Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (20 page)

Sitting
close to a fire of an evening, it seemed that the trees pressed in with
drooping branches. The effect was one of curiosity, not malice, as if they
wished to listen and observe. Jeff had never experienced such a sense with
evergreens, nor did they project the same aura of great age and brooding
wisdom. Taken as a whole, the forest stimulated Jeff to explore reservoirs of
musical expression that drew him ever deeper into haunting melodies that lived
out of time and far beyond previous skill.

Day
by day, as they penetrated deeper, Jeff came to believe that these trees at
least were alive and aware. He found himself listening intently to whispers
that tickled his mind and sighed like a gentle breeze from centuries in the
past, whispers that could not be apprehended except through music. During one
quiet evening of pastoral melody and meditation, Cynic bedded down near the
fire and Jeff scooted back so he could lean against his side.

Legs
folded underneath his body, Cynic attended the lilting notes and fire, finding enchantment
new to his spirit in both. Normally given to deep suspicion of anything
untoward or new that he could not hang a label on, this night he was content to
wonder at the points of light that gathered to dance around the fire until they
merged into a whirling galaxy of multicolored sparks.

Late
in the evening, Jeff lay the recorder aside and fell asleep with blanket tucked
under his chin. As the motes of light had come, so they left. Cynic kept vigil
until the last one wandered into the forest and blinked out for the last time.
Shortly, all was dark and still.

Somewhere
toward the end of a day they emerged into a sun-dappled glade watered by a
chuckling brook. The first opening of any size they had encountered, it was
carpeted with violet flowers and thick grass. Jeff let out a sigh of relief and
Cynic a snort of anticipation. Stripping him of saddle and baggage, Jeff turned
Cynic loose to graze while he set up camp.

Later
that evening Jeff wandered around the glade with his eyes to the ground. The
combined effect of glade and forest was so magical that he hoped to find a
faerie ring. Even though it was still early in the season, the evening air had
a comfortable warmth to it and he felt tired muscles relax. Giving up his
search, Jeff stripped and plunged into the brook for a long overdue bath.

When
he waded out of the brook, a brilliant canopy of stars sparkled and winked
overhead. The starfield was so dense that the sky seemed more white than black.
Jeff let the soft breeze dry him and breathed deeply of the flowers’ delicate
perfume. He couldn’t put a name to the perfume, but was reminded of lilacs and
peonies brought to full effervescence by a warm spring day.

Lying
down in a dense patch of grass, he put hands behind his head and watched the
larger moon rise above the trees. Small night creatures rustled through the
grass and whispered nervously to one another, serving to accentuate the glade’s
expectant silence. Jeff propped himself up on his elbows so he could look
around.

“What
a strange feeling. It’s almost like something is supposed to happen.” He smiled
wistfully. “Don’t I wish.”

Imperceptibly,
the glen’s dark shadows gave way to moonlight in glimmering shades of metallic
silver and green. Nearby, a bird sang a compline of liquid beauty that reminded
and promised before fading in a final prayer. Jeff sighed from the ethereal
beauty of it and let his mind drift into elvish paths.

On
his way back from that land, memories of his relationship with Sarah and
several other women came to mind. While the pain was gone, sadness and
questions remained. He had tried so hard. Why had all the relationships failed?
Was something wrong with him? Sitting up, Jeff clasped his knees and searched
the glen with longing eyes. Just give me hope, he thought. Even a glimpse will
do. Do I have to go through life alone?

The
glen was enchanted with cool moonlight, babbling brook and nodding flowers, but
no lithe form came singing and dancing into the meadow. Give it up, man, Jeff
sadly thought. That’s kid stuff. There’s no Luthien for you.

A
shooting star leaped over the horizon and raced into the heavens, trailing
fire. Jeff clambered to his feet and stared.

“That’s
going in the wrong direction. What could it be?” He took a sudden breath when
the object traced a parabola in front of the moon and merged into a glowing
ball that rapidly expanded.

“It’s
going to hit close!”

He
was about to dive for cover when a glittering something streaked into the glen
riding a moonbeam. A crystal-faceted globe the size of a basketball came to an
instantaneous stop only feet from his head and began spinning rapidly. Jeff
couldn’t tear his eyes away, was rooted in place by a compulsion that insisted
every flashing facet held a secret that must be understood. Then the globe
exploded into his mind, filling it with visions.

Emerging
from his synthetic cocoon, Jeff held his arms up to bright sunshine. “What a
beautiful morning. Haven’t felt this good in weeks.”

He
pottered around camp whistling under his breath and made a leisurely time of preparing
food. When it came time to saddle up, Jeff found it difficult to leave the
glen. He recalled that Cynic’s mane and tail were matted with burrs.

“I
should have brushed them out long ago. No time like the present.”

He
found the currycomb he had picked up in Valholm and went to work on Cynic’s
mane. Every so often Jeff stopped to lean an arm on Cynic. Something was
nagging at him about the prior evening. It was frustrating when all he
remembered was a pleasant evening, yet Jeff couldn’t keep a smile off his face.

Once
Cynic’s black mane and tail were brushed out, Jeff figured he couldn’t dawdle
any longer and fetched the saddle. He had his foot in the stirrup when a
sequence of images rushed through his mind and were gone, leaving vague
impressions. Jeff laughed self-consciously. Shaking his head, he swung into the
saddle.

“Talk
about biting off more than you can chew. Where did that come from? Good grief,
I’d give anything to find just one.” Sweeping his hat off, Jeff bowed grandly
to the meadow. “Thanks for a wonderful evening!”

The
forest had no more than swallowed them when Jeff guffawed. “Monster castles and
tropical islands? Beautiful women? Sheesh. Settle down to earth, boyo.”

An
hour or so into the day’s ride, Cynic recalled Jeff from amused if titillating
reflections.

