The End of Times. - 4. Stormy Seas.

History told the tale of the fish dragons, monstrous winged amphibian serpents. It was said that they came out of the sea and ventured up the River Greyflood. But that was the other side of the Misty Mountains. If such creatures existed they were not to be found here, in the Sea of Rhûn. They most likely were no more than a story told to frighten children from going too close to the water. What exists and what does not, is not always known to man. Eönwë knew of those sentient beings, and he would use them if he could. In the service of their quest.

The two boys, Mario and Aaron were despatched back to their villages with Eldon's apprentice Rohan. Before they left they gave a detailed account of their journey, the three young Berbers, and the location of their camp outside the village. Aerandir and Círdan were all for storming the Berber camp and freeing the rest of the boys. Eldon was a little more cautious, but agreed that with the aid of Eönwë they outnumbered their adversaries and thus had a good chance of success. Although he readily admitted he was a scribe and not trained in the art of hand to hand combat.

Eönwë sat all three down around the little wooden table in the room he had taken above the tavern. A small fire burned in the grate of the corner fireplace. The shutters were closed on the only window, keeping in the warmth and keeping out the night. An oil lamp glowed in the centre of the table, casting eerie shadows across their faces. They listened intently as Eönwë explained.

“You came here to free the boys taken from your villages, but in so doing you have now become part of another history. One which started many centuries ago. Amongst those four boys, still captive, is Ruindolon. Descended from the Children of Ilúvatar, the finest and wisest of Elven races. He has lived amongst your people unremarked for his noble ancestry, but now the moment has come.”

Eönwë stood and moved to the tiny fireplace. The flames cast more strange shadows around him. All three men had their heads turned in his direction.

“There exists in this world a ring of fire encased in a crystal stone. Set high up in a tower that lies many leagues across an endless desert, in a city called Assakia. Eamar, who serves customers at this tavern was once a slave in that city.”

Eldon was gripped by the story Eönwë was telling them. Aerandir and Círdan were questioning how they had become involved in this. It was true that the stranger had greatly helped them, but did that mean they owed him in return?

“The races of men are doomed to death, but seek the immortality of the elves. They seek power, and are bound to fight each other in that struggle. There is both goodness and bad in men, it is the goodness to which I am appealing.”

Aerandir looked at Círdan, they both knew these words were true. Goodness had triumphed, and peace reigned for many years in their land.

“A force of evil is building in the far distant east. Even the people who live there do not realise how it is creeping into their lives and taking them over. The Tower of Assakia is a beacon to guide the caravans across the desert. The Book of Islands holds the secrets of the desert. Without both it is impossible to find your way, and cross the desert. There is an army building in the far east, an evil army. It will cross the desert and everything since will be as nothing compared to the force that will sweep through the lands.”

Eönwë paced around the table. He was tired, just being here was a drain on his energy and power.

“How can we three do anything against the force you describe?” Círdan found it incredible that the stranger would want them in his service.

“We have our own mission.” Aerandir looked directly at Eönwë. “It is not our business, what you talk of.”

Eldon held up his hand. “I think it is, young sirs. I have read many books and many histories. I believe you must listen to Eönwë.”

Thus they continued talking through the night and into the early hours of the next day. No one slept that night, but certain things were decided. They would follow the slavers across the sea, free the boys and retrieve the book which Eönwë told them was held by Rasheeq.

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“We embark in the morning,” Rasheeq told them. “The ship leaves before noon. On the early tide.”

“At last. I hate this place.” Hamdi was content that finally they were heading home.

Naaji was more resigned to how things were. They had been travelling for many months, he did not look forward to a few days on a boat, nor the long journey still ahead of them. He also wondered where those who were pursuing them were hidden, because surely they must have arrived?

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Captain Shaco was eager to leave, Talmar was a port of call that was very familiar, but he didn't care much for the place. Yet still it was good business on occasions like this, when he had picked up paying passengers. It wasn’t the first time they would have slaves onboard. He had no concern in that respect. For the other passengers things were different. There was something strange about that one old man, something which made him feel wary. Still he would not refuse passage to those with the coin to pay for it.

“Tristen! Get the passengers below, put those slave boys in the hold.”

“Go with him,” Rasheeq glanced over at Naaji and Hamdi. “Make sure they're secure down there.”

He turned his attention back to the other passengers who had just arrived. From what he could see it was an old scribe, another older man and two youngsters. For a moment he wondered what they were doing, but he dismissed their business as no concern of his. He did not recognise Eönwë from their meeting in the tavern.

This was not a large boat: it had a crew of eight, four cabins, double masts, one central, one aft, two lantern sails. It best resembled a caravel, fast and well suited to sailing windward, its narrow draft meant it could easily navigate the Celduin. The cargo was anything trading east to west, but most often was that sweet fruit called tiyni. The sky was overcast. Outside the harbour and along the beach the waves, although not big, were toped with white foaming crests.

“There is only the one cabin for you,” Captain Shaco told Eönwë, repeating the same thing he had said to Rasheeq.

Eönwë nodded.

The crew were making ready to cast off. They were the last to arrive.

“Are you sure they’re onboard?” Aerandir spoke in a hushed voice.

Eönwë gestured with a flick of his eyes, and Aerandir saw the Arab on the stern deck just before he disappeared below.

