Book of Seth: The Citadel: A Fallen Chronicles Book

by Dan O'Brien

  Book of Seth:

  The Citadel

  Dan O’Brien

  © 2015 Dan O’Brien

  “The laws of Culouth were simple: swear loyalty to the Intelligence and renounce the filthy animal within. You must put aside your individuality and embrace ambiguity.”

  -Texts of Remembrance: Article 27

  Darkness filled my vision for as far as I could see. Fog obscured my feet as I stood up. I watched as the thin clouds moved around in the distance, like a ghost in the night. The air seemed warm; yet, I was clothed in many layers of clothing. They were not the tight wraps of the Fallen, but instead the burly tarps that had once been called coats; the tails of the fabric dragged in the clouds. I walked forward. The clouds parted beneath my steps. I could see the earth below me, beautiful fields of green and luscious rivers and lakes.

  The blue was brilliant at this height.

  “Seth Armen, it seems your role grows greater each time we speak,” boomed the omniscient voice.

  “Yes, it appears that it does. Though the questions have changed, you have come to tell me the answers have not.”

  “How utterly profound of you, son of Evan,” returned the elderly, grandfather-like voice.

  “Which one are you? I remember the child, the one called Meinen.

  “I am Talmar.”

  “Ah yes, the father, the voice of reason,” I goaded.

  “You mock my place, son of Evan. Why?”

  “No malice intended, Talmar. I merely have caught wind of these games. At first, the incredible images you revealed scared me. Now, they are nothing more than a momentary change in perception.”

  “Ah, you have grown weary of our games. I shall make this simple.”

  “By all means, do not do so on my account.”

  “Do you know why you have been brought here?”

  “Because I have answers and no questions?”

  “Yes, you are confused. Your path is before you and your past is behind you. Uncertainty haunts your next step.”

  “I have begun to question what I know. Y’re spoke of an Upper Plane, of a world in the clouds above––much like this.”

  The clouds parted and a figure stepped through. His gray hair was combed and his arms were coils at his sides. A moustache framed his face, the gray length curled around his lips; his dark eyes were housed behind glasses. “You speak of Y’re, the warrior of lore?”

  “Do you perhaps know another Y’re?” I quipped.

  “Do we not serve as your guides?”

  “You have told me that you do. I have evidence to the contrary. Why do you have an interest in Y’re?”

  “Y’re is a legend among my kind,” returned Talmar, choosing his words carefully.

  “He spoke of legends and myths when I spoke with him. Why does he matter now?”

  “He doesn’t,” he responded dismissively.

  “Why have I been called here?”

  “For the answers to your questions,” he answered with a labored sigh.

  “What is the world above? What does that mean?” I queried forcefully.

  “The world you know is nothing more than a lower place, a holding pen for your kind: the lower humans. Above is another city, a world unlike any other. The history you know is false. This city is where the Believer must go––where he will inevitably go. It is the end of his journey,” responded Talmar, his tone nostalgic.

  “And what becomes of this Believer once he reaches this city in the sky?”

  “He fulfills his destiny. He restores his place in the universe.”

  “Will we be saved?”

  “You already have.”

  The pressure of the words knocked me back.

  The clouds erupted around me as the being departed; they swirled and fought against my struggling body.

  A scream grew in my chest as I felt gravity upon me.

  My hands gripped something as I awoke and I felt it crush beneath my grip. I had fallen asleep atop the wall; and as I turned over, I saw the steely gaze of a soldier staring back at me. He wore a strangely-colored vest. A visor hid his eyes and the top of his head; only his jaw was exposed to the elements. He held a rifle in his arms, the barrel silver and the handle a dark material.

  “Identify yourself,” he snarled as he nudged my shoulder with the cold barrel.

  I stood. “Seth Armen,” I replied cautiously.

  He reached inside his vest. Pushing back the cloak that hung limply around his frame, he produced a rectangular pad. The center was glossy and the frame was built of steel. The man touched the center and a series of beeps responded; he held his gloved hand inches over the device. Then extending his arm to me, he growled. “Press your thumb on the screen.”

  I looked at him in confusion.

  “Now,” he roared ferociously, spittle forming at the edges of his mouth.

  I placed my thumb on the screen; a light passed over it. “Signature not in system…unidentified individual,” recited an automated voice.

  I was startled by the voice coming from the device.

  The man looked down at the keypad, his face muscles flexing beneath the mask. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Seth Armen,” I replied, standing tall.

  “Where are you from?” he barked impatiently.

  “The north,” I growled back, my anger beginning to boil in my veins.

  “Why are you here?” The edge to his voice bordered on pure, unadulterated hatred.

  “Supplies,” called Dean.

  The man turned around upon hearing Dean’s voice and raised his rifle to shoulder level. “Who are you?”

  “I am Dean, praetor of the city of Duirin. I am their speaker. What can I do for you?” Dean replied.

  The guard backed off slightly and returned his rifle to his side, producing the rectangular device once again.

  “Forgive my brashness, praetor Dean. This man is not registered,” he replied, showing Dean the device.

