Cherry Ripe
With the festival over, Ezen Kemra and his wife went back to Krandi feeling confident that a better future was indeed within their grasp. Among the first things to do would be to build a kind of shrine, equidistant from Krandi, Talak and Baktu, to house the shard of the Unquenchable Light. People from all over Krâ would be encouraged to visit it. There could be a yearly festival, perhaps? Or the other way round: the shard could be taken round the country from time to time. Or maybe it could be divided between the three cities? So many possibilities. Ezen Kemra was astonished how many ideas were appearing in his head since he had opened his mind to the concept of change.
And Alatar and Uilara at last returned to the Sacred Cave and relieved Aluir of his long, lonely watch. Soon after their arrival, Alatar hired workmen from the town to cut the two loaf-sized fragments of the Unquenchable Light out of the tunnel wall. These would be presented to Kamenogi and Vindalondë, because Hamûjil felt strongly that with all the things going to Krâ, he had to offer something to his other neighbours, too.
Diri, since he was considered a person of consequence in Levare now, was offered dragon transport to Kamenogi and accepted gratefully, albeit not enthusiastically. He had much preferred walking with Jarin to flying with Jarin, but there wasn’t time for anything other than air travel. Sâlian and Lu-yan took him and he was back within the fortnight to conclude the purchase of the house in the Second Rung.
The magnolias dropped their petals, the rhododendrons and azaleas opened theirs, and there was a greening all over the land that was warmed by the sun and refreshed by frequent showers. Majani spent much time walking the palace gardens and composing delicate verses about the renewal of all things. Lalina celebrated her fourth birthday as befitted a Seraph princess, and Rahamûjil, much to his parents’ relief, finally began to talk. One of his first words was cake.
One day towards the end of April, Majani came into Hamûjil’s study to show him a particularly excellent drawing by their elder son. Hamûjil was busywritinga letter to Vindalondë regarding the return of the Krâ ships. The phrase children playing nicely had reached his ears and he did not care for it, so he was even more exquisitely polite than usual in his wording. In grateful acknowledgement of the assistance you so generously rendered to the city of Mil Nahara, we would like to reassure you that the temporary conflict between Krâ and Kûz has been completely resolved to mutual satisfaction. Since there is no danger of any further aggravation between our two countries, and in the interest of commerce in the region, we would consider it a very welcome gesture on your part if you… But when his wife came in, he put the pen aside and smiled on Alamûjil’s picture of rabbits and deer.
“Miriel helped him with the antlers,” Majani said. “Did you know that in the language of Gondor, the word for antlers is the same as for river delta? It makes some sense, I suppose.”
“Hm.”
Hamûjil tilted the picture this way and that, then let it slip down on the desk. He closed his eyes for a moment, and his eyebrows were working.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Majani.
“Languages.” He leaned back in his seat and threw up his hands. “Why did I never consider this before? Most people in Krâ speak fairly decent Kûzar, and some, like the Ezens, speak it very well. Dwarves usually speak Krâin and Kûzar and Hwenti. The Hwenti speak all sorts of languages; well, they had ample time to learn. And we? We go everywhere expecting everyone to know Kûzar. I can just about say Good day, how are you? in Krâin and Hwenti and then if people tell me something other than that they are very well, I’m lost. This won’t do. If we want to build a better relationship with Krâ, our children will have to learn Krâin.”
“Well…I assume you don’t mean the little ones? They’re too young for lessons. Alamûjil could, of course. He’s a quick learner, too.”
“You misunderstand me, Majani. When I said our children, I meant the children of our country. Krâin needs to be taught at school.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, that is a good idea. What will you do to get teachers though? The Krâ don’t have schools.”
“Untrained teachers will have to do for a start. There are a fair number of Krâ living in Levare. I would speak with Jarin, but she clearly has other plans.”
He sighed. Majani came over and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Are you still troubled about Jarin?”
Hamûjil smoothed down his moustache. “Yes. How could I not be? It’s so tragic. She saved my life and it upended hers. But she’s bearing it well, I think.”
