Norse Code

by NorsePony

The Feathered Gods - Dark

The heavy, jingling tromp of armored ponies echoed down the alley and could be heard through the thickness of the oak door. Mistral threw a panicked look at the weathered wood.

“Hurry, children, hurry! Down into the cellar!”

“But Daddy!”

“Shush now, hurry along, and stay quiet, no matter what you hear, alright?” He looked at his eldest, a slip of a girl, just old enough to understand the gravity of the situation. She met his look with frightened but alert eyes, and he nodded at her. “Keep your brothers and sister safe, now, Silver Lining. Go to your aunt’s if . . . if you need to, alright?”

Her eyes were huge and damp, but she sniffled quietly and nodded, turning to herd her siblings down into the darkness of the cellar. Mistral covered the cellar hatch with a heavy rug as the armored steps outside came closer. He approached the door, and flinched as a mailed hoof knocked against it, his wings twitching up, his body begging him to fly away.

Bang! Bang! “Sun’s Blessing upon you! Have you heard the word of Celestia?”

He swallowed dryness and raised his voice. “I have, my lord! Thank you, may you find luck in your search for heathens!”

Silence. His thoughts fled to the cache of ikons safely buried in the cellar floor, the tiny crystal figure of Cirrus, he who grants us clear skies and cool breezes to fly in; the obsidian column which represented Nimbus, goddess of war and furious rage; and the golden decanter dedicated to Precipitus, the god of plenty. He swept his eyes around his tiny home, noting the sun disk over the mantel, a token of dedication to the new goddess, Celestia, the Risen Sun. He felt like spitting.

Crack! Mailed hooves bashed against the door, bending it inward with a sound like thunder. A tiny shriek from below his hooves, quickly muffled. Crack! The door snapped and banged open, hanging crazily on a single hinge. The Solar Knights marched in, filling the small room with the scent of zealotry and warm metal.

Cirrus, see me through this storm, he prayed. He bowed to the Knights, trying to still the quivering of his knees. “My lord Crusaders, I bid you welcome to my home. May the Sun light your path.”

The leader sneered at him. “Silence, heretic. We know you continue to worship the dead gods, in defiance of the Holy Sun.”

His bowels felt watery, but he forced a smile onto his face. “My lord, I don’t know what you mean. I tithe, I wear the Disk close to my heart, I thank the Risen Sun each morning and pray that She will warm me and light my path so that I may serve her and avoid the darkness. I have no need, nor any love, for the— the dead gods, my lord.”

The leader’s sneer became a smirk. “A heretic and a liar. Men, kill him.”

As steel whispered from scabbards, Mistral looked through his broken door for a last glimpse of the sky, and saw his neighbor speaking closely with one of the Crusaders, a neighbor whose belief in the Feathered Gods was as strong as his own. The Crusader reached for a fat purse at his belt, and the neighbor’s eyes lit up.

Nimbus, I beg you, exercise your rage.

The Crusader’s hoof changed course suddenly, grasping his dagger instead of his purse. The neighbor’s eyes widened for an instant before the hilt was protruding from her throat.

Mistral smiled and looked at the blue sky beyond the rooftops, ignoring the Crusaders in front of him. O Cirrus, smooth my flight to Stratus. The Crusader’s sword whistled through the air.

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Author’s note: The original version of this story was for Thirty Minute Ponies’ Prompt #83, “Adventure, Ho!” The prompt was “The Crusaders go crusading.” In a rare turn of events, I had an idea for one of my own prompts. The original concept for this was a comedy, because the image of Crusaders going door-to-door like Jehovah’s Witnesses amused me greatly. To my surprise, this was the story that happened.

Comments

[Themaskedferret]

*Grins* I confess, I always find it fascinating when authors discuss starting with one plan and then having it change completely.