Mortality: The Story of Mortanius

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mortanius usually went to bed late and woke early, rarely sleeping for more than three or four hours a night. It was not by his own choice. As he got older, he seemed to require less sleep, and when he tried to lay in bed longer in the hopes of getting more sleep, he would just lay there, wide awake. So he gave up and simply rose from bed when he woke. Sometimes he napped in the afternoon, but that was rare.

Unlike most of the other members of the Circle of Nine, Mortanius still lived primarily in the Temple of the Guardians, an imposing stone fortress built on the shores of a crystal blue lake to the southeast of the Pillars. Locally it was known as the Sarafan Temple, but Mortanius preferred to use its more formal name. It was built on the same site as the original Sarafan fort, but the Temple dwarfed the old compound of crude wooden buildings. It was a glorious citadel three stories tall, one of the most advanced buildings ever designed by humans. Only some of the remaining vampire citadels could match its splendor and beauty.

Mortanius wandered the empty halls in the darkness before dawn and walked out to one of the balconies overlooking the lake. The only other people awake were the guards who kept watch during the night. Up here, Mortanius was alone. Sliding his hands on the heavy wooden railing, he looked out across Nosgoth.

He wore black trousers and a dark red robe, his usual attire. At first glance, he appeared to be in late middle age, perhaps fifty years old or a few years older. His face had visible lines of age, but his hair was still thick and black without a trace of gray. However, it was his eyes – dark and brooding, deep set and full of wisdom – that gave hint of his true age. He had long ago stopped counting the years, but by his best guess he was at least seven-hundred years old.

Nosgoth had changed in seven-hundred years. The human population had increased tenfold. The small villages and meager towns that scattered the region gradually morphed into cities with independent – and sometimes competing – governments. Ambitious men named themselves Lord or King and were eventually swept away in the tide of history, their accomplishments forgotten. Armies rose and fell. Industry and technology increased. Knowledge became rumor, history became legend.

And through it all, the half-breeds remained a constant presence – or a constant threat, depending on who you asked. By conservative estimates, there were perhaps as many as one thousand half-breeds still living in Nosgoth, although the true number was unknown.

However, of the vampire race, only one still remained alive. Janos, the last of his kind, still dwelt in his impregnable tower near the town of Uschtenheim. Over the centuries, the Sarafan Order had managed to hunt down and kill all of the other vampires, until Janos was the only one left.

The Sarafan Order had grown from the remnants of the original Sarafan Cult into a powerful military organization dedicated solely to the eradication of the vampires. Officially, they were an independent order, but in many ways the Sarafan were still under the authority of the Circle of Nine, for several reasons. The Temple of the Guardians was also known as the Sarafan Temple because the fortress served as the headquarters for both groups. Sometimes it seemed impossible to tell where one organization ended and the other began.

Of all the Guardians, Moebius was the most closely involved in the daily activities of the Sarafan, so much so that sometimes he seemed to be in command of the entire order. Even after seven centuries, his deep hatred for the vampires had not abated. And while he had always been secretive, in recent decades Moebius seemed even more devious than usual. He and Mortanius used to spend the occasional evening drinking wine and discussing politics or other topics, but they had not really spoken socially in close to a century. Moebius spent all his time at his private dwelling in the north or working closely with the Sarafan Order. He rarely participated in the daily business of the Circle of Nine except when it involved the Sarafan. He told no one of his thoughts or plans, even Mortanius.

But they were both old men now. Mortanius didn’t take it personally. He supposed it was inevitable that their friendship would eventually fade in time. Perhaps it was just a phase. In another hundred years, Moebius may choose to resume their close relationship, and if so, Mortanius would be happy to oblige him.

As the sun rose over the hills to the east, a carriage led by a team of horses came through the gate and rode up to the front of the Temple. A man wearing dark trousers and a purple jacket with gold trim stepped out of the carriage. It was Palton, the Guardian of Mind. Although Mortanius was older than Palton by about thirty years, Palton appeared to be older. He was bald on top of his head, and his short beard and mustache were a grayish white. He glanced up to the balcony where Mortanius stood and raised his hand in a short wave. Mortanius waved back and watched as Palton walked inside the Temple.

Even back in the old days when they lived in the Home of the Guardians, Palton chose to reside in a private estate a short ride to the north. He said it was because his powers as Guardian of Mind made it hard for him to spend long hours around other people. He needed time to spend by himself, when the thoughts of others didn’t always press upon his mind.

Over the years, more and more of the Guardians followed Palton’s lead and moved out to personal residences in the surrounding area. Mortanius was one of the only ones who still chose to live in the Temple, and if he had to be honest with himself, he didn’t really know why. It was just more convenient this way. He had no interest in living out in some vast estate when the lower levels of the Temple served his needs just fine.

He sighed and headed back inside. He didn’t know if any of the other Guardians would be present today. They kept a rather informal schedule, but most days there were three or four Guardians at the Temple, enough to deal with whatever matters came up. Even though Mortanius lived there, he didn’t always take part in their meetings. For important decisions, the entire Circle of Nine to adjourned, but that was rarely necessary these days. Aside from the ever-present problem regarding the half-breeds, which was mainly the jurisdiction of the Sarafan, there wasn’t much that needed their attention. Harvests were plentiful, lawlessness and crime were swiftly dealt with, disease was under control, and the various nobles and rulers in each city kept their ambitions in check. Nosgoth was at peace.