“Well, you made sure that she is provided for. She will have no worries about what to live on.”
“But imagine having been a lungi and now being, well, grounded, perhaps forever. It’s not just a loss of status, it’s a loss of her whole identity. And then losing Wan is a great shame, of course, for all of Kûz, though he may find a new lungi by and by. I hear Jarin still calls him at times, just for the company.”
“And what do you think about the other thing?”
“What other – oh, you mean her taking up with the dwarf? Well, that was surprising. But apt. She always had a penchant for deep people like him. I believe they will do very well together. I heard they are planning to make a device that will bring the stars closer to the eye, and the Seekers are all abuzz about it. And something about using lenses to help people with poor eyesight. Diri is a very, very clever man – I mean, dwarf.”
“Yes, he is certainly an asset to us.” Majani caressed the figurine of a black stork on the table beside her. “Do you think they can…?”
Hamûjil shrugged. “Who knows. I guess we will find out. In any case, they’re getting married, did you know that?”
“I didn’t.”
“Vilajin told me. Apparently Jarin is fretting about whether it would be presumptuous of her to invite us.”
“Silly girl! Of course we want to come to her wedding.”
“That’s what I told Vilajin.”
“When is it?”
“Midsummer. They shall have a royal gift.”
“Of course. Leave that to me.”
Towards the end of May, Pallando returned from the West. His news was heartening. Yes, Sauron was indeed vanquished, the Ring destroyed. The story of how it was accomplished could be heard on any street corner in Minas Tirith, the great city of Gondor. Hamûjil and Majani and all the court heard it with astonishment. And the steppe tribes were greatly reduced, and while such loss of life was grievous, at least there would be no threat from them to the settled Krâ. And yes, there was a king again in Gondor, a king of the line of Isildur. Pallando had seen him with his own eyes on the day of his coronation and had left Hamûjil’s letter with the King’s chamberlain.
“And did you see Olórin?” asked Alatar when Pallando came to visit him in the Sacred Cave.
“Yes, I saw him.”
“What did he say?”
“To me? Nothing. I saw him, but I did not speak with him. I drew no attention to myself, like we had agreed. This was his hour of triumph; should I dilute it with a tale from the East that was minor in comparison? I robed myself in grey and kept my hood up. Even if he had sensed my presence, I doubt he would have seen me in the crowd.”
“Perhaps you were wise there,” said Alatar, “but I would have been glad to hear again from one of our order after so long a time.”
“Who says you won’t? I did not spend all my time in Minas Tirith. Mûn and I travelled upriver into Wilderland, where chance or fate brought us together with Aiwendil.”
“Aiwendil! Now there is a surprise. What is his tale?”
“He said he left the affairs of elves and dwarves and men to others, since his duty was to Kementári. He has done much, in ways few will discern, to keep safe the non-speaking creatures of Middle-earth. And it seems most of his work still lies ahead of him – large parts of the Western lands are devastated, and he may toil long before anything will grow again in those places.”
“Ah.” Alatar ran a hand across his smooth head. “I wonder if we can render any assistance with that?”
Pallando shrugged. “You and I? Probably not. However, there are those who could. Aiwendil also bids me to let Fimbrethil know that the Treeherds still reside in their lands of old. He thought that with Sauron gone, perhaps the Treefolk would wish to return. And Aiwendil will tell Fangorn that his lost people live here in the East.”
“It would be a great loss for Kûz if the Treewomen left us.”
“Who’s to say they’d all go? The old women may wish to see their mates again, but the younger ones? I don’t think they have much to tempt them away from the land of their birth.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Alatar. “I hear that some of them have plans to establish a colony in Krâ. Apparently Kemra approached them with an offer of land and they are seriously thinking about it.”
Which was indeed the case, but it had not been Ezen Kemra’s own idea. In fact, several new initiatives in Krandi all went back to the same source, and one day early in June, Erkane found herself bidden to the citadel and asked if she had any other suggestions to make.
