Lines of Inquiry

“So, you met the king today,” said Nara when they sat down for venison-free stew. “How did you like him?”

“Jarin seemed not overly awed,” said Diri before Jarin could open her mouth.

“Oh, no,” she cried, “did I offend? I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t offend. But I brought you before the King of the Jewelled Throne and you appeared to be no more impressed than if it had been the baker next-door.”

“Well…please don’t think I am bragging, but I am no stranger to royalty. You see, I am the Archseraph’s preferred lungi and see him quite frequently on business. I have also travelled with him on several occasions. And the Archseraph inspires many feelings, but awe is not generally one of them.”

“Which then?”

“Oh, loyalty, and…and love, I suppose, and somehow a desire to be a better person. He is so, how can I put it, so genuine, so honest and trustworthy and just how a ruler should be, and he truly cares about our country and our people, and he is so sweet to the Seraphine and to his children, but also kind to all he meets; and then he is so clever and he always seems to find just the right words. And my dragon carries him willingly, because he is pure of heart. Most of our people would lay down their lives for him, though of course he would never ask such a thing.”

Jarin’s voice had become softer and softer as she spoke, and her eyes shone with homesickness.

“He does sound admirable,” said Nara. “Now, we greatly respect King Baglar and consider it an honour to serve him, but I don’t think many of us feel quite so tenderly about him as you do of your Archseraph.”

“I liked your king. And I found him rather jolly.”

“Jolly!?” Diri snorted.

“Oh, I am so sorry, is that inappropriate? I only meant it was funny how he and you kept talking about me as if I was a just piece of luggage, Jarin thinks this and Jarin wants that. I felt he was having a little laugh at my expense.”

“Dwarves are not, as a rule, known for their sense of humour.”

Jarin, who had by now learned to look past the beards and see the dwarf faces, realised that Diri was supressing a smile.

“You have found favour twice today, Jarin,” he continued. “First with the king, and then with my sister agreeing to help you with your flute. I think a modest celebration is in order. I will go down to the store house and get a flagon of wine.”

He was barely gone when Jarin took the opportunity to ask a question she’d felt embarrassed to raise in his presence.

“You are quite young, aren’t you?” she said to Nara. “I mean, I used to think all dwarves looked old, because of the beards, I guess, but now I know you closer up, I have started to think you and Diri are perhaps younger than me.”

Nara shook her head. “Our life spans are different from yours. Diri and I are in our sixties, but among our people that means we are considered quite young.”

“So where are your parents?”

“There was a plague.” Jarin made a little sympathetic noise, but Nara went on in an even voice. “Diri and I were just children. We were brought up by an uncle who lives further east, near the land of the Secret People. We rarely see him now; it’s a long journey.”

“Why did you leave him?”

Nara shrugged. “This is Kamenogi.”

“I don’t understand.”

At this, Nara gave her a look that suggested determination to be patient with this foolish foreigner. “My brother is no ordinary dwarf. I would have thought you knew this by now. For someone of his talent and skill the appropriate place is near the centre of power.”

“I see.” Jarin’s mind skipped back a little in the conversation. “And who are the Secret People? I mean, I have heard of them, they come up in some of our stories, the Secret People of Oracarni, but what do you know of them?”

“Nothing. They are a secret people.”

“I mean, are they human? Are they dwarves, or what?”

“Jarin, truly, I do not know.”

“In the stories we have in Kûz, it says that back in the dark days, they hid from evil, but they hid so well that they never came back to see if the world had changed, and so to this day they are in hiding. Do you think they even exist?”

“I am not going to speculate.”

“Why not?”

“Because they either exist or they don’t, and what I think about it isn’t going to change that.” She held out her hand. “Show me the flute.”

Jarin rummaged in her pocket and brought out the fragments. With nimble fingers, Nara picked them up and held them close to the lamp, peering at them as she turned them over and over.

“The break is clean and I don’t see any cracks. Are you sure we cannot put it back together? I can make it so that you won’t see the seam.”

