'It really is a work of genius,' he mused. There could be no better description of this particular mantra. The combination of words, letters, symbols, meaning, desire, willpower and magic was nothing short of astounding, with just a hint of madness. No dragon in their right mind would have thought to combine all these elements in the way he had. Dangerous didn't begin to cover it.
Throughout the ages dragons, as well as other races, had all sought to look into the future. Difficult at best, seemingly impossible at worst, vast amounts of time, resources and magic had been wasted on this most prized pursuit, across many thousands of years.
Over the centuries, it was something he'd become obsessed with. Not as much as prolonging the dragon life span, but still, enough that he was probably the foremost expert on the planet. The scrolls that sat in front of him were the only artefacts that showed even the faintest glimmer of hope at all in catching the merest glimpse into the future.
From out of the desk's top drawer he started to retrieve the eclectic mix of ingredients he needed to combine with the ancient, far eastern scroll. A handful of pine needles, half a dozen walnuts, a carefully procured vial of king cobra venom, a sliver of magnesium and the tears of a mermaid. It had taken him over two years to procure everything, with the mermaid's tears being particularly hard to acquire. But once he had, over two decades ago, he'd kept them all together in frozen storage, waiting for the right moment, knowing that he might only get one shot. Removing them from storage two days ago, defrosting them if you will, now, in his workshop, mind focused fully on his task, he began to add each and every item, piece by piece, to the huge mortar that sat on the desk, its accompanying pestle lying next to it, looking lonelier than a tramp at a ball. It took the best part of an hour. By the end, the whole experience had taken its toll on the old shopkeeper, so much so that he found himself wishing for his bed and the sleep that had so recently eluded him. It wasn't really an option and so he had to make do with a giant cup of coffee and half a dozen HB pencils to nibble on. After half an hour resting in one of the oversized chairs, contemplating what he was about to do, he was ready.
Finding his second wind, he gathered his thoughts and returned to the desk with the outstretched mantra and the giant mortar on it. Gripping the pestle for all he was worth, he began to grind the ingredients down, eventually achieving a slimy looking paste for his trouble.
'There's no turning back now,' he mused, the gooey globules dripping off the pestle into the mortar. Running his eyes over the scroll one last time, and feeling the weight of history and the hopes of hundreds of other dragons on his shoulders, he took a long, deep breath, savouring the hot, fiery feeling rolling around inside his stomach and carefully recited exactly what was on the scroll, reinforcing it with every ounce of willpower he had. Leaning over the mucky mixture, the wily old dragon started to exhale slowly, a snaking stream of fire shooting out from between his jaws. The ingredients started to bubble and pop, wispy layers of foul smelling steam rising into the air, washing across his shiny scales, the very first tendrils disappearing up into the dark recesses of his nostrils. Closing his eyes while continuing to blow out a consistent stream of fire, the master mantra maker started to inhale the rising gas through his nose. Immediately his head started to spin, slowly at first, quickly becoming much faster. He knew it to be part of the experience and wasn't unaccustomed to it. But he didn't like it at all. Blurred images, impossible to make out, blinked in and out of his mind. Trying to stay relaxed, knowing that it was part of the key to things, he fought off the feeling of unease that threatened to consume him. It wasn't easy though. With seconds blending into minutes, and minutes blending into who knows what, the old shopkeeper continued to heat up the crazy concoction, all the time the odour from it pervading his very being.
Abruptly the blinking started to become less frequent, each of the out of focus images staying there just that tiny bit longer. Screwing up his eyes despite the fact that they were already closed, he hoped that would help make the difference.
'Thirsty,' he thought, 'so thirsty.' Just as this thought left him, the image in front of him flittered into clarity. Sweat dribbled down the side of his prehistoric face, as the sound of his crackling flame interrupted occasionally by the popping of the slimy paste reverberated off the walls around him. Despite the image being in focus, it was hard to make out exactly what was going on. It looked a lot like dragons marching.
'But marching where?' was all that he could think. Suddenly the scene changed to a faraway shot of a square or plaza, somewhere here in the dragon domain. The beings were tiny little dots, the vantage point was so far away. It was tough to make out what was going on. Just as he'd given up on making any sense of this one, the view seemed to zoom right in. An icy chill ran up his back as he recognised the tall piles off to one side. Dragon corpses! Still it continued to zoom in. Dragons captured by the look of things, two human shapes being tortured. For a split second he glimpsed the face of one of the tortured human shapes. Panic raced through him at the very thought of what he'd seen. He needed more... more information. So he delved deeper, deeper into whatever he was doing, desperate to know more about the future. Hazy pictures slid by, most of which he couldn't make out. Once or twice he thought he recognised the odd thing. The council building seemed to feature, along with outlying parts of London, as well as somewhere cold and snowy on the surface of the planet. It all made little or no sense. By now he was exhausted, caked in sweat, bathed in horrid fumes from the mortar. But still he had to go on, push himself further, he just had to. It was all too much. Fatigue threatened to overtake him. Resigned to failure, his flame burnt out with a whimpering crackle. Before he could open his eyes, the image of the square or plaza whipped back in front of him. It was all he could do to look, having seen the last face he'd expected to be there. This time though, instead of focusing in, the image seemed to turn around and started to fly out across the rooftops, away from the action and off to a seemingly insignificant part of the underground dragon city. His eyes wrinkled in concentration as he hung on for all he was worth, hoping with all his heart to see something of value. He did, and not just one thing either. The first thing he noticed was a very specific lava formation called the runny nose, because the rock formation that it flowed out of looked like a giant nose. It was famous throughout the kingdom. So now he knew where things were taking place. But before the image drifted off into nothingness, it showed one last titbit that took his breath away, blowing his mind like nothing else ever had.
'It can't be... can it?' he thought, shaking off the effects of the smoke inhalation. Taking a long slurp of his by now cold coffee, he knew he had to act, and now. Time was ticking away, and although he didn't know when things would happen, he assumed it would be soon. So, banishing tiredness and fighting back the effects of age that constantly threatened to overwhelm him, he pushed his square framed glasses to the top of his nose and headed down into the vault to tool up, in the hope that it would be enough. As he got up to do just that, he caught sight of the replica ring they had made for the king. It was of little use now, as the vote the king had been concerned about had been overturned. But something deep within him felt compelled to pick it up and put it in one of the many pouches around his belly. He did as the compulsion demanded and secreted it away on his person.