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By: Dana
Chapter IX: Shelob's Lair
Above them, the sky did not seem utterly black, but instead it seemed a great dome of smoke, a roof that stretched beyond what Merry could see. There were pockets and holes still of deeper black, where night lingered, but the day – if you could call it day – was smoky, grey, and went without end. On they went, Gollum in front, and Merry behind him – whatever malice he might plan, Merry would keep him from Frodo and Pippin, too, as best as he could. But Frodo and Pippin were behind him, going side by side. There was no other room. There was torn rock all around, weathered by time and the elements, and Merry's feet counted time as well, the steps that he took. And they went upwards, rock at other side of them, jutting up. And worst of all – and it did seem worse than anything else, somehow – there was no sound. And they were heading towards a great grey wall. Merry gritted his teeth. They would come to the end of this – no matter how, he would see it done. Steadily, the dark wall came closer. There was a scent in the air, and it grew stronger as well, as the great wall loomed before them. Before it, it cast everything in shadow, and blocked out view of what lay behind. The stench was stronger now, and Merry cringed – but he did not think it strongest, not yet. It was Pippin who said, disgust in his voice, 'Ugh! That smell! It's getting stronger and stronger. Must we go that way?' But no one answered him, and they went into the shadow – and there, in the midst of it, the opening of the cave loomed, darker than darkness. Merry shuddered, something cold trickling down his spine. He looked into it, and thought he saw the ending of everything. But no, this would not be their end. It most certainly would not be his. 'This is the way in,' said Gollum softly. `This is the entrance to the tunnel.' Merry shuddered at the foul stench that came from it – stronger than anything so far – thick as death and all foul rot. He peered into the darkness, as though he could find some other way. As if he could save them all from this. 'Is this the only way, Sméagol?' said Frodo. 'Yes, yes,' he answered. 'Yes, we must go this way now.' 'I – ' Pippin began to protest. 'Well, I wish there was some other way. Or that I was more fond of such stench. But I don't suppose there is any other way.' 'No,' Gollum said, and his eyes were cold-looking, and they glinted. 'No, there's no other way, not a way the young master would go and not get caught. Caught by Orcses, or something worse.' He turned his head, and coughed. 'Gollum, gollum. Indeed, this is our way.' 'Well, if it is indeed the only way,' said Frodo, 'then we must take it.' And Merry looked at Frodo, his chest aching – from filth into thicker filth, Merry thought. And then he shook his head. He drew a deep breath, and then turned to the opening of the cave. He went forward, and Frodo and Pippin did as well. And Gollum, too. But then, darkness swallowed them, more complete than the darkness that had daunted them, all this long while in the pass. No, it was deeper than that, deep like lightless Moria had been, though somehow it seemed deeper than even that. The air was stale and stank, and Merry thought he would be sick. But no, he reached out and found a familiar hand, Pippin's, and gripped it. Pippin gave his hand a hard squeeze, but then Pippin fell away. Merry could not voice his protest, or his fear. And there was fear. They went on – the wall was mostly smooth, and the floor, save for a step up or down, was very straight. But they all stayed near, the three of them, though Merry had no idea where Gollum had got to. He touched one wall with one hand. And he knew that Pippin was to his left, and Frodo further from that. He had never felt so alone. And that was funny, but he blamed the darkness – the darkness, that was so very complete. He wanted to run from this place. Surely, they could manage some other way. But they went on, went on and on and on, and sense and colour felt very far behind him, and anything sane. From time to time, Merry could hear the hissing of Gollum's breath. He heard the soft pad of Pippin's feet, closest to him, and he wished to reach for both him and Frodo, and keep them both at hand. But then that seemed far away, dull and distant – it had gone beyond running, it had gone beyond sense. They were cut off from anything and everything, and they were all so very alone. Merry could hardly breathe, for the stench of foul air that stirred about them. Stirred, and only for the moving