Shumeeren angrily paced back and forth in her chambers, her constant motions both intimidating her handmaiden Bimi and making her incredibly dizzy. Bimi had seldom seen her mistress so enraged, and knew that the source of Shumeeren's anger was the birth of Esarhaddon's son, Mindin. For some reason known only to the Master of the Fates of Arda Himself, Shumeeren could not bear children, no matter how many times she and Esarhaddon made love.

When it was discovered that Anúrnissa was with child, Shumeeren had hidden her displeasure under a smile of congratulations. However, her consternation and jealousy increased as Anúrnissa's belly had grown plump with Esarhaddon's offspring. Now Shumeeren had yet another rival – the Northern ice goddess Goldwyn.

"Curse that Anúrnissa and her fruitful womb," Shumeeren raged out loud. "Even if her brat is a hideous monster, she can still give birth while I cannot!"

"Mistress, I am sorry," Bimi remarked, not knowing what else to say.

"Oh Bimi!" she cried. "You are the only one in whom I can confide! What am I to do?" she asked as she sank onto the red cushioned divan. "I fear that Esarhaddon's love for me will wane, now that Anúrnissa has given him a son!" Once again, she rose to her feet and began to pace about the room.

"Mistress, do not be so distraught!" the handmaiden urged. "Lord Esarhaddon loves you very much."

Shumeeren clenched her hands together, and, turning, she leaned her back heavily against the grillwork which surrounded her window. "No, Bimi. He lusts for me, but he does not love me! See the way he looks at Anúrnissa? He does not look at me like that! But," her voice lowered, her tone calculating, "if my stomach would grow big with his child, he would give me all his love!" Sighing heavily, she put her hand to her forehead and slumped back on the divan. "But I have no chance now. He has brought that Northern woman to the villa, and he will spend his time with her while Anúrnissa is recovering!"

Bimi doubted that Esarhaddon would care any more about Shumeeren even if she were with child. There was nothing that could make her lovable, for she thought only of herself. Bimi had been Shumeeren's handmaiden for the past five years, and she had grown to know her mistress quite well. She could not say these thoughts out loud, of course, and instead feigned concern as she listened patiently to her mistress' tirade.

"Mistress, there is one who might be able to help you." A knowing look flashed in Bimi's eyes.

Shumeeren met her handmaiden's gaze. "I know of the one of whom you speak. The ancient mystic, the shaman of Traqum Wood. Perhaps you are correct. Many say his power is great, and he knows the true art of spellcraft."

"Even Lady Anúrnissa called upon him," Bimi remarked, recalling how the Second Wife had summoned the shaman to the villa so that he might banish any evil spirits that might be lurking about the house. Anúrnissa had paid a pretty penny for this warding ritual, for the ancient one seldom left his forest.

A calculating expression came over Shumeeren's face, and she patted the cushion beside her. "Bring us cups of melon juice and sit down beside me. We shall talk. I should have thought of the shaman. Dear Bimi, you are a true friend!"

"Yes, Mistress." Bimi went to fetch the sweet nectar. Whilst she liked the comfortable life she led as Shumeeren's handmaid, she had little love for her mistress, fearing her rages and temper tantrums. "Mistress is good to me, though," she thought, "and generous, giving me her cast off garments and rewarding me for my loyalty with copper coins."

"Tonight," Shumeeren announced as she took the cup, "you will go to his hut in the woods, and inquire if there is any spell or potion that can help me. Take Guard Jaizli with you; she has often been my confidant in the past two years, and knows to keep her lips quiet. I will send you with some jewels, not my best ones, nothing that Esarhaddon has picked for me, but still valuable. Jaizli will keep you safe from the dark ones in the woods!"

Bimi shuddered when she thought of the evil creatures which were said to dwell in the forest. Although she knew Jaizli was good with the sword, she wondered if only one guard would be enough to defend her from the silent stalkers of the night.

Legend said that the Shaman of the Thraqum Wood had dwelt beneath the shadows of the trees since ancient days. According to the lore which had grown up around this enigmatic figure over the years like the vegetation which surrounded him, he had been an elf from the pits of Angband, fallen from grace and twisted in both body and mind. After the War of Wrath, he wandered the wilds of Middle-earth until he came at last to Nurn, perhaps drawn to the grim familiarity of a land sculpted by Morgoth's hand. The forest he made his home, though in those days it was not a dark and evil place. A small but thriving village was located in the southern end of the forest, and the woodsmen who dwelt there traded lumber and furs with their neighbors. Then the Lord of Gifts came to Nurn and bestowed His blessings upon the woodsmen in exchange for their loyalty. They proved unfaithful, however, and the Dark Lord cursed the forest in His wrath: the trees grew gnarled and misshapen, the beasts turned monstrous and savage, and the village became the dwelling place of ghouls. The once peaceful wood became a place of fear, and it was said that those who were foolish enough to veer from the main path would become the prey of the fell creatures that lurked in the forest. The shaman remained, however, for reasons known only to him, and his cottage was open to all who braved the haunted woods to seek it.

