The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  “I do not know what to say.”

  “When you hit the edge of the tundra, follow a bearing that takes you northeast. You should run into a trader’s station. From there you should be able to set a course in the general direction of your destination,” suggested Elcites with a shrug. E’Malkai leaned back and opened his mouth with uncertainty, but the giant added, “No more questions. Sleep. We leave before daybreak to get to Linar and beyond.”

  *

  The next morning came quickly for the youth.

  E’Malkai allowed himself to be led out into the cold of winter. The storm had subsided, something that caused Elcites to drive forward faster, not wanting to linger too long in the open air without cover. Night fell and morning came again before the tents outside of the caves along the eastern slope came into view.

  E’Malkai would learn that this was the outpost to the north, the township of Linar. The caves extended perhaps forty or fifty feet along a clay wall, which was frozen now and cracked in some places. The tents were enormous and placed close together around an old stone building.

  That was what the duo approached, driving a trench through snow––now standing almost a third of a foot high––that had fallen since they had left Duirin. Elcites led as usual, his tracks large enough that E’Malkai walked with minimal effort. It had not seemed to affect the giant, though little broke through his veneer, physical or otherwise.

  The guardian stopped him with one of his hands and looked back at him. Placing one of his fingers over his own mouth, he called for silence. He pointed at the ground, indicating the youth should stay in his place.

  Seconds passed into minutes as E’Malkai watched his guardian approach the building from behind the cover of the tents. Not once had anyone passed his way, no murmurs, and no raised voices. “Elcites,” he whispered and moved out of the spot he had been standing in and around the side of the tent. “Where did you go?”

  A snarl drew E’Malkai’s attention.

  The youth immediately was drawn to the sound, and he lowered his body. He felt his hand slide to the hilt of his father’s planedge, and the feeling was comforting. A secure confidence flooded over him at its cold touch. He rounded the side of the tent and planted his back against it, shuffling his feet to traverse the minimal distance. Craning his head around to see into the clearing in front of the stone building, he saw his guardian.

  What he saw drew his breath in a tight gasp, and he pulled himself back behind the tent as quick as he could muster. Elcites lay at the center of the clearing. His body was overturned, and there were wolves, large ones with disfigured heads and bulbous claws, prowling around the body.

  They did not gnaw at his guardian, as E’Malkai would have suspected at first glance. He tried to slow his breathing, but his blood pumped at a frantic rate. He gripped his blade even tighter and closed his eyes, muttering to himself to stay strong, that Elcites was okay.

  E’Malkai craned his neck around again and this time he was face-to-face with a beast. Smelling the stale, dead breath, he fell back. He kept himself upright only by sheer luck as he crab-walked through the snow, kicking his feet as he struggled to keep from screaming.

  The wolf lowered itself onto its haunches; its cruel black eyes were like an Umordoc’s. Its jaw snapped, the elongated jut of bone was riddled with blood and spittle, some its own. He slipped and fell on his back. E’Malkai swung his body around so that he was facing the animal. Another appeared. This one had black, coarse fur that resembled slick spikes.

  And then another.

  His breath was held in his throat, and he stood slowly. He kept his eyes on the wolves. All the while, they did the same. The muscles of their powerful legs rippled as they remained still, waiting. Primal forces took over E’Malkai. Once he had his legs beneath him, he looked to the side and saw a ladder that led onto the top of the stone building. Looking back once more, he saw that the wolves had begun to stalk forward.

  He pushed himself up and drove his feet into the earth, pushing his legs faster, willing his body to the ladder. As he felt the rung beneath his hands, he scrambled up it, not wanting to turn and look back.

  He could hear them at his heels.

  Their foul growls echoed in his mind.

  He felt the lip of the roof and pulled himself up. Turning and stealing a glance down, he saw the wolves at the base of the ladder. Forepaws placed on the rungs, they stood halfway up. The youth had not realized the size of the beasts.