“Please don’t think that I have any doubt about your skills, Nara,” said Jarin quickly. “But the flute of a lungi has to be made alongside certain rituals, so that the bond with the dragon can be formed. And this starts with the smelting of the silver. The old flute can be melted down as payment for the new. Do you think that will be acceptable? I have some money on me, in Krâ coin, but I don’t think it would be enough…”

“I can arrange it for you,” said Nara.

“Thank you so much! And speaking of money, well, I don’t want to give any offence, but the Archseraph gave me this money for my keep whilst in Krandi, and given how things turned out, I think I should give it to you for keeping me…”

“Jarin, no. We are wealthy dwarves, and it is our delight to have you with us. Do not even mention such an idea to Diri; he would be very hurt.”

“I’m sorry. But why would he –”

Diri’s return put an end to this line of conversation. He placed a stoppered earthenware jug on the table and Nara brought three glasses, Kûzar crystal by the looks of them, and poured the wine.

“Tree Women’s?” asked Jarin as she inhaled the scent.

“No, Hwenti.”

“I didn’t know they made wine.”

“They do when the mood takes them. Then they lose interest and let the vines grow wild, and a few decades later they start all over again.” Diri shrugged. “It’s the elven way. There are few things they truly care about. In fact, I’m not sure there are any.”

Jarin sipped and let the wine rest on her tongue for a while, as if she could taste the strange mind-set of the elves. She swallowed and felt a trail of fire going down her throat.

“My dragon says they don’t know what to do with their immortality.”

“Would you?”

“I won’t get the chance to try.” She laughed. “But the immortals I know are not at all like that. They know what they’re doing, and they do care.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” said Diri. “I’ve never met any immortals other than the Hwenti.”

“They say,” said Nara, “that there are other elves in the West, and that they are very different. But we know nothing about them; we barely know our own dwarven kin out there."

“Do you think of them as kin, even if you don’t know them, just because they are dwarves? Because I have never thought of the steppe tribes or the Gondorians as my kin. Only the settled Krâ, because I am descended off them. But in the end, aren’t we all kin? We are all alive and aware, we speak, we share feelings…”

“You are not wrong,” said Diri, “but there are many who would fiercely disagree.”

Jarin took to her bed early that night, but Diri and Nara stayed in their seats by the dying fire.

“You have had more dealings with the Kûzeen than I,” said Nara. “Are they all like this?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t really know. There is something about her. As if she was somehow lit from within.”

Diri thrust the poker into the embers. Sparks sprayed up for a moment and lit his face, the brows pulled together over his deep brown eyes.

“I can’t say I have observed any other Kûzeen very closely.  But I do understand what you mean about Jarin. She has this air of innocence and goodwill, and this fierce desire to know and understand. Perhaps it is because she is a lungi.” He peered into the flames. “Will the flute take long to make?”

“That depends,” said Nara.

“On what?”

“On what you would consider long enough.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

-oOoOo-

As soon as he entered the chamber, Alatar took charge. He dismissed everyone, even the Seraphine, keeping only Uilara by his side. In the anteroom, Pallando spoke soothingly to the Seraphine.

“You can be at ease now that Alatar is here. He will save him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Majani, his healing gift comes straight from the Powers. And he has had millennia of practice. There is not a poison in Middle-earth that he has not studied and defeated.” He placed a hand on Majani’s arm and the Seraphine exhaled. “Anyway, have you got any further in finding out who is behind this?”

“We have done our best to track down the pomegranates,” said Miriel, “but we can’t really tell where they came from. Since they are in season now, all and sundry sends up a basket to the palace as a gift for the seraphs, as if we didn’t have our own orchard, but you know what people are like. We had a big hamper of various fruit from the Tree Women, and another from a group of elven visitors. Mistress Tilar sends some choice fruit from her gardens every week, as does Warden Olan when he’s in town. The list goes on. We get given so much, most of it is distributed among the staff. Anyone could have sent in poisoned fruit, but they couldn’t have been sure the Archseraph would eat it.”

“And therefore you think it was one of the palace staff?”

“We will have to entertain that idea.”

“Are you sure it was the pomegranate?”

