Chapter Twelve: Heroes

Merry stumbled back, trying to call, but his mouth was suddenly dry and he could not find his voice. His eyes remained locked on the serpent, which made no move, but watched him as well. He heard Sam and Frodo getting closer, and then to his relief, his older cousin calling out, "Merry? Where did you go?"

At last, Merry found his voice. "Over here, Frodo! Come quick!" He heard them running towards him, but his eyes did not leave the still, silent creature before him.

Finally, Frodo and Sam came up behind him and stopped abruptly as they caught sight of the snake. Frodo placed a hand on Merry’s shoulder. "It’s that creature from the creek!" he whispered. Merry nodded jerkily, not taking his eyes from it.

"Back up, very slowly," said Frodo softly. Merry gulped and obeyed, hearing Sam doing the same. He had not taken more than a few steps when the creature lunged again, barely missing Frodo, who jumped back a step. The three hobbits kept close together and attempted to inch their way backward again. Quicker than sight, the serpent darted around them and blocked their path. They whirled around and jumped back to avoid its strike.

Frodo slowly, surreptitiously reached for his pocketknife, and Merry did the same. Sam did not have one, but he had one of his frying pans ready. The creature watched them with its beady red eyes, but made no move. They backed up again, and it lunged forward and blocked their way once more. Though it was nearly six feet long, most of its body was concealed by underbrush. Its forked tongue, blood red, flicked out and its eyes glinted maliciously. It slowly raised itself up, like a cobra ready to strike, so that it was taller than Frodo.

The hobbits backed up once more and this time, the creature did not block their path, but suddenly lunged forward right in the middle of them, causing them to scatter. The serpent’s eyes flicked from one to the other as it again raised itself up to nearly full height. It coolly considered each one, noting with pleasure how they trembled under its glance. Frodo did his best to seem unafraid, if only for Merry and Sam’s sake, and gripped his knife tightly in his hand, prepared to defend his young companions whatever the cost. Sam also tried to look brave, remembering his secret promise to protect his master at all costs. Merry made no effort to hide his fear. He shook uncontrollably, and his knuckles were white from his tight grip on his knife, which now seemed pathetically small and useless. But despite his terror, he also was prepared to put up a fight for his friends.

The creature watched them in cruel amusement. They were all young, small and no match for it. It had only to decide between them who would be first. For it had not eaten in weeks, and could easily devour three young hobbit lads at once.

The seconds passed by, agonizingly slow, as the hobbits remained frozen under the serpent’s stare. Suddenly, the creature surged forward. Merry barely had time to stumble back into the underbrush. He fell, and scooted away as quickly as he could as the serpent slithered towards him. He still had his knife in his hand, which he held protectively in front of him. The creature’s head struck forward, but was suddenly jerked back. Frodo and Sam had grabbed hold of its tail and were yanking it back, away from Merry.

Quicker than sight, the serpent whipped its head around, causing Frodo and Sam to drop it. Merry scrambled to his feet and dashed to their side before the creature could strike again. It raised itself up to its full height, its eyes flashing. It suddenly struck out at Sam, who stumbled and fell on his back, but luckily brought his frying pan up just in time. The creature jerked its head up to strike him again, but Merry darted forward and slashed its side with his knife. With an angry hiss, the serpent whirled around and struck out at him.

Merry jumped back, and the creature’s fangs passed so close that they tore his shirt. It butted his hand with its head and his knife was flung out of his grasp. It raised itself up once more, its eyes glinting with cruel delight. Dark, reddish-black blood oozed out of the wound in its side, but the serpent paid no heed. Merry backed up a few steps, and just as the creature struck again, Frodo suddenly darted forward, placing himself in between it and Merry. He raised his knife, the steel ringing as it met the sharp fangs.

With an infuriated hiss, the creature pulled back its head and glared at Frodo, who returned the stare evenly. Enraged by the hobbit’s show of defiance, it narrowed its eyes and struck again. Frodo’s Elven-knife caught the serpent’s lower jaw, drawing more blood.