  He kicked at the ladder until it dislodged from the wall of the building and fell into the snow. E’Malkai stood up and looked over the edge, watching as the wolves circled the ladder. Sniffing at it, they raised their heads to stare at E’Malkai.

  “Creepy,” he whispered.

  “We have no way out now,” spoke a voice that nearly made E’Malkai jump out of his wraps. E’Malkai had been so absorbed by the wolves that someone had walked up right behind him unnoticed. The man wore layers of clothing, not wraps like E’Malkai, but layers of fabric nonetheless. He wore a heavy beard and his brown hair was wild, blowing in the wintry winds as he spoke.

  “What are those things?” E’Malkai pointed at the creatures.

  “Tundra wolves. Strange hybrids that rarely come this far south,” began the man. Tilting his head, he scratched at the scruff of the beard on his chin before he continued. “Who exactly would you be?”

  Another man stormed forward. A taller, thinner frame made him appear less threatening than the first, even though his words were far more feral. “I say we throw him over. Feed him to the wolves like that Umordoc.”

  E’Malkai’s interest piqued at the mention of Elcites.

  “Did you see what happened to him?”

  “What happened to who?” crooned the second man. His beard was patchy and not as thick as the first man’s, made so perhaps by the lightness of the color.

  “The Umordoc,” returned E’Malkai.

  “Who cares about an Umordoc?” challenged the thin man, looking at the shorter, heavier man who had spoken first.

  E’Malkai stepped forward, getting in the man’s face as he spoke.

  “He is my…” He hesitated on the word guardian, “my friend.”

  The thin man tried to hide his disgust.

  “Who is a friend to an Umordoc?”

  The heavier man fixed E’Malkai with a glare and waved away the thin man. “What is your name?”

  E’Malkai hesitated, unsure whether or not his surname was of use this far south of the Fallen. “E’Malkai.”

  “And your friend?” he continued, pointing at Elcites.

  “Elcites.”

  “You guys come from Duirin?” he queried.

  E’Malkai hesitated again. He was not certain what would make him more credible, to say Culouth or some other place. “We departed from Duirin a few days back.”

  “He’s up. That damned thing is standing again,” called the thin man from the other side of the building.

  He stood at the edge, his stick-like arm pointing at the courtyard. E’Malkai ignored the man, pushing past him and moving to the edge. Peering over, he saw that the thin man had been correct.

  Elcites had begun to push himself off the ground.

  E’Malkai called over the wind, but Elcites could not hear him. He cupped his hands and tried again, but in vain. The wind was blowing against the youth, swallowing his voice.

  “He can’t hear you, lad,” called the heavier man.

  E’Malkai turned to him, not realizing that he still held his father’s planedge in his hand. “I need a weapon.”

  The heavy man looked at E’Malkai and pointed at the blade in his hand. “Looks like you got one already, E’Malkai.”

  The use of his name only served to infuriate the youth further. “To hell with this.” E’Malkai swallowed hard and swung his legs over the side of the building. Shouts of protests erupted all around him as he fell, but to no avail.

  A snow embankment had been built up against the side from c
onstant plowing and E’Malkai struck it, wincing as the first layer was fresh ice. It gave way to a snow-packed pile beneath.

  The youth shook his head.

  Pushing free of the embankment, he began to run to his guardian. The impact of one of the tundra wolves as it collided with his frame knocked him from his feet and sent him sliding on his back. The wolf was perched atop him, snapping its jaws at the youth as he dodged to the side away from the smell of death.

  He struggled as he tried to reach for his father’s blade, but it proved unnecessary, for the wolf was wrenched from atop him and lifted into the air. The howl of the creature was bloodcurdling. The youth watched as Elcites snapped its spine above his head. Throwing it aside with one arm, he reached down with the other for E’Malkai.

  “My sien, are you alright?” There was concern in his voice.

  E’Malkai nodded. Past the pillars of his guardian’s legs, he saw the brown, gnarled forms charging Elcites’ back. The words stuttered from his mouth, his well-being set aside for the moment.