“He fell ill right after he ate it. And it is widely known that he loves pomegranate. It would help if we knew what kind of poison it was, because then we could consider who’d have access to it. Do you think Alatar will be able to find out?”

“He might,” said Pallando, “but right now he will be wholly occupied with saving Hamûjil’s life.”

“Of course, of course.” Miriel glanced about the room. Majani had moved over to the window and was staring at the rain that came down with a steady roar. In her hands she held a porcelain swallow, which she turned over and over. Outside, the late November day drew to a gloomy close.

“Seraphine?” said Miriel. “I advise you to get some rest. We must trust in the Guardian now. I will make sure to let you know as soon as there is any news.”

Majani looked up from her trinket. “No, Miriel, you go and get some rest. You have barely slept this past week.”

“Neither have you, Seraphine, and it –”

“Ladies,” interrupted Pallando. “I suggest that you both seek your chambers. Quell your troubled thoughts and sleep till morning. And you, too, Ninod. The Archseraph is not in danger while Alatar is with him. When you awake, you may well find him much improved. In fact, I am so confident of this that I, too, will retire to the Houses, and Sâlian with me. We will return in time for breakfast, and I hope there is some of that wonderful quince jelly left.”

Majani looked like was going to protest, but Ninod and Miriel gently pulled her out the room. Pallando and Sâlian left through the opposite doors. An attendant snuffed the lights.

-oOoOo-

After a heavy sleep crowded with dreams, Majani woke before dawn and dressed herself in the dark without calling an attendant. In the anteroom, she nearly collided with a moving shape that turned out to be Uilara.

“I have come to fetch you, Seraphine. The Archseraph is awake and wishes to see you.”

“Oh, thank the Powers! But do you not have a light?”

“I forgot to bring one. Alatar said to hurry…”

They groped their way along the walls until they reached the Archseraph’s chamber, where many lanterns were lit. Hamûjil was propped up by pillows and was speaking softly with Alatar. When he saw Majani, he beckoned to her.

“Come and sit near me, my beloved. Have you been very worried?”

“Hamûjil! I have been frantic!” she cried and wrapped her arms round his neck. “But are you truly recovered?”

“It would seem so, thanks to Alatar’s skill. But he says I will have to rest for a good while yet. I hope the country has not collapsed in the meantime?”

“No, but many things trouble us.”

Hamûjil closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again with an expression of pain. “The library! So many books lost…”

“Oh, that’s not the worst of it. Jarin is missing, and we think that the Krâ –”

“Seraphine.” Uilara put a hand on Majani’s shoulder. “Maybe this can wait a little.”

“Of course, of course. Hamûjil, you should eat something, and then perhaps you want to see the children.”

“I do want to see the children, and I would like some food, though not pomegranate at this time, ha. What is this about Jarin missing? No, Uilara, I do want to know, let the Seraphine tell me.”

“You remember you sent her to Krandi? She left from there to go to the North to warn the dwarves about the Krâ attacking, and they got into a storm and the lungi bond failed and she has not called for Wan since.”

“So how do you know what happened?”

“Mûn told us,” said Alatar. “Hamûjil, I understand that you want to pick up where you left off, but you are still weak, and besides, there is nothing you can do for Jarin in this matter. Leave it to other heads and hands to preside for another few days. Break your fast and see your children; that is the best you can do with what strength you have today.”

Only Alatar could have spoken to the Archseraph with such authority, and so Hamûjil acquiesced and waited for Majani to fetch the little ones. When he sat with Lalina and Řahamûjil in one arm and Alamûjil in the other, Majani finally breathed calmly. By and by, Miriel, Ninod and the other ladies came in to congratulate him on his recovery. 

“I have kept the dish of pomegranates, Archseraph,” said Ninod. “Miriel wanted to throw it out because it was rotting, but I put it in a wax-sealed jar.”

“Ninod, not now!” hissed Miriel, but Hamûjil raised a languid hand.

“Thank you, Ninod,” he said. “Have it sent to the Seekers, if it pleases you, with a request to find the poison if they can.”

“See?” said Ninod to Miriel.

