by Dan O'Brien
“They are my family,” replied E’Malkai.
“I am your family. They are what hold you back. Join me, E’Malkai, together we can make this place ours, shape it any way that we wish. M’iordi will see that they are as peaceful as sheep. You can take the place that should have been your father’s.” Fe’rein extended his hand out, reaching for E’Malkai.
A dark look passed over E’Malkai’s face; his voice bled with a sharp edge. “Never speak of my father.”
Fe’rein returned the hateful gaze, pulling his hand back. “What do you know of Seth? He was in your life for an instant. He was a father to me. He made me who I am,” he challenged, his voice accusatory.
“He would have rather seen you dead.”
Fe’rein smiled wickedly “I see that you are beyond reason. You would have been a powerful ally.”
Fe’rein lowered his head as if to laugh and then flashed forward.
Holding his arm straight out from his body, it connected with E’Malkai’s chest, lifting him into the air. As his body catapulted upward, Fe’rein flashed forward and slammed an elbow into E’Malkai’s chest. This sent him into the ground, splitting the marble.
E’Malkai coughed hard.
Pushing himself up, the energy around him crackled as it rebounded off Fe’rein’s energy field. He looked up at the man who had been his uncle, his father figure, and screamed. The force of his voice shook the room, shattering the glass of the windows. He was on his feet, his emerald force spiking around him like a flame.
“That is more like it, boy,” laughed Fe’rein as he leapt back.
He hovered just above the ground, charring whatever was beneath him. E’Malkai ran forward. Launching his foot out, it connected with Fe’rein’s chest. The blow lifted Fe’rein higher into the air, knocking him into the far wall just outside the common room.
Laughter echoed throughout the room.
The artificial lights crackled and flickered as they died without power. A hazy fog of smoke consumed the room. The youth stepped through the wall. Walking through the haze, Fe’rein chortled as he rolled onto his stomach. Kicking his legs out, he knocked E’Malkai’s feet out from under him.
“This is the beginning, boy.”
Fe’rein loomed over E’Malkai.
Grasping him by the feet, Fe’rein spun, dragging E’Malkai with him and then letting go. The youth slammed into the wall that had just been torn down, widening the hole that was already there. He skittered across the ground, carving a trench in the fine marble of the floor. E’Malkai raised himself onto one elbow. His mouth was cracked. Blood ran down his chin, and his right eye had already begun to swell.
His long hair was snarled into knots.
“Best fight I’ve had in a while, boy. One gets sick of killing women and children,” he crooned as he stepped through the new opening in the room. His boots kicked aside the debris that had found its way into his path.
E’Malkai struggled to his feet, stumbling as he stood. Leaning, he stared at the horrific visage of Fe’rein. A thin line of blood was painted along his face, but otherwise he was left unfazed by their exchange.
He spread his hands apart, palms up. “Another round?”
E’Malkai nodded.
Fe’rein allowed him a smile and dashed forward, slamming his fist into E’Malkai’s stomach. Doubled-up fists slammed into the base of his neck, driving E’Malkai to his knees with a startled grunt.
The Dark Creator grabbed a fistful of the youth’s hair, pulled it back, and exposed his beaten face. With his right hand, he slapped E’Malkai open-handed across the face. He looked at the heap of his own family and pushed E’Malkai aside, stalking toward the new entrance to the common room.
E’Malkai rolled onto his back, coughing, radiating with pain. Seeing the collapsed bodies of his mother and guardian, he grimaced. Showing a mouth full of blood and stained teeth, he closed his eyes as he pushed himself up. He desperately tried to find footing, kicking aside chunks of marble as he crawled to his feet.
Fe’rein stopped, hearing the shuffled sound of the debris.
“That….” E’Malkai tried to speak.
Fe’rein shook his head in disgust.
“You got something else to say, boy?”
E’Malkai nodded.
The effort to swallow was overwhelming. “That––all you got––Ryan.” The words cracked as he spoke, his throat closing as he swallowed more blood.
“You are so much like Seth, foolish until the end.”
Fe’rein reached out with his hands.
The energy flowed from them in waves, consuming the room in shadow and crimson. E’Malkai swam his hands through the air. His own field dissipated as his strength left him. Fe’rein stalked through the storm of energy. His eyes were no longer his own; his face was consumed in darkness.
The blow crashed against E’Malkai.
Even if he had been at full strength, he would not have been able to block. He felt weightless as his body careened through the air. Glass shattered around him as he sailed through the one window that had remained unbroken throughout the exchange.
Then he felt the rush of air on his body as the artificial gravity of Culouth pulled him toward the ground. His body was beyond numb as he impacted with the Avenue. His eyes grew heavy as he looked back toward the skies of Culouth. He saw the light of the common room far above him and the crimson energy within before he faded completely into darkness.
ⱷ
Illigard
The wastelands southwest of Duirin were visited almost as infrequently as the tundra. From above, it would appear that only patches of desert and swamp extended far into the distance. But that was only what was meant to be seen.