  “Behind you––more of them.”

  Elcites spun, meeting the charge of the two wolves. Catching one in the bend of his arm, he batted at the other with one of his massive forearms. A startled cry echoed as it rebounded against the building and then shook its head as it found its footing. The one Elcites held in his arm dug its jaws into his flesh, causing the Umordoc to bellow.

  As he wrenched it free with the other hand, a line of blood splattered across the snow. Brandishing his family blade, he charged the second wolf as it turned to rush Elcites.

  E’Malkai drove the point into its side, bringing its dead eyes on him instead. He backed away, pulling the blade free. The youth stood, taken back by his act of violence. The wolf had already turned away from Elcites and stalked toward E’Malkai. Taking its steps slowly at first, it then bounded forward with speed, leaping into the air at the youth. E’Malkai turned his head and stuck his blade into the air, catching the beast along its underbelly.

  A ripping sensation passed over E’Malkai as the beast sailed past him, tearing a line through it. He turned as the wolf passed overhead and watched it snarl and then cry as its body twisted and convulsed. It spat blood once and then twice, collapsing upon itself.

  Elcites moved to his side, placing a hand on the youth’s shoulder. E’Malkai spun, blade wielded. The guardian caught his hand. “Are you alright, my sien? Did the beast open you anywhere?”

  E’Malkai stared at Elcites. The words were slow and distant in his mind. As he tried to speak, he felt as if the world had been turned upside down. A powerful darkness engulfed him.

  ⱷ

  Duirin

  The firelight of the cauldron cast shadows on the walls, dancing, wandering shapes that told a story. Dean’s home showed the wealth one accumulated as the praetor of a city, even on the Lower Plane. The taxes he collected and the trade routes he maintained created substantial security for him. His personal residence was situated at the center of the commonwealth. The large room in which he and Leane sat had a cold wooden floor covered by an ornate rug.

  The wind howled against the walls of the house.

  Frozen gales carried snow against the sides of the home, building an embankment of icy drifts. Leane sat in a reclining chair whose back was covered in supportive fabrics and cushions. She pulled the blankets tighter around her.

  Dean bent forward, picking up the ceramic kettle from which steam rose like billows of smoke. He tipped it once in a small cup in front of Leane, and then his own, before sitting back into his own chair. Drawing his own blankets around himself, he mirrored Leane.

  He turned to her.

  Choosing his words carefully, he watched her distant, remorseful gaze with care. “Is it wise to spend so much time below? Won’t they soon become suspicious?”

  She sighed.

  Leaning forward, she brought the cup of hot tea to her lips and sipped it. “They already have presumptions, created scenarios. I can do little to muddle it worse than it has already become. I grow weary of Culouth.”

  The cold brought out the contemplative side of people. The possibility of sitting and reflecting on past and present, as well as an uncertain future, was a luxury few were permitted. “I went there once, walked the Avenue.”

  She did not look at him. “There is little of that place that presents a favorable memory. Mostly there is loss and regret. Pain.” Her eyes were as her words, distant.

  He could see that she did not wish to speak of Culouth, the wounds too fresh. “This weather is strange, unnatural; feels as if Terra herself were retaliating against our ways.”

  She made a mocking sound. “Seasons are fickle. Enough calm ones make it feel as if the world were ending at the slightest storm.”

  Dean laughed, for he also knew that it was merely chance. Men see fate and portents where sometimes there is only practicality and normalcy. “I wonder if this conflict, the division of Culouth, will last a winter, or if it too will find its end in the frozen lands.”

  “There is much anger that has been hidden. Alliances have been fused in secret; battles have been lost and fought in the darkness. The one that will shape this war is not yet upon us. But when it comes, there will be an end to it all.”

  They paused, listening to the howling of winter.

  Seconds passed into minutes.