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That first night onboard would be the start of things that could never be undone. For better or for worse, once the path was taken the only course remaining open was to follow it to the end. As the well known saying goes, ‘There would be no turning back.’

Their cabin was tiny, two wooden bunks and two hammocks. Aerandir and Círdan left the bunks for Eönwë and Eldon. The sea was choppy and the small ship heaved and bounced, but no one was as yet suffering the mal de mer. The darkness crept into the cabin along with the damp. You could taste the salt in the air, and opening the tiny wooden door you felt the spray on your skin.

The two youngsters sat cross legged on the floor. Eldon was crouched over on the bottom bunk sitting next to Eönwë. He told them to be still. To watch, but not move. Eönwë retrieved two candles which he carefully lit by raising the glass of the oil lamp and touching wick to wick. Moving carefully he let fall a few droplets of wax from one of the candles onto the wooden floor. He repeated the same actions for the second. Waving his hand he motioned Eldon to join him on the deck floor. The four sat in facing pairs with the two candles flickering between them. Eönwë reached over and extinguished the oil lamp. For a moment the only sound was that of creaking boat, the sea, and wind. Eönwë reached deep into his robe and withdrew a knurled and twisted baton.

As the ship rocked and bounced through the waves, he struck the deck twice with the base of the baton. Clack! Clack! Sounded like a loud knock on a door. He lowered his head and started what sounded to Eldon like a chant, but more musical. Like singing, but the words were unintelligible. Círdan glanced at Aerandir, but said nothing. Like the rain clouds before the storm, it seemed that the cabin grew darker. At the same time the candles appeared to glow and the flames flared. Eönwë looked up, still recanting strange words in a sing song almost poetic voice. He stopped. Clapped his hands and spoke in the language of men.

“I have the key, I have the power,
The gates shall open at the seventh hour,
A dragon shall rise, and be my friend,
We shall both live until the end.”

Everything was still. The candles flickering cast shadows in strange circles that wrapped around the room. What was odd was the stillness. It seemed they were no longer moving. Eönwë once more had his head lowered. Once more unknown words slipped quietly from his lips in that sing song chant. The candles flared and went out. Thunder cracked through the sky somewhere outside and the ship heaved and crashed. Suddenly the sound of the waves was bursting around them. The only light was the flash of lightning. Aerandir felt a coldness cross his skin and he shivered involuntarily. Círdan reached for the lamp in the dark as the ship rolled heavily from one side to the other. There was a shout from outside, but the words were lost in the noise of the storm. Eldon turned to move towards the door.

The boat felt like it was launched into the air and then came smashing down with a cracking and breaking of wood. They were flung backwards and tossed around like rag dolls from side to side. The tiny cabin door flew open. Aerandir saw the central mast, illuminated by the lightning, fall down across the deck. They lurched to one side. Could not stand, but only try to crawl towards the open door. The cabin flooded with the cold sea water. The ship was on its side and sinking.

“Get out! Get out!”

The last thing he saw, he was sure he imagined. A creature so large it was the size of the ship. In an instant it disappeared and he was in the water swimming.

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Tristan could not leave the slave boys to drown. He had tied them up and he alone must save them. The ship was a wreck, split almost in half and taking on water rapidly. He flung open the small hatch and crawled down into the hold. Water poured down after him. The boat lurched, the sound of wood cracking contrasted with the booming thunder. Lightning shot shards of light in weird arrow shapes. He glimpsed the terrified eyes of one of the boys, before he fell into the side of the hold. Propelled by a sudden rolling of the ship, he lost his grip. Now he was submerged in the water which was rapidly filling the dark belly of the vessel. He fought to grab the rope that tied the boys to each other and to the large round base of the broken mast. Ruindolon was watching, preparing himself to act. But his first thoughts were to saving the other three boys. Still he tensed when he caught a glimpse of the blade of Tristan’s knife. They locked eyes for a second. Then as the boat heaved once more, the blade fell cutting clean through the rope. Tristan moved around freeing Ruindolon first, then together they untied the others.

They were now up to their chests in cold sea water. “Follow me up!” Tristan led the way back through the hatch. “Can you swim?” He was looking at Ruindolon, but asking them all. Jasper nodded, turned to Ruindolon and jumped from the deck. Ash and Sven followed, and Ruindolon was next. Tristan looked around, but could see nothing in the black of the night although he caught a glimpse of something disappearing below the waves. He too jumped into the cold water. Then they were all desperately swimming away, trying to avoid being sucked under by the sinking ship.

One of the masts had broken in two and a large part of it was floating free from the ship. They each in turn managed to grab a hold. Jasper helped Sven. Ruindolon grabbed a hold of Ash who had almost gone under. It was slippery and difficult to grip. They could not stay like this for long. Tristan knew they were not far from the island, but exactly how far? He thought he heard the waves hitting the rocks, but maybe it was his imagination.

“We... have to... swim for the... shore,” he manage to turn his head towards Jasper and get the words out. Then he let go of the mast and started swimming, in what he hoped was the right direction. He didn't recall the time passing, only dragging himself and the others up onto the rocks and falling onto the sandy floor beyond.

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There was an earie calm when the first light broke the darkness. Waves crashed against a rocky shore. Standing, he peered over the rocks and out to sea. The storm had passed. “Are you okay?”

Ruindolon smiled, “Yes. Thank you. We are.” Tristan turned back and looked up at the giant cliffs behind them. What now? he wondered.