Loyalty: A Tale in Three Voices by grey_gazania

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Part I, Chapter II (Uldor)

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FA 459

  

I'll never forget the sound my brother made when I carried my niece to our makeshift sickroom. I'd found Tókhesh collapsed beside the far well, shivering and sweaty, with her skin burning like a sun-baked rock. Lupílo let out an awful, low keening as I laid her beside her mother, and who could blame him? His entire family had now fallen to the fever.

 

"Babí?" Tókhesh mumbled as I set her down, squinting up at my brother as another shiver wracked her body.

 

"Shh. I'm here," he said, his voice cracking. He brushed a few strands of hair off her damp forehead, reached over her mother, and took hold of the blanket that lay over his son, tucking it around Tókhesh instead. That told me all I needed to know about young Lúkub's chances. Better to care for those who might live than to waste comfort on those who were good as dead. 

 

"Lie still," my brother continued. "Try to rest."

 

Whatever Tókhesh said in response was lost under the sound of her mother coughing, and Lupílo hurried to help Khit sit up. I did the same, bracing her left shoulder against my own and then slowly easing her back down when the fit subsided. Blood flecks had landed on her lips, and her eyes stared right through us. I don't think she even knew we were there.

 

I gave my brother's shoulder a brief squeeze and took my leave. Father needed to know about this.

 

He was in our house, closed in with some of the other men, but no one hindered me as I joined him. I was his heir, after all. He looked up at me as I entered and, once the others had shifted to make a space for me to sit, got straight to business. "The raiders are eyeing us," he said. "I've raised the plague banners. Hopefully that will discourage them from attacking the city. If they do, I don't think we have enough men standing to be able to hold them off. They've already struck at some of the outer settlements, and Károt's people are faring no better. We're in dire straits, Lúrep."

 

"It's worse," I told him. "Tókhesh is sick now, too."

 

That would've saddened us at any time — she was our blood and we loved her dearly — but her illness was at the peak of a larger problem. The alliance between us and our Eastern neighbors was one of my father's greatest accomplishments, but the truth was that it rested heavily on Lupílo and his family, for his wife was their leader's sister. My nephews were already dead; if Khit and my niece followed, our blood-ties to Károt's people would be gone. Our alliance might hold, especially if the raiders continued their assault, but if it failed… The gods alone knew what that might mean for us all.

 

***********

 

We nearly found out. Khit was dead within a few days, joining the hundreds whose bodies waited to be burned. Tókhesh clung stubbornly to life, for a time; she was a pigheaded child, never one to give up easily. But eventually she, too, slipped into the death-sleep.

 

The following day, the spirit came. It wasn't the first time one had appeared to Father. He had been visited in the night before the great battle at Eagle Hill by a spirit who foretold victory despite our small numbers, and years later by another who counseled him to begin to trade with the Kházad to the West. But I had never seen one before, so I stared alongside my brothers when this one poured in like smoke through our window and then took the form of a woman, skin pale like fog and eyes glowing like embers in its face. When it moved, its whole body was covered by an eerie sheen, like moonlight on the surface of the river. Ludédro made the sun-sign over his heart and Lame Haná averted her eyes, looking down at the cup of weak tea she held instead.

 

"Lúpentho," it said, fixing its burning eyes on Father. Its voice was like claws drawn across iron, sending a chill down my spine

 

He brought his fists together and bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Spirit," he said. "You honor me. I did not expect to see you again."

 

"I bring a message from my master, the Lord of the North."

 

This spirit served the Lord of the North? Even Father stared at that claim. The Lord of the North was a shadowy figure who had few dealings in our lands, though we'd heard from the Kházad that he sometimes sent armies of monsters against the strange, bright-eyed beings who lived on the other side of the western mountains. What interest did he have in us?

 

"He has seen the valor of your people," the spirit continued, answering our unasked question, "and he would like to form an alliance with you. He has sent me to bring you the knowledge to cure this fever, as a show of goodwill. All he asks in return is that you consider his proposal."

 

All my senses screamed that the Lord of the North was a dangerous creature to ally ourselves with, but if this spirit could truly stop the fever, we would be fools to turn it away. Besides, it wasn't asking our agreement, only our consideration. Everyone turned toward Father, waiting for his answer.

 

He looked around the room in silence. I do not know what he saw - Lupílo's eyes still red-rimmed and swollen, the exhausted slump of Lame Haná's shoulders, or simply the fear and desperation lurking in us all. But he straightened his back, met the spirit's gaze, and said, "We accept. Heal us, and we will hear your master's proposal."

 

It smiled, an expression that was somehow comforting even on such a strange, unearthly face. Lame Haná turned to Father and, at his nod, spoke. "I am our healer," she said. "Tell me what to do. Please."

 

"There is a tree growing by your river," it said, "whose bark will succeed where the willow tree failed. Dry it and grind it into powder and give it to your ill. They will heal."

 

"All of them?" Lupílo asked hoarsely. "Even those who won't wake?"

 

"All of them," the spirit answered. "Look for the tree that bears white flowers, and they will heal. By my master, I swear it."

 

Lame Haná bowed her head, and the spirit departed in a gust of smoke.

