The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  “The pod is coming apart. We have to get out of here.”

  E’Malkai wiped his face.

  The smear of dirt was a dark line that gave the appearance of a shadow across his features. The control board sparked now, the arc of electricity running along the walls. Smoke had risen to the ceiling and low-lying areas were flooded in shards of broken steel and fragments of the ruined flight board. E’Malkai grabbed Arivene’s hand and pulled her forward as Mete stepped through the rubble around the control room. Together, they disappeared into the hallway that led deeper into the vessel.

  Once outside, the trio watched as the pod sank deeper into the sands. More than half of it had been swallowed deep into the sun-colored ground. The snow raged all around them. They could see the walls of ice and wind that seemed to be kept at bay. It was as if the place was guarded by an unseen force.

  Perhaps it did not exist at all.

  The pod was partially absorbed by the snow and partially by the sands beneath their feet. A dark opening lay before them; it was not a cave, nor was it a vertical opening into another world.

  It merely was.

  The sun above was blocked from view by the mass of gray clouds; yet there within the desert the sun shone brightly. “How is this possible?” queried Arivene as she turned several times and watched the anomaly all around her.

  Snow brushed up against the desert sand.

  E’Malkai allowed his hands to fall to his sides. “This is the Desert of the Forgotten. Would you have pictured it bathed in snow as everything else?” replied E’Malkai without turning.

  Moving toward the hole that was not really a hole but a swirling, shadowy mass of sphere that bounced at the center of a center––a sphere within a sphere––he reached his hand out and touched it. The web of viscid fluid slithered down his fingers like a snake. It was cold to the touch and E’Malkai reeled away immediately. This drew the substance away from the mass before it rebounded back.

  Mete placed Tresnre on the ground.

  The sand swirled gently at their feet.

  “I would never have thought I would be standing here,” whispered the warrior in awe.

  “Nor I,” admitted Arivene as she moved past E’Malkai and watched the slithering globe of shadow that hummed before them. “Is this the gateway to the Shaman?”

  E’Malkai did not wish to argue anymore. Their faith no longer mattered to him. He would find the answers to his questions. “There does not seem to be any other place for us to go,” he acquiesced with a shrug.

  “What about Tresnre? You said that we would give him a proper burial,” spoke Mete.

  E’Malkai watched the wall of snow that surrounded them and sighed. The ground below them was only sand, digging into it would not be difficult. “You wish to bury him in the ground?” queried E’Malkai as he turned.

  Mete shook his head solemnly. “He must be burnt, his ashes scattered on the wind. That is the way of the Fallen.”

  E’Malkai looked to Arivene, who nodded; her head bowed, her eyes planted on the ground. The youth threw his hands up in frustration. “Fine, let us get this over with.”

  They scavenged the pod, and a pyre was built. The heat from it was scalding beneath the sun of the desert. The fire danced in his eyes. They watched the pyre until it burnt down, and then gave themselves over to the sphere of darkness.

  ⱷ

  Kyien

  Kyien sat atop a mammoth war beast, watching from a distance. The rolling hills of the swamps stretched back for miles. He watched the skirmish from a distance.

  Playing both ends against the middle, the stranded regiment of Culouth soldiers was now trapped between Illigard and advancing forces. The High Marshal was no different than any other officer who warred without weapons: he surrounded himself with ambassadors and councils of war. They were the men and women who fed the ego of a pious, self-righteous leader.

  “The traitor is clever,” crooned one of the men.

  He was one of the many types of council in whom Kyien placed stock, though not in war, but in agreeing with his words without question. He wore a bright yellow sash around his waist. The material glowed; as did the bright blue body suit he wore, neither befitting of war. Culouth had not seen a skirmish since the Border Wars, and it was a bloodbath those in power merely watched. His hawk-like green eyes surveyed the battlefield with indifference.

  “Council Pierce, she is cunning to the end. That will not save her from what I am going to do to Illigard,” snarled Kyien. His head was adorned with a ceremonial war helmet, steel horns rising from the top of it; the grate in front made his face appear like a demon.

  Council Pierce was not a paragon of war.

  His slender hands were laid across his lap. Milk-white skin and a flawless face made him appear as if he were not real at all. His eyebrows were pencil thin and as he frowned, the expression on his face was pronounced as a result. “T’elen has been nothing more than an amateur her whole life. She could only wish to be as brilliant on the battlefield as you, Lord Kyien.”

  Kyien shifted on the horse as an explosion rocked the battlefield. From this distance they all appeared the same, the divisions of faith unrecognizable. “She will soon launch an attack from Illigard. All of those trapped between will be fodder for her war machine.”

  Pierce nodded, not bothering to avert his glance from the field below. The other councils were dressed all in black. They carried weapons of war. Pierce was a concierge or sorts, a messenger who never felt the bitter touch of war. “She will choke on her vanity. Our hordes will devour her pathetic attempt.”

  Kyien cocked an eyebrow and turned back to the man.

  “Our hordes?”

  Pierce was unaffected, his verbal misstep rectified easily. “The legions of Culouth under your command will roll over top of them as if they were not standing against you at all, my liege.”

