Chapter Text
Prologue: 8000 years ago
Waves still raged in the sea, but the lands had been mostly stable for the last few weeks. On an island shore, a dirty little girl stood with her gaunt mother. The child started in amazement at a ball of flame ascending in the sky.
“Is it a star? I like stars.” Despite her sickly looks and matted, felted hair, she was smiling.
Her mother, instead of replying, hugged the girl, blocking her view of the evening sky.
“It is the Dark Lord, Morgoth Bauglir,” said an elf, sitting in the sand, previously unnoticed by the islanders. He didn't exactly look like a soldier of the Valar army, and the woman held her daughter tighter. The elf gestured at the sky with his right hand, so badly burned that it was black. “He lost the war and they're throwing him away so that we can finally have peace.”
The girl smiled again, peeking from behind her mother. “So it will all be good now? Daddy will come home and we will have food? And there will be no more bad things? No lice and death and crying?”
“No new bad things will be created,” said the elf, not looking very happy, but rather angry. “The ones he made will still be there. Until one day… Your people say that one day Morgoth will return and then one of you will defeat him. Kill him for good. And then, yes, then there will be no bad things anymore.”
A big wave crashed at the beach, spreading water all over him. The girl and her mother jumped away, but the elf stayed in place, his worn robes now wet.
“And when we kill him, everyone will be happy?” asked the girl, ignoring her mother trying to get her away from the stranger and into the jungle.
“Everyone will be happy, yes,” replied the elf, not looking at her.
The girl stepped closer and asked again: “Everyone?”
“Everyone,” he said as the islander woman finally managed to get her child away from him. Then he added quietly, heard only by himself and the raging sea, “except those who cannot.”
The flame in the sky kept climbing.
Part 1: oore (heart/rising)
Promises and premonitions
Rainel put the bouquet of rue at her father’s grave.
It’s been seventeen years, but she could still remember the sharp smell of smoke, so different from the usual stink of the city. The crash that left her ears ringing, and the jarring, moaning sound of torn metal carrying through the streets. She hadn’t seen the airplane fall, mom hadn’t even let her see what was left of it. She never brought herself to ask how much had been left of Dad.
At least he had managed to crash into the shore, far from more populated areas, and nobody else was killed.
She squatted in front of the light gray stone, her eyes at the height of his. The photograph would need a new glass soon, the old one was stained yellow from all the sulfur in city air.
“We have flown! We have actually flown, as you said we’d do one day. First flight ever with multiple pairs of jointed wings. Two journalists interviewed me.
“We went twenty miles above the desert. It was beautiful. Well, the desert was ugly, especially near the sea, with all the mess made by meteor hunters. But the flight was beautiful. The wind, the sun, I felt like a bird. Even Sarnel liked it. Even Mom… I told her before and she didn’t cry.
“She misses you so much.
“We all miss you. But I carry on your legacy. I shall make your dream true, I shall fly to the land of the Valar one day. I shall beg them for mercy for our kind, just like Earendil once did.
“The wild zones are getting worse. Sarnel says not to worry, but it’s five to ten years before we have a global famine. We must do something. And I will do it.”
Why did she whisper to the photograph? Her father was gone, far beyond places she could reach, even by flight. Despite the hot summer day, she felt a chill.
Wasn’t death supposed to be a good thing? Why did it hurt then?
Rainel stood up, surrounded by a crowd of stones in various shapes and colors, casting sharp shadows in the blazing sun. She touched the grave one last time and went back home, the longer route, through the quiet, old part of the cemetery. The stones here were dirtier, eroded by the city rain, and lacked photographs. Some were decorated with tree motives, and many had longer epitaphs, meticulously carved, with remnants of white or silver paint.
‘May Orome avenge our pain,’ said a composition of decorated, sharp letters on a small brownish gravestone. A prayer to a being only a few nowadays believed in.
May he, indeed.
Sarnel stared at the painted stone relief lying on the table, as if a stubborn enough gaze could persuade the thousands-year old pigments to brighten or the weathered details to become new again. Which part of the northern shore could that be?
A dark figure filled most of the priceless ancient image, his skin made of thin, stylized flames, his armor pure black. How did this pigment stay so dark for over eight thousand years? Rainel would attribute it to elven magic, but for Sarnel it was simply another secret to be discovered.
However it wasn't the one she needed now.
Behind the terrible, looming Morgoth, behind the gaunt Hurin sitting on a pile of bones, there was a wide landscape with a blazing pyre. The river was depicted in a naturalistic way, sharp and uneven as rivers are. So were the mountains, jagged and chaotic. Their line was more detailed than on any of the few ancient maps Sarnel had ever seen. And this was the reason why she studied this mural.
If she could map any of those mountains to an existing island chain, or a river to a shoreline, this would shed a new light on the many conflicting theories about the correspondence between pre-Shift and post-Shift landmasses.
Of course, if she could also prove to Rainel that Tol Morwen — the very pyre shown on the relief, allegedly remaining now as an island — wasn’t a real place, this would be an additional benefit. But she kept an open mind. Finding an undisturbed grave matching her peoples’ legends would also be a great result, even if that grave would be thousand miles away.
