Sylvanlight, Book I by slflew

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Chapter 18. Discovery.

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Did you ever see a wild goose
  Sailin' o'er the ocean
Ranzo, Ranzo, weigh, heigh
They're just like them pretty girls
  When they gets the notion
Ranzo, Ranzo, weigh, heigh

The other mornin'
  I was walkin' by the river
When I saw a young girl walkin'
  With her topsails all a-quiver

I said pretty fair maid
  And how are you this mornin'?
She said "None the better
  for the seeing of you."

Did you ever see a wild goose
  Sailin' o'er the ocean
They're just like them pretty girls
  When they gets the notion

~ The Wild Goose Shanty 

The ship, newly built by Thorontur's company, cut through the cerulean waves, wind filling the canvas sails. Gwen leaned against the railing, its white paint already chipping, and squinted through the sunlight, watching the horizon.

The two months before leaving had been hectic as Feanor worked hard to produce the goods he knew the islanders would need. A bout of influenza had torn through the city, most likely brought by the new slaves, causing hundreds of deaths throughout the city. As the resistance cut through supply routes to the city, food began to run short for even the wealthiest of Elves, and Feanor's household felt the pressure. The prices of even the basic foods skyrocketed, and Gwen went hungry for more than a few days, watching lines at the temples grew longer as the people pleaded with the Valar to stop these burdens. Nevertheless, no miraculous solutions had occurred before Feanor and Gwen left on the ship Horthien, and one of the first things the captain did was to order a restocking at the next free port down the coast.

Now, though Gwen had lived in Maine, known for its coastlines and seafood, she had never sailed over the ocean. Her first few days on the wintry grey seas off Valinor left her weak-kneed and violently sick, but she quickly regained her strength, declining to go land-side when they made port for fear of losing her sea legs. She found that she rather enjoyed sea life, where there were far less duties for her aside from helping the cook and serving at mealtimes. She quickly learned Breech from communication with the Numenorean sailors, and they regaled her with stories of Numenorean legend, not found in the book she kept in her cabin but rather stories passed down from sailor to sailor, from the deep roots of sailing in the Numenorean past.

The Only sailors were far less restricted in some ways than their land-locked counterparts; outside of the rigid formality of the upper ranks, the Onlies had free run of the ship, and were allowed freedoms in port not generally given to slaves. The captain himself was more friendly to Onlies than some, one of the best captains and crews available to Thorontur for his new clipper ship. Feanor devoted more time to teaching her Quenya and Sindarin, and as she was free from most other duties, she learned quickly. The navigator showed her maps, filling in the edges, and reluctantly showed her how to calculate her position from the stars.

The islands were usually covered in plantations, and the smaller ones with fishing villages or winter homes. Tanned laborers would eye her as they traded, lifting heavy baskets on their backs, and she winced at the thought of what her family might be going through as the saw the scars on their backs. Feanor was invited to decadent parties, with ladies in fine silk dresses spun by the labor outside and wine in crystalline glasses. The men, however, did their own carousing, and would heave the lines groggily the next morning.

More than the horizon the shores of Valinor would often be seen, or the "Iron Curtain." The first time Gwen saw it she wondered over it, for it extended out of sight into the sky, sparkling gently in the sunlight. "More than one ship has crashed upon the wall, never to be seen again," said one of the nearby sailors. "But the southern passage, those are by all rights the seas that haven taken most men to the deeps." Many ships had to round the southern tip of Valinor, the passage rife with gargantuan waves and cold that would freeze seawater to the ship. However, the journey would often have to be made in order to reach the other side of Valinor, even though trade was far more profitable by land.

Winter was, however, the time of year when there were far less storms in the south and trade-winds were favorable. This did not, however, mean that there were none. On the open horizon that made her uncomfortable, as she was used to mountains, it was quite easy to see storms coming from a long way off. Her first storm did not occur until a month into the journey, and Feanormade her stay in the cabin, where it was safe. However, the cabin made the rocking of the swells all the more apparent, so she grew violently sick. The captain was unable to shake the storm, and continued for days until Gwen could not take staying in the confined space any longer and went on deck. It was no easy task, but as soon as she got out into the lashing rain, she regretted her idea. Large waves were washing over the ship, and as soon as one of the sailors saw her, he snatched her arm, yelling. "Why did you come up here? Don't you know it's dangerous?" He was guiding her to the hatch when another wave washed over the deck. As hard as she held on to the sailor, she lost her footing and was swept into the ocean.

