Ch. 9: The Seven Sleepers

Back to Arheled

             The   tree   passed   slowly   through   the   quiet   forest,   gliding   easily   along,   sliding   up   and   over   rocks   when   t   could   not   wade   around   them. Up   close   one   might   hear   an   earthy   bubbling   noise   as   the   countless   roots   churned   through   the   earth,   with   occasional   soggy   scrapes   where   wood   rasped   on   rock;   but   mostly   the   tree   was   silent   as   it   passed   among   the   trees,   drawing   ever   north,   towards   the   Massachusetts   border. When   it   crossed   a   road   it   did   so   sliding   on   its’   exposed   roots,   leaving   a   smear   of   mud   as   if   many   small   vehicles   had   driven   across   the   asphalt   from   a   soggy   field. No   one   saw   it,   for   if   anyone   was   in   sight   it   stopped   moving,   and   all   there   was   to   see   was   an   unusually   pale   beech.

             Nut   now   he   had   crossed   the   last   road,   and   was   sliding   through   the   weedy   swamp   below   the   towering   hill,   and   ahead   lay   great   fern-girt   boulders   rising   into   the   leaves:   Knapp   Hill,   the   Witches’   Retreat,   the   site   of   the   Lost   Caves   of   Colebrook. The   tree   stopped.

             With   a   groan   roots   retracted   and   leaves   shrivelled   up   and   were   absorbed,   and   twigs   shrank   and   branches   dried   up   and   the   short   rugged   bole   collapsed   in   on   itself,   exposing   the   features   and   clothing   of   Wayham   Lane. When   the   change   was   complete   he   sat   wearily   down   upon   a   rock   and   rested   for   a   while. The   evening   was   deepening   into   night   when   he   rose   with   a   creaking   of   stiff   joints   and   clambered   his   way   north   along   the   broken   slopes   below   the   rockfall.

             The   cliff   was   as   he   remembered   it,   though   he   thought   it   had   been   more broken   and   slumping. At   first   all   he   saw   of   the   Lost   Cave’s   mouth   was   a   blank   face   of   stone:   the   Wild   Man   of   Winsted   had   concealed   the   entrance. Drawing   from   his   pocket   the   Ring   of   Barahir   he   held   it   up   against   the   solid   wall.

             With   a   silence   like   death   a   slab   of   stone   split   off   from   the   cliff   and   floated   outward,   exposing   a   square   door-like   hole,   black   amid   the   deepening   gloom. Wayham   Lane   stepped   into   the   darkness,   and   behind   him   he   heard   the   slab   slide   into   place   with   a   sigh. In   the   black   cave   the   gems   of   Valinor   began   to   glow   with   a   soft   green   light,   until   they shone   as   bright   as   candles   and   he   could   see   for   some   way   around   him. Slipping   the   serpent-ring   upon   his   finger,   he   strode   into   the   Lost   Caves.

             The   huge   broken   hall   stretched   before   him. He   coughed   a   little   on   the   queer   musty-vinegar-earth   smell   of   those   uncanny   caves. His   feet   made   rattling   sounds   on   the   rough   gravelly   rubble   of   the   floor. Farther   in   the   rubble   ceased,   and   the   hard   level   gravel   emerged,   smooth   as   concrete. His   steps   made   odd   shuffling   echoes   that   ran   away   in   whispers   among   the   jagged   roof. The   many   openings   filed   slowly   by. He   walked   past   the   pit   Ronnie   had   nearly   fallen   into. He   passed   the   well   of   men’s   tears   that   weep,   a   weird   faint   redness   shimmering   in   the   depths. Soon   the   dry   well   also   lay   behind   him. Still   farther   he   paced,   past   other   deep   pits,   until   the   cave   ended   in   a   sudden   wall. He   paused,   several   rods   from   the   terminus:   on   the   left   was   the   opening   he   remembered,   though   it   had widened   with   the   years   and   he   no   longer   had   to   squeeze   to   get   in. The   air   seemed   colder   and   damper   than   the   slightly   warm   stuffiness   of   the   main   cave;   a   faint   wind   breathed   in   his   face,   and   from   far   away   he   heard   the   murmer   of   water. The   gleaming   ring   cast   a   warm   green   brightness   ahead   of   him. Curved   walls   leaned   overhead   until   they   met,   and   curious   veins   in   them   glittered   like   mica. They   opened   farther   and   farther,   until   he   stood   in   a   broad   chamber,   and   there   he   halted.

             Smooth   walls   rose   to   a   great   height,   beyond   the   light   of   his   ring. The   floor   descended   in   rough   shelves   like   ancient   steps,   to   a   cascading   stream   that   poured   from   an   opening   in   the   far   wall,   splashed   down   a   notch   in   the   ledge,   and   opened   up   into   a   mirror-like   sheet   of   solid   water   as   high   as   a   man. A   rocky   pool   gathered   the   waters   and   they   splashed   through   a   stony   channel   to   vanish   into   a   hole. Rough   square   pillars   emerged   from   the   walls,   placed   irregularly   all   about   the   room,   and   carved   into   them   were   the   busts   of   bearded   men.

             Slowly   Wayham   Lane   held   up   the   Ring,   turning   it   this   way   and   that. A   sudden   green   star   shone   for   a   moment   in   the   sheet   of   the   falls;   a   trick,   maybe,   of   the   light. Wayham   frowned   and   moved   his   ring   again,   looking   at   the   falls. The   star   did   not   return. Taking   it   as   a   sign,   he   headed   inward. Down   the   steps   of   stone   stalked   Wayham   Lane. At   the   falls   he   moved   around   the   pool,   examining   it,   then   shed   his   clothes   and   plunged   naked   into   the   pool. It   was   not   deep,   to   his   surprise. He   stood   in   the   water   and   gazed   at   the   falls. The   sheet   of   water   cast   his   image   back   at   him,   wavered   and   rippling,   a   green   star   on   his   hand. Wayham   ducked   under   the   cold   cataract:   it   made   him   gasp,   but   it   was   not   numbing   and   soon   he   was   through   it,   hands   held   in   front,   half   expecting   a   sudden   drop   into   a   deep   pool,   or   the   anticlimax   of   a   blank   wall. He   found   neither. Shaking   water   from   his   face   he   found   he   faced   a   level   floor   that   rose   steadily   as   it   headed   into   the   darkness. Ducking   back   underneath   the   falls   Wayham   stood   for   a   moment   to   let   the   water   wash   the   earth   from   him. Then,   refreshed,   he   waded   to   where   his   clothes   were   and   bundled   them   up,   putting   them   quickly   through   the   falls   before   it   could   soak   them. He   dressed   in   the   sloping   passage.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   tunnel   was   arched,   as   if   hands   had   shaped   it   once,   though   all   marks   of   chisel   or   mason   was   long   since   worn   away. The   stone   floor   was   wet   and   squished   underfoot   with   the   sunless   growths   that   inhabit   such   places,   and   in   the   green   gemlight   the   tunnel   seemed   to   gleam   like   glass.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   followed   it   back   and   farther   back,   into   the   depths   of   the   hill,   and   it   grew   warmer,   and   the   tunnel   began   to   slant   down. It   grew   more   broken,   and   large   cracks   split   the   walls   and   snaked   across   the   floor. Jumping   one   of   them   revealed   a   dislocation   in   the   tunnel:   the   entire   passage   had   shifted   three   feet   left. Then   it   ended   and   he   came   into   a   concealed   chamber   far   beneath   the   earth.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   walls   were   curved   and   gleamed   a   faint   blue,   for   a   soft   light   filled   the   chamber:   though   whether   it   came   from   the   walls,   or   from   himself,   or   from   some   other   source,   he   could   not   tell. The   ring’s   light was   no   longer   bright   enough   to   illumine. The   remains   of   pillars   lay   against   the   walls,   all   fractured   and   fallen. And   down   the   middle   of   the   chamber   stood   a   series   of   stone   tombs.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   seemed   to   be   sarcophagi,   for   they   were   rectangular   and   elevated,   though   no   crack   of   lid   was   visible;   and   lying   lapped   in   the   stone   of   each   was   carved   a   figure   prone. But   they   were   not   the   figures of   men. Short   they   were   and   broad,   less   than   four   feet,   but   clearly   not   midgets;   they   bore   rough   grim   faces   with   a   terrible,   austere   nobility;   their   beards   were   ankle-long,   braided   or   woven   in   strange   forms,   and   on   their   heads   were   carven   crowns   of   stone;   in   their   carven   hands   were   clasped   stone   weapons. Seven   there   were,   and   the   figure   at   the   end,   he   was   tallest   of   them   all,   and   the   crown   upon   his   head   was   a   crown   of   gems   like   stars:   from   them   came   the   light.