know what it is and what I should do with it. It is my hope that you would be able to tell me, if it pleases you. And may Jarin and your apprentices forgive me, but I wish to show it to you alone.”

So they left Jarin with the twins and went through one of the passages to an inner room that looked to be Alatar’s bedchamber.  Hamûjil closed the door and stood next to the iron brazier which Alatar lit from a torch. There was a bench here, too, and they sat down. The firelight was mirrored in the lacquered box and suddenly Hamûjil felt reluctant to open it. He took a sharp breath and lifted the lid.

“This, Alatar. What is this?”

The guardian bent over the box and stared at the sphere in silence for a while. Just like before, Hamûjil thought he saw images moving under the glossy surface of the stone. He felt uncomfortable and wanted to close the lid again, but Alatar now reached out and ran his fingertips over the sphere.

“I don’t know how this is possible,” he said. “You say it came from the river lands? Where exactly?”

“I do not know. The trader said forest people found it on a beach.”

“By the sea, hm. I wonder. Much may have happened, of course, during the long, long years. Was this one lost, perhaps? Or stolen? Captured in war, yes, that could be, but then how did it end up so far out east? May I take it out?”

Hamûjil inclined his head and the Guardian lifted the stone out of the box and held it up in front of his face. Then he set it down on his lap and pulled a fold of his robe over it.

“You are wise indeed, Archseraph. I am glad you brought this thing to me. It is ancient and has strange powers, and it may prove perilous in ways you do not foresee.”

“Then you do know what it is?”

“I am almost certain, yes. It appears to be one of the palantíri, the Seeing Stones of Númenor. There were seven of these in Middle-earth once, and I guess there still are, because they would be hard to destroy. They were made in Valinor by the Noldor during the First Age, I believe. They can show you images of far-away things, but they can also connect you to the other stones. And therein lies the peril, because we do not know where the other stones may be, and who may be using them.”

“They can speak to people far away?”

“No, they only show images.”

“Sound would be more useful.”

“Take your complaint up with Fëanor, Archseraph, and see what good it does you.”

“Are you testing me on ancient history? I know who Fëanor was. I do not claim to be wise, but I hope I am wiser than he. A perilous thing indeed if whatever we look at may look back at us. What is your counsel, Alatar? Will you keep it hidden here?”

The Guardian closed his eyes and let his hands rests on the stone in his lap. “I cannot yet say. I wish for counsel myself, but where is Pallando? Would that he had a stone that could call him to me when I need him. I’m afraid I must do as best I can on my own. Leave me for a while, if it pleases you. You may take Jarin to the Hall of Light. Get that chatterbox Aluir to tell her the story.”

So Hamûjil returned to the main chamber, where he found only Jarin and Aluir. The young man’s talk was vivid, his hands flew hither and thither, his head moved from side to side. He was relating some tale from the mining town, complete with gestures and imitated voices. Jarin was picking at her fingers, but she looked up when Hamûjil came in.

“…and then she says, Why didn’t you tell me this before? I sold all the spoons last week, and he says, Yeah, but you didn’t see the underside of his boots!”

“Hmph, yes, that is an amusing story,” said Jarin, but her voice said otherwise. “Archseraph, was the Guardian able to advise you?”

“He is pondering. Would you like to see the Hall of Light now?”

“Oh, yes!” She jumped up. “Can you take me?”

“I will take you,” said Aluir, “and the Archseraph, too, of course, if he wishes.”

Hamûjil felt much inclined to sit quietly by himself for a while, but he saw some kind of plea in Jarin’s eyes and he almost thought she was tugging his sleeve, but it was only caught on the armrest of a bench. Did she want him to come? Did she not want him to come?

“Would you like my company, Jarin?” he said, since a direct question seemed the best remedy here.

“Indeed I would.”

“Let’s go then,” said the young man. “A couple of things first, though: We do not speak in the presence of the Unquenchable Light, and we do not touch it. When you are there, you will feel the need to show reverence. Simply stand in silence until your thirst for the light is sated. I will tell you all I know on our return.”

“I understand.”

Then Aliur took them along one of the passages and then down a winding stair that was hewn right into the mountain. There were no torches here, because much of the rock was glowstone, and Jarin wondered for a moment whether the Unquenchable Light was nothing more than a rich glowstone lode. But even as they wound their way down and further down, she became aware of a brighter light that came up from below. Stronger and stronger it grew, until they took their last turn on the stair and emerged in a low chamber.

There was glowstone here, too, but its soft glimmer was drowned out by the dazzling radiance off the far wall. At first Jarin thought it was like looking at the sun, though after a minute she found she could bear it, and then she could make out the shape of the light source. It appeared to be the side of an enormous boulder, completely embedded in the rock around it, about eight feet tall from floor to ceiling and about as wide. Its surface was completely smooth and flawless. While she watched, she realised that the light was not steady, but pulsed faintly and slowly, as if somewhere inside the mountain a great heart was beating. Images came to her mind of places she had never seen: stark mountains, vast oceans, towering trees, and the skies filled with many colours. Yes, she thought, this is the core of our being and the reason for all goodness. This is why we follow the Way of Light. Nothing else matters.

As she stood there, not ten feet from the light, she fancied she could feel herself slowly transformed. For as long as she could remember, she had tried hard to keep herself free from evil – as all dragon riders must – but now for the first time it occurred to her that goodness was much more than just avoiding wickedness. She was seized by an urgent desire to fill herself with light and then go forth and shine on the world. She wondered whether all who came before the Unquenchable Light felt the same.