The walls of Illigard were sand-colored, marred only with splashes of brown and white, mirroring the land around it. From one end to the other, the compound extended for more than a mile, almost two. At its greatest girth it was at best two thousand feet. There were garrisons atop each tower, giving it the appearance that it was a stone castle taken from ages past.
The buildings of Illigard were squat, gray-colored structures without any real character. At least not like those found in Culouth, where extravagant colors indicated wealth and status.
The medical station was set just inside the retaining wall.
The inside was perfectly square with one main room in which several staff medical technicians walked. Of late their skills had not been needed. Without a war there were few unnatural deaths on the wastelands, except those due to ignorance or lack of preparation before heading out into the cruel elements.
E’Malkai was face-up on a white cot.
Folded over just below his chest, a sheet covered his bare, exposed torso. His eyes remained closed as the technician bent over him. Pulling his eyelid up and shining an amber light into the pupil, she waited for a reaction of any kind.
Three figures stood beyond the edge of the cot.
Leane held a shawl over her face, concealing her features. The tan-colored fabric hung almost to her feet. Elcites stood as he always did. Along his back was a sheathed weapon as tall as Leane from head to toe. He wore a flesh-colored pack that was most likely heavier than the combined weight of the humans in the room.
T’elen stood beside Leane, her statuesque build only inches taller than Leane’s. The brilliant clear dress that she had worn during the Deliberations had been shed, leaving only the black body suit as well as a sword strapped along her back. Her arms were crossed over her breasts.
“The possibility of him never waking grows each day,” she spoke solemnly, nodding to the technician, who disappeared into the medic’s station.
“It has been only twenty-three days. We cannot assume he will die,” replied Leane. Her voice was laced with sadness, yet she retained her composure as she had learned many years ago amongst the Fallen. A warm breeze passed through the medical station. The stale stench of death flowed through the air and grimaces were passed all around.
“T
his place reeks of death.” Elcites had said little since leaving Culouth. He feared for his charge. The youth for whom he was guardian brought him greater joy than he would care to admit.
“The name lends itself to nothing else.” T’elen had agreed to smuggle E’Malkai out of Culouth after the battle. Within a few hours, they were on a teleport to the Lower Plane and then a transport to her stronghold there in the wastelands.
“Has there been any word of his disappearance?” queried Leane, knowing that T’elen had returned to Culouth immediately upon setting them up safely in Illigard. She did not want to allow M’iordi, or any of the others, to make a connection.
“Some people on the Avenue that night saw the strange lights of the battle. Most of them could not discern who was fighting, only that it happened in the upper levels of the House of Di’letirich. If there are any concerns, they would come from Yioren who sends his best wishes,” replied T’elen.
“Yioren is well?”
“Yes, he also says that Augustine has begun to question your absence in the House meetings and suggests that you return as soon as possible in order to maintain appearances within Culouth. So that the stories of E’Malkai’s death remain true,” responded T’elen in a flat, even tone.
“He is wise to say that. I have stayed far too long as it is,” conceded Leane, burying herself into the shawls.
“Your grief will be understood,” spoke Elcites. His concern for E’Malkai placed a thirst for vengeance on his lips.
“I cannot believe he stood against Fe’rein. To survive as long as he did, to survive at all is incredible,” marveled T’elen, looking at the pale glow of the boy’s face. “The Armen bloodline is strong.”
“That is what I hear,” spoke Leane with a distressed sigh.
“I meant no disrespect, Leane ilsen. I am not ignorant of the ways of the Fallen as those in Culouth are. The ancient texts speak of the Believer and of the Armen bloodline. Going farther back than Seth, or even his father, could have known.” T’elen bowed, her eyes like a serpent’s.
Leane nodded and then turned to Elcites. “Stay with him. Get word to me immediately when he awakens.”
“Of course, my ilsen. Your words are my command.”
Leane bowed to each of them and moved toward the entrance of the medical station, out into the real, unaltered night. The moon hung high in the sky and the warm wind that blew was of uneven temperature, curling her shawl around her. She looked out over the darkness and bowed her head, pushing into the night toward the lights of her transport.
ⱷ
E’Malkai
Nine more days passed before there was any response from E’Malkai, and that was nothing more than a twitch of a finger. Three more weeks passed before he opened his eyes and fifty-five days total before he regained complete consciousness. Elcites remained by his side throughout.
As E’Malkai uttered his first words, the giant slumbered. “Elcites,” he whispered hoarsely. He swallowed several times before he turned to the Umordoc guardian, the act one of incredible effort.
The giant shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs that cluttered his mind. Grunting, he lifted his head from his chest and looked at the blue eyes of E’Malkai. “E’Malkai sien, you are awake,” he spoke.
“It would appear so,” E’Malkai replied with as much mirth as he could muster. The grim line of his smile waned with each breath. The youth blinked several times as he took in his surroundings: the sterile white rooms, beds stretching out far from his sight. “Where am I? This place, where is it?”
“Illigard.”
“Where is Illigard?”
E’Malkai coughed as he attempted to laugh.
