CHAPTER 44 - SMELLS LIKE SNOW

Minister Dawdling of the Sect of Acedia the All Loving, was looking down upon the sacrilegious and disgusting cavorting of the Hedonists. He was stunned by the number of new recruits they had attracted. A long line of white clad seekers were climbing up the steep path toward the chasm above. Minister Dawdling of the Fluffy Grove and Bed of the Mother of Acedia studied the scene carefully. A third or so of the seekers were entering the wretched and sinful camp of the Hedon. May he burn in Sodoms pit thougt Dawdling.

"This will not do," he said rubbing his eyes and resuming his reclining position. Ill think about this as I nap. He reached for a cold slice of pizza but the greasy box was empty. Dawdling rolled over and decided on a beer, but the beer bottle had fallen over and the contents had disappeared into the ground. Hmm he thought. Then mother nature called. He was tempted, but his assigned mattress already smelled pretty bad so he got up and walked to the cliff overlooking the upward spiraling path crowded with seekers. He relieved himself onto the seekers below. He looked to the darkening skies. Smelled like snow he thought.

Time for a days work. He resigned himself to the onerous chore of getting more beer and perhaps a few new members. It was his responsibility as Minster of Acedia to spread the good word. He walked the short distance to the Gate of the Quiet Snooze and threw open the doors which faced the upper path. The first of the seekers was approaching the gate. Dawdling looked about and saw a tattered lawn chair and pulled it just outside the gate and sat down. As the first of the seekers reached the gate he shouted out “Free Beer and Pizza, Fresh Mattresses, No Nagging.” The lead seekers paused and pondered the offer. More than half turned and passed through the gate. The Reverend Mooch was standing dressed only in his dirty shorts and bunny shoes next to the Frig of Perpetual Beer. He held the frig door open and began handing out beers until he grew tired and lay down next to the Miracle of the Pizza Oven and took a well deserved snooze.

Not far above on the path Hubert Cenodoxus stood looking down the path toward the despicable pen of the slothful. “Disgusting” he said as he stood tall and proud, the wind flowing through is beautiful golden locks. His firm tanned body glowing in the setting sun. Only I can save those miserable seekers he knew. The true arts of humility and grace were his, and only his, to dispense to these poor ignorant seekers. I will save them from themselves he thought. He walked with authority to the Turnstile of Submission to His Beauty and Wisdom. I’ll put a stop to this heresy said Hubert. But first I need to find that snow shovel he thought. I can put the visitors to a useful purpose because it smells a lot like snow.

They dressed Ed in a gold lame loin cloth and an enormous purple angora robe with a woven image of a snake eating its tail. The Worm Oboros Ed knew. Ed though his outfit outrageous but he had been told about the ancient ritual by the Second Sea Lord and the critical role he was to play in stopping the Druid Priestess’s plans. If he lived that long. The outfit was really outrageous because he somehow knew it was going to snow. Perhaps the smell.

Ed knew the scrubbing in the icy stream was a purification ritual. His skin was indeed very clean but they had almost rubbed him raw. Then they coated him in a kind of tingly oil and rosewater mix. The oil Ed suspected contained some kind of drug. Ed had not felt this odd since the time he visited Miss Anahita at the Temple of Khajuraho off the coast of Elmore near the Sea of Dreams.

They had seated Ed in the tent. His hands and feet were free, but the tent was heavily guarded. The guards were nervous and waiting for something. The temporary temple had changed a bit and behind the alter was hung a magnificent tapestry. Ed realized it must be the lost Veil of the Temple of Circe, for in the middle of the tapestry stood the image of the Druid Priestess of legend.

Circe stood bare breasted in a pure white diaphanous gown at the top of a set of marble steps. Her raven hair radiant and with a smile both loving and cruel. In one hand she was throwing rose petals onto the five marble steps below her. Yellow tulips formed a carped upon the marble floor below the stairs. In the other hand she held a discrete dagger. She stood upon a magnificent tiger skin rug and behind and about her were monstrous wild beasts. Tigers, male, and female lions were resting at her feet. At the foot of the stair a snarling wolf was baring its teeth not at Circe, but at the position of the viewer. Circle was beautiful – stunningly beautiful and very very deadly. The border of the tapestry was covered in tiny writhing bodies which Ed could barely make out.

The Guards of the Left Hand of Circe snapped to attention. The flaps of the main entrance of the temple flew open and there stood Circe herself. She was resplendent, bare breasted and in a gown of white purity and perfection. In her hand she held an ancient dagger with a handle of pearls and a blade of sliver edged with carbon steel.

It was Adel.

She entered the room and the guards fell to their knees, but the spears and weapons remained posed for action and certain death should they be needed.

“Captain Ed Hallard,” Circe said, or rather Adel Flossberg. “Or should I say the disgraced and cashiered Ed of the wicked navy of New Rome. Welcome, welcome to life everlasting in my eager willing arms.”

“Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse,” replied Ed trying to make a joke.

