Chapter Eight
 The Paintings on the Wall

Moebius, the Time Streamer, survivor of Vorador's attack upon the Circle, soothsayer, advice giver, Guardian, watcher, interferer, manipulator, deceitful bastard. Moebius was all, neither, and yet everything. Each description fitted him perfectly. A strange man that manipulated others to his own gain, yet even I could not help but admire his skill of manipulation. For he had a subtle approach to such an element, a way in which he could manipulate others without them even knowing it. Little to say, I did not trust him, and from what I could gather neither did Mortanius, and when trust had to be betrothed into such a creature, it was done very carefully.

Moebius asked, "You know my name?" and then chuckled to himself.
"And you know mine." Already I was beginning to analyse him for the 'man' he was, but I did so vigilantly, replying in a way that suggested I was playing a game with him. A game for my own amusement. And in return he played his own.

And from where she stood the girl looked upon those in front of her. That is all I did feel… a girl. For their powers were radiating, and indeed they were powerful, liable to crush anyone who was to cross their paths in a darkened manner. They all looked their parts, although Ariel stood out from them, for no dominance or fright did any part of her hold, instead it was apparent that she was the gentlest creature.

Around us the crystal tears of the sky - rain - continued to fall, but I did not mind it anymore, for it seemed to purify me, to wash away all the stains and evil that my father could not. There was no need to think of him anymore, for I was now here, accepted into my duty, and my past could be sealed away. Of course then I did not know that this would not be possible. I did not realise that my past would not settle until I myself put it to rest… literally.

My clothes continued to cling to my skin, wet hair damp upon my face and head, hanging limply in tangled strands, whilst cold shivers ran up my spine. Were they quivers of coldness, nervousness or excitement?

I looked deeply upon those that had stepped out upon my acceptance, these other Guardians. It is an obvious fact that I had never met any of them before, yet it felt like I already knew them, had already met them, and had already talked with them. Each one I gazed at gazed back at me with the same steady look, they too feeling that they had always known me, that we had always been together, and yet at the same time curious of this forbidden child. One thing was certain though, a feeling ran throughout the Circle, a feeling that suggested another piece of a broken oracle had been found.

Within my mind I discovered that not only did I hear the strong hum of the Pillars, but also what seemed like… distant voices. Voices that were only relatives of this place, only apparent at the Pillars, and I would only hear them here.

The voices spoke in no language I was familiar with. However, despite their unknown accents, their unfamiliar tones and their distant dialect, I could understand them. They seemed to whisper, to speak each name softly into my ear and mind, each name of each Guardian I looked upon.

'Mortanius' they murmured as I glanced at the figure I had become familiar with, 'The Necromancer, Guardian of Death.' Behind him stood the others. The firm, set appearance of 'Anacrothe the Alchemist, Guardian of States'. Next to him 'Dejoule the Energist, Guardian of Energy.'

Dejoule appeared to be a mere flickering of image of a girl. She beheld a shadowy smile upon her face as she looked at me. Nevertheless, I knew that it was but a masked appearance. For ingrained deep inside their seemed to be nothing more then pain. A pain that would waver across her face every now and then, yet disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. But it was there…

It seemed that another, 'Bane the Druid, Guardian of Nature', closely guarded Dejoule. Bane, one who seemed to be very much so a child of the earth, loved by nature in truth. And he was always watching over Dejoule like she was some delicate artefact, liable to fall apart should she loose concentration.

It was Bane who was the first one to speak, "Azimuth." he greeted, and his voice was earthy and rich with a riot of life. "Do you like the rain?"
I glanced at him uncertain of his question, and even more uncertain of how to reply.

"Rain brings life to many things." He gave me a warm smile before adding, "Let it bring life to you."

A perplexing thing to say, but in many ways I understood what Bane had spoken of. In understanding I found slight irony and yet awareness. Bane stood to be the one who would give life; Mortanius, on the other hand, was the one who would take it. Indeed the representation of each figure suggested that we kept the wheel of life turning, whilst Ariel balanced it all out. Everything taken had to be returned.

