Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Time

Eönwë has to deal with the passing of Time.

This chapter fits two prompts of B2MeM 2011.

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15. Time

Time had begun when Eru brought Eä into being. Once we entered the World that Is, we were bound to Time, because Eä pulses within Time, and Time is woven into Eä to keep it separate from the Timeless Halls, and its existence will only cease when the Song is ended and Eä is unmade. Only those higher languages of abstraction that spell the workings of the immutable laws of the World can explain this wonder. A handful of Children have ever grasped the knowledge to glimpse this understanding, Fëanaro being the most accomplished amongst them.

For those few of the Ainur who, like me, have lived amongst mortals, Time is both a foe and a friend.

A foe, because it steals the Atani away, and carries them to fulfil Eru’s secret plan, and they are mostly forgotten by those who follow, unless they have performed great deeds worthy of song, or they have been well loved or wreathed in hatred.

A friend, because as it flows, our pain diminishes very slowly until it becomes a dull ache that never vanishes, even though memories remain as sharp as they ever were in our minds, incapable of oblivion.  

 

Kiinlúum, Year 52 of the Second Age of Arda

I began to become more aware of the changing seasons as I watched the strength of the ahaw wane. There came a day, at the end of a particularly warm and sunny summer, when hushed rumours reached me of the impending rites of Síihil Ka’teen[1], or rebirth. The following day, Chakmóol indeed had it proclaimed at every street corner and every hamlet and village, that the sacred ceremonies would take place on the next winter solstice, to ensure the strong renewal of the land. That evening, Mairon and I were summoned to attend him when everyone else was dismissed after court. We were both aware of what Síihil Ka’teen meant, but it was nevertheless a shock to hear it from Chakmóol’s mouth.

‘I feel tired, friends,’ he spoke, and smiled faintly. I suddenly realised with a pang how gaunt and fragile he looked, sitting in heavy regalia on his imposing throne. ‘Three moons from now I will be freed from my service to Kiinlúum and join the Sun, Giver of Life, to watch over my realm from above.’

‘Freed?’ queried Mairon, frowning.

‘My heir will sever the ties that bind me to the land. I will soar to meet my forefathers, and he will return in my stead to rule my people. His people.’

I bit my lip. This was Chakmóol’s faith, the core of how he perceived his place in the world. However painful it was for me to witness someone taking his own life, I could not betray his friendship by speaking what I knew to be the truth about the Powers of Arda or about the nature of Anar. I would never attempt to sway him from walking the path chosen by his people’s tradition. Mairon remained silent, too.

‘You know Sakxikin is ready, he has been for many years now,’ continued the ahaw. ‘I would bid you help him; he is keen to listen to your counsel and govern wisely under your guidance.’

‘Gladly, in Yúum,’ we both vowed in unison. The king nodded his satisfaction.

Indeed, by then we knew Sakxikin well. In the public eye, he was a far more reserved man than Chakmóol had ever been, almost shy, and hid himself behind the strict protocol. In fact, he was the complete opposite of his sister Nikteháa.

From his earliest childhood, he had been privy to the arcane rites that tied the life of the ahaw to the fate of Kiinlúum, and the importance of his future role had been all but etched into his mind. For many years, Chakmóol’s son had served his father loyally, and thus learnt the skills to become a ruler that would ensure his people’s welfare, instead of idly waiting for the day he would come into his inheritance.

At first, Sakxikin had begged leave from attending Yúum Síihbalóob privately. I supported his plea, but Chakmóol was adamant in his wish to bind the future ahaw to Mairon. Reluctantly, Sakxikin obeyed his father and lord. Wide-eyed and aroused, he witnessed my submission during several carefully staged nights of little pain and much pleasure, and timidly assisted a most patient Mairon in his expert, consuming mastery.

Thus, Sakxikin was gently but inexorably seduced until one day, a year from Chakmóol’s farewell, he finally knelt at my side in willing thrall to Mairon’s spell, as he joyfully had ever since.

‘During the nine days of the Síihil Ka’teen ritual,’ continued Chakmóol, ‘I will need to appoint a regent. Will you accept this position, Yúum Eönwë?’

