Chapter 3 Bregnor The Boy with the Golden Heart by Ian William Dunlop
BREGNOR sat by the warmth of the fireplace in his room. It was still spring in this hemisphere of Alethia. The weather had changed and brought more warmth with it, but the walls in this section of the old fortress seemed always to carry some cold draft with them. The limestone walls of this ancient stronghold absorbed the icy air that slid off the mountain peaks that lay behind them. In a few days or so, the summer warm-up would begin and the air would begin to fall heavy with heat. Then he would enjoy the coolness of this room.
He frequently liked to spend time in this very old place. Sitting alone here in the night, it was a comfortable nostalgia, he knew.
Bregnor looked to be a man in his fifties, but his appearance was far from the truth. He was tall and healthy, but his graying hair now illustrated his maturity as belonging to the other side of the divide between young and old. Not far on the other side, he thought, but he knew that as surely as the sun would rise, he had crossed that particular river, and it nagged at him.
So be it, he reasoned. I am strong still, and I have the powers of the Heart to watch over my health. Nevertheless, I am mortal, a much older mortal than any other, but still a mortal, with an end to him.
It was an end that was even now some long way off, but an end nonetheless. It just annoyed him that he had to bear the usual changes of aging like anyone else. It made him a little less patient sometimes, these days.
Ah well, no matter, he reflected calmly, putting down his mug of toddy on the arm of his chair. Such is this life of mine, the life of an old Zymotar.
The Zymotar race lived much longer than most other species in the realm, and for Bregnor, in his particular circumstance, longer than any other Zymotar as well. He continued to live now, very far beyond the five hundred year lifespan of a normal Zymotar, and he would live much longer still.
He sat quietly and wondered. How many generations of this world have been born and died under my rule? I have watched them endlessly meander to their graves, passing away to join their ancestry. He ruminated on these thoughts a little more deeply, pondering over the society he had built.
Since the day I brought them here and taught them to maintain my city and build upon it, they have lived as I have decided they should live: because they know nothing of the past that came before them, and I deny them the tools to ascend beyond simple ambitions or petty common crimes.
Just as it should be… their ignorance is everyone’s bliss, Bregnor quietly reminded himself.
Positioning himself deeper into his chair and closing his eyes, Bregnor continued his reminiscent train of thought. I have ruled this land for nearly twenty-three hundred years. It is a long time. All those of my kind that I once knew are long dead, five times over. Traklia and I are the only two Zymotars left in this realm. I wonder what the others have done in all this time that has gone by. Have I passed from their thoughts, or do they still curse my name?
The ‘others’ were the Zymotars that left the realm after the war. Not just some Zymotars, but all of them. They moved as far away as they could get, to the other side of the planet, wanting nothing to do with Bregnor, ever again. Only his wife Traklia stayed. Bregnor never went to look for the others after their exodus. Not once. It was folly to think that they might ever return. His father and he had thoroughly taken care of that. Those remnants of his old life were gone forever. So, he rebuilt his world with short-lived humans from over the eastern mountains. Then he brought in the longer-lived Vladicons as a personal army, to oversee his laws. Vladicons were bipeds, but not human. They had evolved from a radically different species and they were exceptionally tough. No sane man ever picked a fight with a Vladicon. And no sane Vladicon ever picked a fight with Bregnor. He and Traklia alone controlled this realm. Bregnor would have it no other way.
A long time had passed since then, and these days he seemed to be taking extra notice of the passage of years. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that one day there would be no younger Zymotar to take over the rule of his hard won kingdom. It was the one unforeseen result that had come with the Golden Hearts, the impossibility of children. Any hope of having children had disappeared the very moment that the Heart and he had become one. He eventually adjusted to that unfortunate fact, as he had adjusted to so many others.
Bregnor detached himself from his thoughts of the past and sighed, looking over at the fireplace. The wood crackled in the flame, expelling its warmth around the room. He was not chilled now, but some days he could feel the near end of chillness testing him. So he comforted himself with warm fires later into the spring. He wouldn’t have done so just a few years ago, but he did now. Another little adjustment, he thought to himself.
In his lifetime, there had been countless alterations in the realm, some good, and some bad. Transitions, he mused. I have seen a few.
Bregnor’s eyes opened wide very suddenly, and he gasped unexpectedly. His age was not the only thing that had his attention now. Bregnor could feel it. “Something has changed,” he whispered to himself. He got up quickly, knocking over his mug of drink, and went to the window. He opened the shutters and leaned out over the mantel, looking intensely across his dark lands. He felt the chill now.
end of Chapter 3 ------------------- READ CHAPTER ONE AT THE KINDLE STORE, using the Kindle 'Look Inside' feature!
