Gwaith i Innas Lain: Quenta Ando Rauco 2/4
Ugh, sorry for the delay, folks... it's been one of those days all week. :P
Previous
Chapter 2
Rendezvous with Destiny
Maglor had to give the Secondborn credit for one thing: when speed was vital, they could find ways of achieving it. The advent of steam engines that could travel as far in an hour as most horses could travel in a day had amazed him, but even that was too slow for Men in these times, now that the automobile had replaced the horse as the preferred mode of conveyance for most people. And on this occasion, haste was definitely needed. The journey to Cold Oak ought to have taken close to five hours at the speed limit, but the Impala was a powerfully-built car, and with Dean keeping the gas pedal pressed to the floor, they covered most of the distance in just over two hours. And Sam had made good use of the time by reloading his gun and Dean’s shotgun with regular ammunition rather than the specialized rounds they used for hunting monsters. Maglor, too, had armed himself, removing his sword from its hiding place in the back of his guitar case.
Sometime after 3 a.m., just as Dean announced that they’d be there in ten minutes, Maglor became aware of Andy attempting to reach out to him again, though without the palantír the connection was tentative at best. He immediately reactivated the stone.
Andy?
Andy was clearly too panicked to articulate his thoughts via mind-speech; what Maglor got first was a series of flashing images-the inside of a smithy, the doors and windows all fitted and barred with iron, and a double line of iron filings and rock salt along the walls. He barely had time to send his approval before the image shifted to Andy’s view from the window of a dark-skinned soldier speaking with two panicked women. Just as the discussion began to get heated, a child’s unearthly laughter echoed through the buildings. One woman feigned a headache while the other walked out of sight, presumably in an attempt to leave the town, but moments later her screams mingled with the child’s laughter.
Acheri demon, Maglor realized and sensed Andy filing the information away.
Then the scene shifted again to what Maglor quickly discovered was a dreamscape in which something that looked like a Man with yellow eyes and a feral grin was speaking with Andy. The words it spoke befitted a servant of the Enemy, but their sentiment was familiar... it had said the same things to Sam just a few hours earlier.
The scene ended, and the palantír resumed its usual function, showing Maglor Andy’s worried face rather than his anxious thoughts. Maglor took a deep breath and let it out again. Are you armed, Andy?
Andy glanced around. I’ve got a poker and an old gun that probably doesn’t shoot anymore. It was behind the forge.
Good. The poker will drive off the demon should it somehow get inside. If either of the other humans attacks you and the gun will not shoot, use the poker against them as well. But do not seek them out; remain hidden as best you can. We will be there shortly.
Andy nodded. How soon is “shortly”?
Ten minutes, perhaps fifteen if we must hike any distance.
Andy blew the air out of his cheeks. Fifteen. Okay, I... I think I can hold out that long. Thanks, Maglor.
Maglor disengaged the stone and told Sam and Dean what he had learned.
Sam frowned and reached for something in the floorboard beneath his feet. “Those women... did either of them look like this?” he asked, handing Maglor a piece of paper bearing a photo with the words “Missing: Ava Wilson” underneath.
Maglor studied the photo for a moment. “Yes. She was the one who feigned a headache.”
“Feigned?” Dean asked Sam.
“Faked,” Sam explained.
“Right. Too long since I had Shakespeare.”
“You’re sure it was a fake headache, though, Maglor?”
Maglor nodded. “It might have convinced the soldier, but it takes a great deal more skill to deceive me. And the headache came too close to the demon’s laughter to be coincidence. I fear she has fallen into sorcery.”
Sam’s face fell. “Controlling the demon, you mean.”
“Yes. Was she a friend of yours?”
“I... I’d hoped so. But then she disappeared five months ago. If she’s been in Cold Oak all this time....”
“There’s a good chance she’s gone darkside,” Dean concluded. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”
Sam’s jaw worked for a moment. “Andy... Andy’s okay, though, right?”
“Yes, Sam,” Maglor replied. “I sense no worse about him than I do about you, save perhaps his choice of intoxicants.”
Dean frowned. “Whoa, wait. What do you mean, ‘no worse’? What’s wrong with Sam?”
Maglor sighed. “I cannot explain it precisely in English. But it is said of Túrin Turambar that Glaurung, father of dragons, laid upon him a spell to deceive him and to prevent him from saving those whom he loved. What I sense... it feels a great deal like dragon-spell.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped.
“Sammy?” Dean prompted.
“Yellow-Eyes showed me in the vision. He... he did something to me, Dean, the night of the fire. Some kind of blood magic. I don’t... he showed me, but it didn’t make sense. And then Mom walked in and saw him.”
Dean cursed under his breath and tried to coax a final burst of speed from the Impala. Sam looked like he wanted to turn into a turtle and hide. Maglor briefly regretted having said anything... until he remembered a key piece of lore.
“I have not dealt with many dragons,” he began carefully, “and the ones I did face are now dead. Moreover, I know that dragon-hoards are notoriously difficult to disenchant. But I believe that the power of a dragon-spell upon a Man, if it be not lifted sooner, is broken when the dragon dies.”
Both Winchesters brightened at that.
“So all we gotta do is kill Yellow-Eyes,” Dean remarked, slowing down just enough to take the turn onto the dirt road leading to Cold Oak. “Which is exactly what we were planning to do anyway.”
“Dean, the Colt-”
“We’ll get it back, Sammy, one way or another. Or hey, maybe Maglor can make us a better one.”
“A better what?” Maglor frowned, confused.
“It’s a gun,” Sam said.
But Maglor heard no more than that-his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by MAGLOR! HURRY!!
“Noro lim!” cried Maglor, and Dean made the Impala practically fly.
By the time they slammed to a halt where the trail narrowed too much to be passable by car, all three had their weapons at the ready, and Sam and Dean started running the second they left the car. Maglor kept pace with them until:
MAGLOR!!!
We come! Maglor replied, running faster and leaving the Winchesters behind him. Hold fast, Andy!
