Chapter Fifteen - Into the Woods – Part Three -

   Strider roused Daevan in the early morning before the mist had cleared. The air was clear and chilly, and the wanderers ate their breakfast quickly, eager to set out again. They left behind the last small creek belonging to the Mouths of Entwash at midday. The look of the land changed. Dark grey stones marked the wanderers’ way now, and they climbed up and down the rough terrain alongside the river, sweating due to the heat and exhaustion. Suddenly Strider stooped and with a gesture ordered Daevan to wait. He examined the ground. Daevan frowned. He did not want to appear impatient, though he longed to have a closer look himself.

   “Gollum rested here,” Strider said by a while. “He had no shelter… and no gear with him.”

   “But he had some fish for dinner,” Daevan replied stepping closer, inspecting the scattered leftovers.

   “Aye.” Strider rose and looked upstream. “It is hard to tell how long he has been gone.”

   “Well, he’s way ahead of us.” Daevan crouched down. “More than a week, I assume. There's no burnt wood around. Did he eat the fish raw? Quite a habit.”

   “He eats everything raw that he catches.”

   Daevan grimaced.

   “How can you be sure it is this thing that you are searching for? Could be any… kind of animal.”

   “It could be.” Strider's expression bore little hope. “But unless there are signs that should be read differently, I will stay on this path.”

   Daevan rose and took a look round for any other tracks, but found none on the stones.

   “Well, to me he looked like a beast, but what is he? A kind of Man? A kind of Dwarf?”

   “Neither one of them. As far as I know he was a Stoor once. But that was long ago. Even the Stoor no longer exist.”

   “I never heard of them anyway. How old is this… creature?”

   Strider glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes sparkled with a light of amusement.

   “Older than I am.”

