Chapter 2 – Part 1 Unexpected Surprises Chapter 1 – A Staircase of Stars
Chapter 2, Part 2 – Unexpected Surprises
by Silent Draco
Sam breathed slowly, in great draughts, allowing his head to clear. He was now merely exhausted instead of wretched, and asked the captain if he might go below at the next bell. Before the bell chimed, sharp calls of alarm came from aloft, with a shrill trumpet call. The captain, who had been about to accompany Sam below, shouted “Battle Call! To Arms, To Arms! First Mate, tell the Armorer that I have ordered opening of the Special Locker. Elen lumen.” The mate saluted and dove below, calling ahead of him. “Lamps and shields aloft! We shall need searchers!” The weapon crews boiled forth on deck, opening their ready lockers and preparing. Sam looked up into the captain’s face, and nodded at the expression.
“Derendio. Go below to your cabin, bar the door, and remain there until further orders. Something ominous comes upon us, and I need all attention to protect my ship.” Sam scuttled down the ladder, went below, closing and latching his cabin door. Light footsteps and faint groaning sounds made Sam think that lightly-used hatches were being opened, with watchmen set below as well. His left arm and hand were seized by crippling pain, and Sam gasped as the world darkened about him. The cold, hungering pain rose up again; unable to control his voice, he again burst forth with croaking, grating tone in a dark tongue.
Bear me not away against my own will!
O Watcher come, grasp hard, and hold ship still,
Morgrasch, come bite, and claws now rend apart,
That I mount thee, to Middle-Earth depart!
A sudden, soft scraping slid down the side of the ship, and motion suddenly ceased with a series of crashes above and to the stern. A weird, fluting sound began as the ship listed to port, taking in water. Sam heard sloshing in the passageway, but instead of swift steps, he heard thumps and slow, dragging sounds. Great thumps sounded along the passage, and pound at his door. The panels and boards yielded to a flurry of blows; to his horror, Sam beheld a sight he thought long gone: palely gleaming tentacles with finger-like ends groped inward. Furious courage kindled and welled in Sam’s heart, like the dread night in Cirith Ungol. He leapt to his pack, and groped quickly inside for his knife, when one of the grasping hands trailed over and grabbed his foot. Sam’s surprise turned to awe as he grasped a larger hilt, and pulled forth a sword, not a knife; his wonder grew as a brilliant blue-white light filled the cabin and the blade sang free. Another Voice overrode his pain, as unbidden a prayer burst from him:
Gilthoniel A Elbereth!
A Elbereth Gilthoniel
o menel palan-diriel,
le nallon sí di’nguruthos!
A tiro nin, Fanuilos!
“Nay, ye fell thing, ye shall not take us!” Sam shouted and slashed at the grasping trunk. The tentacle clove in twain, stump pulled back with an audible howl of pain. Same worked his foot loose from the wriggling, dying end, and carefully stepped out. Two more tentacles whipped at him, trying to grasp his chest and legs. One fell directly across Sting’s lambent blade, and sliced itself apart quicker than thought. Sam slashed down, twice, three times, slowing now, and the third stump pulled black, trailing a stream of black blood. Once more a fell, fierce light welled in his eyes as he called out to the crew, “Now, up and at it! In the name of Lady Elbereth, attack!” Great blades, poleaxes, and odd weapons appeared as the crew redoubled efforts; cutting with coherent force and radiant pulses of light, they slashed the invading Watcher’s arms off and forced their way back to the hatches. Sam, wheezing and limping, trailed the taller Eldar, lagging behind the Armorer. This Elf carefully bore a red metal case in one arm, and a long, wide blade in the other.
They fought on deck, in time to see the Watcher shift its remaining arms to attempt de-masting the ship. The morgraschhad surfaced along the portside, weighing down the main deck, clawing the side and chewing into cabin, deck, and Elf where it could. The confused babble of voices above resolved into one unified song to Varda, called Elbereth on Hither Shore, as the crew below came to their succor. Blows rained on the creatures in awful unison and precise placement. The Armorer, beckoning toe the nearest two crews, called to them “Set for impact, use open sights, and take what cover you can!” Two red, elongated bolts were loaded in the casters, and aimed one at each creature. The first crew fired with care, as the captain and master cried out Aiya Earendil elenion ancalima!
As the crews fell to the deck, the morgrasch howled and blazed a harsh, actinic blue-white. It was as if Varda had kindled a star within its vitals. The beast burst, flared, and vanished in a trail of sparks. The second crew fired higher, into the rising Watcher which now sought to upset the ship quickly. Dreadful light blazed, but two great wonders appeared. A great white beam speared down from the vault of the heavens, transfixing the creature like an evil insect on a pin. Thus held, it could not escape a massive trident which thrust upward from dark waters; coruscating in deep aqua and bright foam, it drove through limbs, tentacles, and obscene body, holding it aloft as all life and form were riven away. The trident, now dim and quiescent, slowly sank beneath the waves. All about the listing ship was stillness.
The captain and crew feel to their knees, every head bowed. The captain intoned in a low, reverent voice, “All praise to the Valar, to Lady Varda the Kindler, to Lord Ulmo of the Deeps, for our succor on the Straight Path. Thanks do we give to Earendil, who guides and protects the mariner in need.” Sam felt a shriek building behind his eyes, and with a loud moan fell insensate to the deck.
