“Only a strong magic could have made this possible,” he thought as he added the final touches to the picture. Eyes of the lightest shade of brown looked at him from the parchment. Though he had never painted anything in his brief life, the sudden talent gave those orbs such wisdom, strength, and pain. He marveled at the color of this woman’s face, for it was definitely a human female he saw in the vision: neither pale like his, nor black like a Drow, but it was a creamy brown, the color of tea rich with cream. He painted her lips full, a feature not found on many in Middle Earth. He had nearly used up all of the black paint on just her hair, for it was thick and wavy, with strange auburn streaks coursing through. When the criminal finished the near perfect arch of her eyebrows, he put the brush down and reviewed this creation 

His dark eyes scanned over the face and above, still puzzled by the words he wrote. At least, they looked like words, though not in the common tongue. He didn’t know what language it was, maybe Dwarvish, maybe Elvish. “Who could translate this?” he wondered. 

Carefully he blew across the parchment, testing for dryness. Satisfied that the vision would not smear, the prisoner rolled it up, securing it closed with a thin string. Something compelled him to place it in the wall, in a small gap between two stones. Suddenly he cried out, all senses reeling when another vision appeared in his head. After a minute of painful revelation, he crumpled to the floor and began to crawl to his paints. He had no more parchment, and barely any colors; but he had to write this. Just then his cell door opened and the guard entered. 

“It is time,” he said gravely. 

“No, wait. I need more paint,” the prisoner pleaded. His begging soon turned into struggling, which prompted more guards to restrain him as they removed him. 

“No!! Wait!! I know how she is to return! Please, I need more paint, I need more time! I know the way!!”…. 

 

 

Centuries later, Gandalf the Gray stood in the small room, pouring over scroll after scroll. If the matter wasn’t urgent, he would have pondered its history: this room used to be a prison cell, before it and the rest of the building was converted into a library. But this wasn’t the time; the wizard had to know exactly what Bilbo’s ring was. He had to be sure. 

Minutes rolled into hours, which rolled into days, and after reading Isildur’s Scroll, Gandalf came to one horrifying conclusion: it could very well be the One Ring. He sat back in his chair, wondering the turn of fortune. “Why now? Why Bilbo? Of all the creatures to even glimpse the accursed ring, why him? And now it has passed to Frodo.” 

He lifted his head, staring at the huge case of scrolls. While he continued to wonder what must be done, his eyes roamed towards the left and stayed on what looked like a thin scroll. Stuffed between two stones, it amazed him that he—and others—had missed it. “What is this?” he asked himself before standing to retrieve it. Gingerly Gandalf untied the string and unrolled the parchment; it was clearly very old. The markings at the top were not common tongue, Dwarf, or even Sindarin; if he didn’t know better, the wizard would’ve sworn it was Quenya. Drawing on his knowledge, he began to translate: 

“When the test of Man’s Bane begins anew, and the moon hides in shadow, the door of time shall open, and the Strong One of the Valar will come, to pierce her light through the darkness.” 

As he read on, Gandalf believed that this document was very much real, and a tool to aid in whatever was to come. He deciphered that “the moon in shadow” was a lunar eclipse, and would occur in twelve days. He also gathered the location of the “Strong One’s” arrival. “I must send word to Thranduil…she is coming. But first, to the Shire, and to Frodo….” 

 

 

October 1, 2213 C.E. (Common Era) 

“Where the hell is it?” Kiah Goutier mumbled outside her home. Three large containers of food and household goods floated around the small woman while she rambled in her bag for her access card. “You would think I’d learned to put the damn thing where it’s supposed to be,” she admonished herself. 

Two years had passed since she was reunited with her daughter, and it was a full two years of overdue peace. Kiah and Asalie stayed on New Mecca for several more weeks with Jack and Imam. During that time of healing and preparation, all four became good friends. It was also during that period when the telekinetic legally reclaimed her maiden name of Goutier. When questioned by her child, she had explained it was in memory of the family they both had lost. The truth, however, was that even though she’d forgiven her former husband for his ignorance in pursuit of power, she wouldn’t forget the consequences of it. 

When mother and child left New Mecca, Kiah decided to return to Xinal, since it officially became a Neutral Zone after the CPP fiasco. The journey to her childhood home was bittersweet and surprising: the house, abandoned for over six years, was remarkably in good condition. It turned out that a few of their old—and faithful—neighbors worked together to renovate it, once the truth of the Goutier family came out. They had hoped and believed that the middle child of Paul and Claudette would return, and she did. 

After a few more shakes of her bag, Kiah found what she was looking for. “Geez, it’s about time,” she muttered before swiping the card across the door panel. The green LED flashed and the door slid open, allowing the woman and her purchases to pass through. 

“Computer: lights full, check messages,” she said aloud. Instantly there was light to reveal the nicely decorated foyer and living room. 

“Welcome home, Kiah. Scanning digital messages now,” was the faceless response. 

The telekinetic made her way to the kitchen with the containers and placed them on the island when the house computer played back the first message. An 8 by 8-inch holographic screen emerged from the countertop and soon showed a color image of Asalie. 

“Alright mom, where are you? You know your curfew is 2:15,” the now fifteen year-old telekinetic teased. “Seriously, I just wanted to say Hi, and that I’m having a blast here. Don’t forget that my presentation is in 2 weeks. I don’t even know why I said that, because you don’t forget anything. Anyways, I love you, and I’ll talk to you later…miss you.” With that the screen went blank. 

