PART FOUR: Benighted
Climbing a steep embankment upon her hands and knees, Isoldis finally reaches the mouth of the cave, wide and unlit with invite. Stumbling immediately upon a carpet of slippery rocks, the lady nearly cracks her head as she falls inelegantly, landing in a slimy puddle that soaks her legs now threadbare in silk stockings and slippers; her torn dress ballooning in silent protest as though inflating upon the anger that seeps from her in cold clouds of complaint. Angrily, she discards one mud-stained slipper to land outside the cave; since her fall has forced her foot fully through the fragile weave of fabric it clings limply by nothing more than its flowery embroidered edge and flaps with every footstep. With bitter annoyance, the one-shoed lady continues in her dark direction, wringing out her tattered raiment to leave a bread-crumb trail of glossy wet droplets smeared behind her that seem not to soak the floor but sit like a glinting treasure-trove of pearls.
Outside, the wolves gather with nervousness all about the rambling hills in such numbers that the horizon shifts with shadow, yet this is far from the secret manoeuvre of troops lying in ambush. The lady has long left the untamed Trollshaws: the land is no longer carved from bitter-brown rock but wide and oceanic in its view. Here, basins of swaying grassland are woven loosely together with the running stitches of forgotten trade routes that scratch well weathered signs of directions into the stony land. A threadbare tapestry of weak soil and thin vegetation, ancient buildings lie half hidden beneath blankets of bramble or sink sleepily between folds of grass, tumbling from grace in silent genuflect as though to return their stones to the land will cure their backaches. At least Isoldis can traverse this region without fear of foul beast grown to unnatural size and horror.
Such brutal beauty in the land of Eregion marks the lady as a drop in the oceans of endless waving where unruly gales labour her footsteps or play merry mischief with her gown, whilst occasionally, the air bends so sharply around her that she can hear it whisper her name. She can fully imagine the voice of Manwë mocking her solitary condition when the wind sings her name, yet his purpose is moot upon this lady for she has driven her heart so deep down inside her chest that she feels no more than the slow creep of madness, until she is shocked back to her senses by something more than a whisper. Loud cracks and bangs to be exact!
In these lands, the sky can turn on a whim, whipping up dry storms faster than any legs can flee and although the thick clouds have naught to drench the barren land with much-needed rain, they will send down salutations of lightning to scorch it instead! The wolves know when the sky is ready to toss its spears of spite and they gather about the hills in howling revelry, sending Isoldis the message to take cover, and fast! Inside the cave, she may house herself for at least the next few hours, resting beside the unfathomable depths of an underground pool, its calm surface unreflecting like a dark-lit mirror across the secret grotto. All absorbent of its surrounds like the silent swallow from some lurking beast, Isoldis fears not. No creature could live beneath its sunless surface, yet a sudden smirk creases her insipid features reflected in its dim skin where she considers the beast staring back at her. What has she become?
Isoldis’ mind is piqued, her heart subdued to the sensitivity of a stone, whilst her spirit seems entombed in slabs of wet granite that resist any breach or cling, like some impenetrable fortress of old; Noldor built. Respectfully she remembers her father, whose looks and character she so easily resembles, yet, always did she feel carved in ash beside her golden sister Tynuilos, Teleri made best! Isoldis had never felt such inner value that came easy to her sister, and she had struggled to grant her existence any true worth until she met Lord Mittanyaro. In his hasty affection he had compared her pale grey eyes to the Silmarils, of which his memory was still living; it was a night that had changed the course of her life! Of course he had been immediately thrashed for his brazen adoration yet, over time, she had begun to relax upon the subject of her own beauty, perhaps daring even to believe his words. She could hear his voice still, coming to her from beyond the darkness, like the refrain of some memorable song. “My Lady...”
His vanishing was the harshest lament to suffer, perhaps because he had been the first person that she ever believed in; the first...to not only tell her to love herself, but teach her how. She could learn to love herself through him. She could become more alike the other courtly ladies when he was around. She could soften at the edges and take the sting out of her tongue. She could impassion her thoughts enough to feel alive in his company and almost believe that she fitted in, and she could feel safe when he was near. Since the loss of her treasured lute, since the disappearance of her dear friend Arvaryar and his sister Nedhlam, and since her public dispute with Lord Anglachelm...she had needed Mittanyaro more than ever. He was her rock and he was her constant. Oh! Why had he been taken from her as well?