   The fisherman exhaled and shook his head as Strider turned to move on.

~~~~~~~

   The roaring of the falls grew louder by the hour, and by sunset they had reached the place where the Anduin tossed its torrents from the ledge beyond Tol Brandir. The Rauros Falls were well known by name, but Daevan had never set eyes on them. He stood in wonder and watched the white foam and its spray, displaying all colours of the rainbow as the sun shone through it. He would have loved to stay at least for a day. There was so much beauty about this place, so much splendour he had never seen in his life. He felt at peace and wondered why no settlers had ever chosen to live in this place But Daevan was granted no rest. Since Strider had found the fish bones four leagues downstream he was pressing forward with even more urgency. Daevan heard Strider's laboured breathing as he passed him by. He hastened toward the mountain. It towered black before them, mixed with lighter shades of grey where the rocks had been hewn in ages past. Only when Daevan got closer did he see that beneath the wild plants and moss, a stairway led into the mountain side. It climbed up the rock in steep rises, but every step seemed to be narrower than the one before. When he stood at the foot of the mountain and looked into the narrow crevice, Daevan swallowed nervously. To his right the falls cascaded their water and to the left the mountain's massive protrusions were overhung with wet grass and slimy green lichens. The air turned humid and cold as he approached the path, awaiting him with its gloomy thickness. Daevan felt as if he could not breathe.

   “Move on,” Strider rasped behind him, “the light's already fading.”

   Daevan braced himself for the journey uphill. It was not the time to mention that he had never been up so high before. Used to living amid the fens he found the idea of climbing  up the small steps – each one only half as deep as his boot – unnerving. On the partly cracked steps lay loose stones, and on both sides there was only rough scree to find a hold in. Daevan fought the nausea he felt rising and took the first flight of stairs in one single movement. He slipped on the wet moss creeping through every little crack, and clung to a sharp stone to his right. He ground his teeth due to the pain and regained his footing beyond the lichen, on which he had slipped. Praying that he would make it (and cursing the one, who had built the stairs, at the same time) he took the next curve, but did not dare to look forward or behind. His heart was in his mouth as he ascended more carefully. The steps in front of him were broken, and he cursed under his breath as he manoeuvred around them, trying to keep his balance and clinging to a hold on another ledge two feet above him. He broke into a sweat, but did not dare to wipe his brow. The steps seemed to blur before his eyes, and he halted. Behind him he heard the wanderer's sure-footed approach.

   “It is not far now,” Strider said into Daevan's back. He was out of his breath, and the young man briefly pondered why they had not stayed at the riverside for the night.

   “I know.” The young man forced himself to take ten more steps, hoping that this would be the end. Yet he knew the height of the Rauros Falls. He had seen the top of the mountain, and realised that Strider was only trying to calm him. Determined to prove his quality Daevan readjusted his pack and climbed higher up the mountain side. Something scurried away from him, and Daevan was startled. He jerked up his head and lost his footing the same moment. He slipped down three steps and would have fallen if Strider had not steadied him. Pebbles rolled down, clanking loudly until they reached the ground. Daevan panted. His hands held tightly to the cold granite, and he felt the edges pierce his palms. Unbidden Nilana's words came to his mind: he should make his family proud. It would be a disgrace to fail at such a simple matter of climbing a flight of stairs! Daevan nodded to himself, turned to face the steps ahead and went on without pausing until he reached the end of the stairway. Still amid the mountain dell, where darkness had already reached the ground he descried a long path of hard soil leading further north. It was overgrown with slender branches, forming a roof of dark green leaves. Yet the twigs hung down like little arms stretching out for the wanderers, and Daevan forced the picture out of his mind.

   Sighing inwardly, he moved on. The dark walls of stone and plants towered above him, and he felt small, as if he was crouching in front of a beast so huge that it filled his view completely. It seemed as if the path up the mountain would never end. He could not see much and thought that this path might lead to a dead end. When he turned, Strider lifted his gaze and turned his head left and right, vigilant as before. Daevan wondered if the Great Warrior could recognize anything in the dim, rose-coloured light of the fading day, or if his senses were sharper than that of simple Men.

   The sky turned purple and finally dark blue, and the first stars could be descried. Strider halted for a moment, listening intently to the sound emerging from a gorge they had passed to their left. Yet, it was too dark to see anything unless it moved, and Strider went on, glancing over his shoulder ever and anon. He was even more restless than before.

   Deavan was glad to reach the end of the ravine. The air was scented with the sweet grass growing beyond the cream-coloured sand at the riverbank. The Anduin shone in the starlit night. Here it was, the beautiful Great River lore told about. Its width could hardly be measured, and to Daevan it looked more like a big lake than a river, yet it flowed swiftly. He caught his breath as he rested his eyes on the surroundings. Where the mountain slope ended, trees had rooted and grown to different sizes, creating a thick roof over the dark ground. Now that the wind had ceased they stood like watchmen, tall, and dark, and menacing. Relieved after the heavy march, Daevan felt no threat approaching. He was weary to his bones and longed for a good meal and a long night's sleep.

   “I assume we pitch camp here?” he stated and took off his pack.

   “Closer to the mountain,” Strider simply said, and sighing again Daevan followed him. “You should always try to find a place where you have cover at least from one side,” he explained quietly, and suddenly halted again with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Daevan held his breath. He could hear nothing, not even the rustling of leaves. It was a dead silence. “There is something strange about these woods.” Carefully without making a sound, Strider moved on until they reached a gap they had not seen before. Daevan took out his torch, and with Strider's help ignited it. Slowly and attentively they passed the entrance and found a wider opening leading into a round cave with no second way out.

   “Look.” Daevan held the torch to the ground. Fish bones lay amid small stones and sand, but there was also a short piece of grey rope. “It's yours, isn't it?”

   “Aye.” Suddenly exited Strider lifted the piece of dirty, shredded rope. In the torchlight, his eyes sparkled with hope, and a grim smile of satisfaction curled his lips. “Gollum was here. Let’s see if we can find any other tracks.”

   Daevan looked round. Soft footprints of soles could be found, and more remnants of fish. He pointed at them.

   “He used a fishbone to cut it. ‘Twas quite a strong rope. Nilana said so. She needed some strength to get it off your arm… more out of your arm,” he closed with a grimace.

   “He will have rested here for the night and moved on.” Strider let go of the rope, unconsciously rubbing his right wrist. The scar would always remind him of his attempt to hold Gollum captive. “We will stay here for the night. Yet…” He turned to the entrance of the cave. “…we shall keep a fire going. There is something strange about the forest. I have not been here for many years, but I never found it so quiet.”

   “I agree,” Daevan said relieved and put down his pack. “I collected some firewood on the way.”

   While Strider took the torch Daevan quickly stacked up matchwood to kindle a fire at the cave’s exit. They sat down near the warmth and for a while were silent. They ate the rest of the fish they had caught and listened to the crackling of the twigs. Daevan calmed down, relishing on the safety of their camp. While the fire lasted no wild animal would dare to get close, and being satisfied, the young man felt his limbs grow heavy.

   “Go to sleep, Daevan,” Strider said, startling Daevan from his drowsiness. “I will take the first watch.”

   “Aye.”

   Strider left the cave when the young fisherman had fallen asleep. The night was chilly, and from the west deep-hanging clouds moved with the wind, veiling moon and stars. For a considerable time he stood still and listened. The Anduin could be heard, but nothing else beside it. The trees seemed lifeless, burdened with an unnatural stillness. No flapping of wings, no hooting of owls resounded. Strider wondered what kind of spell had been put on this part of the land. When he turned there was a flicker of light amid the tree trunks, but when he looked again he could see nothing but darkness. Yet though he could not see it with his senses he realised that some evil was close, waiting for its prey.

