Dark Star Chapter Four: The People of the Eastlands

Chapter Four:  The People of the Eastlands

About 20 years after the Fall of Morgoth
Somewhere in the Far East of Middle-Earth

Sauron pulled himself easily up over another mound of rock, continuing his climb up the side of the highest mountain he’d found so far in the East.  He found himself on a narrow outcropping of rock that the years had weathered flat, just barely wide enough for him to stand on.  He paused there briefly, looking first at the vast expanse of grassland and gently rolling hills stretching out to the west, back the way he’d come; then he turned and looked up the mountain, and at how very far there was to go.  He sighed, blowing a strand of longish hair out of his face.  Placing his hand on the mountain’s face, he closed his eyes and sent his power into it, feeling upwards for a larger outcropping of rock.  There:  almost directly above him, about twenty feet or so.  Sauron opened his eyes and withdrew his power.  He paused again to collect himself, and continued up.  Upon reaching the outcropping, he sat down on it, letting his feet hang over the edge, and just gazing out and the now somewhat familiar lands.  He let his gaze roam, and saw the telltale smoke rising from the fires of the small village of Men in the region.  He smiled, remembering what had happened when he’d first come here.  That very same village had been having a celebration of some sort, a sort of harvest celebration, and he’d wandered a little too close for his own comfort.  Fortunately, the revelers had been far too drunk to notice that he wasn’t from the village or anywhere nearby, and he’d slipped away at the first chance he’d gotten.  The girl he’d danced with, she’d been a beauty, and a lively one too, if one judged from her frenzied dance.  Sauron closed his eyes again and leaned back against the cliff, letting the memories come.  Somehow, she hadn’t seemed as drunk as the others, but he hadn’t been able to tell for certain, as the dance hadn’t brought them anywhere near the fires that burned in various parts of the city, and as she had been wearing a mask of some sort.  She had not spoken, only danced with him.  At the time, he had half-wished for her to speak, half-wished that the dance would whirl them apart again, and he could leave without incident.  As had indeed happened.

Sauron was interrupted from his reverie when he heard the slight crunch of footsteps on gravel.  His eyes opened, and leaping to his feet, he stared in the direction of the noise.  After a moment, the source of the noise became apparent:  a girl, probably from the village.  She was coming to him, to the mountain.  Suddenly, she glanced up, and she seemed to catch his gaze.  Sauron sucked in a breath.  Was she able to see him?  Or was she simply aware of his scrutiny?  She certainly wasn’t a Maia.  Perhaps she was a sorceress?  No, she couldn’t be, for she stared in his direction a little longer, and then she looked down, seemingly unaware of his presence.  But she did continue her path towards the mountain.  Should he go down to meet her?  Sauron considered the idea.  If he did, she might consider him a god of some sort.  A god, but a false god, and Sauron did not want her or her people to labor under the delusion that a god lived among them.  Morgoth would have considered it a fine joke, but not Sauron.  Sauron knew what that was like.  But then again, she might not.  And if he didn’t go to meet her, and hid from her instead, she might not find him this time out, but she would probably return, and with many more at her side.  They would find him then.  And the meeting would not be on his terms.  Better to meet her now, and perhaps to nip her ideas of his godhood in the bud, than to meet her later and perhaps to have to fight her and her kin and then to be hunted.  Sauron looked up at the peak of the mountain one last time, and jumped down from his perch, landing catlike on his feet.  He paused a moment to catch his breath, then he stood up and moved toward the girl-child.  When he was within hailing distance, he saw that she had apparently caught sight of him when he had jumped down, and was staring at him in shock.

Sauron decided that the best thing he could do right now was to appear as non-threatening as he could.  He held his hands out where she could see them, and approached only slowly.  “Aiya!” he said.  “Hail!”

She blinked at him.  “Riþde tzwufu?” she asked.

“Mana?  What?” Sauron blurted.  Then he mentally kicked himself:  she had to have been asking who he was.

“Riþde tzwufu?” she said again. (Who are you?)

“Uhhhh…Nánye Sauron.  I am Sauron.” he answered, hoping to Eru that she really was asking who he was, and was not saying something along the lines of “You will now die,” or “You have a very large penis.”

She looked at him quizzically.  Sauron pointed at himself, saying “Sauron.”

Her face cleared, and then she launched into a very long string of syllables in her own language, which Sauron could not follow, and only recognized two words in the whole of it:  “Eru” though she pronounced it more like “Eh-hrru”, and his own name.  At the end of it, she looked at him quizzically again, and Sauron realized that she had asked him a question.

“Herinya, ilya tana hananienye ete ilya tano nánes essenya ar tana Eruo.  Apsenet ni, nán avahananye lambetya sina lumesse.  My lady, all that I understood out of all that was my name and that of Eru.  Forgive me, but I do not understand you language at this time.”

Her face brightened then, and she then began chattering on in her own language again.  Sauron was beginning to worry now, afraid that he had just brought about the very thing that he had wanted to prevent:  that she thought him a god.  Well, at least she knew Eru.  That was something.  She walked away from him a short way, and then looked back at him, as if expecting him to follow.  Not having anything better to do, he did.