Sam stirred later in a day, light from the passageway filtering into his small cabin. He groaned, tried to stretch and sit up, but found his left leg was partly splinted and both leg and left side were bandaged. “Noodles!” he thought, “how am I to get up and care … oh!” He rang a small bell, hung conveniently close to his cot. The healer’s assistant, and to his consternation the ship’s master, soon entered. The healer checked his dressings, replacing them and adding a new layer of pleasant-smelling unguent, singing softly. He checked a bandage on Sam’s head, replacing the slave and dressing, and again sang while gazing into Sam’s eyes. Nodding, he smiled and said something encouraging, and left with the used materials. The master pulled over a low stool, sat down, and said, “It is good to find you awake and in control of your faculties. The healers were very concerned for a day, while we made vital repairs. You raved several times about your steed taking you back home. You had struck your head hard on the deck, and they were unsure if you had been shaken badly below.”
“By yer leave sir,” Sam mustered, “if I may have a hand, may I rise and clean up some? It feels a mite close.” The tall Elf smiled, holding Sam by the shoulders so he could get the good foot down and take hold of a hobbit-sized stick also conveniently near his cot. Once finished with rinsing and drying his head, Sam tottered back to his cot and fell in with an audible whump. “By the stars, sir, things should nae move or swirl that much!” The master nodded, “not in normal conditions, but we are proceeding with only a few sails set for stability and steerage – like a pony at slow walk. We have more work to do on the rudder, rigging, and masts. As well … you have been asleep for the better part of two days this time, Young One, while the healers cleaned your foot and side, and splinted what they thought was a broken bone. Then you keened about your lost pony, I imagine, and they needed to give you lethmundra, a large dose for your small form, to ensure your slept and healed. You took four drops, sufficient to calm an Elf-Lord in need of surgery for grievous wounds”
Sam boggled at this calm recitation, and the master continued “… and from what the crew below told us, an Elf-Lord would be pleased to be remembered in song for any one of your deeds. How is it that an old Pherian knows aught of those loathsome beasts, or the Song of Elbereth?” His eyes had a distinctly considering gaze. Sam collected his thoughts and replied softly, “that beast, with th’ hands an’ those long limbs … ‘twas like that fell Watcher, that thing in th’ dead valley, G-Gates of M-Moria, an’ Mr. Gandalf a-pushing inside … song? What song?” Sam’s eyed widened in consternation and mist-covered terror. “Oh, bless me! Cirith Ungol, where Stinker tried feeding Mr. Frodo to that thing. Me sword bounced off it, but Mr. Frodo had me a-hold that star-glass, Her Ladyship’s gift t’ him, while he slashed them webs away. And him a-lyin’ there like he was dead an’all, an’ Sting at hand, so I picked up the elf-blade an’ fought back. Then this song came from the glass into me head like, with all the light, an’, an’ , I couldn’t let it get poor Mr Frodo!” Unbidden, ancient tears welled and streamed down Sam’s face while the master looked with complete astonishment. The master helped the exhausted hobbit back into to cot, covered him gently with a blanket, and left him to sleep.
Awakened for the morning watch the next day, Sam found himself conducted to the captain’s cabin, to break his fast with the captain and master. A smaller chair set on a large box made a convenient if slightly awkward seat for him. He waited a moment, feeling slightly awkward, as the caption sang a brief praise to Ulmo. Bowing to his host, Sam thanked him for the invitation; as food was brought in and passed about, the captain discovered that his cabin stores were not immune to the appetite of a hobbit who had slept through his last several sets of five meals daily. Recalling his manners and feeling somewhat replete, Sam asked if there was any work he could help with.
“I can saw wood and planks pretty fair, and me uncle Andy, he had the rope-walk over to the Tightfield for years, an’ taught me all manner of knots. Her Ladyship’s folk gave us coils of elf-rope, hithlum if I remember, an’ it was fair marvel to handle.” Both Elves gazed in astonishment at the elderly, half dead Halfling barely a day from his sick-bed. The captain cleared his throat as spoke: “Mithrandir may have understated his observations of you kind, Master Samwise. I cannot let you go aloft, recovering as you are from wounds, but you may walk freely below-decks and are granted the privilege of the steering-deck, so long as a watch officer is present.” This was a signal honor, and the captain continued, “the boatswain may have need for another set of hands to splice ropes, if you can follow his instructions; I thank you for your willingness to help. Indeed, young sir,” he said, rising and placing a hand on Sam’s head, “I name you Elf-Friend. All honor to you, Master Samwise!”
Sam looked up at the captain, flustered and abashed, and mumbled that “’twas folk like Mr. Frodo and old Mr. Bilbo who was that kind, not an old gardener like me.” Then an odd shadow passed across Sam’s eyes and he continued in a grating voice, “no, ‘tis not Elf-Friend you call me. Just get my steed. Where is it? Come, we have a long ride east!” Sam shouted, walking ot the open stern windows. The master reached out and grabbed him, saying in a soft voice “Young Master, we are far at sea, and your faithful companion was conducted back home. Our journey ends soon. Please, we will have the healers take another look at you. Rest before helping with the knots and splices, please.” Sam shook his head slowly, like coming out of a dream, and replied “Of course poor Bill is home by now. I miss him; he were a good friend. An’ thank ye for your kindness, captain; by your leave, may I await the healer in me cabin?” After Sam departed, the captain and master spoke softly and furiously. There was something amiss with the Pherian, tantalizingly beyond understanding. They could keep him occupied on deck or below, but he would have one of the mariners who spoke Westron accompany him.
To be continued…