Sylvanlight, Book I by slflew

---

Chapter 19. Fugitive.

---

When Earendil left the Green Lands/and cleaved to the salty sea/around his brow a golden band/and as worried as could be./When first his shadow darkened here/and thought his hope was won/seeing diamond dust glittering/and gently sparkling shone./Puzzling alone he stood/and thought that it was odd/until onto the wharf he stepped/and found his feet unshod./Diamond dust/pretty as can be!/Diamonds are sharp/and cut your feet, you see!/Call the Valar/Call us lost/but the prettiest thing/has a cost.~ Field Song, Numenorean

Tulkas looked at her, shocked, then down at the knife sticking out of his chest. With a sick feeling, Gwen let go of the dagger, her fingers covered with blood. Everything with silent with shock, except for her rapid heartbeat, as Tulkas fell to the ground, dead.

Immediately there was chaos - some in the crowd lept to their feet, shouting, some stood where they were, transfixed in shock. The guards started after her, and she turned to run as hands reached out to grab her. Some of the fanatics managed to grab hold of her, wrestling her to the ground, and as she looked into their horrified and malicious faces, Feanor knocked one of them back, then the others, with the help of some in the mob. He grabbed her arm, and, running through the rush of riotous people, he found a horse, helping her up. She looked down at his worried face.

"It truly is the end of the world," he said. "You must ride to the other side of the city, then flee north, as far as you can go. This mob will hold up things for a while, before they come looking for you." There was a gunshot, and the horse shied, then took off down a side street. As she rode hard underneath overpasses of train tracks leading to the other side of the city, the clouds seemed to roil and coalesce overhead, and coming to the northernmost walls, lightning cracked and thunder boomed, echoing against the Lesser Wall. She took one of the bridges over the rice fields, which eventually petered out into marshland. When the bridge reached its end, running into a hill and coming down to the ground to form a road, the land around turned to wheat fields. The horse slowed, needing a rest, but began to gallop once more when lightning flashed across the sky. The wind began to howl, and rain lashed her face. The horse beneath her jolted when lightning struck not fifty feet from where they were, and it reared, throwing her from the saddle, - she landed hard. It bolted away, and she was left standing in the pouring rain. A nearby oak was standing alone by the road, spared by the farmer whose fields surrounded it. She ran to it, leaning against the trunk and finding some respite from the elements.

A ditch was in front of her, and, with shaking hands, she reached down to wash off the blood. She sat down, exhausted and dripping. How was this possible?

She had seen the futile assassination attempt before, and it was her understanding that no one, absolutely no one, could touch one of the Valar. A defensive measure they had adopted long ago, Feanor told her, for fear of death. Because they were so powerful, not even the Maiar could stand up to them. Why then could she do so? Numenorean blood undoes many things, Feanor had told her, and perhaps this was so.

She closed her eyes, the seconds of the fight playing mercilessly over and over again in her mind. She had done murder, and her stomach roiled at the thought. It was in defense, her mind attempted to justify. The orc in the library had been no different. Nevertheless, the Vala had been unaware of what she could do. She closed her eyes, feeling more sick, then dizzy, and placed her head in her hands and wept.

Worried that the army would be searching the city, she decided to keep moving, even though it was still pouring. Worried that someone would point out the road she had taken, she decided to cut through the fields to one of the more western roads, then continue north. She set out across the wheat, feet prickling from being wet for such a long period of time. She was going to need to find a better means of shelter if the rain wasn't going to let up - she had heard of some horrific foot disease that might come from extensive damp  - especially if she was going to be walking to the northern reaches. The wheat fields petered out into rice, and she slogged through the mud, trying not to trample the young plants. It was fortunate that the sudden onburst of rain had broken the heat wave, but she was beginning to shiver. Before coming upon a northern road of any sort, she came upon a set of railroad tracks that were headed the same direction.

Over the sound of the rain and thunder, she could hear the reverberation of a coming train, and she crouched down, glad that she would be blending in with the surroundings. She waited, the cargo train lumbering by, then carefully grabbed on, getting in to the shelter of one of the cars. Curling up in the shrieking dark amongst pieces of furniture, exhausted, she fell asleep as water puddled around her.

She woke up briefly, her heart stopping as she thought she was in the ship that had destroyed her home. Then she drifted back into restless dreams.

*

When she woke up, the train was still heaving and swaying beneath her, the furniture rattling, and Gwen had no idea of how long it had been, except for the fact that she was quite hungry. The thrum of the train increased as it accelerated, and she climbed up the furniture to look out the top of the boxcar.