Circe was not amused. She stepped closer to Ed. Gods she’s beautiful though Ed.

“Ed,” said Circe, “I know you hate New Rome for what they have done to you. Disgraced you, and abused you, and humiliated you before your friends and comrades. I sense you want revenge and I offer you the opportunity to strike at the heart of those who have ruined you.”

Ed was feeling very odd. He was certain he had been drugged. The drugs had two very different effects. The first was pleasant and was basically a kind of blissful easy hunger for Circe. Within moments it had turned to lust for Circe and a mad desire to embrace her. The second emotion he felt was rage and anger. He felt a need to show all who had ever slighted him, or insulted him, or humiliated him his power and anger. Demonstrating anger was never one of Ed’s emotions, but it grew very powerfully and soon his temples were pounding with rage and lust and the need to demonstrate both to the world.

Circe smiled and came closer. Ed could smell her perfume. Another drug his addled brain concluded.

Circe drew her dagger close to Ed’s face and then she kissed him lightly. She laughed the laugh of the insane and mad. She took the dagger and slowly drew it across Ed’s cheek. A thin tiny red life followed the shining tip of Circe’s blade. Ed felt nothing but rage and desire. Circe put her finger to Ed’s cheek and touched a tiny trickle of blood. She gazed dreamily into Ed’s eyes and then moving her finger tip to her full red lips she tasted of his blood.

Then she stood and turned toward the entrance to the tent. The guards opened the flaps of the tent, as she left she said “Bring him to the Sacred Grove, it is time.”

The Chair and Muffin had landed at the base of Mount Sodom. As The Chair looked to the skies he thought that it was likely to snow this eve. He had a hunch and it smelled like snow. They had chosen the northern path to the Druid Grove, not because it was the easiest path, which it was, but because their landing would be easily seen from The Orders encampment just outside the legendary Druid Grove. They faced a two hour climb to reach the grove and Muffin had chosen the Zorro costume rather than the bunny suit as his disguise. The household staff had changed as well, but their costumes were that of ancient courtiers and fops. Lots of frilly cuffs, and lace, and for the women Empire Style bodices and for the men tights that were very tight indeed. There had been a run on socks at the last moment. All were armed with dainty but effective knives and brass knuckles. They had stopped and hired several bewildered farmers to carry a large crate.

Muffin brandishing his plastic Zorro sword pointed up the path and shouted “To victory.” The small column began to move forward up the mountain and to a hoped for victory.

The Yellow Knights reached the foot of Mount Sodom just before sundown. They were nine. Sir Gandorlf of the Yellow Knights had, shortly after reaching the River of Sticks, lost his seat, and had been forced to remain on his behind. Chris though he would be greatly disappointed, however Sir Gandorlf quickly fell to sleep under a withered persimmon tree. They covered him in some blankets, gave the local persimmon farmer five lindens and told the farmer they would be back on the morrow. Or so Chris hoped.

At the foot of the mountain the Army of the Yellow Knights dismounted their ponies and remounted on the fresh charges they had brought with them. Chris and Philpot Onus took a long pause to look at their small group. In the Yellow Revolution of hundreds of years ago, Mofo the Great and Very Dead had 500 of the flour of the aristocracy at his command. Chris had nine old withered men. Men of great courage there was no doubt, but still very old and now quite saddle sore. Chris felt compelled to make a stirring speech, something about St. Crispies Day, but he was too tired, his bottom had chaffed raw in his steel undershorts. The Yellow Knights all knew their duty and the short odds of success, so no speech was needed Chris decided. They turned the horses onto the southern path and began their slow but inexorable climb to the Druid Grove and their appointment with Circe.

Witney shouted “Stop” and the red silk Mogul Kashan skidded sideways, but it was too late. Sindy and Witney were thrown clear as the Kashan collided with an enormous Bukkabrany. The Kashan was toast and the Bukkabrany tree barely moved. Witney turned to Sindy and said “Eh, it was a rental.”

Sindy Laughed. The Kashan, before the tree had decided to jump into the middle of the path, was already reduced to a threadbare carpet by Witney’s fast driving. The fringe in the rear was all worn off by the continuous high speed diving and one side had a huge gouge in it where they had skidded against an abutment on a stone bridge over the River of Sticks.

Sindy dusted the dirt from her Levis and began the arduous task of picking the bugs out of her teeth. Witney reached toward Sindy’s forehead and pulled an enormous dead and very flat dragon fly from her. They both laughed.

Looming above them was Mount Sodom with its thin vent of smoke spewing into the sky. “Which route?” asked Witney.

Sindy went back to the Kashan opened the glove box and pulled out Remington’s Atlas of All Sims. She turned to the page she had turned down. Thank god Ms. Tarttle The Times Librarian was not here to see this. “Lets try the eastern route it’s the closest”, said Sindy. Pointing to a well worn dirt path. There were several pilgrims or tourists clad in white trudging up the path. They seemed to be in a hurry. Sindy looked at the darkening sky. It would soon be sunset and it smelled like snow.