by Dan O'Brien
“There is a belief that they wish to strike Fe’rein’s own blood, to attack a blood relative of a Creator. How foolish. E’Malkai, sien of the House of Di’letirich, has been advised of a possible attack, yet he and Leane ilsen seemed rather unconcerned with it all,” replied Augustine, the jowls of his face swaying as he spoke.
“Then the rumor that the young sien of the House of Di’letirich is to take on the trials of Tal’marath is true. What do we hope to accomplish from this?” continued M’iordi, pacing behind Fe’rein.
“A ward of a mion is granted powers, so it is written. To have another powerful force aligned with us will be a great help as the Resistance continues to gather followers to its cause with each passing day,” explained Kyien. He laced his hands together and placed them on his chest, leaning back in his chair.
“Do you believe this as well, Fe’rein?” queried M’iordi as he turned to the stoic mion.
“There is certainly a possibility. There are those who doubted I would become what I am, yet here I stand. I believe that what was written possesses the same power now as it did then in the cradle of its birth,” replied Fe’rein, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“There are also those who say you do not deserve the gift that you have received,” spoke Augustine. His eyes glazed and he stared forward, his lips moving mechanically.
Fe’rein was beside him with such deftness that neither M’iordi nor Kyien had the skill to follow. “What did you say, Augustine?” queried Fe’rein with a deepening scowl.
“You do not deserve the power that you took,” echoed another’s voice through Augustine. The robust man was no longer himself. “Seth Armen, son of Evan, was to inherit the mantle of the Believer, not Ryan, son of Evan, desecrator of the power.”
M’iordi took a step back, gasping. He held his hand over his mouth in horror. Kyien rose from his seat, drawing a weapon from underneath his desk. The sidearm was twice as large as the High Marshal’s hand. He held it unsteadily as Augustine stood from his chair, throwing it aside and pointing a putrid finger at Fe’rein.
“This is not over, another will see you fall.” Those were the last words as a blue light fell over Augustine. It consumed him, bathing him in unnatural energy and then dissipated in a flash of light. The heavy councilman dropped to the ground with a colossal thud, sprawling him out on his stomach.
Fe’rein remained were he stood; his face showing as much surprise as he would allow himself. M’iordi and Kyien ran past him to the side of the fallen councilman, jostling him. He opened his eyelids and looked at them with a hazy, glassy stare.
“What happened?” he asked as he wobbled, trying to get to his feet. He fell back to a sitting position with an uncomfortable groan.
“Shaman,” whispered Fe’rein.
“Fe’rein, what was that?” spoke Kyien.
“What is it that you remember, Augustine?” responded Fe’rein, not bothering to turn or answer the High Marshal’s question.
Kyien’s eyes were aflame again, his passions getting the better part of him as he stormed toward Fe’rein. He paused, his shoulders shrugging as Fe’rein turned to face him. His cold stare reduced him to a child once more.
“Answer my question, Augustine. Do not think, just speak what you remember. The words that still linger,” continued Fe’rein, standing over Kyien. His eyes swirled with liquid shadow and flame.
Augustine shook his head. His hands trembled. “I––ah…”
“Speak, do not think,” commanded Fe’rein with considerable force behind his words.
“Seth Armen of the Fallen. The true herald of the Believer,” replied Augustine with shame. He lowered his eyes away from Fe’rein, a whimper escaping his lips.
“Fear not Augustine, I do not blame you. This was not your doing,” spoke Fe’rein with a sigh, as though a fantastic weight had been placed on him. “There is another at work here.”
“Are we in danger?” asked Kyien, placing his hands on his desk for support as he rounded it. “Will this voice come again?”
“I doubt that he would risk it again, but he came for me. He wished to speak to me and did so through Augustine,” returned Fe’rein with disgust plastered across his features.
He turned now, fading into the darkness, leaving the others to care for Augustine. His voice floated back over the shadow and his words froze their hearts. “If this being returns, it will be the end of Culouth and all those who serve the Intelligence.”
ⱷ
The Shaman
Deep beneath the sands of the Desert of the Forgotten there was a cavern. This crevice was one of thousands upon thousands that burrowed deep below the surface of Terra. Within this place lay the domain of the entity known to the humans as the Shaman.
His true name was Ti’ere’yuernen.
An old word that meant, in as close a translation as was possible, the beginning without an end and the end that was born of the beginning in the tongue of those that claimed Terra when it was still covered in shadow, and the Light had not yet graced the surface.
In the first of times, during the Last Age of the Shadow and the First Coming of the Light, the Believer had not yet come to walk the world. There were not yet humans, only the legions of the dark that reveled in every corner of Terra.
Since the Coming of the Light there had been nine Creators, each held the power of the Believer and was imbued with the essence of creation. Yet, of those nine, only two had been successful in wielding the power for longer than a moment. One such being had been Malkai Armen, a child born of the tundra. He had no mother, no father, and no childhood. As a child he walked from the cold into the arms of the Fallen, as if it were providence.
As he matured and aged, it was obvious that he was no more a mortal man than the tundra a beach. So he searched for the power of the earth, the energy harnessed from the very essence of the Light––the gift of Terra.