Her back felt stiff, and Sarnel stood up from the table, checking the antique clock in the corner. Nallamo should have been there five minutes ago. She looked again at all three sea maps, spread on the table around the stone, but nothing seemed to match. She stretched for a while, careful not to push any of the Umbarian vases, Seafarer figures of ancestors, pots with horse heads or other of the many artifacts, not important or beautiful enough to be shown to the public, instead stored in this cramped room which smelled of old stones and paper. Then she sat down and relaxed, admiring the main part of the relief.
Morgoth, the Great Enemy from the ancient tales. Personification of evil and chaos in all his glory. His eyes glistened pale blue — another well-preserved pigment, but at least this one has been analyzed and reproduced.
Was that how real ice looked?
Sarnel had heard that the mountains of ice in the far North were blue sometimes. She dreamed of seeing them when she was a small child, before nature went to full-on war with mankind and anomalies in cold forests pushed people to the warmer parts of the planet. The North must have been a strange place indeed. No wonder that the mythology had a great evil living there.
Above the eyes, there were two holes placed asymmetrically in the black crown, now empty. As most carvings from around the Shift period, this one had used some real gems to represent the hallowed Silmarils — and as with most of the carvings, they’d been stolen long ago. Stolen, then replaced with something different, which then was stolen again, making any trace analysis impossible. Nobody knew what gems had been used for this purpose most often. Zircons? Maybe. But there was no proof.
So much knowledge was lost to time. Why were people so greedy that they destroyed history?
“Hello, my young student. I'm sorry if I'm too late, or too early. What are you doing?”
Nallamo entered the room, bowing to avoid the hanging lamp.
Sarnel smiled. She was nearing thirty and getting called young no longer frustrated her, even if he couldn’t be that much older. Nallamo’s long hair was still fully dark and his face was hard to match with exact age. Forty with good skin care? Twenty-five without enough sleep? He could be younger than her.
“What am I doing? Currently cursing at art thieves. Generally?”
“You’re trying to locate some place,” said Nallamo quickly. He sat on the second chair and took the maps.
She pointed at the relief. “You see those mountains here?”
“Amon Rudh? It’s all gone now. And this depiction isn't particularly faithful. Don't you have anything nicer to look at?”
“I don't have anything more relevant. I’m trying to match the shape to island chains—”
“Are you trying to find Tol Morwen?” Nallamo leaned over to the pyre.
“I’m not sure whether it is even real. I’m trying to find more evidence useful in the Shift-mapping debate in general, this would make for a good publication.”
“And Tol Morwen wouldn't? You said that your people descended from Hurin.”
“It's a legend. Yes, a very popular one. But unless I can match this relief to maps or unless you happen to know where Tol Morwen is…”
He closed his eyes. “It should be west and slightly north from Forlond, about hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred miles from the shore.”
He took one of the sea maps and stretched in on top of the relief. “About here. But this is not precise enough to sail there, as the island must be small, easy to miss. If you want a better estimate, we’ll need a good map from the early Second Age, before the sea smoothened the land shape. And I happen to know where to find one, soon available to be seen by the public. We can compare it to maps of the current coastline.” He put the other maps next to the first one.
“Really? Nobody knows how the land exactly shifted, but you just happen to know the location of a legendary island?”
“Not well enough to sail there.”
“But still eerily precise. And you know where to find a map. Tungson’s collection, I guess?”
He nodded with a slight, sad smile. “I do happen to know many things. More than I'd like to.”
“Knowing obscure linguistics and facts is one thing, but that's something—” She shook her head and gestured too intensely, disturbing one of Rohanian clay pots behind her. It rolled off the shelf and before Sarnel could react, Nallamo's caught it and handed it to her.
Why did he keep wearing gloves, even inside? Maybe it helped with whatever health problem made his right hand twitch sometimes. Still, most people did talk about their health problems, at least after being friends for some time. The man was full of frustrating mysteries. Why wouldn't he open up more?
She put the pot back in its place. “Do you have any proof about the island?”
Nallamo turned away. “I’m sorry. I thought you trusted me,” he said quietly.
“I do trust you. Not only because you do know a lot. I really do, and I appreciate you being here. I just think you may be wrong. Everyone is sometimes. And the exact location being correct in any source seems extremely improbable. I know you don’t share your sources, but I cannot trust them blindly without knowing what they are.” Sarnel bit her lip. Why was Nallamo so on edge recently? It was just a simple question. Still, he seemed upset.
She took a deep breath, thinking on what to say next. What did she have to lose by looking at Tungson’s map?
“On the other hand,” she continued, “I’d love to go on a nice long trip, if we can get enough evidence for the museum to pay for it. I can take Rainel, she likes to travel. She once tried to convince me to seek that island too, and was very intense about it. The main difference is that you offered me more concrete data.”
Nallamo still didn't look at her, he just sat motionless, eyes at the maps covering most of the artwork. “I'm sorry. I try my best to not be too intense.”
Sarnel forced herself to look at him, not on the map. “No, I’m sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Neither about you nor about Rainel. I don't want you to think badly of my sister, I'm just too blunt sometimes.”
He relaxed on the chair again and finally looked at her. “It takes a lot for me to think badly of someone. Especially my friend's sister.”
“Rainel is a really good person, but she lives in a fantasy. We both love myths, but I ended up uncovering the truths behind them. She ended up believing in them. Earendil. The Sea Child, all that Turin cycle. And pretty much everything else.”
Nallamo smiled. Of course. Sarnel should have expected him to approve of eccentricities. “She sounds like an interesting girl. I’d love to meet her.”
