by Eglerio Hyn
“This can’t be the way.” Frodo whispered, not
that it mattered, only Sam and his breathing could be heard quick and
fearful in the dreadful stillness of the tunnel.
Their hands felt along the left opening, but it was blocked.
“Right or wrong, we must take the other.”
A strange foreboding seeped into Frodo’s
heart, a strange chill that seemed to tell of coming death. Shaking off
the feeling, he blinked away the dryness in his eyes and walked
foreword with Sam by his side.
“Quickly!” Sam panted, “there’s something worse
than Gollum about. I can feel something looking at us.”
Their feet stumbled quickly a few yards into
the deathly darkness before behind them came a sound terrifying,
horrible in the heavy silence. A gurgling, bubbling noise than a long
venomous hiss. Fingers of fear clenched tightly onto the two hobbits as
they whirled around, hoping their eyes would, yet wouldn’t, see what
they couldn’t imagine. There was darkness, and Frodo and Sam stood
there like stones waiting for what they didn’t know.
“It’s a trap!” cried Sam, his hand going to
the hilt of his sword, and his thoughts fleeing to Tom Bombadil for a
swift second. Then darkness and despair gripped his heart, but even in
the blackness, a light, shining with hues of every beautiful color
lanced into his mind. He remembered a beautiful, shining face with kind
eyes and a smile like sweet honey. She was standing upon bright green
grass that seemed fantasy in this barren place. In her slender fingers
were held a glass, a shining glass. Her voice he heard, “And you,
Ring-bearer…for you I have prepared this.”
The bubbling hiss dew nearer, and creaking of
ancient joints as the figure of terror drew closer.
“Master! Master!” cried Sam, life and urgency
flooding into his voice.
“The Lady’s gift! The star glass! A light to you
in dark places, she said it would be. The star glass!”
“The star glass?” whispered Frodo, as if being
awoken from a deep sleep, their mind a haze of dreams and reality.
“Why yes! Why has I forgotten it? A light when
all other lights go out! And now indeed light alone can help us.”
Slowly, his dirt crusted fingers reached past
the tempting Ring to where the beautiful glass was placed near his
heart. Pulling the phial out, he lifted it high. For a moment it
glimmered, faintly, but it’s power grew slowly until it kindled to a
silver flame. Hope sprung in Frodo’s heart, as the light cut away the
darkness as if Earendil himself come down from the high sunset paths
with the last Simaril upon his brow.
His hand sparkled with white fire, as his
eyes gazed in wonder at this magnificent gift…it was beautiful, a
worthy and wonderful gift from the Lady. He wondered why he had not
thought of it before, almost forgotten completely.
Elenion Ancalima!” he cried,
and knew not what he had spoken, for it seemed another voice has spoken
through his. One untainted by the foul air of this pit.
She who walked in darkness did not heed or
care what this creature cried. He was her prey, and she would catch
him. No one had escaped her lair, and a mistake would not begin today.
Frodo even as he spoke the beautiful words, felt
a great malice bent upon him, that someone wanted to kill him.
Not far down the tunnel, between them and
the opening. He was aware of eyes growing visible, two great clusters
of many windowed eyes Monstrous and abominable eyes they were, filled
with purpose and hideous delight. Gloating, rejoicing over their prey
trapped without any hope of escape to freedom.
Frodo and Sam horror stricken at the
approaching evil, backed away their eyes unable to be torn from the
ever nearer murderous eyes of Shelob.
Frodo’s hand wavered, and slowly the Phial
dropped, and without the light to see the terrible eyes they ran the
spell broken…their small feet trying desperately to carry them away
from the evil following them. Frodo looked back and saw with terror the
eyes leaping behind. The stench of death was like a cloud about him,
choking the life out of him.
“Stand! Stand!” he cried desperately. “Running is
Slowly the eyes crept nearer.
“Galadriel!” he called and gathering his
courage lifted the Phial once more. The eyes halted. Doubt troubled
them briefly. Then Frodo’s heart flamed within him and without thought
to what he was doing, he took the phial in his left hadn, and with his
right drew his word.
Sting flashed out, and the sharp elven
blade sparkled in the silver light. A its edges a blue light flickered,
burning away the darkness.
He held the star aloft and the bright
sword advanced. Frodo walked steadily to meet the eyes. Many thoughts
tumbled through his head, would he die in this moment? A flash of pain
then blessed forever darkness? What would happen to Sam if he died?
What of the Ring? The world? His courage drove him on, his blue eyes
almost as vibrant as the sword he held firmly in his hand.
The eyes wavered, doubt came in as the
light approached. On eby one they dimmed and slowly they drew back. No
brightness so deadly had ever afflicted them before. From sun and moon
they had been safe…now this terrible brightness, that brought such
searing pain to the evil eyes. Still Frodo walked forward, and soon the
eyes all went dark and they turned away. Some great bulk, beyond the
lights reach, heaved away. The eyes were gone and so was She.