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             In   that   moon-like   glow   the   face   of   Wayham   Lane   looked   as   if   it   too   was   graven   in   stone,   grim   and   solemn   as   an   ancient   tree,   or   as   some   stern   and   awful   king   of   men. With   a   slow   and   dreadful   majesty   he   stalked   along   the   tombs   of   stone,   passing   by   their   feet,   the   ring   held   high   so   that   its’   light,   brighter   now   than   ever,   fell   full   upon   the   carven   kings.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             As   he   passed   each   figure,   its’   eyes   of   stone   opened. As   he   passed   each   figure   by,   with   a   rumble   like   the   earth   each   one   began   to   rise. Emerging   from   the   rock   of   which   they   had   been   carved,   they   sat   up   on   their   elbows,   then   slowly   rose   to   sit   upright,   and   every   head   turned   to   follow   him. As   he   reached   the   last   figure   he   came   to   a   pause,   and   as   it   rose   upon   its’   elbows   his   own   head   turned   to   face   it,   until   he   looked   into   its’   eyes.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hail,   ye   Unbegotten,   Deathless   undying,   oft   returned   but   reborn   never. In   the   name   of   the   King   do   I   bid   ye   awake!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Stone   ebbed   out   of   each   figure,   fading   into   flesh. Eyes   awoke   and   glittered   dark   and   strange. Beards   grew   soft   from   solid   stone   and   hair   stirred   with   their   breath,   many   different   hues   and   shapes. He   on   the   farthest   end   had   a   beard   the   brilliant   red   of   flame,   but   the   one   next   to   him   had   a   beard   of   utter   black. Then   there   was   one   with   a   beard   of   dull   frosty   blue   like   old   ice;   and   one   of   deep   yellow,   and   another   as   stiff   as   if   grown   from   wire   instead   of   hair,   and   the   one   next   the   end   (   a   very   broad   figure)   had   a   beard   of   chestnut   brown. But   the   one   who   faced   Wayham,   his   hair   was   silver   and   shone   like   spun   metal,   and   it   was   bare,   for   the   crown   of   stars   had   faded   and   the   Ring   alone   gave   light.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thou   seem   to   know   us,   though   we   know   ye   not;   declare,   then,   our   nature,   if   thou   wear   that   ring   by   right!”   challenged   he   whom   Wayham   faced,   in   a   voice   as   deep   as   stone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   are   the   Seven   Fathers   of   the   Dwarves.”   said   Wayham   Lane. “Nogrom   and   Belegos,   Foros   and   Karad,   Rhû   and   Oronos. But   you   are   declared   by   the   crown   you   do   not   bear,   for   you   are   Durin,   and   you   walked   alone.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   Durin   said,   “Thou   sayest   rightly. Seven   times   have   we   grown   old   and   lain   down   to   die,   and   arisen   in   a   later   time   as   one   but   young   of   years:   but   I,   the   Deathless, I   was   slain,   for   I   delved   too   deep   and   disturbed   the   nameless   fear. Alone   I   faced   him,   alone   fought   him   under   the   earth;   and   fire   took   me,   and   iron   rent   me,   and   bearing   my   body   my   kindred   fled   him. And   I   was   laid   down,   and   my   body   healed,   and   I   lay   in   slumber   returned   from   death. Wherefore   are   we   called,   who   were   to   never   wake   before   the   end   of   the   world?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   Wayham   said,   “I   know   that   not,   nor   can   I   say,   for   the hour   of   the   ending   is   told   unto   none.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   Durin   said,   “Whom   then   art   thou,   whose   mere   passing   calls   us   back   to   the   living,   who   bearest   on   thy   hand   the   Ring   of   Barahir? Who   is   the   King   in   whose   name   we   were   wakened?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   Wayham   said,   “My   name   is   Wayham,   and   of   the   Road   am   I,   and   hence   I   was   given   the   name   and   title   Lane. I   am   here   because   I   am   sended,   for   here   in   this   cave   was   Angainor   slain,   and   Arheled   summons   all   to   resist   the   lord   of   the   Darkness.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   Durin   said,   “This   is   evil   tidings   beyond   all   guessing. Why   have   not   the   Valar   come? Has   our   Father   grown   idle? Is   Arheled   left   to   stand   alone   upon   his   Road?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   Wayham   answered,   “He   is   not   idle. But   his   hammer   fell   from   heaven   as   a   blazing   star   to   smite   down   the   last   living   one   of   the   Frost-giants;   and   it   has   not   been   recovered,   for   the   hour   of   its’   recovery   has   not   come   to   pass.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   Durin   answered,   “If   the   End   be   indeed   come,   then   the   Unbegotten   shall   stand   forth,   Dwarf   against   Giant,   as   was   long   foreboded. Now   must   I   my   crown   of   stars   to   find,   and   lift   it   from   the   water,   and   wear   the   stars   I   only   glimpsed   in   vision   upon   my   head   for   all   to   see. May   your   beard   grow   ever   longer,   Wayham   of   the   Road.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   yours   to   touch   the   ground.”   answered   Wayham   Lane. Then   with   a   deep   bow   he   strode   on   down   the   halls   of   stone,   as   behind   him   the   Seven   Fathers   of   the   Dwarves   stepped   down   from   off   their   thrones.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   wound   on,   down   forgotten   cracks   and   passages   underneath   the   living   earth,   made   by   quake   and   by   design   and   by   the   strange   chances   of   the   years. Ever   the   light   of   the   ring   shone   when   he   faced   the   way   that   he   was   meant   to   go,   and   dimmed   when   he   turned   away;   and   so   guided   by   this   he   descended   through   perilous   ways   for   a   long   time,   now   lowering   himself   wedged   between   walls   with   an   abyss   underneath,   now   picking   his   way   along   a   scarp   of   broken   ledge,   now   squeezing   through   passages   that   seemed   like   keyholes. Long   since   had   he   left   behind   the   hollow   hill   on   the   edge   of   Connecticut,   the   broken   ways   taking   him   ever   farther   under   the   earth. He   felt   hungry   and   sat   down   to   eat. And   when   he   had   eaten,   he   got   up   and   walked   on   once   more. The   air   grew   queer,   the   smell   strange,   as   if   he   no   longer   walked   beneath   New   England;   as   if   he   had,   somehow,   stepped   across   miles   of   earth   and   ocean,   and   even   time,   into   a   place   long   past   and   a   land   forgotten.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   walked   up   a   sad   shell-pink   hall,   feeling   the   air,   smelling   it,   the   pink   walls   a   queer   purple   in   the   green   light   of   his   ring. Ever   stronger   grew   the   feeling,   causing   him   to   walk   slower;   though   when   he   did,   he   had   the   eerie   sense   of   still   moving   fast,   as   if   the   cave   around   him   was   moving   with   him   inside   it,   like   some   huge   stone   creature. Now   a   murmer   reached   his   ears,   a   slow   constant   throb   and   pound:   he   could   not   understand   it,    nor   quite   place   the   eerie   smell:   it   was   like   pond   weed   drying   on   exposed   rocks   in   the   Long   Lake   when   the   summer   shallow   was   upon   it;   it   was   like   that,   yet   sharper   and   more   bitter,   almost   like   the   taste   of   tears.