The creature hissed again with pain and anger, its eyes filled with hatred for the small creature before it; though he was inexperienced and frightened, there was steel inside this hobbit’s slender frame. The serpent was tired of playing with it now. Its forked tongue darted out and across its lips. Time to be rid of this spirited young nuisance.

It lunged, suddenly, and at the same time it whipped its long tail around Frodo’s legs, pulling him down to the ground. Frodo landed with a startled cry, but he managed to raise his knife once more.

A second too late. The serpent’s fangs sliced deeply across his wrist, and a fiery pain shot through his arm. Frodo gasped at the intensity of it, and even from his position on the ground, dizziness assailed him and it felt as though everything was whirling around and beneath him.

"Frodo!" Sam and Merry shouted simultaneously, rushing forward. Sam placed himself between the creature and his master, and with a resounding whack, he brought his pan down on its head with all his strength. This dazed the creature momentarily and Sam was able to pull Frodo to his feet and help him stumble a safe distance away. "Get my knife, Sam," Frodo whispered hoarsely, closing his eyes as he desperately tried to fight the dizziness and pain that were steadily building. "Help Merry." Sam nodded, knowing that now was not the time for argument, and with a quick squeeze of his master’s hand, he reluctantly left Frodo where he was.

Merry crept along the side of the stunned serpent, and raising his pocketknife, he drove it into its scaly hide. This startled the creature out of its daze, and with an angry hiss, it suddenly whipped its tail around Merry’s legs. Before the young hobbit could react, it threw another coil around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. "Frodo! Sam!" cried Merry, struggling in vain to free himself from the iron grip.

Sam retrieved Frodo’s knife from where it lay gleaming on the ground and raced to the creature’s side. He slashed it deeply across the coil that held Merry’s arms. The serpent struck at him, but he darted out of reach and cut it again. The creature finally let go of Merry, who stumbled forward and stood beside Sam.

The wounded serpent glared hatefully at the two young hobbits, and in his loud, angry hisses, they could almost make out words: "Come not between Nárcarak and his prey!" His eyes glinted with fury, but also there was doubt and a tiny hint of fear. Never before had his prey put up such a struggle, and never before had anyone dared to wound him so. Now, he was faced with two fearless, angry hobbits, armed with sharp knives, one of them made by the Elves. Its silver blade caught the setting sun’s light and burned his eyes. He struck at Sam, but the young hobbit used his frying pan as a shield and Nárcarak only succeeded in bruising his nose on it. He turned on Merry, but was rewarded by a deep cut across his face.

Raising himself up, he studied the two hobbits before him. They showed no signs of giving up, and Merry lunged at him again, slicing across his soft underbelly. Suddenly a rock whistled through the air and hit the serpent sharply on the head. Another one followed, narrowly missing him this time. Soon a hail of them showered down upon him. Merry glanced back and saw Frodo, on his feet, hurling rocks at Nárcarak with his uninjured arm. The creature shrunk back, cowed at last, and with one last hiss, vanished into the underbrush.

For several moments, the hobbits simply stood there, panting and trying to slow their racing hearts. But suddenly Merry let out a triumphant whoop and clapped Sam—who was examining a dent in his faithful pan—enthusiastically on the back. Almost instantly, however, his high spirits died, as he looked behind and saw Frodo, swaying on his feet, his injured arm curled protectively against his chest. Merry could see him trembling, and rushed over to him, with Sam close behind. He helped Frodo to sink down into the grass while Sam anxiously got out their water bottles.

"Let me see," Merry ordered gently, pulling up Frodo’s sleeve to examine his wound. Two deep cuts ran nearly all the way around his wrist, bleeding heavily. Sam sucked in his breath sharply at the sight and tore some of his sleeve to serve as a bandage. "This looks horrible," exclaimed Merry softly, raising worry-filled eyes to meet his cousin’s. "Do you want Sam and I to carry you?"

Frodo shook his head. "No," he said through clenched teeth. "Just bind it up tight and I’ll be fine." Seeing Merry and Sam’s doubtful looks, he forced a small smile. "Don’t worry. It’s just a bite. I’ll be fine. Really."

TBC...

Note: Nácarack roughly translates to “fire-fang” in Sindarin. Emphasis on roughly…