“Maybe someday. So, you think this relief isn't good enough to try to map the Shift?”
He winced. “It's awful. I suppose your museum wouldn't let you put it in the trash…?”
“It's ancient!” Sarnel instinctively put her hand on the stone, as if Nallamo was to try and take it, but he just smiled in a sad, almost cruel way. “Some ancient things deserve it. Anyway, you won't get any results from this, I'm afraid.”
Sarnel bowed. With the sun blazing behind Rainel, she could hardly see her face, but could very well imagine the eager grin that her sister usually had for a fight.
The sea roared at her right side, the noise of waves and gulls mixing melodically, like a distant song.
“Any particular fight you have in mind?” she asked.
“You really want to? You don't think I'm childish? Mom said…”
Sarnel smiled. “I think it's fun. You know I don't oppose all of your… attitude, just the extremes. And I love the additional challenge. You're an adult now, you have the right to be childish no matter what mom thinks.” She raised her sword and slowly stepped towards Rainel, keeping to the narrow band of firm sand between the too wet and too dry areas.
Rainel lunged forward, but Sarnel blocked her strike and sent her sideways. Rainel jumped back before her counterattack, moving closer to the cliff. “You're too good at it.”
She advanced slowly towards her sister, but Rainel made a series of light, cautious attacks, circling back to the good sand. Sarnel ignored the one that couldn’t reach her, blocked another one and struck at her sister’s unguarded left hip. Rainel winced.
Sarnel stepped back. “I’m good because I enjoy it so much. Look at the bright side: I have to be good to be all the evil ones. They were stronger.” She took a deep breath, smelling the familiar mix of sea salt and city smoke. The sea was almost clean, only the foam had a strange brownish hue.
Rainel laughed. “You’re right. But I don’t know who I want to be today. It’s too hot to think.”
“One of the elves. You look great fighting with your hair loose. Maybe Fingolfin?”
“My hair gets in the way.”
“I'm sure if anyone actually fought like that, theirs would get in the way too.”
Sarnel preferred her own hair, which, ending just above her shoulders and shorter near the face, was the perfect compromise between looks and practicality.
Rainel took off the cork helmet, untied her bun and let her hair loose. It fell behind her in thick black waves, reaching below her elbows, backlit by the sun like a halo. She put the helmet back, which spoiled the heroic look. “O terrible Morgoth, enemy of the world! Fight me, you coward, for I am Fingolfin, the mightiest warrior of the Eldar, in my shining plate and with my beautiful shield!”
Sarnel moved the sword to her left hand, and assumed a dramatic stance. “I will fight you, o mighty warrior in your brilliant, too heavy, historically inaccurate armor. Behold!”
She charged happily at her sister, pushing her far back, to where the beach narrowed to only ten feet or so, before Rainel’s sword connected to Sarnel's right arm.
“One!”
“Fight like it’s a hammer,” said Rainel when they returned to the more convenient part of the beach.
“Isn't the left hand enough of a handicap?” Sarnel circled around her. A defensive style would be better in her situation, but winning wasn't the point. The point of being the villain was losing in a proper way.
“But he had a hammer!” Rainel’s shout scared a group of gulls.
“Imagine!”
Sarnel charged, directly with the sun, her shadow moved before her as she leaned low to reach her sister's tight. But Rainel stepped to her left and hit Sarnel in the belly.
“Two!” shouted Sarnel, her voice mixing with the screening gulls.
She wondered whether they would reach seven as per the story, or would she be able to get a good hit with her left hand sooner. She waited, steady on the sand. This was the best spot, dry and solid.
Rainel advanced at her, with the sword dancing and probing her defense. Their wooden blades met and both women started pushing at each other. Then Rainel ducked down and struck her in the belly again.
“Three!”
“We should try shields one day,” said Rainel.
Shields would be more historically accurate, but also more tiring in the hot sun. And Sarnel doubted that any fencing course taught how to use them.
She replied to her sister with the same tactics, dancing around, blade always moving, trying various feints. Rainel gradually moved back, blocking only some of the attacks. Then she suddenly lunged forward, again at Sarnel's unprotected right side and hit hard. Her arm exploded with pain, and Sarnel gasped.
“I'm sorry, I thought you'll block. How bad is it?”
“Not that bad. I should buy a new vambrace, I've had trouble with this spot before.” She corrected her stance. “Anyway: Four!”
Sarnel walked slowly towards Rainel, ready to block, but trying to seem confident. They exchanged some parried hits and moved farther away again. Sarnel took a steady step towards her and jumped to her right, to the unprotected area. Rainel jumped back, tripped and fell sitting on the sand. She looked at Sarnel and dropped flat on her back.
“I'm too tired to wait till seven.”
Sarnel nodded. “Ha! And now I shall smite you!” She raised one leg and hovered it above Rainel’s chest trying to keep her balance. “I—”
Sarnel fell face-first into the shallow water as her sister pulled her feet. She stretched her hands instinctively and ended up on all-fours, her arms wet, her torso barely above the cool waves. From this close, the sea stank of fish and seaweed.
“Hey! You were supposed to heroically stab me in the foot!”
Rainel laughed. “Improvise.”
“I beg for your mercy, o mighty warrior, for now I am wet and miserable,” said Sarnel, getting up. Water dripped from her hands.
“Every creature may be given mercy, but not you, Morgoth, Dark Enemy of the World, for your evil it's too great to ever be forgiven,” said Rainel with laughter and sat up.