Primal memories kicked in as she sank below the tumult of the storm. She couldn't remember which way was up, and in the blackness threatening to close on her she saw a vision, clear as day. She was standing before Ulmo seated on his throne of coral, but he was not in his temple. Rather, the room was made of glass holding back the water, and the sun was shining faintly from the surface above. He stood and walked over to her, and she stared at him, puzzling out thoughts. He took her hand, he fingers warm against hers, and said, surprisedly,  "You can do it. You've had it in you all along."

Then she surfaced suddenly, gasping for air, hands pummeling the ship that was directly beside her. Ropes were lowered, sailors shouting, and they hauled on deck, taking her below. Then she lost track of everything.

Gwen came to under the warm covers of her berth, and Feanor, seeing she was awake, stood from his chair and came to her side. "What you did was foolish," he said sternly. "You must never do that again, if you value your life. You must obey me Gwen, in all things. I've made quite an investment in you and cannot afford for it to go awry."

She closed her eyes briefly, considering telling him about what she had seen, but decided not to. "The sailors respect you know, for obvious reasons. It is not often that the sea gives back what it has taken. You were quite clearly aided by Uinen." Gwen looked at him quizzically. "The Maiar who aids Ulmo and calms Osse's stormy nature. The sailors carve her likeness into the prows of their ships, and regard greatly those she spares. Please be careful around them, Gwen. They are unsavory folk that may harm you."

She shook her head. "I think not. They have done nothing but treat me well."

"Nevertheless, they are a lot of men, Gwen, and you are a young woman."

"I'm your slave, and I'm a woman. Does that not raise questions from society?"

His eyes darkened. "Of course not. Such questions are unfounded, as I would have to give up immortality to...be with you. Since that would never happen, the question is never raised. But that is not a proprietary barrier for them, Gwen. There are places on this ship they could take you where the captain would never know."

She lowered her gaze. "I will be careful, but I still do not think they mean me harm."

Feanor then left her, and she ventured back up on deck, where the sky was a clear blue. Gwen greatly appreciated the change from the polluted air of the city - she was glad to see clean white clouds once more.

That evening Gwen was dishing out food for the sailors, listening to their stories as they laughed amongst themselves. As she placed a bowl of biscuits, one of them playfully grabbed her arm, and, laughing, she tried to wrench it free - but the sailor's grip was strong from years of handling ropes, and she could not get him to release his grip. While the others were still laughing at some unknown joke, the sailor (who was known among the others by the Breech equivelant of "Scallions," for it was the food he loved most) looked at her, frowning, and let go. "You can't defend yourself at all, can you?" he asked, and she shrugged. "There is nothing more important than learning how to handle oneself when it's needed the most," Scallions told her. "Meet me next watch and we'll show you how to handle a shiv."

She met with a group of sailors in their main cabin, where their hammocks swung to and fro under the shifting light of the oil lanterns. There they showed her as best they knew, handed down from sailor to sailor, defensive positions and ways to handle a knife. She was in the midst of a bout that was going quite badly for her when Feanor came charging down the steps. They all froze when they saw him, aware that they were breaking one of the most fundamental laws of Valinor, and his dark eyes surveyed the scene. "Sir," Scallions said, "I can explain - "

"No need." Feanor pursed his lips. "If you are intent to learn defense, Gwen, you need to do so properly. Hand-me-down moves with a rusty scrap of metal are not going to help you if you need it. I am more than capable of teaching you." The sailors shifted their feet, then went back to their duties, Scallions taking the shiv and quickly hiding it once more. Gwen turned to follow her master, but Scallions grabbed her arm. "You're lucky," he told her, "in more ways than one. Your master isn't going to beat you, and that's a rare thing in and of itself. But he's also a master of weapons. Whatever he teaches you, pay close attention."

 From then on Feanor focused on teaching her the use of weapons, focusing primarily on hand-to-hand combat and knife work, as they had little time before they would be reaching home. When they came to the last city on the mainland before their own, named in Breech Abros, Feanor insisted on going ashore to acquire new materials, as metals were brought to Abros to be refined. "The metals here are the best on the continent," he said. Abros was the city where the Vala Tulkas was centered - while the City of Broken Dreams was the capitol of Valinor and thus the center of Vala activity, each Vala also had cities and realms to their own. Ulmo's cities were underwater, Gwen found out, the only Vala who made his home anywhere other than the mainland.

