The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  Dark brown eyes stared out: human eyes.

  The majority of his body was without armor, the thick, coiled muscles of his chest revealed that it was indeed human, and a man at that. He wore black metallic armor that wrapped around his chest and back, leaving his arms barren. The long muscles of his arms were covered in runic tattoos, scarred lines of ancient symbols and languages that were strung together like a mural. On each hand was a bright white glove that was covered with darkened spikes along the back of the hand.

  One wide blade jutted from the knuckles.

  E’Malkai gripped the hilt of the blade and pulled it free. He called out in surprise as the planedge flew from his fingers and stuck to the pillar. He looked at it in horror and then looked to his hands, dumbfounded.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  “They are not allowed,” bellowed the man.

  E’Malkai looked to the mammoth being as he took another step forward. There was nowhere for the youth to run. “You are the Polypheme?”

  The man nodded as he closed the distance with a few short steps and loomed over the youth. The shadow of the being was more than enough to cover E’Malkai. The youth shirked outwardly as he prepared for the giant to strike.

  Instead, he watched as the being reached out his hand.

  “I am the Polypheme,” he spoke.

  E’Malkai blinked as the being called the Polypheme waited for the son of Armen to accept his hand. He did so slowly and watched as his hand disappeared within the white glove of the being. “I am E’Malkai.”

  The Polypheme smiled, though it was hidden beneath the mask. “I know who you are, E’Malkai, son of Seth. I have been waiting some time for you.”

  E’Malkai was surprised by the intelligence of the voice.

  “I did not think that you would be so articulate.”

  The Polypheme knocked a knuckle against his armor. “I get that. This armor, the stature, it makes me seem the part that the name implies. I can assure you that if I were to spend all eternity as an imbecile, there could be no place greater than in the garden before the Grove,” he replied, his inflection and pronunciation incredibly precise.

  E’Malkai’s tenseness evaporated and his hands eased back down to his side. “So what is this place?”

  The Polypheme crossed his arms over his chest. “Short answer: the Grove. In reality, this is what heaven is, my friend. Once you pass on, of course. That’s why I am here. Can’t have people prematurely seeing heaven, now can we?”

  E’Malkai nodded absently.

  “So how do I get into the Grove?”

  Each movement of the Polypheme, though quick and precise, was like the shifting of a continent. “That is where the problem arises. You see as much as I abhor fighting, I’m afraid I can’t simply allow you to walk past. Funny story, actually. There was a man named Doi who came here a long time ago,” he began and then leaned down to the youth. “Kind of lose track of time, you know what I mean. You’ve already aged several centuries and it probably feels likes weeks in some respects.”

  E’Malkai nodded again, but looked over at his suspended blade.

  “Anyway, as I was saying, this guy Doi came here demanding all kinds of things. I wasn’t keeper of the Grove then. I was one of the Outer Circle. He marched close to a million men and Umordoc through the dimensional wall of Dok’Turmel to free his father…”

  “Emperor Me’Cheng,” finished E’Malkai with a small grin.

  “You’re a quick study. Yes, he was the son of Emperor Me’Cheng. He thought to take the power of the Grove as well as free his father. Foolishly, he believed that a million mortal men would be enough to thwart the Outer Circle. It was a massacre to say the least. The Umordoc fled into the hills and eventually became…”

  “Mah’goe,” spoke E’Malkai, smiling once again.

  He gestured with his finger that the youth was right. “Correct again there, young E’Malkai. Seems that mortals think they can waltz right in and demand whatever they want. No offense there, little man.”

  E’Malkai smirked.

  “None taken. I guess letting me pass is out of the question.”

  The Polypheme shrugged his mighty shoulders. “Afraid I can’t at that; though I understand your disappointment in traveling all this way and not being welcomed with open arms. I like you, kid.”

  E’Malkai folded his arms over his chest.