BREGNOR sat by the warmth of the fireplace in his room. It was still spring in this hemisphere of Alethia. The weather had changed and brought more warmth with it, but the walls in this section of the old fortress seemed always to carry some cold draft with them. The limestone walls of this ancient stronghold absorbed the icy air that slid off the mountain peaks that lay behind them. In a few days or so, the summer warm-up would begin and the air would begin to fall heavy with heat. Then he would enjoy the coolness of this room.
He frequently liked to spend time in this very old place. Sitting alone here in the night, it was a comfortable nostalgia, he knew.
Bregnor looked to be a man in his fifties, but his appearance was far from the truth. He was tall and healthy, but his graying hair now illustrated his maturity as belonging to the other side of the divide between young and old. Not far on the other side, he thought, but he knew that as surely as the sun would rise, he had crossed that particular river, and it nagged at him.
So be it, he reasoned. I am strong still, and I have the powers of the Heart to watch over my health. Nevertheless, I am mortal, a much older mortal than any other, but still a mortal, with an end to him.
It was an end that was even now some long way off, but an end nonetheless. It just annoyed him that he had to bear the usual changes of aging like anyone else. It made him a little less patient sometimes, these days.
Ah well, no matter, he reflected calmly, putting down his mug of toddy on the arm of his chair. Such is this life of mine, the life of an old Zymotar.
The Zymotar race lived much longer than most other species in the realm, and for Bregnor, in his particular circumstance, longer than any other Zymotar as well. He continued to live now, very far beyond the five hundred year lifespan of a normal Zymotar, and he would live much longer still.
He sat quietly and wondered. How many generations of this world have been born and died under my rule? I have watched them endlessly meander to their graves, passing away to join their ancestry. He ruminated on these thoughts a little more deeply, pondering over the society he had built.
Since the day I brought them here and taught them to maintain my city and build upon it, they have lived as I have decided they should live: because they know nothing of the past that came before them, and I deny them the tools to ascend beyond simple ambitions or petty common crimes.
Just as it should be… their ignorance is everyone’s bliss, Bregnor quietly reminded himself.
Positioning himself deeper into his chair and closing his eyes, Bregnor continued his reminiscent train of thought. I have ruled this land for nearly twenty-three hundred years. It is a long time. All those of my kind that I once knew are long dead, five times over. Traklia and I are the only two Zymotars left in this realm. I wonder what the others have done in all this time that has gone by. Have I passed from their thoughts, or do they still curse my name?
The ‘others’ were the Zymotars that left the realm after the war. Not just some Zymotars, but all of them. They moved as far away as they could get, to the other side of the planet, wanting nothing to do with Bregnor, ever again. Only his wife Traklia stayed. Bregnor never went to look for the others after their exodus. Not once. It was folly to think that they might ever return. His father and he had thoroughly taken care of that. Those remnants of his old life were gone forever. So, he rebuilt his world with short-lived humans from over the eastern mountains. Then he brought in the longer-lived Vladicons as a personal army, to oversee his laws. Vladicons were bipeds, but not human. They had evolved from a radically different species and they were exceptionally tough. No sane man ever picked a fight with a Vladicon. And no sane Vladicon ever picked a fight with Bregnor. He and Traklia alone controlled this realm. Bregnor would have it no other way.
A long time had passed since then, and these days he seemed to be taking extra notice of the passage of years. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that one day there would be no younger Zymotar to take over the rule of his hard won kingdom. It was the one unforeseen result that had come with the Golden Hearts, the impossibility of children. Any hope of having children had disappeared the very moment that the Heart and he had become one. He eventually adjusted to that unfortunate fact, as he had adjusted to so many others.
Bregnor detached himself from his thoughts of the past and sighed, looking over at the fireplace. The wood crackled in the flame, expelling its warmth around the room. He was not chilled now, but some days he could feel the near end of chillness testing him. So he comforted himself with warm fires later into the spring. He wouldn’t have done so just a few years ago, but he did now. Another little adjustment, he thought to himself.
In his lifetime, there had been countless alterations in the realm, some good, and some bad. Transitions, he mused. I have seen a few.
Bregnor’s eyes opened wide very suddenly, and he gasped unexpectedly. His age was not the only thing that had his attention now. Bregnor could feel it. “Something has changed,” he whispered to himself. He got up quickly, knocking over his mug of drink, and went to the window. He opened the shutters and leaned out over the mantel, looking intensely across his dark lands. He felt the chill now.
end of Chapter 3 ------------------- READ CHAPTER ONE AT THE KINDLE STORE, using the Kindle 'Look Inside' feature!