Isoldis cups her face as though to shield herself from further introspection, yet where her eyes are forbidden to gaze, her ears remain free.
“My lady...”
The voice is plucked straight from her mind as though her sorrow dares to become corporal in the darkness and with a gasp she turns to face an apparition walking from the shadows. Squinting at the figure in disbelief, her eyes cut through the diffused light to chisel familiar features in the form of Lord Mittanyaro. He even wears the armour that she remembers him in, so finely crafted as to make no sound upon approach. She might congratulate her imagination to pull such a perfect replica from thin air; indeed, the apparition even breathes clouds of haste as though he has run a long distance to catch up with her.
“Be gone spectre and trouble not my eyes....you are naught but my own making. I beg you leave me some virtue in spite of my madness!” The lady trembles, holding out a hand to bar further encroachment, yet the figure only grows more corporal in its haunting and steps forward in want to overload her senses with a single touch! Oh, this cannot be, Isoldis shouts inside her mind to awaken from her sombre reverie, but naught shakes her free of its grip and she recoils backwards into the sickly water, step by step, shielding her eyes from the illusion of her grief made manifest.
“My lady...” The voice repeats tentatively, impressing upon the air with a sudden need. The figure stretches out a grasping hand. “Be very, very still my lady...” He warns with familiar tones of sobriety. Isoldis may be weeping beneath her hands, yet she will stand defiant against any nightmare, albeit sinking fast into the black gloss of the water. Invisible hands seem to tug at her ragged skirt whilst the lake shifts and sinks in fluid accommodation of her unseen footsteps, until she is stuck waist deep.
“Isoldis. Do-Not-Move.” The Lord instructs her precisely and she removes her hands from her eyes to peer with astonishment, dare she believe him...real? At the same moment, Mittanyaro discards the shield slung across his back and unsheathes his sword that glints like a sliver strike against the night just as a low growl ripples across the water’s surface and the lady suddenly becomes aware of a presence behind her. Glancing quickly over her shoulder, she sees the outline of a giant worm breaking the surface of its watery abode, its eyes red hot upon its prey, whilst its foul breath hisses in clouds of steam through half submerged nostrils.
Isoldis fixes a fierce gaze back at Mittanyaro, a mutual strategy finding understanding between them without need for words as he moves cautiously to the water’s edge, desiring to pull the lady free yet not get stuck himself. Just as their stretching fingertips interlace and his reality is surely proven to the doubting lady, the worm raises half its body out of the dark-lit mere, becoming a humpbacked island at its centre. Glossy spines half erect along its back in the cool embrace of air and Isoldis grasps for solid purchase upon Mittanyaro’s hand, now fully extended, his feet already beginning to sink at the shore line; armour-clad or one shoed, the ground shifts all too easily in accommodation of its easy victims whilst the worm raises its tail above the line of the water in a flexing motion that curls whip-like in readiness to sever their link.
Using all his strength, Mittanyaro yanks Isoldis free just as the worm’s tail cuts suddenly through the dark. It smashes down upon the shoreline just inches from them, revealing more of those spines that run the full length of its body. Mittanyaro eyes the barbed creature to guess its next move before driving Isoldis in the opposite direction. He guesses correctly except that a final flick in the worm’s tail lashes sideways, striking Mittanyaro across the face. The Lord cries out in agony as the flesh across his cheeks and eyes is instantly inflamed, singeing black and forcing his eyes fully shut. Mittanyaro drops his sword as he clutches at his face and Isoldis gasps at the sight of her faithful guardian’s bloody injuries, yet there is no time for fear or pity.
Instinctively, Mittanyaro reconnects with the hilt of his weapon before falling against the recesses of the cave. Here Isoldis inspects Mittanyaro’s wounds briefly, yet his anger and pride swell and he quickly finds his feet once more and roars loudly in defiance at his now hidden enemy. Searching the cave with his remaining senses on full alert, Mittanyaro’s ears perk to the direction of sound just as another lash strikes from the dark, this time only saved from its sting by his heavy armour. Alas, it is so fierce a strike that he is half pushed over, like a great oak being felled by a mighty axe, notch by notch. How many more strikes can he withstand? Although Isoldis is already to his aid!
