Turnaround

After a little while, when it had occurred to the more practically-minded citizens to try their own tinderboxes (and lo! the light returned to Levare), the cosmic catastrophe shrunk to a mere ill omen. A couple of days later the earlier rumours were confirmed that the flintsteel had been missing from the tinderbox at the Houses and therefore either sabotage or sloppiness were to blame, but those who wished to believe in ill omens persevered.

The situation at the palace was a little more complex. On the morning after the festival, a woman cleaning up in the throne room found the Archseraph’s ceremonial tinderbox tucked behind the cushions of a sopha. She handed it over to the head housekeeper, who swiftly carried it to the Seraphine’s chambers and everyone was surprised when Ninod burst into tears and was unable to speak for several minutes while Majani and her other ladies tried to calm her down. Eventually, she composed herself enough to talk.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I didn’t think there would be such a fuss. I didn’t think the bird would get broken! It was just a joke. A little prank. Please don’t be angry…”

Miriel took the box and lifted the lid.

“The flintsteel is missing,” she said. “That’s just what they say happened at the Houses.”

Ninod looked up. “I didn’t take it. I only hid the tinderbox! I wanted to give you a little fright. I am so sorry…”

“But why, Ninod, why?” Majani scrunched up her silk scarf in both hands. “Why would you do such a thing, and make us all terrified? At such a time, too!”

Ninod began to sob again and said nothing more.

“I think I know why,” said Miriel quietly. “Ninod, I am so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” said Majani.

Miriel looked at the Seraphine and then at the assembled ladies.

“Well…” she began. “I think that I…and indeed all of us to some degree…even you, Seraphine…all of us have, in many very small ways, been unkind to Ninod. You know, dismissing what she said, or calling her clumsy, things like that. And I think many small things can add up over time and create one big resentment. Is that no so, Ninod?”

With a further big sob, she nodded.

“And I am sorry for the part I played in this,” continued Miriel. “I was vain and liked the idea of being the Seraphine’s foremost lady, and I made myself feel bigger by putting you down. That was unworthy behaviour for a court lady and unworthy also of the New Way.”

“And I am sorry, too,” said Majani. “It was my duty to ensure all my ladies are treated fairly, and I see now that I failed in that duty. Please forgive me, Ninod.”

“Of course,” said Ninod, somewhat confused by the turn things had taken. She looked dishevelled, with her bun undone and her glossy black hair spilling over her yellow tunic. The other ladies now also chimed in with apologies, only one of them, Rimere, frowned and whispered to her friend, “But what if…”

“Don’t whisper, speak up!” said Miriel. “What if what?”

“What if it wasn’t just the tinderbox? What if she is the one who – ”

“Noooo!” wailed Ninod. “That wasn’t me! I did not poison the Archseraph; I did not burn down the library. How can you think such a thing of me!”

“Well, until just now I didn’t think you would sabotage the Festival of Renewal either,” replied Rimere, but she was hushed by Majani.

“No,” the Seraphine said firmly. “Ninod did not do those things. If Ninod were a traitor, she would not have dissolved into floods of tears at the tinderbox being brought in. The traitor is obviously someone with cool resolve who is not easily unnerved. Ninod may be a little…peculiar at times, and she has played a foolish trick on us, but I have no reason to doubt her loyalty.”

“Then who is the traitor?”

“If wish we knew,” sighed Miriel.

“Well, there is one thing we do know now,” replied Rimere. “The flintsteel was missing, and Ninod says she didn’t take it. But it was there just before lights-out; Miriel and I checked it. So the traitor was in the room with us last night.”

They looked at each other, dismayed at who might have been sitting beside them in the dark.

-oOoOo-

It was before noon on the following day that news reached Levare which brought the Archseraph swiftly to the guest room where Alatar stayed and thence to his wife’s chambers. Majani sat by the window, absentmindedly spooning a compote of pears into her mouth whilst contemplating the loss of ceramic Vani.

“What is the matter?” she said when she saw his face.

“Scout reports.” Hamûjil sat down on a delicate chair. “The Krâ host has departed westwards three days ago. All of it.”

“That is good, yes? They are not coming here. We are safe.”

Hamûjil shook his head. “I felt so, too, at first. But Majani, that is short-sighted. They are marching westwards to swell the armies of Sauron. If they are victorious in the West, they will come marching back and what then? I have been thinking about this a lot. In fact, it has been on my mind almost constantly since the other night. What if the Seer is right? What if darkness impenetrable, darkness everlasting where indeed to come the Kûz? And I, on whose shoulders is laid the charge of guarding and leading the people, had allowed it to come and had not lifted a finger to stop it? That simply cannot be. I must do something.”

“But Hamûjil, we have been over this before. There is nothing you could possibly do.”

“Or maybe it just pleased us to think so?”

“What do you mean?”