Sarnel sat on the sand too, looking at her arms. “My armor.” The leather vambraces were all soaked with seawater. Her sleeves clung to her skin too. Fortunately the beach was empty of other people.
“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to get you into the water. Just to get you down. ”
“Well, nevermind,” said Sarnel, trying to unbuckle the wet vambraces without touching the now slimy straps, “I need a new set anyway. It's good to cool up a bit. Maybe I should throw you in the sea too?”
They took off their helmets, but Sarnel's vambraces still didn't give up, wet leather pulled on the metal buckles and made them impossible to open. They were too tight now and uncomfortably warm.
Rainel looked at the waves with a concerned expression. “Sarnel, do you think it's fine that we make fun of such dark things?”
“Of course. There's no Morgoth, no Sauron, no Balrogs, no monsters. And even if we assumed the myths were true, one great evil is chained in outer space, the other one dead, and according to most tales, all the Balrogs are also dead. So you don’t have to worry.”
“But there were lesser creatures. Sorcerers. Monsters.”
“Even if some of the tales are inspired by the lives of real people, they're long since dead.”
Sarnel gave up on the straps. Rainel’s armor lay neatly in the yellow sand, along with her bag.
“Hmmm, do you have a knife?”
As her sister looked in her bag, Sarnel continued.
“Any real creatures that you could call monsters are in the North. And we'll both be old before we have to worry about the wild zones reaching us. It's very likely that science will discover a solution before that.
“The problem is the air pollution changing the natural creatures in new and dangerous ways, not some shadows from ancient tales. And definitely not the fact that we make fun of them.”
Rainel gave her a large multitool and Sarnel pulled out the biggest blade. She inserted it between her blouse and the leather strap and started cutting, cautious to not destroy the thin cotton below.
“Utumno was in the North, you know. All the evil places were in the North.”
“And so is a big part of the land still covered in old forests, or suitable for larger animals. Also, Mordor was in the northeast and yet that area has no zones. Half of our food is grown there.
“Those aren't evil places, Rainel, those are simply lands whose inhabitants had waged war on the nations that had written the history we know. Well, that, and they had slavery and other ugly cultural practices, that's true. But it doesn't make the land itself cursed.”
The first strap broke and Sarnel's arm finally got some fresh air. The other vambrace was still clinging to her body, wet and warm. She let the first one dangle from its second strap and started freeing her right arm. With her left hand it was more awkward.
“Do you want help with that?” asked Rainel.
“That's a good idea, thank you.”
Rainel took the blade and cut the strap. “There’s something more going on. I read an article, analyzing the meteor shower—”
“Where? Astro-spiritual Society?”
“They do have some good publications.”
Sarnel sighed. “By accident maybe. Please, don’t read those. And don’t think about them too much, unless there's good concrete proof.”
The strap broke, letting in fresh air, and Rainel moved to the next one.
“There was proof. Doctor Dukan had photos—”
“Photos are easy to paint over, and Dukan is a known fraud.”
“He’s helping me with orbital mechanics.”
“I know. And that worries me.”
Rainel cut the remaining straps, put the multitool back to her bag, and sat on the sand a few steps away. Sarnel let the breeze and sun dry her for a while.
Her sister still gazed into the sea.
Sarnel moved closer to her. “Rainel, the fact that someone helped you in the past doesn’t mean that they’re a honest and noble person in all aspects of their life. Or that their publications make sense. You can be someone's friend and still take their ideas with a grain of salt, you know.”
Rainel pulled her knees up and put her arms around then. “I know. That's what all of my friends do to me.”
Sarnel closed her eyes. What could she do? How could she protect Rainel from looking like a fool in front of other people… and, more importantly, from getting herself killed in a vain attempt of flying to a place that wasn't even real?
Rainel entered the tidy, sunlit room, biting her lip. Should she sit down? There was a simple wooden chair, separated by a messy desk from Captain Tirgaladon, who was sitting on a taller one, matching his posture. His chair was carved in abstract horse-like patterns. Rohan Renaissance had been popular in Rainel's childhood and the chair was already chipped at its corner.
Tirgaladon had a friendly face, contrasting with his police uniform. His skin was even darker than Rainel’s and his hair, despite being cut short, was fully curled. Like most policemen, he was clean-shaven.
The third chair was from yet another set, a folding one standing at the desk’s corner, likely put there just temporarily to sit a man in a casual yellow suit. What was a foreigner civilian doing here, at Tirgaladon‘s side, watching her? And not even a typical foreigner, but someone from the far North? He was eerily pale, with whitish-blond hair, cut even shorter than the captain’s.
“Sit down, please,” said Tirgaladon in a warm baritone. “So you are Professor Helegraban’s student?”
Rainel sat, trying not to stare rudely. Her eyes went from the foreigner to Tirgaladon’s square, calm face, to papers on the desk… she probably shouldn’t stare at the desk either. She needed to not mess this meeting up like she messed up the previous one. She was sweating, would it show on her suit?
She looked straight in the captain's black eyes and handed him the papers.
“Yes, I’m Rainel Abolryn. Professor sends her regards. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I need permission to use pyrotechnics, and classified substances of second degree in my project.”
“I know the situation. And you need someone to convince the fire department and the magistrate that it is safe for the city. Even with your workshop in the middle of nowhere, there's a lot of potential danger in the flight.