She led him across the plains to the village, and although she set a fairly brisk pace, they only managed to get there several hours after nightfall.  The whole of the village was once more lit by torches and bonfires.  People swiftly emerged from their homes when they heard the pair passing, everyone from children to elders.  They lined a path through the village, and still more arrived from outlying homes and farms as the word of their arrival spread.  While they could not be said to possess an Elven beauty, they certainly possessed beauty of another kind:  dark hair plaited down the back, dark eyes widened against the gloom, skin bronzed from the sun.  It was a down-to-earth beauty more so than an otherworldly beauty, Sauron observed.  He noted with some apprehension that the people were lining a certain path, stopping at some predetermined point, but beyond that they were clogging up the paths between the houses and shops, and as they went on, the porches, doors, and finally the windows.  “There are so many of them!” he thought frantically, beginning to feel as claustrophobic as he always had in the deeper parts of Thangorodrim, where the lightstone lamps did not reach.  “Too many…” he pushed a little closer to the girl-child.

She led him to the exact center of town, where a circular pavilion had been erected.  A thin wooden pole supported the cone-shaped thatch roof in the center, with others evenly spaced around its edge.  Two of the openings were covered with what appeared to be the skin of some animal, mounted on a wood frame that could be moved from opening to opening.  One of them was facing Sauron, and he could see that it was covered with writing and what looked to be arcane symbols.  The other he couldn’t see from his angle.  Animal pelts and ropes of herbs hung inside on the wooden frame that ran the circumference of the circle.  A chair stood behind the screen facing them, a huge one, almost a throne.  The shadow of it, backlit by a fire, was all Sauron could see of it.

The girl-child halted before the screen, bowing her head, going to one knee, and making reverent hand motions.  The crowd mimicked her actions.  “OK…why are we worshipping the screen of animal skin?  Oh, well.  When in Valinor, do as the Valar do…” he thought as he followed suit, though he watched the screen as he did so, half-expecting it to burst into flame and half-expecting it to be pushed aside revealing…

…something other than the very old woman that it did reveal.  The very, very old woman.  The very, very old and actually quite frightening woman who seemed to be some form of shaman or priestess.  For when she raised her staff the whole of the town fell silent.  Even the nearby fires seemed to lower their crackling so that she could be heard.
Not that it was necessary.  “Litirar!  E-hrru tzja-khazjo’khoki tzj’arileþ deo-tzj’dijil.  Netzjinik’rai kuileþ nid-jelajil!” She cried in a voice so loud that Sauron was sure Melkor in the Void and Eru in the Divine Realms could hear.  As soon as she was finished, the entire crowd—save only himself, the girl-child, and the crone—erupted into cheers, leaping up from their crouched positions to do so.  Sauron winced and grimaced as the noise struck his sensitive ears, remaining in the crouched position as did the girl-child. (My children!  Eru has sent us a messenger.  Give him praise!)

He breathed a sigh of relief when the crone motioned for silence.  She was now focused on the girl-child.  “D’litade, tzule-kharuzjo’khofu koku’hrrafajil?” she asked.  A note of tenderness crept into her voice. (Daughter, have you found your name?)

“Ti, Ast-ra.  Tzule-kharuzjo’khori koku’hrrarajil,” the girl-child said.  At a nod from the crone, she stood and faced the crowd.  Taking a deep breath, as though this was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, she said, “Koku’hrrara tzwuku Herinya.” (Yes, [Mother].  I have found my name.) (My name is Herinya.)

The crowd cheered again.  Sauron’s eyes widened in surprise.  He’d called her Herinya because he had not known her name, and “my lady” was a respectful term used when such things occurred in the lands to the West.  She, apparently, had thought he had given her a name, since he was so very obviously not from the area and so very obviously not one of them and quite possibly of otherworldly origin.  So now she would go through her life being called “my lady” in a language that she did not know.  “It could be worse, you know, Sauron,” he consoled himself.  “You could’ve called her Selda.  Then she’d go through life being called ‘child’ in a language she doesn’t know.”

The crone—Ast-ra?—montioned for silence once again.  “Deo-tzj’di rik’tzjari’khaniki phi-tzjlilijan riþ zjiniki phodjriþu’khi khajil,” she said.  Immediately, there was another loud clamor, as people shouted to the crone, each attempting to drown all the others out.  The crone did not allow this to continue for long.  “Þitzjidani!” she yelled, banging her staff.  It made a very loud booming noise for such a small stick. (The messenger will be housed with anyone who wishes to take him.) (Silence!)

Sauron looked at it in surprise.  “What the—Oh, it’s cored with neuranium.  So that’s how it makes such a loud noise.  If this happens every day, then I’m going to lose my hearing within a month, that’s all there is to it.  Ow,” he thought, using his powers to “read” the staff and wanting desperately to massage his temples.  Or to cut off his ears.  Whichever occurred first.