This scene seemed complete, the acceptance and the meeting of the others. So what would happen now? I turned my gaze towards Malek. 'Malek of the Sarafan, Guardian of Conflict' whispered the voices. Malek, the one who was chained and constrained to his duty to protect the Circle, regardless.

"Will you protect her, Malek?" That voice once more, that voice I could so easily despise, that voice of Moebius.

In response to the Guardian of Time, Moebius the Time Streamer, Malek walked towards me in an unfaltering stride. For moments I stood rigid to the spot, for Malek had an appearance that could come across in quite the foreboding manner. This figure garbed completely in armour, holding tight to his fierce weapon, now stood to be the only reference of the Sarafan. I have always found myself wondering what exactly he had been witness to, what he had seen, what he had experienced.

Before me he knelt with a proposition of unfaltering protection, loyalty and Guardianship. "Azimuth the Planer, Guardian of Dimension, it is my duty, and one I do swear by, to watch over and protect you from any of those that may wish you harm." In his spoken words so his loyalty to me, as well as the others, was sealed.

Yet, even though I had taken up my place, we were still incomplete. Nearby the Pillar without a Guardian hummed a lowly tune, one that remained upon a sombre note. Without its Guardian its own soul drifted in a lonely macabre world, and it looked to be joined with its own.

~~~

"We are all of the same age, Balance, Energy, Nature, States and I."
"Six Guardians were lost to the blight that came forth into the Stronghold, with those lost so you were born."
"Vorador."
"Indeed."
"And who exactly is Vorador?"
"He is quite possibly legend within itself."
"A Vampire. Will you not tell me about him?"

Mortanius and I stood upon a ledge overlooking the watery depths of the scenery below, a vast scenery of water and cliff side.

"Perhaps such answers to that question are best left until suited times." The Necromancer replied, still gazing out upon the scenery that unwound before him. In return I sighed and reluctantly nodded.

These past few months of being within the Stronghold, which was now my home, I had tried my very best to extract what information I could from the others about the Circle's history, and particularly of what had happened. Ariel did not know much, or fear made her reluctant to say. Malek would remain quiet and eventually walk away from me, whilst Mortanius would just explain that it was not the right time to speak of such.

The other Guardians I did not question, in a way I was shy of them. Shy of their mannerisms and ways, for I was not used to being around 'children' of my own age, and it took me all my time to become used to Ariel. But again, I was reminded, we were more then just 'children' more like Ancient souls trapped within childlike bodies. Besides, I did not think my fellow Guardians of my age would know all that much.

As for Moebius, I never asked him for I was weary of his aloof manner, although he was never around all that much anyway. He was always out speaking fortified words to the Vampire Hunters who he rallied together with his nimble yet poisonous words. Times he was at the Stronghold were times he spent alone, locked deep within his own chambers. I could not help but wonder what it was he was plotting deep in secrecy, surrounded by his many instruments and souvenirs, whilst some rooms stood to be a historic museum of sorts.

Meanwhile Mortanius gave me a distant caveat, saying that I should keep to myself and stay out of Moebius' way.

"Duty beckons." Mortanius spoke once more, now looking away from the scenery and instead looking at me. This statement concluded our time together. Where as I am sure that his duty did beckon I could not help but think that sometimes he stated this just so he could get out of answering my questions about Vorador and our predecessors, more so what the times were like before I was born into Nosgoth.

"You have been here for five months now. Have you not taken a look around?" I gave a half nod, indicating that yes I had but had not fully been within every part of the Stronghold.

"Then I am surprised you have not found the answers you seek upon the walls." he added in a mysterious fashion, before he turned and without another word left, leaving me completely alone to the vastness of the scenery below.

Five days I had been here, five months since I had first beheld the Pillars and met the others. Five months of limbo. Limbo being that I was not quite sure of what was to happen now, or what I was to do with myself. I came to realize that life within the Stronghold could be quite lonely despite the amount of Guards that dwelled here.

What would happen to me, what was I to do? In all honesty I was perplexed, for Mortanius spoke of his duty yet no one ever highlighted mine. Was it something I had to figure out for myself? Or would someone show me how to wield these so-called 'powers' of mine? But then, who would? The ideal candidate, the former Guardian of Dimension, had long been dead, and now there was just me, Azimuth.

