Ragnarok Fantasy Part Nine
by, January 18th, 2011 at 01:39 AM (411 Views)
DAMON DANE'S RAGNAROK
Stargard flipped open a trapdoor and climbed up through the floor, before grabbing his astounded disciple’s wrist and hauling him up with effortless ease.
Gothia found himself in a circular wooden gazebo, open-sided but for a low fence running around the seven edges, elaborately carved in intertwined Norse patterns, and interspersed by seven pillars holding up the roof, each carved in the likeness of a distinctly individual Norse dragon. It reminded him of the open-sided grass huts common to the tropical Isles of Tarshish - though in this harsh northern climate such summer-friendly architecture was clearly inappropriate.
Or was it?
It’s warm… Gothia realised, astounded.
He closed the trapdoor behind him, even while realising that there was no need to do this, for despite the fact that this warm sanctuary seemed open to the weather, no freezing wind howled through it. The floor was draped in a luxuriant carpet of polar bear fur, and now at least Stargard didn’t seem out of place in his socks. Stunned, but still remembering his manners, Gothia removed his boots in order not to tread snow and ice all over the rug, a traditional Sardar politeness, and one which his mentor appreciated.
In the centre of the hut sprawled a lived-in leather couch, circular and outward-facing, clearly designed so that visitors to this enchanted place could sit and enjoy the superb mountain views out of the open-sided walls. The cushions on the couch were of pink silk, embroidered with teddy bears wearing suits of armour and waving stubby little teddy swords. Unbeknownst to Gothia, they had been embroidered by one of Stargard’s wives, centuries before.
‘Wha… what is this place?’
‘The Tower of Dreams.’
‘Yes.’ Stargard adjusted one of his moustache plaits, which had been blown into disarray. It was over two feet long and had a golden Hyperborean Cross plaited into the end. ‘Similar to the Tower of Dreams in Castle Dragonheim, although it has far less holy mojo flowing through it, which means ordinary mortals can use it without exploding from excess energy, which is good news for you.’
‘So do you come here… to dream?’
‘Yes, but not the dreams you have after eating too much cheese for supper. Nor is it sorcery. We Hyperborean Knights are moved solely by the holy mojo, which is a manifestation of the Holy Spirit and the source of all life on earth. When we are righteous, God rewards us by filling our cups with mojo and giving us powers that can scatter sorcerers of the black arts like leaves before a howling gale - even though we are not sorcerers. The same mojo allows you to be here, in this sacred place, and to dream dreams which are real-life visions of other times and other places.’
Stargard smiled. ‘These are tremendous powers for the acute strategist: the ability to discern your enemy’s intentions before he is even aware of them himself. So sit on the couch Gothia, make yourself comfortable, empty your busy mind, and let the holy mojo flow through you and reveal its secrets.’
Gothia sat on the couch, slouched right back, and stretched out his legs. A cushiony footrest of embroidered green felt magically appeared in front of him, so he propped his legs on it and tried to stop worrying about how very strange and complicated his life was becoming.
Darkness was falling, but the blizzard had cleared, leaving the peaks to shine bright in the light of the crescent moon. It was nice to be able to enjoy the mountain views without being frozen to death, for it was warm and cosy in here, so warm…
Gothia’s eyelids began to droop, and before very long he had dozed off.
Stargard stood beside him and folded his hands in prayer. A stream of glittering little moons and stars flowed out of his fingertips and washed over Gothia like a golden mist, entering Gothia’s mind and passing on the dreams of horror to which Stargard had borne witness while sleeping the sleep of madness at Castle Dragonheim.