Chapter Two
Awakening

Sun, glacial rays that pierced the thin membrane of my eyelids and beckoned me to open them and embrace what was. But I lay unmoving, dormant, resting and yet thinking upon all thoughts that came to me.

I awoke to the fresh smell of morning and turned, deep within blankets and a soft mattress. It seemed I had slept and yet I had no memory of actually falling asleep, only that of endless walking. I breathed in the deep scents that surrounded me, a slight musty smell that had been brushed aside with the floral scent of popery. It was a motherly smell, one that my own mother had crafted herself. And as beautiful this essence was to the room, it felt false. In all the prettiness that the floral aroma beheld there was something else that disturbed what could have been quite an atmosphere of niceties. Still it was relaxing and quiet, and restful… Within honesty I could have stayed this way forever.

Underneath the touch of my hands the blanket was rough, but it provided me with warmth and comfort. This rest was all that I needed. Time to heal, heal my soul and overall mental state. With each breath I took I felt my mind sigh. Sigh with the fact that I had survived in that nightmare for so long, and how come I had? How was it that I was still here despite everything?

Perhaps I was not… perhaps this was what happened after life, this eternal rest where you slept forever under the comfort that no more would anyone trouble you, or hurt you, or torment you. The Guardian of Death had come to me and taken my life - the pitiful essence of me, and I was now upon the echoes of another realm.

Abruptly there was a sound that suddenly jerked me out of rest and startled me beyond my senses. It sounded as if something had been dropped, and my body was tensed with the reaction of fright. The fact that peace and quiet had been lain throughout only to be disturbed by the carelessness of another.

A sickening feeling overwhelmed me; maybe my mother had created that noise, having dropped something in an anxious moment before the fiend could lash out at her. I wanted to call out to her, a warning that quelled within my throat. I wanted to shout at him, that bastard who reduced her and me to nothing. That pent up anger that threatened to violently erupt at any given moment, I felt it. It was there, always, it graces me now. That lingering essence that takes hold, and yet in a strange way the anger is almost soothing, it is in many ways power itself. Where the power stems from, the fuel, and the very core that ignites the flame that never goes out.

With this dreading feeling I sat up very quickly, almost jolting my senses to a point, whilst with weary hands I rubbed my eyes, my heart racing until my sight fully adjusted itself to that of the room.

Like mist fading into the rays of a sunrise, my vision cleared and I looked around. It was a simple room with bare walls and curtains that covered the windows to which the sun now peered through, whilst a desk was positioned near one of the windows. At the desk with his back turned to me sat a darkened figure. The room itself was nothing glamorous but far better then what I had seen as a child.

At first I had thought it had all been a reverie, or perhaps I had dreamt so hard to be away from that place that I had been brought here by some unexplained miracle. Yet, seeing the symbolic reference to Death sitting at the desk like he did told me otherwise. I soon came to understand that what I was gazing on was the opaque realness of reality.

Upon the wooden floor knelt a woman who served as a maid although she looked like she would be more suited behind a bar instead of tidying a room. Her hands ran over broken pottery. So that was what had made the noise and so quickly brought me out of the cherishing embrace of sleep.

Each piece of pottery she picked up with extended care. The pieces were then swiftly placed within the washbowl that was still intact, having survived the fate of its companion that now lay broken upon the floor. No doubts it had just been the jug that had been dropped, and spilt water upon the floor denoted this even more so.

From watching her I could see how nervous she was, slight embarrassment written upon her features in that of a blush gently painted her skin. Mortanius took very little notice; he seemed more interested in whatever he was doing.

In mute silence he sat at the desk and carried on as if nothing had happened. Clearly the broken water jug had not startled him, and I wondered to whether he had emotions or any nerves at all. I believed that there had to be something there, some flicker of sentiment and yet it seemed whatever the case was, the jug being smashed upon the floor had not disturbed him in the slightest. In truth it had more effect on the servant and of course myself then it had on him.

"Deepest apologies my lord." Yet another request for forgiveness that she added to the overall formation of apologies she had spoken of beforehand. In response Mortanius wavered a hand and looked up from whatever he had been doing.
"You may leave now." he said.

The servant curtseyed. It was in an utmost loyal gesture of respect, and yet at the same time it was done stiffly, another suggestion that she was far used to working in a tavern then making beds. "Anything else you need my lord?"
He shook his head and she left closing the door whilst silence crept in and became the dominant element once more.

I sat still, used to the whole idea that I was to remain silent until I was needed, as that had been one of the rules of my household, something father had been quite accustomed to. And so as moments passed I took interest in the room once more, watching the dust particles dance and float in what sunlight managed to filter through the shut curtains.

