The Mortal Burden
Book I
Chapter III
Part XIV: The Third Coast
“Come in,” a forced whisper beckoned them. To the left, beads and strips of decrepit, colored cloth covered the entrance to a doorway. Six feet in front of him, an eight-foot sarcophagus hung from the stone ceiling by thick leather straps. Light flashed off the gold sarcophagus into his eyes, blinding him as he walked in. Clayden noticed that the ancient coffin was covered in precious jewels; markings and pictographs surfaced it, like the Titan he had helped to destroy.
“Come through the door, my friends,” the creature whispered again. Clayden gated, tripping on a step. “Watch out for the step.”
“Thanks,” he replied as he walked through into the other room.
A hooded figure—skeleton-handed, around which tightly wrapped brown skin clasped—meditated in front of an archaic book. Two torches hung on both ends of the room. Jewels scattered the floor by a table on the left side of the abode. Blood soaked the table, as a dagger and chalice sat freshly used on top of it. A dust-covered chest sat at the other end.
“A mortal,” the Ancient looked up, surprised. Half of his skeletal face peeked through the hood. Skin long past the age of decay and rot hung tautly onto his skull, but the eyes were deep brown and fresh, intuitively searching into them.
“I was mortal once, thousands of years ago.” He lifted his hand, motioning for them to sit down in front of him. “There is no need to fear me, mortal. I will not harm you.” He pointed to the table with the blood. “That’s what happened to the last being who sought me for personal gain. How do you think I got the eyes?” The Ancient laughed in a whispering cough. “They’re vampire eyes, like your friend. I can see in the dark if I want to now,” he laughed again.
Clayden laughed with him slightly—fearful, but with a respect for this ancient human filling him. May quickly jabbed him in the ribs, slightly bruising them.
“Young vampire, there’s no need for violence. Laughter is the one magical discipline that every creature should understand.”
“To answer your question, mortal: she could and will,” he looked at Clayden while he pointed at May.
“I could and will what?” May asked the Ancient while staring hard at Clayden. He smiled and shrugged.
“You will…” he suddenly stopped as Clayden interrupted him.
“Sir, that’s not why we came here. I have another question,” he blurted out meekly, not wanting to incur his wrath.
“Please, call me Amenhotep. Did you know that once I was a pharaoh? In Egypt, I was once worshipped as a god. I was from the divine under Ra,” he pulled back his hood, revealing his true face. The skin had shrunk tightly, forested by a crown of frayed, frazzled hair, with shrunken ears bonded closely to his sides.
“But they lied to me, used me as a pawn. I am nothing more than a decaying corpse forced to live like this for eternity,” he quickly forced a smile from his taut mouth with many bleached-bone teeth.
“I’m sorry,” Clayden put his hand on the Ancient’s shoulder, remembering Carter and all those he knew that had died under his command. May looked away, ashamed at herself for being cold and emotionless.
“What is your question?”
“Where can I find the Warmaster?”
Chanting hypnotically, Amenhotep lowered his head, speaking an ancient Egyptian dialect, signaling in the air with his skeletal hands, channeling spirits for information. Quietly, May and Clayden sat, waiting apprehensively for an answer.
*Anxiety of the outcome… will I live to see the daylight again?* Clayden contemplated. *Does it even matter? From what I’ve seen tonight, death seems a long way off. Will finding this mythical warlord really help us survive? Or if he does help us, would he turn us into bloodthirsty warriors, only bent on conquering and despoiling? Not like we aren’t already guilty of murdering our own kind.*
“The spirits say that you should travel west, then go north once you reach the great lake that spikes deep within the land,” they both looked at him, expecting more. “The spirits also say that he will be in that area, someplace.”
“Do they say anything else?” May asked.
“No, that is all,” he replied, covering his head.
“Thank you for your help, Amenhotep,” Clayden said, standing up and pulling May with him.
“Please stay with me a while. I can conjure up some ale for us, and for your vampire friend, I’ll summon a fine specimen,” Amenhotep appealed to them, hungry for company.
“I’m sorry, but we must get going. It’s important that we find him.”
“I understand. A mortal like you lives his life like an intense, fast-burning flame,” Amenhotep paused and pointed at a chest on the other side of his hovel. “I have a gift for you.”
Clayden walked wearily to the chest and opened it slowly. Inside lay a tarnished dagger, the torchlight dancing on its jeweled hilt, tricking his eyes. A giant emerald scarab adorned it, blessing eternal life to the warrior who wields it.
“Here is wisdom: immortality is a punishment. One day your soul will leave this material world, and you will experience things beyond your comprehension. Enjoy your mortality, your life, but do not fear death, for it is your friend. Perhaps one day I shall meet you there,” Amenhotep said to him while Clayden sheathed the dagger in his coat pocket.
“Goodbye, good journey. Come and visit me when you return,” the Ancient waved goodbye. May walked out quickly as Clayden followed solemnly behind her.
May cornered Clayden against the side of the cavern on the way back to the bar.
“You could have gotten both of us destroyed!” she whispered angrily, fangs tracing her lower lip.
“He’s just a man, May, like me—except a little older.”
“And with immense power! He could have incinerated me with a word,” she paused, fearful, her mouth drawing closer to Clayden’s neck. “I don’t think he likes vampires.” One of her fangs lightly pricked the skin by his jugular; a small trickle of blood flowed from his vein onto the tip of her tongue.
“Your blood,” she moaned, caressing his thigh. “It tastes so good.”
“No,” he forced his arms out from her inhuman grip and pushed her face away from his neck. “We have a journey ahead of us; we still haven’t found him yet.”
May’s eyes pierced into Clayden’s, hypnotizing him to her needs.
“Are you trying to control me?” he asked her as she pulled back in shame. “Listen, I’ll make a deal with you. When we’re traveling and you can’t find any prey to feed on, I’ll let you take some of me.”
“You will?” she said, unimpressed.
“Yes, but don’t take too much. Just enough to get you by,” he responded, blaming himself instantly for being so stupid for saying such an idiotic thing. She smiled, and they walked back into the bar, winning another battle against what she considered a weak human male—something beneath her.
Written ~ 1997. © Jacob A. Pickard 2025. All rights reserved. This work is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, republished, excerpted, or used for academic, commercial, or derivative purposes without written permission.
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