Kinslayer by Artaxastra

The silvered light of the lamps spilled like water over the pillars and towers of Tirion, pooling on the marble of the quays. Beyond their reach there was nothing but darkness, the ocean

Read The silvered light of the lamps spilled like water over the pillars and towers of Tirion, pooling on the marble of the quays. Beyond their reach there was nothing but darkness, the ocean

                The silvered light of the lamps spilled like water over the pillars and towers of Tirion, pooling on the marble of the quays.  Beyond their reach there was nothing but darkness, the ocean lapping up at the feet of a vast sea of night.  The stars seemed very small and very distant. The ships of the Teleri rode at anchor, black and silver beneath the heavens.

            Artanis waited with those of their house who had come so far, their bundles and burdens stacked on the smooth wooden boards of the docks.  Her feet were bare, paler even than marble.  No one spoke loudly.  There had been many words before, many shouts and oaths and affirmations.  Now there was quiet.  Worriedly, she looked down the quay to where bright torches streamed against the dark, those that had lit their way from silent streets to the harbor.  Her uncle Feanor was arguing with the Teleri leaders, her mother’s kin.  She could see figures moving, shadows against the flame, but could not make out who was who.

            One came toward them, coming down to the docks, his dark hair and fair face exposed by his thrown back hood, her cousin Maglor.  “What is happening?” Artanis asked, taking him by the arm as he passed.

            “The Teleri will not help us,” he said.  “They are saying that they will not use their ships to carry us hence.”  He shook his head.  “I don’t know what will happen now.  My father is trying to persuade them.”

            “And if they will not be persuaded?”

            His mouth tightened into a thin line.  “We’ll take the ships.  We can’t go back.”

            “No, I see we cannot.” 

            He wore one of the new swords at his side, long and leaf-bladed, the hilt set with blue gems, and he saw where her eyes went.  “They have no swords, nor nothing of that kind.  If we must tell them to stand aside, we will.”

            Finrod came up, her older brother taller by half a head than she, though she and Maglor were of a height.  “What?”

            “Tell him,” Maglor said.  “I need to find Fingon.”

            “Of course,” Artanis said, though she said it to his back as he hurried down the quay to the next group.

            “What happened?” Finrod’s voice was low, too low for the Teleri sailors on the deck of the nearest ship to hear.

            “The Teleri won’t help us.  And we’re their kin!”  Artanis glanced past Finrod to the gesturing knot beneath the torches.  “So if they won’t, we’re going to take the ships.”

            “Steal them?”  Finrod’s eyebrows shot up.

            “I suppose we can bring them back afterwards.”

            “True enough.”  His brow cleared as though that resolved any qualms he had.  After all, borrowing something you needed to use and then bringing it back wasn’t stealing.  Especially when they ought to lend it to you.  If that meant dumping a few people in the water….

            There was a sudden stir, rising shouts.  “To the ships!” someone cried.  “To the ships!”  Fire streamed in the night air, torches bobbing.  There was at once the clash of voices,  urgent shouts and indignant cries. 

            Artanis jumped nimbly across the water between her and nearest moored ship.  “We’re taking this ship!” she said.

            The sailors looked at one another.  “We can’t let you do that.”

            “Then you can take a bath,” Finrod said, plowing into one with his shoulder, knocking him off balance and into the water. 

            Like a great wave breaking their folk rushed the Teleri, fists flying and heads lowered, all along the quays and docks, fisher folk fighting back with hands and truncheons, a raging, shoving mass of people.  Finrod laid about barehanded, clearing a space on the deck.

            “I’ll cut the mooring ropes,” Artanis shouted, drawing her belt knife.  The first rope at the stern was thick and she sawed at it.

            Shouts, cries.  Torches flared here and there and were extinguished elsewhere when they fell into the dark water.  There was a grunt of pain and Artanis looked up from the rope.  Two of the sailors had Maglor between them while a third drew back his fist for another punch to his gut, though he already doubled over from the first blow.

            There was a yell, and her favorite cousin Maedhros plunged in, red hair streaming like the torches, a leaf shaped sword in his hand gleaming in the light.  He plunged it into the sailor’s side.

            The Teleri screamed, falling sideways, clutching at his side where dark blood burbled out in a great flood, splattering across the white stones. 

            Maedhros spun, the sword flying, and a second sailor went down as Maglor scrambled free. 

            Someone grabbed her by her long golden hair, wrenching her head up, pain blossoming bright and real.  Artanis turned into it, chest to chest with the sailor who had grabbed her, face to face like lovers.  Her mind grabbed at his, fear and fury and anger together bright, holding him still while she plunged her knife into his chest.

            A sudden shocked breath escaped his lips, held without speaking by the vise of her mind, followed by a thin trickle of blood, black against his skin in the moonlight.  Disbelief.  Pain.  His body seizing, his heart struggling to beat around the blade of the knife, his life blood pouring out into the cavity of his chest, filling lungs and all else with each frantic beat.  Mind to mind, chest to chest and face to face they stood, her eyes on his as they glazed as consciousness fled.  He crumpled and still she stood.  She stood absolutely still while he measured his length on the boards of the ship, blood pouring like water over her white hem, her white feet.

            It had only been a few seconds.  Finrod had thrown the last of the sailors overboard.  Maglor had cast off the last rope.  There were still shouts, the sounds of running feet and steel on stone and wood.  Maglor swung aboard nimbly, a thin splash of blood on his face.  “We have to go,” he said.  “Finrod, do you know how to get us clear of the harbor?  We’re going around the headland and regrouping.”

            “I can do that,” Finrod said, leaping to the cables that held the sails.

            Maglor looked at her.  “We can’t go back.”

            “No,” Artanis said, and her voice did not shake at all.  It seemed to come from very far away, clear and brittle as the starlight.  “We can never go back.”

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Chapter End Notes

 

 

 

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