Chapter Fourteen: Bad Luck

"Short cuts make long delays."
― J. R. R. Tolkien

Important note at the end.

After the fifth spell, Maria felt something dark and bitter crawl in the back of her throat.

The journey back proved longer and more painful than expected. Her arms were sore from throwing jinx after jinx, and there was a barely tolerable stiffness in her legs that just didn't seem to go away. It only got worse when she locked them around the broom – though it was a necessary evil, as every pirouette and poorly executed U-turn helped to divert the raining arrows.

Her movements were also slower, mostly due to a grating pain that intensified when she gripped her wand to slash the air in a rage. Her thoughts turned to the dark-haired man and his companions, and there was a flicker of displeasure that was quickly replaced by concern at the idea of a lifeless blue eye gazing at the sky. But there was little time for Maria to dwell on this.

She took a sharp intake of breath and then shouted, pointing her wand at the cliff below: a bright white light erupted from the tip, and Maria watched with wide eyes as the air exploded.

'Shit,' she yelped. Spinning like a wheel, Maria felt her body being flung through the air, and all she could do was to hold on as tightly as possible.

A cloud of thick smoke billowed up as the once clear sky was now shielded by a veil of grey and brown. Maria took this chance to fly away until she was near the tree tops; her eyes were watering as wisps swirled upwards, and she coughed the remnants of dirt that entered through her nose.

Squinting at her coat, she immediately shook the dirt off, making a sound between a grunt and a cough when the green fabric stayed stubbornly soiled.

Below, the river flooded; the razing had taken down a cliff. Maria risked a peek, and nearly gasped when she saw that the wide width had been blocked with earth and stone. She briefly wondered whether Þráinn was watching the smoke trailing over the trees or heard the explosion, and hoped the old man would be sensible and go somewhere safe –

Maria choked when an arrow flew past her leg and sunk into the Nimbus. She nearly lost balance over the impact, but miraculously managed to stay on top of the broom, shaking and breathing heavily as she gaped, gazing down: a dozen survivors were aiming their bows in her direction. Even if she couldn't understand the threatening growls, there was no mistaking their intentions.

'Confringo!' she cried, taking this chance to fly away.

As she soared upwards Maria ventured a glance over her shoulder. She gulped, a little more than relieved at the fair distance since the last spell had started a fire, and now there was dark smoke swallowing the sky and red flames licking the trees, and she knew a dreadful gut-wrenching pang when it spread, as if she had destroyed something that was meant to endure.

With one last glance, she made out a lone creature standing on the edge of the cliff and shuddered under its gaze.

oooOOOooo

It wasn't long before Maria could make out a stone wall in the distance stretching over the width of the river, and a hint of a gate at the bottom. But it was closed now, and she saw no silver soldiers nearby. They had vanished like pale ghosts under the dimming light of day, as if the only guardians of the forest were the trees themselves.

She shuddered for no particular reason, and wondered if this had something to do with the dark smoke trailing upwards. An odd sixth sense told her so; as Maria sniffed the air, she felt the heavy scent of scorched wood and ash fill her nostrils. It was a terrible smell; fire and woodland shouldn't mingle. A forest should be green and lively, not black and dying, she thought crestfallen, as honest remorse bubbled inside her chest.

A faint scent of pine lingered in the air, but the very act of breathing made her nostrils burn, as if this was fresh mint.

Soon Maria landed on cold flagstones with tantalizing care, half-expecting to be rounded up. She narrowed her eyes, taking in the silent landscape with mistrust. Here and there, blood marked the grey stone.

The forest seemed old, – too old, Maria thought with no small suspicion, as her eyes swept frantically over the ground covered in grass and twigs. There was something off about it in a way she couldn't explain, almost as if there was magic emanating from every tree and rock, around her and underneath her feet on the smooth stone platform. She had felt it before in the ruins and in the giant man's house. But here it was different, wilder, if that was even possible. Not for the first time, Maria felt she had crossed some kind of threshold that wasn't meant for her.

Gripping her wand tightly, she regarded the scenery for a brief moment: it had been impossible to notice the green fields before, how the trees rose upwards, well above her head like skyscrapers in a city conquered by the undergrowth. With all the slashing and stabbing, Maria had been focused on too many things at the same time to gaze upon the quiet beauty of the forest.

But there was no sound or birdsong, and it unnerved her. She could only hear the crackling and snapping of trees as they burned in the distance, dimming the soft hum of the river.

'Accio parchment!' she cried, looking around madly for a piece of paper flying her way.