The Archseraph looked at his hands, looked up at the window, then he sighed.

“We are such an indulged people. Favoured by history and geography alike. Look at us! Surrounded by gold and silk and marble, eating the finest bread, drinking the sweetest cocoa. What hardship have our people known in all the years of our lives? We are so used to safety and plenty that we cannot imagine anything else. And it suited us, both you and me, to think that this problem would just go away, that other people in some other land would deal with it and that we would not be called upon and could continue to drift softly through the pleasant days.”

“Our days have hardly been pleasant lately!”

“Small inconveniences,” said Hamûjil and waved his hand. “What’s a bit of poison, a bit of arson, in the grand scheme of things? Kûz remains a place of peace and abundance. It was easy for me, far too easy, to tell myself that I could do nothing, and so I could stay here and all would remain the same, more or less. But it was cowardly. I am ashamed of myself, Majani. I should have gone to Krandi when the rumours first reached us; I should have spoken with the Ezens and sorted it out before it came to this pass.”

“You had your reasons.”

“They were not good enough reasons. I was just dithering and making excuses.”

“And they might not have listened to you.”

“And then they might. Who can tell now, since I didn’t try? But it may not be too late. What are a few day’s marches? They are still many, many weeks away from Gondor. I will go after them, persuade them to turn round.”

“You can’t catch up with them!”

 “If a dragon bears me, I can overtake them easily.”

“Are you out of your mind, Hamûjil?” cried Manjani, distraught. “This is an insane plan, going out there to throw yourself in front of a marching army. They will kill you as soon as they see you.”

“I doubt that they ­–”

“And what will you do when you catch up with the enemy? Fall on your knees and beg?”

“Enemy, Majani? The Krâ are our neighbours and friends. If they have forgotten that for the time being, then it is all the more important that I remind them of it. I have known Ezen Kemra for many years; he is a man of solid sense. The other ezens, too, are decent men; they are not enemies. I can talk to them, I can convince them. I must at least try.”

“No, no, and thrice no!” In her agitation, Majani was pacing up and down in the chamber, nearly knocking a porcelain heron off a shelf as she gesticulated wildly. “This is outright suicide, Hamûjil. Your life is too precious to risk in this way. I cannot allow this. I am going to invoke –”

“Don’t do this, Majani!”

“–the Clause of the Seraphine. Hamûjil, as the wife of the Archseraph and the one charged to watch over his wellbeing, I forbid you to do this.”

“Majani, please consider –”

“The Clause of the Seraphine, Hamûjil! You must abide by it, or else the bond between us is broken. Leave my chambers now, if it pleases you, as I am tired.”

-oOoOo-

In the Fifth Rung, on the north side of the Avenue of Peach Trees and diagonally opposite the Tower of Knowledge, was one of the many wonders of Levare: the public baths. They had been designed by Pallando, and one of his cunning devices kept it supplied with fresh water pumped in from the River Leva. By no means all Kûzeen had bathrooms in their own homes, and so many came to the public baths for their ablutions, but those who were blessed with their own private bathtubs also found them attractive, since nobody, not even the Seraphs, had marble-lined pools and bubbling fountains and an artificial waterfall that filled a whole room with its spray. And for those who wished to remain dry, there were indoor gardens under glass roofs and marble colonnades inviting folk to perambulate. But possibly the greatest attraction was an outdoor pool built of pure glowstone, which kept the temperature of the water tolerable even in the winter.

Here, in blissful ignorance of what was just then happening at the palace, Uilara and Sâlian were swimming. The two young women had encountered each other several times since Uilara’s arrival in Levare, and had taken a liking to each other, and if, in suggesting an outing to the baths, Sâlian was also planning to find out what she could on Jarin’s behalf, her conscience still remained clear, because she really did enjoy Uilara’s company.

After their delight at Hamûjil’s recovery and the events at the festival had been discussed, there was a lull in their conversation, and then Sâlian began:

“Have you ever ridden a dragon?”

“No, though I would love to.”

“How about your brother?”

“Yes, he did once, on an urgent errant for the Guardian.”

“And did he…” Sâlian considered how to proceed without arousing suspicion about her motives. “…did he tell you much about it?”

“Only that he hated every second of it.”

“How so?”

“He’s scared of heights.”

“Hm, I see.”

They swam another couple of laps in silence, then Sâlian tried again.

“Have you been with the Guardian long? How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. Aluir and I have been with the Guardian since we were twelve. That was unusually young, but our parents are dead, you see.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been hard.”

“To lose them? Yes. But to stay with the Guardian, no. He is a very wise and kind mentor, and very patient, though I fear my brother disappoints him sometimes. Not that I mean I am always perfect, but – oh, look, there’s a dragon approaching!”

Sâlian glanced up. There was indeed the sleek shape of a dragon swooping in across the canal. And not just any dragon.