‘It will be a great honour, in Ahaw,’ I answered, and knelt to kiss his hand.

‘As for you, Yúum Síihbalóob, my last request is that you assist Sakxikin in his task to ease my journey. I would have no other.’ I froze, hearing Mairon suck in his breath. Selfishly, I was glad our positions were not reversed.

‘I will be honoured to be at your side at such a momentous time, in Ahaw,’ said Mairon smoothly. I almost shivered when our glances crossed. In less serious circumstances, I might have remarked on the ironic twist of fate that granted him such a disturbingly fitting role, but there was no hint of jest in his narrowed eyes.

‘Soon, like you, I will be deathless, friends,’ murmured Chakmóol, ‘and I will always carry with me the memory of your mighty kindness. I am humbled by your faithfulness.’

I was strangely touched. He was grateful to us for not snatching his beloved realm away from him, for not scheming to topple him from the love of his people, for lending our efforts to the prosperity of Kiinlúum, and not to its conquest. Clearly, he had perceived the power Mairon could wield.

‘You have ever deserved our respect and loyalty, in Ahaw. It has been a great privilege to serve a wise ruler and see his realm thrive. The Sun, Giver of Life, has indeed smiled upon you and granted his blessing,’ spoke Mairon, echoing my thoughts. We both bowed and made our farewells.

All of a sudden, tears gathered in my eyes. The mysterious fate of the Atani would inexorably rob me of the first mortal friend I had found in my exile; even certain of the love of Eru for them, this parting was hard to bear. I was glad that Chakmóol was able to look at death in the face without fear.

The people of Kiinlúum were indeed fortunate, that Moringotto had not wholly tainted their innocence, that the Gift of Eru had not yet been turned into a curse.

And thus, all the preparations were made, and nine days before the winter solstice, branches of evergreen carpeted the long road out of the town. At the city gates, I stood at dawn, invested with the breastplate of kingship, and red feathers marking my role, and Nikteháa stood at my side, consoling her aging mother, who wailed and sobbed her despair. There was meant to be joy, because the flesh would soon free the spirit within to be reunited with the force from where life was sprung, but her immediate sense of loss could not be quenched by the hope for renewal.

Chakmóol, Sakxikin and Mairon rode proudly towards the South, to a secret place in the hills prepared by the priests, where the ceremony of Síihil Ka’teen would be performed. They were followed for several miles by a huge crowd bidding their farewells to their beloved ahaw, touching his stirrup, or the hem of his cloak, wishing him well on his last journey. I tracked their slow progress along the river until a point almost on the horizon where I knew several priests stood guard and would allow no one else to follow them on their steep path to the craggy hills beyond.

Nine days later, at sunrise on the shortest day of the year, I knelt before the gates to hand over my regency to the new ahaw of Kíinluum, and his people paid him obeisance as he rode into his city to take his father’s place. Once our part in the ceremonies was over, Mairon and I returned home. There, we shared food while he described to me the details of the secret ritual, except for the sacred words that he had been sworn never to invoke.

‘Sakxikin almost faltered at the end, friend,’ he revealed, ‘and I am surprised that he kept his composure so well, knowing that one day it will be his turn. We helped Chakmóol remove all braids and jewels from his body, dressed him in a red robe, and the three of us ascended the nine-step pyre. We sang the ritual words, and then I passed Sakxikin the cup of sak’k’áak’ sap, and held his hand until it was steady. In turn, he gave it to his father, who drank it without hesitation. Chakmóol gripped my hand, then his son’s when the first spasms took him.’

I gasped, horrified, and Mairon shook his head.

‘It was rather quick, though by no means painless. Sakxikin held on to him while I watched uselessly, rooted to the spot. I, the Dark Lord by whose orders unnumbered men have been slaughtered or slain in torment, felt the sting of tears while Chakmóol, ahaw of Kiinlúum  rushed to embrace the Gift of the One.’

‘Mairon…’ Stunned, words failed me. He waved his hand angrily, as if to dismiss his own admission of weakness.