~~~~~

   The fire burnt low, and Daevan was glad that the morning's first light peeped through the narrow path. His dreams had been strange and none of them good. He roused Strider, and after a scanty meal, they continued their march. By unspoken agreement they hurried along the forest's rim, glancing ever and anon into the gloomy darkness. The sky was overcast, the wind picked up speed, and though the coolness was soothing, the drizzle accompanied with it was not. Daevan looked at the clouds. They grew darker by the hour. The wanderers trudged northward and finally reached the end of the slope. To their left, elevated from the ground, stood the ruin of a monument of stone.

   “This is Amon Hen, the Hill of the Eye, and the Seat of Seeing. Once it was a place to exchange tidings with regions far away,” Strider explained. “Now it is but the reminder of a kingdom that was lost long ago.” He saw Daevan bit his lips, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. “It was ages ago, my young friend, and I, too, only know of it by lore.”

   Daevan returned the older man's genuine smile.

   “Who taught you so much?”

   “My foster-father… but that was a long time ago.”

   “When you still had a home,” Daevan closed quietly.

   “Aye.”

   Daevan went at Strider's side and could not restrain his curiosity.

   “What happened to your father?”

   Strider looked at him, briefly lifted his brows, and said at length:

   “Orcs killed him while he was on patrol.” Abruptly he turned his gaze toward the hill they ascended. “I was never granted any time to come to know him.”

   “My father left us when I was ten. He said he had to go.” Daevan was silent for a while, and the rain, falling thick like a curtain, was the only sound around them. Yet he did not wish to dwell in a dark memory, and after a while asked, “Did your foster-father learn about all of that lore by means of books or old papers?”

   Strider woke from his musing. He had found a small plant and carefully parted it from the weeds around it before he put it into a pouch.

   “He has lived for many years and knows many things.” Strider's gaze swept the surroundings, but they were still alone in the wild. The rain's intensity grew, and it was getting dark, but still their mood was unspoiled while they climbed the hill to reach Amon Hen. “The Eldar preserve the history of Middle-earth. They are the only ones, who can remember it all.”