Wide plantations spread out from the tracks, going up to meet a mountain range that soared into the clouds. The air was much cooler here, tempered by the ocean and the snows. The range extended across to the sea, and before she knew it, she had to duck as they entered a tunnel. When they came out once more, the train track curving into a glacial valley, where it began to slow.  Wanting to avoid being seen, she quickly got out, climbing down the side and waiting for a clear angle to jump.

Gwen landed hard, going down on her knees and hitting her shin on a rock. She lay on the ground a while, clutching her leg in pain, but tore off a bit of cloth to help staunch the bleeding. She stood up hesitantly, aware of her need to keep going. She was standing next to a field being tended to by Onlies. They barely took notice of her, intent on their work - hoeing and seeding. One of them looked up, eyebrows rising as he looked her state. He beckoned her over, giving her a hoe. "Use this - you don't want the foreman to notice," he said, then bent over to continue his work. "Why are you here?" he asked quietly, wiping the sweat from his tanned brow as she whacked at the hard earth.

She thought quickly, then lied. While they might be descended from the same people, it didn't mean she could tell the truth. "My master...he sent me to deliver money to a buyer of his, up north."

He squinted against the sunlight. "Didn't trust the mail system, eh?" She shrugged.

He snorted, giving the earth a derisive blow. "Deliverers don't tend to hop trains, though."

"I just wanted a ride." She looked at him. "I wasn't going to walk the entire way. Look, are you going to help me or not?"

"Why would I help you?" He stood up, looking her in the eye. "What's in it for me?"

"The gratitude of my master."

He rolled his eyes. "Because that's worth a lot around here. For all I know, you could be a runaway slave."

"I'm hoeing for you. That's worth something, right?"

He shifted his hoe over his shoulder. "Come on, kid. I don't know what sort of trouble you're up to, but you need that cut taken care of, and a bath." He extended his hand. "My name's Stoddard, by the way."

She shook it. "Gwendolyn."

He nodded. "Follow me."

As she walked, wincing at the pain from her leg, she couldn't help but stare at the mountains. She had never before seen mountains that high, with sharp angles rising towards the sky. In Maine there were mountains, but where weathered down.

They passed pastures where horses were being kept, and soon came upon a large house of grey stone and large windows to let in the view. However, Stoddard passed it and crossed the main road, where old wooden houses had been built to house the plantation laborers. The houses were heavily used, though large to hold a great number of Onlies, patched with wood and blackened from water damage and smoke. It was for the most part empty, but Stoddard went into one of them, walking down hallway of doors that led to one-room quarters, opening the door to find a heavily pregnant woman getting up out of a chair. She kissed Stoddard before looking squarely at Gwen. "This is my wife, Amain. Amain, this is Gwen. She's traveling to the North - do you think you could give her a bath, something to eat?"

Amain nodded, and he left them to go back to work. She glanced over Gwen, sizing her up. "We'll need to take care of your leg first," she said. As she cleaned the cut, Gwen asked, "Why are you here when the others are at work?"

Amain touched her belly. "I'm very close to my time," she said. "No owner would risk losing a baby - not even for the work."

Gwen frowned, not understanding. Amain pursed her lips. "A baby is an investment for my master, Gwen."

Her eyes widened. "That's..." She couldn't think of a noun to describe it. "...deplorable."

 "I -" Amain closed her eyes. "I'm coming to terms with it. He'll probably sell my child once it's weaned. I don't know if I can find the strength to do such a thing." She began to clean up the cloth she had used to clean the wound.

She then took her outside to the kitchen, the setting sun giving a hot light to the packed earth. The workers were singing in the fields, far enough away that she could hear the melody, but not the words. The cook gave her a sullen look before slopping some soup in a bowl and giving it to her, the silver mark on her hand dark in the twilight. Gwen took the bowl, careful not to spill it before sitting at a long wooden table. The mess hall was less a hall and more a set of tables sheltered by a roof, open to the surroundings. A kitchen boy went around lighting the lanterns hanging from the posts above, standing on the tables as he did so.

One by one, the Onlies returned from their work, filling the mess hall with talk. Stoddard, wiping the dirt from his hands, sat down next to his wife and took a swig of something Gwen was sure was not water. Young men filled in the spaces around them, chattering about the latest gossip. One of them slapped Stoddard on the back, shoving the others aside to sit next to him. "Who's the new girl?"

Stoddard gestured towards Gwen. "She's sitting right here. You could ask her."