‘When it was over, we laid him with his arms crossed, closed his eyes and placed a few grains of corn and a green stone upon his tongue. We stepped down from the pyre and Sakxikin set fire to it. He summoned the Sun to receive his father’s spirit, then cried in my arms as the flames roared and the smoke rose.’ Mairon’s eyes seemed focused on a far away place. Then, he smiled.

‘After a while he began to laugh, and I thought he was addled by grief until he explained, hiccupping, what made him so amused. The priests had told him that this would be the last time he was allowed to show weakness to others. “We know better,” he said. “I am grateful for the chance you give me to step down from my divine infallibility from time to time. At last, I understand why my father pressed your gift upon me.”’  

‘Over the following days Sakxikin was meant to meditate in silence, to drink of the strength of the Sun, and to listen to the voice of his land, while I was there to serve him and to ensure he would not pass out from thirst or hunger. I built a shelter in the shade under which we took refuge. Most of the time we spoke, about life and death, about renewal, justice, power, peace and war.’ Mairon knitted his brow, then curled his lip and chuckled, somewhat bitterly. ‘A disciple of Melkor was hardly the most appropriate counsellor to impart wisdom on those matters to a new king.’

He became silent. I touched his cheek, wondering what dark vaults of memory his thoughts were traversing. He captured my fingers and kissed them, and then my palm and my wrist. Before he continued up my arm, I reluctantly twisted my hand free from his grasp.

‘On the contrary, Mairon,’ I protested softly. ‘Who, but one who has explored many paths, in shadow as well as in light, can advise a young ruler about the forks he may encounter, or about the perils he may face along his road?’

His bejewelled braids tinkled lightly when he shook his head, still lost in musings.

‘On the last day,’ he continued, ‘before we rode back I invested Sakxikin with all the symbols of divinity, except for the sun plate you had retained, the token of kingship. We travelled in silence. He was afraid but would not say it and I left him in peace. He wavered a little at the sight of the roaring crowd that welcomed him, but I cast words of strength into his mind.’

‘Life in these gentle lands has mellowed you, Mairon.’

‘You shall retract those slanderous words at once,’ he threatened, with a mock scowl.

Before I knew what was happening, he leapt upon me, lithe and fast as a jaguar, throwing me back onto the cushions. We wrestled wildly, but I was no match for his strength, and soon found myself with my back on the floor. He straddled me in triumph, and pinned both my wrists against the floor above my head with one hand, while the other roved slowly under my clothing in search of my ticklish spots. A wicked grin spread slowly across his face when I began to writhe.

‘You will beg for mercy. Oh, yes, you will.’

His lips locked fiercely upon mine and his tongue smothered my weak cry of defiance and my laughter.

Indeed, I did beg. That night, I was not spared from his vengeance.

 

~o~

 

The sadness at Chakmóol’s passing became gradually easier to bear, and we often remembered him with fondness, and many of his people did as well until, in turn, they left Arda, too.

One evening, three moons after the Síihil Ka’teen, when the air was warm after the chill of winter and the sweet scent of orange blossom perfumed the air, Mairon, Nikteháa and I sat under the trees in our courtyard, having finished our meal. She snuggled against my side and I buried my lips in her soft hair, jet streaked with silver. Our friend watched us with an indulgent smile.

‘Were you and my father lovers, Annatar?’ asked Nikteháa, breaking the contented silence.

‘What makes you ask, princess?’ He would never cease to be cautious, but I doubted he could evade answering her question; she was nothing if not inquisitive and stubborn.

‘Curiosity, naturally,’ she laughed. ‘Is there any harm in asking, now that he has gone?’ Her voice wavered slightly.

‘No, I suppose there is not,’ he conceded. ‘Yes, lady, we were lovers once.’

I had to smile. After so many years, I rarely heard them address each other by their names.

‘My father seldom spoke of you, but I knew he held you in high regard, not only in court, but also as a smith, architect and engineer. Will you now tell me how you met him?’ She almost clapped with excitement, like she used to do as a child.