“But of course, if this looks sensible, I'll be glad to help. Professor Helegraban praised you greatly. The paperwork looks complete, that's a rare achievement already.” He smiled, putting the papers on his desk. “I’ll need to check, of course, but please, tell us more about your project. Nadir hasn't heard about it yet.”
“It's a novel kind of airplane. Well, not exactly, it has bird-like wings. The technical name is an ornithopter, and it's faster, even though more difficult to build, than a plane with fixed wings. I've already built and tested a four-winged project, but this one will have eight wings total, to make it more stable, and will have a solid hull. I've tested a scaled-down, unmanned prototype too, and it worked well. It's all detailed in my documents.” She inhaled. “And it will need a rocket booster to launch it into suborbital flight.”
Nadir the foreigner looked at her curiously and Rainel returned the look. His eyes were paler than she’d ever seen, like a hazy but rainless sky, and the scars around them didn’t make his face any friendlier. He didn't look like a civilian. Undercover policeman? Someone from the military? This would explain his presence.
Tirgaladon asked, “Are you going to fly overseas?”
“No, I mean, not really.”
He glanced at the pale man. “‘Not really’? You know, what, young lady? I’ll take a look at your papers, and you two can have a chat in the meantime.” He leaned back on the heavy chair and started studying the first batch of her papers.
“What will you do with this machine?” Nadir’s words sounded harder than Westron should, but his grammar was correct.
“Fly. I mean, obviously, we've already flown it over the desert, me and my sister. But with those booster,” she gestured at her drawings lying on Tirgaladon’s desk, “I can reach the outer realms.”
“How far?” He stared at her unblinking.
Rainel licked her lips. “Well, I’ll see how far I can go. I don’t expect it to be safe, but I’m not taking anyone with me, so… I am allowed to risk my own life, am I not?”
“Of course, but you're not allowed to lie to me.”
“I wasn’t lying.”
He smiled slightly. “You were dishonest. And a little cowardly.”
“Fine! If you want honesty, you’ll get honesty.” Rainel’s face went hot. So much about her plan of being diplomatic. And her project. She took a deep breath. “I shall take my ornithopter and I shall go to Aman, as Earendil once did, and I shall beg the Powers to save us from the raging forests. Because someone has to and I don’t care that nobody believes me or that I’ll probably die. And I shall find a way to do it, with your help or without it.”
He raised his eyebrows. They were so bright they were barely visible, and split in places by scars. “Can you fly high enough?”
Tirgaladon shot them a puzzled look.
Rainel clenched her fist. “I really do mean it. The Undying Lands are real. It is a celestial body in low orbit, invisible, but detectable by astronomical irregularities. And I will go there.”
The captain put the papers down.
“Calm down, young lady.” He turned to Nadir. “What do you think? Not very—”
“She isn’t lying anymore. If her project is good and if she has someone more level-headed to have an eye on it—”
“I have a sister. Sarnel is very level headed. And my ornithopter will fly far enough.”
“If it explodes above the city…” The captain blinked slowly. “I’m sorry. But I have a responsibility to keep people safe. I’m not letting you risk their lives over a dream or some dubious astronomy.”
“I can help her keep it safe,” said Nadir.
“Oh? It's the booster, isn't it? You already miss working with explosives.” asked Tirgaladon with a smile.
Nadir shrugged. “Explosives are fun. And I like this project.”
“It doesn’t mean that it’s good. And I’m not going to pay you for doing engineering during your job hours. Or any other hours. You have responsibilities here.”
“I have enough time to help her too, and I don’t expect you to pay me extra for it. The only payment I expect is to join you in the big flight.” Nadir turned from the wide-eyed Tirgaladon to Rainel. He spoke very quickly for a foreigner, and still made no mistakes. He must have lived in Gondor for a long time.
“You’ll die.”
“I won’t. And I can help you get the permissions you need for that booster. I can also help with the booster itself, engines in general, things like that. I have many talents. Do we have a deal?”
Rainel studied his face. He spoke with passion, like a young man, but looked older than her. Not as old as Tirgaladon, though. He didn’t have wrinkles, or maybe they were hidden by the scars covering a large portion of his upper face. Lines, and… burns? Experience with explosives and engines… Definitely a military man. What kinds of adventures had he lived through? Blowing up an invading wild zone? It was surprising that he still had both eyes.
Could she trust him? He worked with the police, and likely was in the army. On the other hand, she couldn’t simply take an unknown man to the Undying Lands, that would be blasphemy. But going there at all might already be blasphemy. And to go there she first needed a booster.
“I’ll think about it. But I have a reason to go there, and you—”
“I’m not asking you to vouch for me,” he said with a crooked smile. “Only to get me there — and one other person as my guest. I can take full responsibility for our visit.”
“And why do you want to go to Aman? To see if it’s real?”
“We both also have our things to—” he winced. “—to ask the Valar for.”
“All right. If you promise to behave, I’ll take you and your guest. But you may take no military equipment, no weapons, explosives or anything like this.”
He snickered. “Hadn’t this already been tried? I’m not taking any weapons beside myself, and of course you’ll be able to search our baggage if you want. I promise that we will both behave. Now, do you promise that you will take us two to the Undying Lands?”
He stretched out his hand, which was also scarred. For someone with so many burns, he seemed very eager to work with pyrotechnics again.