After another ten minutes or so, Majani sent everyone out except for the Guardian. She and Alatar ministered to Hamûjil for the rest of the day, and when evening came, she thanked the Powers and went to bed with a quiet heart.

-oOoOo-

Pallando’s rooms in the House of the Power of Air were fitted with all the comforts Kûz had to offer. The sofas were soft, the floors lushly carpeted, the cups were of fine porcelain. Shades of blue and grey set the tone. Alatar had chosen the firmest chair he could find and watched Pallando pouring hot chocolate.

“I brought the palantír,” he said. “I did not dare look into it alone again, but I think it is vital that we find out as much as we can.”

“Agreed,” said Pallando. “Some risi in your cocoa?”

“No thank you. Could I have some tea?”

“Probably, give me a moment.”

He bustled out. Alatar took the palantír out of his bag and set it on the table, but didn’t remove the cloth in which it was wrapped. Presently, Pallando returned with a teapot.

“Regards from Sâlian; she just made this.”

“That’s kind of her. Are you ready? I’ll ward against Sauron, you ward against Curumo.”

“We’re starting straight away? Wait, let me just get a cushion.”

“Are you comfortable now?” said Alatar with a smirk.

“As comfortable as I’ll be. Now, let’s see, let’s see. Pictures are coming in…very bright sunshine… ah, I reckon that’s the Southlands. I like those feathery trees. Very handsome people. What are they eating, though?”

“Does it matter? Some kind of fruit, I would guess.”

“It’s an odd shape for a fruit. A bit like…you know. And so yellow! Seems handy how they can pull the skin off it in those neat strips.”

“Pallando! Get your mind to where we want to be. Let’s look for Olórin. And let’s not talk while we look; it’ll only distract us.”

“True, true, forgive me.”

So they sat in silence as the images flitted across the stone, of Olórin smoking his pipe, of the man who looked like Mallor speaking to an elf in a blue dress, of many elves, a few dwarves, and those strange little fellows, and then a dark land, and armies marching, and a shadowy tower…

Afterwards, Alatar was the first to speak.

“What is Olórin doing? Why are they still at the same place? Do you think it actually is Elrond’s place?”

“Probably, I don’t know. Was that his daughter with the blue dress?”

“Doesn’t matter. It was definitely the same house; I recognised the furniture. Do you think it possible that they have decided to keep the Ring there? Does Elrond believe he could defend himself against an onslaught from Mordor?”

“Well, could he?”

“I doubt it.” Alatar frowned. “It would be foolish of Olórin to allow it.”

“Yes, I cannot imagine that he came to a different conclusion from us. And Elrond used to strike me as insightful enough. Surely they know the Ring must be destroyed.”

“So why have they not set out? Unless they are unsure of the way to take, or have some disagreement among themselves about it.”

Pallando drained his cup. “I wonder if we should…but it’s such a long way, even with dragons.”

Alatar shook his head. “I was thinking that, too, but there are weighty reasons against such a plan. Considering Curumo’s betrayal, they might not trust us, just turning up out of the blue. And then we have our own situation here to worry about. Besides, we cannot know that what the stone shows us is the present. These could be images from days, even weeks past. For all we know, they might be halfway to Mordor by now.”

“Then why would the stone not show us images of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I guess that is the danger of the stone,” said Pallando. “We cannot be sure about anything it shows. Sauron’s might looks undefeatable, and yet this may be just what Sauron wants us to see.”

“You think he knows we are here?”

“Hard to say. But he would want anyone looking into any of the stones to see his might. He will try to defeat people before they even take up a sword.”

“Yes.” Alatar poured another cup of tea and sighed. “And here in the East we have cultivated a people who simply will not take up a sword. But Hamûjil will have to step up and do something. If a large Krâ host reaches the West, it could be what tips the balance.”

“What could Hamûjil do to stop them?”

“Perhaps bribe them somehow? I’ll speak to him. Though he is far from well and I reckon he will have to keep to his bed for another week at least. And I would be easier if we could find the – ”

Without even knocking, Sâlian nearly fell into the room. “Please,” she cried. “The Seraphine bids you come to the palace as fast as you can. They cannot find Alamûjil.”