of their bodies. O, and they climbed, and Merry thought it more difficult to breathe, and the stench of the air grew as well, and there were tears burning in his eyes. Things groped at his legs, or stirred at his passage. Cool, hanging, dry. It made his skin shiver, made him shudder all over. He did not see how he went on (not that he could see at all), but he pushed himself, somehow, too frightened to speak aloud. But he would not stop, though he did reach out, from time to time, to seek for Pippin at his side. Always finding him, and that at least gave him some peace. It hardly felt enough. It was maddening, the darkness, and the length of their passage. Merry went on and on, and at his right, the wall fell away – the air seemed lighter, and he realised that there was more than one passage. He said so, but it took some force for him to speak. The air was too heavy, the blackness was too thick. He mentioned that one, and the others that he passed, and Frodo did as well. Some were wider, and some were smaller. And though Merry did not trust Gollum (he did not), there seemed no doubt that this was the main passage. It went onwards, steadily so, and up. How much could they endure? He had felt a number of them, before, but when the air grew thicker – but Merry did not think it was heavy as it could be – there were more of them, the hanging tentacles, the growths, brushing against his head, against his arms and legs. Pippin startled at them, more than once. Merry had no idea what they were, only as they went on, the stench grew and grew. How terrible – sight was stolen, and sound it seemed as well – that they were left with that, and only that. That foul, rotten stench, growing more and more. How long had it been? Pippin suddenly grasped at his hand, clutched it hard, and Merry imagined Pippin had clutched at Frodo, as well. Merry did not let his hand fall from the wall, though perhaps he should have. He was groping in the darkness, and there was nothing to be seen. Merry stopped, at length, when Pippin jerked him to the left – but he said, it was only because Frodo had stopped. 'There is a void here,' he said, softly. 'I might have fallen into it. I have no idea how far it goes.' And he whispered, but it seemed too much – that, and the stench, which seemed to come from the void, and something more. Something shapeless, nameless, but fear none the less. Pippin reeled, and Merry too lurched forwards as he fell. It was Frodo who first gathered himself, pulling at Merry and Pippin both, Pippin gagging, and shaking. 'Up!' he said, hoarse and breathless. 'Up! It all comes from here, the stench and the peril. Now for it! Quick! ' Merry could not think – could not think at all, or act, and he was blinded by the stench and by his fear. It was Frodo who drew him to his feet, him and Pippin as well, and he forced them both forward, jerking as he did. He forced himself to move, as well. The steps were difficult, but Merry felt his feet moving, clutched hard at Pippin's hand, and gripped at Frodo, stumbling blindly. But then it released them, whatever it might have been, and it seemed easier. But that did not mean that they did not still struggle, and they went on, hand in hand. Then they came to a difficulty that seemed greater than that: the path had forked, and though they groped in the darkness, there was no telling which way was wider, or which way would lead them straight. And Gollum, curse him, had vanished into the darkness before him. There was so sound at him: nothing but Frodo's hoarse whisper, 'Sméagol! Sméagol! Which way have you gone?' But his voice was small and fell away. There was no answer. Not even an echo. Or the slightest tremble in the air. 'Has he abandoned us?' Pippin whispered, voice shaking. Merry clutched at his hand, scowled into the gaping darkness. 'I think he has. No doubt, he meant to all along – and he has brought us where he meant to, all along. O, if I ever...' 'Merry, there's no good in thinking that,' said Pippin, his voice still shaking. 'If he has left us, then so he has. We can't stop now. We will find our way, with or without his help.' Merry took hope in that – of course, Pippin's hope would go without end – and presently, all three of them groped blindly in the dark, hands touching stone. At length, Frodo said, 'This can't be the way,' and that a whisper. 'Right or wrong, we must take the other.' 'Yes, and let's do be quick about it,' said Pippin, voice low and hoarse. 