“The southwest corner of the wasteland. It’s the keep of T’elen ilsen,” replied Elcites, stretching as he stood next to the bed-ridden E’Malkai. “You have been here for almost three months.”
“My mother?”
“Leane ilsen returned to Culouth several days after you were brought here. We were concerned that…” Elcites was interrupted as T’elen stalked past.
She stopped at the foot of the bed, her intense gaze falling on E’Malkai. “You are considered dead, E’Malkai. This is a new lease on life for you, a rebirth if you will. In order to maintain this, we need those who would threaten your safety, namely Fe’rein and the Council of the Six, to believe that you are gone. A threat dispatched.”
E’Malkai stared without comment.
“You must pardon the suddenness of the information. You must know what has happened, so that you may learn to appreciate this new life,” continued T’elen. “You can never return to Culouth.”
“What of the Resistance?” spoke E’Malkai with difficulty.
T’elen exchanged a glance with Elcites.
“You are at the heart of it, E’Malkai.”
E’Malkai turned his head, his eyes glassy. “I need sleep.”
“Of course, E’Malkai. Elcites, continue to watch him.” T’elen bowed to Elcites and spun. Exiting the medic station, she left the youth and guardian in silence.
*
It would be fourteen more days before E’Malkai was strong enough to get out of bed and several more before he could walk around without support.
Constantly, he was badgered by Elcites to rest.
On the twenty-second day, E’Malkai left his bed and walked around outside of the medical station, taking in the new world in which he awoke. He walked along the outer wall; the sun shone brightly in the sky while the cover and shadow of the wall gave him comfort. The change in temperature was uncomfortable, the movement of nature foreign.
Passing several wasteland mercenaries, each regarded him with a smile and a nod. He did not hear a single conversation until he reached the far edge of the compound and saw the outline of the barracks. The darkness inside was illuminated by flashes of light.
He entered with trepidation.
His tunic was fitted, unlike the tailored robes that he had been accustomed to in Culouth. He pulled at them as he ducked his head to enter. Standing in the doorway for a moment, he allowed his eyes to adjust.
People moved all about the interior of the barracks. A bar ran the length of the right side of the room. Neon lights were littered across the top. Liquors and other frothy liquids were being passed over the glossy top to the soldiers, their vests distinguishing them as mercenaries.
E’Malkai moved toward the bar.
He continued forward, dodging the occasional drunkard or soldier who carried armfuls of drinks and cursed him as they passed. As he reached the counter, he saw a portly man. His robust midsection was split in half by a dirty beige apron. Twin eagles battling amidst a sun were brandished along the bottom right side.
His bald head was reminiscent of Fe’rein.
He immediately pushed that image from his mind and focused on sitting on one of the stools, taking in the ambiance of the place. The pale rag the bartender held in his hand moved over the bar in front of E’Malkai.
He flashed a toothless grin at the youth. “A might young to be in a place like this, wouldn’t you say? By the Believer, you’re that Culouth boy they brought in a few months back. Glad to see you up and walking around.”
E’Malkai scratched his head before he answered.
“I guess that would be true, though I’m not a boy.”
The bartender laughed, holding his belly as he cackled and reached below the counter. A thick sucking sound accompanied his hands retuning above the bar. A stout glass was held in hand with a brown liquid swishing at its bottom. “You might be a man at that, surviving what you did. This one is on the house, lad.”
E’Malkai nodded and gripped the edge of the glass mug. Casting one more look at the bartender, he took a drink. He scrunched his face in disgust and placed it down, wiping at his mouth with his arm.
“That is foul.”
The bartender laughed even harder now as E’Malkai continued to make faces. Pouring another, the liquid spilled over the top and onto the co
unter. E’Malkai waved his hands in dismissal, but the bartender pushed another toward him.
“That was classic. Haven’t seen someone make a face like that for some time. That deserves another.”
E’Malkai hesitated.
The soft eyes of the bartender egged him on. Grabbing the glass, E’Malkai drained it despite the stench. The acerbic taste had lessened acutely. “Not as bad as the first,” he said with a small smile and a hiccup.
“I would say that is quite enough for a man of his limited experience.” The voice was distinctly feminine.
E’Malkai turned and saw the rugged, yet beautiful features of T’elen. Her trademark weapon was sheathed at her back and the black bodysuit had been replaced by a faded green one with a gray stripe down the left side of her body.
“I see that you are making decisions for me once again,” chided E’Malkai, feeling the effects of the liquor.
“Still bitter over that?” she mused.
E’Malkai pushed himself away from the bar and sat into a wooden chair at a wooden table. Laying his hands drunkenly on the table, he looked at her with a forlorn stare. T’elen sighed and sat opposite him, fixing him with a strange glare.
“You took me from my home,” he murmured.
“You had no home. As far as Fe’rein was concerned, you were his enemy. And that means death.” Her tone as always was militant, direct, and straightforward.
“That may be….”
His mind was an echo of his real thoughts.
He stumbled to find the words.
“Never drank before, eh?”
“What gave me away?” Covering his mouth he burped, and then rumpled his clothes with his hands. Placing them on the table with authority, he looked at her.