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   rocks   filling   the   floor   grew   rougher,   more   broken,   and   were   wet   with   slime   and   strange   growths. The   booming   grew,   a   steady   beating   crash,   and   then   he   rounded   a   bend   of   broken   black   rock   and   saw   before   him   the   cause   of   the   sound. Waves   beat   and   thundered   unceasing   upon   a   rocky   coast;   but   a   coast   underground,   for   all   was   utter   darkness. The   smell   he   knew   now:   it   reminded   him   of   fair   flesh   and   white   limbs   under   his,   and   pain   crossed   his   brow:   the   smell   of   the   sea,   and   the   girl   from   the   sea,   on   whom   he   had   begot   the   first   heir   of   the   house   of   Lane. And   lit   by   the   ring   Wayham   made   out   tall   towers   of   stone   eaten   black   by   the   sea;   and   the   nearest   one   to   him   turned   a   head   of   stone   and   looked   at   him. And   then   Wayham   saw   it   was   not   a   rock   at   all,   but   a   man   of   great   stature   who   stood   upon   one. He   was   robed   in   sea-green,   in   a   mantle   and   tunic   of   many   kinds   of   greens,   and   emeralds   gleamed   in   his   buckle   and   the   brooch   of   his   cloak;   and   they   were   wrought   in   green   sea-gold   in   the   form   of   strange   serpents. Bare   were   his   huge   arms,   knotted   with   muscles   like   mountains. Long   was   his   hair,   a   white   like   hoar-foam;   his   beard   a   pale   green,   as   if   moss   grew   in   it,   and   by   his   side   was   slung   an   ancient   weapon   so   crusted   in   sea-growths   its’   shape   was   hard   to   tell.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Long   did   Wayham   and   the   stranger   gaze   at   the   other. Neither   spoke. The   sea-man’s   eyes   were   buried   in   deep   furrows,   from   which   they   shone   eerily   out   like   jewels,   fay   and   uncanny.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   the   man   of   the   sea   said   at   long   last,   “What   dost   thou   ask?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   Wayham   said,   “I   ask   thy   name.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   Lír.”   said   the   other. “I   have   many   names   when   I   walk   in   many   peoples,   but   I   am   always   one,   and   I   girdle   the   earth. You   have   come   to   me   at   the   sending   of   another. Who   is   it   that   sent   you? And   by   what   right   bear   you   that   ring?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   Wayham   said,   “I   was   set   upon   this   path   by   the   lord   of   silver   crystal,   to   seek   for   my   sire   and   the   sword   of   my   father. I   bear   this   ring   by   right   of   blood.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   Lír   roared   with   great   laughter. “Wise   words,   riddling   wayfarer! I   know   thee   now,   Wayham. Thou   shalt   come   with   me. I   will   set   thee   on   the   path   to   the   things   of   which   thou   sleekest. I   will   bring   thee   to   speak   with   the   man   who   cannot   die.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wondering   at   this,   Wayham   stepped   out   of   the   cave. The   tide   had   receded,   exposing   a   stretch   of   cobbled   beach. Along   this   trod   Lír,   and   Wayham   followed. And   the   man   of   the   sea   took   him   through   countless   avenues   of   carven   stones,   and   ancient   arches   like   the   causeways   of   forgotten   roads,   and   through   the   remains   of   many   ships   cast   onto   the   gnawing   shores   and   chewed   to   shreds. But   one   ship   had   not   been   so   consumed,   but   remained,   nigh   buried   in   sand   and   tumbled   rocks,   her   masts   tall   stumps,   her   carven   prow   wrought   like   to   a   flowing   head   of   some   strange   bird. At   this   Wayham   wondered,   for   though   he   had   never   seen   modern   ships   he   had   seen   sailing   ships,   and   this   was   like   none   he   had   ever   seen   before.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thou   art   the   scion   of   the   White   Tree. Thou   art   the   son   of   Whitefire. It   is   to   you   that   the   Blade   that   Bore   the   Sun   and   Moon   shall   come.”   said   Lír.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham’s   eyes   widened. The   man   of   the   sea   was   heaving   with   his   gigantic   strength. Up   from   the   shingled   beach,   shedding   rocks   and   sand   like   fallen   leaves,   the   strange   ship   was   rising,   and   it   was   not   made   of   wood   but   of   stone,   or   of   some   encrusted   elvish   glass,   for   it   was   hard,   and   where   the   barnacles   were   scraped   or   broken   it   shone   clear. The   masts,   he   saw   now,   were   no   stumps   but   thick   with   wrapped   and   crusted   cables,   and   fastened   to   the   helm   was   a   statue. Crustaceans   and   coral   long   dead   had   left   ages   of   shells   upon   his   face   and   form,   and   coral   glued   his   hands   to   the   peculiar   steering   device. Little   of   the   helm’s   design   could   be   made   out   through   the   crust,   but   it   was   no   wheel,   nor   rudder,   nor   any   design   Wayham   had   heard   of. Mud   poured   down   with   seawater   from   the   mysterious   wreck.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Where   are   we?”   he   said. “I   do   not   think   I   have   walked   one   hundred   miles   underneath   the   earth!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Nor   have   thou.”   answered   Lír. “There   are   seas   under   the   seas,   and   over   them   as   well. We   stand   full   three   miles   underneath   the   earth,   in   the   region   ye   call   Bald   Mount.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Sir,   it   has   been   many   years   since   I   walked   these   hills,   and   I   do   not   know   where that   lies.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thou   hast   clomb   but   three   miles   and   half   from   the   Retreat   of   the   Witches,   though   the   winding   caves   have   led   thee   longer. Nine   miles   north   and   west   are   we   from   the   westernmost   church   of   the   Five.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   church   with   the   carved   stern   of   a   ship   half   projecting   from   one   wall??”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Pointing   north   by   west. Aye,   Wayham,   for   it   is   here   that   it   points,   and   this   it   signifies. Board   the   ship. She   will   bear   thee   to   thy   father.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   was   she   once?”   Wayham   asked. “What   seas   did   she   sail,   ere   she   sank   under   the   earth?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Seas   strange   and   vast   indeed!”   Lír   chuckled,   that   gigantic   laughter   again   shaking   him. “Out   even   to   the   Doors   of   Night   and   the   Void   beyond! But   she   came   back   in   the   wrong   day,   and   the   Great   Disaster   overtook   her,   for   her   captain   was   under   a   curse,   and   they   forced   him   to   break   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who   could   have   done   this?”   said   Wayham.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   same   who   let   in   the   Lord   of   Chaos   from   out   of   the   Void.”   Lír   replied.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Stars.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Aye,   the   Stars. None   can   free   him,   not   even   the   very   Lords   of   the   West,   until   the   time   comes. For   the   doom   he   was   under   was   to   never   touch   the   earth,   nor   mingle   or   meddle   with   mortal   affairs.    For   on   him   mighty   doom   was   laid,   Until   the   Sun   and   Stars   should   fade…And   they   forced   him   into   the   earth,   and   threw   him   from   his   vessel,   so   that   he   touched   the   ground,   and   his   doom   inwarped   upon   him,. and   here   he   stayed,   fastened   to   stone. It   is   all   that   I   can   do   to   make   his   ship   once   more   float;   I   cannot   free   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   who   is   he?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Lír   lifted   his   hand,   and   Wayham   found   himself   standing   on   the   deck,   and   the   ship   already   under   way. The   shore   fell   behind,   Lír   alone   visible   among   the   inky   rocks. The   light   left   with   Wayham. Blackness   descended   on   the   underground   sea. It   was   choppy,   with   an   oddly   steady   sea,   though   no   wind   stirred   the   dank   cool   air. The   ship,   despite   her   strange   composition,   floated   well   and   took   the   seas   quite   in   stride. Wayham   began   to   feel   the   first   signs   of   sickness,   and   swiftly   forced   himself   to   change   his   shape:   a   tree   does   not   throw   up. Still   upon   one   twiggy   limb   the   Ring   of   Barahir glowed,   shedding   a   circular   region   of   faint   green   light   around   the   ship. Waves   appeared   out   of   the   nothingness,   crossed   the   circle   and   disappeared. Night   held   sway. He   was   afloat,   not   on   a   sea,   but   on   a   void   of   nothingness,   and   the   world   far   above,   and   the   water   around,   were   delusions.