by Dan O'Brien
“I think I’m going to sleep, Elcites.”
“As you wish, my sien,” responded Elcites with an even tone.
He reached out to grasp E’Malkai as his eyes closed and he fell forward into his guardian’s arms. Snores rose from him almost instantaneously. Elcites favored a tight smile at the simple image of the youth amidst the carnage of his ascension.
*
Many hours had passed since E’Malkai’s collapse, and as he awoke, he flailed his arms. With his brow sweating, his eyes snapped open. He gripped tufts of his sheets, wearing only the sleeveless undershirt that he had previously. Bloodstains were evident, running a line down his chest. He brought a free hand to his nose as he remembered.
Looking from his bedside to the tinted windows, he could see that the air was bright outside. It meant that he had slept through the night, something he had not done in some time.
He brushed the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The soreness in his thighs and then in his lower back as he arched, stretching, was immense. It was as if he had run several miles for the first time in his life.
He sat there for a moment. Closing his eyes, he slowed his heart, regressing in his mind to the previous night. He saw only flashes of the battle followed by a feeling of complete power that permeated his memory.
E’Malkai placed his feet on the ground.
He felt a shiver go down his spine and reeled. His hands went to his head where his brow sweated, confusion setting over him. He pushed himself back on the bed, his back against the wall as the voice came.
The soothing tones echoed in each corner of the room.
“E’Malkai, son of Seth, descendent of the line of Armen,” boomed the voice. E’Malkai looked around, eyes moving rapidly. “There is no need for fear,” spoke the voice again, as if it perceived his fear.
E’Malkai stood on top of his bed now. Peering into the darkened room, he could not see the source of the voice. “Another day has set,” he whispered, his attention diverted for a second.
“Many days shall set and rise before you have accepted your birthright,” echoed the voice, the volume coming from every corner of the room.
“What is going on?” queried E’Malkai. He lowered himself so that he could hug his legs, looking out over them.
“A dream.”
“Then why aren’t I flying or walking through walls, or something else equally fantastical?” challenged E’Malkai, feeling anger burning in his chest.
“This dream is a portent. This dream is more real than the life you live,” spoke the voice.
“Why are you here? Why do you trouble my sleep?”
“It is you who troubles your sleep, son of Armen.”
E’Malkai shook his head, closing his eyes.
“Why would I dream in riddles?”
“I am the Shaman––Ti’ere’yuernen in the old tongue––and you possess a charge: a task that must be completed for the sake of the Light.”
“You speak of the trials of Tal’marath…”
Hissing sounds silenced E’Malkai.
He strained to see, his eyes wide.
“No, child, that task is one in the service of the shadow. The mion is a corrupted form of a Creator. Your charge is of far greater importance.”
“The mion is the patriarch of Culouth, its guider and protector from the enemies of justice,” replied E’Malkai, venom seeping into his words. As the words left his lips, he felt the need to take them back. He had his reservations about Fe’rein, as well as Culouth’s government, yet he felt compelled to defend it to another.
“In time there will be no need for me to tell you the evils of their ways. But for now, be mindful of those around you. Their plotting will come to define who you are.”
E’Malkai sat up with a start, jumping up from what he was lying on. Swinging his head in either direction, he expected to hear the voice again. Looking down at the portable cot, he shrugged his shoulders and sat back upon the miniscule structure.
However, the soreness had not been a dream.
“Just a dream.”
He held his face in his hands as he whispered the words, his long hair matted against his neck and head. As he heard the gentle release of the entrance, he flicked his head back and rubbed at his eyes until he saw spots in front of them.
Elcites entered, only a few steps carrying him the distance to the youth’s bedside. “Are you feeling better, E’Malkai sien?” he rumbled, his voice like fog rolling over a river.
E’Malkai hesitated, uncertain whether or not he should share his dream with his guardian. Both his mother, and now this mystery voice in his dreams, had told him to hold his tongue. “Yes, I feel rested. Whatever happened last night sapped me of everything I had.”
“Last night, my sien?”
Elcites looked at E’Malkai pointedly. E’Malkai, noting his surprise, looked confused. “Yes, the training session that ended when I abruptly passed out.”
Elcites cleared his throat, the sound like pressurized air escaping a vacuum. “That was two nights ago, my sien.”
“Two nights,” replied E’Malkai, looking down.
“You have been sleeping for some time. Leane ilsen came by and I offered to wake you, but she felt it prudent to let you rest. Your success in the first stage of the trials of Tal’marath was twofold.”
E’Malkai was distracted.
His response was dry as a result.
“How so?”
“The emergence of your tsang is considered a rather advanced phase of being a ward. Though not that surprising given your lineage.”
“My lineage?” snapped E’Malkai.
The voice from his dreams rang hollowly in his ears.
“Blood to a mion, my sien. This lends well to the harnessing of the tsang,” responded Elcites. The Umordoc warrior spoke the words as if they were common knowledge.
E’Malkai shifted uncomfortably on the cot, pulling at his clothes as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You said that my advancement was twofold, but you mentioned only the harnessing of tsang,” continued E’Malkai.