 

We set to work, cutting, drying, and grinding, men and women together as Lame Haná and her helpers gave sips of bark-laced water to the sick. And, miraculously, they healed — one by one, and they were still weakened, but the fevers subsided and those in the death-sleep slowly woke. Lupílo wept when Tókhesh blinked her eyes open for the first time in a full week, and even Father grew wet around the eyes. We sent out messengers to Károt and his people, carrying with them some of the powder and the knowledge of how to make it. 

 

We didn't see the spirit again until everyone was on their feet once more. It arrived with the fog one evening as we ate our meager meal, my brothers and Thisí and Thisí's brother Broddá, and of course Lame Haná, who was always welcome at our table. Lupílo was dividing his portion between himself and Tókhesh, hushing her protests, when it slid in under the shutters. We all bowed as it took form, our gratitude overcoming our fear. Fixing its eyes on Father again, it said. "I have held my end of our bargain. It is time for you to uphold yours."

 

He gave another short bow. "Let us speak in private," he said. "Thisí, please take the children." She nodded and ushered Tókhesh and her own surviving son out of the room. Once the door was closed, Father turned back to the spirit and said, "I have considered your master's offer. But I would be a fool to enter into an alliance blind. What is it that your master wants from us in exchange for his help?"

 

"A fair question," the spirit acknowledged. "You are no fool, Lúpentho son of Lutámlin, and you have proven it many times over. What my master wishes you to do is this." It waved its arm over the table and our dishes slid to the edges, giving it space to trace a map in tendrils of liquid smoke. "These are your Western Mountains," it said, its hand hovering over a thick line of peaked shapes. "There are people beyond the mountains who oppose my master, the bright-eyed people of whom the Khazâd have told you. Thieves, many of them, and a good portion of their leaders have slain their own kin. They call themselves the Noldor and they seek dominion over the lands and those who live there as though they have some right. They force the men and women there to serve them as they make war on my master and squabble among themselves. What my master would have you do is cross the mountains."

 

Cross the mountains? Was this spirit mad? We were in no state for a journey that difficult. We'd only barely held off the group of raiders who'd struck a few days ago. I opened my mouth to protest, but Father silenced me with a gesture.

 

"Cross the mountains for what purpose?" he asked.

 

"To spy on the Noldor," the spirit said, tapping its pale finger over a different spot on the map. "Treat with them. Make them think they have your loyalty and that you will submit to them as all the others have. Then watch them closely and relay all you see and hear to my master, that he may better drive them out. The lands there are green and fertile, and there are no raiders. Your people would live well, and prosper further once the Noldor are gone. What prosperity is left for you here?"

 

"You know about the mines, then," Father said, and the spirit nodded.

 

There was little copper coming out of the mines these days; it was getting harder and harder to find veins of it. There was still metal that could be dug up, but it was strange, soft and shiny and tinged with blue. The Kházad had told us that they used small amounts melted down with tin to form their pewter, but our men who worked with it often fell ill. Between that and the crops destroyed by the rainstorms, our long-term survival here was looking more and more tenuous. But traveling all the way over the mountains? Was that that really the answer?

 

Apparently Father saw the look on my face, because he gestured to me. "Speak, Lúrep."

 

"Crossing the mountains will be hard," I said. "We'll need time to prepare, a lot of time, and I don't think everyone will survive the journey."

 

"Even Yefán the Fearsome moved his people when circumstances called for it," Lupílo countered, invoking the name of our famed ancestor.

 

"You need not leave immediately," the spirit said. "The Noldor are long-lived; if you take many months, or even years, the Noldor will have changed little."

 

"I think we should agree," Ludédro urged. "It's as the spirit said — our future here looks more and more dim each day." Broddá and Lupílo nodded in agreement, but Lame Haná looked pensive.

 

"Have you made this offer to Károt's people?" she asked.

 

"I have not," the spirit said. "My master considered it, but Károt is still young; he does not yet have your leader's wisdom."

 

"If we go, his people may follow," Lame Haná said to Father. "They're no better off than we are, and as long as Tókhesh lives, they're tied to us by blood."

 

"That is of no consequence," the spirit said. "They are welcome even if they are not in my master's confidence. All who travel across the mountains will prosper when the Noldor are driven out."

 

"How do we know the land is as good as you say it is?" I asked.

 

The spirit spread its hands. "I have never deceived Lúpentho," it said, and Father nodded slowly. I wondered which spirit this was — the one from Eagle Hill or the one who'd offered counsel. Either way, whatever it had said, Father had found it to be true. And the spirit had healed us. It had little reason to lie to us; if we traveled over the mountains and found that the land was dead, we would have grounds to break our agreement or even to reveal it to the Noldor.

 

I looked to Lame Haná, who shrugged and looked to Father. He was silent, his eyes locked onto the spirit's. Whatever he saw, it must have helped him make his decision, for he unsheathed his dagger. "We accept," he said, and drew the blade across his palm, leaving behind a shallow gash. Then he offered the knife to the spirit, who did the same. Its blood was thick and black as ink, and it mingled with Father's as they clasped hands, a few drops spattering onto the table. The last time Father had sworn a blood-oath, it had been with Károt; the time before that had been at his wedding to my mother. This agreement was binding now, for all of us.

 

"Keep what was said here private," the spirit said. "Known only to those in this room. Care for your people. I will return at the full moon; there is much you need to learn before the journey."

 

It turned once more to a tendril of fog and left the way it had come. Lame Haná was readying a bandage for my father, but when she wiped the blood away, she found that the cut was already gone.