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   looked   at   the   fossil   helmsman,   crusted   to   his   place,   form   and   features   shapeless   and   vague   under   the   barnacled   growths. “Who   were   you,   once?”   he   said   aloud. “Why   should   a   doom   like   yours   have   been   laid   on   you,   and   what   earned   you   the   hatred   of   the   Stars?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   helmsman   made   no   answer,   and   the   boat   moved   on   unending,   and   the   hours   passed   endlessly   on. Wayham   Lane   in   his   tree   form   felt   a   familiar   sleepiness   creeping   upon   him,   felt   limbs   and   boughs   droop   and   stiffen,   and   fought   it   off. But   he   was   weary   now,   both   in   body   and   mind,   and   in   the   end   he   succumbed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   fossil   ship   sailed   on   over   the   void-like   sea,   and   at   the   helm   was   a   crusted   statue,   and   at   the   prow   grew   a   lone   tree   with   wood   of   purest   white.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   tree-slumber   dropped   from   Wayham’s   mind   slowly,   as   does   sleep   from   a   man,   until   he   grew   aware   that   the   ship   moved   no   longer,   and   the   roar   of   surf   on   sunless   beaches   was   all   around   him. Sight   crept   into   his   wooden   eyes,   and   he   felt   an   odd   slow   amazement:   two   men   stood   below   him,   talking   to   one   another. One   of   them   was   ancient   beyond   all   description;   his   beard   reached   the   ground,   his   hair   likewise,   both   white   in   the   gleam   of   the   sword   he   held   unsheathed   in   his   great   withered   arms. Once   he   had   been   tall   and   proud,   but   so   shrunken   was   his   visage   his   eyes   shone   huge   and   luminous   from   their   sockets. This   was   a   man   about   to   die.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   were   speaking,   but   the   words   were   not   English. They   were   in   a   speech   older   than   mankind,   melodious   and   beautiful,   and   in   his   tree   condition   Wayham   knew   it,   and   knew   it   for   the   speech   of   the   Elves.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Ship   indeed   cometh,   but   how   know   I   it   is   the   one   that   bears   him?”   the   ancient   man   was   arguing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “My   lord,”   the   other   answered   in   a   voice   that   was   both   tender   and   clear,   “thou   knowest   it   was   to   thee   foretold   by   him   who   laid   on   thee   the   curse   of   everlasting,   that   it   would   endure   until   thou   shouldst   behold   a   ship   of   stone,   a   white   tree   upon   it. And   behold,   here   comes   over   the   sea   a   ship   all   crusted   in   shells   of   stone,   and   it   shines   of   itself,   and   upon   it   grows   indeed   a   tree   of   white   wood,   and   from   the   tree   comes   the   light,   shed   by   the   Ring   of   Barahir.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   not   yet   blind,   old   Hawk.”   said   the   ancient   one   testily. “And   thou   mayest   recall   that   Mannanan   son   of   Lír   said   it   was   not   a   curse,   but   a   doom;   for   my   line   must   live   on,   yet   all   mankind   after   the   Flood   must   be   from   the   loins   of   Noe. So   I   slept,   save   for   one   week   each   year,   after   the   coming   of   the   Tuatha   was   cast   into   bitterness   and   woe;   and   I   have   endured   nine   thousand   years   and   forty,   counsellor   to   kings,   and   of   all   the   wives   I   took,   only   one   bore   a   child,   and   he   was   taken   from   me.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   forced   his   branches,   roots   and   leaves   back   into   himself. It   felt   like   inducing   oneself   to   vomit,   in   reverse. When   he   was   human   once   more   he   sprang   down   from   the   ship,   alighting   with   a   clumsy   thud   on   smooth   grass. Evidently   the   ship   had   been   beached   by   a   great   wave. White   sand   as   fine   as   silt   ran   down   to   the   booming   waves. Inland   the   pleasantest   island   he   had   seen   opened   up,   broad   and   lit   by   a   sort   of   luminous   air   hanging   above   it;   and   tree   and   grass   and   shrub   were   vividly   green. Behind   and   on   every   side   the   ancient   night   lay   untouched;   but   he   heard,   or   thought   he   did,   the   booming   crash   of   distant   surf   far   in   the   darkness.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Tree.”   stammered   the   ancient   one. “It   is…a   human!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “A   human   wearing   the   royal   ring.”   added   Hawk.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   face   of   the   ancient   man   grew   hard   and   terrible. The   blade   in   his   hand   burned   suddenly   with   white   fire. “How   do   you   come   to   bear   that   ring?”   he   demanded   in   a   cold   voice. “Speak. And   do   not   think   I   am   feeble   in   my   age!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   bear   it   for   the   reason   I   was   given   it   by   Arheled,   and   he   gave   me   this   ring   because   I   am   Wayham,   surnamed   Lane. I   seek   for   my   father   and   the   sword   of   my   father. Whom   are   you   that   challenges   me?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   white   blade   wavered   and   drooped   until   the   point   smote   the   beach. The   grass   hissed   at   its’   touch. “I   am   Finteine,   known   as   Narkil,   named   for   the   sword   that   I   bear,   and   my   only   son   I   ever   bore,   I   named   him   Wayham.”   He   let   it   fall   with   a   dull   thud   and   held   out   his   shriveled   arms. “I   am   the   father   that   you   seek.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Years   fell   aside   from   the   wide   eyes   of   Wayham. “My   father.”   he   whispered,   and   entered   the   aged   man’s   embrace. “Why? Why   was   I   taken? Why   did   Arheled   divide   us?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Because   I   sleep,”   Finteine   said   gently. “To   keep   me   alive,   all   year   I   lie   in   a   trance,   my   body   halted,   my   heart   unbeating,   no   aging   affecting. When   I   awake,   age   advances. How   could   I   bring   up   a   babe? How   could   I   be   a   father   to   you,   who   always   slept? But   now   even   I,   who   am   by   mother’s   blood   connected   to   the   line   of   the   Patriarchs,   direct   in   line   from   Adam   and   Luthien,   whose   span   in   consequence   was   many   times   that   of   men,   am   dying   of   old   age. Nine   thousand   years   and   forty   I   have   lived;   eight   hundred   years   and   sixty   have   I   aged. Soon   I   will   be   welcomed home   from   this   exile. A   long   life   has   been   granted   me,   I   do   not   conceal   it;   I   am   Finteine   the   white   son   of   Bochra,   and   I   am   of   the   line   direct   of   the   Men   out   of   the   Sea;   from   the   kings   of   Atalante   do   I   take   my   straight   blood.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Whose   line   am   I   of,   that   was   said   to   never   die?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   line   of   Luthien.”   answered   Finteine. “She   who   was   born   both   of   Maia   and   Elf,   who   bequeathed   the   blood   of   the   Gods   into   fallen   mankind. That   line,   it   was   foretold   would   never   die,   though   the   years   lengthen   beyond   count. So   indeed   it   proved. When   the   Kings   Returned   died   out   of   the   world   and   ice   consumed   the   Empire   of   Strider,   father   to   son   it   lived   on,   the   house   of   Gilda. Their   last   scion   took   to   wife   Bochra   relative   to   Noe,   my   own   mother.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   sailed   to   the   ends   of   Middle-earth,   and   found   them   under   Ice. We   shipwrecked   off   of   Ireland,   we   who   thought   we   could   outsail   the   Flood:   for   no   ship   of   Men   but   that   of   Noe   himself   was   to   come   out   from   those   waters. An   elf   I   loved,   Dana   Magrusaig,   she   whom   the   sages   name   Morrigu. As   the   wall   of   waters   closed   over   the   world,   she   kissed   me   on   the   ramparts   of   the   Havens   and   turned   me   into   a   salmon;   the   spell   to   endure   until   another   beast   caught   me,   when   I   would   take   on   its’   shape. Thus   became   I   eagle,   and   then   hawk,   and   then   man;   and   thus   of   the   blood   of   Luthien   one   lived   into   Christian   times. And   now   am   I   dying   at   long   last,   and   of   that   ancient   line   you   alone   are   left.