With wonder I could not help but question where we were and how we had gotten here. My senses told me that we were no longer in the town where I had lived all my young life, and backing up this theory was the distant memories of seeing the boarder of the town. Curiosity surfaced to how far we had travelled for I had no real idea, just memories of leaving the town, the triumphant yet eager beat of my heart and the overwhelming feeling that took a hold of my senses, and of course the endless pace of unfaltering walk.

In this new place, a place that I had obviously not seen before due to the fact that I had never left my town, I could not help but be inquisitive. Curious to explore and look around, to see what this place was like, and yet at the same time, slightly nervous. Nervous… nervous of what had happened, my leaving of the town, the only place I had known and leaving my family of what there was. Cruel my father had been but I knew no different. Now, here I was.

I was too desperate to escape the night before, too caught up in leaving to allow nervousness to even exist. And now that one element was apparent in me. But what was this? Azimuth, nervous? I knew straight away that it was something, this 'nervousness', that I must learn to control.

My eyes fell upon the one who had come for me, my rescuer, my escape. He had come in the form of Death, but not to bring an end to this, but instead to release me. I was twelve, a child, unaccountable for myself and so my fate, for now, rested in Death's hands.

Was that where my element of nervousness evolved from, despite the fact that, as I had stated before, I desired to leave that hellish place of dwelling and to the point that I did not care about what happened to me afterwards. To not care… In a slight way I did, I must have done otherwise I would not have been feeling nervous. But I say 'slight' due to the fact it was only slight. At the end of the day I was away from father. Did anything else really matter?

"I see that you are awake." My thoughts shattered at the sound of those vocals. Had that been a question or a statement? I answered with a nod and then realised that he still had his back turned on me and so I spoke up with a 'yes'.

Again I sat still. The overall atmosphere was rigid and yet only on my behalf, for once more I noticed that Mortanius took little notice. Still sitting at the desk, I watched him and upon doing so I discovered what he was doing. Writing, he was writing, the quill etching away quickly at the parchment, a slight sound of the tip scratching against the papyrus and as it did so the ink was delivered upon the parchment in lettering that others would be able to read.

In a way this gesture and mannerism confused me. Surely someone of his power would not write, surely they had other ways and by far quicker means of contact?

"You are writing?" My voice picked up within the atmosphere of the room.
"Yes, to an associate of mine."
From before I remembered his words, he had spoke of this 'associate' the night before. "The one who told you I would come on my own accord?"
He replied with a 'yes' once more and then dipped the quill within the ink poising it ready to write some more.

My forehead crinkled with question. "Don't you have magic, magic that would help you get a message to someone a whole lot quicker?"
He finished off his letter and then halted, he seemed to think upon this. The quill was placed gently down upon the desk, the parchment left to one side so that the ink could dry without fear of smudging what he had crafted.

"Sometimes you speak as if your older then you appear to be and yet…" I saw a frown and I myself was now frowning, interested and contemplating what he was going to say next. "… Yet you still have a manner about you that suggests you are but a child."
What was this, kind words and then… was he patronizing me?

"Do you think powers are the answer to everything?" Mortanius turned within his chair and regarded me. "Power is used to help others, not to make our lives easier." He saw my frown deepen as he said this. It was not the first time he spoke that we should use our 'gifts' to help the populace, and not indulge ourselves by acknowledging our powers over others. It was a lecture I found myself receiving off him often.

"You are still young, which is a good thing." He began to look thoughtful once more. "You have a lot of time ahead of you. In such ways you must consider the overall use of your power." I noticed that again he became distant, as if he really was considering something, another memory? It seems he was always thinking of something. Perhaps the past haunted him in many ways that the others and I would never understand.

"Our powers cannot be used for everything, it simply does not work this way. There is a certain element of 'Balance' that needs to be considered. Still…" The figure of Death stood up from the chair and approached the window, to which his bony fingers entwined themselves around the edge of one curtain. "If I am honest I like writing and using that as my form of contact. The simplest and plainest ways can sometimes be the ones that are best."

He pulled upon the curtain, drawing it across and allowing the sun to sweep into the room. With the sudden brightness of light I found myself squinting and using my hands to shade my eyes.

These simple ways of doing things is what every other Mortal does, and I am different from them. In pure honesty I am quite happy to use my powers to their full extent to achieve my goals, and this, in time, Mortanius would learn.

From his words came silence as he too regarded what he had said and whether I would understand them. I did of course but I also see things differently as does everyone else.

Mortanius left the window to return to the desk. He picked up the parchment and regarded it, the ink was now dry and it awaited his approval.

I began to lie back into the warmth of the bed once more when he suddenly announced that he was going somewhere.

"You are leaving?" Again I sat up, trying to bring my voice tone down a level to make it sound that I was not bothered in the slightest, and wincing slightly as my insides reminded me of the bruises from yesterdays fall. They were not bad but sore enough to remind me that next time I should watch where I am going.