‘Hear, hear the tale of the mighty Ahaw Chakmóol of Kiinlúum and his loyal Yúum Síihbalóob,’ I sang in mockery. Mairon growled and threw a cushion at my head. Then he cleared his throat, somewhat dramatically, before he began.

‘On the day after I arrived at Kiinlúum, hungry, ragged, footsore and with only a few coins in my pocket, I was walking along the river, admiring the beauty of the countryside, counting the spires and balconies of the city, and wondering what to do next.’

‘Spires and balconies, Mairon, or cows and chickens?’ I asked, with a wink. He glared a deadly warning in return. His first impression, he had once confessed to me, was that he would not willingly spend his days in a peasant, dung-stinking realm on the lost edge of the world.

‘I came upon a field where a group of men were shouting and cheering in a wide circle, inside which I could hear the clashing of steel. I approached, curious, and pushed into the crowd to find a place from where I could watch.’

‘Two warriors were fighting with real swords. One of them was an old hand; I found out later that he was one of the army captains. The other…’ he paused, for effect.

Mairon’s voice always had a compelling quality that made one want to listen, but his story-telling was second to none, and Nikteháa was thoroughly enthralled.

‘The other was a very young man, not yet fully muscled but agile as a lion, wearing only his trousers and a plain cuirass. His sable hair was braided tightly to keep it off his face, and on one side dangled three green feathers. He was fast on his bare feet, and fought skilfully, but not well enough.’

‘What do you mean, Yúum Síihbalóob?’ queried the princess, a frown on her face.

‘I mean that the older warrior was ignoring his opponent’s mistakes and deliberately offering him openings in his own defence, until he had the boy’s sword on his chest and conceded victory. I watched the crowd, mostly soldiers. They were all aware of the trickery, but the boy was not. Those men were doing him an ill service; one day he might find himself with a sword through his heart because of this deception.’

‘Did you know who he was?’ asked Nikteháa.

’How could I guess?’ smiled Mairon. ‘At that time the feathers meant nothing to me. I believed him to be a haughty lordling, being humoured out of adulation. He had the intelligence and the speed to become a much better swordsman, but he lacked form, strength and strategy, and he would never apply himself as hard as he had to if he believed he could already best anyone else.’

‘I walked into the circle and spoke, loud enough for everyone to hear: “He has let you win!” I could not speak the tongue of Kiinlúum very well yet, having just crossed the border through the desert, but I had a few words already. “He lost on purpose,” I added. A dead silence followed, and several soldiers began to drag me away, but the young warrior gave an order and I was freed, though gleaming swords were drawn and trained against me.’

‘”What did you say, stranger?” the boy asked, and pointed at the older man. “Did he not do his best?” His opponent glared, a promise of vengeance in his eyes. “No, he did not,” I insisted. ”If he is one of your instructors, my lord, you should have him flogged,” I said, and the whole crowd roared angrily in response. “Why should I believe you? Why should I not have you flogged for your insolence?” replied the young man, haughtily. “It is a grave accusation you are making, and you even dare demand punishment?” I shrugged. “I do not lie, but I can prove my sincerity if you give me a sword. I will defeat you before you can slowly count to twenty,” I replied. A gasp of disbelieving outrage shook the audience, and the boy frowned. “You are too daring, stranger, but I wish to find the truth of this matter.” The older warrior protested, warning caution, but a wave of his lord’s hand silenced him at once. By then, I had realised he must be at least a prince of the realm, and berated myself for having recklessly walked into unnecessary trouble.’

‘Truly, Yúum Síihbalóob? Did you not consider instead the benefit of winning a powerful ally if your gamble paid off?’ queried the princess, with a voice soft as silk that did not soothe the sting in her words.

Amazed at her boldness, I snorted. Mairon laughed and lifted his hands in mock surrender.

‘Indeed I did, my lady. How could I ever hope to hide the truth from your sharp mind? I knew that if I earned the trust of one such as that foolish boy, young and vulnerable but in a position of influence, I would gain entrance into the circles of power of this land. I will speak nothing but the truth for the rest of my tale, I promise.’