   “Remember? You mean, they wrote it down? I heard my grand-father talk about it. He had seen rolls of paper full of letters in the study of Ecthelion… the second,” he added hastily, and avoided to slip down the path by clutching to a young tree trunk. Strider did not notice. To Daevan it looked as if the wanderer would never lose his footing, and he felt clumsy suddenly.

   “They know how to read and write in different tongues, aye, but you heard me right: the Eldar have lived for ages on these lands. They do not die.” Daevan frowned, unable to believe what he had just heard. He wiped his dirty hands on his trousers. “They can die upon blades, though.” Strider turned and swiftly crossed the last steps to the top of the hill. Presently they stood among the ruins of Amon Hen, overlooking the Great River and Tol Brandir. The wanderer breathed through deeply, and for the first time Daevan thought him to be taller and more impressive than he actually was. In spite of his simple garments there was an air of power around him. Strider lifted his chin, and his keen eyes held a cold fire. Suddenly he fit the description of the Great Warrior Doran had once told the young boy about. Daevan could imagine Thorongil command an army to strike and lead the vanguard. “Tell me, Daevan, did Doran know Ecthelion well?” Strider then asked, and the impression faded away.

   Daeavan cleared his throat.

   “For some of the time during his service my grand-father belonged to the Citadel Guard. Ecthelion considered him worthy to be taught - that is what he said - and let him know the lore of Gondor… and the lands beyond.”

   Strider nodded in understanding. They left the ruin behind. The forest stretched to the horizon in the west while the river wound away from it. The rain poured down on them, and no overhead branches would save them from getting drenched to their skins. They made good progress during the afternoon, and where about to choose a place to camp when suddenly a deep growl resounded out of the twilight. Strider halted. They were too far from the river to retreat. And no safe haven could be seen.

   “They have gathered,” he whispered, and when he turned there were two wolves approaching yonder their path. Their mighty heads were bowed, their fangs bared. White teeth glistened. Though not as tall as a warg the wolves were menacing for they never attacked alone. “Quick, climb a tree!” Strider drew his bow, fitted an arrow to the string, and released it. A whining came back in reply. The growling grew louder, rich with anger. It seemed to fill the air around them, and drowned out the rain. Daevan stood at the tree trunk and looked up, undecided what to do. “Hurry! They are already close!”

   Daevan hugged the tree. It did not work. He found no step in the bark to set his foot on, and he had no experience in climbing. The second arrow whirled into the darkness, killing another beast. Daevan broke into sweat. On the thick soil, a dull sound could be heard: the wolves were coming!

   “Up that tree!” shouted Strider in his ear. Sweating Daevan reached for the lowest branch. There were two feet between his outstretched fingers and the wood. “Now!” Strider shot again, then flung the bow across his shoulder. “Step on my hands!” Daevan looked at him, irritated, but realised what the wanderer meant: quickly Daevan used the step Strider had made with his folded hands to lift him up the trunk. He hit his head at the lowest branch, then he grabbed it with both hands, and struggled with his boots at the bark. Strider pushed him up once more, and in the next second had his bow ready again to fire at the hound assailing him. The massive body thudded on the ground right before him. The other was too close. Strider dropped the bow, drew his sword and hewed off the beast's head in a single strike. Panting the wanderer looked up the trunk. Daevan had made it to the next branch, insecure, frightened, but brave in spite of his fears. Strider descried five more wolves in a half circle, closing in on them. Yet they were cowards. They hesitated. Their steps were unsteady, and the stench of blood rising from the decapitated beast robbed them of their remaining courage. Four were dead already, a fifth one lay cringing in the mud. Strider shot one last arrow that missed its mark, then turned to hand the bow to Daevan.

   The young man hung miserably on the thick branch, staring at the wolves. They had halted out of reach, but hunger kept them from turning their tails on the men.

   “Take my bow!” Strider tried to pull himself up the trunk. His hands were wet, and he lost his grip. He slipped down again, cursing under his breath.

