Кирилл Еськов: The Last Ringbearer

Yes, it was time. Haladdin untied the sack, pushed apart its stiff silver-embroidered sides and took the heavy crystal ball in his hands, looking for the orange sparks in its pale opalescent depths.

Here in Amon Súl the distant palantír at Orodruin was reflected as a large soap bubble some six feet in diameter. They could plainly see the unknown man turn the crystal around in his hands – huge images of hands moved around the surface of the ball, large and clear enough to read the palm lines.

“What’s happening, Gandalf? Explain!” The wizard in the blue cloak could remain silent no longer.

“Nothing. That’s the problem: nothing is happening.” Gandalf’s words had an even and lifeless quality. “My spell hasn’t worked. I don’t understand why.”

“Then it’s all over?”

“Yes. It is.” Silence reigned; everyone seemed to be listening to the sound of the last grains of sand streaming down the hourglass of their lives.

“Did you have a good time playing?” The voice that broke the silence was mocking, but still as beguiling as ever. “’History will vindicate me,’ eh?”

“Saruman?!”

The former head of the White Council was already heading into the hall with his firm wide stride, waiting for no permission or invitation, and everyone immediately felt that the term ‘former’ was absolutely inappropriate.

He looked intently at the rays of light emanating from the palantír. “Vakalabath’s prophecy, isn’t it, Radagast?” He addressed the forest wizard to the exclusion of all the other Council members. “Aha… this ray leads to Orodruin?”

“They want to destroy the Mirror,” a slightly revived Gandalf put in.

“Shut up,” Saruman told him without looking at him, and thrust his suddenly stone chin at the Lórien ray, which had just dimmed again: “There’s your Mirror – enjoy the sight, wannabe demiurge…”

“Can we help you, Saruman?” Radagast said soothingly, trying to mend bridges. “All our magic…”

“Yes, you can, by getting out of here immediately. Stick all your magic up your butts: haven’t you understood yet that the man on Orodruin is absolutely immune to magic? I will try reasoning with him logically, perhaps that will work… Move!” he yelled at the Council members milling uncertainly at the doors. “Get the hell out, I said! This place is going to blow so high, you’ll be collecting your balls for weeks!”

Paying no further attention to the quickly departing White wizards, he handled the palantír

to put it into ‘send-receive’ mode and called softly: “Haladdin! Doctor Haladdin, can you hear me? Please respond.”

A few excruciatingly long seconds passed before a surprised voice sounded from the depths of the palantír : “I hear you! Who’s calling me?”

“I could have introduced myself as a nazgúl and you would have never known the lie, but I will not. I am Saruman, head of the White Council.”

“The former head…”

“No, present.” Saruman glanced over his shoulder at the white cloak abandoned by Gandalf in his haste lest the thing catch on something as he careened down the stairs. “For about three minutes already.” For a few seconds the palantír was silent.

“How do you know my name, Saruman?”

“There aren’t that many people in Middle Earth who are absolutely closed to magic. It stands to reason that the Nazgúl would pick one such to implement Vakalabath’s prophecy…”

“Pardon me?”

“There’s an obscure ancient prophecy saying that one not-so-wonderful day ‘magic will depart Middle Earth with the palantíri .’ The date of this event is encoded in a complicated manner; we have been combining the numbers in that prophecy and expecting this event at several dates, but so far it has not happened. Today is one of those days, and as I understand it, the Nazgúl have decided to use Vakalabath to destroy the palantíri and the Mirror – ‘the World is Text…’ You will now drop your palantír into Orodruin, the palantír in Lórien will burn the Mirror with Eternal Fire, and the magical world of Arda will perish forever.”

“Why would it perish?” the palantír asked after a second.

“Ah, I see. Apparently, you have dealt with Sharya-Rana, correct?”

“Why would you think so?” There was a hint of surprise in Haladdin’s voice.

“Because that is his theory of Arda’s make-up: two worlds, a ‘physical’ one and a ‘magical’ one, joined through the Mirror. The Elves, having crossed from the other world into this one, will unavoidably undermine its very existence with their magic, so the Mirror should be destroyed in order to isolate those worlds to their mutual benefit. Close enough?”

“Do you mean to say that it’s all a lie?” Haladdin responded coldly.

“Not at all! It is one of the theories of the World’s structure, but no more than that. Sharya- Rana, whom I respect greatly, held this theory, but to act in accordance with it…”

“What do the other theories say? Please tell me, esteemed Saruman; we still have time. When it’s time for me to drop the palantír into Orodruin, I’ll give you warning.”

“You are very gracious, Haladdin, thank you. Very well – the mainstream opinion is that the ‘physical’ and ‘magical’ worlds are indeed separate and the Mirror and the palantíri did indeed originate in the magical one, but they are not here, in the physical world, by chance. Those crystals constitute the very foundation of that other world’s existence, like that fairy- tale needle – remember, the one hidden in an egg which is hidden in a duck which is hidden in a hare which is hidden in a chest? By destroying the Mirror with the palantíri you will simply destroy the entire magical world. The irony is that they have been placed in this non- magical world precisely for safekeeping, just like the chest in the fairy tale. Of course, you might say that these are that other magical world’s problems for which you care not. I have to disappoint you – the worlds are symmetrical.” “You mean to say,” Haladdin spoke slowly, “that there’s something which is the basis of our world’s existence that’s been placed for safekeeping in that other, magical world? Our own needle in an egg and so forth?”

“Precisely. By destroying the other world you will doom ours. Sometimes twins are born conjoined; obviously, if one kills the other, he, too, will soon die of blood poisoning. When you drop the palantír into Orodruin’s maw, the other world will perish instantly, while this one will start dying a long and painful death. Nobody knows how long this dying will last – a minute, a year, a century – would you like to find out?”

“That’s if you’re right and Sharya-Rana is wrong.”

“Certainly. Have you decided to find out experimentally which theory is correct? A radical experiment, as they call it in your circles?”

The palantír was silent – Haladdin was at a loss for words.

“Listen, Haladdin,” Saruman continued with apparent curiosity, “have you really started all this to put the Elves in their place? Aren’t you overestimating their importance?”

“Something like this is better to overdo.”

“Then you do believe that the Elves are about to control the entire Middle Earth? My dear doctor, this is bizarre! Whatever the Elves’ capabilities are – and they are greatly exaggerated by rumor, believe me – there’s only about fifteen thousand of them, perhaps twenty thousand, in the entire Middle Earth. Think about it – a few thousand, and there will be no more; while there are millions of Men, and their numbers keep growing. Believe me that Men are already strong enough not to be afraid of Elves; this is some kind of an inferiority complex on your part!..”