'There's something in the darkness, I can feel it – and it's looking at us, I think.' And they went on, hurrying, though Merry's legs screamed from the agony of it, and he clutched at Frodo with one hand, and Pippin with the other. They had not gone far, when from behind them there came a sound, startling and horrible. Merry's hair did not stand on end, but his stomach twisted itself in knots. The noise was horrible, terrible to hear: a gurgling, bubbling noise, and a long venomous hiss. They wheeled round, but nothing could be seen. Still as stones they stood, staring, waiting for they did not know what. A trap, Merry thought dully, and then he gasped, 'It's a trap!' His hand went to the hilt of his sword. And there they were, in the darkness still, so very alone. Or not so alone. 'The light,' Pippin gasped hoarsely. Merry stumbled back, and felt Pippin do so as well. 'The light, Frodo! That Lady Galadriel gave to you!' Pippin had mentioned it before, and it had seemed a little bit of hope, and the light had not been bright. But Merry thought of that, and it seemed brighter now. Merry threw one arm over Pippin, and pushed him back – as though Pippin could not take care of himself – and the hissing drew nearer, a creaking of some great jointed thing, moving in the dark. 'The light!' Pippin gasped once more. And urgency came into his voice. 'Frodo, the light!' Frodo muttered to himself, and Merry could not tell what he said. But then he spoke louder, wonder in his voice: 'Why yes! Why had I forgotten it? A light when all other lights go out! And now indeed light alone can help us.' Frodo moved. At the corner of Merry's vision, he saw a faint glimmer. He turned to it, and held his breath. He felt the heaving of Pippin's chest. And there it grew, glowing and then increasing in that grow. Light flashed out, and the darkness receded – and Merry's eyes burned, though he did not look away, nor did Pippin – and the light flashed out brighter, all the air turned white and cleared. And Frodo held it, held onto it, and his hand seemed to burn as well, but with pure white fire. Merry thanked Pippin, for this time and the latter, that he had spoken of the light – though he had known of it, he had not thought of it at all, on their long road – and he thanked Frodo, as well, and the Lady Galadriel, so very far away. Then Frodo cried out, Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!, though the voice seemed somehow greater that Frodo's, even, clear and strong and bright, cutting through dark, heavy air. And the air was very heavy. Merry felt something press upon him, a great blackness, a heavy malice – and Frodo faltered. Merry turned from Frodo, and looked down the long length of the tunnel. And let out his breath. There, not far down the tunnel, between them and the opening where they had reeled and stumbled, he was aware of eyes growing visible, two great clusters of many-windowed eyes – the coming menace was unmasked at last. Merry stood, frozen, gape-mouthed. Presently, he took a lurching step backwards, and then another, his sword shaking in his hand. Fear went through him, though it did not hold him completely at thrall. And they backed away, but as they did, the eyes advanced on them. Frodo's hand was shaking. Merry's almost dropped the sword from his hand. Pippin gave a small cry, and that broke the terrible spell. Merry cried out, heedless of the words he had shouted, but all he then knew was that they turned and ran, and that all seemed in vain. There would be no escaping this death. Then Frodo shouted, 'Stand! stand!' he cried desperately. 'Running is no use.' Merry stopped, and Pippin ran into him, and they both turned – there Frodo was, holding the glass, the light of it dim now in his hand. And the eyes crept nearer. 'Galadriel!' Frodo called, and Merry watched his cousin, his Frodo, gathering his courage, as he lifted the Lady's Phial once more. As he did, the eyes halted – some doubt had come upon them, and they were troubled. 'Frodo!' Pippin gasped, but Merry did not let him rush forward – he thrust his arm about Pippin's waist, and held onto him as Pippin struggled, the sword in Merry's other hand. And Frodo took the glass from his right hand, thrust it into his left, and then with his right hand, he took Sting from its sheath. About its edge, it flickered with blue fire – and he thrust it forward. And Frodo went forward, too. Pippin went still, his breathing low and heavy. Frodo advanced, and Merry breathed, and as Frodo went forward, so did the eyes dim. One by one, and Merry slowly let out his breath once more – and then they were gone, and a great hulking thing turned and moved away, beyond the light's reach. Pippin broke free of Merry's hold, and rushed to Frodo, reaching for his left arm. 