  He was uncertain once again at how to approach such a being with questions. “What then can I do? The Shaman said that the power of the Original Creator was in the Grove and that I needed to get there no matter what,” returned E’Malkai, his frustration beginning to mount.

  The sky above darkened.

  Gray clouds obscured blue skies.

  The wind picked up, growing cold.

  The Polypheme crossed his arms over his massive chest once more as he regarded the youth. “See the thing is: the only way to get to the Grove is through me, and I’m sure you’ve been told that it cannot happen.”

  E’Malkai backed away, flinching as lightning danced across the sky accompanied by the symphony of thunder. The Polypheme had lost its innocence as the rain trickled from the sky. It was a haunting sound as it struck the metal of his armor. “You know that Terra will perish if I do not return,” urged E’Malkai.

  The Polypheme bowed his head, clearly understanding the youth’s concern. “I see the bind you are in. Ancient laws are ancient laws. There is only one way past me: trial by combat.”

  E’Malkai looked around, frustrated as the rain intensified and began to come down in thick sheets. Fat droplets of rain echoed off of the menacing features of the Polypheme.

  “Can I at least have my father’s weapon back?”

  The Polypheme shook his head. “This breaks my heart. You seem like a really good kid, but no one told you the rules. They say that is a quality of a hero, doing what he must despite his ignorance of the dangers in his path. You can only fight with your hands and your spirit, nothing more, nothing less.”

  The thunder echoed again like the rumbling of a grand beast struggling to unearth itself from the ground. “You are eternal, how am I supposed to kill something eternal without a blade?”

  The Polypheme unlaced its arms and faced the youth.

  All emotion drained from his eyes as he looked at E’Malkai. “When you come here again, as an After-person, I hope you will think of me as a friend. Someone you would wish to talk to, E’Malkai, son of Seth Armen, for you have a spirit unlike any other.”

  E’Malkai stared, his hands trembling from the cold rain that poured down. The Polypheme backed away to the other side of the blackened grass and nodded as another strike of lightning flashed.

  E’Malkai looked for a weapon, but found none.

  The Polypheme lowered his body to charge forward.

  The youth ran toward the pillar, diving to grab at his father’s weapon. He reached it and grasped the hilt of the planedge and tugged on it, but he could not break it free. The thunder of the storm above was replaced by that of the approaching Polypheme. As the youth turned back around, he saw only the bulk of the massive warrior. The force of the blow lifted him up from the ground and free of the pillar, impacting an invisible wall that ran parallel with the darkened grass.

  E’Malkai had seen the rushing image of the green grass and then felt the ringing pain as he struck something that he could not see. He fell on his side, feeling the warm sensation of his own blood run down his face. Looking up through hazy vision, he saw the Polypheme standing over top him, rain sluicing off of his armor.

  His mighty chest seemed unfazed by his motion.

  “I am sorry, E’Malkai, son of Seth Armen,” he spoke, as he swung one of his mighty fists toward the youth’s body. Jolting him at the same time that it drove him deep into the soil, the slick earth beneath the child of Armen gave him cushion from the blow.

  He felt numb; his body rung and as the volume grew, so did the pain intensify. He was face down in the dirt. Bre
athing out, he tasted the soil and spit it out of his mouth with a violent cough. He felt tears on his face. The pain was so complete that though he could not feel it, his body reacted.

  The Polypheme wrapped one of his hands around the youth’s waist and pulled him free of the wet earth, holding him up over his head. The rain beat down upon E’Malkai, his hair slick with blood and water.

  E’Malkai opened an eye just enough to see the Polypheme holding him effortlessly. He thought he saw compassion in the warrior’s eyes. As the youth looked down, he could see the imprint of where his body had been driven into the ground by the Polypheme’s blow. The son of Armen groaned as he tried to speak, the pressure in his chest making him wheeze and whine.

  The blur of the earth coming into focus as he was swung back down toward the ground again caused him to shudder. He was once more buried into the dirt beneath the feet of the Polypheme. The pressure of the being’s strength lifted away and the world had fallen silent.