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why   was   I   told   to   seek   out   your   sword?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Finteine   held   it   up. “In   this   blade   was   trapped   the   light   of   Sun   and   Moon,   when   first   it   was   forged   by   Telchar   the   Smith   in   the   halls   that   are   broken:   Narsil   it   was   named   then. For   this   is   the   Blade   that   was   Broken   and   was   Made   Again;   Anduril   the   Western   Flame. This   sword   cannot   be   drawn   save   by   the   Heir   of   Elendil:   death   comes   upon   all   else.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   laid   it   on   Wayham’s   shoulder,   and   Wayham   knelt   before   him. “I   bestow   it   upon   ye.”   Finteine   said. “I   crown   thee   King   of   the   forces   of   Men,   in   the   battle   that   is   coming   with   the   Lord   of   Chaos. I   confirm   the   blood   that   is   in   ye. Arise,   King   Wendom   of   the   house   of   Telcontar. Receive   from   your   father   the   sword   of   your   sires.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   Wayham   Lane   rose   to   his   feet,   Wendom   King   of   the   line   of   Numenor. Tall   and   commanding,   a   white   light   shone   like   a   crown   about   his   brows,   and   his   face   gave   off   light;   there   was   power   in   his   gaze,   there   was   healing   in   his   hands;   upon   his   finger   glowed   green   the   Ring   of   Barahir,   in   his   right   hand   was   Anduril   West-flame   remade. And   as   Finteine   the   Ancient   bent   his   head   to   his   son,   Hawk   beside   him   said   in   a   mighty   voice   that   rang   back   to   them   from   the   far   and   hidden   roof,   “Behold   the   King!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Suddenly   Finteine   staggered   on   his   feet. Hawk   leaped   to   his   side,   and   he   and   Wayham   eased   the   heavy   body   of   the   old   man   to   the   ground. His   breath   rattled   when   he   breathed. “The   end   of   my   life.”   Finteine   whispered. “It   is   here. Go,   my   son   and   sire. Rouse   the   Seven   Sleepers,   and   with   them   emerge   to   return   to   the   living. These   are   my   last   words.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   father,   where   do   they   sleep?”   Wayham   cried. “How   shall   I   wake   them?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   sleep   in   the   cave   of   the   forgotten,   at   the   end   of   the   sea.”   breathed   Finteine. “Now   I   pass   from   the   living,   for   a   short   while. Yet…I   am   glad…that   I   lived   to   see   the   King   return.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             With   a   long,   final   sigh   he   breathed   his   last,   and   gave   up   his   ghost,   and   Narkil   Finteine,   Fintan   the   Old,   consellor   to   kings   and   teller   of   histories,   passed   from   this   life. And   Wayham   Lane   bowed   his   head   over   the   body   of   his   father,   and   for   the   first   time   in   four   centuries   he   wept. And   beside   him   he   heard   the   strange   clear   voice   of   Hawk,   singing   a   lament,   a   song   of   the dying.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             His   first   grief   passed,   even   as   the   words   of   Hawk   and   his   silver   notes   ebbed   down   into   silence. And   Wayham   Lane   looked   up   and   met   Hawk’s   eye.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   did   not   bow.”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,”   Hawk   made   answer,   “for   you   are   not   my   king.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   King   of   Men.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   I   am   not   human.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What,   then,   are   you?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   tavenda.   I   was   your   father’s   companion   for   many   long   ages,   and   I   tended   him   when   his   age   became   great. If   I   can   aid   you,   Wayham,   I   will.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Tell   me,   then,   who   are   the   Seven   Sleepers?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hawk   regarded   him   with   his   piercing,   strange   eyes. His   reddish   hair   reflected   the   light   of   the   island   behind   him. “Their   first   mention   is   by   the   historian   Paul   the   Deacon,”   he   said,   “in   his   account   of   the   early   Lombards   and   their   home   by   the   Baltic   Sea. On   the   shore   of   that   sea   was   a   cave,   and   in   it   lay   seven   men   asleep. The   man   who   discovered   them   tried   to   wake   them;   but   the   moment   he   touched   them,   his   arm   withered   to   the   elbow. But   they   are   not   there   now. When   Alboin   Errol   and   his   son   walked   back   in   time,   they   saw   them,   laid   now   in   a   ship-barrow   and   guarded   by   the   Two   Minstrels.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   are   they   still   there?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   are   not.”   Hawk   said. “The   barrows   became   no   longer   safe. Treasure   thieves   and   tomb   robbers   the   guardians   could   deal   with;   archaeological   digs   they   could   not. So   they   sang   their   last   song   and   their   mightiest,   those   two   greatest   singers   upon   all   Middle-earth;   and   they   sang   the   Sleepers   under   the   ground,   and   made   themselves   the   door. None   can   enter   save   the   King,   and   nothing   can   wake   them   save   the   word   that   you   will   know.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   do   I   find   the   tomb   of   the   Sleepers?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Ship   will   bear   you   to   the   ending   of   the   sea. Where   it   beats   upon   a   sunless   wall   that   rises   sheer,   a   wall   that   no   wave   can   wear,   you   must   stand,   and   command   there   the   door   to   reveal. Place   one   drop   of   your   blood   upon   the   hearts   of   the   watchers,   and   they   will   open   to   you   if   you   utter   their   names.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   bent   his   head. “I   thank   you,   Hawk. Where   should   I   bury   the   bones   of   my   father?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Lay   him   here,   upon   the   living   grass. No   rot   can   touch   him   here,   nor   evil   dishonor   him,   unless   the   Lord   of   Night   should   come   himself. I   bid   ye   well,   son   of   Narkil.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   bid   you   well,   O   Hawk.”   said   Wayham. He   bent   down   and   laid   out   the   body   of   Finteine,   hands   clasped   on   his   heart,   his   startling   eyes   shut   forever. Looking   up   he   saw   Hawk   was   gone,   and   only   a   small   bird-shape   dwindling   into   the   bright   distance   of   the   island   could   be   seen. Then   sheathing   the   Blade   that   was   Broken   in   the   black   elven-sheath,   he   stepped   across   the   silky   sands   and   climbed   back   into   the   ship   of   stone. She   slid   off   the   sand   as   if   pushed,   and   turning   steerless   she   rounded   the   bright   island   and   sailed   on   slowly   into   the   darkness,   the   black   waves   roaring   now   from   behind   her   and   bearing   her   on.