Meanwhile in Levare, the Archseraph, who had been spending funds hand over fist since the beginning of March, heard with astonishment from his accountants that with one thing and another (optimistic orders from merchants in Krâ, favourable ore deals with the dwarves expressing their gratitude for Jarin’s warning, gifts of jewels from the Hwenti that seemed a pure whim, and most of all a wide-spread buoyant productivity among the Kûzeen) both the national and his personal coffers showed a slight increase. Then he thought he shouldn’t be surprised, because he had always believed that generosity begets wealth, at least where there is a solid foundation of affluence. And true enough, he found in later years that no matter how much money he gave away, he ended up richer than before.
-oOoOo-
“Come, I’ll show you!” Jarin took Nara by the hand and dragged her, half running, half skipping, away from the house and into the orchard that stretched from the outer town towards the fields and copses. “See, these all belong to our neighbourhood.”
Nigh on a hundred fruit trees stood on the lush grass, interspersed here and there with berry shrubs. Apples, pears, plums and peaches were still little more than tight, green marbles, but Jarin was headed for a large tree that bore fat, black, ripe cherries. The lower branches, however, had been mostly cleared.
“We should have brought a stepladder,” she said.
“Can you climb?”
“Maybe. Give me a leg up, if it pleases you.”
She was, reflected Jarin as she struggled to pull herself up onto the lower branches, not fourteen anymore. A giggle made her look up and there, high up in the tree, sat two children, perhaps eight on nine years old, chewing with bulging cheeks.
“Hey, Jarin,” said one, who lived next door to her father, and expertly spat a cherry stone a couple of inches past Jarin’s ear. “Make sure you don’t break the branch!”
She laughed. “Cheeky imp! You make sure you don’t make yourselves sick.”
The children were right, though, higher up in the tree the branches were looking too slender to take the weight of a grown woman. Jarin pulled a neckerchief from her pocket, knotted it into a pouch that she hung on a sturdy twig, and began to fill it with the fruit she could reach for her perch. Good-naturedly, the children passed her down more cherries from the crown of the tree. When she had collected about two pounds of cherries, she lowered the neckerchief down to Nara.
“These are good,” said Nara after she’d tried a few.
“There’s nothing like it,” replied Jarin. “Not like –” She managed to stop herself before an unflattering comment on Kamenogi cuisine passed her lips. “Not like the preserves and dried fruit we have to eat in the winter.”
Nara nodded. “And not like gorse curd.” She winked at Jarin.
Back by the house, the friends and neighbours were steadily munching their way through the potluck feast that had been put out on long trestle tables in the street. Margig sat near the door of his own house, sipping at a glass of Hwenti wine. Haniven and her family were playing the role of hosts so he and Jarin could relax.
At the far end of the table, looking out towards the orchard, sat Diri with an elderly dwarf who sported a beard of epic proportions, the tip reaching well below his knees. This was Kulim, the uncle who had brought up Diri and Nara. He had spent the last couple of hours being civil and very nearly charming to his Kûzar hosts, even going as far as asking Haniven what special ingredient went into the spicy little cakes that made the rounds. But now he had drawn his nephew down on the bench beside him and spoke with him in the dwarfish tongue.
“Your young woman is a very decent human, and a joy to talk with.”
“Isn’t she just?”
“Oh, I can see why you like her. I like her, too.” He took another bite of spicy cake and chewed thoughtfully for a while. “But, lad, are you absolutely sure?”
“Of course.”
“She will grow old and die long before you.”
“I am aware of that, uncle. I was aware of it before you told me so in your letter, and you bringing it up again now will not change anything.” He sighed. “Yes, I know I will most likely lose Jarin. But that does not stop me from cherishing the years, the decades we do have.”
“And then heartbreak will come.”
“There is no safeguarding against heartbreak, as you well know. Not for Jarin, either, because for all we know, I could drown in the canal or be slain by a falling tree in the next storm.”