Nikteháa nodded, thoughtfully. She did not seem angry or offended. Once long ago, I had stared suspiciously at my friend, when reaching the same conclusions. Mairon had waited until I had yielded to him before he shared this story with me. By then, he must have gauged that the trust between us, supported by his deeds, would have taught me to stop tagging a sinister reason to each and every one of his actions.

‘So, what did my father do?’ Nikteháa asked, forgoing her line of questioning and interrupting my reminiscences. Mairon gladly resumed his tale.

‘At his orders, they brought me a wooden practice sword, but he kept his steel. We saluted each other and I let him attack. The crowd chanted the numbers aloud; I could not recognise them all yet, but I was not worried. As I predicted, I won with little effort and even knocked the boy’s blade from his hand. Immediately, many hands pinned me down and made me kneel.’

‘What happened?’ cried Nikteháa, excitedly.

I smiled; I knew now that Mairon would not have been in true danger yet. He could have overpowered or stunned his captors to free himself. Still, I felt a pang of envious admiration at his notorious entrance to Kiinlúum.

‘He laughed, and touched my face. I was startled. I looked into his eyes, almost as green as the feathers in his hair, and saw a reflection of my own desire. “I must know you better, stranger.” To his soldiers he said: “Release him! Bring him to me this evening, after he has had a bath.” He began to walk away. “Who are you?” I shouted, but he never turned round. One of the soldiers answered: “He is our ahaw, our god-king, and you are fortunate to be still alive.”’

‘So, your chance was within your grasp,’ Nikteháa exclaimed, resuming her earlier attack.

‘Yes, and no,’ answered Mairon slowly. ‘You see, my lady, I regarded Men as weak creatures, prone to selfish pettiness, and ill-equipped to rule fairly.’

I gritted my teeth, stunned at his honesty. Indeed, we had argued endlessly about this point over the years, but always in private. I could not see the princess’ face, but I felt her tense in my arms.

‘Are you insulting the one you called friend?’ she queried, her voice sharp and brittle.

‘Not at all,’ he answered gravely. ‘I am speaking the truth, and bid you listen to the end of my tale.’

She nodded brusquely, while I tightened my embrace in reassurance. This time it was my turn to glare at him.

‘My original intention, my lady, had been to become the hidden power behind the ahaw, to claim this realm as my own, maybe covertly at first.’ Nikteháa sucked in her breath; I shook my head and silently implored him to stop, but Mairon continued, undeterred.

‘That night, I found out that your father had been ahaw for less than a year. He made me waver in my purpose because he intrigued me; he had chosen to test his mettle against a stranger and thus question his own people, instead of merely accepting adulation. I decided to guide him, at least for a while until he should prove me right in my assessment, and then I would take the reins. But he was eager to learn, fair, patient and not arrogant, despite who he was, despite who I was. Indeed, he was a wise man and we soon understood each other.’

He curled his lips in that predatory, sensual smirk of his that made me melt inside.

‘Ignoring widespread dismay at his council, he appointed me as his advisor; I was not afraid of speaking the truth to him, without flattery or vagueness, and helped him earn the respect of those who thought him a weakling, easy to sway to their own purposes.’ He paused and held the princess’s gaze with his glittering eyes. ‘Including myself. Eönwë named me loyal, and I have been.’

‘You, Niktehaá, would have surpassed your father, had you been given the chance. Thus ends my tale.’

I was speechless, and moved by his unprecedented, sincere praise.

‘What happened to that captain?’ asked the princess, at length. She was not one to let dangling ends loose. ‘Was he whipped?’

‘No. Your father suspected others had been equally guilty, and it would have been unfair for that man to be singled out.’ He grinned. ‘He asked me to spar with them. I made each of their defeats long, painful and memorable.’

‘Oh, Annatar, you are evil,’ she exclaimed, and burst into laughter. I had the pleasure of watching Mairon choke on his wine and turn purple. ‘Brave and kind, too, despite the thorns you wrap around yourself to keep us all at a distance!’ 

‘Now I understand,’ she continued, in a pensive tone. ‘Alone with you he did not have to be the mighty ahaw. He never complained, but I was sure sometimes he wished he had not been chosen. How glad must he have been that you stayed at his side, a god whose eyes sparkle with the light of stars!’