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Rapidly   the   last   home   of   Finteine   shrank   to   a   luminous   line   in   the   distance,   and   then   a   single   pale   spot   like   a   faint   unmoving   star;   but   soon   even   this   vanished. Again   the   darkness   closed   around   the   ship. The   glow   of   the   ring   lit   the   small   circle   of   turgid   water   in   which   moved   the   ruined   ship,   and   outside   pressed   Darkness. Wayham   found   he   was   thinking   now   of   it   as   a   person,   a   being   of   its’   own,   lying   in   wait   outside   everything   and   inside   everything:   a   foothold   in   every   shadow,   a   fort   in   every   closed   room. That   horrible   sense   of   a   universe   of   hostility,   an   entire   world   waiting   to   devour   him   and   kept   at   bay   only   by   the   thinnest   of   veils,   grew   more   and   more   tangible. He   tried   to   repeat   the   sunlit   optimism   of   the   mind   of   Christian   men   to   himself,   but   it   did   little   good;   the   vague   darkness   licked   its’   chops   outside   the   circle   of   faint   light,   smiling   with   awful   promise   of   triumph. And   still   the   ship   moved   onward,   and   the   black   waves   passed   beneath   her,   roaring   as   they   broke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   felt   weariness   come   once   again   upon   him   as   the   ship   sailed   onward,   and   his   head   sank   forward,   and   he   slipped   into   dark   and   awful   dreams   of   black   faced   breaking   into   slow   smiles   as   their   huge   mouths   opened. He   woke,   suddenly,   feeling   himself   no   longer   alone,   and   cast   his   eyes   anxiously   about   the   ship. The   ring   upon   his   hand   gave   out   only   a   faint   glow. At   first   he   deemed   the   deck   empty,   save   for   the   eternal   figure   petrified   to   the   helm;   but   when   his   eyes   returned   to   the   prow,   he   started   backward,   for   a   shape   now   stood   there,   black   as   darkness   concentrate,   like   a   man   all   robed   in   night.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who   are   you?”   demanded   Wayham   as   he   drew   the   sword. And   lo! Anduril   was   dull,   and   shone   not,   dim   and   grey   in   the   faint   ring-light.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thou   seemest   frightened,   little   king. ''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">”   the   darkness   said   around   him,   and   most   clearly   from   the   robed   figure. Even   close   up   the   ring   shed   no   light   on   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who   are   you?”   Wayham   demanded   again.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Do   you   think   that   now you   have   been   crowned,   that   all   you   must   do   is   wave your   sword   and   the   shadows   will   flee,   scattering   like   sparks   from   a   disturbed   fire?”   sighed   the   voice   of   the   darkness. ''“So   amusing,   you   Christians. So   arrogant. So   utterly   serene   and   confident.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who   are   you?”   Wayham’s   voice   shook.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   a   little   dervish   in   red   tights   with   a   goatee,   Wayham   King. I   dance   around   on   cloven   hoofs   waving   pitchforks   at   people,   in   a   red   place   with   pointy   flames. How   can   you   believe   in   so   stupid   a   bogey,   really? So   you   Christians   feel,   even   as   you   cross   yourselves   and   chew   your   bread,   and   you   go   on   your   way   complacent,   for   after   all   the   Wineblood   God   has   already   won,   and   I   am   safely   chained.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   are   not   the   lord   of   Men,   and   you   never   shall   be,   though   Menel   fall   to   you   as   well   as   Arda.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thou   sayest   rightly,   for   Arda   is   already   mine,   and   even   Heaven   shall   fall   to   me. Shall   not   the   Giants   consume   even   the   Gods   in   the   end? See   what   lies   around   you,   infant   king. All   that   Is,   it   is   but   an   isle   in   the   darkness,   soon   to   be   extinguished. For   outside   the   World   lies   Kûma,   and   Kûma   serves   Me. The   Void,   Wayham. The   Nothingness,   from   which   even   the   Gods   arose.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Nothingness   cannot   give   rise   to   Somethingness,   any   more   than   Darkness   can   produce   Light.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Is   that   so.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">    the   darkness   breathed. An   acrid,   heavy,   immeasurable   contempt   emanated   from   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   will   show   you   that   that   is   so!”   shouted   Wayham   King. Anduril   flamed   sudden   and   white   in   his   hand. True   he   struck,   thrusting   asunder   the   figure   of   shadow;   and   no   resistance   met   the   blade,   and   the   shadow   flowed   together   around   it   and   was   not   harmed. And   as   Wayham   staggered   backward,   cold   fear   overcoming   him,   his   sword raised   in   a   futile   attempt   to   ward   off   the   Darkness,   he   heard   the   grim   and   mocking   voice   begin   to   sing:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Did   you   hear   their   screaming ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Seven   nights   past ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">did   you   hear   their   mournful   keening ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Unending   till   the   last? ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Know,   then,   the   darkness   has   come ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">See,   then,   what   you   have   become ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">For   darkness   has   no   limits ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">And   darkness   knows   no   limits ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Abiding,   piercing,   slaying ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">It   drives   the   light   away ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Did   you   hear   their   weeping ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Seven   nights   past? ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">did   you   see   the   darkness   reaping ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The   deeds   that   it   has   cast? ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Darkness   has   a   name ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">And   darkness   has   a   face ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Darkness   shall   remain ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">And   bring   the   land   to   waste ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">For   shadows   are   falling ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">And   darkness   has   come, ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The   nations   it   is   mauling,” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   voice   lowered   to   a   caressing,   menancing   hiss   as   it   sang   the   last   line:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“And   kings   it   has   hung.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   King   bent   under   the   weight   that   was   pressing   in   around   him. His   chest   labored   to   expand,   as   if   he   was   wearing   great   stones. Still   the   living   darkness   enbound   him   around,   and   the   lord   of   the   darkness   looked   on   as   the   last   king   of   men   fell   crushed   before   his   feet. The   strength   of   the   darkness   came   out   of   eternity. Before   the   world   came   to   be   it   had   been   there. He   felt   it,   a   blight   of   despair   in   his   head   and   his   soul,   felt   it   as   a   thing   ancient   and   primeval;   and   it   demanded   he   adore   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Still   Wayham   Lane   shudderingly   rose,   his   sword   planted   in   the   hard   deck   grasped   like   a   cane,   a   prop   for   weakness   and   no   weapon. Darkness   roared   and   raged   about   him. The   ring   gave   out   no   more   light. Dull   and   unshining   was   the   blade   of   Anduril. The   shout   of   the   waves,   the   unseen   beasts   of   raging   water,   mocked   in   his   ears   like   the   roar   of   monsters,   dim   faint   creatures   huge   and   mighty. It   was   as   if   all   around   him   had   collapsed   into   the   primitive   chaos,   the   primordial   soup   from   which   was   boiled   the   world,   as   both   pagans   and   physics   taught   to   men.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thou   liest!”   he   screamed   against   the   darkness.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thy   own   heart   tells   thee   I   do   not   lie.”   the   voice   of   the   darkness   cascaded   around   him. ''“What   did   thou   see   in   the   chair   on   the   mountain,   when   thou   beheld   all   things   through   the   eyes   of   their   Lord?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   Wayham   Lane   collapsed,   to   crouch,   huddled   and   broken,   hiding   in   the   prow   from   the   laughter   of   the   darkness.