  “Indeed, he is not. He is a lower human, not one you would be looking for.”

  “I am not…” I began to object.

  “Silence, lower mammal,” interrupted the guard, brandishing his weapon angrily.

  “Seth, let me deal with this,” said Dean. “This man is a gatherer, nothing more. He tends the northern fields and returns twice a cycle with supplies. He is not dangerous,” replied Dean carefully. He placed his arm around the guard’s shoulders and turned him away from me.

  The guard glared at me, looking me up and down before acknowledging Dean. “Fine, be sure to have this mammal below grounds during the next sweep. We don’t need to waste time with them. They are useless to us.” The guard stalked back down the stairs and into the courtyard. He stopped and barked at people as they passed, extending the device each time.

  “What was the meaning of that?”

  The soldier shoved some of the people he passed. Mostly, he screamed at them and moved along, dumping the bags they carried.

  “That was a sweeper guard. I should have warned you,” apologized Dean.

  “Yes, that might have been helpful,” I replied as I started down the stairs.

  Dean’s hand on my shoulder restrained me. “It would be best if you remained up here until they have completed their rounds.”

  “Why?” I challenged.

  “They look for jumpers: people who escape the Upper Plane and come down here to hide from them. Some flee farther south and some stay in Duirin,” replied Dean.

  “And what happens to these…jumpers?”

  “They are taken for containment and examination to the Citadel in the east. Once there, they are either
executed or extradited back to the Upper Plane to await sentencing.”

  I watched as the guard knocked another man to the ground, his rifle immediately drawn. The guard looked up and waved to two other similarly-clad men near the entrance. They marched over quickly, binding the man’s hands. They walked the bound man through the entrance and then disappeared around the corner.

  “What about me and Ryan, the others?”

  “You will not show in their databases. You are unknowns because the sweepers do not go north into the tundra. They believe that the majority of beings that far north are far too deficient in intelligence to pose a threat. However, they do routinely take some of what they call lower humans to the Upper Plane for labor,” Dean replied, his arms draped over his cane.

  The two guards returned and the forceful examination of the populous began once again. They immediately converged upon one man, Fredrick. The first guard extended the device forward, grasping Fredrick’s hand and pressing it against the screen. He fought and flailed as the other two held him in place. The guard screamed into Fredrick’s face and then slammed the butt of his rifle against Fredrick’s neck.

  Fredrick slumped to the ground.

  Vaulting over the edge of the wall, I landed without incident. I ran at a full sprint. I could hear Dean screaming at me from above, but I could not make out the words. I lowered my head and squared my shoulders as I threw my bodyweight into the guard on the right. The force of the blow lifted his body completely into the air. The guard on the other side of Fredrick let him go and raised his rifle quickly. I rolled around Fredrick’s body as it fell and swept my legs at the parted legs of the guard, knocking him to the ground in a heap. I slammed my closed fist into the side of his head. His eyes rolled to white as his head fell back. The remaining guard, the one who had confronted me initially, backed away and leveled a finger at me.

  “Cease your terrorist actions immediately,” he stammered, fumbling with his rifle at his side.

  I stalked toward him, drawing my planedge as I did so. The glint of the blade was hidden behind my wrist. I could feel the man’s fear and it was intoxicating. I leapt forward, but I did not reach my target. I felt my body go numb. Electricity passed through me and I rolled onto my side. I felt something hit my side again, the jolt of electricity returning once again. My blade slipped from my hands into the dirt. All I could see was the blue skies above as my mind drifted into unconsciousness.

  THE WORLD SWAM BACK into focus slowly, hazily. I could feel where they made impact. Pushing myself to a sitting position slowly, my stomach churned as the world spun. Once I could sit straight, I reached around my back and felt the bruise where their weapon had done its damage. I tried to move around, but my head felt heavy. Each motion made feel as if I was going to vomit. I leaned back against the wall behind me, my head in my hands, and breathed out slowly. Closing my eyes, the world still continued to spin. The edges exploded like tiny lights and I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

  “Still a bit shaky, eh?” cackled a voice near me.

  I opened my eyes and stared across the room. A man sat opposite me, his hair wild and gray. His face was grizzled and drawn thin from starvation. The room itself was a cell. Three walls were stone. One almost appeared as if there was no barrier at all; each side of it had a thin strip of metal. I rose wobbly and approached the empty space; I reached my hand out to touch it.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” warned the old man, pointing at the metal liners along each side of the empty wall.

  I shook my head and continued forward. I cried out in pain as the emptiness electrified. A field of reddish energy filled the void the moment my fingers came in contact with where the wall would be. It sent me catapulting back against the far wall. I coughed violently, my hand over my mouth. There was a web of blood along my palm. I cursed myself and coughed again. My body was on fire.

  “I tried to warn you,” called the wizened old man. His body was drawn into a ball, his arms gripping his legs. He had tucked his body against the corner of his cot. He stared at me with his wild eyes.

  “Thanks for the warning,” I replied, laughing despite the pain.

  “You are a tough one then, aren’t you?”

  “Tough enough.”

