“Unfortunately, the Danes do not know of the kindnesses of the Gods, and refuse to acknowledge them.”
The Fortress of Gamleborg on Bornholm Isle is so old that the names of those who built it are lost. The name Gamleborg itself means “Ancient Heights”, suggesting how much older the fortress is than its medieval successors. Many of its deepest secrets are yet to be rediscovered; many tales are told of what it might hide.
In the Year 80, one man uncovered its deepest secret, completely by accident, as he thought. That man was Mikkel Madsen.
*
The raven flew off, carrying its stolen bounty in its beak. Furious at the loss of his sandwich, Mikkel grabbed a nearby stone and flung it at the thief. He missed.
“OUCH! Of all the accursed foolish things--”
Mikkel sighed. Of course. “ ‘I shot an arrow in the air’,” he quoted mournfully. And with his luck, he’d just hit that windbag Olsen.
A man at the high end of middle-age sat by the old well, holding his leg and cursing. Some of his turns of phrase were quite inventive, and Mikkel filed them away for potential review later. A fair number of ravens were loitering around him, oddly enough, undisturbed by his vituperative discourse. Mikkel had always thought ravens were the secret sadists of the avian world, and now he had proof.
“Stop lurking over there, you microcephalic gigantopithecan! If you’re going to seek out the consequences of your moronic behavior, then embrace them fully, instead of thinking you can hang back and avoid the flying debris! As though anyone your size could hide in any case.”
Slightly abashed, Mikkel walked over to the man. The rock Mikkel had flung at the escaping avian had evidently struck the man’s leg in just the right, or, rather, just the wrong way, leading the man to sprain his ankle quite badly.
“Better. Now, since you’ve managed to put me out of action, it falls to you to take my place in recompense.” As Mikkel gaped in surprise, the man thrust a small flashlight, notebook and pen at him. “Take these, go down that hole over there,” he pointed to the well, “and through the tunnels into the main chamber, and write down everything you see down there. And you needn’t worry about getting stuck; a notable number of our forbears were as alciform as you, so the tunnels should be as practicable for you as for me. Don’t waste time arguing with me; it’s the equinox, and the sun will peak soon. If I’m right, a light show like you’ve never seen should start momentarily, and it’ll be six months before it’s repeated! Get in there!”
There really seemed to be nothing to say to that, so Mikkel went, stuffing the proffered equipment into his jacket. The well proved to possess a rudimentary ladder of protuberant stones, allowing him to descend into its murky, and unpleasantly slimy, depths. Just as the man had implied, once Mikkel had plumbed far enough, one side opened into a gloomy passageway easily accessible from the “ladder”. Gingerly stepping across to the opening, Mikkel retrieved the flashlight, shining it along the tunnel walls.
The Elder Futhark gleamed back at him, covering the walls in line after thick line of script. Great. His hand would fall off copying all this, since, though he knew Pitman shorthand, he couldn’t use it, as he only knew what the Elder Futhark was; he had no idea what any of the runes actually stood for. On the other hand, these could wait for the man’s ankle to heal, while the still notional “main chamber” could not.
Mikkel kept the spot of light pointed firmly at where his feet were aimed as he moved down the tunnel. It meandered for quite some distance, always descending very gently, with not a few sharp turns and about-faces, but eventually, he reached what he could only assume was the main chamber.
Mikkel had heard that Gavleborg had been built for the ancient kings of Bornholm, before the Danes had united, and the chamber was certainly adorned in a befittingly regal manner. The material around him was stone, metal, ivory and even some wood, and everything was carven as the tunnel had been. In the center, there was a plinth, or perhaps it had been an altar; it was a pillar of stone just about five feet high, at any rate, and atop it, for all the world like a crown, was carved a toroidal shape, ensconced in which were a number of large, grayish-looking rocks. Mikkel quickly sketched the plinth and its crown.
How odd. One of the stones atop the central plinth was jarringly out of its socket. Instinctively, Mikkel righted it in its sconce, and as he did, a shaft of sunlight gleamed upon it, illuminating previously invisible translucent depths. There was a sound like stone upon stone, and suddenly, the other jewels in the sconce lit up as well, glowing bright in the subterranean gloom.
Mikkel had just decided that he should leave when the glow faded, leaving only a chamber forlorn and forsaken by time. He shook his head and left anyway, eager to return to the surface and the sun.
The man was awaiting Mikkel in more or less the same spot, fussing over something which proved to be a glass eye. The man snorted at Mikkel’s surprise. “There have always been more of these here on Bornholm than are used, so why should I deny myself the anonymity of two eyes? But enough of that. Did you see it? Did it shine for you?”
Mikkel handed over the notebook. “I had to re-set one of the stones, but yes. I sketched it as I found it, as it shone, and as I left it.”
“Then Bornholm owes you a great debt, Mikkel Madsen.” With that, the man stood and walked off unhaltingly. When Mikkel tried to follow, he had vanished. Perplexed, Mikkel scratched his head, and then shrugged.