Even so close to the capitol city, the clime was noticeably warmer, no doubt due in part to the months past. As the primary industry of the city was refinement, factories stretched for miles along the river, utilizing water power to churn their machinery. Further out in the distance, beyond the limits of the city, vast plains of farmland could be seen. In the center of the city, the temple of Tulkas towered over the other buildings, rows of shabby housing built to accommodate slave workers. Children were not exempt from working, so families moved between their shifts like haunted shadows.

Gwen followed her master to some of the factories' shops, watching as he perused scrap metal and metal sold in bulk with interest.  Smiths clustered around him, interested to hear his opinion on various topics. This was, she reflected, the city most likely to admire rather than reject him.

Later that afternoon, they were walking the streets when they heard the sound of some sort of horn, different than the whistles that called people to work. The workers not on shift filtered towards the temple, and Feanor followed them, where they congregated before the steps. Out into the sunlight stepped Tulkas with all his attendants, particularly scantily-clad women, who clustered around him. The slaves before him knelt, then bowed low, their foreheads touching the ground. Reluctantly, Gwen followed suit, pressing her forehead into the gritty stones beside her master. She heard a commotion, and, unable to help her curiosity, turned her head to look. Tulkas had come down the steps, striding among the people, who scrambled to get out of his way. It appeared that one of the laborers had not been quick enough to get to the ground.

"Are you unfaithful, Only?" Tulkas spat out angrily. "Are you not devout?" The man nodded, looking down and pleading to the towering Vala, kissing the ground before his feet. Tulkas held out his hand, and the man began to scream, clutching his ears in agony. The screams pierced through the bodies bent low - Gwen could see them flinching. Each successive cry tore through her, and her gut cramped as they stopped. The man was not moving, blood trickling from his ears. Tulkas walked back to the steps, holding himself high for one who had just been wronged. One of the guard came up to him. "My lord, we could have done so for you. You need not have troubled yourself.

Tulkas glared at him. "And who are you to question me?" he said softly.

The man hurriedly bowed low. "I didn't mean - "

"I find doing it myself far more satisfactory." Tulkas glanced around at the people prostrated before him. "I was going to bring you a message of encouragement," he said. "But after that display, I find your presence unsavory." He then turned on his heel and disappeared back into his temple.

The people got up slowly, and she heard some sobbing gently. It wasn't until she got up herself, brushing the gravel off her forehead, that she realized she was shaking. She looked at Feanor, but he seemed distracted, staring at the temple with pursed lips. He then turned to go.

*

The coasts of Maine are well-traveled by visitors; the "down-east" section heavily populated. Every year after their summer at the lake, Gwen's family would visit the far lesser-known section of the coast, the state park named West Quoddy Head. There lies the easternmost point in the contiguous United States, and the most breathtakingly beautiful views of the ocean not taken over by rich mansions. There a single lighthouse stands over the rocky shore, with nothing but sky and sea and the dark forests around it. There one can hike along cliffs that drop straight into the ocean, looking over the edge to the surf seething below. The dead trees sill stand on the cliff's edges, bleached white by sun and salt, standing bare like bones under the harsh wind. The forests are lush, with soft moss underfoot and cooling trees, with dark brooks dyed red from wood flowing gently to the sea. Gulls wheel overhead, whales diving deep into the cooler waters. 

Gwen was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out to the straight horizon beyond. She was alone - her family nowhere to be seen as the wind whistled around rocky towers built by visitors in times past. Here it seemed as though it was the edge of the world - or the world as she knew it, at least. Beyond the horizon lay some other land, a land that her ancestors had tried desperately to leave and begin a new life. Hands suddenly pushed her forward, and as she fought to regain her balance they pushed her off the edge. The last thing she saw before hitting the ocean was the sun glinting off a silver mask. Then water swallowed her whole.

She woke up with a start. A nightmare, she thought as she breathed in and out, trying to calm her still-beating heart. The cat that had been sleeping beside her stretched, annoyed he had been woken up. She got up off the floor, storing the blanket and going into the kitchen to make breakfast. It had been three weeks since they had returned from their voyage, and she had never been happier to have a normal freshwater bath. Feanor had quickly resumed his work, but their lessons in knife-work proceeded as they had on the ship. She was getting better, her movements less clumsy and thought-laden, more reflexive.