Lip quivering, she waited to hear something, anything, that resembled the dry scratching of paper on grass or under scattered wood, struggling to get to her – had it not slipped out of her purse when she fell in the water, washed away by the river.

Looking a perfect picture of desperation, Maria stored her broom in the purse and ran down the shallow steps to the bank.

She whimpered at the sight of black staining the ground. There were no bodies anymore; someone had taken the fallen. The only evidence that there had been any sort of fight was the black liquid – and what an unusual colour for blood it was – pooling near the water in small puddles like spilled ink.

'Accio, accio parchment -' sobbed Maria. But it was in vain.

A warm wind from the East blew in her face, and Maria coughed the specks of ash that filled her nose. It was as if the forest was mocking her.

'I knew we should never have come here,' she whined while addressing the skies. 'I knew it!'

Furious, Maria kicked and punched the water. It wasn't long until her robes were soaked.

And thus, it was with a heavy heart that Maria plopped down on the nearest piece of dry land, staring straight ahead with her lips parted and eyebrows raised in bewilderment. She shook her head. As if there was something on the opposite side of the river other than trees and grass that could answer all her problems – which were not a lot, she had to admit. But what they lacked in number, they surpassed in everything else.

Numbly, Maria tipped the end of her wand on the water. It started bubbling.

This is Hell, she thought, burying her head in her hands. And I'm fucked.

The parchment was gone, or at least gone somewhere else. For an insane moment she considered taking out her broom and surveying the river in detail, but this posed a few issues regarding her safety. That thing, even if it was magical, would've been swallowed by a hungry carp.

Coughing, Maria wrinkled her nose at the horrible scent in the air. Her eyes burned, her body was sore and everything was falling to pieces. She thought about her father, wondering if he was alright and whether he missed her as much as she did him. It seemed like she had been in this place for a lifetime. Had it really been just a few days?

Glancing miserably over the gate, she watched the flames as a moist trail ran down her face. It was surprisingly cold, but then again, the air was becoming hotter by the minute.

Then, just as she was thinking about what to do next, she heard a tense sound, like string being pulled.

'Man de?' someone called. 'Man ceridh hí?'

Maria snapped her head, looking for the source. Then, she froze.

It would've been impossible for Maria to notice how the outlines on the opposite bank weren't trees at all; one by one, a dozen archers came out of the darkness, clad in brown and green. They had blended with the forest, almost as if they were a part of it – and surely there was some truth to this, because the voice seemed to have come from everywhere at once.

'Tíro nin.'

Unknown hands dragged Maria roughly off the ground. Before she could stop them, someone seized her wand, and she was twirled around towards a man as tall as a young tree, whose fair face was partially cloaked in shadow. He considered Maria, taking in her robes with bewilderment. At his belt was a long white knife.

And then there it was again. That divine smell of fresh pine that shouldn't quite persist, not when thick clouds blocked the dwindling light of day. Now Maria knew where it came from, and it frightened her to think that she had been watched for all this time.

'Man de?' the man repeated, drawing his bow. She noticed his sharp ears at once, and was reminded of the man-child at the lake, now fairly certain that they were two of a kind and that Þráinn didn't share this. She frowned, starting to doubt her previous convictions regarding these individuals – Veela's ears were regular shaped, not pointy, like a house elf's.

Despite her musings, Maria remained silent. Experience told her answering would be useless.

Swift as a breeze, another one – an archer, for he too held a bow - appeared next to Maria. Like the other man, he too was fair and strong. He had her wand and eyed it warily, keeping it in a safe distance. 'Hir nín,' he said, drawing his arm. With one last glance at her clothes, he ran towards the gate where others waited, armed and vigilant. As she regarded the mob, Maria's heart skipped a beat and she dissolved into tears. She was grossly outnumbered.

With this, more soldiers came into sight, materializing from the forest; two dragged one of the beasts who was bound by either rope or chain, a thin thing that glowed silver like stardust in the night. However, though it was bound, the creature hadn't been gagged. It growled from afar, glaring at Maria with both fear and hatred in its odd eyes.

'Shatraug!' it roared, struggling against its captors.

Maria took a step backwards when the creature lunged forward, making horrible noises with its throat as it thrashed on the ground, spitting at her a thunder of words that couldn't be anything but violent. Wincing, she closed her eyes just in time to avoid watching it being beaten into submission. When the growling subsided, Maria saw a pair of yellow eyes staring back at her with an ugly scowl.

