The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  The mammoth figure of Bakar rivaled Elcites in sheer size. His wide, heavily muscled shoulders bore an armor that was no longer worn. It was made of thick black leather like the ones worn by the soldiers in E’Malkai’s vision. However, these had twin yellow lines that ran down either side of the chest.

  He perpetuated a stereotype generations old in that he carried a pike taller than himself. The tip was fastened with a silvery point; feathers and artistic skulls hung loosely and clattered against one another as he walked. Had this taken place outside of Culouth, the crowd would be beside themselves in fear and revulsion at the sight. But in the heart of the Culouth Empire, Umordoc were commonplace, even in the council.

  The lithe council member who had been present with Augustine in the House of Di’letirich arrived last. Yioren’s graceful figure moved fluidly. His hands swung at his sides, seemingly without effort. His face was tan, his smile infectious to each assembled civilian he passed.

  Each reciprocated his mirth and joy for life.

  He belonged to the House of Di’huere, the oldest of Culouth.

  It was believed to be the last to fall beneath the rage and power of the Intelligence. There was a symbiosis between the Houses of Di’huere and Te’huen, one that transcended time and both racial and political barriers. This bond was not known publicly. Rumors circulated in the darkest corners of the city that both still conspired against the Intelligence, the mion, and most of all, the military power of High Marshal Kyien.

  The corridor breached into the main hall, the grandiose chamber more like an amphitheater than anything else. The seating ran right up until the very apex of the ceiling, leaving just enough room for even the largest Umordoc. The Deliberations remained as one of the few traditions that the Intelligence had chosen to keep.

  A thick table sat at the center of the circle of citizens, their numbers in the hundreds of thousands. Those rich enough purchased a seat during the talks that shaped the city’s future. The tabletop had a charred black surface, glossy and slick to the touch.

  Customarily, there were six seats spread around it.

  The past seventeen years had seen the installation of another for Fe’rein, the reverent mion. They sat down in the order that they had come, except for Fe’rein being seated at the front. He maintained a distance amongst him and all others, though the distance was not as great between him and M’iordi.

  Silence enveloped the assemblage.

  Yioren and T’elen sat beside one another, exchanging knowing glances. There was a similar gesture between Augustine and Kyien as well as Fe’rein and M’iordi, leaving only Bakar without an ally. This made his voice an important one.

  Fe’rein remained standing as the others seated themselves. He extended a hand to the assembled citizens, to which hundreds of thousands of individuals returned the gesture in an awed silence.

  As he returned to his seat, it was Kyien who spoke first, his tone one of arrogance and annoyance. “Everywhere I turn I see much unrest, hear whispers of Resistance.”

  A murmur passed over the assemblage.

  M’iordi turned to the High Marshal. Whatever respect he held for the military leader, stifled. “Surely the might of the Culouth Commerce Alliance does not waver beneath such talk. Have you not the foresight to see that the Resistance lies beneath our noses? Walking among us as if they were one of us.”

  Both Yioren and T’elen wavered. Their uncomfortable shifts were barely discernible motions that none took notice of, save for the grim figure of Fe’rein.

  “I, Councilman Augustine, speaker of the Commerce, would like to know what measures are being taken to ensure the safety of Culouth. After the rather brutal, and perhaps even ill-advised, destruction of the Harbinger, many fear retaliation.”

  Another wave of noise.

  “The space station is of no concern. Its destruction struck a major blow to their overall force as well as their morale. It will be some time before they will present any show of force in broad daylight,” replied Kyien with a sour look.

  The words were what M’iordi thought as well, though the verbalization was necessary from Kyien. His military position lent him a powerful voice among the Commerce, as well as the Houses.

  There was a separation of the Houses and the General Commerce of Culouth. Most Houses were now considered to be part of the Greater Commerce, the ruling class of Culouth. Augustine represented the Commerce, the general population of tens of millions within the dome of Culouth. The Houses had separate representation that dealt with local matters. Yioren and T’elen were the only House members who contributed to the Deliberations marked for the entire body of Culouth.