The crone waited until the crowd was sufficiently quiet and chastened.  Then she spoke again.  “T’ra…chi tzoluzjren rik’tzjari’khaniki railijan.  Kai, tonikitzjalu l’erzjren taþizjren, zjiniki tatiþu’khi mandi-l’elijan, takun tzwuri’khaniki.”  She glared around at the members of the crowd, who had all fallen completely silent and were looking down.  The only thing that broke the silence was Sauron himself, quietly imitating the sound of crickets chirping.  Herinya threw him what must have been a dirty look, but Sauron simply looked innocently back at her.  She eventually looked away, but only to look quickly right back at him.  Sauron, however, was well aware of both this tactic and of its many and varied uses, and had kept his face perfectly schooled. (But…for now he will be housed with me.  If, after one month, he wishes to live with another, thus it will be.)

The crone waved her arms to dismiss the crowd, then she beckoned to both Sauron and Herinya.  She turned and walked into her tent, Herinya following at a respectful distance and Sauron following suit slightly thereafter.
Once inside the tent, she clapped once, summoning a fire in the center of the tent.  Sauron found himself mildly impressed.  “I wonder how she did that…” he thought.

The crone settled herself on the ground on the side of the fire furthest from Sauron and Herinya, indicating that they were to take a seat as well.  When she next spoke, it was to Sauron.

“Man nátye?  Who are you?” she asked him in Quenya.

Sauron wondered how she now spoke Quenya, when just moments ago he hadn’t been able to understand a word she had said.  “Nánye Sauron, herinya…Ast-ra?  I am Sauron, my lady…Ast-ra?” he answered, while quietly spreading out his awareness in an attempt to find what it was that allowed them to understand each other.

She nodded.  “Nánye Ast-ra.  Ten mana nátye sino?  I am Ast-ra.  For what are you here?”

Sauron considered this for a moment.  “Avaheranye manwa intya mano nánye sino ten.  Apsenet ni, Ast-ra.  I do not have a pure idea of what I am here for.  Forgive me, Ast-ra.”  The only thing in the tent that could possibly be having an effect on their conversation was the fire between them.  Sauron focused his awareness on it.

She looked at him strangely.  “Mana tucanes tye sino?  What brought you here?”

“Ten vanima ben ten laiva—ar eamaure ten tye hanata sina, Heri Ast-ra—nanenye yalumesse Maia Melkoro.  For good or for ill—and there is need for you to understand this, Lady Ast-ra—I was once upon a time a Maia of Melkor,” he answered somewhat absently, while finishing off his magical scrutiny of the fire.  Someone—he knew not who—had cast a spell on the ground beneath the fire such that when a fire was burning on top of it, those who sat around the fire would be able to understand each other perfectly, even if they didn’t share a common language.

Herinya gasped, and Ast-ra’s face darkened.  Sauron looked up at them and held up a hand to forestall their comments.  “Sére, Herinya, Ast-ra.  Quenanye ‘ten vanima ben ten laiva,’ nán nín ind nás ‘ten laiva’, ten avamelanye so, ar avamelanye motiesor.  Peace, Herinya, Ast-ra.  I say ‘for good or for ill,’ but my meaning is ‘for ill’, because I did not love him, and I did not love his works.”

“Ar tye sina:  emme cirane tana quen—” she spat those words out with more than a little venom, “—anda lúme palan.  Tye ‘avamela’ so, nán emme lala mela so.  And you this:  we left that one long ago.  You ‘do not love’ him, but we definitely do not love him,” The derision in her voice was unmistakable.

“Herinyar— My ladies—”

“Anta metin quen nát ten mana lá círatye sí.  Give us one reason why you should not leave now.”

Sauron sighed and looked away from them.  “Ilpolinye quenata tye mí quettar.  Nán polinye nyarata tye naronen.  I can’t tell you in words.  But I can tell you with fire,” Before either of them could stop him, he plunged his hand into the fire, whispering the spell that would take his memories and show them to others through the fire.  It grabbed him and flung him forward, plunging his face into the fire, and holding him immobile.  Sauron found himself quite glad for this, because it hid from the other two the look of intense pain on his face.  He had only cast this spell twice before, both times for non-Ainur who needed to understand why he’d done something, and he remembered that both times it had felt like something was being torn from inside his head.  It didn’t feel like that this time.  This time it felt like his head was being turned inside out while at the same time his brain was being struck by lightning several times in quick succession.

What they saw in the flames, Sauron never knew.  He only knew what he saw:  flashes of his past.  Melkor coming to him on the Isle of Almaren, offering him the chance to be more than just a Maia of Aulë, more than just a smith-Maia; Sauron tempted and joining Melkor in Utumno; his tasks under Melkor, tasks that he had to fulfill or risk a long torture; his attempted coup d’état against Melkor and his punishment for it; so much, so many memories, almost too much, too many…

The spell released him, and he gave a cry of relief.  Herinya and Ast-ra were staring at him with identical expressions of shock and horror from what they’d just seen.  Silence reigned briefly, and not even the crackling of the fire disturbed it.  Finally Ast-ra spoke, her voice soft with understanding.

“Tye…lavuvamme tye termareta, Sauron.  Ar poletye ten ve anda ve meretye.  You…we will allow you to stay, Sauron.  And you can for as long as you wish.”

Sauron bowed his head in acceptance.