   It was at that moment the rest of the pack attacked.

   Daevan stretched out his hand with the bow, clinging with his other hand to the bough. He hung head down and only hoped the branch would hold both their weights.

   “Take it! Hold on!” he shouted. The wolves were close. They sensed their chance. Strider looked up with wide eyes and grabbed the end of the bow. Daevan pulled with all his strength, lifting the wanderer inches from the ground. Strider's hands slipped on the wet wood, but by then he was able to clutch to the lowest branch. He pulled himself up as fast as possible, barely escaping the menacing fangs. Daevan gasped for air. His chest hurt for he had lowered himself as far as he could. The branch cracked, but held his weight. Daevan was shaking like a leaf, watching in horror as the wolves snapped at Strider's heels, growling, bellowing. Their eyes shone with a wild fire. Their fangs were white and menacing, and a stench of blood was about them. They leapt high at the trunk, and their claws scratched the bark. Ever more were pouring from the dense forest. Seven, eight, ten of them sprang around the tree, barking with deep voices. They were hungry and infuriated at not getting their prey.

   Strider struggled to pull himself up to sit on the branch. He was out of breath and closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself against the trunk.

   “Are you all right?” Daevan asked from above, and Strider nodded.

   “Well done.”

   “Aye.” He handed back the bow and tried to find a way to sit comfortably on the branch, yet there was none.

   Strider looked down at the wolves. They still barked and jumped at the trunk, unable to reach him. Yet they were many, and their prey could not rest forever or fly away like birds. It seemed to Strider that the leader of the pack met eyes with him and let him know that it was only a question of time until they would meet with the wolves' sharp teeth. But Strider was not fooled. Having found a position to support himself, he shot the biggest wolf, which had ramped at the trunk, in its open fang. There was a sound as if it was throttled, then it lay still. Strider quickly released two more arrows; one hit its mark. The other beasts retreated in fear, some whining, some silent. Strider groped for another arrow, but when he counted, only three he left them.

   “They will come again,” he stated in a low voice and let out a deep breath

   “What are we to do?” Daevan asked. He did not wish to look down again. The height made him dizzy, and the sight of the beasts frightened him.

   Strider peered into the shadows, but the rain allowed no further sightings.

   “They will wait.” He wrinkled his nose, shivering with cold. “We will stay here for the night.”

   “Stay?” Daevan repeated doubtfully. “But we cannot sleep up here.”

   Strider smiled into the darkness.

   “The Elves of the woodland realm sleep in trees. The night will pass.”

   Daevan settled his back against the trunk, gazing up and down uneasily. He felt his heart beat in his throat. The wolves had the better position: they would wait for their prey to descend.

   “They sleep on branches?” he asked to shake off his nervousness. “Why? Have they got no beds?”

   “The Elves are in a way united with the trees. All of nature is bound to the Elves and they are bound to everything that grows. Yet they do not necessarily sleep on the branch itself, but build flets among the higher branches.”

   “A kind of platform so to say? Well, that would be better than hanging here like a beetle.”

   In spite of the situation, they were in Strider smiled.

   “We are safe for the moment. Be grateful for it.”

   “I am. Yet I see no way to chase the wolves away.”

   “Have you still got flint stone and a torch?”

   “You mean to burn them? Aye, I still have a torch and flints left.”

   Strider gazed upwards through the thick layers of leaves. Big droplets of water fell on his face. The sky was dark grey and did not change when the day waned.

   “We wait until the rain stops.”

   With that he settled against the trunk, folded his arms across the chest and closed his eyes. Daevan above him could not so easily lean his head back against the tree and find rest. He gazed downward. The wolves stared up at him from a short distance, their eyes ablaze with anger, but realising that their prey would not step down. Sneezing and whining some of them retreated into the thick darkness while the downpour lasted. Daevan felt caged. He shivered with cold and the fear to face the shadows once again. He doubted Strider's means to fight them.

~~~~~