“It is easy to speak of these things in theory. It is quite another matter when they actually happen.”
Diri threw up his hands. “So what’s the choice then? To break up and have the heartbreak now – mine and hers? Who would gain anything from that? We didn’t choose to fall in love; it simply happened. Of course we are both aware of the challenges we’ll face, but we’re neither of us short of courage.”
“Well.” Kulim scratched his ear. “It’s your life, lad. I can’t say I might not have made the same choice myself if I were in your shoes.”
Jarin and Nara came running up, laughing and smiling. Nara spilled the last of the cherries on the table in front of her uncle. “Here, try these.”
He picked one up and bit into it gingerly. Jarin, flushed, panting and with stray strands of hair escaping from her braid, clambered onto the bench next to Diri and leaned her head against his.
Well then, thought Kulim.
-oOoOo-
The dragons of Kûz live in a world of their own, connected to Middle-earth by a gossamer thread. Any attempt to describe it is futile, as time, space, gravity, temperature, even colour do not mean quite the same there. The realm of the dragons cannot, in fact, be grasped by the mortal mind. And life flows slowly in the dragon realm, calmly, almost uniformly, with little change and no upsets, as a broad, deep river leisurely drifting untroubled by rocks or wind. Whether the dragons like it that way or are tired at times of the perpetual serenity, nobody knows but themselves.
But this day was different. This day, the dragons of Kûz were going to a wedding! A double wedding at that, for Jarin and Sâlian had decided to share their joyful day. A buzz of festive thrill wafted about as they stood side by side, waiting for the call of their lungi’s flutes.
It was midsummer, the Festival of Trees was celebrated all over Kûz, a popular time for weddings. This wedding, since dragons were present, took place outdoors in the grounds of the Houses. Here on the lawn near the great cedar tree two blocks of seats had been set up facing each other as was the custom, with a wide aisle between them that ran from East to West. The guests, who had been standing and chatting or perambulating under the trees, were ushered to their seats as the time grew near. The Seraphs had insisted on not taking places of honour, which were reserved instead for Nara and Kulim, Margig, Haniven and her family. Behind them sat the lungi and other friends from the Houses, and Bilani, and Alatar with Uilara, and a handful of Diri’s friends from Kamenogi, and other neighbours and friends. Even Ezen Kemra and Ezen Gomru had come. And all around the edges of the rows of seats stood the dragons, manes flowing, scales glittering.
At one o’clock a gong sounded and then the brides entered from the East and the grooms from the West.
Few people had ever seen Jarin in anything but practical clothing. Today, with her reddish-brown hair freed from the usual braid and rippling over her tunic of green and silver silk, she looked almost pretty. Sâlian, in a primrose yellow robe, was a charming counterpart to her crimson-clad groom. But the most splendid of the four was Diri, dwarf of substance, attired with all that the finest skill of his people could produce. His leather jerkin was embossed with knot patterns and dyed in hues of green and gold and pale blue. He wore a belt of hammered silver discs, and a silver brooch of similar design clasped his deep blue hooded cloak at his throat. Silver jewellery adorned his beard and his sleek black hair. And he smiled broadly.
The two couples met in the centre and were greeted by Pallando, whose beard shimmered in the sunshine.
“Jarin and Diri, Sâlian and Li Sun. You have come here today to be joined in front of this community. Is it your earnest desire to enter the state of matrimony?”
“It is,” answered all four.
“And are you fully aware of the duties and responsibilities this entails?”
“We are.”
This to and fro went on for a while, with the guests following more or less attentively, and then each couple was symbolically joined with a silk cord around their wrists. And then there was more talking, most of it from Pallando, and then music, and then it was all finished and everyone told everyone else how lovely it had been, and shook the hands of both the brides and both the grooms, and then they started to look about for food.
“Well, Jarin,” said Wan as they ambled towards the buffet that was set out in front of the House of the Power of Air. “Who would have thought it a year ago?”
