The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  “Do you remember what happened at the House of Di’letirich?” she asked.

  E’Malkai leaned on his elbow and closed one eye thoughtfully. “We talked about the council mostly. Complaining about you,” he laughed. His head slipped from his hand and he caught it with the other. “He kept saying that trollop and such.”

  He could see a thin line of a smile.

  She loved how much Fe’rein hated her.

  Making a broad gesture with his hands, he continued. “Anyways, he went on to talk about how he killed some civilians and that it was your fault. My mother made a snide comment and he struck her.”

  The drunkenness dissolved in an instant.

  “He hit her, and I tried to stop him and I couldn’t. Then Elcites attacked him, and he couldn’t either. The last thing I remember is rushing toward him and the sight of him moving far away as he struck me again; all darkness after that.” His voice trailed off as he finished, lowering his head in shame.

  “You felt you did nothing?” she questioned.

  “I should have stopped him.” His answer was simple.

  “What if I said that you tried and fought with all your being? That you stood fast against his strength for longer than any living person could have managed.”

  “What are you talking about?” The volume of his voice drew looks from around the bar.

  “Something happened to you up there.”

  E’Malkai leaned forward. “What might that be?”

  “It is a rather long story, and one that I am afraid you have been told several times, in several different ways. Though each with a different point of view. I will not lie. Mine will also have a slant.”

  Sitting back, she sighed and gestured to the bartender. He scurried over, placing a tall glass of a clear liquid in front of her. A few metallic coins slipped from her hands with the guile of a practiced magician.

  “The story of the Believer and the perversion of that legend by Culouth?” he spoke.

  She took a sip and licked her lips. Sucking her teeth, she nodded before she continued. “The very same, but there is a part of that story that is rarely told; a rather important part.”

  “Oh yeah, what part might that be?” he queried with a bit of annoyance.

  “It is said that the Believer will come to shape Terra, using the energy of Life itself. With me so far?” she began.

  He nodded.

  “Let us say that the Believer perverts the power, uses it for something that is not in the interests of restoring things to a natural order; uses it for an evil end, harming Terra in the process.”

  The nod returned.

  “Then it would be as if the power had not been taken, leaving dormant the power from the energies of Terra; for they can only be tapped when used for that purpose. When another rises to take the power, to embody it completely––whether for good or evil––then the power that has been borrowed begins to wane.”

  “You are suggesting that the power of the Believer has not yet been usurped and remains dormant somewhere on this planet. Perhaps you are out of your mind,” replied E’Malkai with a shake of his head.

  “That is exactly what I am saying. Fe’rein is nothing more than a sample of that power, a drop of the pool of energies at the core of Terra.”

  “Even if I were to entertain this possibility for an instant, the location of the power of the Believer is a secret not found in the databases of Culouth. Its contents were wiped to keep the Intelligence from finding it. The only man who knows the location is Fe’rein. There is no reason for him ever to allow that information to slip. He believes that he is the mion––that he is a Creator of lore.”

  “How do you think that Fe’rein found the power?”

  “I have no idea,” he replied.

  “Seth Armen was a tracker, one of extraordinary skill. But, the location of the Believer was gleaned from the texts of the Fallen. Even though there were individuals in Duirin who pointed them in the general direction, it was in the chronicles of the Fallen that the answers were found.”

  “Another place that cannot be found by anyone other than the Fallen. Fe’rein does not even know the location. You speak madness. Who would undertake this pilgrimage?”

  “The blood of Armen is the only one who can undertake that path,” she replied and took another sip, a long one.

  E’Malkai laughed.

  Then pushing himself away from the table, he laughed again. Stumbling across the bar and out into the open air, the half-light of the afternoon dissolved into dusk. T’elen followed him from a distance. Leaning against the doorframe, she watched E’Malkai look up into the air, watching the stars overhead.

  “I am not a hero,” he spoke with a sigh.

  His shoulders sagged.