He rounded a bend and found himself speeding down the main street just as the soldier snapped Ava Wilson’s neck. A dark cloud that had been forming behind the Man dissipated.
“All right, now,” Maglor heard the soldier say. “You gonna come out here, or am I gonna go in after you?”
Stall, Andy, Maglor sent. I am nearly there.
“Look, we don’t have to do this,” came Andy’s quavering voice. “I’m... I guess I’m a telepath. I sent for some help. It’ll be here any minute.”
“You had one of those dreams, too, didn’t you?” said the soldier. “You know only one of us is getting out of here alive.”
“No. No, my friend, he’s like us. He’ll know what to do.”
“I do not want to play games, mister.”
“Please, will you listen to me?! I don’t wanna die; I don’t wanna kill you; I just want to wait in here where it’s safe until help comes.”
The soldier reached up, ripped the door of the smithy off its hinges, and threw it aside as if it were no more than parchment. “Out here.”
Andy, white-faced but holding his poker as firmly as he could, appeared in the doorway. “Please don’t do this.”
The soldier pulled out a knife and swung at Andy... and the clash of steel against steel echoed down the empty street as the knife blade met the flat of Maglor’s sword.
“Enough,” said Maglor sternly and pushed the knife away, and the soldier staggered back to the middle of the street.
“... Maglor?” Andy ventured timidly.
Maglor didn’t take his eyes off the soldier. “Yes. How fare you, Andy?”
“Better now, thanks. I was really starting to think you guys weren’t gonna make it. Where, um....”
Just then Sam and Dean reached the far end of the street. “Hey!” Dean called. “What’s goin’ on here?”
Andy gave a little sob of relief.
“Only one of us is getting out of here,” the soldier repeated. “If we don’t play along, he’ll kill us all. What good’s it do for all of us to die? Now I can get out of here, I get close to the demon, I can kill him.”
“You are insane,” said Andy.
“You are enspelled,” corrected Maglor. “What makes you think you have the strength of mind to fight the very spirit that enslaved you, never mind attempting to do so unaided?”
The soldier drew himself up to his full height, which did little to aid him in staring down Maglor. “I’m stationed in Afghanistan. We get training in psychological warfare tactics before we deploy.”
“That may be of value in dealing with terrorists, but what of a demon who has the power to threaten more than your person and to promise more than release?”
Sam and Dean reached the smithy while Maglor was still talking. “Dude,” Sam panted, “you can’t trust Yellow-Eyes. You come with us, we can kill him together, and we all walk away free.”
The soldier eyed them warily. “How do I know you won’t turn on me?”
“You’re gonna have to take our word for it,” Dean replied. “But you’re better off trusting us than you are trusting a demon.”
The soldier looked from one human to another like a trapped wildcat.
“Just come with us,” Sam pleaded, lowering his gun. “Don’t do this. Don’t play into what it wants.”
The soldier stayed on edge for a moment longer before lunging toward Sam. Maglor blocked the knife once more, and suddenly a shot rang out and the soldier fell forward, dead.
Sam, Dean, and Maglor turned to see a shaken Andy looking down at the smoking pistol in his left hand. He swallowed hard and looked up at them again. “I... I guess it did still shoot after all.”
Maglor held out his hand, and Andy placed the pistol in it before dropping the poker and dissolving in tears.
Dean put a steadying hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Hey. It’s okay. You did good.”
“I... I didn’t want....”
“Dude, we were there last time, remember? We know.”
“Dean... are you sure....”
“We’ll all get out of here, Andy. Nobody else is dyin’ today.”
“I shall see to that,” Maglor agreed. “You three see to the dead.”
Sam sighed and made his way into the smithy for a shovel, and Maglor walked to the middle of the street and sang a song of cleansing and release. By the time both the burial and the song were finished, Isil was sinking below the treeline toward the western horizon and the sky was beginning to lighten in the east, though Maglor suspected it was not as noticeable to mortal eyes. Yet even Andy’s mood was somewhat lighter, sensing that the shades and spirits that had haunted the place had been dispelled. And all three young Men were beginning to succumb to exhaustion.
“I hate to ask this, Maglor,” said Dean, “but if I get us back to the highway and give you directions, do you think you can drive us to Bobby’s place in Sioux Falls? It’s pretty much a straight shot, not many towns in between.”
Maglor considered the request with trepidation. He had never been very confident when it came to cars and had given up trying sometime in the early 1960s, but Dean was clearly too tired to drive, and though they were safe enough for the moment, it would not be wise to tarry where Yellow-Eyes could find them in more than a dream. Moreover, if Maglor drove, the other three would not have to jam themselves into the front seat to leave him legroom.
“Perhaps you could sleep in the front seat?” he finally suggested. “Then if I have difficulties, I can wake you.”
Dean nodded. “Sure, dude. Thanks. C’mon, Andy, Sam, let’s get out of here.”
It was probably due to the totally unmerited favor of one of Oromë’s Maiar, but Maglor managed to get the Impala safely from Cold Oak to Sioux Falls shortly after sunrise, without going too slowly or having to wake Dean in a panic. He did have to wake Dean for instruction on how to park, but by then all three Men had gotten a solid two hours of sleep, and despite being groggy, Dean was able to talk Maglor through it quite calmly. Sam looked impressed.
No sooner had Maglor eased himself out of the driver’s seat and stretched his cramping muscles-he really was getting too old for this sort of thing-than he became aware of another young Man sitting on the porch of the house that presumably belonged to Bobby Singer. This youth, his fair hair styled in what Maglor vaguely recalled hearing termed a mullet, was staring at Maglor with undisguised awe of a kind he had not seen in several centuries and mouthing words that were probably appreciative curses.
Once Sam and Dean had retrieved Maglor’s belongings from the back and their own belongings from the trunk, Dean led the way to the porch. “Maglor, this is Ash. Ash, Maglor. He’s an Elf.”
“Elf?” squeaked Andy from behind them.
“Oh, and Andy. He’s....”
“Like Sam,” Ash drawled, not taking his eyes off Maglor. “I remember. Maglor... you saved my life last night.”