"I'll be back before nightfall." he told me as he sealed the parchment and placed it within one of the many folds of his black cloak. "Would you like a message passed on to your mother, to say that you are safe?"

Automatically I thought of Mortanius writing a little note to my mother to state that I was fine and safe, and then my father if he caught sight of the letter. What he would think? No, although I wanted mother to be reassured at the same time I wanted my father to suffer. Not that he would worry for me because he would not, but my mind developed pleasure in trying to imagine what his face would be like when he discovered that I was gone… Then the words from his acquaintance that he saw me that night 'as she walked the roads with Death…' I had escaped him, and I drew pleasure from the thought.

"A useless gesture." I answered in return and then bit my tongue at the overall manner that that reply had been stated in. "No disrespect, my mother cannot read." And neither could I at the time. There had been no reason for me to learn, but then I was just one example of other families. Only the well-educated people and those among the towns that had taught themselves could read. Though even if I had the chance to learn such a thing I am sure that father would have put a stop to it. In his eyes I did not deserve such a luxury.

Slowly I pulled myself out of the mass of blanket and warmth, positioning myself so that now I was sat upon the edge of the bed. "Where are you going?" I was generally interested, and wondered to whether I would be allowed to come as well.
"To get someone to pass on this message."
"Surely that will not take you till nightfall to do such a task?" Already I was allowing Mortanius to glimpse at who I really was, a curious child... The type of child, or more importantly the 'being', I was.

My overall speech and gestures, mannerisms and glances, were but the thin surface of me, Azimuth. I was not quite what I seemed, I never am… The whole shyness, and slowness that I had displayed before in my own town, the timid Azimuth, it was all but an act. Yet of course Mortanius, as pointed out before hand, saw through it all. Clearly he understood that there was more to me, and even he had not seen the full extent of this yet.

"No," Mortanius went on to say. "There are other things that I need to attend to, things that do not involve Dimension." Gruffly put, but I understood and respected that there were things he had to see to, no doubts linked towards his Guardianship. Still, I was certain that at least it would give me some time alone to explore this place. After all it was the first time that I had left the hellish town, and now it was time to greet places of Nosgoth that I had never even imaged.

Unfortunately for me Mortanius was to put a stop to this. Perhaps it was the slight excitement of the prospect of exploring which lit up in my eyes that made Mortanius see my hopefulness of wanting to explore before I even said anything. Whatever it was he put a stop to it.

"Azimuth." I looked up as he spoke my name. "Whilst I am gone I want you to remain here, in this tavern and in this room." Spoken with sternness and yet not so harsh. Why so? Maybe he should have spoken in the harsh manner that my father had used often times, or ordered me to stay put.

"I do not want you to leave and go out on your own, not at the moment."
To this I frowned again and cast my glance away. I was being stubborn and yet my gaze remained as empty as ever. What was this, Death worrying for the waif of Demons?

"It is for your safety that I ask this of you. You understand do you not? As a Guardian you now have responsibilities, not only that but it makes you the ideal target…" His words trailed off, I understood what he was saying. I was the ideal target for anyone who was disgruntled with the Circle, mainly those being of Vampiric essence.

"I understand." A reply made loosely, my gaze still adverted off elsewhere. I said I understood but no promise was made.

"Good." He shifted stance and headed towards the doorway. "As I said, I will be back before nightfall."

The door was opened and then shut after him. As Death left so the atmosphere resumed, almost relaxing within itself, as if to sigh. I sighed myself and came to realise that even I had been weary within his presence. Perhaps it was but a natural reaction that our own bodies automatically do. Nevertheless, he left, leaving me to study the room once more.

Moments after I rose and busied myself, opening the curtains fully, my hands running down the rough, and slightly ragged material in hope of tidying them up. I then applied my attention to the small desk Mortanius had sat at. Nothing needed tidying here but I sat down on the chair nonetheless, and from it I started to draw a slight comfort from the scene. All these movements and gestures done to keep my mind occupied and interested, lest it would wonder.

An open window, to which I heard the swift breeze from outside and a distant smell of rotting vegetables that lingered on the streets outside. It caused me to contemplate the whole scene. In a result I frowned for there was nothing glamorous within this place. In fact in a mysterious disturbing thought it had the same elements of home.

Same atmosphere, same smells… I found myself slightly disappointed as I leant out of the window and looked at the scene below. Maybe all the towns were like this, all the same, no allure, none at all. And the stories I had heard of beautiful, glistening towns and cities had all be a lie and nothing more. But I did not linger on these thoughts. What rights had I yet to judge when I had still yet to see things? Deep inside I hoped that these places I had heard snatches of information about were true and that I would see them.

