Night was falling and the Entelláka bearers of Ingos were still coming down into the foothills of the Dagnath Nebren. Then they began to be greatly concerned. They did not fear for themselves, but they feared that some attempt would be made to steal away the body of Ingos, or do some worse thing to it, or to put upon them some casting of a rune to scatter or confuse them in the darkness.
As darkness deepened, Rákarei Zorthinen, flying above the Entellári, saw a hillside full of lighted doorways and windows. Without doubt, this was a settlement of the Kabdath. They were now crossing the most southerly part of the Karún Kabdath and did not know that any of the Kabadri lived so far from their northerly kin. And, being situated but a day’s journey from the gates of Kapgar Kûm, would they be servants of Negobith? But it was their only hope of a haven for the night.
With the help of Rákarei, the four Entelláka maidens, still bearing their burden, found a by-path leading from the giants’ road toward the hillside. The path entered a thick and murky wood. By now the leaves were gone but the dark gathered all about the trunks and boughs of the trees. As they began to follow the path, the few stars that could be dimly seen seemed to be extinguished and a mist arose from the trees on either side, a thick, cold, clammy mist, which hid everything that lay more than a few steps in front of them.
There was no need for anyone of them to say Vangu ta-Hyífra. They could all feel the hidden malice. Soon the voices began: whispering, wailing, hissing, murmuring; chattering, clicking, hooting, cackling. Then among this, chanting, on one note, words and syllables endlessly repeated. Often the one word they all recognized: Mikhan-dâ, Night.
None of this had power to overcome the spirits of the Entellári. Walking in the Midworld, their hearts are always running in the shining fields and by the living waters of Féor Êlesti. But as they resolutely pressed on, they found that the path had suddenly come to an end at the edge of a great mire. They might have stumbled in, save that over it amid the swirling mists there were little dancing, flickering lights, that showed up for brief moments the reeds and dark shining pools. They stood perplexed, with aching shoulders, not daring to lay down their precious burden in such a hostile place.
Rákarei! Rákarei! Are you there? Can you come and find us?
We have lost the right path to Kabadka stronghold!
They called. But mocking voices echoed back
Káka ráka! Káka ráka! Mikhan-dâ! Mikhan-dâ!
Wearily they turned to face the way they had come, hoping to find the place where they were turned out of the road by the Sheefra-mist. And so, each of them changing places so as to bear the burden on her other shoulder, they began to walk back. And all the time the dank mist swirled about their steps and the voices chanted.
They began to feel sleepy — they, champions of the Entellári, who scarcely sleep, and watch while mortals slumber. It was against nature, a casting of the Sheefra. One and then another of them began to stumble. They halted again. And as they sought in their minds for what to do, they caught sight of a gleam of light piercing the mists. It was a warm, golden light, such as the lamps of the Kabadri cast, and hope rose in their hearts.
Kúvë lonkwe ta-Kabdath ! Sovulder ni-vai Kabadri! ‘The golden lamps of the Kabdath! The Kabadri have come for us!’
Mirutháli exclaimed. Then they saw quite clearly a number of cloaked figures approaching, each carrying a staff with a bright golden lantern fixed to its top. The light itself seemed to drive away the mist. The five Kabadri stopped and bowed low. Their leader spoke.
‘Honoured Entelláka maidens, we lowly Kabadri greet you. We were sent to find you by the Lord Rákarei Zorthinen, who reached our dwellings on the wing but an hour past. We come from the humble settlement of Figrû Vomaddi, and you were nigh to our gates when the Vanka Netári (may they be accursed) waylaid you. My name is Kimenarthon and I and my fellows will bring you swiftly to our halls.’
Just as Kimenarthon had assured them, it was a short journey from the mire, along a path that wound steeply uphill, to the stout stone walls of Figrû Vomaddi. As they entered the gates, they marvelled at the fine stonework and well-tended pavements that they saw in the light of the Kabadka lamps.