“What happened?” Maglor, Dean, and Sam all asked at the same time.
Ash swallowed hard. “I took off like you told me to. Pulled the fire alarm on the way out. Got about five minutes down the road and started hearin’ traffic on the police scanner-the Roadhouse... the Roadhouse really was on fire. Burned to the ground, Ellen said. But it looks like everyone got out okay.”
“Ellen’s safe?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, she stayed to talk to the police, but she’ll be here for supper tonight.”
Sam sighed. “Sounds like we’ve all had a pretty rough night.”
“Gonna get rougher, my man. But Bobby says you got time enough to sleep before that. C’mon in.”
But Andy was still blinking stupidly at Maglor. “Elf? As in....”
“Lord of the Rings,” the Winchesters chorused.
Maglor chuckled. “I suppose, for the moment, I have no need for this.” And he pulled off his headband and tucked his hair behind his ears.
Andy very nearly fainted. “You mean, I... I’ve been... demons and now... what else is real?”
“More like what isn’t real,” Sam replied as he gently pushed Andy toward the front steps. “And that’s mainly aliens and unicorns.”
Having re-acclimated slightly to Maglor’s presence and the sense of power and age and tragedy and otherworldliness that hung about him like a cloak, Bobby was finding a good bit of private amusement in watching others’ reactions to the Elf. Currently, he was trying very hard not to laugh at Ellen, who was trying not to hyperventilate while watching Maglor, who had braided his hair back from his ears and was in the process of trying to dredge something out of the depths of his memory for Sam and Dean.
“He’s not even trying to hide it, is he?” she finally whispered to Bobby.
Bobby shrugged. “No need. He knows we ain’t gonna kill ’im.”
Her face darkened. “Gordon Walker might. You know he thinks we’re all monsters for sheltering Sam. What do you think he’ll do if he finds out we’re consorting with Elves?”
“Walker is a few fries short of a Happy Meal, and he ain’t welcome here. And you better not tell anyone else about Maglor, either.”
“He’s the last one left, isn’t he?”
“That we know of. Might be more around that we just can’t see for whatever reason.”
Ellen looked at Maglor again and swallowed hard. “Maybe... if the world really is ending... maybe we’ll get to.”
“Dithanc,” Maglor finally recalled, and Sam dutifully wrote down the word. “That was his name in Sindarin. The Hebrews, I believe, called him Azazel. It was said that he was a fire spirit akin to those who inhabited the eldest of the fire-drakes, Glaurung and Ancalagon and their kind, but for many years he chose not to clothe himself in any kind of flesh. I have not heard of his possessing Men, but it is possible that his eyes would be yellow and not black if he did so. Glaurung’s eyes were golden.”
Sam tapped his notepad thoughtfully. “Azazel. Demon of the scapegoat.”
“That give you any ideas, Sammy?” Dean asked.
“Maybe.”
Bobby watched the boys as they talked with each other and with Maglor, and he was suddenly struck by the fact that the Elf brought out something in both of them that... well, he couldn’t say he’d never seen it there before, but only rarely, only in flashes on hunts. Something in the set of their shoulders and the light in their eyes. Sure, Maglor seemed to bring out better qualities in all of them; Ash actually looked more like a physicist than a redneck, and Andy looked less like the slacker the boys had described him as. But Sam and Dean...
... Sam and Dean looked like the kind of heroes people used to write lays and romances about.
Musing and conversation alike were interrupted when Ash walked into the dining room and cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all here, I figure I might as well tell you what I found out yesterday that almost got me killed.”
“I was wonderin’ when you’d get around to that,” Dean replied.
“Trust me, compadre, this is huge.” Ash spread a map of Wyoming on the table and pointed to an area in the southern part of the state marked with Xs. “Five churches, all built by Samuel Colt, the man who made that gun. All of ’em connected by private rail lines.” He tossed a satellite photo across to Sam and Dean and pulled out a Sharpie.
Dean frowned at the photo. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
“Oh, yes, brother. It is.” And Ash swiftly connected the markings on the map to form:
“A devil’s trap,” said Sam. “A 100-square-mile devil’s trap.”
Dean laughed. “That’s brilliant. Iron lines demons can’t cross.”
Ellen shook her head. “I’ve never heard of anything that massive.”
“No one has,” Bobby agreed.
“American ingenuity,” Maglor said with a small smile.
“There’s more,” Ash stated. “In the middle of this engineering marvel, there’s an old cowboy cemetery. And if my information is correct, the crypt in the center of that cemetery houses a Devil’s Gate.” He tapped the map. “This thing is guarding a portal to Hell.”
“No,” Maglor replied quietly. “Not to Hell.”
Everyone looked at him sharply.
Maglor took a drink of the wine he’d found in some dark corner of Bobby’s kitchen and explained, “The realm you call Hell, where the souls of evil Men receive everlasting punishment, is not in Arda; it is beyond the Walls of the World, reached only from Eru’s judgment seat in the Timeless Halls. As the saying goes, you can’t get there from here. We do not know how demons seem to travel from that realm to this, but one cannot simply open a door and walk through. However, that does not mean that this door”-he pointed to the map-“does not hide anything dangerous. There was at that time a great infestation of evil spirits of every kind in that part of Wyoming, and Colt managed to drive them into a cavern lined with salt and iron and many strong wards. The gate itself is wrought of solid iron, and the lock can be opened only by inserting the barrel of a certain gun. His intention was that it should last until the end of the world.”
Sam nodded as the pieces came together. “That’s it. That’s the game plan. Azazel gives the Colt to the last player standing; that person opens the gate, unleashes hell on Earth, jump-starts the Apocalypse.”
Dean nodded as well. “Well, knowing that, we ought to be able to head ’im off at the pass. Hey, And...” He trailed off, looking around the room. “Where’s Andy?”
And that’s when they heard the cry of pain from outside.