'Frodo! O, stars and glory, Frodo! Did you just see what you did? O, don't go on, Frodo! Now we must run!' Frodo nodded, caught his breath. Merry felt dizzy. 'We must run,' he said, and Frodo nodded once more. The light was still in hand, and Pippin was pulling at him, face dirty but radiant. And they turned, walking at first and then they did run. The floor beneath them rose steeply, and they were climbing higher. But also they were climbing higher above the stench of the fell lair, and leaving it fair behind. But they were still being watched. A flow of air came upon him, and Merry gulped it down, fresher than anything deep within the earth. It was cold and thin but it was air, and they ran into it, and towards the opening that waited before them. The opening, and Merry's heart beat dully. Panting, almost breathless in the moment, he threw himself forward, and Frodo and Pippin did as well, but then they all stopped. In amazement, they all staggered back. Before them, there was a barrier: but it was not of stone. Soft and a little yielding it seemed, and yet strong and impervious; air filtered through, hut not a glimmer of any light. Once more they charged and were hurled back. Frodo held the light aloft. There was greyness before them, and it caught the light, and swallowed it. Pippin reached out, but hesitated. 'A spider's web,' he said, in sickened wonder. 'That's all it is.' It was no ordinary spider's web, though, great and thick and stronger than stone. Merry still had his blade in hand. A fury seized him, and he hewed at the barrier, but it did not give. O, it gave a little, yes, but it did not break – it bent, and Merry struck it again, with all the force that he could manage, and then twice more after that. One single cord snapped and twisted, and one end of it lashed at Merry's hand. He cried out in pain, starting back and drawing his hand across his mouth. 'It will take days to clear the road like this,' he said. `What's to be done? Frodo, has it come back?' 'No, not to be seen,' said Frodo. `But I still feel that they are looking at me, or thinking about me: making some other plan, perhaps. If this light were lowered, or if it failed, they would quickly come again.' 'Well, then we're good and trapped,' said Pippin, and his voice was not bitter, but tired instead. 'What are we to do?' 'Let us see what Sting can do,' said Frodo. 'It is an Elven-blade. There were webs of horror in the dark ravines of Beleriand where it was forged. But Merry, you must be the guard and hold back the eyes. Here, Pippin, take the star-glass. Do not be afraid. Hold it up and watch!' Pippin took it, and held it aloft – but he kept one eye on Frodo, and Merry did as well, holding his blade high. Frodo stepped up to the great grey net, and hewed it with a wide sweeping stroke, drawing the bitter edge swiftly across a ladder of close-strung cords, and at once springing away. The blue-gleaming blade shore through them like a scythe through grass, and they leaped and writhed and then hung loose. A great rent was made. Stroke after stroke he dealt, until at last all the web within his reach was shattered, and the upper portion blew and swayed like a loose veil in the incoming wind. The trap was broken. 'Come!' cried Frodo. 'On! On!' Merry's heart leapt – wild joy seized him, at the thought of their escape, and from the very mouth of despair. His head all but whirled. First Frodo went out, and then Pippin, and Merry followed behind. Frodo was shouting to the open air. Beyond the opening, it almost seemed light. The land was dark, but grey like dream, and not like the deepest night that they had just passed. It seemed to be the last hours of the day, and Merry looked about in wonder, and with some fear. But they had made it, and Merry felt a small stirring in his chest. The first wonder of hope. They only had to go a little further, now. 'The pass, Merry! The pass, Pippin!' Frodo's voice was high and shrill. 