She has dragged his shield to their side, under which they quickly shelter as another lash strikes its surface with the full weight of a battle flail. Some of the barbs stick into the shield’s surface and sizzle with cruel juices as the worm recoils its tail, yet at least now the Lord can fully determine the creature’s direction. There seems no easy escape as the beast crawls fully out of its oily pond to block the only passageway. As it turns towards them, Isoldis can view the full measure of this giant worm with a silent gulp, its belly swelling with gasses that smoke at its nostrils, its hungry hisses tasting the air for their scent and curling its long tail against the interior walls of the grotto as though to gain more leverage for another strike. Nevertheless, Mittanyaro is already bracing himself, gritting his teeth with pain yet ready to stand again in blind combat. His lady hugs the interior of the shield where her courage lacks not and she determines to be his eyes, peering over the shield between lashes to shout instructions to Mittanyaro in the throes of battle.
“Swing left!” The worm’s tail crashes to the ground just inches from the edge of their shield.
“Duck!” The worm roars with flaming breath, warming the metal edges of the shield that scarcely surrounds them.
Swing right!” Mittanyaro strikes hard against the worm’s tail, cutting into its flesh upon impact, yet the worm retracts fast and Mittanyaro’s instinct can do little more than twist the blade and shave off a layer of scales as the sword edge snaps back like an empty bite. At the same time, the creature curls itself back, a low rumble from its belly denoting a new strategy, then taking some steps forward it snarls loudly in preparation to tackle its meal with its jaws.
Beneath the shield Mittanyaro kneels to take his breath, Isoldis stroking his hair as she gazes in wonder at the Lord’s hidden virtues. So much she did not yet know of him and may yet not have chance. In the dim she can only frown in pity and Mittanyaro does not venture to raise his head and leaves his long black hair to fall across his face as is its sudden want, fumbling to grasp her hand whilst waiting patiently for the worm to come within distance of his sword. A few seconds is all that is granted between them, no time for belated welcomes nor hurried explanations and no time for heartfelt goodbyes, only a single tender kiss upon the lady’s hand and the simple words,
“Take shelter here my lady, no need to scar what I shall always remember as sublime.” Mittanyaro kisses Isoldis’ hand, before sensing the worm close upon them and standing tall from behind his shield, to appear like a gleaming Noldor banner of silver white in the darkness. As he raises his sword with both hands the worm lunges forward, half banging against the shield and causing Mittanyaro’s swing to cut the air just inches from Isoldis. She is knocked back as the creature grapples with Mittanyaro, and takes some moments to find her crouched position behind her guardian’s shield once more whilst the air is thick with clawing scuffles and a scything sword. Mittanyaro cries out as the creature takes a bite upon one of his limbs, then he makes some desperate noises to accompany his flaring strokes of the sword with twice the pace, struggling to pin the creature down long enough to plunge the tip into its writhing belly. A cloud of poisonous fumes erupts from the wound to choke Mittanyaro yet before he is overcome he is swinging back around in an anti-clockwise direction, stamping the creature’s neck to the floor with an impaling boot and hacking off its head to end the fight.
Silence prevails, as the exhausted Lord falls then to his knees, half leaning upon his sword half ready to topple over. Isoldis rushes to catch him falling and lays his head into her lap.
“My beloved...” She whimpers as Mittanyaro barely breathes. The clouds of gases are fading fast, yet linger long enough to squeeze tears from Isoldis’ eyes, whilst Mittanyaro falls into a deep stupor. Isoldis cannot rouse him and after some time and with great effort, the lady drags her armour clad guardian back along the passage where she eventually lays him to rest at its wide mouth. Propped up against the cave wall, the sleeping Lord faces westward as a sanguine sunset bleed into the morrow; and Isoldis kneels to take his hand and pray,
“My Lord, I beg you stay here with me please...please, don’t leave me. I have suffered to lose you once, do not make me suffer twice. “