Andy was restless. Mr. Singer’s house was dusty and crowded with books and papers and weapons, and that was without having Mr. Singer and Sam and Dean and Ash and Maglor all towering over him and making it feel even more crowded. He hated being the short one, not to mention the civilian. Plus, Maglor had done something to ward the house so tightly that Andy almost couldn’t breathe. And he was closing in on a full day since his last hit of marijuana, which always left him jittery.
Even if he wanted to leave, though, he had no way of getting anywhere unless he stole one of the junkers from the yard (Dean would kill him if he touched the Impala again). But he didn’t want to. He knew he was safer with the others. He didn’t want to be a bad guest, and it wasn’t like the others were treating him badly or even ignoring him. He just... needed a breath of fresh air.
So when Ash pulled out his map, Andy quietly slipped out of the dining room and out onto the porch. That tiny taste of freedom sent a pang of homesickness through him, and he settled down to meditate and daydream about being back in Guthrie, familiar sights, familiar sounds, settling into the back of his van with a good book and a good batch of weed....
“Howdy, Andy.”
Andy almost jumped out of his skin and turned to see Yellow-Eyes sitting next to him in the van. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you. And Sam Winchester. You don’t happen to know where he is, do you?”
“No.” And this was strictly true; Andy had no idea how long he’d been outside and whether Sam were still in the dining room or even still in the house.
Yellow-Eyes made a thoughtful noise. “Well, if they keep him hidden long enough, he’ll go stir-crazy. I need someone sane. So!” He clapped Andy on the knee. “Congratulations, Andy, you win the golden ticket.”
“I don’t care what you want me to do. The answer is no.”
“Not even if it means getting your darling little Tracy back? Or any other woman you want-every other woman you want; I’m not stingy. A house of your own. Steak and ice cream every Sunday. Health and wealth, all your wildest dreams come true.”
Andy wavered in spite of himself. He’d overheard enough of Maglor’s conversation with the Winchesters to be wary of falling for the promises Yellow-Eyes was making, but the temptation was almost too strong. And then he realized that, if nothing else, this was his chance to get some information on the grand plan Yellow-Eyes seemed to have.
“I’m listening.”
Yellow-Eyes manifested a map of Wyoming and pointed to a spot in the southern part of the state. “Meet me there tomorrow night, just after dark. And Andy? If you even think about telling Dean Winchester to meet you there....” He made some motion with his hand, and Andy’s heart seized. Andy yelped in pain. Then Yellow-Eyes chuckled cruelly and vanished, and Andy came back to reality with a major gasp.
“Get him inside,” Mrs. Harvelle was saying, and strong arms-Sam and Dean’s, he figured-lifted him and carried him past the ward barrier that now felt heaven-sent. He actually started breathing better once he was inside.
When they got him laid out on the couch, Andy finally dared to pry his eyes open and found himself on the receiving end of six very worried stares. “Uh. Hi.”
“What were you thinkin’, ya idjit?” Bobby growled.
“Sorry... just... needed some air.”
“What happened?” Dean demanded.
“Was meditating... Yellow-Eyes... showed up in my dream... told me to meet him... just west of Laramie... after dark tomorrow... don’t tell you... and he squeezed....” He rubbed at his aching chest.
“Aspirin,” said Ash and ran to get some.
“Maglor... dragon-spell... almost had me.”
“You did well to resist,” Maglor replied.
A few moments later, Ash ran back in with the aspirin, a glass of water, and his map. He waited while Andy downed the aspirin and caught his breath again, then held out the map, folded to show a giant star in a circle that had been drawn on it. “Just west of Laramie, you said. Whereabouts on here was it?”
Andy studied the map and pointed to a spot on the edge of the circle. “There.”
Sam nodded. “He can’t find me, so he’s gonna use Andy.”
“Use me for what?”
Dean patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it right now. Just rest. We’ll fill you in on the plan in the morning.”
“Dean. Whatever it is... I need to go.”
“You just had a heart attack, dude. Next time he could kill you.”
“Doesn’t matter. You need me. Told me... not to tell you... to meet me there. Didn’t say... you couldn’t take me there.”
Dean chuckled and patted his shoulder again. “Get some rest, Andy.”
He was asleep before the others finished leaving the room.
Maglor sighed as the group returned to the dining room. “I am not a healer. Even if I were, few of the herbs I would use to treat Andy grow here in America. But if he is as much like the Hobbits as he seems, he shall recover quickly.”
Bobby nodded. “Dunno about Hobbits, but it wouldn’t make sense for Yellow-Eyes to do anything to him that could keep him from playin’ his part.”
Dean looked up at Maglor. “So if we do this, if we kill Azazel and stop the Devil’s Gate from opening, we’ll have stopped the Apocalypse, right?”
“Possibly,” Maglor replied. “If in fact the time has come, if it is truly Ilúvatar’s will that all things as we now know them shall end ere long, there is naught we can do that will prevent its coming to pass. But that does not mean we ought not try. If nothing else, we will force the Enemy to find another means to free his servants. If we can retrieve the gun and destroy it, the Enemy will be hard pressed indeed to free them!”
Dean nodded once. “Good enough.”
The hunters discussed their strategy long into the night, taking occasional hints from Maglor but mostly relying on their own knowledge of the way the world had changed since the Elder Days. When at last they retired to bed, they did so with a plan that covered every contingency they could envision and with confidence that they could thwart Azazel’s plan.
But Maglor could not sleep. He kept watch on the junkyard through the kitchen window, but his thoughts returned ceaselessly to the Doom of the Noldor, especially as it applied to his own family.
To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass....
Whatever doom lay upon the Winchesters, it was heavy enough without adding the curse of the House of Fëanor to it. Yet he could not see their meeting as only chance, and they could not hope to defeat Morgoth alone, unaided.
Finally, as dawn broke, Maglor turned his eyes to the West and prayed, If this venture is to come to evil end, let that end be mine alone. I seek not vengeance for my house, nor glory for myself, only the safety of these bold young mortals. Let the fear of treason of kin unto kin be far from them.
Suddenly, as if in answer, the stillness of the early morning was broken by the cry of an eagle. And Maglor wept silently and knew that Manwë heard.