  “The greatest heroes are often those most reluctant,” she replied with a shrug.

  “I will think about what you have said,” he began and looked back at T’elen. She merely nodded. “I wish to see Duirin. If that is where my father was for some time, then I would wish to go there.”

  “A transport will be arranged for you both,” she replied with a spread of her hands.

  “Elcites and I?” he queried.

  “I thought you never traveled without your guardian?” There was mirth in her voice and a smile crept across her lips. E’Malkai did not respond, but instead returned his gaze to the star-filled sky above him.

  ⱷ

  Fredrick

  The Avenue ran down Culouth, basically splitting the domed city in half. On the northern side were the residences of the Houses of Culouth, and the other half grew considerably less and less reputable. In that southern half was a tavern frequented by many of Kyien’s men, a place that was without a name. Yet, this was where two men of the Fallen chose to spend their night; drinking away sorrows of the past, present, and future.

  Fredrick had been there for hours already.

  His breath reeked of liquor, but his credit was such that no bartender could deny him service. He knew the mion personally. At that very moment the lush known as Fredrick and the bartender that everyone affectionately referred to as Pappy were in a bit of a screaming match.

  His thin frame was taut.

  The muscles of his arms were apparent as he placed his hands on the counter in defiance and then shook his head at Fredrick. He wore a trimmed beard and his cold gray eyes were solemn, almost doe-like.

  “Your tab is run far enough, Fredrick. I’m not going to serve you anymore until it is paid, and that is final,” spoke Pappy, frustration evident in his voice.

  “Come now, Pappy. I’m friends with Fe’rein. Surely that gets me one more drink?” Fredrick had drunk himself into such a place that he no longer was able to survive without its consumption.

  It would not suffice.

  “There have been too many extensions with you. I won’t be caught up in it again. Either you pay now or you don’t drink.”

  The interior of the unnamed tavern was dark, tables strewn all about in no discernible order. The bar ran the length of the wall opposite the entrance. A chime was affixed to the old-style entrance, one that rang as a patron entered.

  There were a few men scattered throughout the tables, only one other at the bar. He was a young soldier. The brown suit and yellow stripe from his left shoulder to the end of the pant leg marked him as one of Kyien’s men.

  The outer chime echoed and no one turned to see who entered.

  The grim figure of Fe’rein stalked through the door. The hard line of his stare deterred all who wished to look his way. As he sat down next to Fredrick, several coins clinked on the counter. Pappy scooped them away without as much as another word. “Round for me and my friend,” whispered Fe’rein in his haunted voice.

  Pappy moved with speed that betrayed his name. He was neither old nor a father. As he pushed the two mugs to Fredrick and Fe’rein, he disappeared into the shadows behind the bar.

  “Can’t seem to get a break around here,” whined Fredrick as he pull
ed the mug close and nursed it, sipping at it with determination.

  “No, can’t seem to at that,” replied Fe’rein, tipping back the mug and draining its contents in one swig.

  Slamming it down, he shattered the glass.

  He wiped at his hand.

  The shards of glass dusted his skin, for it was nearly invulnerable. Pappy cast him a sour look through the darkness, but kept his mouth shut. He knew that there was little that he could say that would not make Fe’rein end his life on the spot.

  “Barkeep, get me another glass. Clean this up double-time,” bellowed Fe’rein, the volume of his voice uncharacteristic for him. It was in that moment that Fredrick realized that he smelled liquor on the breath of the great mion.

  He almost laughed out loud at him. “What’s the matter, Fe’rein?” questioned Fredrick behind the shield of his habit.

  Pappy busied himself with another glass and slid it forward, disappearing as quickly as he had come. “Tonight my name is Ryan. You remember Ryan, don’t you? He was a stupid kid, always saying all the wrong things; made an incomprehensible ass out of himself all the time.”

  Fe’rein cackled with laughter.