  As he turned onto his back, the cold rain on his face was a welcome change. E’Malkai tried to open his eyes as he turned his head to look at the angry sky. Veins of lightning crawled; accompanied by its ethereal voice, thunder.

  The Polypheme looked down at E’Malkai.

  Only one eye was open, the other already swollen shut from the beating. E’Malkai coughed hard as the he regarded his foe. Bringing his arm to his face, only to wince, he knew it was broken. He began to laugh. The strangled, unabated sound startled the Polypheme, who raised an eyebrow as the youth convulsed in laughter.

  “You will pass over soon enough, son of Armen, and then you will be at peace. We can be friends once more,” echoed the Polypheme, his words accompanied by another ring of thunder.

  E’Malkai shuddered as he laughed. When he tried to move, the pain shot through him and made him laugh harder. Rain pooled in his mouth as he struggled to breathe against the pain.

  “You are still a champion, E’Malkai. No one could have asked more of you than you have already given,” spoke the Polypheme as he knelt down near the youth.

  E’Malkai wheezed in between bouts of laughter. His head rolled to the side as he lost the feeling in his left arm. As he stared out into the rolling green hills of the Grove, he smiled. It was as the Polypheme had said: what a beautiful place to meet an end.

  A flash of lightning crawled over the hills. It neared and then froze, lingering just outside the milk-white pillars. The bright flash took shape, a human figure stepping out from within it.

  It was a figure the youth knew well.

  It was his father.

  The visage of Seth Armen stood steadfast just outside the ring of combat. “E’Malkai,” called the image of his father.

  “Father.”

  “It is not yet your time,” Seth called again.

  “I am tired. I do not have the strength to carry on.”

  The Polypheme rose from his knees and turned away from the youth. There was sadness in his eyes as he turned. The son of Armen was fading fast and the being knew it all too well.

  “You have come too far to be denied,” spoke Seth.

  “It is done,” replied E’Malkai as he turned his head.

  The visage flashed to the edge of the blackened soil, but the invisible wall reflected him back. Drawing the attention of the Polypheme, the giant stalked toward Seth. “You cannot be here Seth Armen, son of Evan. You cannot interfere in his battle,” bellowed the Polypheme, urgency in his voice.

  “Father,” called E’Malkai weakly.

  His eyes closed as he again felt the pain course over his body. The numbness had receded. He felt his throat again and he reached up with his hand to touch it. There was blood; it was still wet and slick as he ran his fingers through it.

  “Father,” he croaked.

  The Polypheme looked back to the youth and his eyes grew wide as he saw the flicker of power beneath him: emerald and white, the colors of a Creator of the Light.

  The Polypheme did not appear worried.

  “You are more powerful than was foreseen,” he whispered. He walked to the youth and raised his foot into the air as if to stamp down on his body. “I will end your suffering.”

  E’Malkai looked again at his father and he saw he had faded away. He was alone, watching as the leg cut through the air, driving toward him. His mind floated back, he saw the images of his father, of his mother. He saw the warmth in Arivene’s eyes the first time he had met her, the twinkle in T’elen’s eyes when she watched him as he lay broken.

  He would not be denied. It was as a roar that erupted from his lips. With that call of agony, the power rose like a monsoon across an island.

  The Polypheme stretched his arms over his face, the force of the energy rising from the youth knocked him on his back. His arms were crossed over his face as the youth rose from the ground.

  The energy that enveloped E’Malkai ran through his veins. The electricity of it sparked against the ground and off of the pillars that encaged the blackened earth.

  As the being uncrossed his arms, he saw the darker form within the brilliant light that stood before him. He pushed his massive arms up from the earth, as if he were a mighty tree that had been uprooted. “You are no longer E’Malkai. You have become what you must be.”

  The light pulled away and E’Malkai hovered just above the ground. White globes watched the Polypheme without care. “Let us try this again,” he called.