Next | Glossary
Previous
Chapter 2
Rendezvous with Destiny
Maglor had to give the Secondborn credit for one thing: when speed was vital, they could find ways of achieving it. The advent of steam engines that could travel as far in an hour as most horses could travel in a day had amazed him, but even that was too slow for Men in these times, now that the automobile had replaced the horse as the preferred mode of conveyance for most people. And on this occasion, haste was definitely needed. The journey to Cold Oak ought to have taken close to five hours at the speed limit, but the Impala was a powerfully-built car, and with Dean keeping the gas pedal pressed to the floor, they covered most of the distance in just over two hours. And Sam had made good use of the time by reloading his gun and Dean’s shotgun with regular ammunition rather than the specialized rounds they used for hunting monsters. Maglor, too, had armed himself, removing his sword from its hiding place in the back of his guitar case.
Sometime after 3 a.m., just as Dean announced that they’d be there in ten minutes, Maglor became aware of Andy attempting to reach out to him again, though without the palantír the connection was tentative at best. He immediately reactivated the stone.
Andy?
Andy was clearly too panicked to articulate his thoughts via mind-speech; what Maglor got first was a series of flashing images-the inside of a smithy, the doors and windows all fitted and barred with iron, and a double line of iron filings and rock salt along the walls. He barely had time to send his approval before the image shifted to Andy’s view from the window of a dark-skinned soldier speaking with two panicked women. Just as the discussion began to get heated, a child’s unearthly laughter echoed through the buildings. One woman feigned a headache while the other walked out of sight, presumably in an attempt to leave the town, but moments later her screams mingled with the child’s laughter.
Acheri demon, Maglor realized and sensed Andy filing the information away.
Then the scene shifted again to what Maglor quickly discovered was a dreamscape in which something that looked like a Man with yellow eyes and a feral grin was speaking with Andy. The words it spoke befitted a servant of the Enemy, but their sentiment was familiar... it had said the same things to Sam just a few hours earlier.
The scene ended, and the palantír resumed its usual function, showing Maglor Andy’s worried face rather than his anxious thoughts. Maglor took a deep breath and let it out again. Are you armed, Andy?
Andy glanced around. I’ve got a poker and an old gun that probably doesn’t shoot anymore. It was behind the forge.
Good. The poker will drive off the demon should it somehow get inside. If either of the other humans attacks you and the gun will not shoot, use the poker against them as well. But do not seek them out; remain hidden as best you can. We will be there shortly.
Andy nodded. How soon is “shortly”?
Ten minutes, perhaps fifteen if we must hike any distance.
Andy blew the air out of his cheeks. Fifteen. Okay, I... I think I can hold out that long. Thanks, Maglor.
Maglor disengaged the stone and told Sam and Dean what he had learned.
Sam frowned and reached for something in the floorboard beneath his feet. “Those women... did either of them look like this?” he asked, handing Maglor a piece of paper bearing a photo with the words “Missing: Ava Wilson” underneath.
Maglor studied the photo for a moment. “Yes. She was the one who feigned a headache.”
“Feigned?” Dean asked Sam.
“Faked,” Sam explained.
“Right. Too long since I had Shakespeare.”
“You’re sure it was a fake headache, though, Maglor?”
Maglor nodded. “It might have convinced the soldier, but it takes a great deal more skill to deceive me. And the headache came too close to the demon’s laughter to be coincidence. I fear she has fallen into sorcery.”
Sam’s face fell. “Controlling the demon, you mean.”
“Yes. Was she a friend of yours?”
“I... I’d hoped so. But then she disappeared five months ago. If she’s been in Cold Oak all this time....”
“There’s a good chance she’s gone darkside,” Dean concluded. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”
Sam’s jaw worked for a moment. “Andy... Andy’s okay, though, right?”
“Yes, Sam,” Maglor replied. “I sense no worse about him than I do about you, save perhaps his choice of intoxicants.”
Dean frowned. “Whoa, wait. What do you mean, ‘no worse’? What’s wrong with Sam?”
Maglor sighed. “I cannot explain it precisely in English. But it is said of Túrin Turambar that Glaurung, father of dragons, laid upon him a spell to deceive him and to prevent him from saving those whom he loved. What I sense... it feels a great deal like dragon-spell.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped.
“Sammy?” Dean prompted.
“Yellow-Eyes showed me in the vision. He... he did something to me, Dean, the night of the fire. Some kind of blood magic. I don’t... he showed me, but it didn’t make sense. And then Mom walked in and saw him.”
Dean cursed under his breath and tried to coax a final burst of speed from the Impala. Sam looked like he wanted to turn into a turtle and hide. Maglor briefly regretted having said anything... until he remembered a key piece of lore.
“I have not dealt with many dragons,” he began carefully, “and the ones I did face are now dead. Moreover, I know that dragon-hoards are notoriously difficult to disenchant. But I believe that the power of a dragon-spell upon a Man, if it be not lifted sooner, is broken when the dragon dies.”
Both Winchesters brightened at that.
“So all we gotta do is kill Yellow-Eyes,” Dean remarked, slowing down just enough to take the turn onto the dirt road leading to Cold Oak. “Which is exactly what we were planning to do anyway.”
“Dean, the Colt-”
“We’ll get it back, Sammy, one way or another. Or hey, maybe Maglor can make us a better one.”
“A better what?” Maglor frowned, confused.
“It’s a gun,” Sam said.
But Maglor heard no more than that-his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by MAGLOR! HURRY!!
“Noro lim!” cried Maglor, and Dean made the Impala practically fly.
By the time they slammed to a halt where the trail narrowed too much to be passable by car, all three had their weapons at the ready, and Sam and Dean started running the second they left the car. Maglor kept pace with them until:
MAGLOR!!!
We come! Maglor replied, running faster and leaving the Winchesters behind him. Hold fast, Andy!
He rounded a bend and found himself speeding down the main street just as the soldier snapped Ava Wilson’s neck. A dark cloud that had been forming behind the Man dissipated.