  Grabbing his mug of brew in one hand, he slammed his other fist down, denting the metal surface with a canyon worthy of record. Fredrick watched with awe as Fe’rein spiraled deeper into intoxication.

  “I remember Ryan. Had a brother, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did. Name of Seth, toughest damn human who ever lived.”

  That comment drew strange looks from the soldiers present, a couple of them even too young to recognize the mion in his less-than-perfect state. Some did and looked over, their eyes full of hate.

  “Seth was a man to be reckoned with,” reasoned Fredrick.

  “Killed him I did, knifed him right though the back with my blade. Took him a while to die though, and he said some choice things to me. He placed no blame, righteous old Seth, right to the end.”

  One of the soldiers stood up and pushed away his friend’s protests. The man moved in close and placed a hand on the shoulder of the mion. And to Fredrick’s shock, Fe’rein merely turned and looked at the man.

  “You want to sit and drink with us. My name is Ryan and this here is my friend, Fredrick,” spoke Fe’rein with mirth and a slight slur.

  The soldier fixed him with a glare and reached his hand back to strike Fe’rein. The smile exploded into wailing laughter. He caught the man’s hand. His dark energy leapt over him, consuming the man’s hand, disintegrating it.

  The man’s face was held frozen in a scream, the sound caught in his throat as he pulled away a stump. His young friends at the table stood as if they wished to charge.

  Fe’rein stood too, a drunken stupor fallen over him. He bent his fingers, making a shadow gun and pointed it at the table of soldiers. Fire leapt from his hands and consumed their bodies, disintegrating them as he had done with the first man’s hand. Then as if it were all some cosmic joke, he blew over each finger as though they were smoking barrels of a pistol.

  “Bang. Bang. Bang,” he whispered. While the mion could incinerate those he wished to see wiped from the earth, he very rarely did so. The sparing of Leane and Elcites’ lives were evidence of this.

  Plopping back down on the stool, a belch rumbled from his throat. There was look of pure shock and fear spread across Pappy’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that he could not.

  Fredrick looked at the smoked tables and the billowing cloud that rose off the scorched places where the soldiers had been. Laughter came to him as well. He drained another mug and pushed it toward the shaken figure of Pappy.

  “You see, Fredrick, this place is a cesspool––though it is one hidden beneath a glass plate, all these rats running around in their cage.”

  “To the cesspool,” croaked Fredrick, raising his refilled mug.

  Fe’rein nodded and hiccupped. Draining another mug, he slammed it down, but with less force than before, and pushed it away from him. “Where did he go?”

  The drunken whisper was gone.

  His dead eyes stared through Fredrick.

  “Where did who go?” shot back Fredrick, still caught up in the drunken fun of it all.

  “My nephew.”

  The voice of the Creator had returned; the drunken stupor had been an act. Fredrick looked at Fe’rein in horror as the anger seeped into his countenance once more.

  “Haven’t seen him in some time; thought I heard you guys had a bit of a falling out,” answered Fredrick, lifting the mug to his mouth.

  The powerful grip of Fe’rein restrained him, made him place the mug down. “Where is he?”

  The heat in the room rose.

  “I swear I don’t know,” stammered Fredrick as he tried to reach forward to grasp his mug of ale once more.

  Fe’rein placed his hand over Fredrick’s.

  The cry that emanated was almost feminine. The smell of smoldering flesh was overwhelming as the glass began to smoke and then burst into shards, imbedding deep into Fredrick’s hand.

  “You will find out for me.”

  It was a statement of fact.

  Fredrick nodded frantically, trying to work his way out from underneath Fe’rein’s grip. The Creator held him there, his fiery gaze searing through him. Fredrick froze. Tears welled in his eyes as the pain in his hand gripped his every sense.

  He met the gaze of Fe’rein.

  “I will do whatever you ask of me.”

  “Good.”

  The hold was released and Fredrick immediately cradled his bad hand with the good one. Fe’rein reached across the counter and grabbed one of the white towels the bartender used and tossed it to Fredrick without another look.