  Kyien scoffed. “Send in another hundred thousand. Continue to do so until they are obliterated,” he spoke.

  Pierce nodded and turned his mare.

  Kyien stopped him with a wave of his hand.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  The High Marshal pulled the reins to the side and his steed turned in the direction that Pierce had begun to take. As they passed, he spoke. “Never mind, I will carry this out myself. I wish to see T’elen die upon by my blade.”

  Pierce nodded again, falling in behind Kyien. The armored members of his war council followed down into the valley below, joining the assembled ranks of the empire of Culouth.

  ⱷ

  T’elen

  T’elen paced the war room of Illigard like a great jungle cat. Her left hand gripped the handle of her blade tightly, and her free hand struck whatever surface she was near. The frustration and anger that coursed through her veins shone through each time Leane looked at her furrowed brow and bloodshot eyes.

  Leane pushed her fists into the tables, the knuckles of her hands cracking as she did so. “T’elen, you need to calm down. We will hear from them soon enough.”

  T’elen stopped and spun, her boots clicking on the stone floor. “Do you know how it feels to lead someone, a trusted friend, into battle and have no understanding of when they may come back? If they are still alive?”

  Leane did not allow the other woman’s surly tone to disrupt her calm. “You know that I have not, but that does…”

  T’elen moved toward the wide oak table and slammed her fist against it, interrupting Leane. A large crack climbed its way across the fibers. “Then you will not tell me to calm down when you have no idea why I lose my calm.”

  Leane lifted her hands from the table slowly and crossed them just underneath her breasts. She stared at the Field Marshal. “All I was going to say was that getting worked up does not bring back word of them any faster. I was not assuming I understood your concern,” she responded without malice.

  T’elen continued to glare at her, but faltered after a moment. Her head fell to her chest as she leaned forward against the
table for support. “I am sorry, Leane.”

  “You are under a lot of stress, I get that. But word will come. Elcites is strong, as is Commander Xi’iom. Dean was an Armen long before he came to this place. He will hold out until his last breath, unless that has already expired.”

  T’elen nodded and stood, wiping back the loose strands of her hair. “I know.”

  “Why do I sense a but coming on?”

  T’elen smiled thinly. “But, this war is going to cost us lives. What I had them do was dangerous. I am relying on what I know about Kyien––he is headstrong and overestimates his influence. He assumes very much the same about me. I would not sacrifice so many men, as he did for his war.”

  “His war,” echoed Leane with a reproachful glance.

  “This war, the one that was created by Culouth, by the Intelligence,” she finished with a huff. Pushing herself from the table, she grasped her blade once more. “He will not stop, nor can I. This war will consume the world and there is nothing that we can do to avert that now. What I do on the battlefield affects the future of this realm.”

  The door swung inward and the cold draft that passed over them was like a slap in the face. A man entered, his dark hair covered by an equally dark shawl thrown around his wire-thin frame. In his clenched fist he carried a package covered in an oil-wrapped cloth; the tan parchment beneath it was evident as he stalked forward.

  The snow had once again begun to fall. It came in waves; indiscernible blowing storms that threatened to the blanket the earth until no living soul could move.

  He approached T’elen with long steps, bowing as he neared her. Pale cheeks were almost blue from the cold outside. A thin beard covered his jaw line as he spoke. “I bring word from Commander Elcites,” he spoke. His voice was hard and without inflection. He extended the package and T’elen accepted it with a nod, tearing through the oil-wrapped sheets.

  She scanned the words quickly, looking up several times at the soldier. Several moments passed before she spoke. “Is what he said true?”

  The soldier nodded. “Commander Elcites has led a grand campaign into the heart of the Culouth Army. The Culouth force is divided.”

  Leane smiled, but T’elen did not.

  The muscles of her face merely twitched. T’elen eyed the soldier as she placed the parchment aside. “Do you know their location now?”

  The soldier nodded again. “Yes, Commander Elcites assumed that you would move out as soon as you got word that your plan had been carried through successfully.” He smiled ever so slightly as he spoke the words.

  T’elen sheathed her sword along her back. “We move immediately. If we have them reeling, then Kyien will send more. He will try and make us lose the ground that we have gained.” She moved toward the edge of the room.

  Leane turned to follow, just behind the soldier.

  T’elen spun as she reached the open door.

  “You are not coming, Leane.”

  Leane acted as if T’elen had said nothing at all. Continuing to file out after the soldier, the Field Marshal extended an arm across the archway and turned to the Fallen woman. She spoke again, the inflection of her voice restrained. “You cannot come, Leane. I am serious about this.”

  Leane turned to look at her.

  The red-striped soldiers moved about like a well-oiled machine, totting weapons and armor back and forth as the sky spewed a white coat atop them.

  “There is no reason…”

  T’elen pushed her way in front of her, her boots several inches deep in snow. “There is every reason, Leane, every reason in the world.”

  Leane tried to push past the Field Marshal, but T’elen would not have it. Shoving her back, the mother reeled, her face flushed. “You cannot continue to protect me from this war because of my son. I realize that he may never come back, but I am a warrior. I want to fight. I have the right to fight alongside the others.”