“All right, now,” Maglor heard the soldier say. “You gonna come out here, or am I gonna go in after you?”
Stall, Andy, Maglor sent. I am nearly there.
“Look, we don’t have to do this,” came Andy’s quavering voice. “I’m... I guess I’m a telepath. I sent for some help. It’ll be here any minute.”
“You had one of those dreams, too, didn’t you?” said the soldier. “You know only one of us is getting out of here alive.”
“No. No, my friend, he’s like us. He’ll know what to do.”
“I do not want to play games, mister.”
“Please, will you listen to me?! I don’t wanna die; I don’t wanna kill you; I just want to wait in here where it’s safe until help comes.”
The soldier reached up, ripped the door of the smithy off its hinges, and threw it aside as if it were no more than parchment. “Out here.”
Andy, white-faced but holding his poker as firmly as he could, appeared in the doorway. “Please don’t do this.”
The soldier pulled out a knife and swung at Andy... and the clash of steel against steel echoed down the empty street as the knife blade met the flat of Maglor’s sword.
“Enough,” said Maglor sternly and pushed the knife away, and the soldier staggered back to the middle of the street.
“... Maglor?” Andy ventured timidly.
Maglor didn’t take his eyes off the soldier. “Yes. How fare you, Andy?”
“Better now, thanks. I was really starting to think you guys weren’t gonna make it. Where, um....”
Just then Sam and Dean reached the far end of the street. “Hey!” Dean called. “What’s goin’ on here?”
Andy gave a little sob of relief.
“Only one of us is getting out of here,” the soldier repeated. “If we don’t play along, he’ll kill us all. What good’s it do for all of us to die? Now I can get out of here, I get close to the demon, I can kill him.”
“You are insane,” said Andy.
“You are enspelled,” corrected Maglor. “What makes you think you have the strength of mind to fight the very spirit that enslaved you, never mind attempting to do so unaided?”
The soldier drew himself up to his full height, which did little to aid him in staring down Maglor. “I’m stationed in Afghanistan. We get training in psychological warfare tactics before we deploy.”
“That may be of value in dealing with terrorists, but what of a demon who has the power to threaten more than your person and to promise more than release?”
Sam and Dean reached the smithy while Maglor was still talking. “Dude,” Sam panted, “you can’t trust Yellow-Eyes. You come with us, we can kill him together, and we all walk away free.”
The soldier eyed them warily. “How do I know you won’t turn on me?”
“You’re gonna have to take our word for it,” Dean replied. “But you’re better off trusting us than you are trusting a demon.”
The soldier looked from one human to another like a trapped wildcat.
“Just come with us,” Sam pleaded, lowering his gun. “Don’t do this. Don’t play into what it wants.”
The soldier stayed on edge for a moment longer before lunging toward Sam. Maglor blocked the knife once more, and suddenly a shot rang out and the soldier fell forward, dead.
Sam, Dean, and Maglor turned to see a shaken Andy looking down at the smoking pistol in his left hand. He swallowed hard and looked up at them again. “I... I guess it did still shoot after all.”
Maglor held out his hand, and Andy placed the pistol in it before dropping the poker and dissolving in tears.
Dean put a steadying hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Hey. It’s okay. You did good.”
“I... I didn’t want....”
“Dude, we were there last time, remember? We know.”
“Dean... are you sure....”
“We’ll all get out of here, Andy. Nobody else is dyin’ today.”
“I shall see to that,” Maglor agreed. “You three see to the dead.”
Sam sighed and made his way into the smithy for a shovel, and Maglor walked to the middle of the street and sang a song of cleansing and release. By the time both the burial and the song were finished, Isil was sinking below the treeline toward the western horizon and the sky was beginning to lighten in the east, though Maglor suspected it was not as noticeable to mortal eyes. Yet even Andy’s mood was somewhat lighter, sensing that the shades and spirits that had haunted the place had been dispelled. And all three young Men were beginning to succumb to exhaustion.
“I hate to ask this, Maglor,” said Dean, “but if I get us back to the highway and give you directions, do you think you can drive us to Bobby’s place in Sioux Falls? It’s pretty much a straight shot, not many towns in between.”
Maglor considered the request with trepidation. He had never been very confident when it came to cars and had given up trying sometime in the early 1960s, but Dean was clearly too tired to drive, and though they were safe enough for the moment, it would not be wise to tarry where Yellow-Eyes could find them in more than a dream. Moreover, if Maglor drove, the other three would not have to jam themselves into the front seat to leave him legroom.
“Perhaps you could sleep in the front seat?” he finally suggested. “Then if I have difficulties, I can wake you.”
Dean nodded. “Sure, dude. Thanks. C’mon, Andy, Sam, let’s get out of here.”
It was probably due to the totally unmerited favor of one of Oromë’s Maiar, but Maglor managed to get the Impala safely from Cold Oak to Sioux Falls shortly after sunrise, without going too slowly or having to wake Dean in a panic. He did have to wake Dean for instruction on how to park, but by then all three Men had gotten a solid two hours of sleep, and despite being groggy, Dean was able to talk Maglor through it quite calmly. Sam looked impressed.
No sooner had Maglor eased himself out of the driver’s seat and stretched his cramping muscles-he really was getting too old for this sort of thing-than he became aware of another young Man sitting on the porch of the house that presumably belonged to Bobby Singer. This youth, his fair hair styled in what Maglor vaguely recalled hearing termed a mullet, was staring at Maglor with undisguised awe of a kind he had not seen in several centuries and mouthing words that were probably appreciative curses.
Once Sam and Dean had retrieved Maglor’s belongings from the back and their own belongings from the trunk, Dean led the way to the porch. “Maglor, this is Ash. Ash, Maglor. He’s an Elf.”
“Elf?” squeaked Andy from behind them.
“Oh, and Andy. He’s....”
“Like Sam,” Ash drawled, not taking his eyes off Maglor. “I remember. Maglor... you saved my life last night.”