  “Clean yourself up, you look like death.”

  Fe’rein ran his hand over the tables as he moved toward the exit. It charred a canyon into each, snapping the feeble structures like kindling. Slamming his hand into the overhang of the entrance, he split it in half. The roof sagged as he did. Both Fredrick and Pappy were more fearful of the mion than any denizen of their worst nightmares.

  ⱷ

  E’Malkai

  The transport to Duirin traversed unsettled territory. Silence hung between guardian and charge. The swamps and deserts receded and plains and light green hills became more apparent. In the distance E’Malkai recognized the mountains to the east from his time spent at the vantage point within Culouth, zigzag markers that led close to the coastline beyond the Citadel.

  The transport was a military one, for no PTVs were permitted on the Lower Plane. The only vehicles were those that T’elen and her mercenaries used to get around. Considering that Elcites and the youth were the only ones in such a large transport, the additional space seemed wasteful.

  Despite the uneven grade of the road, the ride itself was smooth. The peaks and falls of Duirin were soon within sight, and E’Malkai favored himself a glance. Watching as the city grew closer and closer, a smile crept across his lips. He had learned more of his past in the last few months than he had the majority of his life. Unfortunately, the events leading up to these sudden pockets of information were catastrophic at best.

  “Some in Duirin will fear me, E’Malkai sien,” spoke Elcites.

  “I thought the inhabitants of the Lower Plane understood the ways of Culouth?” The youth could not harbor hatred for his guardian for very long. The silence had lasted mostly because of pride, for the youth did not wish to break first.

  “They are considered lesser beings, inferior in every possible way. Umordoc are a symbol of the power of Culouth and their domination over their society,” replied the giant without meeting E’Malkai’s eyes.

  “Then we will be careful not to upset them.”

  They moved beneath the arch of the outer wall of Duirin. Both settlements of the Lower Plane that E’Malkai had seen were constructed behind mammoth walls, which lent well to Elcites’ words. There was still fear of Umordoc and other monsters of the plains and w
astelands.

  The arch spilled out into a courtyard where the ground was composed mostly of loose dirt that swirled and flung itself from beneath the transport. It created a small dust vortex as the transport settled on the ground with a heavy sound.

  The hydraulics hissed as the outer hatch opened, exposing the interior to the natural world once more. E’Malkai scrunched his eyes against the sun as he dropped to the ground with a grunt. His guardian followed, but for him it was more like a step than a leap.

  The city of Duirin had not changed much since the time of Seth. The wide expanse of the courtyard remained intact and buildings still cascaded off into the distance; there was very little separation between each structure.

  To E’Malkai, it was reminiscent of Culouth.

  The citizens who passed regarded E’Malkai without much concern, but the overwhelming figure of Elcites drew more than one stare, which the giant was forced to ignore as they moved forward.

  Dean, great uncle to E’Malkai, remained as he had for several years. He felt it absolutely necessary to be there when any travelers arrived, welcoming them to Duirin. It was not only his body that had thinned with time, but also his smile.

  He reached his hand out in welcome. E’Malkai accepted it, not recognizing the man. Dean used his free hand to cast a shadow over his own eyes. “Welcome to Duirin. Any guest of Lady T’elen is most assuredly welcome here within our humble walls.” His voice had lost none of its persuasion.

  “We are most thankful for your hospitality, my guardian and I,” replied E’Malkai, gesturing back to Elcites.

  “We were not informed of your itinerary. I must say, if I may, that Lady T’elen provided no specifics as to your agenda here in Duirin, or your name, origin, matters of person and station.” He did not trust these new arrivals to his part of the world.

  “I am E’Malkai and this is…” he began.

  The youth spoke no more words, for the eyes of Dean grew wide and his aged voice interrupted him. “By the Believer, you are Leane’s son.”

  “I am.”

  “You are Seth’s son,” he whispered.