Through the darkness of the trees, Bimi and her companion had espied the soft glow of a light in a window somewhere ahead. As they walked towards the light, the handmaiden looked all about them, her eyes peering into the darkness to see if there were any ghouls or cultists lurking about. When traveling through the Thraqum Wood, one had to worry about both the living and the undead, as the forest was a favored location for cultists to practice dark rituals. Rumor had it that would-be necromancers, seeking to curry favor with the resident ghouls, kidnapped comely young maidens and took them deep within the shadowy woods to be sacrificed in gruesome rites. While there were those who dismissed such claims as nothing more than hearsay and old wives' tales, many from the surrounding villages insisted that the perils of the forest posed a threat to all who dwelt within the reach of its shadow.

Soon Bimi was standing upon the shaman's doorstep, her fingers trembling as she hesitantly rapped upon the door. She chanced a cautious glance behind her, and Jaizli gave her a resolute nod of encouragement. The guard was broad shouldered and solidly built; a sharp simitar was at her side, and daggers were strapped to her thick, muscular thighs. Against any adversary she would be a formidable foe; against any living adversary, that is. If a great number of attackers fell upon them, or even one of the dark undead, then they were both doomed. Bimi did not know whom she feared the most: the ghouls, the cultists, or the shaman who dwelt in their midst.

The door to the cottage opened, and the light from within illuminated the doorstep, lessening the hold of the gloomy night. A tall figure stood in the doorway, a column of shadow against the cheery glow. "Child, come inside," a deep voice bade her. "Why does your mistress send you journeying abroad so late at night?"

"My mistress has need of your services," Bimi replied.

"I will stand watch outside." Guard Jaizli excused herself, touching the hilt of her scimitar.

With a fearful look back over her shoulder, Bimi moved quickly into the cottage. "Good Master," she exclaimed as she knelt at his feet, "my mistress needs your help with matters of a delicate nature!"

"Rise, child, and take a seat at my fire, where you will be warmed from the chill air of the night."

Clumsily mumbling words of gratitude, Bimi rose to her feet and walked to the nearby bench, where she sat down with her back to the fire. She cautiously studied the shaman as he stood before her, his face wreathed in darkness, lit more clearly now as a log burnt in twain, its blazing shreds sinking back into the fireplace grate with a crack. She wondered if he had pointed ears, as all elves were said to possess, but his ears were hidden by the embroidered linen coif which he wore over his stringy gray hair. She found his gaze hard to meet, for while his right eye was keen and bright, his left was milky white and seemed to have a mind of its own, roving this way and that.

"Would you like some tea? I have just brewed a pot."

Bimi nodded, and soon she and the shaman were sitting by the fire, rose-bordered cups in their hands.

"Now tell me more about what ails your mistress."

The handmaiden drew a deep breath. "Though her lord is ever eager and calls her often to his bed, she is unable to bear children. Her womb is stopped up and nothing will avail!"

"Perhaps it is your master who is infertile, and not your mistress."

Bimi shook her head. "No, that cannot be, for my lord has had children with other women. My mistress has also performed the time-honored test to determine fertility upon numerous occasions, each time with dismal results."

"Do you speak of the test which involves inserting a clove of garlic in a woman's secret place?"

"Yes, Master," Bimi nodded. "When my mistress bade me to smell of her breath the next morning, not even the slightest scent of garlic issued forth from her mouth!"

"This is serious indeed," the shaman reflected, thoughtfully stroking his thin, pointed chin.

"Master, is there aught that would help her conceive?" Bimi asked with concern, her eyes alarmed.

"Perhaps mandrake," he answered as he put his teacup down on the floor and rose to his feet. He walked to a shelf filled with bottles, jars and phials. "The apple of love will drive out the conflicting essences that have stopped up your mistress' womb." He took a jar from the shelf and turned to her. "Here is the cure for infertility."