“What happened?” Maglor, Dean, and Sam all asked at the same time.
Ash swallowed hard. “I took off like you told me to. Pulled the fire alarm on the way out. Got about five minutes down the road and started hearin’ traffic on the police scanner-the Roadhouse... the Roadhouse really was on fire. Burned to the ground, Ellen said. But it looks like everyone got out okay.”
“Ellen’s safe?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, she stayed to talk to the police, but she’ll be here for supper tonight.”
Sam sighed. “Sounds like we’ve all had a pretty rough night.”
“Gonna get rougher, my man. But Bobby says you got time enough to sleep before that. C’mon in.”
But Andy was still blinking stupidly at Maglor. “Elf? As in....”
“Lord of the Rings,” the Winchesters chorused.
Maglor chuckled. “I suppose, for the moment, I have no need for this.” And he pulled off his headband and tucked his hair behind his ears.
Andy very nearly fainted. “You mean, I... I’ve been... demons and now... what else is real?”
“More like what isn’t real,” Sam replied as he gently pushed Andy toward the front steps. “And that’s mainly aliens and unicorns.”
Having re-acclimated slightly to Maglor’s presence and the sense of power and age and tragedy and otherworldliness that hung about him like a cloak, Bobby was finding a good bit of private amusement in watching others’ reactions to the Elf. Currently, he was trying very hard not to laugh at Ellen, who was trying not to hyperventilate while watching Maglor, who had braided his hair back from his ears and was in the process of trying to dredge something out of the depths of his memory for Sam and Dean.
“He’s not even trying to hide it, is he?” she finally whispered to Bobby.
Bobby shrugged. “No need. He knows we ain’t gonna kill ’im.”
Her face darkened. “Gordon Walker might. You know he thinks we’re all monsters for sheltering Sam. What do you think he’ll do if he finds out we’re consorting with Elves?”
“Walker is a few fries short of a Happy Meal, and he ain’t welcome here. And you better not tell anyone else about Maglor, either.”
“He’s the last one left, isn’t he?”
“That we know of. Might be more around that we just can’t see for whatever reason.”
Ellen looked at Maglor again and swallowed hard. “Maybe... if the world really is ending... maybe we’ll get to.”
“Dithanc,” Maglor finally recalled, and Sam dutifully wrote down the word. “That was his name in Sindarin. The Hebrews, I believe, called him Azazel. It was said that he was a fire spirit akin to those who inhabited the eldest of the fire-drakes, Glaurung and Ancalagon and their kind, but for many years he chose not to clothe himself in any kind of flesh. I have not heard of his possessing Men, but it is possible that his eyes would be yellow and not black if he did so. Glaurung’s eyes were golden.”
Sam tapped his notepad thoughtfully. “Azazel. Demon of the scapegoat.”
“That give you any ideas, Sammy?” Dean asked.
“Maybe.”
Bobby watched the boys as they talked with each other and with Maglor, and he was suddenly struck by the fact that the Elf brought out something in both of them that... well, he couldn’t say he’d never seen it there before, but only rarely, only in flashes on hunts. Something in the set of their shoulders and the light in their eyes. Sure, Maglor seemed to bring out better qualities in all of them; Ash actually looked more like a physicist than a redneck, and Andy looked less like the slacker the boys had described him as. But Sam and Dean...
... Sam and Dean looked like the kind of heroes people used to write lays and romances about.
Musing and conversation alike were interrupted when Ash walked into the dining room and cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all here, I figure I might as well tell you what I found out yesterday that almost got me killed.”
“I was wonderin’ when you’d get around to that,” Dean replied.
“Trust me, compadre, this is huge.” Ash spread a map of Wyoming on the table and pointed to an area in the southern part of the state marked with Xs. “Five churches, all built by Samuel Colt, the man who made that gun. All of ’em connected by private rail lines.” He tossed a satellite photo across to Sam and Dean and pulled out a Sharpie.
Dean frowned at the photo. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
“Oh, yes, brother. It is.” And Ash swiftly connected the markings on the map to form:
“A devil’s trap,” said Sam. “A 100-square-mile devil’s trap.”
Dean laughed. “That’s brilliant. Iron lines demons can’t cross.”
Ellen shook her head. “I’ve never heard of anything that massive.”
“No one has,” Bobby agreed.
“American ingenuity,” Maglor said with a small smile.
“There’s more,” Ash stated. “In the middle of this engineering marvel, there’s an old cowboy cemetery. And if my information is correct, the crypt in the center of that cemetery houses a Devil’s Gate.” He tapped the map. “This thing is guarding a portal to Hell.”
“No,” Maglor replied quietly. “Not to Hell.”
Everyone looked at him sharply.
Maglor took a drink of the wine he’d found in some dark corner of Bobby’s kitchen and explained, “The realm you call Hell, where the souls of evil Men receive everlasting punishment, is not in Arda; it is beyond the Walls of the World, reached only from Eru’s judgment seat in the Timeless Halls. As the saying goes, you can’t get there from here. We do not know how demons seem to travel from that realm to this, but one cannot simply open a door and walk through. However, that does not mean that this door”-he pointed to the map-“does not hide anything dangerous. There was at that time a great infestation of evil spirits of every kind in that part of Wyoming, and Colt managed to drive them into a cavern lined with salt and iron and many strong wards. The gate itself is wrought of solid iron, and the lock can be opened only by inserting the barrel of a certain gun. His intention was that it should last until the end of the world.”
Sam nodded as the pieces came together. “That’s it. That’s the game plan. Azazel gives the Colt to the last player standing; that person opens the gate, unleashes hell on Earth, jump-starts the Apocalypse.”
Dean nodded as well. “Well, knowing that, we ought to be able to head ’im off at the pass. Hey, And...” He trailed off, looking around the room. “Where’s Andy?”
And that’s when they heard the cry of pain from outside.