This was long after the coming of the Intelligence and the creation of Culouth, though Malkai knew of neither. He used his power to seal away a home for the Fallen, create a sanctuary beneath the ice.
And he did so, harnessing the power of the Believer for the length of five hundred and forty-seven days to the minute before it engulfed him. The energy was returned to the earth, and his life was taken with it. Two generations later, his grandson Ryan walked away with the very same power. It corrupted him as no other before him, and this taint allowed him to walk with the power of the shadow for the past seventeen years.
An orb rested at the center of the cave. The iridescent flowing energies faded to black as the man who sat cross-legged before it opened his calm gray eyes. His eyelids fluttered as he breathed out. He pushed himself to his feet, throwing a damp fabric over the orb with a snap of his wrist.
“Incorrigible human,” muttered the Shaman.
As he stretched his arms out, the ornate beads on both wrists knocked against each other in a rhythmic pattern. There were walls of shimmering energy all around him. He walked through one, his voice carrying as he did.
His words were like a song. “You shall not long use the powers of the Believer in service of the shadow. There is another who will take your place, the true heir to the throne of the Light.”
He continued to mumble as the energy consumed him. His words were drowned out, leaving the cavern silent and empty. There was no one left to perceive the solitude of the keeper of the power of the Believer.
ⱷ
E’Malkai
The House of Di’letirich had once been revered as a warrior covenant. Before Leane and E’Malkai, it had remained unoccupied for almost two centuries––not long by Culouth standards. On the tundra, it could have been the entire history of a people. The former residents stood fast in their beliefs that the teachings of the Intelligence were superior and that those below were truly lesser.
There had been a floor entirely for the training of young warriors of the House of Di’letirich. Each room filled with training devices from the wor
ld over, yet E’Malkai walked past them with sadness.
Even in all their glory, they had been an enemy of his father, of his mother, of even the revered Fe’rein. Yet, he was expected to train within these walls to serve the same empire. Elcites walked behind him. Despite his gargantuan size, he moved with a relative stealth that was unbecoming of all Umordoc except him.
“This is a great honor, isn’t it?” queried E’Malkai as he ran his hands over the forgotten weapons and training implements that lay all about the room.
“Indeed it is, E’Malkai sien. Made more so by the fact that––how did you say it earlier?”
“That I am without enhancement.”
“Yes, for someone without enhancements, considered by others to be a lower being. But being kin to the mion certainly changes things,” finished Elcites with a shrug.
“What is expected of me in these trials of Tal’marath?” Pulling one of the swords free of its eternal home, the steel was still as polished as it had once been.
“To use that weapon,” he began. Pointing at the blade E’Malkai held, Elcites then made a sweeping gesture toward all the others. “And many others as well. To control your mind, harness the energies that lay dormant within you.”
E’Malkai laughed, gingerly wielding the blade as if it were weightless. He flicked the blade out like a reptilian tongue. Then he rolled the point around his back and down his arm, finally spinning the sword before adeptly placing the point on the ground.
The smile remained. “You sound like my mother.”
“Leane ilsen is wise beyond her years. You are gifted, E’Malkai sien,” replied Elcites with a nod of his head.
“Gifted,” whispered E’Malkai.
His tone was laced with mockery.
“I would like to apologize now, E’Malkai sien,” spoke Elcites as the outer door to the chamber echoed faintly. The hiss was like a serpent in the grass.
Six men appeared.
With their hands clasped behind their backs they filed into the room, each wearing the same gray garb. Their dark features were focused on E’Malkai, his grip tightening on the hilt of the blade.
“What is this, Elcites?”
He narrowed his eyes at the line of warriors.
“One of many battles, E’Malkai sien. One of many,” replied Elcites with a sad shake of his head. He grasped the hilt of the blade and E’Malkai’s hand both, disarming his master without so much as the slightest resistance. “But this one will be without weapons.”
E’Malkai allowed himself to look at his guardian scornfully. He was met with the usual listless gaze. For a moment he thought he saw remorse there, but it could have just been an idle thought, wishful thinking.
The six men spread out, their hands rising slowly to a ready position. Some held their fists clenched, while the others held their palms facing out toward E’Malkai, passing them over one another in concentric waves, in fluid, yet precise, patterns.
E’Malkai’s face darkened.
His eyes flooded to an intense azure from the clear blue skies they had been seconds previous. He raised his hands slowly, deliberately holding them out from his body. The men circled around him, each moving in a different direction and changing up their movements. E’Malkai took one step at a time, back-stepping as they in-stepped.
The first assault was not a single attack. Instead, two of them rushed forward, with one throwing a straight front kick squarely set on his chest and the other a spinning low kick.
The low kick knocked him off his feet.
As the second blow struck him in the chest, he felt his balance being displaced. He spun from the force, landing on his back with a startled grunt. E’Malkai raised his head, blood tracing across his lip. The fall had split the flesh of his dry, cracked lips.
He wiped at it with a long draw of his tunic.
Then he pulled on the front of the tunic with both hands, tearing the buttons down the front. He ripped it off roughly, throwing it aside with a snap before flipping to his feet.