But it was a reminder, this town that was not my own. A constant reminder that I was away from him and so should savour the moments for all they were worth, where ever it was I was at the moment. Besides had this not been what I wanted, to see Nosgoth throughout? Indeed, it was.

The brief passing of time brought the woman servant to the room once more. As she entered she spoke of how Mortanius had sent her, having explained that she was to clean me up to the best of her abilities. I noticed straight away that she was carrying a new terracotta jug of replenished water, and as my eyes wondered the room I scowled. A scowl that made me look more the misfit with a sense of a forgotten child. And of course, I was exactly that. But this scene would awaken something, foolish woman…

Cold water hit my skin making me grit my teeth and scrunch up my nose with the sudden change in temperature that came from the element. The servant set to work once more. As she washed my face and hands I mused upon the thoughts of cleanliness. With this came the thoughts of 'Purity' and what those that whispered of the town, including my father, had thought of me. Did they see some dirt of evilness upon me that they could never cleanse and purify? As my hair was being untangled a slight smile made its way across my lips and face. A grim embrace of thoughts…

Tangles and knots were pulled out my hair, my head was yanked back slightly with the sudden force as friction from a tight lug within the tangles was pulled loose. I winced but no other sound was made, not even a yelp.

A pause as her drudgery was interrupted. She apologized for tugging, and then she began to turn me slowly so that she could pursue sorting out threads of my hair into an orderly fashion. I gave no reply, brooding slightly at the pain that had nipped at my scalp. Any harder and she would have pulled those strands of hair out.

Her attention was then fixed upon tidying my fringe. Carefully she went to push some strands away and out of my eyes. What happened next was a natural reaction. One that is always done in response as someone is about to do something which is evading upon who you are.

Quickly my hand came up in defence to push hers away, I could not allow her to part my fringe, for underneath that layer of hair was something that separated me from the rest of them. It was something emblematic to them and myself; it was my curse that aided my Gift.

It was my mark, my symbolic reference, and the overall element that separated me from the rest and what made me the child of Unspoken Elements.

In my timid response she attempted to console me with a sweet and sympathetic smile. I was now seen in her eyes as the poor misunderstood child who was timid due to obviously having a rough upbringing, which then resulted to this child being withdrawn. And this lonesome child was now timid even more so. The slightest pain to make her flinch and run, and she put it down to having accidentally tugged on my hair. If only she knew… Yes, I saw it in her mind… what she thought, why I was shying away, because having my hair combed hurt me and hurt was a reminder of what I had suffered.

But my shying away was now done for her own benefit, her own…

"Child, I just want to tidy the rest of your hair." she stated with utmost calmness. Her hand came up once more to push away the threads, but my fringe covered what it did for a reason.

I knew what she had discovered when her face paled. Her skin went almost grey to a point and her eyes wide, startled, and I became aware of her fear.

"Demon…" Barely a whisper, oh that familiar word, in all honesty she did not believe what she was seeing.

Abruptly I pushed away her hand harshly away. She should have took heed to my warnings, foolish woman. And amidst my fear of her discovery I found annoyance growing within myself, like some dark seed that had been planted by my father. The majority of my childhood had been wrecked and remoulded and crafted into something from nightmares due to that man. And after all those years, my own anger, my own nature was only now beginning to rise. Azimuth… Azimuth was beginning to break free, as were those that guarded her.

They, for the first time were making their presence apparent to others…

I became aware of Them, I was always aware of them, ever since I had been an infant. The Shadows that lingered in the darkness… But that is all They did do, linger… because They could not break through, or so They said. And at that point, as such a child, I did not understand what They were saying. Break through, break through what?

With utmost patience they would try to explain of a barrier, one They could not break. I did not fully understand and their whispers would be broken when my father unleashed his anger in spontaneous moments when he just would. And everything inflicted upon me was woven into Their anger. Within my anguish Their angry cries would break through, and yet it was only I who could hear them.

However, sometimes, sometimes when Their anguish would fulfil mine others would hear their wails. Being as ignorant as they were they would whisper in mumbled tones 'it is but the wind'.

Whispers from Them would continue throughout my childhood. They were my comfort the majority of the times and They would speak more of how They were 'trapped'. My understanding of this concept was still distant but patience from Them was always apparent. They were the only ones that understood me throughout, knowing who Azimuth really was.

The water jug was thrust upon the floor, its pieces breaking in an almost exaggerated manner. The water spilling in an almost gesture of symbolic blood flow. My annoyance was stemmed to Them, They feared for my safety as They have always done. Now, like me, They were rebelling.

Trapped and unable to manifest here properly, They may have been, but They were still strong enough to create damage… And the sound of the jug breaking was Their statement beyond truth…