  “Perhaps to those of the Commerce it is of no concern. But to those of the independent Houses of the Greater Commerce, the destruction of the Harbinger matters greatly. For it was our ancestors who launched it into space, not those of the General Commerce,” interjected T’elen. Her voice was as hard as her demeanor suggested.

  The most apparent difference between the General Commerce and those of the Houses of the Greater Commerce was truly physical. Not in skin tone or shape of body, but instead the alterations that had been instituted. Those of the General Commerce had accepted the ways of the Intelligence wholeheartedly, allowing their flesh to be partner to steel and mechanics. Giving themselves completely to the cause, their numbers swelled. This shift tipped controlling interests of Culouth to the Intelligence, hence the disproportional nature in the Deliberations.

  The Houses of the Greater Commerce were those that adhered to the belief that altercations became necessary only when lives were ended prematurely and functions became limited. Few Houses held this belief. Te’huen, Di’huere, Di’letirich, and Y’otei were a select few that possessed any semblance of a real following.

  “Perhaps if her ladyship would give herself to the Intelligence, there would be no such harboring of ill will,” challenged M’iordi. His tone was sweet and his cold eyes calculating.

  Had they been betting on her bursting into rage, they would have been sorely disappointed. “As soon as freedom and privileges are not garnished as a result of giving yourself to the Intelligence, I may at that,” she countered, drawing a smile from Yioren and as close to a laugh as Bakar could muster.

  “The division of the General Commerce and that of the Greater Houses is rather irrelevant when placed next to the threat of the Resistance. Surely such matters of land and title are not as pressing as the safety of the people as a whole,” reasoned Augustine. He spread his hands wide and leaned back in his chair.

  “They are not matters of land and title, but instead ideas rooted deeply in notions of freedom and representation, councilman. Perhaps the surge in Resistance members can be attributed to the unfair practices instituted throughout Culouth,” replied Yioren.

  His politeness was disarming.

  Augustine was prone to flights of rage and befuddled annoyance. His face reddened in preparation. “You would presume to tell me my business? This coming from a member of the House of Di’huere, one that has in the past fought and resisted the Intelligence, means little. Perhaps it is you who is unwilling to compromise.”

  And thus the battle was on, as it always was. Slurs were flung back and forth, mostly from the team of Kyien and Augustine. The calm demeanors of Yioren and T’elen combated their rather uncouth ramblings.

  All the while Fe’rein sat back, arms behind his head and a thin smile cracking the grim line of his lips. “Let these fools battle over things of which they have no control,” muttered Fe’rein.

  M’iordi’s eyes narrowed. The ridges of his forehead rose as he leaned back toward Fe’rein. “They solve nothing, my mion. Their petty squabbling matters little. The Intelligence will see an end to this.”

  Fe’rein nodded as if M’iordi’s words were a confirmation. The conversation subsided as Augustine sighed, drawing the folds of his robes around his gluttonous body. He slammed one of his infantile fists on the table.

  “T’elen, as speak
er of one of the Houses of the Greater Commerce, surely you can see the predicament that this presents. A division within our delicate structure of government gives the Resistance an avenue by which to attack us. Political attacks can be as hazardous as a military one,” whined Augustine.

  T’elen smiled at the councilman, a gesture that was uncommon given her particular station in life. M’iordi recognized the stalemate between Augustine and T’elen and interceded. He wished to bring the discussion back around to the Resistance.

  “You have been rather silent throughout these talks, Bakar. Surely there is something that you, as a representative of the Umordoc, wish to say. Your voice is an important one. Some would argue there is not one more important. You harbor no allegiances except to your brethren,” spoke M’iordi.

  Bakar’s eyes settled on M’iordi. His glance was one that many men had cowered before. Yet, the Secretary of the Intelligence was unfazed by the obsidian pools. “There is much that needs to be said,” began the Umordoc leader, “although it is apparent that certain point of views will not be expressed.”