“Your skill was impressive as well. It is understood that the trials of Tal’marath are a progressive ordeal, yet you showed so much so early in the teachings. Your first day no less,” replied Elcites, shrugging his massive shoulders.
E’Malkai nodded. His thoughts were preoccupied with the strange voice and whether it was a portent of things to come. The giant cleared his throat and shifted slightly, a monumental task for a being so large.
“Leane ilsen has asked for your presence along the eastern vantage point. She wishes to speak to you at length of what comes next,” iterated Elcites, his baritone voice calming.
“Has she now?” mocked E’Malkai, feeling the soreness of battle: the heaviness in his shoulders and neck.
“Do you need to bathe, E’Malkai sien, to freshen up before seeing Leane ilsen?”
“Yes, I could use a bath.” E’Malkai stood, reaching his arms up toward the ceiling, rising onto his tiptoes. “My mind is rested, but my body aches as if I had run miles upon miles.”
“The emergence of the tsang is a trying process and to have it take you over so completely before the first ruen is unheard of, even in the ancient texts. By all accounts, you should have perished as the energy consumed you from the inside,” replied the giant, his unwavering figure moving for the first time.
He moved deeper into the darkened room. Running his rough hands over the tinted window, the sunlight pushed through, bathing the room in its light.
“Has anyone else been told of this?”
Elcites paused for a moment, as if contemplating his words. “Should more people know, or do wish it to remain in confidence?”
“I would like it to be between us for now, Elcites,” responded E’Malkai. He felt physically worn from the conversation.
“And Leane ilsen as well.”
“Yes, of course,” replied E’Malkai. He paced away from the cot and r
an his hands over the whitewashed walls of his dormitory. He stopped, his right hand against the doorframe, head bowed.
The room on the other side of the open archway was the freshener. The marble tub at its center was large enough to hold Elcites with room to spare. The youth turned back to his guardian, his eyes lowered as he did so. Lifting them, he met Elcites’ gaze. “Wait downstairs for me at the entrance to the lower avenues. I wish to walk the streets today, Elcites.”
The guardian nodded and moved out of E’Malkai’s vision. E’Malkai climbed into the bath, turning the spigot for the warm water to drain in. Warmth flooded the room in fog and sweet-smelling oils. He pulled off his clothes and placed them neatly in a pile atop the table that stood adjacent to the tub.
He could feel the gentle touch of the caressing heat, the nurturing warmth that would soothe his weary muscles. He let his hand dance across the surface, feeling the heat on his fingertips. E’Malkai lowered himself into it, sitting in it fully. Leaning his head back, he allowed his eyes to close, accepting the warmth and the healing that it brought.
*
An hour had passed before a clean, refreshed-looking E’Malkai bounded through the entrance to the avenues below the House of Di’letirich. Elcites had not moved, or at least had not appeared to have. His muscular, coiled arms were across his chest; his fists clenched and then loosened upon seeing E’Malkai. The youth’s long hair was pulled up into a top knot, the glistening strands still damp from his bath.
There was a synthetic glow that crawled along the surface of the atmospheric dome. Gray masses flowed alongside giving the impression that there was a cloudy day upon them, but there was no chance of precipitation.
“Are you ready now?” asked Elcites, unfolding his arms and allowing them to move loosely at his sides.
E’Malkai nodded, feeling guilty for making his guardian wait so long. “Of course.”
The Avenue was large.
More than three hundred feet across and enough space to allow several PTVs to traverse the traffic easily; however, gravity vehicles and the like were restricted to air space only. The ground avenues were reserved for the pedestrians of Culouth. Their mindless chatter and goings-on were no different than any other culture or regime at the height of its power: a blissful ignorance of the danger that lay around them.
The men wore colorful robes, gold beneath bright blue hues as well as brilliant crimsons. Women were attired similarly, except that most of them wore tighter, cream-colored hooded robes. Very rarely did they don their hoods.
“There is very little activity today, E’Malkai sien.”
They walked for hours, passing similar-looking people. There were few differences between each citizen save for weight and number of synthetic enhancements that they had opted for. Some looked younger as a result, more in tune.
The citizens of Culouth looked upon E’Malkai with reverence, despite his decision to eschew cybernetic enhancements. E’Malkai was frequently greeted with a wide-eyed, blank stare that arose from his natural beauty in addition to his place in their social structure––blood to the mion as Elcites was always fond of pointing out. Women would pause and ask if they could speak with him, and he would oblige, imparting a few words before they flushed despite their cybernetic heritage and then scampered on, despite their age.
Men were no different.
Some would linger as much as a man was able, and others would ask of the mighty battles that Fe’rein undertook for the safety of Culouth. E’Malkai had experienced it many times since his birth and dealt with each person with a degree of civility, answering their questions as simply and completely as he was able.
The only aberration came as the Avenue dipped down into a lower district of Culouth, one that was referred to as the Secondary.
A man burst from one of the faded alleyways.
His coat was not an elegant robe like those worn in the upper regions; rather his clothing was grimy, filthy, and torn, dragging just above the ground. A heavy beard, dark and slick like his trench coat, framed his face. Although his hair was long like E’Malkai’s it was stringy, as if it had not been washed in some time.