On the way back up the stair, she barely watched where she was going. The light still throbbed in her mind. They came back at last to the first chamber and there she sat down, ready to listen. As the Archseraph knew the story, Aluir addressed himself mostly to her.

“So, like I promised, I will tell you all I know now. Keep in mind that there is no proof for some parts of the story I am about to tell you. There are no eye witnesses, because it happened before even the awakening of the elves. But the Guardian and the Wanderer are both convinced of its truth, and there is no other explanation that makes any sense. What do you know of the furthest past when the Powers still dwelled in Middle-earth?”

“Very little,” said Jarin. “Well, nothing, really. Only that there was strife between them and the ancient Enemy, and that this was the reason they left.”

“You may say that, though it was more complicated. You see, when Middle-earth was first made, it lay in darkness, and so nothing could grow and live. And the Powers came from across the water and sought to bring life to Middle-earth, and for this they needed light. So they made two lamps, one in the North and one in the South.”

“Lamps? For the whole of Middle-earth?”

“Yes, you cannot begin to imagine their size. The lamp of the North shone with a silver-blue light, and the lamp of the South with a golden light. And they sat atop towers that were higher than even the Oracarni. It’s hard to picture, I know.”

“Wait, what about –”

But Aluir was in the swing of things now and talked right over Jarin. “So the lamps shone with all the splendour of the Powers, and in the light that they gave, things began to grow, and it was called the Spring of Arda. And the Powers rejoiced in the life that began to fill Middle-earth, and they rested on the island of Almaren, where the light of the two lamps mingled. But then the enemy came and knocked them over.”

Jarin scoffed. “What, like a naughty child?”

“A naughty child of great malice, and entirely unrepentant, but yes. The lamps and their towers smashed to the ground, and because of their great size and weight, they changed the very surface of Middle-earth, creating mountains and lakes. And it happened right here, where Kûz lies today, for both the Sea of Calma and the Oracarni Mountains sprang from the ruin of Iluin, the lamp of the North. So far the story is known to be true and is vouched for by those in the Undying Lands and indeed by Alatar and Pallando, because they were alive even then and were servants of the Powers and saw these things happen.”

Jarin’s eyes widened and she looked at the Archseraph, who nodded.

“But the rest,” Aluir continued, “is guesswork. After the Enemy broke the lamps and the Spring of Arda was marred, Alatar and Pallando went across the waters with the Powers and for long ages they stayed there. And Middle-earth was abandoned to the malice of the Enemy, while the Powers dwelt in Aman beyond the sea. But eventually the Powers made the sun and the moon to illuminate Middle-earth. I’m telling it wrong, that’s not guesswork, but I’m coming to that bit now. After a long, long time, Alatar and Pallando returned to Middle-earth together with others of their kind, to uphold the ways of the Powers and ward against the Enemy. That is, we’re now talking of Sauron, and he is only the servant of the Enemy of old, who is gone, but Sauron is bad enough. Anyway, after long wanderings, Alatar came to the Oracarni and made his home here, and one night he was out walking in the moonlight, but then heavy clouds came and all went dark, and then he saw a dim glow from a place on the mountainside. At first he thought it was just some kind of reflection, perhaps from a campfire nearby, but he could see no such fire, so he went closer to investigate. And when he had come closer he saw that the glow indeed came straight out of the rock, but only in one place where there was a deep crack. And that is how he discovered the glowstone, and he realised what it could do for people, and our ancestors began to mine them.”

“What about the Unquenchable Light, though? That is no glowstone.”

“Well, it is and it isn’t. It is of the same substance, but the glowstones are diluted, so to speak. I was getting to that. You see, this was already a natural cave, but since there is glowstone here as well, people delved, and one day they came across the Unquenchable Light, and they fled in terror. But Alatar saw it and he had his thoughts about it, and he brought Pallando to see it, too, and they agreed that this was a shard of Iluin. Big as it looks to us, it is only a tiny splinter from the great lamp, and it became embedded in the rock when the Oracarni were raised. They also think that much of the lamp was smashed into dust when it fell and that this is what gives the glowstones their light.”

“But you said the lamp of the North shone blue, but the glowstones are red.”

Aluir shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Things can change – you know that silvery iron turns to red rust, and red copper grows a skin of green.”

“And so the entire lamp was smashed to dust but that one shard escaped whole?”

“There are two smaller pieces embedded in a tunnel wall in one of the mines. They are only about the size of a loaf of bread. We also have an even smaller shard that was dug up about two hundred years ago and that we keep here in the Sacred Cave. Alatar thinks it is possible that further shards are buried deep down at the roots of the mountains.”

Jarin felt somehow cheated, and a little silly.

“That’s all it is?” she said. “A broken lamp? I felt it was something powerful and sacred.”

“It is!” said the Archseraph. “It is the handiwork of the Powers themselves, filled with their bounty and glory. Through all the ages the light has endured, and it will never go out. It may be hidden, but it has given light to our people, light in their hearts.”

“Well spoken, Archseraph,” came the voice of Alatar from the passage. “If a piece of the sun or the moon fell from the skies at your feet, wouldn’t you marvel, Jarin? This is no different.”

“Forgive me,” said Jarin, feeling even more foolish now. She wished she could leave, or at least that Uilara would return. Alatar lightly touched her shoulder.

“Nothing to forgive, child,” he said. “But now you have seen the Unquenchable Light, I must speak with the Archseraph again.”

“Speak with me here, Alatar,” said Hamûjil. “We have all of us beheld the Unquenchable Light, and there is no need for secrets between us anymore.”

“So be it,” replied Alatar. “But beware that it is of darkness that I will have to speak.”