"Mandrake!" Bimi exclaimed, a hand flying to her heart. "That is the plant that is watered with the last seed of a felon as he is hanged to death! The plant that screams as it is wrenched from the ground, the demons below it unwilling to let it go! A draught of it will bring death to the drinker!"

"Too strong a draught indeed will bring death. Yet a small amount will bring deep sleep, and but a pinch will arouse the passions," he explained.

"Good master," Bimi blushed and lowered her eyes, "it is not a lack of passion upon the part of either of my master or mistress that is the source of the woe. My mistress thinks that the shade of my master's dead wife cursed her to barrenness!"

The shaman walked over to a small table and set the jar down on its surface. "A stopped womb and a curse against the lady are of a far greater severity than I had first surmised. Your mistress needs not only mandrake, but a potent charm to drive away the evil that this shade has brought upon her... This will cost your mistress highly. Does she have the price to pay?" The shaman turned a dimmed eye towards the handmaiden.

Bimi set down her cup, rose to her feet and walked to the table. "My mistress is beside herself in sorrow! She has sent this to pay you." She untied a pouch and out spilled a crystal brooch, several rings of good quality, and various other baubles.

"I shall take no more than what is enough." The shaman cast down a bony finger and moved aside the jewelry until he found a broach set with a small opal with a cloudy surface. "This will pay for the mandrake root itself, but it will cost all that she has sent except two rings to pay for the charm to rid her of the foul spirit. Will she pay the price?" He peered at the handmaiden with his sighted left eye, his glassy right eye roving in its socket.

"She will pay, good Master! My mistress wishes to have our lord's child above all things!"

"Jewels are not enough. The charm must be imbued with powerful magic, and a spell of this magnitude will take blood." The disfigured eye wandered in its course as though it was a ship lost in a tempestuous sea.

Bimi swallowed, her mouth going dry. "My mistress hinted that you would ask me this, and that should a charm be needed, you would require more than mere trinkets. I love my mistress. She has been good to me! Take what you need." Turning her head away, the handmaiden extended her arm.

"I need only a little..." Walking back to the shelf, the shaman reverently opened a wooden box and took out a knife. After kissing the blade, he picked up a small metal phial and walked back to the handmaiden. She closed her eyes as she felt the sharp prick of a blade across her forefinger. When the shaman was satisfied, he put the stopper into the phial and then dabbed at her finger with a soft towel. "Keep the cloth on it while I prepare the charm."

The shaman turned from Bimi and walked into another room, staying until the blood had almost stopped seeping from the wound. When he returned, he presented her with a small metal amulet and a fine powder made from the root of the mandrake. "When the next full moon comes and is high in the sky, the lady should stand in an open window and let the rays of the full moon fall upon her naked body, then touch the amulet to both her breasts and betwixt her thighs. Then she must cut herself upon the finger as I did to you. After her blood has flowed upon the charm, she is to bind it with cords and hide it under her bed. The next night, she must drink a small portion of the mandrake powder, and put an equal portion in her lord's drink before she lies with him. Caution her that too much will induce sleep! The draught will open the sealed passage to her womb and give her lord greater potency. All these things must be adhered to, for the charm to work! You must keep the knowledge of all that I have told you!"

Bimi was frightened at the look in the shaman's eyes, for it seemed now that his distorted eye had turned until it was focused fully on her. She feared that he had cast some evil spell upon her, and tried amidst her fearful thoughts to remember all that he had told her.

"Yes, yes, Master," she assured him as she rose to her feet. "Now I must go, for the hour grows late. I fear to meet the dark strangers in the woods!"

"The mandrake is powerful. It will protect you upon the darkest path."

"Thank you, good sir," she bowed as he showed her out the door. "My mistress will be grateful."

"If ever your mistress should need me, she need only ask."

The shaman smiled as he closed the door behind the handmaiden and walked back to the table. Holding the opal between his thumb and forefinger, he contemplated the worth of the precious gem. Reflecting the amber glow of the crackling fire, the opal's milky surface shimmered like the pink sand of faraway beaches, a sight which would be forever denied to one such as he. For a brief moment, he felt such an intense longing that he thought he might sob, but then the feeling passed. Never would he make such a voyage; his body might fade from the sight of mortals, but still he would remain.

Setting the opal down upon the table, the shaman chuckled grimly to himself, his baleful milky eye wandering in its orbit. "How gullible are the minds of the innocent and trusting! Like hungry dogs that lap the grease from a kind finger, these simple fools accept all that they are told. But even simple fools have their use. Their loss is the forest's gain, for balance must be maintained… lest dreadful doom shall befall, when the Undead come to call!"