“Who would have thought it even four months ago?” she replied. She cast a glance about for her new husband, but he was nowhere to be seen just now. Possibly he was being monopolised by the Archseraph, who seemed to have a keen interest in knowing what Diri might think of next.
“Bilani!” she exclaimed when she saw the old woman slowly making her way across the lawn. “Come, let me find you a seat, and then I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“There is no rush, my dear,” replied the Seer. “I have come to tell you something first. To tell you both.” She peered at them from under her wild hair but said no more.
“Well? What is it?”
“I had a dream.”
Again she fell silent.
“And will you tell us of it?”
“Yes, of course I will. But I feel a little reluctant…lest you think I am making it up. It was a genuine dream.”
Jarin and Wan waited, and eventually she continued.
“I saw you both. Saw you fly. Up very high, and Jarin leaning into your mane, Wan.”
“And was this the past or the future you saw?” asked Wan.
“Who knows? It was a dream. But I am the Seer. Make of that what you will.”
-oOoOo-
The day after the wedding, Majani contemplated the porcelain bird on her palm. It was a skytail, readily recognisable though not quite as delicate as her other figurines. Ezen Kemra had given it to her, partly as a polite gift and partly as proof that the Krâ were working very seriously on their new skill. She stroked its head with her fingertip and put it on the shelf.
An attendant entered and said that the Archseraph requested the presence of the Seraphine and of Miriel. The women made their way to the Archseraph’s chambers, where they found Hamûjil with Alatar and Pallando.
“I have brought the palantír,” said the Guardian and gestured to a table, where a silk cloth covered a round object. “Pallando and I saw something yesterday that gladdened our hearts, and we wish to share it with you. It will particularly delight you, Miriel, I believe.”
“If it happened yesterday, how can we see it today?”
“I have learned over the last few months how to steer the stone a little. Moving one day into the past is not very difficult. Come, sit.”
“Is it safe?”
“It will be safe enough for now.”
They sat down at the table and Pallando lifted the cloth. Alatar touched the stone gingerly and soon they saw images appearing.
“It’s Minas Tirith!” cried Miriel. “I can see the citadel…and…is that…?”
“It is the new king,” said Pallando. “And wait a moment…there now. See? Midsummer is a time for weddings not only in Kûz.”
They watched the image of an impossibly beautiful woman joining the king.
“The bride, we think, is the daughter of Elrond Half-elven,” explained Alatar. “You see him there, in the green robe. And there, see, to the left there, is Olórin.”
“I can see the little people!” said Majani. “Four of them. Which one is it…?”
“The one with the cleft chin. See how his hand is bandaged up?”
“Oh, yes. Hard to believe what he did!”
Afterwards, they sat with wine glasses in their hands on a balcony overlooking the gardens. The sun was setting in the West.
“So, Hamûjil,” said Pallando, “the king of Gondor is crowned and wed. Many worked to make this possible, and you were one of them, though this was not your main concern.”
“He looks honourable,” said Hamûjil, “and kind. I wish him well.”
“If he is half as good a ruler as you are, Gondor will flourish. Oh, these cherries are good!”
Hamûjil gently shook his head as if to shrug off undue praise. “Ruling Kûz is easy,” he said. “Most of the work has been done by those who came before me. I only keep us on the path. This Elessar has a much harder task ahead. His country is bruised by battle, his people are grieving for those they have lost. And what of their harvest, and their industries? So much destruction! I wish I could do something to help.”
“He will prevail,” said Alatar.
“Yes, I believe so.” Hamûjil wrapped his arm around Majani and took a deep sip from his glass. “And perhaps one day I will see him face to face.”
So, gentle readers, we have come to the end. It’s been a fun ride for me, and hopefully for you too. Did anyone notice my little joke that Jarin’s best friend is called Sally-Anne? And that every chapter had a fruit in it? Thanks to Thranduil Oropherion Redux for supporting me all the way through this project. He was suggesting there could be a sequel, and of course there could be, though I don’t quite see it at the moment. But if a plot bunny should present itself, I’m going to write it!