The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  “As you wish,” replied E’Malkai. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, feeling his heart slow; he felt the blood flow through his veins.

  “First, feel yourself, the muscles and organs of your body, feel the rhythm of your heart and the pressure as your lungs expel air. Then feel the blood travel through your veins, the inner pathways of your being.”

  Colors flashed across E’Malkai’s vision, dark purples and reds.

  It was a swirling vortex that slowly dissolved into concrete imagery. E’Malkai’s head jerked as the images came. The cold tundra lay out before him, the birth of the Barren Maiden and the solemn symphony of the Fallen.

  “Feel the ground beneath you, the metal and the synthetic air around you. Separate what is from what was created.”

  The tundra rolled out for miles and miles.

  Bleached ground harbored sadness as old as Terra herself. E’Malkai listened closely to the words of the winds. Voices all around him attacked his mind with empty accusations and tales of errors centuries past. They pleaded for his help. His heart raced. The slow rhythm was replaced by a steady thump; his throat became drier.

  Elcites noticed the subtle change.

  His voice lowered to the softest tone he could make.

  “There is no fear here, breathe easy.”

  E’Malkai shook his head.

  The visions of the tundra blurred and then dissipated.

  They were replaced by a view of Culouth from above; then falling with gravity, his viewpoint shifted downward, moving through the city as if he were a sightseer. His breathing slowed once more, the calm retuning.

  Elcites seemed satisfied by this.

  Massive fists unclenched and his voice continued. “Feel each person as you pass them, learning their history and the history of their ancestors. See the buildings and walk back with them through the veil of time to their creation.”

  The House of Di’letirich crawled into his vision.

  The zenith reached high into the created atmosphere of Culouth. His vision walked him along the sides of the building. The stone and metal walls felt aged, possessing an ancient wisdom. He saw the room where he had trained, the walls of the building dissolved as he walked through.

  The room was not barren as it was now, but adorned as it had been an age before, after the coming of ancient evil. Men stood in a line, a quarterstaff held in each of their hands. Their tunics tied at the waist by a black sash, the fabric of the garb was marked by a crest over the left breast. A phoenix, as the ancient lore had called it, its claws gripping a flaming emerald globe.

  “Learn the lore of this world, revel in its past, present, and future. View each as if it were passing before your eyes, years passing in seconds, centuries in minutes. Follow the path of the tsang, of the essence that has touched you.”

  The men fought and then disappeared.

  The ages passed before E’Malkai’s eyes as if they truly lasted just seconds. He saw the men again, their light garb having been cast aside and replaced by armor. Leathery mantles covered their torso in addition to heavy leggings and pointed helmets that raised two rectangular edges high above their skulls.

  They drew swords, the blades of articulate design. The steel was iridescent, the thickness of the blade slight and the sheaths ornate. Memories pressed on: after the men fell, dark legions marched on the House, dark-clad warriors as large as doors––as large as Elcites. One turned toward E’Malkai’s viewpoint, the dark helmet that covered its broad features pulled away. E’Malkai gasped as he saw the cruel, twisted features of an Umordoc. The black, glossy hair was long down the beast’s back.

  “No.”

  The strangled reply resonated, echoed.

  “Pause time; rewind the images of an age lost.” There was urgency in the guardian’s voice. He saw the apprehension on E’Malkai’s face, the stress lines, and the pale draw of his lips.

  E’Malkai began to sweat.

  His brow beaded.

  He pulled the tunic over his head, exposing his naked torso to the even temperatures of the Culouth air. Gritting his teeth, the muscles of his face twitched. His fists clenched as he struggled to follow the instructions of the guardian.

  He watched as time slowed. The gait of the Umordoc soldier slowed to a normal pace as he watched the beast reach down. Grabbing one of the dead warriors of the House of Di’letirich, it lifted the man by his skull.

  It reached its free hand around to the back of the warrior.

  A sickening sound echoed in E’Malkai’s mind. It was the sound of torn flesh and splintered bone. The monster pulled its hand back; the man’s spine and skull rested in the beast’s grasp. It raised the macabre trophy above its head with a primal roar, wakening E’Malkai from his trance.

  His eyes snapped open.

  E’Malkai rose to his feet and shook his head furiously. Pulling on the damp ends of his hair, he glowered at Elcites. The Umordoc guardian watched E’Malkai with indifference.

  “That is enough,” whispered the youth.

  “Did you witness anything?” The question was straightforward. The inflection spoke volumes about what Elcites already knew, as if he had seen what E’Malkai had seen.

  “Many things,” he began. Then scowling, he closed his eyes. Images of the beasts returned. “Horrifying things….”

  “Do you wish to speak of them?”

  “There were many things I did not understand, places I have never seen.”

  “Your power is vast, E’Malkai sien. The homing technique is one that takes months, sometimes years to refine. Yet the vigor with which you speak of what you saw reveals much about your advanced skill level.”

  “Perhaps.”

  There was distrust there now.

  The images of Umordoc that he saw were contrary to any that he had ever witnessed. Elcites had been nothing but kind; his ways were gentle, and some would even say cowed. But, the savagery he saw in the visions was enough to cast doubt on the nature of the Umordoc.