Rainel shook his hand. “I promise.”
The captain stared at them befuddled. “If you ask me, you’re both crazy, but fine. I’ll look at the papers and make sure they land where they should. But if this project gets accepted, I’ll require you, Nadir, to supervise the pyrotechnical part. And I will hold you personally responsible for any incidents that happen. Also, you aren’t getting any extra free time or payment for this.”
He rose from his chair. “You should have a response in a couple of days. If it’s more than a week, call me.”
Sarnel looked at the other patrons, ignoring her bland coffee. The drink wasn't worth its price, but sitting at the table without buying anything had already got her in some arguments with the staff and she didn't want more of them. The music was definitely worth paying for the overpriced coffee.
Why didn't Nallamo play somewhere more professional?
The cafe was full of people, mostly couples and groups of students of various ethnicities, relaxing after a hot summer day. The smell of coffee and spiced apple pie mixed with the smoke from cars further down the street, and the air was filled with chatter.
The guitar broke in, amplified by speakers: a quick melody somehow full of longing and Nallamo started singing. He didn't use a microphone for that — another one of his eccentricities.
He sang of the angry trees, reclaiming the land with toxic spores, barbed roots and ice; of people running away desperately, hiding in cities with more and more cars and factories. A senseless, meaningless war, from the start lost for both sides. Was it really that?
Sarnel usually believed that science would solve the problem of anomalies, but now she felt hopeless and guilty.
Nallamo stopped singing, but the melody lingered, shifting into something more calm than sad, a faint glimmer of hope, which faded like a dying ember.
The next songs were less depressing, though all had that peculiar feeling, hard to pin to any exact style or even culture. Maybe he composed them all by himself. Nobody else would probably write such difficult parts into a popular song. And the mood felt like him, mystery, some unnamed longing, and an odd quiet intensity.
Sarnel's drink went cold before Nallamo finished and joined her with a black coffee.
“How was your work?”
“You were right, of course, the relief didn't lead anywhere. But I've had a lot of fun later, guiding kids around the museum, reading them funny poems and showing them paintings of Rivendell.”
“Beautiful place,” he looked away, “so full of loss.”
“And how was your day?”
Nallamo sipped his coffee. “Nothing particularly new. Except I had to talk with someone I'd very much rather not talk to. Or about.”
Sarnel turned to her beverage too. Would he ever open up?
“My young friend.” He looked at her, a mysterious smile dancing on his face. “You don't even know how I wish you to be happy. But I have to keep my secrets, they are too much for you. I'm not sure how long I will stay in Eithel Turin anyway, it is possible that I'll be leaving in two months or so.”
Sarnel put the coffee back down, the cup rang on the metal table. “Nallamo. I've known you for, what, two years? I think I can judge what is too much for me and what isn’t. And you aren’t too much, even recently. I think we need an honest talk, especially if you’re going to leave soon. I like your facade, but you know me well, you support me, and it simply isn’t fair for a friendship to be that one-sided. Please, just…” She looked straight at him. “Just let me actually get to know you.”
“I don't have a facade.”
Sarnel sighed and kept looking at him.
“I really don't know what you are talking about,” said Nallamo slowly. “I am hiding some of my feelings, but it's normal, and my feelings are… intense at moments. There are things I simply don't talk about. But I do not have a facade.”
Sarnel took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, but as I said, I can be blunt and I’d rather be blunt than pretend that everything is fine, and then after you leave, regret it. Yes, you do have a facade. We both know it. You are clearly posing yourself to look like Maglor Feanorian. I mean, I know it’s not all a fashion choice, but…”
Nallamo looked at her again, unblinking.
Her face turned warm. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to be less blunt and still be honest. I know it's rude—”
“To compare me to a kinslayer and traitor?
Sarnel fought the urge to roll her eyes. “You know what I mean. It was rude to comment on your hand. And yes, I know that there are many things in your past you don’t want to talk about, and I’m sorry for whatever happened. It must have been terrible.
“But still, everything else about how you carry yourself: showing off your impossibly wide and deep historical knowledge, the guitar, the hair, archaic taste in clothing, calling me your young student, the sad songs, both ancient and new…” Sarnel again looked at him. “Don’t try to tell me you’re not doing it consciously. You know the myths too well to not realize. You must, at least, have noticed that you give off this impression.”
It felt like letting go of a heavy stone hanging from her heart.
“Of course I have noticed,” Nallamo said, turning again to his coffee. “I can’t help my looks, or that I am old and maybe even wise. And definitely far from being a good person.
“It’s not an act. I’m too tired to act. I don’t even care to fit into the expectations of people who pay me for playing in their dirty cafes, even though it would make my life much easier to wear one of those awful ties and high-waisted pants.”
That wasn’t as much of a response she hoped for, but at least it was a response. Maybe he was, in fact, just that eccentric. Sarnel took another deep breath, the air was cooler now and smelled less of cars. “Thank you. Another thing: I can see that you have a lot on your mind recently, that something difficult is happening. Please, let me help. We can talk about your problems once in a while, not only mine.”
“Sarnel, when I’m calling you my student, I do mean it. It’s never been symmetrical. I don’t expect you to bear my burdens, nor would I let you. You’re too innocent, both in the sense of ‘good’ and ‘inexperienced with certain areas of life’. Unless… Things have changed and it may happen that I have no other choice than to ask you for help. I hope it won’t come to that.”