  T’elen looked at the woman and placed her hands back on the door frame, leaning into them. “I do not wish you to stay here because of E’Malkai, or because I think that you are not fit to fight this war. I ask you to stay because if I am killed, or Illigard needs leadership in my absence, I would have them look to you.”

  Leane’s face was still scarlet, her eyes wide.

  “T’elen, I did not know…”

  T’elen closed her eyes and waved her hands dismissively. “You could not have known. As you said, these are times built on stress. Your words were a result of that. You thought that I meant something that I did not. It is not the first time that something like that has happened, nor will it be the last.”

  Leane’s features softened.

  “I do not think that I can lead them, T’elen.”

  “You must. There are few left who can lead. Many will follow because of who you are and what your son represents to this world. Illigard is the pillar that stands against what Culouth has done, and will continue to do. Trust in them and they will trust in you.”

  T’elen turned without another word and stalked out into the snow-covered grounds of Illigard. Her frame disappeared into a mass of soldiers; her barking voice overshadowed them all.

  Leane leaned against the doorframe of the war building and watched them depart, another chapter of war that the children of the future would never understand. She sat and watched for a long time, long after the armies of Illigard passed once more beneath the gates and onto the battlefield of the Final War.

  ⱷ

  E’Malkai

  E’Malkai reached out in the darkness. Blinking his eyes repeatedly, his fingers skirted the shadowy edges of nothingness. Everything was similar to everything else, yet dissimilar at the same time. He was free-floating; his body weightless as it slow-danced in place, over and through nothing at all. He tried to reach back in his memories.

  He knew that there was a reason for all this: the reason he had stepped into the darkness. Remembering slowly, like the trickle from a fountain as it began to rain overhead: the ship, the crash, the tundra, the Fallen.

  It came back to him slowly.

  He opened his eyes and saw a far light, a distant twinkling ember that glowed from a distance. Churning his arms toward it, he swam in a sea of darkness that surrounded him.

  A voice echoed in his mind.

  It was feminine: a girl.

  He knew the voice, but his mind had cleared. The embrace of the darkness was intoxicating, holding him, nurturing him in silence and shadow. The light seemed farther with each breath he took, with each swing and curl of his arms.

  “E’Malkai.”

  The voice hovered on the shadows. His feelings drifted. The comfort of the place was like a drug from which he could not find a reprieve. Moving forward again, the light was grander, larger, and far closer than it had been before. A face emerged from it, formed at its center: the delicate features of a girl who was not yet a woman.

  “E’Malkai.”

  The voice was stronger now.

  It was not as distant, but had become more of an annoyance; it hurt in a way. It struck him like a hammer slamming into the sides of his mind. He pushed his body toward the light and watched as it fell farther and farther from his reach: one more thing to add to his frustration. Throwing his hands aside, he lay flat on his back again. He did not understand much, but he felt as if he did not have to.

  He was at ease: no worries, no pain.

  Pain shot over him and he sat upright. His eyes snapped open wide and his mouth opened to scream, but there was no sound. A long, wide gash ran the length of his hand. He cradled it with his free hand as the blood flowed freely, running down his arm. It sluiced onto the shadow, glowing as it struck the darkness and drained into a half-sphere below him.

  The energy came to him without thought: the pain triggered it. It crawled like a snake across the shadows. White and emerald energy filled his vision until it struck him, igniting his body in a heatless flame. He opened his mouth as the energy glowed from within him and pillars of the stran
ge force erupted from his mouth and into the shadow around him.

  E’Malkai smacked himself as if he were on fire.

  His eyes were frantic as the images of Mete and Arivene bent over him roused him from his panic. He clawed at the ground and winced as he felt the pain in his hand. Bringing it in front of his face, he saw that the imagined wound was real. He looked to Arivene who looked away quickly, a smear of blood on her hands.

  “I am sorry, E’Malkai. I could not get you to wake,” she muttered as she stood up and turned her back to him.

  Mete nodded.

  “We tried for some time before she decided to cut you.”

  E’Malkai opened his mouth, the effort immense.

  “Where….”

  His words trailed off as he turned and looked at the wall behind them. The obsidian sheen was much like the sphere that they had passed through in the desert.

  Arivene did not turn as she spoke.

  “Beneath the Desert of the Forgotten.”

  His head pounded. The voices returned slowly at first, dark whispers in the corners of his mind. “Where is the Shaman?” E’Malkai spoke, barely managing to keep his voice audible.

  Mete rose and spread his hands out in front of him.

  “We arrived here much as you did. We see only caves as well.”

  E’Malkai pushed himself from the ground shakily and staggered as he found his feet beneath him once more. He turned his head to the side and peered at the troubled look on Arivene’s face.

  “We’ll get through this.”

  She huffed and turned again, her arms over her chest.

  “That is not why I frown, E’Malkai, son of Seth.”

  “Why then do you look so sad? I will keep you safe. Your brother will keep you safe,” insisted E’Malkai as he tried to steady his voice. The disorientation had not yet left him.

  She sniffled and wiped at her face. “I am afraid that I will be punished for cutting you, especially here in the Temple of the Shaman where the power of the Believer is the strongest. Have I not committed a grave sin against my faith?”