It would have been nice to consult Ariel upon my questions, but she was another one I hardly saw. When I asked Mortanius about her he would say that she was doing what was expected of her… whatever that was. Something to do with Balance, obviously. Nonetheless, I did feel alone, but then was I not used to that, being alone? And I am certain that in a way I enjoyed it.

I had been given my own room next to everyone else's. Everyone else being Ariel, Bane, Dejoule and Anacrothe, for I am not certain where the other three slept, and that's if they slept at all.

The first day I remembered clearly. I had had Ariel to accompany me around the place. After that day she attended to her duties and I was left to my own devices. The only thing left to do was explore. Maybe that was what I was meant to do, look around the place and settle in before it was I attended to whatever it was I was supposed to do. For no doubts I had a task I was meant to perform, for I could not imagine a Guardian's life to be a lazy one.

Beholding the sight below me I marvelled at the lakes depth. The lake served as semi-protection for the Stronghold in many of its ancient ways. I leant over and absorbed the billowing blues of the cerulean water and the ripples that echoed. The nadir of the water remained dark and eventually I slowly retreated, fearing in a childhood fantasy that the blueness would swallow me up.

Soon I was returning to one of the corridors that I had been walking in before, although this time I took another, branching off into a passageway I had not been down before. Laboriously this corridor seemed the same as any of the others, yet still I looked upon the architecture in awe. Who could possibly resist such beauty? I had after all, come from a squalled home where the rooms had been tiny and dark, with only small windows and little ventilation.

Then there was this place that I had been brought to, a total contrast in exquisiteness and atmosphere. They had said that this was now my own home, and these corridors were my own to walk down, and I was entitled to come and go as I pleased… or so I thought. For although the immense majority of the Stronghold I could wonder around to my own pleasing, where boundaries were limitless, there were also some places I could not go. And these places seemed to be ruled by Moebius alone.

It is with the beginning of this, that both the Guardian of Time's conflicting nature and my own, became evident.

In front of me came yet another wooden door. It was not any different compared to that of the others. The same wooden structure, metal hinges and bolt. I did not think nothing of it to push it open without hesitation, expecting nothing more or nothing less to just enter either yet another corridor of stained-glass and stone, or yet another courtyard. But one thing remained different compared to that of the other corridors, there were no guards here, but I thought nothing of it.

And as I stepped out into what I had thought would be another endless walk I suddenly discovered how far wrong I was.

There was a collaboration of light that threaded its way down from single windows up high, and I entered the room with my eyes half closed, squinting to block out some of the yarns of light. Instead of yet another courtyard or corridor the child stepped out into something entirely different. It was a place I had not expected, a place of hidden memories and forgotten times.

The first thing to strike me as I stepped over the threshold was a feeling of absolutism. This was an imposing, magnificent place which stood to be something yet nothing, open, airy and with purpose. I became aware that I had walked into a chapel, one for remembrance and tribute, so it seemed.

Upon the walls the most beautiful and delicate murals were displayed, and the finest I had seen throughout the Stronghold. Each one depicting a man, armour clad, much like Malek, and their helms were removed so I could see parts of their features as they knelt in what seemed like homage. These timeless images upon the wall stood to be what this chapel was in remembrance of. These painted pictures, the only things that remained of these men.

In front of one of these images I stood, running my hand along the wall as if to touch this figure. A man garbed like the others in a piece of equisetic armour that was designed for no one but himself. His appearance was not as glamorous as the others, and yet he still seemed set to be strong.

"Melchiah…" I whispered, running my hand along the painted image of his hand.

Who exactly had these men been? Who was this man who in a painting knelt before me? Why did they have a chapel that was almost shrine like, their images upon the walls as if through such paintings so life might be breathed back into them once more.

Looking upon them I knew that they were no longer living, and that they were dead.

I backed away, looking on all of those depicted, turning slowly as in the centre of the room I stood. Those strands of light filtering through the windows, whilst peace radiated from all corners of the room. An ideal place to rest and contemplate.