Andy was restless. Mr. Singer’s house was dusty and crowded with books and papers and weapons, and that was without having Mr. Singer and Sam and Dean and Ash and Maglor all towering over him and making it feel even more crowded. He hated being the short one, not to mention the civilian. Plus, Maglor had done something to ward the house so tightly that Andy almost couldn’t breathe. And he was closing in on a full day since his last hit of marijuana, which always left him jittery.
Even if he wanted to leave, though, he had no way of getting anywhere unless he stole one of the junkers from the yard (Dean would kill him if he touched the Impala again). But he didn’t want to. He knew he was safer with the others. He didn’t want to be a bad guest, and it wasn’t like the others were treating him badly or even ignoring him. He just... needed a breath of fresh air.
So when Ash pulled out his map, Andy quietly slipped out of the dining room and out onto the porch. That tiny taste of freedom sent a pang of homesickness through him, and he settled down to meditate and daydream about being back in Guthrie, familiar sights, familiar sounds, settling into the back of his van with a good book and a good batch of weed....
“Howdy, Andy.”
Andy almost jumped out of his skin and turned to see Yellow-Eyes sitting next to him in the van. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you. And Sam Winchester. You don’t happen to know where he is, do you?”
“No.” And this was strictly true; Andy had no idea how long he’d been outside and whether Sam were still in the dining room or even still in the house.
Yellow-Eyes made a thoughtful noise. “Well, if they keep him hidden long enough, he’ll go stir-crazy. I need someone sane. So!” He clapped Andy on the knee. “Congratulations, Andy, you win the golden ticket.”
“I don’t care what you want me to do. The answer is no.”
“Not even if it means getting your darling little Tracy back? Or any other woman you want-every other woman you want; I’m not stingy. A house of your own. Steak and ice cream every Sunday. Health and wealth, all your wildest dreams come true.”
Andy wavered in spite of himself. He’d overheard enough of Maglor’s conversation with the Winchesters to be wary of falling for the promises Yellow-Eyes was making, but the temptation was almost too strong. And then he realized that, if nothing else, this was his chance to get some information on the grand plan Yellow-Eyes seemed to have.
“I’m listening.”
Yellow-Eyes manifested a map of Wyoming and pointed to a spot in the southern part of the state. “Meet me there tomorrow night, just after dark. And Andy? If you even think about telling Dean Winchester to meet you there....” He made some motion with his hand, and Andy’s heart seized. Andy yelped in pain. Then Yellow-Eyes chuckled cruelly and vanished, and Andy came back to reality with a major gasp.
“Get him inside,” Mrs. Harvelle was saying, and strong arms-Sam and Dean’s, he figured-lifted him and carried him past the ward barrier that now felt heaven-sent. He actually started breathing better once he was inside.
When they got him laid out on the couch, Andy finally dared to pry his eyes open and found himself on the receiving end of six very worried stares. “Uh. Hi.”
“What were you thinkin’, ya idjit?” Bobby growled.
“Sorry... just... needed some air.”
“What happened?” Dean demanded.
“Was meditating... Yellow-Eyes... showed up in my dream... told me to meet him... just west of Laramie... after dark tomorrow... don’t tell you... and he squeezed....” He rubbed at his aching chest.
“Aspirin,” said Ash and ran to get some.
“Maglor... dragon-spell... almost had me.”
“You did well to resist,” Maglor replied.
A few moments later, Ash ran back in with the aspirin, a glass of water, and his map. He waited while Andy downed the aspirin and caught his breath again, then held out the map, folded to show a giant star in a circle that had been drawn on it. “Just west of Laramie, you said. Whereabouts on here was it?”
Andy studied the map and pointed to a spot on the edge of the circle. “There.”
Sam nodded. “He can’t find me, so he’s gonna use Andy.”
“Use me for what?”
Dean patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it right now. Just rest. We’ll fill you in on the plan in the morning.”
“Dean. Whatever it is... I need to go.”
“You just had a heart attack, dude. Next time he could kill you.”
“Doesn’t matter. You need me. Told me... not to tell you... to meet me there. Didn’t say... you couldn’t take me there.”
Dean chuckled and patted his shoulder again. “Get some rest, Andy.”
He was asleep before the others finished leaving the room.
Maglor sighed as the group returned to the dining room. “I am not a healer. Even if I were, few of the herbs I would use to treat Andy grow here in America. But if he is as much like the Hobbits as he seems, he shall recover quickly.”
Bobby nodded. “Dunno about Hobbits, but it wouldn’t make sense for Yellow-Eyes to do anything to him that could keep him from playin’ his part.”
Dean looked up at Maglor. “So if we do this, if we kill Azazel and stop the Devil’s Gate from opening, we’ll have stopped the Apocalypse, right?”
“Possibly,” Maglor replied. “If in fact the time has come, if it is truly Ilúvatar’s will that all things as we now know them shall end ere long, there is naught we can do that will prevent its coming to pass. But that does not mean we ought not try. If nothing else, we will force the Enemy to find another means to free his servants. If we can retrieve the gun and destroy it, the Enemy will be hard pressed indeed to free them!”
Dean nodded once. “Good enough.”
The hunters discussed their strategy long into the night, taking occasional hints from Maglor but mostly relying on their own knowledge of the way the world had changed since the Elder Days. When at last they retired to bed, they did so with a plan that covered every contingency they could envision and with confidence that they could thwart Azazel’s plan.
But Maglor could not sleep. He kept watch on the junkyard through the kitchen window, but his thoughts returned ceaselessly to the Doom of the Noldor, especially as it applied to his own family.
To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass....
Whatever doom lay upon the Winchesters, it was heavy enough without adding the curse of the House of Fëanor to it. Yet he could not see their meeting as only chance, and they could not hope to defeat Morgoth alone, unaided.
Finally, as dawn broke, Maglor turned his eyes to the West and prayed, If this venture is to come to evil end, let that end be mine alone. I seek not vengeance for my house, nor glory for myself, only the safety of these bold young mortals. Let the fear of treason of kin unto kin be far from them.
Suddenly, as if in answer, the stillness of the early morning was broken by the cry of an eagle. And Maglor wept silently and knew that Manwë heard.
Next | Glossary