  The volume of his voice was deafening; it shattered the pillars into white crystallized dust. The Polypheme nodded and stalked forward in a wild charge. The youth remained, his hand outstretched, palm facing the rush of the Polypheme. Emerald and white energy crawled over his skin.

  ⱷ

  In the Shadow of War

  The siege of Illigard was a mosaic of colors drawn with the macabre brushstrokes of a deranged artist. Red-striped archers released clouds of arrows into the approaching army. Men fell left and right, their startled cries replaced with the hungry growl of those who attacked the walls in their place. The southern wall was embedded in war, but they received a surprise as the tundra people poured from the mountains like a rain of steel.

  Higald and S’rean ran out ahead of their men.

  Several thousand men, women, and children charged across an open field, weapons in hand. Primal screams echoed from their lips as they collided with the startled ranks of Culouth. Men were gashed open before they even raised their plasma weapons.

  Higald swam deftly through the sea of enemies. The sure swing of his blade halved man after man as the small number of tundra people soon merged with Culouth.

  Blue bursts of fire flashed over the field, scorching the flesh and hides of the tundra people. Some fell aside and others, committed to their death charge, mowed down those who stood in their path.

  S’rean found himself surrounded quickly.

  The edge of his sickle already bloodied, he continued. Dragging the blade up the torso of one soldier, like that of a surgeon, only to spin the foolish child of a warrior around and drive the pointed handle of the weapon into the next man. He lowered himself and then spun, lifting his blade vertical from the ground and catching another Culouth soldier along his lip. He ran it the length of his face until the blade came free from flesh.

  The world around him was shrouded in silence.

  The roar of violence claimed his senses.

  His eyes passed over the dead.

  He continued on, dancing the steps of death as he watched the violence around him with sadness. The cry of death followed him with each step, but he would not falter as he pushed forward.

  The deeper he delved, the farther from his people he became. In mere moments, there were none who he recognized amidst the sea of bodies. The shadow of those who would consume him bore down upon the Utiakth chieftain until he could manage no more and fell into darkness.

  *

  Higald carved a path with his blade.

  He had watched S’rean storm into the sea of bodies like a m
an possessed. The chieftain thought only of his mistakes: casting Seth from the Fallen, something that even on his dying day, as this day surely would be, haunted him until his end.

  He watched his kinsmen fall beside him.

  Lances and blue bursts of energy found their marks and they cried out, reaching out into nothingness for the embrace of death. The Fallen chieftain could no longer see anything other than the yellow-striped uniforms of Culouth. They were interminable, extending far beyond his vision. His enemies were a sea of darkness that was accented only by the snow and ice that crashed overhead.

  Many of the tundra hunters wished for a death such as it was: to die in a battle so immense that there would be no one left alive when the Believer came to count. This was the last day of the Fallen; the last day of the tundra people.

  The burst caught Higald in the back.

  The warmth burnt through him and was replaced with a bitter cold, the icy grip that he had often felt in the winds, alone on the tundra. He fell back, the world above swimming out of focus. A gray cloud overhead was pregnant with ice and snow. He blinked as the snow filled his eyes and he reached to wipe it away, but felt the firm pressure upon his arm

  He saw that a Culouth soldier had stepped on him.

  The soldier looked down at Higald and him up at the soldier.

  The man picked up the chieftain’s broadsword, testing the strength in his hands and then with a suddenness that jolted the Fallen warrior, drove it through Higald’s chest. The soldier smiled a crooked grin and stalked back into battle, his voice lost among the others.

  Higald reached up and grasped the blade, though he could not reach the hilt. His eyes glazed as he watched the darkened skies above. His hands slid down the sharpened blade, slicing them open as his arms fell to his sides.

  He welcomed the song of death.

  ⱷ

  E’Malkai

  The thunder seemed to grow with every strike of lighting. The rain poured down such that it was impossible see outside of the blackened ring. Brilliant white pillars were no more than piles of white dust that had become four silvery rivers that flowed like pain from the battlefield.