The Only stretched his greasy hand across the table. "Who are you?" Amain thrust a napkin at him. "You could at least wipe your hand before you shake hers, let alone eat!" He shrugged, wiping his hands, then thrust his hand out once more.

She shook it, smiling. "My name's Gwendolyn."

"Gwendolyn," he said, satisfied, and sat back. "I'm Braden - I work on the machinery here." He dug heartily into his food. "Whereabouts are you from?"

"The city," she said loudly, trying to be heard over the ruckus.

One of the other men snorted, looking around at the other Onlies. "Which one?"

"The City of Broken Dreams," Gwen answered, annoyed that she didn't actually know the name of the city.

"Broken dreams..." came a weak voice, from an elderly man who sat not far from them. The general merriment of the table died, and he looked at her with eyes milky from cataracts. "Let me tell you about broken dreams."

"Oh, come on, Jaroslav! We're trying to eat here!" one of the men protested. Braden grabbed his shirt. "Show some respect, will you?" He turned to the old man, who was shakily holding his soup spoon. "Go on, tell us a tale." But he stayed silent, dipping his spoon back into the weak broth. Stoddard shook his head. "Pity." The noise about them began to grow once more as they looked at one another. Braden took a drink from his mug, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before turning to Stoddard. "Have you heard? The prince is on the move."

Amain leaned in to see him better. "From whom did you hear it?"

He pursed his lips. "From Eder."

Stoddard nodded in acknowledgment. "North, I take it? From the front down south?"

"Aye." Braden eyed Gwen. "You don't know who we're talking about, do you?"

She shook her head. Annoyed, Stoddard turned to Braden. "Perhaps that's something best kept quiet - " But he was interrupted by a shout. A farmhand, panting, came into the light, gesturing frantically behind him. "The Police! They're coming!"

Gwen froze in panic as people quickly stood, acting unusually quiet, solemnly gathering their children and disappearing into the dark. Braden, Amain, and Stoddard stood up with the rest, and, her heart skipping beats, Gwen did the same, stumbling after them. Living in the capitol city of Valinor, she was vaguely aware of the presence of the Police, a far more subtle force than the highly visual soldiers. She had heard references to them, that they skulked around the seedy parts of the city, mostly at night. She had heard horrific stories of the measures taken to enforce the law. The thought of what they might do her to if she were caught made her break out into a sweat even in the chilly night air, lit by the full moon.

She saw something move out of the corner of her eye, and she stopped, but saw nothing in the shadows. Amain grabbed her arm. "Come on, quickly!" Their pace quickened towards the buildings, but somewhere nearby a woman screamed. Braden turned on her, stopping her so quickly she nearly ran into him. "I know they're looking for you," he said hoarsely, trying to keep his voice down. "It's probably best if you leave - don't go in the buildings. The Police will most certainly search them."

Braden looked at them all, taking in this new information. "Stoddard, look after your wife," he said, nodding towards Gwen. "I'll take her to the fields."

Stoddard shook his head. "It's too dangerous. You don't owe her anything."

Looking around, her heart pounding, Gwen hissed at him. "If you're going to come, then come on!"

He shoved Stoddard towards the buildings, then strode towards the fields with Gwen hurrying behind. The new wheat barely stood up to their knees, but it was enough to make noise. Another scream pierced the night, and they quickened their pace. Gwen looked back, and in the ill light of the moon she saw the grass part and shake, but there was no wind, and she saw no one there. "Braden," she choked out before she tripped over something, falling hard on the ground. Braden rushed to her, trying to help her up, his eyes widening as he looked behind her. She struggled up.

"Gwen!" The fear was evident in Braden's voice. "Run!"

They bolted. Beside them the grass moved - the Police were flanking them. Gwen, breathing raggedly, finally saw the Police - menacing panthers moving lithely across the ground, barely making a sound, their coats so black they absorbed the sunlight, and yellow eyes she could have sworn were faintly glowing. Braden cut to the right, trying to lead them back to the houses, but a black shape lept from the grass, white teeth  and claws sinking into his body.

Gwen gasped, stopping short, her abdomen feeling as though a hole had opened there. Braden's body was still under unyielding paws. Desperately, she looked around for a route of escape, but the dark bodies surrounded her on all sides. Suddenly one of them leapt at her - she screamed as she felt the claws sink into her back, and she hit the ground. She could smell the wheat better than she could feel the pain - then the claws dug in deeper and the pain hit her like a wave, sending her flying into darkness.