I kissed the top of her head to hide my face from my friend, whose mien had darkened, but only briefly, before a half smile took shape on his lips, and his eyes glittered.

He shook his head. ‘Believe me, princess, I am no deity. In fact, the gods have turned their backs on me.’

The light, almost genuinely cheerful tone with which he had spoken proved the extent of his self-control, but Nikteháa frowned, clearly pondering on his meaning. She turned to me in alarm.

‘On you too?’ Without hesitation, I nodded.

‘Eönwë is bound to silence,’ explained Mairon. ‘By the same gods who banished him because he showed mercy to a vanquished enemy.’

‘Is that true?’ she cried, squeezing my hand in her distress.

‘Yes, but I must not say more. Please do not ask!’ I whispered miserably, unable to keep bitterness away from my voice.

‘Will you ever be allowed to return, either of you?’ she queried, anxiously.

She looked at me, then at Mairon, desperately demanding an answer that was not mine to speak. The silence stretched unbearably while I also questioned my friend with my eyes.

‘Not yet, princess,’ he replied at last.

 

~o~

 

Years of work, peace, passion and bliss flew by, rushed by happiness, and Nikteháa’s life inexorably dripped away, hour after hour, day after day, like water spilling through her fingers. The day I had dreaded since I was faced with Chakmóol’s death came at last, too soon, too quickly, only a handful of years after Sakxikin had relinquished his kingdom and his divinity into the hands of his eldest son.

Nikteháa died in my arms, because that had been her will. I had been ceaselessly fussing at her bedside once it became clear that she would not have the strength to rise from it again. One balmy spring day, she quietly asked me to move her under the blossoming trees where we had shared tales, smiles and kisses.

‘You look the same,’ she sighed contentedly, snuggling against my chest. I caressed her pale silver hair, and gently traced the many lines etched on her face, a face that age had touched but not robbed of its beauty. ‘Your road is long, Eönwë. Light dies in brighter light. My love...’

One moment she was smiling, as those strange words left her lips, the next her heart had stopped beating, and I immediately knew she was no longer there with me, but far beyond the world.

I embraced the shape that had held her beautiful fëa, until Mairon found me. The women of her house wished to prepare her body, and my friend stilled my protest and dragged me away. He knew my grief would have to run its course, and I lay curled against his warm skin that night and fell asleep with eyes empty of tears in the refuge of his arms.

The following day, the nine-step pyre had been erected on the terrace of the House of the Sun, bedecked with garlands of all colours. A huge crowd had gathered to give their farewells to the princess. The ahaw, her oldest nephew, called upon all the gods to receive her spirit, except for the dreaded lord of the underworld, who was shooed away with rattles, loud stamping of feet and invocations to the Sun to vanquish the shadows.

I laid her body on the bed of flowers at the top of the pyre. I was her husband in all but name, and therefore was called to perform the required ritual, to place the green stone and the corn in her mouth and to cover her face with the red shroud. Numbly, I descended the steps and one of the priests placed a smoking torch in my hands. I set fire to the structure of wood, sprayed with oil.

Stunned by grief, I watched the raging flames leap up to destroy her hröa. She was not there; on the pyre burnt only a shell, once beloved, now empty. Following tradition, her ashes would be scattered in places she had favoured, so that the Sun would stir the growth of new life in them. It was moving to watch the Children’s faces, hopeful in faith, despite having no glimpse, no proof of what they would truly find in the afterlife.

Mairon stood silently at my side until it was all over.

‘Where do they go?’ I whispered, tiredly. ‘Why would Eru not reveal their fate?’

‘As Chakmóol said, their fëar soar to freedom, released from the regret and sorrow of the life they cast aside, maybe to start anew some place else.’ He sighed and turned thoughtful eyes to mine. ‘Wherever it is they go, at times I wish we could follow them.’

 

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[1]Síihil Ka’teen (Yucatec-based term) I have combined ka’teen (Yucatec) “again” and síihil (Yucatec) “birth” for my own version of “rebirth” or “renewal”.