  “Very true, Tier Bakar. Many things remain hidden because of allegiances and alliances,” conceded M’iordi, upstaging the others easily with his voice. “The Resistance has eyes and ears in every facet of our lives; even here, within this very room. Our reverent grace, our mion, disrupts and destroys their ranks each day, and yet we do not unite behind him. Those still harboring anger toward the Intelligence, or reservations of their methods, cause the Resistance to grow.”

  He had captured everyone’s attention now. The council members hung on his words; however, Fe’rein continued to look around unimpressed by the entire proceedings.

  M’iordi continued, enraptured by his own voice.

  “The Resistance is a disease of the mind. It is a tool used by those who wrongly believe that their freedom has been stolen or lost in order to manipulate those who have given themselves to a way of life than completes them––that satisfies them. Would one of you sacrifice this peaceful existence for one in which you squander others’ lives? Would you fight your own people for ideals that are misunderstood?”

  T’elen shifted in her seat; a dark look passed over her features. She met Fe’rein’s gaze as his was the only other that strayed from M’iordi’s ravings. They held each other’s eyes for some time, unwavering. Not a smile passed between them. Their battle was secondary to the relentless words of M’iordi, who now stood from his seat. His hands moved through the air, gesturing to people in the crowd.

  “No, you wish to live happily, to live within Culouth without fear of physical harm. Yet, the members of this so-called Resistance keep you from living your lives without a care, without a worry. They are the worm that eats away at our great society.”

  Murmurs and whispered words passed over the assemblage.

  M’iordi knew that he had created the distrust that was necessary. Now the masses would be suspicious of anyone who argued for the Resistance because they would believe that it stood in the way of their pursuit of a peaceful life. As he sat back down, he realized that both Yioren and T’elen shook their heads in disapproval.

  There was even distaste on Bakar’s face.

  “Clever speech,” spoke Yioren. His anger was hidden well.

  “You sicken me, Yioren,” Fe’rein snapped, and then looked at T’elen. “You as well, T’elen. You make the Resistance seem more like martyrs than the vermin that they are. You should thank M’iordi for saying the things that you should; for the better of all Culouth, not just yourselves.”

  Yioren remained silent.

  He was not so bold as to respond to the mion.

  T’elen harbored no such insecurities. “You speak now, Fe’rein. Perhaps you should be the one to speak to the people, for you are their savior, their walking god.” There was malice and mockery in her words.

  Fe’rein was not one to suffer such insolence, even from a council member as powerful as T’elen. His eyes flooded in the terrible, carnal energy that consumed his flesh and body. He rose, throwing back his seat and sending it spiraling into the crowd. The wayward piece of furniture slammed through scores of people before the steel imbedded into a far wall.

  Startled cries roses from the assemblage. The screams of women and children echoed in the amphitheater, drawing even the crazed look of Fe’rein from his prey. The trajectory of the chair had torn through several citizens before its sudden and dramatic stop.

  Those who it had touched were scorched to the bone. His clenched hands at his sides flexed, eyes dissolving back. Scared eyes of the citizens fell on him; their unspoken words expressed a fear of that which should have been their protector.

  T’elen laughed in victory, rising from her chair.

  Yioren followed her, pushing his chair back neatly and replacing it beneath the table. T’elen’s words ate through Fe’rein. “Perhaps you are the threat to the people.” Moving away from the center of the chambers and disappearing into the crowd, she added once she was out of view, “You might want to watch that temper, Fe’rein.”

  M’iordi laced his hands together, allowing Bakar a nod as he bowed. Moving through the crowd, his gargantuan figure was noticeable until he slipped beneath the entrance arch and out into the adjoining hall. “That was foolish, Fe’rein. Your actions cost us much in the eyes of Culouth,” spoke M’iordi.

  He did not bother to look at Fe’rein.