Each picture had a name to it, Melchiah's portrait being the first I noticed. And I marvelled at the detail that had been applied to each, the way that the artist had painted the seahorses upon Rahab's armoured chest plate. The faded emotion upon Turel's face - as if it was him who carried some unforeseen wound, the sharpness of Zephon's own features, and the gentleness upon Melchiah.

The last painting I looked upon was of the man Dumah. I could tell that in life this man had had a slight arrogance to him, for the artist seemed to have been able to catch that within their brush, and thus painted it delicately upon the canvas that was the wall. Yet the suggestion of arrogance was done with the utmost respect, done so as a tribute more then an insult. Nevertheless, something more caught my attention, for behind this knelt figure was another creature… what appeared to be a Demon.

That image enthralled me for a while. Unmoving I stared at the wall as if it was I expected the demonic figure to move at any moment.

It was within this instant that I released I had been speaking their names aloud. I wondered how this was possible, the fact that I, such a lowly wretch, was not gifted to read. And yet had I not spoken the name of Melchiah aloud? From there I had spoken the names of the other brethren, and then silence.

This was the beginning. It was the silence that made me realise, realize that I was not alone in this room. Something had been telling me the names of each man.

'…Azimuth…'
Barely audible where the syllables of my name, and the vocals that had spoken it had been a mere whisper. It was like that within this world such a voice was not meant to exist, that to hear such a voice would deeply scar the lands, and through speaking it had broken a fabricated law.

Around me the atmosphere fell, as if it were a haze, wrapping itself within the space I stood. The light, the light was withdrawing, retreating like even it was afraid, afraid of what ever the darkening within the light was.

I felt something close to me, as if something was wrapping around my essence. I moved from the spot where I had been standing and looked around. The core of coldness descended on me. It was like being in a fairly warm room, and then some careless fool had left a door open, allowing the elements of chill to breeze through.

I felt a presence nearby, the source of this coldness.
"Who are…"
"They were great men, once."

I turned quickly upon hearing that voice, my own sentence having been cut short.

"Each willing to give their own lives to protect and serve, to purify and to right the darkness into the light. And in return they live on."

Moebius appeared. The darkening atmosphere shifted its stance, not disappearing but moving to one side so that Moebius could pass.

'Live on?' I thought. 'Live on in what? In these murals, these pretty pictures?' Where Moebius saw lives well served, all I saw were lives well wasted.

"I see not how someone could live on in just a painting." I replied as respectful as one could be.
"And I would expect nothing more and nothing less of such a statement from a child." He was sharp with his response, where as my own comment had been plainly made, truthfully woven and that of my own opinion, Moebius' was cold and to the point and also made to ridicule me. Oh the irony, and although it was tempting to reply in such an acidic response, I had to bite back the words that I wished to speak. Words such as, 'You underestimate me, foolish old man.'

The sound of Moebius' pace upon the floor was the only thing left of sound now, for no words did he speak, and yet I waited. Waited for that voice to pick up, the strained, faltering chords of that voice that had been pulled thick over many lies throughout time. His voice sounded weak and yet he still managed to rouse the thoughts within peoples minds, telling them exactly what it was they wanted to hear, and then insulting them behind their backs. I have seen him do that often.

Along with the sound of his footfalls as he paced the room, glancing at the murals as he did so, there was also the sound of a gentle 'thump' from his staff, pacing it out in front of him as if it was his support. I despised that staff, for it was a queer thing, the top end shaped into a snakes head. It seemed the most fitting animal for such a creature as Moebius. And the snake's mouth remained open and stretched wide; whilst between its teeth it grasped a hold of an orb of some concoction.

When the sound of his pacing bored me I turned to regard the room once more. In doing so I noticed something that I had not yet observed. It was a statue, at the far end of the room, carved to represent a man, standing proud and holding tight onto his helm. From where I stood I could tell that it had been sculptured out of the finest stone. Why was it that all the other men had paintings and yet this one had a statue? What set him apart from the others?

I was about to go and look, but as I stepped forwards my path was suddenly blocked by the old Time Streamer.

"Be on your way Azimuth, and let me not catch you within this area again." He chuckled that idiot laugh, one where it is upon the edge of mockery and jest. "This is no place for children."