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   grinding   of   keel   upon   stone   roused   him. Shakily   he   sat   up. It   was   no   longer   quite   dark;   whether   the   water   itself   had   some   eerie   luminescent   quality,   or   whether   light   drifted   diffused   through   the   air,   he   did   not   know. A   coast   lay   before   him. In   the   queer   twilight   black   cliffs   rose   in   broken   heights   beyond   sight   or   guessing;   the   unseen   roof   might   have   been    near,   or   it   might   have   been   miles   above   him. The   sea   foamed   and   roared   among   huge   black   teeth   of   stone,   eroded   into   fantastic    forms;   white   foam   gleamed   pale. The   ship   lay   cast up   on   a   beach   of   sunken   boulders   welded   into   a   rough   pavement   by   the   forcing   of   smaller   stones   between   them;   Wayham   leaped   down,   and   it   moved   at   once,   drawn   back   out   to   sea   by   unseen   hands.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   turned   to   the   left   and   strode   along   the   beach,   often   missing   his   footing   in   the   dimness   on   the   wet   stones. The   cliff   rose   high   but   not   knife-sheer,   and   as   he   proceeded   farther   his   sense   of   direction   told   him   he   was   bending   ever   farther   to   the   left. If   this   was   in   truth   the   “end”   of   the   Subland   Sea,   then   he   was   already   beginning   the   trek   back   along   its’   coasts   and   not   merely   rounding   some   unseen   headland. Wearily   he   turned   and   made his   way   back.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             How   many   hours   had   his   human   form   gone   foodless   he   did   not   know. He   only   knew   that   a   hollow   emptiness   lay   inside   him   and   his   steps   were   slow   when   he   suddenly   came   to   the   place   that   he   sought. There   was   no   mistaking it. Only   a   little   way   beyond   the   place   he   had   debarked,   the   beach   ended. Waves   smashed   and   frothed   against   a   sheer   wall,   smooth   as   glass,   that   rose   for   nigh   a   hundred   feet   before   merging   into   the   broken   cliff. Fifty   feet   farther   on   the   beach   resumed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   lifted   the   Ring   of   Barahir. The   tiny   gems   of   Valinor   awoke   again   in   green   fire. “In   the   name   of   the   King   you   will   reveal   yourselves!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Sea   shook. Stone   broke. Out   of   the   groaning   cliff   a   doorway   of   wrought   stone   began   to   emerge,   projecting   from   the   glassy   wall. Upon   the   lintel   was   wrought   the   figure   of   a   man   in   repose,   girt   with   mail. The   doorway   was   empty:   darkness   yawned   under   the   portal,   dared   any   but   to   pass. For   posts   there   stood   on   either   side   two   men   of   carved   stone. If   they   were   carved,   for   so   fine   was   their   detail   and   lifelike   their   pose   that   they   seemed   rather   men   frozen   than   any   mere   works   of   art. Fair   they   were   of   face,   their   features   beautiful   but   not   ceasing   thereby   to   be   masculine:   for   they   were   not   human. The   look   on   their   faces   was   of   deep   sorrow   like   a   scar,   and   stern   repose;   they   reminded him   of   sad   music. He   waded   into   the   sea,   hugging   the   cliff:   and   lo! a   ledge   ran   beneath   the   water,   so   that   he   could   wade   but   ankle-deep   up   to   the   very   door   itself. Cutting   his   finger   with   Anduril   he   squeezed   one   drop   upon   each   of   their   marble   hearts.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Daeron,   Maglor,   open   to   the   King!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Stone   eyes   glittered. Stone   arms   moved,   barring   the   entrance. From   mouths   unmoving   voices   spake,   in   singing   tones   that   rose   and   fell   in   slow   thick   cadence:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Dark   the   doors        are   grimly   blended ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Blood   did   build   them     life   enbound   them ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Our   spirits   blent            our   breen   and   bone ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">With   stone   enduring,      doom   averting ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Doom   defying. If   dare   thou   pass, ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Strive   in   singing           with   minstrels mightiest ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">None   may   enter             Save   one   alone.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">And   Wayham   sang   in   answer,

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Dark   the   doors            and   grimly   blended ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">What   could   work           such   woe   upon   them ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Minstrels   mightiest,       masters   of   singing ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Strong   in   struggle        strange   with   power; ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">To   make   them   blend        their   breen   and   bone ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">with   living   rock             a   long   life   hence?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   voices   sang   again   from   out   of   the   mouths   of   stone:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Morkû   came   here,           men   the   mightiest ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Those   that   hate   us,          hateful   people ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Mirthless   lords   of            mortal   metal ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Gasses   spewing            our   song   choking ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">No   strength   for   singing     had   minstrels   sorrowful; ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Mound   was   taken. Men   triumphant ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Delved   down   in   it           with   dire   engines ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Found   they   failure:       fled   was   the   tomb, ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Doom   defying,               death   averting ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">minstrels   mightiest        made   them   blended ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Sealing   sleepers         in   sunken   den ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Nonlive   guardwards            no   gas   taketh!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   Wayham   sang,

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Who   then   may   pass      the   perilous   portals? ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Blood   rejected,         ring   denying ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Blade   ignoring;           by   what   burden ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Shall   Wayham   King      once   Narkil’s   son ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Of   Strider’s   house          and   Sea-king’s   siring ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Seek   to   enter              surf-soaked   doors?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   the   stone   singers   sang   again,

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Heir   may   be       from   ages   countless ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Flood   escaping        death   evading ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Line   brokeless       from days’    beginning ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Yet   still   would   we      withstand   thy   passage ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Though   ring   raising     and   rendis   drawing ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Unless   thou   bearest     bright   and   brilliant ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Scion   of   Tree          towering   white ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Thus   foretolded. Thus   we   blended.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   Lane   did   not   make   answer. White   lightning   flashed   in   his   eyes. Roots   broke   through   his   shoes. Bark   swallowed   his   clothing. Leaves   unfolded   from   hair   and   skin,   and   branches   sprouted,   until   he   stood   in   shape   of   tree,   white   bole   gleaming   in   the   dimness.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“In   my   blood                 blent   I   bear ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Tree   white   wooded      White   of   bough-stem ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Wayham   Lane             will   this   word   offer ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">No   more   shows   he. Should   you   be   shut, ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Death   shall   break   ye         doors   denied ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Will   by   me   shatter. Behold   this   burden. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Passing   let   me!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Stone   arms   fell   to   their   sides. The   glitter   in   their   eyes   faded. As   Wayham   Lane   retracted   his   branches,   cracks   appeared,   splitting   the   statues. The   spell   that   bound   them   was   fulfilled. They   were   dying,   held   unnaturally   in   this   strange   form   through   endless   years,   at   last   departing. Wayham   walked   into   the   doorway.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   mournful   surf   fell   silent   as   sudden   as   by   switch. He   stood   upon   a   floor   of   dark   glass   in   a   chamber   mirrored   like   glass,   so   that   countless   Wayhams   stared   down   at   the   seven   carven   thrones   that   filled   the   center   of   the   room,   and   countless   green   stars   twinkled   from   every   direction,   spangling   the   dark   dome   like   another   universe. The   thrones   dominated   the   room. They   were   made   of   dark   blue   stone   carved   in   many   curious   and   complicated   patterns,   like   the   boles   of   a   knotted   tree,   and   upon   them   seven   kings   were   seated,   still   and   stiff   as   statues.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Three   of   them   upon   the   left   were   of   tremendous   stature,   nigh   eight   feet   in   height;   their   beards   were   grey,   their   hauberks   fine-made   and   of   a   style   that   seemed   to   recall   both   the   Normans   and   the   Pharos. High   pointed   helms   were   on   their   heads;   in   their   hands   were   long   strange   swords,   and   their   clothes   were   black,   picked   out   with   deep   blue. Three   of   them   upon   the   right   were   much   shorter,   but   no   less   of   brawn;   their   golden   hair   was   mingled   with   grey,   they   held   swords   broad   of   blade   in   which   the   metal   formed   waving   patterns,   and   there   was   a   feel   of   the   sea   about   them. But   he   in   the   middle,   he   was   taller   than   any,   and   such   a   stern   majesty   was   in   his   face   that   Wayham   felt   afraid. He   was   old,   but   they   were   ancient;   he   had   been   trapped   four   hundred   years,   they   for   thousands.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Time   passed   over   them   slowly   as   Wayham   faced   the   Seven   Sleepers,   and   the   Sleepers’   open   eyes   stared   unseeing   into   his. Not   a   chest   rose   or   fell,   not   a   heartbeat   sounded. Wayham   spoke   the   word   that   Hawk   had   given   him;   it   rose   in   the   roof,   it   echoed   ever   louder   till   it   was   loud   enough   to   wake   the   dead,   let   alone   the   living:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Galadhil!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             As   one   man   the   seven   moveless   figures   gave   a   great   gasp   and   heave   of   chest,   as   air   rushed   into   lungs   that   had   been   still   since   before   the   Flood. The   echo   stopped. The   sudden   silence   was   filled   with   the   heavy   new   breathing   of   the   seven   sleeping   men.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   Lane   strode   up   to   the   centermost   man. The   eyes   were   still   unseeing,   though   the   man   now   breathed:   he   was   still   asleep.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Amandil   of   Numenor,   awake!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   silent   king   upon   his   throne   breathed   sharply,   but   did not   stir.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Valandil   son   of   Numendil   of   the   line   of   Elros,   the   King   commands   you   to   awake!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Upon   his   throne   the   ancient   lord   moved. The   blank   eyes   stirred   and   focused. Muscles   that   had   been   still   for   twelve   thousand   years   and   more   twitched.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Erellont   and   Falathir,   Aerandir   and   Tharn,   Nunien   and   Linos,   the   King   commands   you   to   awake!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   remaining   sleepers   opened   their   eyes   and   fixed   them   upon   Wayham. And   Amandil   leaned   forward   upon   his   throne. The   wakeful   eyes   bored   into   Wayham. “And   whom,   then,   is   the   King?”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Rusty   beyond   description   was   his   ancient   voice,   and   the   heads   of   all   the   other   sleepers   turned   to   him.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   line   of   Elendil   son   of   Valandil,   to   that   has   the   kingship   passed.”   said   Wayham   Lane. “And   last   of   that   line   was   the   kinsman   of   Noe,   who   by   virtue   of   that   ancient   blood   has   lasted   till   this   very   year,   and   I   was   his   only   son. I   am   Wayham   Lane.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   of   the   King   of   the   Earth,   who   was   setting   sail   for   the   land   of   the   Deathless? Where   is   he?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “None   who   step   upon   the   shores   of   the   Gods   can   again   taste   of   death,   and   so   he   and   all   his   warriors   are   cast   into   slumber   in   the   Caves   of   the   Forgotten:   Tar-Kalion   the   Wicked,   who   would   cast   down   the   very   Gods. And   Numenor   has   fallen,   cast   under   the   sea,   and   all   roads   now   bent;   and   mortal   man   can   no   longer   cross   to   the   Undying   Shores.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   the   Road,”   said   Amandil,   “where   now   walks   the   Road?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Road   walks   straight,   as   it   always   has   done,   and   returns   now   to   Arda   every   hundred   years.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   does   Earendil   also   live?”   Falathar   asked. He   was   of   the   three   shorter   Sleepers.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Eearendil   is   now   among   the   Stars.”   said   Amandil. “We   behold   him   at   evening   and   also   at   morning.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He   sails   no   longer.”   said   Wayham   Lane. “The   Stars   no   longer   sing. Their   curse   has   come   upon   them.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             There   was   a   sudden   crash. The   Sleepers   started   from   their   thrones. All   around   them   the   mirror-walls   began   to   shimmer. Splinters   chipped   off   the   thrones.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   is   happening?”   shouted   Wayham.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   spirits   of   our   guardians   are   freed.”   said   Amandil   Valandil. “We   are   becoming   unsealed. Soon   we   will   be   emerging   upon   the   surface   of   the   world.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   wonder   what   the   Middle-earth   is   like   in   these   days.”   remarked   Aerandir,   another   of   the   sailors.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No   longer   in   the   middle,   I   would   wager.”   Erellont,   the   third   sailor,   answered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   fancy   we   are   soon   to   find   out.”   said   Thord.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   mirror-walls   shimmered   out. Around   them   now   was   earth,   close-packed   as   if   pushed   outward   by   an   unseen   bubble. Then   the   bubble   too   was   gone,   for   bits   of   the   earth   ceiling   began   to   come   loose   and   fall   down. The   glass   floor   darkened   into   rough   stone. All   seven   thrones   shattered   into   rubble. They   were   in   darkness.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Amandil   said   something   in   Elvish. There   was   a   crash   of   falling   material   and   a   hole   opened   in   the   wall,   sudden   and   intensely   bright. Outside   the   sun   could   be   seen,   bright   but   chill,   illumining   strange   tattered   rocks   upon   which   small   waves   sighed   and   beat. A   pale   sea   lay   beyond. Out   of   the   cave   of   earth   stepped   Wayham   King. Out   stepped   the   Seven   Sleepers,   onto   the   shores   of   the   Baltic   Sea,   back   into   the   living   world. With   a   sigh   the   cave   fell   in   behind   them   and   was   gone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

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