They became aware of a great throng of Kabadri, many bearing the same golden lamps which cast their glow all about them, lining their path; and as they passed, bearing the body of Ingos, all bowed their heads, while some knelt. They bore Ingos to the place of tombs and laid him to rest there for the night. After that, they were brought to the great hall of Figrû Vomaddi, and on its steps, before they entered, they were reunited with Rákarei. He told them that he would return to the mountains of Zorthin to bring news to the north country of the Dolorous Stroke that had fallen upon the beloved Ingos. And, he pointed out, their path would soon take them back into the Berugwanna, the Green Regions, where of old their own people had dwelt, cherishing and rejoicing in the trees and plants and the very earth itself. He did not think that Negobith’s servants were yet able to trouble any traveller in those parts.
Then the four Entelláka maidens entered the great hall and dined quickly and simply with Kimenarthon. Afterwards he brought them out to conduct them to chambers where they might rest. But as they passed by the walls of Figrû Vomaddi, they heard once more the moaning and shrieking of voices from outside. The night was full of hollow chanting and high-pitched laughter, and again Mikhan-dâ, Mikhan-dâ, was heard over and over. The few Kabadri that were still about in the pathways of the town went bent over with hoods drawn down over their heads and their hands pressed to their ears. The Lady Safataiwë asked:
Friend Kimenarthon, tell us ~ does this happen often?
Is your town assailed ~ nightly by these noises?
Can nothing keep you all ~ from this hateful chanting?
Then Kimenarthon stopped and stood looking sadly from one to the other of the Entellári.
‘Yes, O esteemed Entellári. Since the Sheefra-mist was first seen ascending from Hogunoth, maybe a month ago — and it has hardly ever been seen here before, even in the valleys and low places of the Karún Kabdath — they have come nightly. All through the night the sounds go on. It has made some of our folk run mad and leave the safety of the walls — and they have not returned. And even a few of our wise people thought that they might go to Kapgar Kûm and make peace with the Kúmi Netári. One of them came back to us, branded with the Yoke of Negobith, and told us that if we would all accept the Yoke, we should be at peace again. He would not stay, but returned to his new master, who now knows that we will never accept that Yoke. They can do naught by day, but by night their power over our hearts is fearful.’
Mirutháli replied:
Then O brave Kabadri ~ when you came to find us
You put yourselves in danger ~ greater than our own was!
For this we greatly thank you ~ and will give you gifts to help you.
And Kimenarthon said:
‘Whatever your gifts may be, there can be no greater gift, O Entelláka maidens, than your staying with us and lodging the Lord Ingos in our lowly town for the night. And we beg that you will allow us the privilege of providing for you a wain and oxen to convey with more ease the body of the greatest of the Hyûvandri wherever you are taking him, whether to the South country or to your own lands.’
With heartfelt expressions of thanks, the Entellári now retired to the lodging provided for them. And when they were ready, they brought forth again some pieces of the precious heartwood Mánagil ta-Hyúvas and the golden bowl Kúveronda. And they began softly to chant a rune over the wood, and placing it in the bowl, they made fire arise from within the Mánagil. It began to glow softly and send out a vapour, but it was not consumed. And so they watched over it until the dawn.
That night the folk of Figrû Vomaddi marvelled and rejoiced, for the sounds of the Sheefra died away and were silent.
In the morning, when the Entelláka maidens were preparing to leave, and the body of Ingos had been placed with honour on the wain of the Vomaddi, Mirutháli said to the assembled Kabadri:
Receive from us, Kabadri, these portions of the heartwood
Of a tree the like of which grows not in the Midworld.
Its name is Mánagil ta-Hyúvas in the healing lore of old.
It has the power to drive away both Sheefra and Netári.
It needs no fire to light it, for it heeds the words of kindling:
Gaful-â gaful-â, fringîn é-nor ilmaduz:
O Blaze, O blaze, to aid us in our neediness.
And when the need is past, the quenching words run so:
Aragaful-denn, pargûnaë runûgeras:
Be quenched; blessed be those who do us good.
And Kimenarthon received them with joy and gratitude; and ever afterwards they were known as the Brands of Kimenarthon.
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