Again I bit back those ever threatening words that I so wished to say to him, and in time I would, but for now I retreated. He had won his wishes this time, but only this time…

The door was consequentially opened for me, and was locked behind me automatically as I left. Although before I did go I made sure that I glanced over my shoulder and passed onto him a scowl. In leaving one thing was manifested. As I left so it seemed the shades moved with me.

There was no resolution now and I had left exploration on the account that I had been told to be on my way and to never enter that room again. Disheartened and feeling misplaced I journeyed back to my room.

I had been told that this was now my home and yet I still could not help but feel omitted, omitted because I knew not what to do or how to act. Guardian was I but with no clear instructions on what tasks I was to perform. Again I wondered how the others had felt in first discovering what they were, how did they learn their tasks, their duties?

I sought comfort and there remained to be a way of gaining it. Like I had done many times before at home, I turned towards the darkness and sought solace with Them.

Upon the floor of my room I sat, willing myself into a deep medication. The door was bolted and the room remained deep in a suffocating darkness. I had found before, by withdrawing from the real world and retreating into my own I could find peace, a place to rest and a place to store my own anger.

The stone floor was cold and hard below me, but the cruelty of its touch did nothing to hinder me, instead it only made me focus my concentration even more. It seemed a highly easy task, and I knew not what I was doing until I felt the coldness of the bite from the dagger, yet, no pain.

I opened my eyes and glanced at the palm of my hand from where I had once again drew the dagger across my skin, reopening the wound that I had created a few days ago. Why was I doing this, what did I have to achieve? And then I understood… It was through the flow of blood …

Feeling lonely I longed to hear voices, any voices, more so the voices of my protectors, for They brought comfort to me, comfort that no one else could provide. Within a subconscious manner my mind had made a discovery. It was through the spilling of blood that I could hear them more clearly. Not entirely sure of how this method worked I presumed that maybe it was due to the meditation aspect that I would fall into.

So I drifted within the realms of my own mind, and as I did so, so it was I got my reply.

'…Azimuth…'
I was jolted abruptly out of meditation by the clear perplexity of the vocals that had just been spoken. That voice, it was the exact same one I heard briefly within the chapel. Intently I listened, and then suddenly rose from my place upon the floor. Stuttering around the room I wondered whether I should reply or acknowledge its presence within me, the blood dripping upon every surface I went near, leaving a crimson dotted path upon the stone, tracing the course I had walked.

The shutters on the windows were closed; this kept the room in darkness. Ever since I had arrived they had been closed, and I had not opened them. Punishing myself in an unseen way, like dwelling within the darkness was how it was meant to be. The darkness owned me, and I was to forever dwell within it.

'…I can show you things…' the voice went on to say. The vocals had lightened, and it did not seem as frightening as it had been before. Yet I was still cautious. Cautious because I did not know what it was, or what it wanted. It certainly did not seem like the others that spoke to me, for it seemed of more intelligence, and was able to converse more then what the others could. Where as the others sentences were limited its were not.

I glanced around; upon the side were some candles that I usually lit at night before I settled into bed. With one grasped in my hands I lit it, my blood descending down the side of the candlewick and merging with the dripping wax. I held it aloft, distilling parts of the darkness as if I had expected to see some creature that had crept up to me within the shadows.

'…You will not be able to see me Azimuth…' With such a statement I felt slightly taunted, a result of its own whim. It acknowledged me and seemed to observe me even though I could not see it, yet I felt a gaze fixed upon me.

"Why can I not see you, why can I not see the others?"
'…We are not here, we do not exist within your world… We remain trapped…' It said. And now I wanted to know, hoping to gain answers if it was willing to answer my questions.

"Why do you speak to me, why do the others watch? What are you?"
'You know what we are. But do you know what you are? You do not… do you? You can free us Azimuth as we can free you… Is that not what you want, Azimuth, to be free? To have all the questions you have ever known answered. You are one of darkness Azimuth, like us… Child shunned from the light, like us… But you do not have to suffer the darkness alone, Azimuth, you do not have to suffer alone…'

Its words captured me like no one else's could. It understood me, knew what I felt. It said it could help me.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice upon curiosity.
'Hash'ak'gik.' It said.