'Give me back my wand!' Maria whimpered, but to no avail. The grip around her arms only tightened. Whatever the creature had said, everyone but her must've understood it, for they now observed her even less amicably.

Without warning, the fair man lowered his bow and, in a swift, well coordinated movement, the others mirrored him. Maria trembled, struggling to interpret what the man said when he spoke to her next. This time his words felt less musical, and she wondered whether he had switched to another language. Maria wasn't sure, but it seemed as if he was posing a question. Crestfallen, she shook her head, mumbling tearful apologies.

As more black smoke rose in the pinking horizon, a deathlike quiet fell upon the clearing. The tall man frowned but said nothing, nimble fingers twirling her wand with care, like it was made of glass. His gaze was fixed on the delicate wood work at the handle, but soon confusion turned into fear; perhaps sensing her anxiety, the wand produced tiny red sparks that, upon hitting the ground, set fire to the undergrowth. Maria paled, watching helplessly as the man stomped on the small flames with one brown boot.

The man sent her a peculiar look, twisted with grief.

'Gewdho den,' he said at last, with great urgency. 'Boe ammen gwad.'

Maria's tears continued to fall. That didn't sound good.

And it certainly wasn't. Soon they were on the move, and Maria was forced to trail after a dozen armed men through narrow and uneven paths, dragged like the growling creature, her hands bound behind her back with magical rope – for there was a spell cast on it, without a doubt. She had felt the magic engulfing her like a glove.

There was no golden light to be seen; night had fallen with little warning. Trees rose higher and higher above their heads, casting strange shadows below. Brown leaves fell into piles, descending slowly from the upper branches as they stripped for the season. The trunks were wide, covered in healthy green moss that stretched away from floor to top. The mess of the undergrowth and roots on the ground cleared as they went further into the heart of the forest; and gradually the path smoothed, until Maria felt no trace of ground, only solid rock under her shoes.

However, Maria avoided gazing at the narrow trails away from the main path. The terrifying shadows flickering around the corners of her sight must be a trick, for how could a place so magnificent be so frightening?

But there was little time for Maria to contemplate such matters. They kept a steady pace, never leaving the path, always forward. Perhaps she would be more inclined to appreciate the unearthly beauty of the forest if it were not for her circumstances.

At long last, they reached a a tall gate and there were several cries of 'Na vedui!', which Maria assumed was something akin to relief. Shivering from the cold, she gazed up at the approaching doors which were as tall as trees, gaping at the intricate carvings over metal that endeavoured to represent an organic structure.

'Goodness,' she breathed, eyes puffy and glistening from the tears she spilled.

With a loud groan of reluctance, the gates slowly swung forward, revealing two guards in silver armour, each holding a large sword. Maria couldn't help but to shed a few more tears, wishing she had her wand with her.

Þráinn is Old Norse for Thráin, Þorinn for Thorin and Björn for Beorn.

Translations:

Southern/Silvan Sindarin

Man ceridh hí – What are you doing here?

Tíro nin – Look at me.

Gwedho den – Bind her.

Boe ammen gwad – We must go.

Without further ado, my apologies for posting Chapter 14 so late. As some of you know, my father's sickness took a turn for the worst, and after very quick and unexpected developments, he passed on March 3rd this year, in 2015. Notwithstanding the horrible emotional pain that follows the death of a parent, I had the worst six months of my life.

I've had this chapter planned and mostly written for a few months now, only I couldn't really bring myself to finish it. After I finished my exams, the free time was a real kick in the gut. I only managed to do well in college despite this whole situation because I was drowning in work, trying not to overthink about all our problems at home. I won't lie; it's been hell. All I want is for everything to get solved as soon as possible so we can get on with our lives.

For all of you who have been asking me to update, I'm very sorry that I couldn't do it sooner. I split this chapter in two, otherwise I'd take a few more days going through the whole piece, and I just don't have enough time to do it right now. However, I promise the next part will come in mid December, hopefully before or during Christmas. It'll probably come with fanart, since I spent some time sketching a few scenes during the holidays.

This chapter isn't very long; it's only has 2487 words, but the next part will return to the usual 5,000 length, and it will have more action and dialogue, plus Maria's first real contact with elves. It will help her understand a few things about where she is, and just what she needs to do in order to go home.

If I have some free time soon to revise and edit, I'll post Balin's POV from Chapter 13. Until then, I hope you enjoy this one, even if it's brief and has no dwarves.

A very heartfelt thank you for all of you who stuck around for so long.
I'll see you all very soon.
-Rita