“
May
this one learn of Luthien and Middle Earth?”

“Eavesdropping
again?”

“Your
thoughts were quite strong, horse-brother.”

“Yes,
I imagine they were.”

There
was no missing Cynic’s interest, and Jeff was intrigued by its intensity. “So
he’s a horse. So what? It’s an outstanding tale, and he’s one outstanding
horse.”

Jeff
had to search deep, but was surprised at how much he found and how easily it
came to mind.

“The
full tale is long and quite sad, yet also contains hope and joy.”

“I
would be most pleased to hear it.”

“Very
well. This is the story of Beren, son of Barahir, and of Luthien, named
Tinuviel by Beren, which means Nightingale, daughter of twilight.”

“What
is a Nightingale?”

Jeff
directed Cynic’s gaze to a bright red and yellow bird that flushed from high
grass along the trail.
“Like unto this creature, and given to beauteous
song.”
Although Cynic’s question had distracted him, the story came back to
mind quickly, and line by line at that.

“Now
we shall begin when Beren seeks the land of the Elves, a most wondrous yet
stern and prideful people.”

“These
elves—they are two-legs?”

“Yes,
but please abide me, horse-brother. All will be answered as we proceed. Now,
let’s see—again!”
Jeff took a deep breath and let mind
and emotion flow with the words.

“‘Terrible
was Beren’s southward journey. Sheer were the precipices of Ered Gorgoroth, and
beneath their feet were shadows that were laid before the rising of the Moon.
Beyond lay the wilderness of Dungortheb, where the sorcery of Sauron and the
power of Melian came together, and horror and madness walked. There spiders of
the fell race of Ungoliant abode, spinning unseen webs in which all living
things were snared; and monsters wandered there that were born in the long dark
before the Sun, hunting silently with many eyes.’”

“Much
like bears.”

“Oh,
I fear these creatures were far worse, horse-brother.”

An
apprehensive, or perhaps delicious, thrill rippled backwards from withers to
hindquarters. Head down in contemplation of the story, Cynic’s eyes glazed over
as the action moved south in Middle Earth. Soon, man and horse were lost in
another age.

A
day later they were still at it. The story of Luthien and Beren was complete
and had been thoroughly discussed. In the process Cynic became a Tolkein
devotee and Jeff agreed to relate the author’s complete ring cycle. He also had
to stay more alert and make sure Cynic didn’t wander off the trail and hit his
head on a tree, as had happened the day before.

When
the last book was finished and Cynic had picked the series over with numerous
pleas for clarification, his questions stopped. However, Jeff knew that wasn’t
the end of it as he monitored an intense critique running around in Cynic’s
mind. Jeff was impressed with the quality of reasoning.

After
some time, Cynic commented,
“Truly, Melkor and Sauron were creatures of
evil.”
Then, a few minutes later,
“Shadowfax was the greatest of all
horse sires. This one would have been proud to run with him, much as Arod.”

Jeff
ran a hand up and down Cynic’s neck.
“You must remember, my friend, that
this tale springs from myth. Many would say only from the mind of the man who
wrote it.”

The
vehemence of Cynic’s reply startled Jeff.

“This
is not so! My heart understands that such honor and love as you have described
were given to this man, ‘Tolkien’, to share with us all. This tale springs from
truth!”

A
day later they encountered a wide creek. Jeff eyed the placid stream with some
suspicion.

“Thank
God there’s no boat moored over there. The similarity between this forest and
Mirkwood is uncanny. Not nearly so ominous, but the power of it!”

Cynic
cautiously forded the creek with water up to his belly and scrambled up the
opposite bank. Jeff immediately reined him to a halt.

“Civilization,
here we come!”

They
were standing on a grass-covered road roofed by overlapping tree boughs.
Touching Cynic with his heels, they cantered off.

“Now,
horse-brother, this one still cannot understand how the king of Engmer became
such a terrible creature, this ‘wraith’.”

“The
king of Angmar. This is what I remember…”

Jeff
dismounted when it was too dark to continue on and began untying the
saddlebags.
“…And thus the king of Angmar was destroyed by his lust for
power and dominion. Having given his every moment to obtaining both, and having
abandoned love and charity, in the end his very substance became as nothing and
his will, Sauron’s.”

“Until
the end of all things.”

“Yes.”

The
road broadened day by day, changed from grass to dirt, and they began
encountering traffic. Most people were on foot, traveling in company, and by
and large also heading south. Jeff was relieved to discover that his appearance
was not that unusual.

Most
were on the short side of average height, brown-skinned and tended to dark
hair. Clothing was a mixed bag of coarse linen and leather like his own.
Quarter staffs and staves predominated as the weapons of choice, peppered with
the occasional dirk or rusty short sword. When the forest finally stopped, it
did so all at once.

Rounding
a sharp curve in the road, Cynic cantered into bright sunlight. Jeff threw a
hand over his eyes. It took awhile before he could look around without tears
blurring his vision.

“Grassland,
with only a few groves of trees. Yellow Brick Road country, for sure!”

Although
Cynic wasn’t particularly impressed with the terrain, Jeff enjoyed the feeling
of being out in the open again and able to feel the breeze.

“Looks
a lot like eastern Kansas. Might be good farming country. Now what was the name
of that city Gurthwin mentioned? Oh yeah—Rugen. Well, Rugen or whatever it’s
called can’t be too far away.”

Excitement
beginning to build, Jeff clucked to Cynic and he accelerated to a comfortable
gallop. Shortly, the breeze brought smells that evoked wonderful memories:
spring planting, the smell of earth newly turned with manure, the mustiness of
hay and fodder.

Cynic
crested a rise and Jeff pulled him to a quick halt. His face went blank with
astonishment only to fill with wonder and boyish rapture.