“But I do want to help you.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to see you destroyed,” he whispered.
The night grew colder and the despairing melody echoed in Sarnel's head.
Rainel opened the door.
“Oh, I—” she gazed at Nadir, standing before her with a stack of papers. “I wasn’t expecting you. Hello.”
“You got the permissions, so I thought I’d tell you myself.” He went past her into the corridor, his step slightly uneven. “I mean, I may go in, right?” he asked, already in the living room.
Rainel blinked. Sarnel opened the kitchen door letting in the smell of cookies. “Good afternoon…?”
“Hello, I’m Nadir, I'll be supervising Rainel's machine. You must be Sarnel?”
“How do you know my name?”
“And our address?” added Rainel.
“From the police. When Tirgaladon sent me to work with you, I looked at your papers. By the way, we’ll have one more guest soon. If we’re lucky, he won’t talk much.” He handed the papers to Rainel and sat on her favorite red armchair. “The magistrate decided that the variant in which you have a crew of four is better, because redundancy makes the whole thing safer. Stupid reason, but there will be three of us anyway… Or four?” he asked, looking at Sarnel.
“Three. So, you're a policeman?” asked Sarnel.
“I'm many things and was much more, but the police pay well for doing something that's not too boring. And I, unfortunately, need money now.”
Rainel moved the chairs to form a circle of four, with empty space inside, for the discussion later. There would be four of them.
For now she sat on the other, softer armchair and started skimming the documents. Sarnel went back to the kitchen.
The doorbell rang again. Both women went to the door, which Rainel opened. Behind them stood an imposing, Northern man with long, black hair. His face would fit perfectly on a classical painting, up to the gray eyes and perfectly smooth chin. He was clothed in shades of faded black: a loose shirt hanging out of his archaically narrow trousers, glove on his right hand, and a guitar slung over his shoulder on a worn strap.
“Nallamo? What are you doing here?”
“Sarnel? I didn’t know she’s your sister.” He passed them and burst into the apartment.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked Nadir. “What are you—”
“Tell you what? Am I supposed to know that you know her sister?” Nadir sneered, barely looking up. “What do you think, that I have a list of all your friends? I don't.”
Nallamo stood in front of him, his back to the women. “You better not,” he said quietly.
“You could read the newspaper sometimes, this girl is quite—”
“All right,” said Sarnel, “let’s get things in order. Rainel, this is Nallamo, my friend and oftentimes coworker. Nallamo, this is Rainel, my younger sister I told you about.” After the introductions Rainel invited everyone to the circle of chairs. The man with the guitar sat at the very edge of his seat.
Rainel stood up. “We finally meet, the four of us, to build a flying vessel and seek the Undying Lands,” she said, her heart beating fast and strong. “It will be a perilous journey, but with us all trying our best, we shall—”
“I never agreed to fly,” said Sarnel.
It felt like a punch to Rainel''s chest. “Don’t— You liked the tests. Besides, the magistrate said that I need four people, and I can’t think of any other person to take. And since you two already know each other, I think it’s destiny that brought us together, and destiny will have all of us undertake this journey.”
Sandal stood up too. “The tests were fine, but— I think it’s better to discuss it in private.”
“We too have things to discuss in private,” said Nallamo, also standing.
“No,” said Rainel. “Please, sit down. We can have private discussions later. Now we finally met and…” Why couldn’t it just work? In all the stories, when people were gathered for a quest, they didn’t protest like that.
The kitchen door opened. “You could have told me we’ll be having guests, but fortunately, the cookies just finished baking.” Mom smiled, looking at the guests. “I’ll make some tea.”
At least it made them sort down again.
Rainel put her hands on her hips. “Listen, everyone. I made this aircraft to follow our father’s dream. To follow a dream I have had since I was a child. And now, with this permit, I finally have a solid plan to leave the lower sky and reach Aman.
“And you came along,” she said to Nadir, “met by chance at the police station, and asked to go with me. And to take another guest,” she stepped closer to Nallamo, “who turns out to be a friend of my own sister. And I need to take three other people with me. This is destiny. No arguments can convince me otherwise.”
Sarnel gestured at her to sit, and Rainel did so.
“All right. Just one question,” said Sarnel. “I’m sorry, Rainel, I tried to spare you this. Who here actually believes that there is a land of gods hidden somewhere in the low orbit and that it is possible to fly there?”
Rainel raised her hand, and so did both men. She smiled triumphantly.
Sarnel turned to her friend.
“I wouldn’t phrase it like this,” he said, “but yes I do. I'm sorry, Sarnel, I too would spare you this situation if I could.”
“Can any of you at least give me some kind of proof?” she asked.
Mom entered, carrying a tray with a teapot and cups, then came back with cookies, and after short introductions with everyone she gave Rainel a long look and a smile. “If you need me, I'll be in my room, listening to the radio.”
“Maybe I can give you a proof,” said Rainel, when mom left. “You know Tungson’s full collection is now on display in Methir Museum, for the first time in years. And there’s something there. Something that may help us in our journey. Something that may help you believe.” She looked at Sarnel. “It is a light from beyond this world—”
“It’s not,” said Nallamo.
Rainel blinked. It wasn't supposed to go like this. “I thought you two believed me.”