  The dark warrior’s clenched fists shook in anger. Turning, he sat next to M’iordi. He slammed his fist against the table, making a crater in the surface. “That impertinent harlot thinks that she can speak to me that way,” fumed Fe’rein. The energy coursed through his eyes and then down his body like electricity.

  “T’elen is powerful, Fe’rein. She has been alive longer than you and I combined. I agree that she speaks her mind far too frequently. She must be dealt with,” replied M’iordi, his laced fingers resting on his knees.

  “I would like to see her writhe, to tear her spine from her living frame,” whispered Fe’rein. His eyes lingered on those who had fallen in the audience.

  “She spurns the Intelligence. Her army answers to her and her alone. No, she is not someone we can take care of so easily. She wields far too much influence. All of the Houses of the Greater Commerce look to her as their leader. Her hatred for us is apparent in her every word, in her every glance.”

  Fe’rein nodded.

  His anger was far too potent to speak.

  “If she continues like this, the Resistance coupled with her men could cause a clear division of Culouth, a civil war above and below. If the Citadel was breached and the men there freed, then it would be a disaster for all.”

  Fe’rein looked at him impatiently.

  “There is no question that your power alone is enough to change the tide of any war, despite the odds. But if you were to kill so many, then we would lose control of the populace. The Intelligence would have to purge, begin anew.”

  “You speak as if this would be an end of things. I could quell this insurrection. They are merely insects, and I am the sun, capable of taking and giving them life,” spoke Fe’rein.

  “You are a child sometimes,” spoke M’iordi with a sad shake of his head. “If you were to kill them, then they would turn on you. There would be nothing for you to rule, for me to govern.”

  “Perhaps.” There was a hint of defeat in Fe’rein’s voice.

  “This must be discussed at greater length,” mused M’iordi as the swell of the crowd subsided and the Deliberations came to an end. All the while, Kyien and Augustine sat in silence watching as the others schemed and planned around them.

  Each had their own agenda.

  ⱷ

  E’Malkai

  E’Malkai could hear the footfalls in his mind. They echoed along with the words of his mother, the strange things she had said––words that filled his mind with thoughts he could not comprehend. He was aware that Elcites was following at his heels, albeit from a distance. Still
, he remained his ever-vigilant guardian no matter the circumstances.

  In a way, this provided relief to E’Malkai, a constant in his world that as of late had been spun in all manner of strange directions. The technique that had taken control of him atop the House of Di’letirich still resonated in his mind.

  The images were bloodcurdling. At the same time they were interesting, thought-provoking. They made him wonder at the origins of Mitior, the real city that Culouth now inhabited.

  E’Malkai stopped.

  The flow of pedestrian traffic surged around him.

  Culouth was a forgotten place in some ways.

  People cared little for each other in the scheme of things; beneath all the unity there was a distinct separation. Either Elcites was getting lax in his ability to track unnoticed, or the events of the past days had made E’Malkai more aware. He could feel his guardian as if he were standing over top him.

  “There is much that is the matter, Elcites.”

  “I am aware of that, my sien, but there are greater worries now. You know a truth that should have remained hidden.”

  E’Malkai wheeled on his guardian, surprise spread across his tired features. “You knew of what my mother spoke?”

  If the giant were capable of shifting uncomfortably, then he did so beneath E’Malkai’s startled gaze. His words were slow to reply. “I am your guardian, E’Malkai sien. I have been since you arrived here. There is little that I do not know of your past. There was much that I was instructed to never utter to you. The words that your mother, Leane ilsen, spoke were a tale that I was never to repeat. The true name of the mion is a powerful weapon, but a dangerous one as well.”

  “Then you know that this is much for me to understand. My mother has had a lifetime to cope with all of this. Surely, it isn’t expected of me to just accept this as it is?” replied E’Malkai, desperation in his voice.

  Elcites regarded him before speaking again.

  “The trials of Tal’marath and the legend of the Believer are part of the very same theology. The difference is in those who chose to embrace a particular sect,” began the guardian.