Kiah smiled; two weeks before, she had agreed to send Asalie to a Science Retreat hosted by the Xavier School. The young telekinetic showed extreme talent in scientific and technical things, something she’d inherited from her father, Marcus. Her mother briefly thought back on their early days after she and Riddick had tracked her daughter and husband to Corsaire. Marcus Jacobs’ one selfless act of redemption resulted in Kiah’s survival, but in his death. Had they not met Imam, who coached the two from the grief and confusion, the elder telekinetic knew that they would no way be as close as they were at the present. Occasionally, the pain returned for both, but their love always managed to send it away. 

Though she would never verbalize it, Kiah had hoped that her teenaged daughter would choose the musical track, like her. Asalie was gifted with a strong, soprano tone in near perfect pitch; her mother was a solid alto, borderline contralto. But, it was science that captured her heart, and Kiah went along with it. 

The second message that appeared on-screen stunned her into silence. “Hey girlie,” the shaven, silver-eyed man softly growled in that deep, gravel tone. “It’s been a while, I know. Things got a little…complicated…on this end. I’m on New Mecca now. Jack and Imam send their regards.” Riddick paused a bit before adding, “I’m…damn…I’m still not there, yet, but I want to see you, and Asalie. I’m leavin’ here in a few days, so be lookin’ for me a week after that.” Then the screen went blank before receding into the kitchen island. 

Kiah was in shock; rarely had Riddick called, since he left them two years before. When he did, there was always that undercurrent of what if’s: what if he was ready, what if she was ready. Theirs was a friendship born in danger, but had survived and solidified. Yet even then, the tension—sexual, emotional—was there, and still remained, unabated.  

“This could get interesting,” Kiah finally said after pondering on the message for several more minutes. 

She flexed the fingers of her left hand, and half a second later doors and cabinets opened in the kitchen. A hazel-eyed glance at one container resulted in items floating up and forward to their new, temporary home. Kiah was about to do the same to the second container when the lighting in the kitchen increased, growing brighter until it was blinding. 

“What the…? Computer: lights off, run diagnostics…computer…computer!” The telekinetic shielded her eyes from the intense light. She then felt like something was pulling at her, as if some force was wrapped around her waist and reeling her in…to what, she had no clue. But no sooner did she experience this sensation then it suddenly stopped. She no longer felt the intense luminescence, which prompted Kiah to lower her arms and slowly open her eyes. 

She thought she could hear birds singing in the distance, but she wasn’t sure. And at that moment, she couldn’t afford to care: fifteen sharp arrowheads formed a semi-circle around her from 20 feet away. At the end of each stood a tall, fair-complexioned, blonde man with strange, pointy ears, dressed in green and brown. Kiah had only seen shirts, pants, and boots of this style in old history media files, from medireview times. They all looked younger than her, each face masked in alarm and slight curiosity. 

“Holy shit,” Kiah drawled out slowly. She didn’t have to be told twice not to make any sudden moves; the last thing she wanted was to be part of some bloodbath. Silently she willed her TK shield to form around her, hoping they wouldn’t detect it. Slowly she exhaled when it appeared that the “men” didn’t. 

“Okay,” she began, slowly and clearly, “What is going on here? Who are you? What happened to my home?” The slightly confused looks she got in return didn’t help her feeling of anxiety. 

“You don’t know English? Um…okay.” Kiah repeated the questions in French…still no answer. 

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. Slowly she raised her hands, palms forward, in a gesture of peace. Please God…what are you doing to me now? she thought. She was contemplating some way to escape--since it didn’t look like they would just let her walk out of wherever the hell she was—before one of them finally spoke in a language that could’ve passed for English, if not for the lilting accent. 

“What sorcery has brought you here, trespasser?” Cadrieldur asked. In all of his 4,023 years, the elf had never met a creature such as this. It appeared to be female; she certainly had the curves of one. Yet she was dressed like a human man, in light tan leggings that were snug around the waist and hip area, but a little loose at the ankles. Her small feet were encased in black boots with laces. Panning his eyes above the stranger’s waist, Cadrieldur noted that she wore two shirts: the outer layer was white with long sleeves, made of a thin material that enabled one to make out the color of the second shirt, which was solid black. 

Other than her attire—which was definitely not what most human women of Middle Earth wore—there were two things that perplexed and alarmed the elf and his companions. The first was the color of her skin: it was neither as dark like a Drow, nor was it as fair as his. It was the color of a tea full of rich cream, a light/medium brown. Cadrieldur knew of no creature of any race with coloring such as the stranger’s. The other feature were the eyes: though the pupils were nearly black, the irises were lighter than her skin color, flecked with a dark green around the far edges. At the present moment, those alluring eyes were squinting ever so slightly. 

“Where is here, exactly? And who are you?” Kiah repeated. Her attention was focused on the spokesperson, vaguely perceiving the somewhat ancient look of her surroundings. So intense was her gaze that the telekinetic didn’t sense the presence of another directly behind her, until she heard a distinctive male voice. 

“Considering that you are trespassing, you are in no position to ask questions,” Legolas, prince of Mirkwood answered. Slowly he moved around to face the newcomer, his own bow and arrow drawn. The spokesperson for the rest of the group deferred to the new elf, giving Kiah the impression that he was the man in charge. He was dressed in the same style of clothes, except his colors were green and silver only. 

“I will ask this one time,” he warned. “What sorcery has brought you here?”