“It’s Wan!” she cried. “It’s Wan, it’s Wan, he’s coming home with Jarin!”

They dressed in haste and took a boat to the Houses, where they found Pallando, Vilajin, half a dozen other lungi, and Jarin – with a dwarf by her side.  Jarin leapt up and hugged Sâlian, hugged Uilara while she was at it, introduced the dwarf as “my good friend Diri” making Sâlian wonder how Jarin could have acquired a good friend in so short a time, then the dwarf bowed, declared himself at Sâlian’s service, at Uilara’s service, and eventually everyone settled down and turned their eyes on Vilajin, who had been speaking when the women had rushed in.

“We were just exchanging our news,” he explained. “Though of course much of it we already knew through what Pallando now calls the dragon grapevine. So the only real surprise to anyone is the arrival of our dwarfish friend here, and the latest report that the Krâ are indeed marching westwards.”

“I don’t know why everyone seems to be so shocked to hear that,” said Diri. “You’ve known all these weeks that they were raising an army.”

“I guess people thought it wasn’t really going to happen,” said Uilara. “I certainly found it hard to imagine. In fact, I still can’t quite believe it.”

“Oh, it’s true enough,” said Pallando. “It’s been confirmed by three different scouts. And I know folk in Levare have breathed a sigh of relief that they are going west and not coming here, but I think you all know as well as I do that this merely delays our problems.”

Nods all around acknowledged the truth of this.

“How large is this host?” asked Diri.

“It seems that most of the able-bodied men among the settled Krâ have gone. At least twenty-five thousand. Mainly on foot, but about three thousand are on horseback.”

They looked at each other in silence, trying to picture such an army. Then Sâlian said, “But Gondor has real soldiers, don’t they? Trained at arms, while these Krâ were all farmers and workmen a few month ago. Their horses, too, are plough horses.”

“They have had some training,” said Vilajin, “and besides, they could overwhelm the men of the West by sheer force of numbers. They must not reach Gondor.”

Diri nodded grimly. “Can you imagine them returning, victorious, emboldened, having had a taste of blood?”

“Worse than that,” added Pallando, “they will have fought along orcs, been encamped with men of ingrained corruption, and the very presence of Sauron will have tainted them.”

“But how can we stop them?” said Jarin. “Since nobody has come up with a plan all this time.”

“Alatar tells me he spoke with the Archseraph this morning” said Pallando. “Hamûjil regrets his long inaction and he is determined to step up now. His intention is to overtake the Krâ host by air and dissuade them from their course.”

“Can that succeed?” asked Uilara.

“Possibly.” Pallando turned the palm of his left hand upwards in a musing gesture.” The Krâ are your neighbours and have been on good terms with Kûz for many generations. Ezen Kemra is as good as a friend of Hamûjil’s. He might listen to him. And of course the Krâ are also under the influence of the Unquenchable Light, albeit to a lesser extent. Whatever wiles Sauron has used on them, his sway over them is likely not to go deep. If we act now, we might be able to remind them of their better selves. It’s worth a try.”

“That is all true enough,” said Alatar, who had just appeared in the doorway, “but it is moot. I come from the palace. Majani has forbidden Hamûjil to go. She has invoked the Clause of the Seraphine.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

“She is concerned that he will be killed on sight without ever getting a chance to speak. The incident at the festival has really rattled her and she is worried out of her wits.”

Jarin was whispering explanations into Diri’s ear. Then she said, “But I think it’s a feasible plan. The Archseraph is so good with people; he would be very persuasive. Can no one convince the Seraphine that he should go?”

“Miriel tried, as did I, to no avail. Hamûjil is in a fix. He could break his wife’s veto, but that would probably break his marriage, too. I don’t think he will risk that.”

“He wouldn’t have to go alone,” said Sâlian. “We could all come with him. Or at least some of us.”

“I completely agree,” said Alatar, “there should be a delegation, if only to prove that the Archseraph is not only speaking for himself. But the Clause of the Seraphine is a real obstacle here. I’m afraid Majani has allowed fear to cloud her judgement.”

There was more whispering between Jarin and Diri and then the dwarf spoke up.

“Tell me if I am getting this right: So the Seraphine forbids her husband from going on this quest because she is afraid the Krâ will kill him the moment they see him. And her word is binding because when she uses this Clause it makes her the protector of the Archseraph and therefore he cannot overrule her? Yes? Fair enough, but could he not send a messenger ahead? And then only appear in person once the Krâ have granted him a safe parley?”

“You do not know the Archseraph,” said Jarin. “He would not risk someone else’s life instead of his own.”

“And Majani might not be convinced by the notion of a safe parley either,” added Alatar.

“So the solution is obvious then,” said Diri. “He must speak to the ezens from a position of safety.”

“What do you mean?”

Diri shrugged, because it really was obvious to him. “He must not be seen. I have a suggestion to make.”