Mortanius tucked his hands into the pockets of his robe and descended a staircase to meet Palton downstairs. He was only a few steps from the bottom when an armed figure appeared in the doorway leading to the main hall, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“Mortanius,” the man at the foot of the stairs said with a short nod. His hand rested on the handle of his sword, which Mortanius might have considered a threat, if not for the fact that the man’s hand almost never left the sword at all. Mortanius suspected he slept with it firmly in his grip.

“Malek,” Mortanius replied as he descended the last few steps. “Good morning to you.”

The Guardian of Conflict was a dour, humorless man named Malek. His predecessor, Janarion, had died tragically two centuries before during an uprising against the ruler of Valbrek, a city near the eastern coast. It was a minor skirmish, but a stray crossbow bolt fired by an unknown combatant took Janarion’s life. The Circle of Nine took his death hard. Janarion had been charming, intellectual, compassionate, and popular.

Malek was none of those things.

He stepped aside to let Mortanius pass into the main corridor. “And a good morning to you,” he said gruffly, heading up the stairs as soon as Mortanius was out of his way. The cape that fluttered behind him was marked with the sigil of the Sarafan Order. Mortanius frowned when he saw it.

While it was true that Janarion worked often with the Sarafan, he had never been a member of their order. His skills as a warrior and commander made him the obvious choice to lead them on some of their missions, but he was first and foremost a Guardian, and his work with the Sarafan was always secondary to his duties with the Circle of Nine.

Not so with Malek. He was the not only a member of the Sarafan, he was the Commander of the Sarafan Knights, their most elite squad of warriors, and it was never entirely clear to Mortanius where Malek’s true loyalties were. Did he serve the Sarafan or the Circle? Regardless, Mortanius had few kind words for a brutish and unimaginative man like Malek.

Mortanius made his way to the main hall. Thinking about Janarion had involuntarily reminded him of the other Guardians they had lost in the past few centuries. As time went on, it seemed to Mortanius that the longer they lived, the more inevitable it became that they would fall victim to an accident or attack.

Of the original human Guardians, only four now remained: himself, Moebius, Ellendra, and Palton. The others had died and been replaced with new Guardians, and some of those new Guardians had passed away as well, giving rise to a third human Guardian to serve their respective Pillar.

First were Uldofus and Luyonda, who died so long ago that Mortanius barely remembered them. Then Galhonen, the Nature Guardian, who died in the tragic accident at the island of the vampire temple almost four-hundred years ago. After that came Janarion’s senseless death in the conflict at Valbrek. Half a century later, Altavian, the Energy Guardian, tragically drowned when his boat overturned in high winds while sailing the Southern Lake. Tiva, the States Guardian, died just a few years after that in a fire at her private laboratory, the cause of which was never satisfactorily determined. Sulimere, the Nature Guardian who came after Galhonen, died when she was bitten by a venomous snake during a hike deep within the Termogent Forest. Another senseless, meaningless death.

And most recently, Thesandrine, the Guardian of Dimension. Like Janarion, she was respected and beloved by both the Guardians and common populace. But over the centuries, she grew increasingly depressed and despondent. She tired of the petty political squabbles that so often dominated the Circle. She wanted to have children and a real family once more. It saddened her when she realized that the Nosgoth she grew up in no longer existed. And in the end, she simply did not want to be a Guardian anymore. She took her own life by overdosing on a sleeping potion.

Thesandrine’s death bothered Mortanius far more than the others. His own vampire predecessor had died by suicide, but Mortanius always believed that a human Guardian would never choose to end their life that way. The vampires were a cursed, sterile race in permanent decline, so it made a grim kind of sense for a vampire Guardians to see the end in sight and choose to die by his or her own hand. But the human race was flourishing, human society and civilization was growing, and every day brought new developments and discoveries. A human Guardian had so much to live for, Mortanius could not believe that any of them would ever willingly choose to die.

Would there come a time when more of the Guardians might feel the same way? When they became unable to deal with the changing world of Nosgoth, or when they yearned for the simple joys of a mortal life, like children and marriage? Would there come a time when their long life simply became too much to bear?

Mortanius was seven-hundred years old. He was the oldest of the human Guardians, and he had no such desire to end it all. Yes, Nosgoth had changed, and yes, he sometimes yearned for simpler things. But there was so much to do. There was so much more to see and discover. Only rarely did the incredible weight of the years rest heavily on his shoulders. He was happy to be alive and he hoped to remain so for another seven hundred years.

When he reached the main entrance hall, Palton was hanging up his traveling jacket and speaking with one of the servants. “... and two eggs, fresh from the chicken. And a glass of chilled cow’s milk would be excellent.” Palton looked up to see Mortanius coming, and waved the servant away.

“Good morning, Mortanius,” he said, rubbing his hands together, the gold rings on his fingers clinking against each other.