“I do. I was correcting you on facts,” he said in a strangely tense voice. “Of course, we can go to see the Arkenstone if you think that it will help convince Sarnel. I’d much prefer if you two didn’t fly anywhere, because it’s way too dangerous, but I have to agree that this whole situation reeks of destiny, and trying to avoid it would only make it worse.”
“Let's move to the table. Do you two have a car?” asked Rainel.
“We don't have much in common,” said Nallamo.
They all moved their chairs closer to the table with wonderfully smelling cinnamon cookies and spiced tea.
“We do have in common the fact that we need a ride,” said Nadir with a crooked smile.
“I can take a train,” said Nallamo.
“The train takes three hours and only goes twice a day,” said Rainel, pouring the tea, “We can all fit in our car, and I already need to visit Methir. I have a meeting with Tungson herself, to convince her to sponsor the project. We can do both in one trip. Don’t worry, I’m a good driver.”
“Good, but too fast,” said Sarnel.
“Fast means good,” said Nadir, already drinking his tea, which was still steaming. “That’s the whole point of cars, isn’t it? To minimize the boring parts of the journey.”
The sisters nodded.
“The boring parts are what matters,” said Nallamo, looking at Sarnel. “And cars are too loud. Not everyone loves noise.”
“Let's move on to the schedule,” said Rainel. “If everything goes right, we should be able to have the eight-winged version ready in slightly over a month, or faster if some of you help me with covering the hull. The wings are almost finished, though I could use help with them too, sanding takes a lot of work, and mounting them requires at least two people. After the wings are done and the hull is covered, we’ll paint the ornithopter. I haven’t yet decided on the color, or name. I have too many ideas, and I’ll probably have some more before we’re finished.” They listened to her, eating cookies. Rainel hoped they would leave some for her.
“Anyway, if the test flight goes without any issue, we only need a week to add the booster. And then—” Her heart beat too fast. “Then, we do the impossible.”
A few wonderfully crisp cookies later, Rainel walked towards the white cabinet and pulled out the model from a drawer. The miniature ornithopter had a rectangular cabin with a large window at the front, eight folded wings and a triangular tail. “That’s how it’s going to look when it’s finished, 1:30 scale.”
“It looks like a spider,” said Nadir.
“The prototype looked more like a dragonfly, but as I said, this one will be more stable.”
“It's definitely interesting,” said Nallamo with a smile.
Sarnel winced. “I agree with Nadir, it’s awful. But at least it should be safer, right? But don't count me in yet, let’s first visit Methir. I wanted to see this collection anyway.”
Sarnel scrubbed another plate.
“Very nice young men, those two,” said mom, drying a teacup with a faded kitchen towel. “You know them well?”
Oh, here we go again. Sarnel braced herself, but didn’t abandon her dishwashing post. “I know Nallamo. We work together.”
“He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”
Sarnel cleaned another plate before she answered. Luckily they’ve had pudding recently, and the sticky stains gave her enough time to calm down. “I need to focus on my work. I’m preparing material for a new publication. Nallamo is actually helping me with this.”
“He seems to like you.” Mom dried the crockery efficiently, talking at the same time.
“We are friends. Mom, the fact that I am friends with someone and he happens to be male doesn’t mean we’re dating. Or that we are going to. Please, we’ve talked about it.”
“I’m just afraid that you’ll end up alone when you’re old. Without kids, without family…” She put the dry stack away to the white wooden cupboard and took another wet one. “Does he play that guitar or is it just for show?”
Sarnel smiled. “He plays in various cafes in the evenings, I can show you some time.” She finished the plates and moved to the glasses, despite the dull pain in her bruised arm. She wasn’t hurt enough to leave all the work to others. “But I don’t think he’s got a full-time job. Just the singing, some freelance translations and help with research. Not a very financially stable person.”
“You like music too, you did great in the choir.”
Sarnel worked on the glasses for a while, but then she unfortunately ran out of dishes to wash. “I was there only for half a year. It was fun, but there are too many fun hobbies. I’m not this much into music.”
“Does Rainel know Nallamo too?”
“Now she does.”
“And what does she think? They look good together.”
“She just met him. And Rainel is even more preoccupied with her ornithopter than I’m with my job. She isn’t looking for a husband.” As mom finished drying the last stack, Sarnel took it to the cupboard. “And, in case you were planning to ask, neither of us is going to date the other man either.”
“Looks aren’t everything, and I’m sure he has some good qualities. A taste in clothing, for example. Hopefully some common sense. I wish Rainel spent more time with people, especially mature and responsible people. She’s got us, of course, but it’s not the same.”
Sarnel sat opposite her mom, on a bentwood chair, cramped between the table and fridge. “She’s got friends at the university, some of them are quite reasonable people. Maybe we should invite some of them for tea. I’ll talk with Rainel.”
“You could invite your new friends too. But that short-haired man, did I hear correctly that he works for the police? What does he do?”
“He was vague about his work. I don’t trust him. He burst into our apartment as if it was his own, and Nallamo doesn’t like him.” Sarnel looked at her mom with concern. “I think that Nadir is some kind of secret service, or other shady government business. I don’t know how to explain that, but he feels off. His eyes remind me of knives.”
Mom smiled. “I don’t think he's anywhere near that dangerous. He doesn’t carry a gun.”
“Maybe. Maybe he is simply some kind of engineer or sapper, maybe it’s just his personality.”
“Or a gunsmith,” said mom pointedly. “One way or another, not great. A musician with good education is much better. He could find a proper job, you know.”