'The pass! Run, run, and we'll be through – through before any one can stop us!' Pippin was at Frodo's side, and Merry went up behind them both, as fast as he could urge his legs. But Merry kept on glancing back – they had not defeated it, whatever it had been, that great spider-beast in the deepest dark. No, they had not defeated it, and now they ran from it, and the darkness they had left behind. And Merry felt it, behind him, though he beheld no sight of it. So he ran, urged his legs to move quicker than they did already, though little did he think that would help. Fear was growing on him, a menace within him. And he heard, and then saw: Pippin gave a small cry, and Frodo's blade was wreathed in blue flame. Orcs! Merry thought. Orcs were about! They were running from one trap, and into another – surely, no fly had ever escaped from that beast's web, and then from that trap to another. Frodo kept running – a strange mood was upon him, and Pippin grabbed at him but Frodo was beyond him, though that did not stop Pippin. He ran, heedless of Merry as he shouted after them, begging them to stop. To stop, and to what end? They would be caught between one trap and another. Before them, the windows in the dark tower, up ahead of them, were burning red. He saw a flickering light – clear and bright – fall like a star, from Pippin's hand. Merry hesitated, almost tripped over his feet as he stopped long enough to catch it, and shove the light into his pocket. And then he went on, though his legs seemed heavier now, and the light was now gone. And there it came. A little ahead of him, to the left, he saw it suddenly, a great darkness issuing forth from some other darkness, a hold in the shadow of the cliff. Merry's eyes grew wide, and he took in the sight of her – like a spider, she almost was like a spider, but she was greater than that, and more foul, bloated on darkness. There, the seeking eyes, watching them. Merry could not open his mouth, and though his legs did not stop, it seemed his mind has seized. Horror washed over him, taking in the sight of it – from its great, black eyes, dark as death, to its swollen belly, pale underneath and reeking of death. And Merry saw it, and could not do anything to stop it – it pushed itself out into the faded light, and then it ran with great speed, coming at them and then making a great bound. Merry was nearly knocked from his feet, and the breath certainly was knocked from his lungs. He went reeling, and the thing, the spider, was between him and his cousins. He couldn't run. He opened his mouth, and screamed. 'FRODO! PIPPIN! Look out behind! It's coming – ' and Pippin turned, though Frodo ran on heedless of any risk, and even at that distance, Merry saw how Pippin's eyes went wide – and he tripped over his own feet. Merry let out a wail of anguish – but then that cry was muffled. A long clammy hand went over his mouth and another caught him by the neck, while something wrapped itself about his leg. Taken off his guard he toppled backwards into the arms of his attacker. 'Got him!' hissed Gollum in his ear. 'At last, my precious, we've got him, yes, the nassty hobbit. We takes this one. She'll get the others. O yes, Shelob will get them, not Sméagol: he promised; he won't hurt Master at all. But he's got you, you nassty filthy little sneak!' He squeezed, and Merry struggled – and then Gollum spat on his neck. Fury came upon him, fury at the treachery – and desperation, as Frodo and Pippin were both in great peril. Merry twisted, faster than he thought was possible, in the grip of a horrible, violent rage – it made him burn. Gollum was surprised, but did not let him go, though that only made Merry struggle all the more. He had his hand on his sword, and he tried to swing with it, to stab at this monster. But Gollum was faster still, and bent Merry's hand back. He gave a hoarse cry and his sword fell to the ground. His heart was pounding, dully, though it raced in his ears. This would not be the end – this would not be the end – he twisted and he tried to punch, and to free himself from Gollum's grip. He managed at last a great kick against Gollum's gut, and with a shrill squeal, Gollum let go. Merry rolled away from him, gasping for breath – he caught hold of his sword, and swung it in the arc, and Gollum squealed once more as the flat of the blade struck him across the chest. He heard another shriek – but that was not Gollum, and it did not sound like Frodo. Merry swung at Gollum once more, and with one last squeal – it seemed that Gollum saw that he was overmatched – Gollum leapt away, bounding away with great speed, back towards the tunnel. Merry did not go after him. He turned, the air heavy and the world dull and grey, and there the beast was – still bodies on the ground – and he choked on a sob and tightened his grip on his sword. He wanted to go after Gollum – but if they were dead, if they were dead, then killing Gollum would not bring them back. So he rushed forth wildly, back up the path, eyes burning and his lungs burning as well. There was darkness in his mind, and in the air.
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