“Good morning,” Mortanius replied. “Ordering some breakfast, I see. Why don’t you eat before you come to the Temple?”

“Oh, I can’t eat that early. The carriage ride over here gives me an appetite, though. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Actually, no.”

“Well, come and join me, then.”

As they walked down the wide corridor toward one of the dining areas near the kitchen, Mortanius said, “I haven’t been paying much attention to the schedule lately. Are there any important meetings today?”

Palton smiled genially and shrugged. “Oh, the usual, I suppose. City governors complaining about this and that, and the usual domestic business.”

“Who else will be in attendance today?”

“Rashard said he’d be here, and Sirine as well. Will we be having the pleasure of your company, dear boy?”

“I suppose I could make time,” Mortanius said with a smile. He and Palton, despite having very dissimilar personalities, had always got along well. Palton was friendly and open-minded, but took his duties very seriously and rarely tolerated laziness or foolishness. In some ways, he acted as the father figure of the Circle, keeping the rest of the Guardians in line, although he usually deferred to Mortanius out of respect.

Rashard was the youngest member of the Circle, at just over fifty years of age, still a baby as far as Mortanius was concerned. He was the Guardian of Dimension, having replaced Thesandrine after her death. In truth, Mortanius barely knew him. A lingering sense of regret over Thesandrine’s suicide made it hard for him to really befriend the young man.

Sirine was the Guardian of Nature, another of the younger members of the Circle. She came after Sulimere’s death. Olantireth was the new Guardian of Energy, having come along after Altavian died. And Kelredar, the Guardian of States, was the ninth member, having replaced Tiva. All of them were under 200 years of age. Mortanius felt like a relic compared to them. He was more comfortable around the other Guardians closer to his own age.

He asked one of the servants for a bowl of fruit to eat while Palton devoured his breakfast of eggs and sausage. The servant was a young man that Mortanius had never seen before, but that was not unusual. The Temple of the Guardians always had new servants running about. They served for a few years and then moved on to other opportunities, and Mortanius had long ago stopped trying to befriend them all and remember their names. By the time he got to know them, they were already gone. A few years was nothing to him. And unlike the other members of the Circle of Nine, he had no private assistants or servants of his own.

He and Palton engaged in some recent gossip as they ate. What some of the local city rulers were up to, what political scandals were currently going on, what new discoveries and developments were being made, and any news about the other members of the Circle. Mortanius often found himself uninformed about current events, so he sometimes relied on Palton to keep him up to date.

“You should see the young women that Kelredar surrounds himself with,” Palton chuckled, shaking his head. “He has about fifteen of them living at his estate. Officially, of course, they are his students and he is their mentor. But I’m sure he’s giving them private lessons, if you know what I mean.”

“Kelredar’s a handsome man, and very charismatic,” Mortanius offered diplomatically. “As long as the women are all staying with him of their own free will, I see nothing wrong with it. He’s certainly not the first member of the Circle to attract admirers.”

Palton nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I remember Tiva always had quite a few strong young men around. And Galhonen always had a willing girl to share his bed. It’s a shame that I’m a bit too old for that kind of thing now.”

“Well, things were very different when we were young. We had a lot more work to do back then, and less time to fool around.”

“That’s very true.” Palton leaned back in his chair and popped the last piece of sausage into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Our youngest members certainly do have an easier time of it then we did. Sometimes I wonder how you and Moebius ever managed to train all of us without breaking down from the stress. Teaching six unruly children all at the same time? It must have been a nightmare.”

“It was a challenge,” Mortanius chuckled. “Thankfully, I won’t ever have to do that again.”

It was now mid-morning and the other Guardians would probably be arriving soon. The servants removed Palton’s empty plate and Mortanius’s half-full fruit dish and returned to the kitchen. Palton called for a glass of water before they left, and sipped it as he and Mortanius walked back down the hallway toward the main entrance foyer.

The front doors opened and Ellendra strode purposefully inside the Temple, flanked on both sides by bodyguards bearing the symbol of the Balance Pillar on their leather armor. Her long blonde hair was tied into a tight ponytail behind her head, leaving not a single loose strand, and her arms were folded inside the sleeves of her voluminous blue robe. Her bodyguards remained obediently near the door as she left the foyer and walked down the hall.

“Good day, Palton,” she said simply, giving him a polite nod. She shifted her gaze for just a moment in Mortanius’s direction and lifted her chin just a fraction higher. “Mortanius,” she added after a pause, walking past them and continuing down the hall without even slowing her pace.

Palton raised his eyebrows and resisted the urge to smile and they turned right at the foyer and headed into the direction of the conference rooms. “My, my, isn’t she in a hurry today? And she didn’t look very happy to see you.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“I take it that she and you are in the middle of one of your rough patches?”

“Something like that. You know how she is.”

“What is she mad about this time?”

“My experiments,” Mortanius said. “She does not approve.”

At that, Palton scoffed and shook his head disappointedly. “Well, I don’t approve either, but your experiments are none of my business. All of us must study and continue to learn about our powers, even Ellendra knows that. We are all at the mercy of our Pillar, are we not?”

<--Previous Chapter|Next Chapter-->