  “I wish to see my mother.”

  ⱷ

  Leane

  The common room received its name because in each of the Houses of Culouth, the walls, the furniture, every aspect of this room remained the same. Therefore it was common and familiar from one personal residence to another, an inviting prospect for others when they visited.

  Leane sat in the plush, flat-backed chair in which she always took up residence. Her legs were tucked beneath her. A solemn look of defeat was spread across her features as she stared out the tinted windows at the false veneer of Culouth.

  The outer entry illuminated, the lights indicating a visitor. Leane turned slightly; only a sliver of her eyes watched as her son and his guardian appeared. Their figures slid into darkness as the illumination of the outer door faded.

  She was not a ward, nor was she a seer of any degree. But, she could feel the pain radiating off her son. Turning completely, she placed her bare feet upon the cold floor of the common room.

  “Is there something the matter?” Her voice had softened from the hard edge that it usually carried. E’Malkai paused. Turning back to Elcites, he ordered him out, another gesture that Leane found distressing. “You send away you guardian. There is something troubling you indeed.”

  “Much.” The answer was brusque.

  “You have questions for me?” There was anonymity in her voice, as if she sensed that a game was upon them. One in which they would go around and around.

  “The tundra to the north…”

  “The birthplace of the Fallen. The tribe to which your father and I were born, as well as Fe’rein, though he was a just a boy who we called Ryan then,” she replied, saying the name of the mion with noticeable hesitation.

  “What is it about that place that calls me there?”

  He paced as he spoke.

  Leane rose and walked counter to him, a circle between them as if they were two combatants in an eternal struggle. “The Fallen is a return to what was. But it is not the birthpla
ce of men as they believe. It was a sanctuary of sorts for those who ventured from the old Culouth in order to escape death.”

  “It was not called Culouth.” The voices whispered to him; a word formed on his lips. “Mitior.”

  If his uttering of the old name of the crystal city had surprised Leane, she did not show it. “That is the old word for this place, before the machines came. Before the thrall of the Intelligence wielded men as if they were tools and pawns for their games.”

  “The Umordoc, they were not as they are now?” The question was laced with sadness. Elcites was not only E’Malkai’s guardian, but also his closest friend.

  “They were the shock troops for what came.” She hesitated, as if to say more, but shook her head. “There is much about those times that is lost, or perhaps hidden. We are meant not to know.”

  E’Malkai wanted to pressure her more, to know what else had been hidden from him. He decided that in time answers would begin to reveal themselves. “Tell me about Ryan, my father’s brother.”

  “You mean Fe’rein?” queried Leane.

  “No.” The tone was firm. “I know enough of the mion. I wish to know of the boy who followed my father, the one I would be proud to know.”

  She sighed, looking down and then back up again. Her face seemed to age decades in a moment. Sitting back into a chair, she pulled her legs beneath her slender frame. “You wish to know of something dangerous, E’Malkai. To even speak his true name is a crime to which some would face death.”

  E’Malkai’s features softened as he sat across from his mother.

  “I wish to know. It is necessary that I know. No more lies.”

  “Ryan Armen was a boy no older than you when this history begins. There was much before it, but this is where we see how he became what he is today. They had left the Fallen to go to the north in order to retrieve parts for a machine that had been unearthed in the tunnels of the Fallen. They found a woman in an installation there––a woman named Summer––who as the Fates would have it, was an android. In the tongue of the Fallen they were referred to as demi. Half machine, half man.”

  She cleared her throat before continuing. “Many strange things came to pass, wolves, and another demi that came to the Fallen. All of these things were merely a backdrop to our exile. Our lives were no longer worth anything to them, so we journeyed to the far south, to a place, that as far as we knew, was undiscovered. There we came upon the port of Duirin, which is a common place among those in Culouth. Here, we consider it as the gateway between the Upper and Lower Planes.”

  Leane’s eyes were distant as she continued. “There we met another of the Fallen, a man called Dean, Seth and Ryan’s uncle. A man who we did not know still lived, but knew that he had journeyed south many years before Ryan’s birth. We found a home of sorts, though that, like many things, was short-lived. Seth found himself remitted to the Citadel for keeping Fredrick out of trouble, as he often did. This time it was Ryan who played the part of hero, or at least attempted to do so.”

  She continued with emotion in her voice. “He brought Summer with him, risking the life of the only love that his young heart had even known. During a conflict with Culouth soldiers and wasteland mercenaries, he lost her. She was taken, and his hatred steadily grew until it consumed him. Seth returned to us, and together with his brother, he traveled south to a far desert that I have never seen. As far as I know, it does not exist. Seth never returned. Ryan became a man consumed with hatred and power, a combination that has shaped our lives here.”

  She placed her hands on her lap and looked down. Her eyes were glossy with tears, as they often were when she spoke of the past. “What the boy known as Ryan is now is something that Seth would shudder to look upon. How I wish he were here. Maybe then things would make sense. That is the history of the All-god of this wretched machine city, the being who shapes your fate and my own.”

  E’Malkai stared, his mouth opening and then shutting once more. He searched for the words. “Why did we come here? Why not stay below?”