  The fire grew low, dwindling to embers before they spoke again. “The Fallen may not accept him,” spoke Dean, his attention drawn away by the sounds of the storm.

  The subject of the tundra had been on both their minds. “We left during a time of duress and under violent circumstances. It is possible that they will still harbor hatred toward the name of Armen.”

  “If he is turned away, he will not survive the return trip. The rations, the supplies that were given to him were enough for a trip there. To make it to the Fallen, without restocking he would…”

  Leane’s dark glare held Dean in silence.

  She continued in his stead. “We had foreseen this from the beginning. There was no choice. Without him undertaking the pilgrimage, there can be no hope for any of us.”

  “What of T’elen? Surely there is still hope that can be found within the Resistance, with the fall of Culouth,” he replied.

  She shook her head. “There can be no such victory without E’Malkai and his pilgrimage to the Fallen.”

  “Then peace?”

  “There can be no peace between man and the Intelligence,” snapped Leane, cutting Dean off. The winds howled as if in agreement with her. Cold crept in and they both shivered. They drew their blankets tighter, hoping to use them as a ward against the night’s chill.

  “With each passing day the Intelligence grows stronger and the winter grows colder. Many dark deeds will be carried out in the freezing hours of the night; plots will be grown and carried out to a merciless and bloody end,” spoke Leane.

  The somber tone infected them both.

  *

  A shadow crept around the side of the house, stumbling at first. Her feet trudged through the snow as if she were drunk. Cresting the shadows, she moved beneath the rust-colored light outside of Dean’s residence. Her braid was frazzled, loose wisps of hair burst forth.

  T’elen looked the worse for wear, her garb torn in places.

  Fabric was ripped open all along her torso.

  She breathed out the cold air as she stumbled against the walls. Turning, she placed her back against the wall and sat down hard. She stared high into the sky, head bobbing as she did so. The wasteland warrior reached down in-between the folds of her sparse clothing and felt the bruised flesh and shallow cuts that covered her stomach.

  The cold earth beneath her was tramped with footfalls. She watched them round the side of the building, toward the front of the residence. With much effort, she pushed herself up. Using her hands to guide her along the side of the building, she dragged her feet, covering the light tracks that had been there previously. She knew that the noise she mad
e would draw someone soon.

  That was her great hope.

  *

  The crackle of the cauldron had long since faded, and the long hours of the night were upon the praetor and Leane. The noises of the storm that had been in the background of their conversation were now in the foreground. Frigid gales beat against everything and nothing in a rhythmical pattern. The thick sound along the wall was faint at first and then could not be ignored––drawing strange looks from them both.

  “What?” spoke Dean.

  Leane silenced him with a swift gesture of her hand and then brought her finger to her mouth, pressing it against her lips. She stood silently and gestured for him to move along the right side of the door.

  He nodded and moved with a fluidity that betrayed his age. They moved as one to the edge of the room before stalking toward the door. They held each other’s gaze as they approached it with noticeable caution. When they were right next to the door, it flung inward and the cold, worn frame of T’elen fell through. Her eyes were half-closed; her frame pulled into the fetal position.

  “By the Believer, it is T’elen,” exploded Dean in surprise. Leane reached down, pulling the general through the door, and shut it promptly. Taking a blanket, she wrapped it around T’elen’s shoulders.

  “Help me with her, Dean. She is wounded.”

  Dean moved to the wounded general’s side and helped lift her into one of the chairs. “Who could have done this?”

  Leane gave him a sour look, the answer obvious. “Do you even need to ask that? T’elen is absurdly strong, and there is only one person I know who could have put a hurt on her like this.”

  T’elen murmured.

  Her eyes fluttered as she tried to speak.

  “Fe’rein….”

  Her hoarse whisper drew both of their attention.

  “He did this?” queried Dean.

  “Was there ever a doubt?” snapped Leane. Moving closer to T’elen, she pushed Dean farther from her. “If you are going to be a fool, then at least get some supplies. Play your part.”