Under the Green Sun of Slormor

by Bertil Falk

Chapter 3
Part 1
Part 3
appear in this issue.

Chapter 3: The City of the Water Lily Pond

part 2 of 3

At close range, the sight of the palatial building looked even more bewildering than from a distance. Surreal extensions thronged with more concrete outgrowths; cube-like bays were mixed with naturalistic imitations of nature in the form of shell-like structures.

We stood for a long time regarding this grandiose phenomenon before deciding to enter through the gateway. By the side of the structure was an octagonal building like a royal out-of-town residence. The shimmer of purple, which enveloped the whole city, became more and more pronounced as we approached the magnificent creation.

We entered through the opening in the gateway and found ourselves inside a bare entrance hall, where the shimmer of purple was very apparent. And it was even more apparent as we entered the colossal nave of the building.

In front of us a great sight unfolded. Everywhere stood enormous structures of marble and stone, canopies and columns, heavy monuments, coal-black pyramids, and sarcophagi. We were inside an immense mausoleum. All these sepulchral monuments held the mortal remains of ancient celebrities.

Immediately to the left stood an enormous coffin of green marble, which in every corner was adorned with three-headed, winged dragons similar to the ones spurting water in the pond on the square. In their clawed hands, they carried torches pointed downwards.

I took a step towards the monument and at the same moment the three-headed dragon faces spat fire, and fire streamed from the torches as well. Terrified, I shrank back. But then the fire went out. I took another step forward, and once more the dragons and the torches spat fire like blowtorches.

I realized that I myself was triggering these ancient but still functioning mechanisms and was causing the fire. Impressed by all these frightening stone coffins and sepulchral tablets, I had forgotten Parvrin, who was trembling and staring at me and at the fire dragons. I sensed her fear and held her hand. She squeezed my hand in return.

“What do you know about this?” I asked.

“This must be the sepulchral chamber of the rulers,” she said. “The rulers did not look like us.”

I turned towards a monument of white and black marble. Three-headed skulls of dragons decorated its corners. Three-headed, coal-black dragon statues raised a big medallion. The medallion had a portrait of three grinning dragon heads with gaping jaws, jaws with sharpened fangs. Every face had a green, circular spot on its forehead.

“That’s Rurkan of Slormor,” Parvrin exclaimed. “Rurkan, the greatest of all the rulers of Slormor. He who prophesized the end of the world before he was murdered by his grandson Skurkran.”

I regarded the repellent three-headed faces, the dragon heads with their big nostrils, their fanged, lipless mouths.

“Rurkan was a good ruler. His left head was logical. His right head, creative,” I heard Parvrin saying, while I looked at this remarkable monster with fascination. “And his middle head was sympathetic.

“Under him, there was peace between all the races and species of Slormor. He was the one who taught everyone not to kill each other. Under his rule, vegetables were grown and fruits cultivated.

“But his species died out. A plague killed the dragons. Legends say that it was punishment for the treachery of his grandson Skurkran.

“Then there were new wars. They ended with the Invaders keeping all the other people in check, though the Invaders themselves could not and did not even want to rule. They were just afraid of what might happen when Rurkan fell to the spear of Skurkran.”

Parvrin paused and continued: “They’re still afraid. Now they are far away, keeping us down by touching our minds.”

“And where did the Invaders come from?” I wondered.

“They were one of the many species that existed on Slormor. They were like you and me but with telepathic minds. Under Rurkan of Slormor, they used their scanning and touching ability to support and maintain the sympathy of the ruler, the sympathy of the middle head.

“When Skurkran committed his wicked deed, the Invaders ran amok and overthrew everything. The flaming red Skurkran was shut up inside a timeless room, where he will stay alive until the end of Space and Time. Unless someone releases him before then.”

“Flaming red?” I asked.

“Members of the ruling species were mostly black. Rurkan the Good himself was so shining black that he almost was blue. But his grandson was flaming red. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know.”

Maybe a mutation, I thought.

“What if no one releases him?” I repeated.

“It was here that Skurkran threw his javelin and pierced Rurkan,” my little companion said. “On the spot where Rurkan fell, his sarcophagus was built.”

I regarded the grinning faces that emanated from the same neck on the medallion. The three heads no longer seemed repellent. I saw that the right-hand face bore the stamp of austere concentration. The face on the left hand bore an expression full of life, and the eyes shone with vitality. The face in the middle was characterized by stillness, as if its owner had found peace and like a Bodhisvatta thoughtfully wanted to protect its subjects.

The eyes were closed in meditation.

And I realized that the green spots on the foreheads were the signs of the highest power, a caste mark in the shape of the green sun of Slormor. The repellent dragon was suddenly attractive. I realized that appearances can be deceptive. As one must not look a gift horse in the mouth, neither should dragons be judged according to one’s prejudices. And the jaws of these faces did not seem to be worn.

Slowly, we walked up the nave between the magnificent heavy monstrosities of the monuments. Where we walked, we triggered invisible mechanisms. Huge sarcophagi became transparent and showed dead dragons slumbering well preserved, their black bodies intact, their wings folded along their bodies and their three-headed faces peacefully dreaming with closed eyes, as if they were alive. After we passed by, the sides of the sarcophagi thickened and became opaque again.

Farthest away, there was an enormous cage-like square, which seemed to be made of glass. Inside it, a frightening shape stood upright. It was three meters tall, flaming red, and its wings were partly unfolded. Its triple-headed faces seemed evil. It was a terrifying sight.

I understood that we were face to face with Skurkran, who had killed his paternal grandfather, the ruler Rurkan. Did he become a ruler himself after the murder? Is this, then, the cage where the Invaders have imprisoned Skurkran?

With a shiver I regarded the horrid being. Is it alive? According to the legend he is inside a timeless kind of space. Is this really his prison?

Proceed to Chapter 3, part 3...