“Lucky shot,” he grumbled.
The white shirt he wore beneath the tunic was a thin, almost transparent, piece of fabric. The blood from his lip dripped on the bleached shirt, staining it. He stepped forward with his lead foot, covering a great distance. As soon as he placed it on the ground, he spun and drove his heel into the chest of the first warrior. The force of the strike startled his assailant and knocked him back. E’Malkai remained crouched, slamming his fist into one knee and then the other of the same warrior. A subtle crack resonated as the man fell back with a pained cry, grasping his knees and shouting. E’Malkai spun off his right foot and struck hard with his left heel into the warrior immediately to the right of the first.
The impact knocked him off-balance.
Carrying through with his attack, E’Malkai struck the warrior in the solar plexus hard with his left clenched fist. Bringing his right palm up against the man’s chin, he lifted him off the ground. Spinning his right leg high in an arc, he brought his heel down on the flailing man’s chest. The movement forced him to the ground with a satisfying sound.
The remaining four tightened their circle, watching as E’Malkai looked down for a moment introspectively. They attacked like a pack of wolves; the first one nearly crawled on the ground supported by his hands, swinging his legs around himself in wide arcs. The second flashed his hands out to distract E’Malkai before unleashing a rapid burst of fist strikes.
Just as the second assailant swung his fists, E’Malkai regained his focus and arched back to avoid each successive punch. The spiral-kicking man brought his feet close, but E’Malkai proved too quick flipping head over feet twice and landing a noticeable distance between himself and the warriors.
“This is ridiculous, Elcites. This proves nothing,” spoke E’Malkai breathlessly. He remained ready, but turned his attention to his guardian.
His hesitancy proved foolish.
Blood gushed as a fist struck him across the nose. He brought his hand up, wiping at his face. Looking down, he saw his hands covered in crimson. The blood ran from his hand onto the marble floors.
“My blood….”
There was a crackle at first.
A shock of electricity climbed the walls and moved across the floor. Exploding the illuminators in succession, the room was plunged into darkness. The four warriors slowed, startled by the sudden rush of energy that flowed over the room.
In the half-light, E’Malkai glowed.
A green and white hue surrounded him as he stepped forward. The light and the earth had woven into a discernible energy. The four watched the blood nephew of Fe’rein aflame as only his uncle had before been capable. Their eyes widened fearfully, arms immediately dropping to their sides in surprise.
All save one.
The assailant who maneuvered hand over hand across the floor seemed unimpressed. His face twisted into a sneer and he stepped forward purposefully. E’Malkai watched the man through his possessed eyes. The energy flowed off him in tangible waves; his hands clenched and then unclenched with anticipation.
“Yes, come….”
His voice was a pale whisper of what it had been. Yet it echoed in the halls of the training room as if it were an amphitheater. His arm extended out. He cupped his hand and motioned with his fingers for the warrior to approach. The man looked at Elcites, the impassive face of the guardian nodded in acquiescence.
The man echoed a war cry.
It was meek compared to the humming of energy that permeated the air. He charged forward. Barreling toward E’Malkai, he pounced as he pushed off his back leg and extended out with his heel.
E’Malkai shimmered as the man catapulted through the air. In a flash––not unlike the sudden charge of electricity that had gripped the room––E’Malkai teleported out of the way of the warrior’s lunge. He transported suddenly behind the man as he landed.
E’Malkai tilted his head, a smile seeping across his face. His body flickered and he was in front of the ma
n. Striking the man in the chest with his palm, the strength of the blow lifted him from the ground and sent him spiraling into the adjacent wall, shattering the ornate imitation plaster and denting the immaculate metal beneath.
The other three cast bewildered looks toward the fallen heap that had been their brethren and then to the glowing figure of E’Malkai. The youth mocked them, motioning them forward with his hand.
He rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently.
Pacing back away from them, he turned his back. And then as quick as lightning itself, he was upon them. His body distorted as he struck one and then another. Each flailed from the energy behind the strike; their bodies lay massacred around the room, lifeless as they had met the floor once more.
Elcites intervened then––his mammoth frame interceded between E’Malkai and the others, grasping him by the shoulders. He held him there as E’Malkai writhed to get away until he met his guardian’s eyes. The energy faded as he did so, receding back from whence it came. Looking back at his guardian, his eyes welled with tears.
His voice cracked.
“Be still, E’Malkai sien. Your tsang took hold of you,” soothed the giant, allowing E’Malkai to slump against the ground. His feet splayed beneath him and his head bowed heavily.
“Tsang––it cannot––be,” struggled E’Malkai, breathing harder with each syllable.
“You are blood to a mion. The life-force of a Creator runs through your veins. Is it so impossible that you can possess such a power?”
“Still, that is an incredible force to wield, even if only for a moment,” conceded E’Malkai, the strength in his voice returning slightly.
The guardian nodded. He reached down and grasped the youth underneath his arms, pulling him up like a mother handling an infant. Elcites stood him on his feet, as wobbly as they appeared to be. E’Malkai sighed as he stumbled forward, leaning a hand against Elcites. His eyelids were heavy as he struggled to stay conscious.