  “There was no place for us once Ryan returned as he is now. The power he wielded was one that needed a control. That control was the Intelligence here in Culouth. He was drawn here from the beginning.”

  “Used?”

  “Exactly.” She responded with a grim smile.

  “These trials, all of this is for naught. Then that madman’s words were true.”

  She leaned forward with some urgency. “The one who came from the alleyway before you came to see me?”

  “Yes, he spoke so oddly, telling me that Fe’rein took the power from another. That it was not meant to be his. The words sent a chill through me then. And now hearing this, I find them more a portent than anything else; a glimpse into the past.”

  “He said that Ryan took the power? That it had not been given to him by the Shaman?” She pressured him with her words, an edge to her voice.

  “Something to that effect,” he stuttered, breaking beneath the interrogation of his mother. “To be honest, it is all a bit muddled by this afternoon. I can’t seem to think straight––voices.”

  She was relentless, hungry. A dark spark shimmered in her eyes. “What opened to you when you were with Elcites? What visions did you see?”

  E’Malkai shied away from her as she moved forward, pressing him to speak more. “Many things from the past of this House and of the tundra: blowing white plains. Bleached crystals stringing beyond what even my mind could see,” replied E’Malkai, shifting uncomfortably.

  “You are a seer now,” she whispered.

  E’Malkai stared at her wide-eyed. Moving back toward the entrance, he backpedaled over the narrow stairs that led down into the center of the common room. “No, it cannot be.”

  “You are gifted with the sight,” she began. Her voice resonated with an unnatural glee. “It was written in the scrolls of the Fallen that the generations of Armen would bear a seer, one who would bring about a new dawn.”

  “No.” The denial was monumental. He lowered his head, his eyes closed, fists clenched at his sides in frustration. “I am not a part of that. I am not a herald of prophecies.”

  “You sound like Seth. He never believed he was anything more than his station in life, but he was much more. He was meant to be a champion of the Light, whereas Fe’rein is a servant of the darkness.” Her sigh was infectious. It seemed to come forth every time she spoke, as if there was a great weight that accompanied her every word.

  “I will not suffer any more of this.”

  She sat back as if deprived of her strength.

  “Then I will keep you no longer.”

  E’Malkai’s words were caught in his throat. He choked as he tried to speak and then nodded, moving into the adjoining corridor. He left Leane alone with her thoughts of the past.

  ⱷ

  Culouth

  The lower floors of the Commerce Deliberation Hall were vast and properly maintained. Halls shone to a brilliance that rivaled any single place throughout the city. The immense hall in which the Deliberations took place was a room of a special elegance and girth. A connecting path that led to the main room could only be considered narrow in comparison. The diminutive adjoining hall was forty-five feet from floor to ceiling and sixty feet wide, no more than a fraction of the size of the actual meeting chambers.

  A clear white strip ran the length of the hall. Blue optical lettering scrolled across, constantly changing. The central nervous system of the edifice was contained in the free-flowing wave of information that coursed through the walls.

  High Marshal Kyien walked ahead of several crimson-clad guards who served as his entourage, far too smug to walk behind another and far too shrewd to walk alone. The Council of the Six entered according to their place at the table of Deliberations.

  First came the High Marshal; his place was one of a singular military might that was unrivaled in all of Culouth by mortal means. He walked with a brisk, even pace. Running down the length of both walls that l
ed into the main chambers stood a line of pale-suited civilians, their doe faces impassive and indistinguishable from one to the next.

  M’iordi sauntered not far behind the High Marshal, though no heavily armed soldiers flanked him. Instead there was the steely, if not impenetrable, Fe’rein. His glare of death would deter the boldest assassins. A brilliant red cape cascaded off M’iordi, giving him the appearance of a fantastically tall, lanky flag. The cold demeanor of Fe’rein discouraged any such comments.

  Augustine, in all his robust glory, followed behind M’iordi and Fe’rein. His walk was comical as he struggled to keep pace with the parade of charades that moved toward the Deliberation chambers.

  A striking woman marched immediately behind him. A single, tightly woven, golden braid ran down her back. She wore a dark bodysuit beneath a clear dress that trailed behind her as if she expected a divine wind at any moment.

  She carried a weapon sheathed along her back, running parallel with the finely tuned braid. The runic indentations along the sheath marked her as a warrior. As she turned to view those who had assembled, the identical tattoos on either side of her face were visible. Brilliant vines and thorns ran along her temples, extending back along her hairline beside her ears.

  She was the general of the Culouth mercenaries, a wayward band of soldiers who frequented the wastelands. Their ranks were made mostly of tough, somber men led by a woman who was equally as rigid and perhaps far more cruel and fierce than anyone of them could muster alone.

  She was called T’elen.

  Very infrequently was a family name given to those of Culouth and she was no exception. She asked that her title never be uttered, even by her own men who referred to her, with some mirth, as sir. Her family belonged to the House of Te’huen, the very same to which Marion, feared and revered leader of the Resistance, belonged. She was one of only two council members who held allegiance to a House. Such practices were no longer honored. To that end a separation could be discerned between those who supported the new ways, and those who clung to the old.