The man looked back over his shoulder as he exploded from the shadow between the buildings and careened into E’Malkai, almost knocking him off his feet. Elcites placed a hand against his back, steadying him.
The man hit the ground.
Feet flailing, he sprawled as he slid over the Avenue. He looked up with a wild gaze, his hazel eyes glaring at E’Malkai. Pushing himself off the ground, his eyes never left the youth’s face. He stood no more than a few feet from him. “You are his blood,” he spoke with a hoarse rasp.
E’Malkai tilted his head in confusion, not understanding the statement. “You mean Fe’rein?”
“Yes. He Who Kills His Own Kind,” spat the man.
E’Malkai had to place a hand back to restrain Elcites. The furry giant wished to reach across and end the man’s life no quicker than the words had escaped his mouth. “He is the protector of Culouth.”
The man cut him off. Taking only a step forward, he refrained as Elcites did the same. “He is the protector of the agenda of the Intelligence. His goal is to exterminate humanity from this world and any other.”
“E’Malkai sien, this man is mad. We do not have time to speak with him,” urged Elcites, stooping to look his master in the eyes. “Leane ilsen would not appreciate being left to wait.”
“You must hear the truth,” pleaded the man now. His approach changed from outright anger to urgency, drawing E’Malkai’s attention.
E’Malkai nodded, not looking at his guardian.
“Let us hear what he has to say.”
Elcites sighed, a powerful act. His exhalation was like a small gale. Crossing his arms once more, he fixed the man with a steely glare. “Continue.”
The man was erratic now, energized as if he had been prodded with electricity. “I am called Stephen––Stephen, son of Gregory. That is how our ancestors spoke of our heritage, but now it is lost.” The man bowed his head in sadness and then lifted it again, continuing. “Fe’rein is not meant to be. His power was taken from the one who was meant to have it, his brother Seth, son of Evan.”
“My father,” whispered E’Malkai.
The words were too low for Stephen to hear.
“The power of the Believer, of a Creator, is a singular one, one that is from Terra herself. This power grants the bearer the ability to reshape the land, to return it to what it was. The mion, as he is so reverently called here, is nothing more than the name for the assassin of Culouth. The word itself means bringer, and all that monster brings is death to humans, those who are left here in Culouth.”
E’Malkai watched the man’s face darken.
Muscles flexed angrily underneath.
“Fe’rein, my uncle, seeks out the members of the Resistance, those who attack the innocents of Culouth and hinder our way of life,” reasoned E’Malkai. The anger that boiled in his veins was tempered by his own misgivings of Culouth, and of Fe’rein.
The man cackled, his laugh sounding otherworldly. “That is what they want you to believe. No questions asked, taking in their every word as if it were gospel. Have you stopped and thought what makes us such a danger to Culouth?”
“You attack citizens,” replied E’Malkai, seeing now why Elcites had suggested they move on. The man was luring him into a debate of semantics, of the politics that shaped this world.
“When has there been an attack? Think. Can you recall a time when you have seen a citizen attacked on the Avenue or anywhere else? Or a raid on the Commerce? These accusations are a falsehood.” The man was feverish now, swinging his hands wildly as he gestured to the Avenue and the buildings above.
E’Malkai shook his head, trying to block the words out.
“I’m sorry, we can’t speak anymore.”
E’Malkai tried to move away, but Stephen grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him back. In response, Elcites brought a massi
ve paw down on the man, knocking him to the ground with little effort. The man looked up as they departed.
*
The eastern vantage point was one of the oldest and most distant points that one could ascend without actually leaving the confines of Culouth. It was rumored to have once been a port for interstellar travel, but it had been sealed up and replaced with an exhaust vent for the dome.
A lip extended out over the exhaust port, which overlooked the darkness as well as the rigid mountains below. However, from the altitude of Culouth, they seemed like nothing more than a series of bumps and lines on the ground. The lady of the House of Di’letirich was often seen sitting there for hours at a time, sometimes ignoring sleep and gazing down at the world below with deep sadness written upon her face.
The Avenue ended abruptly, almost spilling into the eastern vantage point. The clean metallic walkways became dark black concrete. The oil from the machines of Culouth tainted what could be corroded, thus the need for such silver passes. E’Malkai was still absorbed by the words of Stephen. Even as he approached the vantage point, his head remained bowed, eyes searching for answers below him.
Leane turned to look at her son and the guardian, sensing her son’s apprehension even from a distance. She had, as of late, been somber. “E’Malkai. Elcites.”
E’Malkai looked up from his stupor and saw the thin smile that crossed his mother’s face. He moved alongside her, allowing her to embrace him. Placing her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes against the rising darkness of her emotions.
“You seem troubled, my son. What is it that grips your mind so completely?” Leane’s voice, no matter how troubled or riddled it seemed, sang like a song. Hers was a sweet, clear symphony that put him at ease.
“On the way here a man stumbled from the alleys in the Secondary onto the Avenue. He said many strange things.” E’Malkai furrowed his brow as he spoke. The memory of the man’s manic tirade rang in his ears.
“What did he say?” Her interest was piqued now.