  “They will wear you down. The sweepers always do,” he replied, looking at the dark-garbed men who paced back and forth outside of our cell.

  “What is this place?”

  “The Citadel. This is where the enemies of Culouth are processed.”

  “Culouth?” The name seemed familiar, but I couldn’t focus enough to remember from where.

  “Yes, the Upper Plane. Culouth is a strange place, a world of machinery and technology. It is nothing like the Lower Plane.”

  “Where is this Citadel?”

  He cackled.

  “I don’t see how this is humorous,” I challenged.

  “You ask where you are as if you expect it to be of any consequence,” he replied, standing up and gripping the edges of his cot.

  “I must escape. I have to know how far I must travel.”

  “Escape,” he yelled. His voice was a screech.

  “Not so loud,” I replied, grasping his arm hard.

  “You speak of escape,” he began, laughing to himself. “There’s no escape from the Citadel. You are here until they take you up or you are buried below.”

  “Impossible,” I breathed, unwilling to accept such a fate.

  “No, escape is impossible. This place is inevitability. I have been here since….”

  “You can’t remember?”

  “I can…don’t interrupt. I’m remembering,” he replied defensively, his gnarled fists small as they tried to beat me back.

  “Yes, I imagine that you are.” I stood, using the wall to steady myself. I ran my hands over the cold stone, searching for imperfections. I turned away in frustration. I dropped to the floor, peering beneath my cot. I found nothing; there was only darkness there.

  “Twenty-three years. I have been here for 23 years.”

  “You never tried to escape in all that time?” I couldn’t believe such a thing.

  “Yes, I’ve tried. They always catch you. They creep up on you in the darkness when you think you have made it and then you wake up here again, tired, confused.”

  “I will find a way out,” I returned.

  “What are you called?” he queried, leaning in close. The staleness of his breath and the crooked line of his teeth were pronounced at such a short distance.

  “I am Seth Armen of the Fallen.”

  “Ah, the Fallen. People of the north. Tundra warriors.”

  “What of it?”

  “The Believer is your savior, is he not?” He cocked his head to the side and grasped at the air.

  “The Believer is a myth,” I returned cautiously. I sat back upon my cot.

  “I’m called Hugo by many. You may do so as well,” he replied, flashing the crooked and gapped smile.

  “Well, Hugo, why are you here at the Citadel?” I

  “I fled the Upper Plane many years ago. Their persecution was intolerable. I hid in Duirin. It was not called Duirin then and Y’re had not yet arrived. However, those who wished to flee Culouth hid there.”

  “What is Culouth like?”

  “It resembles a city upon a pedestal in the sky. It spans for miles upon miles. I have never been from one end to another. Some say it can take a week to walk from end to end.”

  “And there are humans there?” I was curious now.

  “If you could call them that,” he returned dismissively.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not considered human. I’m nothing more than a mammal like you. We of the Lower Plane do not possess the intelligence to rise into the skies and join humanity.”

  “Humans evolved?” I was both intrigued and confused by his words.

  “No. Don’t you know the history of your own race?”

  “My history does include a city in the sky,” I r
eplied.

  “Well, anyways….” He quieted as a guard passed.

  “Continue.”

  “Humans migrated to Culouth. They struck a bargain with the Intelligence, an omniscient being that arrived here thousands of years ago. Those who were a part of this bargain were given solace in Culouth. All others were banished to the earth to rot away in the merciless tundra.”

  “The Intelligence came here? I thought the Umordoc…”

  “Umordoc.” He laughed at the word. “They are not even wise enough to govern themselves. The Umordoc that you fear are nothing more than the dogs of war, soldiers of the Intelligence.”

  “What is the Intelligence?”

  “I have no idea. It is said that it is not human, but artificial. It resides at the core of Culouth. No man, mammal or otherwise, may enter.”

  “All those years trapped in the tundra and there was more.”

  “Don’t be angry at your chiefs. They did what they could to shield you from Culouth, from the city above.”

  “The city above must be salvation.”

  The old man shook his head defiantly. “Culouth is a dark place. It may be in the clouds, but it’s not ethereal. It is pain,” replied Hugo, yawning.

  “Why?” I felt defeated, destroyed from the inside. All that I had ever known had been but a fraction of the truth.

  Frustration melted into resentment. I fell back against the cot, my eyes warm and my mind distant.

  “You should rest now, Seth of the Fallen. We will go to the mines soon.”

  I nodded absently and draped my left arm over my face and embraced the darkness.

  HUGO WALKED OUT AHEAD of me. His thin frame was covered in rags. The wraps of the fallen still embraced me and I found comfort in them, especially within this strange place. I passed rows upon rows of cells. Worn and dirty faces watched me from behind invisible walls. Their vacant eyes had once been bright. As far as I could tell, we had descended down floors. I might have lost count. We stopped abruptly. Hugo almost fell over as we did so. Together, we stood before a grand steel door, the hinges brown and rusted. Guards walked alongside us, their rifles held across their chests. Cylindrical batons were attached at their waists; their masks reflected my own haunted features.