The season had shifted wildly, and instead of the sweet innocence of spring, the full weight of summer was already bearing down on the city. Such wild swings of weather were becoming more common, and the heat was becoming worse without a fair breeze from the sea to give it respite. Gwen was used to living in the mix of countryside and town, and the expectant greening of things, both grass and flower, was something she missed dearly. The few trees present in the city gave shade, so many would seek its shade, with many activities occurring underneath the branches. After the chill of winter, Gwen was quite unprepared for the change, and had to go shopping for some cooler clothing. Turbans had apparently come into style, an easy way to pull hair up and off the neck while keeping it clean from the dust of the city. Silks and cottons were, fortunately, plentiful, and women ditched their heavy petticoats for lighter skirts. The rich had taken to being carried around the city in litters and sedans, with silk curtains sometimes drawn for privacy, but more often than not open to keep cooler. The slaves, bathed in sweat, would carry them on their shoulders, with their owners holding horse-tail whisks to keep away the flies. Feanor rolled his eyes and snorted at the pompousness of it - "It's too hot to even walk?" he would jeer. Gwen watched him sweat heavily in the heat of the furnaces, and tried to keep him hydrated. The cleansing fog that came out at night brought brief respite, but would only serve to make the days more humid.

Gwen checked the icebox, which even with ice was becoming less and less effective as the days got warmer. She was having to make trips to the market daily to make sure they ate only fresh food, so that none of it would go to waste. Even the flour was going bad. She went out and fetched the newspaper, setting it by Feanor's place just as he came in. "I'd like to get out of the heat of the furnaces today," he told her, "so I'll go with you on deliveries and your visit to market."

The market was crowded with people, even so late in the day. Vendors yelled over the crowd, hawking their wares, and the press of sweaty bodies was stifling. Gwen pulled her basket of deliveries close, worried that someone might steal it as she made her slow way towards her fruit stand of choice. There was a great cry over the shouts of the crowd, and over the multitudes of hats and turbans she saw a litter making its slow way through the crowd. The crowd grew quiet, the vendors' cries dying out, and the words of the procession were finally clear. "Out of the way! Kneel before the Vala!"

People at once began kneeling, and Gwen made out the form of the Vala Tulkas. She pursed her lips, remembering the screams of the man who had not knelt in time, and a deep rage was kindled inside her. All her life she had been Christian, and she had never faced this situation before stepping foot on this world - the worship of other gods. This rage, this utter disappointment in having paid service to beings that were in effect not gods, made her decide without thinking. As all around her dropped to their knees, even her master, she stood there, for a brief moment elated at what she was doing. Rebelling. The utter act that cried out to her frustration of her circumstances, her grief at losing all she had lost, so she did nothing.

Feanor looked up at her. "Don't do this!" he whispered. "It's not worth it, not yet! You are still my property - do what I say!" The mark on her hand began to faintly burn, but she ignored it. The guards of the procession had already noticed her, shouting and stepping through the mass of bodies to come to her. They looked at her with utter contempt. "Kneel!" They demanded, shoving her, trying to force her down.

"Stop!" The thick voice of Tulkas rang over their demands. "Bring her to me." He had gotten out of his litter, and her vision exploded as one of the guards punched her in the stomach, winding her, and dragging her over to the Vala. He stared at her, calm facade barely hiding the rage roiling underneath. She finally was able to gasp for breath, and she got off her knees shakily, looking the Vala in the eye.

"Are you not devout?" he hissed. She stood there silently, the entire crowd looking on. He raised a hand, and she flinched. Then he did something totally unexpected - he laughed. "For all your bravery, you are still afraid! Surely you know what will become of you. You are nothing to me-" he leaned over to her. "You are worthless. I will pay your master the purchase price, and take pleasure in making an example of you." He pulled a knife from his belt, and the guards laughed.

She reached into the basket, pulling a knife out of one of its sheaths - one that was to be delivered. This made Tulkas laugh once more. He opened his arms wide. "Go ahead, strike! Come, nobody, and strike me down!" A vision of the poor soul who was shot in the courthouse flashed through her mind, and she hesitated. Tulkas lunged to kill her, and she slapped away his hand, new reflexes taking over, plunging the knife hilt-deep into his chest.